A Baby Jellyfish In My Vagina

You know you're not in Kansas anymore when the driver for hire (a tuk tuk in this case) literally pulls over so he can take a call. I find the antiquated ways of the third world equal parts charming and frustrating. In New York I would likely be up in arms at the blatant disregard for my dire need to get wherever it is I was going, but here, I am just along for the ride.

If only I could employ this que sera sera attitude in my everyday life. Or rather my life back in the 'real world.'

Just across from my abode for the evening I sit in a papasan chair that may or may not contain mold, bugs or other's pit and but juices but tonight is mellow and I fret not. Instead I greedily slurp down my pineapple shake, listen to some Jurassic 5 and read up on addiction and abuse as I wait for my diner companion.

Garreth meets me for dinner and we dine under the stars before he coerces me into making moves to Otres 1 where soon find myself amongst a throng of 21 year olds waxing poetic about the meaning of life at Ibiza Beach Club, replete with black light paint and fire dancers.

We chat. I sit quietly in my gauzy gown and when my age is revealed - by me - the collective gasp is audible. And welcomed! A 27 year-old Aussie, who I later found out slept with one of her students, says she thought I was younger than her. Brit boy says he doesn't understand why everyone in the worldages better than the British. Its the little things... (and it was dark)


Around midnight the boozy bunch partake in fire limbo which, I don't know about you, but sounds like an EXCELLENT idea to me and the fire boys with their lithe and flexible frames are impressive and mildly sexually arousing.

As much as I enjoy watching the mating rituals amongst the inebriated, it is getting late and time for this old timer to leave the party. Though my new friend articulates that he is in the mood for 'affection,' I am not and take my own personal tuk tuk back to my private room that I am currently sharing with a gaggle of insects and turn in for the night around 3 am. Not too shabby for an old broad abroad... (yes - THAT will be the name of my future memoir - it is decided)

Our promise to meet for a kayaking adventure is met and though I am late the sun is high in the sky when Garreth and I climb into the brightly colored boat. 

On this particular journey I am crossing paths with people in my age range and it leaves me thinking, wondering, contemplating. What is 35?

Young at 35
Wise at 35

With little sleep we schlep our way out to the island situated in the crook of the bay and set up shop - at least for a bit. 

Its has a nice Blue Lagoon quality - with the exception of the sting. The sting one can only experience if they sit in the sand, allowing the sun to warm them and the waves to wash away their sins and... allow baby jellyfish to slip under their neon nylon and situate themselves all up in one's vagina. Being a girl is just fun.

Garreth and I enjoy the rest of our day on the beach back on the mainland before he has to head his way and I have to head mine. I am in my Yankees cap, trying to maintain my already freckled face when two young girls come up and ask to make us bracelets or feed us fruit. We order pineapple and mango and listen to the two girls chat and giggle in Khmer but really 15 year old girl is the same in any language.

The girl with my matching hat on makes me an anklet, despite my repeated insistence that I was not interested and, as she ties it to my bronzed ankle tells me it will bring me good luck. Lets hope.

Such a lovely time is had that I decide - on the fly - to stay another day. After one more night in smelly room #2 I will be left with just a little over a day to shop for loved ones and catch my breath back in the capitol before beginning the long journey home.

Breakfast and one more night in smelly room 2, leaving me a little over a day to shop for loved ones and catch my breath before the long journey home.

The idea of having to go back to the streets of New York and bother with putting shoes on my feet before walking out of the front door is not something to which I look forward.
Vendors 15 year old girls - same in any language

My last night on Victory Beach I am gifted with a breathtaking cotton candy sunset

While pondering papasan style on the darkened beach it occurred to me that 6 months ago, to the day, I was in Egypt. Not only was I in Egypt, but I was in love and, for the most part, I was happy.

It's amazing how much tragedy and torture can be fit into half a year. It's incredible how your life can be destroyed and your entire person irrevocably changed - all in a season or two.

Getting a bit too maudlin I decided instead to turn back to my WW II novel and attempt to lighten the mood...

Belly filled with Cambodian cuisine I walk home in the dark along the sea.Walk home in dark along the sea.

My last morning in Southern Cambodia - and quite possible in Cambodia in general I meditate on the beach in a wicker chain chained to a tree. Or, at least I try. My mind is like Grand Central Station at rush hour and I try desperately to just breath. I try to calm mind, to quiet it, to focus on my breath but there is undoubtedly a pop song playing in the background and a to do list formulating in the corner. I am thinking of loves lost and whether or not my socks are clean. They say women are multitaskers and generally I'm proud to be one. But here it proves problematic.

Time for a pancake (note: not plural) and tea and before and you know it the bright orange minibus was parked on the bright red soil and, just like that I was off.

And deeply sad to leave

Luckily I met lovely British Carla - here traveling for a year and I have an ally in transit. Especially helpful when creepy gay sex worker is lounging in the back of the bus with an oily leer and a mustard button down. Even making eye contact with him immediately made me feel the need to bathe. Ick. 

50 Shades of Thai

So I'm sitting on a wooden pier off the gulf of Thailand. It's warm, but the late afternoon breeze makes it bearable and just then, the call to prayer come wafting through the air like the sweet smell of Jasmine.

I'm reading The Alchemist, per the suggestion of a friend, and they are speaking of omens, signs from God.

I am not a religious woman but in great pain I find people seek solace in many ways, and I choose to believe the chanting, echoing off of the mossy rocks of southern Thailand is speaking to me, and telling me that as badly as I want my father to be here with me, he is.

And just like that, the prayer is over, and he is gone.
And it is quiet.
And I am alone.

But I digress...

Having to hoof it to the train station because my chucks carry me faster than the wheels of the bus not going so round and round, the I made it in the knick of time to catch my night train to Surat Thani, which would take a total of 12 hours, and would force me to lay in a cocoon known as an upper sleeper for the better part of that time. Sadly, this midnight express experience made me feel nothing like Jack Lemon or Tony Curtis larking about in drag.

Off the train and onto a bus to Krabi, where I came to the following conclusion: Anyone drinking beer at 6 am is suffering from one of two afflictions: alcoholism or douchebagism. The young Brits at the front of my bus, presumably heading to the Full Moon Party in Kho Pagnan were likely suffering from the latter. Though I know people come from all around the world just to attend this all night beach rager, I will be avoiding it at all costs.

Once in Krabi Town is apparent that there are some things back at home to which I need to attend immediately and spend many hours and many Skype dollars attempting to remedy.

At one point 'it just is what it is' and I am forced to pull myself away from WiFi and hop on the back of a motorbike with a strange man who will be taking me to The Bananas, the accommodation I have booked through to next week based on lush photos of the location and not its proximity to city center.

An hour later my left shoulder is a rosy brown and my ass numb from the vibration of the vehicle's seat. Being met with this beautiful little hostel situated on the coast, consisting of a series of bamboo huts and run by a jovial German man, I quickly forget about my nearly 17 hours of travel to get here and hastily put on a swimsuit and head to the pier and enjoy the beautiful day in the jungle.

A lazy afternoon in a lounge chair with a book and my camera is not only welcomed - it just might be necessary. It is difficult for me to relax and whenever I attempt to do nothing I am struck by overwhelming amounts of guilt - maybe it's the New Yorker in me, maybe it's the or maybe it's the MTV Culture in which I was raised - either way, this was an exercise in patience, with myself, and I was flexing.

With a communal dinner every night at The Bananas I was able to get in on that evenings shuttle into town for the Loi Krathong festival where families light lanterns and send them into the river, sometimes with money and often with nail trimmings (don't ask me) to rid themselves of bad mojo. Along with some fellow travelers and a German family with two little girls who were hard not to fall in love with, we were off through the chaos and noise that is a celebration in Thailand.

Wanting to join in on the festivities I purchased my own design to light looking far more like a loaf of bread than the ornate floral arrangements most seem to have selected from the families fastidiously making them river side. I selected a fun offering in the form a turtle with a bright red shell and chocolate chip eyes as as I lit it's candle and incense sticks and sent it down the already polluted water way I hoped with it I sent my bad energy as well.

Sleeping in the silence offers a deep sleep and some strange dreams.

As I adjust to Thai time the hour at which I rise gets later and later and on this particular morning it was almost 8 before I dressed and dined on a single pancake with banana and honey. A coke for breakfast, because calories or health concerns are irrelevant when abroad and I was properly hyped up to go kayaking for the day.

A group of 6 of us from the hostel took a quick bus ride to the local pier to embark on our adventure that morning, which would be a 2+ hour kayak trip around the bay led by a local.

The company was lovely and everyone, with the exception of our guide, spoke English beautifully. Also beautiful was the scenery. Secluded beaches, tall mossy caves and mangroves offering a unique landscape to this breathtaking, if not labor intensive, adventure.

All of the aforementioned items should have been my focus, but from the moment our very young and very petite guide disrobed from the waste up all I could think of was how much I longed to be in a harlequin novel about an older white woman on holiday who gets in touch with her sensuality with the help of a small Thai boy.

Turns out when you kayak in the tropics for a living you become quite lithe, quite sinewy. The sun makes you a dark cinnamony brown and the sticky air leaves a shimmery film of sweat on your body, giving the sun tendons and muscles and movement plateaus off which to happily bounce.

Perverse as it may be. It was beauty.
It was natural AND it was local, so by my estimation it was part of the tour.

Midday we were deposited back at the hostel, this time by sidecar Tuk Tuk. With the rain beginning to leak from the heavens we were left with limited entertainment options: Eat. Yes. Chat and socialize with the brother and sister doctors from Malaysia. Done. Catch up on American television somehow bootlegged onto YouTube. Check.

The sunset had been gorgeous the evening before and with the rain lessening to a drizzle, having broken the thick humidity, I decided to go on a walk.

An evening walk to watch a beautiful sunset and listen to songs that matter

Another communal dinner, family style - this time with curried vegetables and some pleasant conversation with the proprietor and his staff left me contended for several minutes on a row and I chose to savor that.

As the guests decided to take a late night dip to see the bio-luminescent plankton I took a dip, of another kind - to bed.

Sometimes moving slow feels good.
And sometimes that's ok.