Four Men And A Little Lady

Having made my new friend and with it being my last night I splurged and ended up at the Billabong Resort. A single room for $20. I'll survive.

Aaron Spelling most certainly consulted on the building and branding of the Billabong because I half expect Amanda Woodward to push me into the blue tiled pool located in the courtyard flanked by lounge chairs and neatly folded towels. 

My clean and comfortable room, located on the second floor and has shampoo in the bathroom and a mini fridge. It's basically the Ritz.

After unloading my bag I meet back up with Carla and an Austrian friend of hers for dinner. Sister's Restaurant is just down the road and for a couple of bucks will serve you something with indistinguishable seafood and indeterminate flavor. Needless to say - it was a bad call. My dinner companions didn't seem up for the night market so we all, instead, take the short walk back to the hostel and have banana splits and break up talk in the courtyard. 

My sleep was restful and rise early. Giving me plenty of time to utilize the reliable wifi to catch up on on Netflix. A super cultural experience.

I was the black and white Mark Duplass film 'Blue Jay' and marvel and his ability to capture the tragic beauty so often found in life. 

I make it to the pool by 8am with absolutely no shame as I am trying to get my last drops of vitamin D in before heading back to the Northern tundra of New York city and run into the homies from the night before as they gather to head to the killing fields. For a moment I consider putting on appropriate clothing and joining them. 

Part of what I've learned from traveling is that I must accept I cannot see everything. Much like in life you have to choose door A or B and I realize getting my niece a doll means more to me than a place of pass genocide.

I pass affectionate skinny Asian girls with exposed tracks and the Eastern European man who 'love' them, or who have at least paid for said affection for the weekend as I meander my way to the market where I get something for everyone on my life with riels to spare.

When I return to the hostel with my newly purchased goodies I reunite with the cast of Cambodia Place and we share from the day - what see, eat, avoid.

I pack my bags and relax at the hostel, and head out to the night market with Karla and British baker Matt who will be leaving in the morning to surprise his Mum for Christmas.

We, once again, don't make it to the market but we do land at an open air restaurant and I order WAY too much in hopes of sharing and instead buy my companions and beer and consume all solid calories alone. The dinner is lengthy and chatty and although we were denied service solely based on our being Caucasian the food was aplenty and the bill was low. 

With some reticence make it back to Billabong and I gather my things before hoping into yet another tuk tuk (I love them so much!) and head to the airport. 

The joy of starting your period, just as you start your two day journey home is one I can't quite put into words. The joys of being a woman are boundless. As are the joys of travel.

I will not pretend to be filled with joy or hope, at least not at the moment. But with country 36 checked off of my list, with the help of four men and a little lady, I am filled with experiences. And for that, I can be thankful. 

I love you, Cambodia. 

Thoughts Are Physical and My Pants Are Too Tight

They say you don't know what you got till it's gone, but I'm not sure that is always the case.

I've always know California is a great place from which to come. I've been confident that my best friend is one of the greatest people to ever walk the planet. And I was certain, with every ounce of my being that my father was as special as he was loved. Sure, I may have questioned some of his decision making skills, as we all do with those we love - but my confidence in him as a dad and as a person never wavered and I felt blessed each and every time I was able to make him chuckle on the other end of the phone.

I think it is when we lose those things; the things we cherished when we had them, that it hurts the most.

It was with this heavy heart and swirling mind that I began my first day alone in Thailand. When the distraction of a travel companion is taken out of the equation that you only have your thoughts, memories, and feelings to keep you company it can be dangerous. Being terribly charming and endlessly amusing this is usually not a problem for me, but this particular morning was rough.

With sugar as the only substance upon which I rely in times of trouble, or in times of waking hours, I selected for the healthier option to clear my mind and went for another morning run to Santichaiprakarn Park, my new favorite not only for its proximity to my pad but for the tai chi and Zumba participants doing their best to mimic actual physical activity when really they are just shaking their groove thing to Rhianna on their headphones in sweatpants.

Relinquishing any fantasy that I will remain clean for more than 5 minutes at a time, tops, whilst in Thailand I postponed the shower and set up shop in the outdoor lobby of my hostel to get some tech time and catch up on emails, work, and personal business. Also, to make a couple calls home and hear some familiar voices.

After a shower and a switch from a double in room B 32 to a single in room B 31 for a reasonable 330 baht a night I felt that familiar pang - of hunger.

Though Chomp had not proven itself useful in terms of a yoga destination the previous day I decided to head to the Brit run establishment for their famous burgers. A massively huge chicken sandwich was evidence that it was Western run and the spotty WiFi proved it was still in the third world. The lack of modern distraction allowed me to sink into the book I recently purchased at The Strand for this adventure. 'Hector and the Search for Happiness' seemed appropriate and had colorful cover art so I was sold.

An hour or two of Hector's trials, tribulations and triumphs throughout the world searching for what makes people across the globe happy was not terribly enlightening, but it was sweet, and entertaining and that was enough for today.

With some time before I had to set out to visit Laura in Sayala I luxuriated in the form of a midday nap. Not a terribly exciting day, but sometimes the simple things are the sweetest.

Thinking I'd give myself some time to let higher education rub off on me at Mahidol University, the name of which had been emailed to me phonetically, before Laura got out of class, I hailed a cab, negotiated a price and was soon on my way. My driver absolutely did not speak English so when he turned down some unsavory alleyways outside of town literally swerving to avoid sleeping or dead vagrants mid- road I was a bit suspicious. Turned out he had better things to do and just wanted to swap out and have his son drive me the rest of the way.

After some help from the international student center staff I located Population and Social Research building and began to wait, observing the throngs of uniformed students on bikes traversing the campus thinking - I am pretty sure I wore pajamas to class, i.e. I'm so very American.

Laura soon emerged from class with her fellow graduate students emitting curiosity and cultural intelligence from their pores.

I had been informed there was a local yoga class for 10 baht. Turns out local was on campus where a staff member hosted weekly classes in a back room that was part storage, part studio. The next two hours involved a lot of sweat, a lot of stretching, and a lot of touching tiny strange Asian women.

The first hour was essentially Bikram, followed by couples yoga where I got to link sweaty body parts with a woman 1/3 my size, and all in the name of wellness.

Excited to show me her new home, Laura took me to the outdoor strip of market that faces the university and behind which her apartment is tucked.

We feasted on noodles and coconut ice cream and caught up. Tears and laughter were shared in equal parts and I was glad to be in the presence of my friend who I had not seen in so long.

A couple of hours were spent in the cozy student apartment that she shares with her incredibly kind and generous boyfriend trying to figure out the rest of my trip and where, along the road, she would meet up with me. After endless circles I had to call it a day and felt calm when crossing Rama Vill Bridge knowing I was close to my home for the evening.

Waking in a heat induced stupor I saw messages from a fellow traveler on my phone inviting me along to a ping pong show shortly after I had fallen asleep and I was devastated. How will I ever truly understand the female reproductive system if I do not see small plastics balls shoot out of them on command? I am at a loss.

A lengthy breakfast at a local 'French' cafe and some stressful dealings with back in the states and I was a mess.

Not only had chosen to wear one of the shelf bras I had purchased at MBK, leaving my naturally large breasts with tiny tit torpedoes, ready to take an eye out, pointing off the ends making me look like some sort of Doris Day reject, but I also didn't know what to do next. Both literally and figuratively.

I, like many people, often react emotionally and have been trying my very best to limit that behavior so I did my best impersonation of a sane person, not stressed to the point of Alopecia, and packed up my bags, checked them at the front desk and caught the 53 bus to Hualumphong train station where I used my deductive skills and blind faith in the exchange with a woman who my money in exchange for a train and bus ticket, a 15 hour journey, down south to Krabi. Krabi, where rain was expected and bugs would absolutely eat me alive, but where I was hoping to find peace, in mind and soul and if my cellulite turned a shade or two darker Id be ok with that too.

Back on the 53 wood-floored bus and I am listening to the Dixie Chicks while crawling down the streets of Bangkok. It may not seem congruent with my personality, as well as the environment and it may not be cool or hip or timely, but who the hell cares. Their lyrics are beautiful and Natalie Maine's voice conveys the beautiful pain housed in my heart - and isn't that the point of great art?

The public bus offers you a unique tour of the city,  The bumper to bumper traffic by the flower market was a highlight, and as I pass Chinatown I realize there is so much this particular city has to offer that I will never I uncover.

Usually one to respect cultural traditions after two attempts to make it only the Grand Palace and two rejections, the most recent of which was literally 'lady, you are wrong,' I have thrown in the towel on that majestic center of beauty and Buddhism.

I mean come on, I'm covered head to toe in sweltering heat yet I have to have the exact attire you deem fit at this particular destination? No wonder the homeless hippie chic/lesbian aunt ensembles is so popular amongst the 'travelers' here, because otherwise you will directly and aggressively be told that you are wrong.

If I have to dress like a middle-aged art teacher to join your illustrious club, I don't want to be a member anyway! I happen to think it would be against God's plan to hide this bodacious booty, clearly the staff at the RP disagree.

In my indignation I decided to walk home and quickly realized a) I knew my way and b) that my suspicions were correct and the cab Sharlene and I took the other day took us on an awfully circuitous route to get back. Ah, the perils of wing white.

I passed a couple of places filled with westerners and, when a delightfully green establishment just next door was filled with locals I wondered why on earth they wouldn't give it a go.

So I did.

The menu had one dish on it that, to the best of my understanding offered a selection of pork products all in on bowl. Usually not one to dig on swine, while in Rome...

The broth was full of onion and the meat palatable. Just like in my sex life, if something feels suspicious in my mouth I just try to ignore it and swallow (sorry, Mom). For a fraction of the cost of all meals previous I was satisfied and only mildly disgusted by the man making slurpy food sex noises.

A little window shopping and a stop at the photo shop where a cheerful older man took my picture for a potential Burma Visa and directed me as to attire, amount of teeth displayed and posture very specifically. I figured I should cover my bases while possible.

So I am packed. Packed and ready to head to the next city, as I have spent more than enough time in and around this one.

Hopefully there will be fun. Hopefully there will be sun. Hopefully there will be Wifi.

Till then...

Back Back, Forth and Forth

Thick, doughy pancakes and unripened pineapple has never tasted so sweet. Perhaps my move for free breakfast was ethically questionable, but with having used Sunflower as my continual home base and with Clarisse having offered me half of her private room after I had confirmed booking at another place, I felt moderately justified in my partaking in the buffet breakfast offered to guests.

Clarisse and I both fiddled with our respective electronics and then it was time for me to rent another bike and head to the beach, and time for her to pack her bags and catch a busy to Hue.

We parted with matched American hugs and Parisian kisses and said our goodbyes, with no false promise of keeping in touch, but knowing that we had thoroughly enjoyed our time together here, in Hoi An.

The folds in the full skirt of my bright orange dress flapped happily in the wind and I peddled my way back past the rice fields to An Bang beach. Passing up on a beach side meal this time, I simply laid in the shade an read the John Grisham novel I had acquired for free in Phu Quoc. As the old adage goes, beggars cannot be choosers and therefore I could not have chosen to have the last several pages of my novel missing- but I think I got the gist.

The highlight of the day at the beach was spotting an unearthly creature. A man of such beauty I simply stared in awe as he meandered over to what I could only assume was his girlfriend. My loins were a flame and just as quickly were quickly extinguished when said mythical beast started snapping #grownmanselfies. Nothing kills a hard on faster than vanity and foolishness - a deadly mix.

Back to Sunflower I changed into 20-hour bus ride appropriate clothes, which should have a hidden pocket to house cyanide, and went out to have what I was deeming my 'last meal,' as crackers and Haribo would likely get me through the next day or so.

It was while siting at this outdoor establishment, after ordering pizza - because nothing sounded good - that a handsome older man I had noticed the day prior, and who I was quite certain noticed me, walked by and we both gave a genial hello like we had actually ever spoken and not simply exchanged telling glances and flirtatious smiles.

He kept walking, turning around just enough to let me know that he was wrestling with the idea of joining me, but as his figure faded I dove back into my bootleg Nick Hornby, literally printed on stitched together and copy paper. The Asians really do seem to love their knock offs, even when it comes to literature.

Evidently his wrestling match ended with him opting to return to the restaurant and before long we were dining together, having a great conversation, exchanging playful barbs. All with 90 minutes until my bus departed on the first leg of my journey back home to the good ole US of A. As he stated himself - 'the clock was ticking.'

After dinner he escorted me to snack acquisition and sat with me at the hostel to wait for the bus. Transportation has been far from punctual here, yet neither of us knew it would be nearly 3 hours of waiting. But no bother, in fact, when the double-decker sleeper bus arrived, in a flurry of chaos and hurry I was irked that I had to go. My new English friend chivalrously brought my ever-expanding backpack to the bus and we hugged and bid adieu - but not before I suggested he fly to Saigon - knowing full well they are no flights this week, or I would likely be on one.

This encounter was not dissimilar from the German in Da Nang with the minor exception of interest and attraction. I do hope to hear from him again, but if nothing else maybe he can simply function as a beacon of hope in a world of douche bags.

The bus being 3 hours late was actually the most enjoyable part of the journey as the first half was spent freezing my nicely tanned ass off and being attacked by bugs of unknown origin. The seats were recliners, so preferable to the train, but with only one stop to literally piss into a hole in the ground in the middle of nowhere the first 12 hours, it looked like this was going to be a bumpy ride - in more ways than one.

Continual stops in the middle of nowhere seemed to only act as assurance we would not be arriving in Saigon at 5 pm the following afternoon as promised. After being forced to get off of the bus at a station in Nha Trang with little to no information I could barely believe the horror stories a Mexican fellow rider was sharing with me- until we got back on what seemed to be the exact same bus but with Adolph Ho Chi Minh at the wheel.

At the risk of sounding like a spoiled white girl, I was literally moved to the back of the bus, Rosa Parks style with no explanation given. I was simply and angrily waved to the back. I was dismissed. Evidently the front seats are saved for locals despite the fact that tourist pricing structure ensured I paid at least 3 times as much as them for the exact same accommodation, I was seen as a second class citizen. I realize I should see this as justice, or a learning experience - but really all I see it as is fucked up.

An attempt to discuss the possibility of bladder relief was of little use and when the attendant handed out waters to everyone except the white people on the bus I was partially enraged, partially amused. I felt like I was in the documentary from the 50s where little kids are divided by the brown eyes and the blue eyes and chaos and prejudice ensues. I have never felt more brown eyed.

I realize racism exists in present-day America, but at least we have the decency to mask it. This blatant affront to tourists was my first experience with it. And I hope it to be the last.

All of this in addition to people literally siting in the aisle coughing on you, leaning on you, and eating their odoriferous native fruit a little too provocatively and loudly for my liking was wearing me down. A friend of mine back in California, who shall remain partially nameless (Sean) would literally go apoplectic if confronted with this situation. Luckily my adventurous spirit and travel tenure at least makes is bearable - though respite in the food and toilet break was eagerly welcomed, if only for the opportunity to not have cockroaches and people alike invading my personal space.

An estimated arrival time of 5 pm soon turned into midnight with Morgan Freeman at the wheel and Jessica Tandy riding shotgun.

Exhausted by the time we arrived at the bus station I chose Evil Kinevel of motorbike taxi drivers and we negotiated an inflated fare for what was the first time I have been legitimately frightened on one of these contraptions since arriving. Racing through the warm Saigon night I felt a sense of comfort and familiarity as I had been in this city just 3 short weeks ago.

I had booked a bed at Budget Hostel 2 again, knowing the price couldn't be beat and the location was central. I requested a bottom bunk and was able to actually obtain one for the first time since my arrival. After a quick ice cold shower I climbed into the pod that I paid $4.50 a night for not inches from 2 complete strangers and fell fast asleep knowing the next two days would almost be just killing time until my return to New York and it's foreboding Polar Vortex.

Unable to properly sleep in like the teenagers and young people surrounding me after a night of cheap beer and cheaper liquor, I rose at 8 am to that old familiar rooster crowing its miniature lungs out just across the way.

I went down to the lobby in my bra-less pajama ensemble, having long ago given up worrying about things such as appearances in public, and took care of some real life stuff before properly changing and heading out in search of breakfast nearby - as my grumbling belt wouldn't wait long.

Allez Boo - clearly foreigner friendly - was just across the park and a banana pancake and mixed fruit juice sacrificed to the gods of my intestines in minutes flat. This may seem like a safe enough breakfast order but each and every time I order something along these lines they are unexpectedly different - for example - this pancake featured some sort of liquidy center - like a cherry cordial which I don't believe anyone actually likes. I ate around it and enjoyed the view of clogged streets further clogging lungs and utilized the free wifi for some Skyping with Boston before heading back to the hostel to retrieve my 4th book on this journey and wander.

I wandered for a good hour or so in the opposite direction of all of the sights to see that I had been aware of and found just what I was looking for - no white faces and no places that charged entrance fees. In their places were bike shops wrapped in brightly colored cellophane, making new tires look like unwrapped Christmas presents. Dress stores with dummies vaguely resembling the Kardashians before they hit it big and BeBe was considered designer and lots of odd looks from the locals as if I had lost my way - but I walked with purpose - like any good New Yorker and eventually found myself at the Mecca of all things requiring and promoting good taste- Burger King.

Some sort of cheesy nostalgia often leads me to the red and yellow doors of this establishment when traveling abroad. It feels like a very serious joke I have with myself and when ordering a meal the woman received my instructions better than most in the US as how I'd like my sandwich to be prepared. Unfortunately this did not ensure this petite portion would satisfy my taste buds as the chicken had skin and gristle, free of charge - but, on a positive note, it is the first time I have had decent ketchup anywhere in Asia. I felt as though it checked something off of my travel to do list - so all in all, I was a satisfied customer.

More waking and more solicitations for motorbike rides ensued. When I politely declined their offers, the same - 'where are you going question' followed to which I could not answer, in every sense.

Hours later I wandered back into familiar territory I stopped at the cafe at which I had eaten weeks ago, this time ordering Combination Vegetable with Rice. When it came out with octopus and beef I was disappointed, when I relayed this to the waiter, he was irritated. Clearly just having scraped the protein pieces off the plate I ate my cabbage and carrots floating in bits of beef. I literally have no idea how a vegetarian would survive here.

A couple hours of reading in the hazy sun and my book was near finished do I got up, to head back toward what I believe was District 1. My sense of direction is fairly good and I knew I was heading in the right general direction. Unlike my past days in the city, this one brought me through the posh part of town where I can only imagine Europeans come to spend their well earned Euro at Gucci and Prada for mere dongs. The night was sticky and the city alive.

When I arrived back at the market I was not only minorly relieved, but so very proud of myself for taking a fairly succinct route back to my humble abode. The shops were all closing, but that was OK by me, as I have spent more than my share to 'help the economy' over here. The fear buried deep within as to my fluid spending habits the past few weeks will only really be addresses once I am back on domestic land, as I feel it would be pointless to deal with that sort of malarkey now.

Just when I thought I could not shove any more food in my face - I saw Tutti Fruitti. Much like the shops sweeping New York City, TF was a self-serve yogurt shop that had brightly painted walls, annoying up beat music, and rainbow sprinkles! Though I am a sucker for the self-serve craze and can rarely resist, I have to give credit where credit is due and say that Madison Station Cafe, located in Carmichael, California is not only my first place of legal employment, but also the best frozen yogurt on the face of the planet. There just simply is no contest. Sorry, Saigon.

With tomorrow being a sort of weird long day, where I plan on sleeping at the airport to cut down on travel time and expenses, I went back to the Budget Hostel to pack my bag as efficiently as possible, make sure I seemed to still be in possession at least of the things that really matter - and write this piece.

Notice I didn't say shower.

I am disgusting.