Sunday, February 28, 2010

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."

No comments:

Post a Comment