Saturday, November 03, 2007 9:08 PM

Star Dome - Khaosan, Bangkok

Hey Man:

Thanks for the sympathy pains. That puss-y, err… swollen eye ball of yours sounds nasty! We seem to mimic each other in some perverse symmetry of ailments. Recall the sore arms a few months ago.

November the way you describe it is precisely the way I want to forget it. 

There's weather here too. Turned hot and muggy again today. Some 36 degrees C. Oppressive!

Hunted down a butane canister for my ‘pocket rocket’ camp burner today. There's a long string of pawn/army surplus stores (but everything's new) down the road from the Royal Hotel. Amazing array of tools, cameras etc., but it was too hot to browse properly.

The burner is to make my own coffee and tea, maybe some instant noodles, now and then. Making one's own is counter-intuitive because everything's so cheap and abundant here, however, I think the ritual of it will have a domesticating grounding effect.

If I make only two cups per day (I can drink up to half a dozen) I'll save approximately $200 on this trip.

I've started using my Excel  spreadsheet on the PDA to track and control spending. With a little discipline Thailand can be done for $15 per day. My budget is $20.

I have NO discipline, judging from first spreadsheets. I didn't keep track at all during the first week -- and I spent a bundle.

Speaking of the PDA, it continues to create a sensation with locals and tourists alike. This is surprising given the cosmopolitan and techie-savvy culture of Bangkok.

The women are exactly what I imagined.

God must have designed Thai women first, the rest being glitched variations on the theme.

Or, he designed them last, getting it finally right.

I suffer.

One can indulge the senses only so far before an existential spiral threatens to suck you down like a drain. After ogling the thousanth perfect babe, after the upteenth health snack (all under a dollar) water melon, pineaple, banana crepe, ice cream, smoothies, pad thai, freshly sqeezed orange juice... after photographing dozens of spectacular ornate temples ... and so on and on... then what??

A head ache?

The recurring head pain baffles me. I so very seldom get them. Maybe the air IS that bad. The pills seem to be working, but when I stop taking them the ache creeps back in.

Thankfully there were no complications with the tooth extraction. But it will cost about $700 for a new bridge -- reparations to the shoddy Guatemalan dental work.

I still haven't figured out what purpose or project to attach to this trip.

The only thing snagging my imagination at the moment is building that long overdue addition to my Una-B shack at home. But that's in April, six months away!

Perhaps in the face of the unknown, we cling to the known -- even if it’s the prison we just escaped from.

Uncannily, my malaise was amplified today by a chance encounter. I bumped into an American who stayed at the same hostel in Granada on my last trip (amazingly that was only 8 months ago). He's a professional drifter and has come to symbolize, embody all my fears about continuous travel. He says he doesn't get bored, but there's something indefinably creepy about the guy.

Vapid.

I'm not bored, but neither inspired. I'm in neutral, or at best moving in a very low gear. Time to shift and pick up some speed. A little romance? Some good sex? Adventure, surely-- a motorcycle ride?

Yes, that's it!

Coral island was somewhat of a drag. We had all of three hours to enjoy the beach. The water was gorgeous, but the attendant ear splitting jet-skis, ugly touristas lounging and the garbage put me off.

Enroute in Pattaya we were taken the 'world's largest gem factory and gem museum.' Disneyland!

The five hour trip back in the non-air-con mini-bus was, well.. a trip. There were six of us -- two Arabian men from Oman, a 23 yr old lusty, strong coffee drinking/chain smoking French girl, a soccer wholesome British bloke, me, and a big German fraulein who had refused the delicious lunch on Coral because she had seen hands touch that food, and one never knows where those hands have been...

The mean age, not counting me, was 26.  And me, in my best Jack Benny shtick, 25. Ha! It's wearing thin. Last time in CA I kept hearing too many hola Papa! And I've already heard it here too. Papa?

I'm old. Look precisely my 54. Somehow, though, I managed to lose a dozen in CA earlier this year. But I think I need to get the hell out of Bangkok first, if that's to happen again.

Vanity. Envy. There's still work to do.

The French girl asked the devout Muslim men point blank if a woman must be a virgin at her wedding. They replied in the affirmative. And the man too? Nervous laughter all around -- yes. Of course, the double standard soon exposed.

I read her the riot act on gender relations/politics in the West. And you know, she agreed with most of it. Mind, the double standards herein would take two more decades for her to fully appreciate.

Bright girl. Aspiring journalist. Liked my being a poet. Hung around with her a little after. But was on the verge of collapsing, the head ache began... and the terminal sight of a fucking cigarette hanging from her mouth made me nauseous. She's in Cambodia now-- bet we'll run into each other. But I'm making a point not to email.

The only other real human interaction I've had thus far is with a young Nepalese man, Anil, who's a salesman at the tailor shop across the street from the hotel.

He works seven days a week, twelve hour days -- mostly standing outside the shop waiting for business that seldom arrives. He speaks half a dozen languages fluently. Says he was born at the top of the world.

He says God hasn't seen him yet. I nod knowingly, say, I'll get my God to talk to your God. I offer to help. Say if he buys me a tuk-tuk, I'll bring him business. He laughs, says if he could afford a tuk-tuk, he wouldn't be working in the joint in the first place..

So I'll take the train to Trang in a few days. After seeing Pattaya, I'm thinking of just skipping Phuket altogether.

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