Sunday, April 11, 2004
I'm in Hat Yai, Thailand and I really don't care for this place-especially after experiencing the beauty of Malaysia's cultural diversity. Hat Yai seems to be a way station. I'm going to Krabi tomorrow; a beach resort town on the Andaman coast about four to five hours north of here by car.
Since I don't feel like "reporting" on this place I thought that I'd let my imagination go and type a story inspired by what I have seen and felt in Hat Yai.
Hat Yai Avi
My name is Avi Lukason. I live here in Hat Yai, Thailand. It's in the south, the way south of the country. On the tip of its tail you could say. It's the biggest city in the south of Thailand, which really is sort of a joke for a guy like me–I'm from New York City for Christ's sake. So, what the hell am I doing here? I knew you probably were thinking that. And it's going to surprise you when I tell you that I've been here for God knows how long–What? Two years now? No, more than that. Let's say two years and a bit–"and a bit"? Who the hell says that? The Aussies say that, Oz for Australia that is.
I came to Southeast Asia to take a break–a deep breath you could say. Simply wanted to get away. "Why?" you ask. Well, to cut to the chase. My wife cheated on me and I wanted to forget her and all that stupid shit in the States. I used to work on Wall Street. I used to make big bucks thinking that it would get me everything: a beautiful wife, a lovely apartment on 5th Avenue, and a Porsche. And it did. I had a beautiful wife, a lovely apartment on 5th Avenue, and a Porsche–a 911 to be exact. And now here I am with nothing.
Actually, I shouldn't really say that. I have tons of cash back home sitting in a few banks. But, I haven't touched that dough for over a year and a half. I live like a pauper here in Hat Yai–this dump of a place. I guess I'm seeking to be like some kind of urban monk hermit. I'm in Southeast Asia for Christ's sake–so I might as well do the old Buddhist thing. That is the problem though for a guy like me and for most backpacking Americans I come across here. We Americans are so fascinated with the exotic. We think practicing the next hip exotic faith or discipline like Buddhism or yoga or tai chi–or whatever–has all the spiritual answers that we have been looking for. That is the problem with us; we go from one exotic fad to the next. And what is up with our obsession with dieting? How many freaking different kinds of diets are advertised in the U.S.? For Christ's sake it's insane, it's a joke! The "Atkins Diet" ... didn't Atkins die of heart failure due to being obese? Some say yes, and some say no–who really knows? Now it seems, from what I've read on the Net, that Americans are into fasting? They are catching on to the Muslim tradition of fasting believing that it will bring them health, and clean out their system, or what have you. It's a joke. Next year it will be something else. Muslims fast for a month every year for Ramadan, but Americans just try it on for a couple of weeks until some other amusement is trending on TV.
Well, I think it's obvious from all this venting that I ain't ready to go back to the States ... I guess I'm still trying to get over the fact that my wife cheated on me and never really loved me. She just married me for the money–and boy did she get a bunch of it when I filed for divorce.
I live at the Cathay Guest House here in Hat Yai. And let me tell you this. It's never overbooked. All the touts at the train and bus stations will tell any-and-all tourists that it's booked, in fact they'll tell you it's booked "straight on for three days". They're all liars–never pay any attention to them. The Cathay Guest House sits on the corner of Thanon Niphat Uthit 2 and Thanon Thamnoovithi. It's only a three-block walk from the train station. I'm in room 356. It's all the way in the back down a dark, old staircase. The guest house is all right. I was a bit disgusted with it when I first arrived though. But I've been living here for so long it's simply home now. The dark corridor where the majority of the rooms are located is wide and seems almost like an old high school hallway. But everything is falling apart. I guess it most looks like the way I'd expect a Cuban prison to be. My room is away from all the noise that the other "guests" can be caught making–if you know what I mean. My room is appropriate. Not big or small. The bathroom is descent by Thai below-the-poverty-line standards. There is a squat toilet that I have mastered and no button to flush it. There is a bucket instead. Simply fill it up and dump it into the toilet and ta-da, a flush toilet. My bed is a very firm mattress on an old bed frame and boy is it full of bed bugs. There ain't a morning that goes by where I don't end up scratching all the bites that I got during the night.
As for the shower, I got cold water and cold water, and with this tropical humidity that is all you need. I usually shower in the dark. The broken window in my bathroom has no curtain–never bothered to put up one–and some of my Thai friends have a thing for peeping into other people's hotel rooms like it's a hobby, which makes me paranoid. So, I shower in the dark.
When I first came here I used to take two to three showers a day. Now only one. You get used to the heat after a while. You'll soon find that you don't mind to wake up anymore with a sweaty, greasy, sticky face.
I got an old table, a mirror, and a few posters put up on the walls. I like to buy Guitar magazines because it's the only thing of interest that I can find in English here. The magazines are expensive though by Thai standards. About 350 baht, which pretty much covers two nights at my guesthouse. I tape up the pictures that I like from my growing collection of magazines on the walls. When I have guests come over to my room they usually ask if I'm a guitarist. I tell them no, which leaves them a bit confused. I used to play keyboard, but there is no keyboard magazine in English here so Guitar magazine is simply the next best thing.
As for food, I'm a regular at a place called The Ballad, a quaint little place. A waitress there used to be my girlfriend. She is actually Vietnamese. Cute girl, but a little insecure, and in serious want of a husband ... no thank you. In any case, I usually get the green curry and a Thai iced coffee; I always order three Thai iced coffees. The green curry is a serious lip kicker–I'd say ass-kicker, but it ain't kicking my ass, it's kicking my lips. It's seriously spicy, but it will cure any stuffy nose.
So, what the hell do I do in Hat Yai? To be honest this place is really nothing special. Everything you need to know about this place you can learn in an afternoon. Hat Yai seems to be, for tourists anyway, a "passing through" kind of place. No foreigner ever really stays here–except for me. They are either coming from Malaysia or on their way to it. Malaysia–from what I've seen–is fantastic. I've only been to Palau Penang. And on that island, I was shocked to see Indian Hindus, Chinese Buddhists and Taoists, and Malay Muslims living in such close proximity and getting along so well. The buildings there, kind of like here, were falling apart. Most were a century old or more and probably infested with termites. All the buildings were in serious need of a fresh coat of paint. But that was the charm of the place I guess, old colonial, two-storey buildings with mom-and-pop shops on the ground floor.
I was intrigued to see, hanging dead center over the street entrance of every Chinese commercial establishment or home I passed, an octagon–I think that was the shape–kind of mirror thing used to ward off evil spirits. And on the back wall of every Chinese mom-and-pop shop I passed there was a small ancestral shrine surrounded by lit candles and joss sticks. Some of these shops were a sight. I came across one shop literally littered with massive piles of electric fans; some of the piles were caked in dust and grime.
Well, back here in Hat Yai, we get quite a few Malay Muslims on the weekends. Most are men. Can you guess what they do here? They partake in the Thai flesh trade. When I arrived, I was initially disgusted with the travel agencies offering sex tours around the country. It's a big hit with the Japanese, although they'll never admit it. What hypocrisy for these sex consuming Malay Muslims. In Malaysia, they are obedient to their faith, but when they take that train and cross the border suddenly the moral code of their faith no longer applies–like it's in suspended animation until they return.
I mentioned that I haven't touched my dough back in the U.S. for a year and a half. Can you guess what I do here? I prey on these fresh off the train sex tourists and take them to the sex agencies here in Hat Yai. I make a good commission, and I now have a great eye for those Malay Muslims, Japanese, European, and American midlife crisis tourists, and anyone else looking for a good time. Yes, I'm a part of this sinful trade. I don't care anymore. My wife cheated on me and I couldn't care less now of encouraging love at any level. To me, it's all a lie so I scout the streets looking for men, who are probably married, and help them find their one-night stand. I don't expect you to like me after learning this. I don't like me either. I guess I'm in purgatory. Every day giving myself more reason not to like my life.
So, if you come across a fifty-year-old, beer belly New Yorker on the streets of Hat Yai you have been warned.
That is what Hat Yai can do to you. Throw you down a filthy, pitiful spiral of self-loathing. No Buddhist enlightenment have I found. But I never really made it out of here. I'm sure if I went further north I would have turned out different.
Posted by The Legacy Cycle 2004-04-11T05:57:00-07:00
Monday, April 12, 2004
It's 10:48 a.m. and I'm still in Hat Yai killing time until my bus to Krabi leaves at 1 p.m. I want to buy another bottle of soymilk at the nearest 7-Eleven; I've become a soymilk junkie while traveling in Southeast Asia. From Singapore, to Malaysia, to Thailand, I can't get enough of the sweetened stuff–it tastes better than whole milk.
After I finished typing my story about Avi last night I went back to my guesthouse and watched a fútbol match in the lounge room. Tired, I later left the lounge, walked down the long, dark hall that led to my room and saw a Thai man step out of his room. I smiled and said hello, but he pointed to his room and asked with a whisper, "Sex? Sex?"
"What?" I asked not believing what I'd heard.
"Sex?" he asked again.
I was so angry at that point. I wanted to punch him in the face and tell him to go @$!# himself! What the hell is up with these people? Keep your dicks in your pants and get a life or a real job. That experience is only adding to my already strong dislike for Hat Yai.
I woke up periodically during the night to street noise–revved up scooter engines–and the discomfort from feeling sticky from the tropical heat. There was no air conditioner in my room. Instead, there was a fan at the top of a high ceiling that did nothing to relieve me of the heat.
Well, I'm going to buy that soymilk and wait for my bus. Let's hope that Krabi is a much better place than Hat Yai.
Posted by The Legacy Cycle at 2004-04-12T20:47:00-07:00
Tuesday, April 13, 2004
I'm on the Ton Sai beach facing the Andaman Sea about an hour west–by boat–along the coast from Krabi Town, Thailand. Yesterday I fled Hat Yai by minibus. The bus was shoulder to shoulder packed at fifteen people. I chose–very unwisely–to sit in the back so that when the driver stopped to pick up another person, and opened the rear door, I could keep an obsessive eye on my bag that was crushed between the rear door and my seat. The car ride was over four hours; a hellishly long ride. The guy next to me–almost on top of me because it was so packed–had strong body odor. Luckily there was a little fan pointed at my head, which helped to keep some of that odor away.
The driver was fairly sane–by Thai standards–in his road warrior quest for Krabi. We didn't hit anything or go flying off a cliff, but he slammed on the gas every time he tried to pass the car in front of us. And at those excessive speeds the bumps and potholes in the road launched us all up from our seats causing me to giggle like a kid on a ride in an amusement park. But most of the Thai passengers did not approve of the repeating jolts to light speed.
Arriving at a pier in Krabi Town at 6 p.m. I got out of the minibus and was approached by a young Thai man named Shat who wanted to know if I needed accommodations. The sun was beginning to set and I had no desire to stay in the resort town; I wanted to take a boat to one of the secluded beaches along the Krabi coast. Shat explained that it was too late to catch a boat since most of boats had already left in the morning and afternoon. So, we made a deal. Probably a great deal for Shat. I hired him to take me on his boat to Ton Sai. The ride was about an hour. I had the entire boat to myself. I enjoyed feeling the warm wind on my face and sea spray on my lips while I gazed at a setting sun and distant, Stonehenge-shaped scattered islands.
As we approached Ton Sai at dusk I saw several bars and lax outdoor restaurants along the beach. Shat revved the engine, accelerated, and temporarily beached his boat. I grabbed my bag, paid and thanked Shat, climbed over the port side of the boat, and walked across the beach to the Ton Sai Hut check-in counter where I got the keys to a basic bamboo stilt bungalow for the night. I then walked up a path that led to the bungalows, but in the dark of night I had a difficult time trying to find bungalow number 406. After walking up and down the path to check the number of several bungalows I found mine, walked up a few steps, inserted the key, and opened the door. I searched the wooden walls with my hands for the light switch, soon found it, turned it on, and saw the vegetation of the ground below the stilt bungalow between the cracks of the wooden planks that served as a floor. The room had just enough space for a bed that had a mosquito net hanging over it (I had never before slept in a bed with a mosquito net). I opened the door that led to the back and found the bathroom. There was a Western toilet with no seat and next to it a white bucket that I would have to fill with water and dump into the toilet if I were to use it. The bathroom walls were concrete, but there was no ceiling, just a view of the canopy of the tropical forest and the night sky. The shower simply had a shower head that when turned on would spray cold water in all directions.
After organizing a few things in my bag, I walked back to the beach where I walked up and down the length of it to see what was available for dinner at the outdoor bars and restaurants. I chose a restaurant that seemed to be popular with backpackers, sat at a table on the beach, and had green curry and a coconut milk shake.
After dinner, I walked back to my bungalow and took a quick cold shower. I crawled into bed and fell asleep listening to Dream Theater's Awake album on my MiniDisc player. But I woke up when the album finished and saw that my room's useless, little electric fan had stopped. I tried to turn it back on, but had no luck. I then tried to turn on the lights, but the lights didn't work either. I was in complete darkness. Although I was a little scared, I realized after looking out my window screen that the other bungalows also had no electricity. I could hear people in the distance inquiring loudly as to what the hell was going on. I then saw two Thai men with flashlights walking up the path to the bungalows repeating the words: "Sorry, accident." Fifteen minutes later the power was back on, and my fan began rotating again.
I woke up at 6 a.m., took another shower, and went for a walk through a forest that led to Rai Leh Beach. As I neared the beach I walked past a couple of rock-climbing shops and schools, and several signs advertising rock climbing tours and adventures.
I reached Rai Leh, took a few photos of the beach at low tide, and walked back to Ton Sai for breakfast. I sat at a table, under a tree, on the beach again listening to the buzzing, metallic sound of cicadas. I then felt droplets of water on my face and looked up trying to see the source. The waiter came and I ordered banana pancakes, toast, and another coconut milk shake. While I waited for my food I kept looking up into the tree trying to see what continued to spray droplets on me. I stood up, looked closely at the tree branches, and then saw a cicada shoot liquid from its rear. I then sat down and debated whether I should move to another table, but I saw that most backpackers at the tables around me simply ignored the droplets and ate their food. So I had my breakfast under a light shower of cicada urine.
After breakfast, I went to the Ton Sai Hut counter to check-out and to book a bus to Bangkok for the following day. I then went to the Dream Valley check-in counter next door and upgraded my stay to a concrete bungalow. Although the bungalow did not have air conditioning it did have a nice bathroom with a flushing toilet that had a seat.
After I changed bungalows I spent more time at the beach walking, taking photos, and watching rock climbers scale limestone rock faces. In the afternoon, I read a few chapters from the novel Girl with a Pearl Earring on the porch of my bungalow. And here I am now at an Internet café. I'm now going to grab some dinner. Tomorrow I leave for Bangkok by overnight bus.
Posted by The Legacy Cycle at 2004-04-13T04:22:00-07:00
Friday, April 16, 2004
I'm at the Bangkok International Airport about to take my flight to Yangon (Rangoon), Myanmar (Burma). I'm excited because I expect to find a country that has not been heavily impacted by the 1990s rise of global trade and capitalism. Instead, I expect to find a nation nearly devoid of the elements of a rising consumerist society that I had seen in my travels thus far in Southeast Asia; elements such as Western franchises, shopping malls, and fast food. For example, in my 24 hours in Bangkok I had seen more 7-Eleven convenience stores than I had ever seen in my entire life; there was one on nearly every city block. I even saw two 7-Elevens directly across the street from each other; comedian Lewis Black in his rant about Starbucks would have argued that I had found the end of the universe! My taxi-driver, who went by the name F, told me that about six years ago there were no 7-Elevens in Bangkok, but now they are everywhere.
Western pop culture–music, clothing, fast food–and individualism have penetrated the mainstream culture of the Asian countries I have visited thus far. As a result, I want to see an Asian nation that has not been significantly changed by Western capitalist ideals. I believe that Myanmar is the closest I will come to experiencing some preserved essence of Southeast Asian culture.
I'm behind in keeping this travelogue current, but as soon as I return to Thailand from Myanmar I will I bring it up to date.
Before I sign off and take my flight to Myanmar–where I will not have Internet access–I would like to briefly explain what I had done the past couple of days.
I took a 14-hour overnight bus ride from Krabi Town to Bangkok, which was in the midst of the Songkran festival (the Thai New Year's festival) where for three days people crowd into the streets of Bangkok and throw buckets of water and talcum powder at each other in what seemed to be a citywide party. After a full day walking around the Thai capital and taking photos I returned to my guesthouse in soaking wet clothing and my face and hair caked in talcum powder. Luckily, I was able to protect my digital camera from the spray of water guns and the bombardment of water balloons. Songkran was an entertaining way to purify your inner and outer being for the New Year.
I have to run. I will return to Bangkok on April 27.
Posted by The Legacy Cycle at 2004-04-16T16:42:00-07:00