Thursday, November 13, 2014

Big Girls Don't Cry











Positivity has never been my strong suit.

I believe sarcasm lends itself to hilarity, of course, but it can also slip into glass half full syndrome quite easily.

Given the current circumstances of my real life, not the one I am living out for a month in Southeast Asia, I almost feel entitled not to be positive and to bathe in my anger; bask in my disappointment.

Luckily, when feeling this lost you have those close to you, and sometimes those not, to help lift you out.

I have spent my late twenties and early thirties feeling rejected and abandoned by the loss of relationships with people I most certainly never thought I would lose. Some have hit harder and come at less opportune moments than others.

Having a month away doesn't mean real life stops. With modern technology and access to WiFi keeps one up to date on 'house sitters' who refuse to pay, piling bills that cannot be accessed internationally, and friends who have long kept count of your fallibility and infractions and it's all happening in real time. Add to this he feeling of impotence only being 10,000 miles away from home could invoke.





















Sitting on the pier watching the sun sink into the sky on my last night in Krabi after visiting some beaches, eating some food and being a general bad-ass on my motorbike that I would like to sneak into my carry on, I am trying something new.

I am trying not to focus on the bad, the negative, and in turn I am trying to appreciate the warmth of the evening and  say thank you to the friends that pick up when I call crying from across the globe and tell me they love me. It is their confidence in me, as well as my own I must focus on because, without my biggest cheerleader here to support me any longer, I simply have to do it for myself. Just like tying your shoes, but for big girls.

Despite my melancholy I truly did enjoy my last day in Krabi, spending most of it getting my motor running and hitting the highway on my sporty purple and orange crotch rocket. Always having a disdain for motorcycles after a family accident that took place before I was born, I now see the appeal and feel that I just may have to make a scooter my first motorized vehicle in over a decade.

Having rented the bike for the entire day I finally made my way to Ao Nang which, though populated by many an old, fat white tourists was not nearly as bad as many of the hippies back at my commune would have had you believe.

I got some color (see: freckles) , and made another attempt at Pad Thai at a small local restaurant, coming to the conclusion that my favorite restaurant in the city by the bay just, hands down, has the best Thai food in the world.

After showering, packing and finding a book in the backpackers library that wasn't missing the first 3 chapters I hopped on my bike to make it to the Terrace, a near by restaurant that is situated on top of a hill looking out at the water, but because it was night I got the watch the blue and purple flashes of lightning that come with a balmy rainstorm in the tropics as I consumed my banana fritters and pulp fiction.

Some bonding with the staff at Krabi was had, as was some window shopping in their on site store that made me feel like a waif, so I loved it - but not enough to purchase anything and I was off to bed. A restless sleep an hour at a time, checking my phone, dealing with business back at home and finally, at 5 am, rising to catch a cab to the airport with two other American girls who had been at the Banana Bungalow for the past couple nights and were far too cute for their own good.

I hear people both question and commend me when I tell them I am traveling alone, especially in the third world country, and even more so when I mention how long I will be gone. I suppose both of these groups of people are right. It is freeing and wonderful to do your own thing, have time for yourself and explore the world with just your camera in hand. That being said, it can be lonely and sad and expensive without someone to share costs or moments.

Maybe this is like life, there are pros and cons to the traditional family and the single life, but I think we can all agree that life, like cake, it's better shared.

Sure, I share, through my blog, and text messages.

The past 31 countries were shared, through phone calls largely with a very specific person and though physically I was always on my own, those phone calls, fraught with affection and perspective are missed dearly and felt deeply.

Now, I need to learn a new way to travel - either completely on my own with no safety net - or with actual people. No longer is there an in between.

























So I move forward, as I did when I boarded the Air Asia flight to Chiang Mai in the north of the country known for it's indigenous people and beautiful scenery.

Here for a week I will be reuniting with a fellow traveler met in Bangkok who seems to want to take every course or lesson Thailand has to offer, so we will see how my bank roll holds out and how much authentic culture in which I can immerse myself.


Thus far I have located a Burger King. So that is a start.

So we shall see what my time in Chiang Mai brings...

The following night Chiang Mai brought BK. I'm sorry, but sometimes you just gotta have it your way.

My first day in CM was mellow, some eating, some souvenir acquisition, some ambivalence about life on general, only being further perpetuated by the culture of 2 parts old white men in Tommy Bahama or biker adjacent attire, 1 part young, though not disturbingly so, Asian women wearing Wet Seals' latest fashions and 1 part classic rock that makes it all seem somehow legit, like the old man from Wisconsin is having a deep, meaningful relationship with the young lady from Phuket.

Some wandering after my pork burger from the BK at which the cashier understood and delivered better on my order than any American ever has led me to streets of sex tourism at it's best which, even at it's best is the worst.

Meandering led me down some sketchy alleyways which, as a single woman with thousands of dollars worth of equipment in my bag should never navigate, I did. I simply wouldn't be Briana if I didn't.

Shortly thereafter I was safely deposited at the Royal Guest House just across the way from Chiang Mai City. A city housed withing ancient brick walls and consisting of a threading of streets fraught with Wats, goods for sale, and translucent people in southeast Asia's version of resort wear. It was fast to sleep with a page-turning book, and overhead light that made me feel like I was starring in 'Broke Down Palace' and a fan I feared would come loose at any moment and sever a major artery.

I have had strange dreams throughout Thailand and was awoken several times before finally rising in search of yoga, but settling on a run and some calisthenics essentially beside the highway here.























A quick yet unsatisfying breakfast and shower were had before heading to the Post Office where the severely physically disabled employee treated me like I was a leper, barely selling me stamps for my postcards.

Decideing to wander about to the temples and into shops I was pleasantly surpirsed when I entered the gtes of Wat Phan, built in 1501 when the city's arts and culture were flourishing and was met with it's exquisite beauty and, in turn, a moment of gratitude. It went just as quickly as it came, but as I so easily dismiss the good and focus on the bad, or so I've been told, that decided to make note of this brief moment in time. And write it down.

The architectural center warranted a visit for my future very successful architect nephew, but the 'center' was appalling when all you really have to do is look around. Luckily Wat Phantao lifted my spirits with its multicolored lanterns and flags waving proudly in the wind. I was so entranced by the sea of color that the competitive Japanese photographer studying my moves just a little too closely didn't even bother me. As an artist, I feel secure that we know when we got it - and I had it. He could shoot all he wanted on his Nikon. He didn't stand a chance against me and my Canon!

All of this site seeing works up an appetite and after sweating off of noodles yesterday after a sub-par glass noodle I incident, I found a cute little place on the other side of town and had ... Noodles. But this time they were Khao Soi noodles, Chiang Mai noodles so it was for cultural reasons more than dietary. The restaurant also played host to a couple of charming American and Canadian men respectively and even a brief chat with some men in my native tongue brightened my day.

Being asked if I was Spanish just the other day, I chose to indulge in my faux culture and take a siesta, and my acquired goods, back at the hostel.

After night had fallen I went back out to hit the streets for super sexy time like leafing through the book stores, an industry this city apparently has more of than anything else. Lost Books had two locations, an Irish proprietor and sections devoted to both Nietzsche and Kerouac, so as far as I am concerned it should garner Wat status.

Cashew chicken was greedily consimed across the street at Kat's Cafe and I got my Skype on, most certainly annoying my fellow patrons.

As I come 'home' to rest my weary head, I am met with my Bangkok buddy and as we both seem to have had pretty action packed days. It is off to bed.

Tomorrow, Chiang Rai and beyond...















Monday, November 10, 2014

Rainy Days and The Sterilization of Be Heard














Rain rain go away come again some other day, like when I'm back in America!

Rain when in a tropical paradise is a bummer, but I suppose if we love those lush green picturesque postcards we have to deal with a little rain.

With rainy season having only ended a number of days ago, and the Bananas Bungalow opening it's doors just this month a little rain is bound to fall and, when it does it is absolutely going to effect one's trip.

It seemed that the mornings were safest and with drizzle on the horizon, literally, I decided after a breakfast of pancake, banana and honey (quickly becoming my new fave) that I would rent one of the relics in the driveway known as a bicycle and take a spin around town to take some photos and clear my mind. This loner excursion quickly became a couples activity as my dorm-mate by way of Germany, who reminds me of someone from my past, and no that is not a compliment, invited herself along.

When someone says - you're going for a bike ride? I am going to come along. Is that ok? - what are your options, really? So off we went on wobbly wheels and rusted frames. Speaking of frames, home girl managed to make we way into 90% of mine, photographically speaking, not through any fault of her own, but with not standing behind me and not understanding the concept of a wide angle lens, you may see a very pale woman with short shorts and surgically enhanced pectorals in some of my shots. There was just no way around it.

I sort of just wanted to wander the winding roads.




















The grass is so green, the cows so brown, the dirt so red that it appears as if a box of crayolas have spilled out onto the hills, grown damp and smeared a kaleidoscope of colors along the countryside.

Clearly I was after a poetic experience but Fräulein short shorts was a bit more regimented and was determined to get us to the lounging Buddha about 15 kilometers from our humble abode. However, on a bike that is unsafe for both your joints and your reproductive system, and the narrow seat is rearranging my remaining eggs, 15k seems like forever.

We rode for about 2 hours before giving up or merely choosing to head back in the direction from which we came. I made a quick stop at a local restaurant for a pineapple/watermelon shake and some empassioned business calls back home and, much like the day before, the bulk of my day's activities were done before 2 and I was left to shower and hide from the rain utilizing both my laptop and the few books I brought along to keep me occupied.

After several hours of paying bills online and alternating between books Klaus, the patriarch to the German family staying here (there are a lot of Germans here) suggested a field trip to the local Tesco, almost an hour away. He needed supplies for his girls and wanted to save on cab fare so he somehow managed to get 8 other people on board who didn't really need to do anything in town bu,t who had cabin fever and were eager for an adventure of any sort.

We loaded into an open sided bus for an hour long cab ride and, just to prove how familial this hostel had become in the rain, or simply how much I've given up, I didn't even bother putting on a bra to go shopping.

Shopping proved fruitless as all of the books were in Thai and all of the food stuffs were indistinguishable, but the Target adjacent superstore layout was fascinating.

Perusing the latest fashions while smelling the district smell of fish, and lots of it just inches away which, next to it had colorful octopus cookies kitty corner from dozens of dead lifeless fish bodies was an experience to say the least.

A small package of cookies at one of the kiosks was all I could muster the energy to buy and most of us left empty handed as we headed home for dinner, a spicy shrimp curry tonight that left the crowd pleased with mouths on fire.

Being lazy is almost as exhausting as being left alone with your thoughts so I put scrubs on early and after some text chatting with my big sis, I was out like a light.



























My alarm was set for 5 am the following morning and by 5:15 I was on the back of a bike with Klaus at the helm and we were determined to climb the Tiger Cave Temples' infamous 1300 steps to the top. We wanted to beat the heat and he wanted to get back before his family woke so they could all start their day together leaving us with no choice but to get on the road before the sun rose.

We hadill  fitting helmets and a shoddy map to help decipher the appropriate road to the temple. Perhaps it was these two factors that led us in the opposite direction and attempting to climb any stairs we could find. We did end up at the lounging Buddha near the state park I had attempted to locate the day prior. We hadn't thought that one out clearly and after a couple quick shots of the gilted god we hopped back on the scooter and headed through Krabi to the Tiger Cave Temple.

Needing to inquire as to the appropriate direction on more than one occasion we finally made it and it was still early and cool.

1300 steps didn't sound so tough to me seeing as I became a triathlete in the not so distant past, but trust me, when stairs were built in BC they are as high as your knee and you will quickly discover what an American fat ass you are.

Klaus was kind and patient as he hopped along like this was some school yard game. We made it to the top in under 30 minutes and man was it worth it.

A 360 degree view of the vibrantly green surroundings, a random dog guarding the top and a lot of monkeys I was pretty sure wanted to be my friend were to be found.

I had never really encountered monkeys in the wild and I quickly became an excitable school girl at her first One Direction concert. If the monkeys and dog hadn't had beef and the master monkey in charge didn't look like he could tear my flesh from bone I for sure would have bonded with the primates.

It soon became clear that the dog was here to protect us and that my love for animals transcends language, as the black and white pup followed us all 1300 steps down and cut any potential monkey encounter off at the pass, like the protective older brother I always wanted but never had, it was frustrating but sweet.

After our extended experience and second day of vehicular sterilization in a row, my crotch needed a break and we had to get back to the hostel for Klaus to meet his family and me to wash the mountain funk from my increasingly freckled face.

Seeing as I had the motorbike rented for the whole day I thought, why not face my fear and ignore my lady part pain and actually drive one of these bad boys - and that is exactly what I did. After a quick change and a quick tutorial on gas and break, I was off. First to get gas which required the help of a local and the off to Ao Nang.

As I've stated before when I am traveling is likely the only time I am at ease and the fact that somewhere along the way I seem to have missed the turn off to Ao Nang didn't bother me a bit. I took the added time on the road to get comfortable with speed and take in the sights.

There were small villages who's children came rushing out to say good morning, in English, as they don't see many folks like me in these parts and there were many, many stray dogs, some of whom seem to have been Aronofsky fans as they were fully ass to ass.

I even got picked up on while in movement on the highway by a man who turned  his bike around to talk to me yet didn't talk to me at all, as he didn't speak or understand a single syllable of English. Thank you strange man for making me feel like I still internationally got it!
It was a lovely experience and though I didn't have a destination per se, after lots of back and forth I ended up in Krabi Town which looks very different during the day.






















I stopped in for some lunch, ordering whatever the waiter recommended and, in turn, having my first green curry.  It had chicken and a vegetable I couldn't pick out in a lineup - nonetheless it was delicious.

A long ride back with the 'Begin Again' soundtrack in my ear was when I really hit my stride on the bike and the sun came out in appreciation.

With my first chance for vitamin D in days, once I returned, I dropped trow and headed to the pier for some reading and relaxation before the storm inevitably set in again.

Family dinner was bland but the little girls here have really warmed up to me and when playing with children I don't actually think the language barrier poses much of a problem. Or I am learning German through osmosis.

Every so often, waiting out the rain reaps rewards and when I woke this morning the skies were clear and the sun was calling, beckoning me to the sandy shores and tempting me with promises of bronzed skin and pre-cancerous melanoma.

The Bananas has directions to two local beaches in it's lobby and feeling as though I should take advantage of the sun as long as I had it I was off with laminated instructions in hand to find either the Coconut Beach and the Secret Beach. When faced with those two options I think the choice is pretty clear.

Secret Beach was more descriptive than clever because as I walked for about an hour in the increasing morning heat, schlepping my two bags I couldn't find the bastard. I walked down each and every 'dirt path' I could find and mostly they just led to nowhere.

Defeated and more than a tad annoyed I headed back 'home' to consult the trusty Lonely Planet that I have barely cracked on this voyage but that I always like to tote around for good measure.

Just as I began to leaf through the newsprint pages Andrew, a volunteer here at the hostel by way of the UK, offered to drive me there on his motorbike - my prince in shining tank top.

As I was led down the road, up a hill and through the forest to grandmother's house it became quite clear that there is no way I could have navigated this path on my own and, after some sneaky barbed wired scaling and descending from the side of a mountain - there were were. At high tide.

11 am is high tide and that leaves about 6 inches of beach to enjoy. Andrew was kind enough to go exploring for rocks and shells as I took some photos of the orange and lavender speckled rocks and bathed myself in the Adaman Sea. After an hour or so he offered to drop me at Coconut, which he insisted I should be able to locate myself from the road side, on his way back to work.

Usually possessing a keen sense of direction, this place is bonkers with people literally gesturing in a general direction as an aid in times of navigatory trouble.

I did find a beach, nestled behind an outdoor bar and as I laid in the sun and enjoyed the breeze for several hours I had nothing but sad music and happy crabs to keep me company. It was quiet and serene and beautiful and, just like all good things. It came to an end. An end by way of torrential rainstorm that set in almost the moment I stepped off the beach to walk the several miles back to my hostel.

I took cover next to a couple of beautiful peacocks, all of us ready to bolt at the first sign of clear sky and, after 30 minutes or so I decided to just go for it - put my clothes in a bag, wrapped myself in the Thai fabric I had brought as a beach towel and, doing my best Gaugin impression, looking more like a native Thaitian woman wandering down the roads in thongs and a colorful wrap, long brown locks hanging low in the rain.




















With the kindness of a local bus driver I was deposited back at Bananas in time to shower, put on my MJ sweatshirt and get ready for some grub. With only one day left in Krabi, and having fallen a bit in love with the place, I feel confident saying that this is on my 'may return someday' list.