gone.

I learned a long time ago that some of the best experiences in life come out of sheer spontaneity and randomness. All it takes is just saying "yes" to an un-expected invitation that could lead to anywhere and anything and nine times out of ten, you won't be disappointed because you have no idea what you're in for. Over the past 3 months in Thailand, I've learned to cradle this belief for all it's worth. Say "yes" whenever you can to any offer that sounds remotely genuine. That's how I found myself carrying 8 pounds of fresh bananas through a foggy jungle at 7AM, far away from my home in Chumphon, far away from anyone who could speak decent English, except for a man named Hank G. Tomahawk. I felt safe. I felt that I had gotten what I'd subconsciously asked for; a strange challenge. I had already gotten over the dreaded hill of uneasiness by asking to stop about an hour into our trip because of course, I had to shit in an extreme way. When I told Hank this, all I did was hold my belly and say "toilet" and he hit the gas like he was trying to kick through the floor. My head flew back and the shit in my bottom almost came up top. I don't get embarrassed about this problem anymore, because it's happened to me too many times now in the presence of strangers and I find it works out for the better because it instantly rips off the lid to a more personal level of conduct. There were other passengers in the truck during this race; Hank's wife and a dude my age named Glank, who treated me like a celebrity for providing such tense entertainment on the long ride to where ever the hell it was we were going. I was fucking clueless. All I knew is that we were going fishing.That's what I initially said "yes" to.

Two days before, on the Friday evening, Charlie and I were just pouring our first drinks with our visiting friend Ms. Crystal Rydall, when we received a last minute invite to an office party at Chumphon's Department of Electricity. We went for it, and turned out to be the only "Farang" (whities) there. It was a well catered event with free food, booze, towels and a huge stage set up for karaoke and a special performance by a famous Bangkok country star, yep, Hank G. Tomahawk. We noticed him as soon as we sat down- he was the only dude dressed up as a cowboy, which I generally don't respect. Fake cowboys are one of the stupidest breeds of people in the world. However, this old guy had a defining quality, which I couldn't figure out until he came over to chat with us. As soon as he shook my hand, slapped my back and laughed I knew what it was. He was the Thailand rendition of my Grampa, Gerald Wesley Wicks. The first question he asked me was if I listened to Johnny Cash, to which I told him that I was raised on the man in black. We talked about music for half an hour, before he went on stage and covered everything from Cash to Jonny Horton. By the time we were on our second 26 of whiskey, Charlie and I were on stage singin' "Band on the run" to an audience of at least a hundred. I thought we sounded alright, but instead of giving us the traditional flowers after our performance, we received a can of sardines in tomato paste.

The following evening, around 11:00PM, we were shuttin' things down at our house when a truck rolled up and out hopped Hank G. Tomahawk with his wife and a small entourage. I still have no idea how they found out where we lived. I tried to ask in many ways but it was a mute point. They were here now, our first Thai guests and we were very unready to be good hosts. We served water and a leftover tray of cookies from Charlie's school. I had finished the beers about 15 minutes before they unexpectedly showed up. Hank eventually sent his driver to pick up some snacks while we all sat outside on the greatest party porch I've seen, and attempted to chat in a mash-up of broken English and Thai. All conversations came back to one consistent topic; the sweet love of music. Finally Hank brought out the guitar from his truck and we all sang into the night. Somewhere in that time I agreed to go fishing without knowing when and where. I was high on the presence of good strangers and was almost positive they were joking when Hank said they'd be back at 5:00 in the morning to pick me up to go fishing.

It was already 1:30AM. I was waiting for them to pull out tents and set up in front of the house but instead Hank sent his driver out again for a coffee and when he returned Hank downed about half of it and said goodbye as the entourage piled back into the truck like it was a circus car. I chugged about a jerry-can of water and went to sleep. Normally I'd start a new paragraph right now to represent the next morning when I woke up, but it's more realistic this way, because it actually felt like there was no in between period of when they left and when the alarm went off at 4:30AM and I jumped up and looked out the window to see them all standing outside, waiting around the truck like a bunch of vampires. I was fuckin' flabbergasted. I threw on some random clothes, packed my survival knife in my pocket, kissed the girl and was out the door.

Aside from the shit scare, our long ride was filled with Jonny Horton tunes and learning each other's languages respectively. I also learned that we were heading to Arunothai Beach where we would head out into the gulf of Thailand on a small charter boat. Man was I let down when we got there and found out that no boats were going out because there was talk of a hurricane on the way. Hank was determined though. We drove to the outskirts of town and found a poor Thai family that lived by the water and slept on the ground in little huts made of bamboo and leaves. They had small boats of their own and Hank made a hell of an offer in attempt to get us out there fishing, but the family was aware of the hurricane too and declined. Living poor is better than not living at all.

We went back to a pristine looking shrine at Arunothai beach where Hank, Glank and some other dude said some prayers and then bought an arsenal of huge firecrackers to light off. This is a tradition that wakes up the gods (and everything else within 10 kilometers). The gods had already decided we weren't allowed to go fishing, so we drove to Glank's house in the jungle. I had always wanted to hang out at a place like this- over 6 acres of land full of trees producing bananas, lychee, papaya, and even coffee. I know there was ganja somewhere in there too because Glank's father was stoned out of his mind. We sat and drank fresh coffee while random kids came running out of the wilderness to get a more familiar glimpse at the white guy. More people showed up, brining food and we ate a spicy ass meal that I couldn't handle. I chased it all down with a mug of Glank's father's whiskey before walking up an inclining jungle to pick bananas. Glank had a machete. I had my camera. Hank was singing at the top of his lungs. There was still a dewy fog in the air and everything smelt sweet n' real. It was the perfect time of morning and all I kept thinking  was "What a beautiful day to disappear completely."

Reflections of Freeloaders

I knew when Charlie and I first moved to Thailand, that one day, eventually down the road, we’d meet up with an old friend who just happened to be travelin’ through on a trip, but other than that, we’d be pretty much on our own, especially since we took up residence in the small town of Chumphon. But then came 2010; the year of forward movement, the new decade of connection- heading out as far as possible and still meeting up with someone you know. It's an amazing time for living abroad. Perhaps as close as possible to that untouchable feeling of what Kerouac was talkin' about in "On The Road." It's difficult to tell, but it's easy to enjoy.

DEC. 31, 2009: Crystal Rydall gets off a bus at 5AM in Chumphon. That night the three of us rent a cabin in Thung Waluen and ring in the new year on the beach. She stays with us for two weeks and does more dishes than we own.

JAN. 13, 2010: Mr. B. Parr and his traveling roommate, Nova Scotia Nick arrive on a train from Bangkok sometime in the afternoon. Beers are ready and a BBQ of music gets underway on the front porch as the sun sets. The next day we rent motorbikes and I get us lost on the way to the beach. As always it pays off. We find a freshly paved road, winding its way up a mountain and it leads us to an inspiring look out point where we decide to indulge in the first session of “Being with B.” a 20 minute meditation course lead by B. Parr. Outstanding. Afterwards we discover a footpath leading even higher up the mountain so we take it and trip out on the altitude of natural beauty.

JAN. 15, 2010: The boys decide to go Island hopping for a while, with a plan to be on Koh Phangan for the infamous full moon party. Crystal leaves one day after in the same direction. Meanwhile, I’ve just landed a job, after a brief interview and a night in Bangkok.

JAN. 19, 2010: Jamie Ewing comes to town, taking a detour on route to Australia.  I pick him up at the train station on a motorbike and his backpack is so fuckin’ heavy it’s a challenge to get back to the house without tipping off. He relaxes at the house for 3 days while Charlie and I go to work. On Friday night there’s a pick up game of ball at the school I’m now working at. Jamie and I show up looking as “hood” as possible- Sydney Dean and Billy Hoyle. That night we hit up the one and only club in Chumphon, the PAPA 2000. It’s ridiculous on both good and bad levels of meaning. Saturday we cruise all over on bikes- see some monkeys, pick up some brown green and swim in the warm gulf of Thailand.  As luck would have it, Charlie and I get 3 days off work to do a visa run to Malaysia. Jamie’s all about it. We leave early Sunday morning and get to the island of Penang by late afternoon. We make our way to Batu Ferringhi, where we find a room at the Sudo guest house, just stumbling distance away from the beach and a small selection of bars. Casual drinking ensues and doesn’t really let up until Wednesday, when we head back to pick up our visa paperwork. Things kinda go haywire at this point and none of us are making very well thought out decisions. We miss the evening train back to Chumphon and spend the night in Had Yai, a fairly dangerous place that we all seem to enjoy thoroughly. The next morning we hop a train that ends up taking over 11 hours to get back to Chumphon. We drink, sleep, smoke, play cards, buy sketchy food from strangers and hang out in between the train-cars like modern day beatnik characters. The night we arrive back in town, we learn about a full moon party taking place Friday night, on the beach at Thung Waluen. Jamie sticks around for it and we throw down one last solid night. Ask anyone who knows him and they'll tell you Jamie Ewing is a tuff nut to crack, but I when said goodbye to him on the night of the 31st, I felt assured that he had a pretty good time here.

FEB. 1, 2010: Not even 24 hours after Jamie leaves, Mr. B. returns sometime after dark, looking like John Holmes. I can’t get over it. He entertains Charlie and I with stories of psychedelia from his time on Ko Phangan. His companion, Nova Scotia Nick, has fallen in love and remained on the island.

FEB. 2, 2010: We get home from work to find that Crystal has made her way back as well. She also has some interesting stories involving “happy shakes” and staying up in the hills with a couple named Mr.T and Bindy, and wondering off alone for 5 hours. Sounds like it was an enlightening few days.

FEB. 3, 2010: Nova Scotia Nick shows up and talks about his special lady friend. Love is a curse? He leaves the following day to “go see about a girl.” No conclusion to that story yet.

FEB. 5, 2010: I sneak outta work to bid farewell and safe travels to B. Parr, on his way back to Bangkok, and onto Australia. Crystal is the last remaining guest. She tells me that Karina and Joc-D are on their way.

FEB. 6, 2010: In classic Thailand (mis)communication, we arrange a truck ride twenty minutes out of town to await the arrival of the ladies, but the bus they’re on somehow drops them off about a five minute walking distance from our house. Charlie and I get a power nap in on the wooden bench at the bus stop before finally meeting up with them. Then it’s time for beers and coolers. We take the ladies out for a fancy dinner and they pay for it. Shoulda known. Shoulda had the steak.

Karina and Joc-D are up for anything, with only one request; they want to see monkeys. So we hook up a little trip with our neighbors, Ao and Bob. The next morning a rad lookin’ truck with bench seats in the flat bed shows up on our front yard. It’s 10:30 and Bob’s already half snapped. I want to join. We cruise outta town and spend the day exploring deep caves, and a Buddhist shrine where we see the preserved little body of a revered monk. We stop for beers and side of the road pastries before continuing on to the swinging grounds of the monkeys. But not just any monkeys... we’re talkin’ about Gibbons - a breed of monkey that looks like a cute ninja. We even get to see one of the babies, which is very lucky thing according to Thai people. The baby is a golden yellow and looks magical. I made a birthday wish on it, but hasn't come true yet. After we run out of bean plants we offer the gibbons bananas and they seem almost offended by our prejudice display. We end our day with a dip at the beach before heading back to the house for a BBQ on the porch. 

FEB. 8, 2010: Crystal joins Joc-D and Karina on their ride back to Bangkok and the house is silent for one whole week until a little black dog falls into our hands and now we've got a permanent resident.
Only a few more weeks until the school term is over and Charlie and I have a month and a half off to explore. Who's coming over in March and April?

Have you heard about the other side of the world?

Next time you get restless and thirsty for some good thinking, you should try this out;  Get on the internet and look up a country you hardly know exists. For example what's the Republic of Haiti all about? Do you have any idea where it is on a map? I know I didn't until recently. I never got any news coverage  when the earthquake struck there because I didn't have a T.V. and I couldn't find an english newspaper. So I looked for the disaster online, where you can find any disaster thinkable and unthinkable to man.

Apart from the fact that it's the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere, I also learned that Haiti is one of those places that had a military rebellion. What a surprise. Do we have any idea what the fuck a rebellion really is? No, we don't. We are on the cozy side of the world. We associate rebellion with light-weighted shit that we here in a pop-punk song. Where make-up and getting rowdy on live T.V. symbolizes a rebellious attack on morals. It's a good thing North America hasn't adopted words like coup de' tat. Oh wait that's a French word, it'll never fly.

I'm trying hard to stick to the point of how Haiti is a prime example of a whole other world ( I believe, it's called a 3rd world), that the majority of us will never whole-heartedly feel enough sympathy and compassion about to help out. And by help out,  I mean actually get motivated and ask some questions, do some research, make some phone calls, influence some people and still feel like maybe you could be doing more. There's no reason to feel guilty about not feeling anything. We're all the way over here. We got our "big" problems under control for the most part. They're over there. It's too far away to care what's wrong with them. Let them figure it out right? I wish we didn't think like this. I wish we could start all over again as a world and find a way to stay united in one big party instead of a giant spherical neighborhood of assholes. I wish I could really get out what's inside right now, but it's too much. I'll do it in doses.

I didn't think I was gonna write anything about Haiti, because I knew that people would see the title and think "fuck, another article about Haiti." And that's the problem right there. Something crazy happens and it's front page news. If it's close to home, we eat it up, we're all about it, waiting for more news to break. If it's on the other side of the ocean, it doesn't matter how tragic it is, it becomes old news. We forget about it, assuming the problem will fix itself, so long as it stays the hell away from our comfort zone.
Now that I'm living in a far away country I realize how ignorant I am as a North American. But I'm beginning to wake up. When serious shit goes down here in Thailand (and surely it will), I want to be here to experience it. I know my family would freak out and never talk to me the same way if I declined to come home, but I don't think I would hop on that plane to safety. I'm being honest here. I would want to witness just how barbarically crazy life can be in the world. And if I could make it so I would want most everyone to see it too. It would change things. The reason we don't  truly feel anything for smaller poorer countries with crazy shit constantly happening to them is 'cause we don't have an iota of understanding for what it's like. Indeed, we are the lucky ones.