The End?

I’m writing this on the last day of my trip as I speed towards Tokyo on the Shinkansen, which is perhaps my favorite train in the world. I’ve spent the better part of the last 300 days traveling from Sydney to Tokyo, a total of ten countries and dozens of cities, posting more than 100 blog entries and 3,000 photographs. That I'm going home hasn’t completely sunk in. I’ve been taking this trip one day, one week, one city at a time, and the end has crept up on me. So it is with mixed feelings that I return to Tokyo, where I’ll spend one more night before boarding a trans-Pacific flight (my least favorite form of travel) back to the U.S. of A.

I’m excited to return to familiar territory, where I speak the language and I am well versed in the customs. I’m looking forward to seeing family and friends, to eat my mother’s cooking and watch late-night cable television. But I’ll miss the freedom of the open road, the expected pleasures and unexpected impediments that make for open-ended travel. I’ve got an itch (no, not that kind of itch), formed early in life, that leaves me restless. It will lead to more travel in the future. For now, it's time to reflect on 2007 and look to 2008.

As a final installment of Packmonkey: Asia (leaving the door open to Packmonkey: North America and Packmonkey: Europe), I offer a short summary of the good, the bad and the in-between. This is hardly a recap of my entire ten months on the road, merely a short trip down memory lane. I plan to offer a little more reminiscing once I'm back in Los Angeles.


Everything Australian: I spent nine weeks in Australia in February and March, traveling overland along the southern and western coasts from Sydney to Broome, then into the Outback on a 4WD trek from Adelaide to Alice Springs. Australia is a beautiful country. The interior is desolate, stark and remote, the coasts rugged and wild. As a whole, it is a challenging, rewarding and breathtaking place to travel. I will never forget sleeping under the stars in the Painted Desert or swimming in sea lions in the Eyre Peninsula. I also made some lasting friendships in Oz: Bernie and Kate, Dean, Elizabeth – keep in touch! Australia raised the bar for all subsequent destinations. The time I spent in Australia amounted to the trip of a lifetime. Had I returned home after the Outback, I would have been satisfied.

Monkeys and Mountains in Malaysian Borneo: I arrived in Malaysia with low expectations. I left in love with the country. The Malaysian people were some of the friendliest I encountered - always a smile for the wandering Jew in their midst - and the food unexpectedly satisfying. The three weeks I spent in Malaysian Borneo sealed the deal: encounters with the orangutans, proboscis and langur monkeys, Uncle Tan’s jungle camp and the trek to the summit of Mt. Kinabalu, which left me exhausted but marked two of the best days of the whole year.

Backpackers’ Laos: Backpackers flock to Southeast Asia, so it’s no surprise that there’s a backpacking culture in this part of the world. My time in Laos, from my arrival at the border with Thailand to my departure from Vientiane, was the ultimate backpacker’s experience. The country itself is wonderful, remote and rural, yet unspoiled by the tourism you encounter in Thailand and Vietnam or the tragic history of Cambodia. Laos had been described to me as Thailand of 20 or 30 years ago. Ten short days in country showed me the Southeast Asia I dreamed of visiting.

What made my time in Laos really special was the friendships I made. Two days floating down the Mekong solidified a bond with my French amis, Guillaume and Emmanuelle. We spent the evenings in Luang Prebang at a sidewalk bar laughing over glasses of cloudy pastis, the days meeting the young monks at the city’s temples or swimming at the tranquil waterfalls outside of town. In Vang Vieng I met Mitzi and her daughter, Miksa, from Hawaii. We explored caves and rented bicycles for a trip to the local market. At night we relaxed over cheap food and beer at the backpacker cafes. Miksa and I even found time for a marathon afternoon watching "The Simpsons." Traveling friendships are short and intense, and one of the joys of travel.

Food, Food, Food: Who doesn’t love to eat? Everywhere I traveled there was something new to taste: kangaroo sausages in Outback Australia, blue rice in Malayasia, chicken rice in Singapore, khao soy in Northern Thailand, even deep-fried tarantulas in Cambodia. There were also some old favorites to devour: sushi and ramen in Toyko, curry and pad thai in Thailand. Somehow, I still haven't tried durian.

Indonesia Headaches: I arrived in Indonesia with high hopes. Two weeks later I couldn’t leave get out the country fast enough. From the touts and taxi drivers oozing desperation in Bali to the scam artists in Java who took me for a ride, I was overwhelmed by the amount of ill-will I felt in Indonesia. I’ve heard reports from other travelers about good times in Bali and Java, so I will not say the country is filled with bad people and bad times. At least I left with two good memories: sunrise at Mr. Bromo and an afternoon spent wandering the ancient Buddhist temple at Borobudur. These two places almost make up for all the aggravation I experienced everywhere else in Indonesia.

Tourism in Thailand and Vietnam: Thailand and Vietnam are two of the most popular destinations in Southeast Asia. They were also, for me, two of the most disappointing destinations on my trip. In the island of Southern Thailand, I encountered hoards of westerners traveling from one beach to another. It seemed that the locals in sight were either serving the foreigners beer and food or cleaning their rooms. There was also the terror of the night of the flying termites. The beaches are nice enough, but crowded and dirty. Were it not for the energy of Bangkok or the charm of Chiang Mai, I’d have to write off Thailand as a loss.

In Vietnam, the tourism treadmill also operates at full speed. Perhaps it was because I’d been on the road for six months, or perhaps it was because I was exhausted from a whirlwind tour of Cambodia. Whatever it was, I found Vietnam to be hectic in all the wrong ways. From the overcrowded and polluted streets of Ho Chi Minh City and Hanoi, where even the act of crossing the street was hazardous, to the constant haggling over prices, Vietnam was a downer.

Life and Death in Cambodia: I only spent 10 days in Cambodia, but those days contained some of the best and worst times of my trip. On the positive side was an extraordinary tour that took me into the Cambodian countryside and introduced me to the real Cambodia of today. The tour also resulted in a few of those backpackers’ friendships that I mentioned earlier. I loved drinking late into the night at a small bar in Kampong Cham and on the beach at Sihanoukville with Sally and Renee, nurses from Adelaide, Australia. And Kathe, a university student from Holland, turned into a close and unexpected friend.

On the down side was a bus accident that left two Cambodians dead and exposed the utter corruption and poverty of Cambodian society. I refer you to the impassioned blog post I wrote on the afternoon of the accident.

Return to Tokyo: I knew that I wanted to end my trip in Japan, to return to a place I lived for 18 months in the early 1990s. I did just that and I am now reminded of that old adage about not being able to go home again. In the years since I lived in Tokyo, I’ve changed, Japan has changed and the world has changed. I love the country and the Japanese. I loved taking Japanese lessons and exploring the country again. But in the end I could have done with less. I’d been on the road for most of the year and was tired, wanted to do little more than curl up with a good book and a glass of whiskey. So I spent most of my time in Tokyo enjoying solitude and rest.

My time in Tokyo was good for the spirit, but perhaps something of a missed opportunity. Perhaps what it taught me is that the next time I take off and travel the world, I’ll impose a six-month limit. For me, that seems just right.

So on the eve of my return to the U.S., I look forward to reuniting with family and friends, to starting a new chapter in my life that builds on everything that’s come before.

Some people say travel changes you. I think that’s a big fat myth. I’m still the same person I was when I started this trip. What I have now that I didn’t have before is a greater understanding of the world and my place in it. I think I’m more humble. I’m definitely more aware of how fortunate I am. My place in this world is small, but my future is unlimited. The end? I don't think so. Just another beginning.

A HUGE thanks to everyone who checked in and supported me over the past ten months. I will see you all very soon!

The Best of Southeast Asia

I took a few thousand photographs between June 14 and July 23, between my arrival in Southern Thailand and the last few, frustrating days in Vietnam. Of those thousands of photos I uploads about 1,100 to Flickr. And now, I've whittled down those eleven hundred to 120 photographs in two manageable photosets. If you're looking for quick and easy vacation pics, you've come to the right place. I'll even call you and narrate each slideshow in a detail-laden monotone, only two or three hours for each one. If that's what you're looking for, of course. I've also included a link to my previous Southeast Asia set, the Best of Indonesia, Singapore and Malaysia.

Go on, take a look. Do it for the cowboy, the Buddhist and the monkey god.

Best of Thailand and Laos

Best of Cambodia and Vietnam

Best of Indonesia, Singapore and Malaysia

2,000 Photos!

Today I uploaded my 2,000th picture to Flickr! The shots are mostly from this trip, but do include pictures from Ireland and New York City. Still, 2,000 is a milestone to celebrate. Just be happy I haven't posted all 6,000 photos I've taken since landing in Sydney in early February.

Number 2,000 is of a beautiful elephant I encountered in a town on the Mae Kok River in Northern Thailand. The elephants are there to transport tourists into the hills. They are working animals and probably not entirely happy. I bought a bag of bananas and sugar cane and fed them to this beast. I think he appreciated every bite.

Thai Elephant

Dunked!

The streets of central Chiang Mai are lined with guesthouses offering a repeating menu of adventure options. There are visits to hill tribes. There are classes in cooking, language, massage, dressmaking and more that I’m not aware of. The most popular activities, however, are those that guarantee the release of high levels of adrenaline into the bloodstream.

I’d spent a week in Bangkok and then a few days wandering around Chiang Mai, visiting temples, lounging in the coffee shops, browsing in the excellent used bookstores, and eating an astonishing variety of food, from the local specialty, khao soy, to organic beet and spinach salads to surprisingly tasty and authentic Mexican food. One definition of surreal is sitting at a sidewalk table in Northern Thailand, watching the tuk-tuks roll by while washing down a spicy carnitas burrito with a cold Singha beer (I would have preferred a Corona, but what can you do?).

Pork Burrito at Miguel's California Cafe, Chiang Mai
I'm sorry. I've been sidetracked by a burrito. Back to Thailand.

I was enjoying myself in Chiang Mai, but faced with so many sporting options I decided to spend my last few days in Thailand in pursuit of adventure. I’d been hanging out at a place called the Kona Café, owned and operated by Jason, an ex-pat American whose main business venture, Siam River Adventures, is taking tourists climbing, mountain biking, trekking and whitewater rafting. We sat down and hammered out a custom trip in which I would spend one day trekking (including a visit to a hill tribe), sleep overnight at the company’s camp on the Mae Taeng River, then raft down the river the next day. Jason would then drop me off at a bus station where I would catch a ride north that would take me closer to the border with Laos.

The trek was exactly what you’d expect in the forests of Thailand in the first week of July: hot, humid, sweaty and steep. Three hikers – a Canadian couple, Mike and Maureen, in the Thailand for two weeks of business and pleasure, and myself – were guided by a young Thai man, Singh, along a track used by elephants and then up a steep ridge to a Lahu village. Singh stopped at one point when he spied a patch of wild mushrooms off the trail. He later found another patch in a field of mountain rice and ended up with about two pounds of fresh mushrooms. “These mushrooms are very expensive in Chiang Mai,” he explained.

Trekking in Northern Thailand

Singh Picking Mushrooms
The Lahu village was a collection of rickety huts and a lot of dirty children. I realize I sound insensitive with this description, but that’s what I saw. These are poor people living in a mountain village. They receive hundreds of foreign visitors a month and out appearance barely registered on their consciousness. The kids were still very cute.

The villagers had slaughtered a pig that morning in celebration something that was never clearly explained to us (an Animist ritual of some kind, or a New Year’s celebration, take your pick), and served us fresh pork soup (heavy on the grease) and a local dish that was described as “raw pork” but I suspect is a dish made from the pig’s blood. If there’s one thing I will pass up anywhere in the world, from a village in Northern Thailand to the finest restaurants in New York City, it’s raw pork.

Communal Meal at Lahu Village

Mmmm... Raw Pork
The next day I met a group of tourists at the Siam River Tours camp and prepared for a few hours of whitewater rafting. I had rafted once in my life, on a family vacation when in Northern California. I recall placid stretches of water and occasional whitewater thrills. No one got too wet and no one fell out of the boat. The worst thing that happened was the boat carrying my mother (Hi Mom!) became stuck on the side of a large rock; the look of terror on her face remains in my memory to this day.

Back on the Mae Taeng, the ten rafters donned lifejackets and helmets and were given a safety briefing by the staff. I asked whether I should bring sunglasses or a hat and was told not to bring anything that I wasn’t willing to lose. I think I’d been assuming the river experience would be similar to the ride of my childhood. I decided to forgo sunglasses and hat and climbed into the boat.

On the second set of rapids the boat tipped and I tumbled into the drink. It’s every rafters fear, and when it happens it is so fast there’s little time to think. I was on the boat one moment and the next tumbling in a froth of whitewater. My hand went to my face, and I discovered that I’d lost my glasses. I then broke the surface and gasped for breath. It was that feeling you get when the wind’s been knocked out of you, when it’s difficult to get air and you don’t know if your lungs will ever fill with air again.

So here I am, half blind, gasping for oxygen, and being carried like a log down the muddy Mae Taeng River. But I didn’t panic. I was getting some air and realized it would only get easier. My lifejacket was keeping me afloat and nothing hurt. I remembered the safety briefing and pointing my feet downstream. I then realized I was somehow still holding my paddle as well as a shoe belonging to a fellow rafter who’d also fallen in.

In fairness to Jason and Siam River Adventures, the rafts were accompanied by three staff members in kayaks, all of them trained in water rescue and first aid. In addition to the kayakers, other staff members would stand on the bank of the river with throw ropes in hand in case someone need assistance. I never felt like the company hadn't taken every precaution available.

Over the next two hours we covered some Class 4 rapids, dropping into swirling pools and bouncing off the many boulders in the river. This was nothing like the trip my family had taken. This was serious rafting, treacherous, exhilarating and everything adventure travel should be. I was upset about the loss of my glasses, but to tell the truth, they were quite scratched up and had been bothering my for the past few weeks anyway. I am now wearing my backup pair and am happy to have clear lenses again.

Thailand Triptych

My 30-day Thai visa expires on July 11. I will be spending the next few days trekking, whitewater rafting, and taking public transportation to the border with Laos. There's been a lot to write about over the past four weeks, but a few items have slipped through the cracks. The following nuggets have been on my mind over the last few days.

Rough Seas

Anyone who travels around the islands of Southern Thailand will end up taking a ferry from one island to another. Transportation ranges from long-tail boats that carry passengers up and down rivers or along coastlines to giant ferries that venture into the open sea to pass between major destinations.

There was a storm overhead and strong swells in the sea on the day I traveled between Railay beach and Ko Phi Phi. The ferry was old, its cramped interior offering narrow rows of seats and an exposed wooden bulkhead. As the boat movied into the Andaman Sea, the waters turned choppier and the boat started to skip from wave to wave. Swells of three or four meters crested above the bow and great plumes of spray soaked the top deck. Tourists exchanged worried glances. I soon heard whispers questioning the safety and seaworthiness of the vessel. The more anxious passengers were now wearing lifejackets.

The crew had been through this before and approached the situation with smiles and good humor. They assured everyone that we would be safe, then proceeded to hand out clear plastic bags. In a moment of blockheadedness, I thought "How nice, they don't want our belongings to get wet." I then realized that with 90 minutes before we would reach Ko Phi Phi, people were going to get sick. Sure enough, not ten minutes later a girl about 8 years old started to toss her cookies. The young woman two seats to my left then turned green and started retching into her own bag.

I spent the rest of the journey holding onto the seat in front of me and staring intently at one spot about five feet in front of my face. The boat bucked from wave to wave, crashing into the troughs with a bang, eliciting groans and cries from the passengers. The horizon was an unsteady blur out the window. I fought nausea and thanked the stars that I'd skipped breakfast. It seemed that whenever I looked up there was someone tottering down the aisle holding a clear bag of puke. It wasn't the Titanic, but it was a pretty awful boat ride.

When we arrived at Ko Phi Phi, the passengers shuffled onto the dock, happy to be safe and secure on dry land. I overheard a backpacker tell a friend that he'd just spoken to the captain, who told him that he'd ridden out the tsunami on that very boat. I take back everything bad I said about the boat ride. It could have been so much worse.

Andaman Ferry on a Calmer Day
Friends in Faraway Places

There are a lot of foreigners in Thailand. Many of them are tourists who skip from destination to destination. But there are resident foreigners who live and work quite comfortably in the country. While in Bangkok I was fortunate enough to meet two fellow Americans living abroad.

I met Linnea Philips though Peggy Olsen, the first friend I made on this journey, way back in February during a layover at the airport in Fiji. Linnea has spent the last few years in Thailand working for the Amicus Foundation, a relief organization run by her stepfather and family. We met one night for vegetarian Thai food, where she impressed me with her fluent Thai and good humor. We met again the next day to explore a few art galleries and eat banana and cheese ice cream.

The art was lackluster, especially a creepy exhibit of large-scale photographs of Tuscany (the photos were fine, it was the layout of the exhibit that freaked us out - black walls, harsh spot lighting and atonal music). The ice cream was surprisingly good. It was overwhelmingly banana-flavored, with small, fatty globules of a mild cheese adding texture. I couldn't figure out what kind of cheese they used, but it tasted like a cross between cottage cheese and cream cheese.

In the space of 24 hours Linnea and I shared streetcorner Thai, shopping mall banana and cheese ice cream, a dessert crepe with a mound of chocolate ice cream at a French restaurant, and an array of vegetarian dishes at Tamarind Cafe, a combination restaurant and art gallery where we were joined by her friend Pia.

Linnea moves to Florence, Italy, in September to attend cooking school. I wish her the best of luck and hope we can share a plate again in the future.

Linnea, left, and Pia at the Tamarind Cafe, Bangkok
Yes, food is the great unifier. The other ex-pat I met was Newley Purnell, a freelance writer with an occasional byline in Tripmastermonkey.com. We met through a mutual friend, Matt Gross (aka The Frugal Traveler). I met Newley for lunch and he shepherded us into a back alley market where crowds of office workers from the neighborhood were just sitting down to their midday meal. It was a taste of the real Bangkok, both in atmosphere and in the heaps of springs rolls and noodles we ate.

We were joined halfway through lunch by Newley's roommate, Dan, another freelance journalist. We talked the trade for a while and for the first time in a few months I thought about the job I left behind in New York. No, I don't miss it. Still, it was great to talk to a few writers and gab about the business again. Unfortunately, we were unable to meet up again while I was in Bangkok. Newley has no plans to leave BKK, so look him up the next time you are in town.

Newley, left, and Dan Somewhere in Bangkok
Many thanks go out to Linnea and Newley.

Motorbike Madness

The next time you are standing at a intersection waiting for the little green man to start blinking permission to cross, stop for a second and think about how lucky you are. For the past few months I've been living in a world where pedestrians have no rights. The road belongs to scooters, motorcycles, cars, trucks and buses. People are an afterthought. Play Frogger for a few hours and you'll get the picture.

I spend a lot of time waiting for gaps in traffic. I'm a multitasker, so while I'm working out trajectories and probablities I'm also taking note of how crazy motorized transport is in this part of the world. The craziest of the bunch? It's got to be the scooters.

Scooters are the preferred form of transportation for a large chunk of the population. But there are no rules. It's common to see three people per bike. I've seen families of four and five. I've seen people chatting on cellphones while speeding around corners. Dogs get into the act too, peching comfortably behind the driver or squinting against the wind in a front-mounted basket. Yesterday I saw a pair of teenage girls on a busy street, the passenger feeding the driver a stick of chicken satay. I realize I'm imposing my own cultural values here, but it's nuts. Nuts!

Three on a Bike, With Refreshments

Taking Care of Business

Dad and Son

The Charms of Chiang Mai

I have a new favorite Thai dish. I'd thought I'd tried them all, but when you travel to the source something new is bound to present itself. The dish is Khao Soy (or Khao Sawy), a straightforward blend of red curry, noodles and chicken. But like everything delicious, the simplicity hides something satisfyingly complex.

I discovered Khao Soy through my new Bangkok-based friend Linnea (of the banana and cheese ice cream expedition), who suggested that while in Chaiang Mai I try the local specialty, Khao Soy. She also said she is especially fond of the "crunchy noodles on top." Crunchy noodles? In Thai food? I was intrigued.

Chiang Mai is a small but significant city in Northern Thailand. It is a highlight on the tourist trail, so like the rest of the country (in my experience, at least) it is overrun with foreigners. But the locals are friendly, the temples are magnificent, and the food is delicious. The old city, which is enclosed by a moat and still has portions of the ancient city walls, is small enough that a tourist like myself can walk for hours and discover hidden nooks removed from the hustle and bustle of the tourist districts.

Ancient Wall at Tapae Gate

Buddha at Wat Pho
Chiang Mai also boasts the best collection of used bookstores that I've seen in Southeast Asia. There are cafes offering organic food and free Wi-Fi, a bustling night market and rugged trekking in the surrounding mountains. It's the kind of place that Thailand is famous for, and deservedly so.

I spent my first morning wandering around town, gazing at gilded wats and contemplating the universe in front of golden Buddhas. I particularly enjoyed browsing in a shop called Noah's Ark, which sells an eclectic range of "T-Shirts, Music and Whatnot." The owner, a smiling young Thai with a taste for the exotic, put on a CD of jazz-tinged pop from South Africa and both of us bounced to the beat. I bought a T-shirt, partly because I wanted one but mostly because I wanted to support this affable entrepreneur.

Wall at Noah's Ark
When lunchtime rolled around, I stopped by a restaurant that looked promising and asked the owner is she served Khao Soy. To tell the truth, I was more concerned about my impending state of dehydration, but that was quickly remedied with a tall glass of watermelon juice and a bottle of extra-fizzy soda water. (The Thais make an excellent soda water.)

I didn't know what I was expecting from Khao Soy, perhaps just another curry-based dish. But it's so much more. Instead of a thin base of curry covering the main ingredients, Khao Soy is a more like a soup, a self-contained dish served in one big bowl. Another surprise, perhaps the biggest for me, was that in a land of rice noodles, Khao Soy used flat yellow egg noodles. There's a hint of fettuccine in the blend of egg noodles and creamy curry. There was also a moment of Proust-like sense memory when I tasted the egg noodles - kugel came to mind, and everything associated with the dish. The Kaho Soy was indeed topped with "crunchy noodles," very similar to what you'd be served in a Chinese restaurant.

Khao Soy
Spicy curry, slippery egg noodles and crispy noodle topping - I have a new favorite Thai dish. I liked it so much that that same night I decided to go out in search of another bowl. I didn't know where to go, so approached a tuk-tuk driver and asked him to take me to someplace local, where Thais would go for Khao Soy. He promised me that he understood and we took off.

He took me somewhere local only in that it is within the Chiang Mai city limits. He didn't take me to a stall where a grandmother sweats over a wok, or every a storefront emitting the scent of steaming vats of curry. No, he took me to a place called "Just Khao Soy," a theme-restaurant where everything is in English and the prices are triple what you'd pay anywhere else. According to Lonely Planet, however, Just Khao Soy "lives up to it's name by serving nothing but the local specialty. This is the grand, gourmet version."

I stood outside Just Khao Soy debating whether to go in. I was angry at myself for not being more specific with the tuk-tuk driver. I should know by now that one of the rules of travel is that locals assume you want to go places where you will be comfortable, where you will be among your own kind and language differences will not be an obstacle to enjoying yourself.

This was not the kind of experience I was looking for. Still, in my quest to experience culture both high and low, I decided to check it out. Which was mistake number two. Another rule of travel is that the locals always assume you cannot handle the spiciness of the cuisine. Thai food is often rated according to the number of chilies in a dish. If the Thais eat Pad Kra Prow with eight chilies, they will serve it to you with one or two. Just Khao Soy offered its signature dish in three levels of spiciness, mild, medium of spicy. I asked if spicy meant spicy and was told it did. So I ordered it medium. Mistake number three.

What came to the table was a bland imitation of the Khoa Soy from lunch. Luckily, this gourmet version was served with an array of condiments -- coconut cream to thicken the broth, fish sauce to add saltiness, bananas to sooth the taste buds, pickles and shallots for crunch, and chili paste for burn. I add a healthy dollop of chili paste and was satisfied with the heat level.

Nothing beats authenticity. Vegas New York will never be New York, New York. The Matterhorn at Disneyland cannot compete with the mountain itself. And Just Khao Soy will never live up to the standards set by a nondescript restaurant somewhere in the heart of Chiang Mai.

Of Scams and Stupas

I've been both a recluse and a tourist these past few days in Bangkok. No one would confuse me with Howard Hughes or Syd Barrett; I'm just a traveler taking a break from new the open road. It was merely a combination of travel fatigue and, finally, after five months of pokey service, finding a fast Internet connection.

My hotel on Suhkumvit Soi 10 has free ADSL Internet in every room. With a fast connection I was able to finally able to download video from the iTunes store, notably the end of the third season of "Lost" (more questions, few answers, imagine that), catch up on some internet videos and BitTorrent a handful of recent shows by Ryan Adams & the Cardinals (all recordings sanctioned by the band, for personal use only). Plugged in for a few days felt like being home, like I was on familiar ground for the first time in months.

I also caught up on a few movies. "Transformers" is another piece of wham-bam-thank-you-maam excrement from Michael Bay, but I saw it in the largest multiplex theater in Asia, the 1,200-seat Siam Pavalai. The highlight of the show was when an afternoon electrical storm knocked out power to the entire shopping mall. I also caught an afternoon screening of "Ocean's Thirteen" after watching a bootleg of "Ocean's Twelve" (I don't want to support piracy, but a movie-nut has few options on the road). Both are tart, pulpy and good for a few hours of breezy entertainment. I also watched a fuzzy camcorder-captured copy of "Ratatouille." Pixar and Brad Bird are the best combination working in mainstream movies today. I loved it and can't wait to see it for real.

I took a day out from these personal pursuits to play tourist. The day started with a tuk-tuk ride from Suhkumvit to Khao San Road, the backpacker epicenter of Bangkok. I stayed on Khao San Road for one night in 1994 and recall it as grungy, crowded and cheap. Budget hovels, I mean hotels, and restaurants lined the street, but it wasn't so crowded that you couldn't sit at an outdoor table and watch the action pass by. Khao San Road has expanded over the years and is now a full-blown backpacker ghetto filled with bars, travel agents, tattoo parlors and clothing stores selling the latest in hippie fashion. Signage is everywhere, extending beyond the storefronts and over the sidewalks.

Bangkok by Tuk-Tuk

Khao San Road

Disturbing T-Shirts
But there's hope for the future of Khao San Road. There's a sort of gentrification happening, with a few upscale establishments opening their doors and young Thais, artists and students mostly, moving in. Gentrification is generally regarded as a bad thing. A little cleaning up of Khao San Road could only be good.

Still, the present road has little or me, so I quickly covered its length and left it behind for good. and was very happy to leave Khao San Road behind for good. There are sidewalk vendors everywhere, and touts pitch enticements every few feet. One popular offer is from tuk-tuk drivers: hour-long tours for 20 Baht or less. In reality, they get you in the vehicle and take you to businesses offering ultra-hard sells and outright scams. The tuk-tuk driver gets a commission for roping in the unsuspecting tourist. The general rule of thumb is that if something sounds too good to be true, it's a scam. The Bangkok Gem Scam is a classic example.

I stopped on the way from Khao San Road to the Grand Palace to get my bearings on a map. A Thai man in his thirties asked me where I wanted to go and started offering unsolicited advice. He told me the Grand Palace was closed for the afternoon (a holiday, regular Friday routine, etc.) and said that I should take a tuk-tuk to see the "Lucky Buddha" across town. My guard is up most of the time these days, and my radar was on high alert with Khao San Road just around the corner. So I thanked him and started to walk away, which prompted him to start yelling at me, telling me again that the palace was closed and calling me an "idiot tourist."

Not only was the Grand Palace open, there were signs at the entrance warning tourists to "Beware of strangers offering services." The sign also mentioned tuk-tuks and the lucky buddha. Still, Bangkok has not been overwhelming in the way that Indonesia was. And I've been able to maintain a clear conscience while ignoring the creeps trying to rip me off.

The main attraction at the Grand Palace is not the palace itself, but Wat Phra Kaew, the Temple of the Emerald Buddha. The temple is part of a complex of gleaming golden stupas and ornate statues and buildings. The interior walls of the compound are covered with an extensive mural depicting scenes from Thailand's national epic, the "Ramakian" (derived from the Indian epic "Ramayana"). I don't know the Ramakian from ramen, but was entranced by the paintings. I even found a visual representation of my battle with the flying termites in Ko Lanta. (Full disclosure: I know a lot about ramen!)

Wat Phra Kaew

Family Photo

Battling Bugs

Devotees

After the opulence of the Temple of the Emerald Buddha, the Grand Palace itself was something of a let down. Which is odd, since the Grand Palace is jaw-dropping as well. I think I'd had my fill for sightseeing for the day. Nevertheless, I enjoyed being a tourist again and look forward to Chiang Mai and Northern Thailand. I've had my fill of big, dirty BKK. Time to hit the open road again.

Breathing in Bangkok

In 1994, in transit between Tokyo and Delhi, I spent one night in Bangkok (insert jokes here). I arrived late in the evening and sacked out on Khao San Road, a haven for backpackers from all over the world. I don't recall much from that visit other than a cheap room with thin walls (the couple in the next room put the walls to the test), polluted air and dense traffic. I left early the next day for India and didn't think about Bangkok for many years.

I'm back in the city now, and it's still sprawling and polluted. I haven't returned to Khao San Road though. I've opted instead to go upmarket for a week, booking first into Dream Bangkok, a boutique hotel with all the trimmings, and then Cozy on 10, an affordable "city residence," both located off Thanon Suhkumvit, a section of the city popular with ex-pats and filled with mid-range accommodation. It's been great to settle into a bit of luxury and leave the backpacker trail behind. This is Bangkok after all, a city with a cosmopolitan heart beating behind a chaotic facade. Who couldn't use a few nights sleeping on 300-thread-count Egyptian cotton and watching movies on a 43-inch plasma-screen television?

Dream Bangkok Hotel
Official figures list the population of Bangkok at around 8 million, but the true number is probably double that. This is one crowded city, a patchwork of dense neighborhoods where poverty and wealth coexist, where modern skyscrapers cast shadows over hidden hovels. Beggars line the streets, empty cups outstretched to men and women wearing high-end fashions from European and American designers. It's a city of contrasts and contradictions, a city I haven't begun to understand and probably never will. I just walk the streets and breathe it all in, choking pollution and all.

I believe one way to get to know a place is to visit its markets. I ended up spending my first two days in Bangkok in two different shopping environments. Taken together I think they represent two sides of Bangkok (and Thailand). I first visited Chatuchak Weekend Market, the big Buddha of Bangkok's outdoor markets. I spent the next day at the super-duper upscale Siam Paragon, an ultra-modern shopping complex hawking luxury goods (jewels, furniture, clothing, even Ferraris and Lamborghinis) and visions of the future.

Outdoor market is usually a euphemism for flea market. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Chatuchak, while offering some used good, is a true market. I wandered the aisles, discovering new products around every corner: books, flowers, religious statues, furniture, pet supplies, art, fruits and vegetables, CDs, handicrafts, knickknacks and clothes, so many clothes. Young designers sold their original designs out of tiny stalls, which to me turned an ordinary marketplace into a center of creativity.

I was struck by the range of t-shirts stenciled with clever and attractive designs. I was tempted to buy one with a cat perched atop a stack of amplifiers, but they didn't have a color that I liked. I did, however, buy a set of postcards from a young artist. His expertly rendered drawings of classic Volkswagens (buses and bugs), Mini Coopers and Vespa scooters were too good to pass up. If you are reading this, you may receive one in the mail soon.

Hello Kitty Chocolate Frosty

Chatuchak Clothing Stall

Artist With Postcard of 1955 Volkswagen

Thai Cowboy

Drink Stall (With Matching Blouse)
No market is complete without food. Chatuchak's food stalls are the perfect place to rejuvenate after some serious shopping. Vendors sell soups, noodles and salads from makeshift kitchens wedged into corners of the market. There are also juices, jelly drinks and coffees for sale. I sat down on a wooden bench for a frothy iced coffee and then walked and sipped a freshly-squeezed glass of tart orange and lime juice. Lunch was a a steaming bowl of thin rice noodles with nuggets of chicken and fresh veggies.

Chatuchak is a market for the people. It's down to earth, accessible and welcoming. It's a place where I saw families, couples and teenagers hanging out, shopping and having fun. I stopped and listened to amateur musicians busking for spare change and joined a dense crowd at a makeshift shop selling gold. Chatuchak has something for everyone, even a non-shopper like me.

I was surfing through cable television that night at the hotel while munching on a room service hamburger (you only live once) and came across a segment on a local program about a True Urban Park, a technology-oriented cafe at a mall called Siam Paragon. I hadn't heard about Siam Paragon, so I jumped online and did a little research. According to Wikipedia (a site I trust more every day for facts and figures about Asia), Siam Paragon opened in December 2005 and is one of the largest malls in Asia. The complex includes the obligatory shops and restuarants, but also boasts a concert hall, exhibition spaces, a gourmet market, an aquarium, a bowling alley and a multiplex with the largest multiplex screen in Asia (in the 1,200-seat Siam Pavali, which translates as "The Heaven of God in Siam").

True Urban Park reminded me of an Apple Store crossed with a Starbucks. I learned later that True is a local Internet service provider and the shop a marketing tool. Still, I felt right at home amid all that technology. There is a cafe at one end where clear-plastic lampshades hang from the ceiling and a video screen dominates one wall. The center of the store is dedicated to the latest in technology: computers, mp3 players and cameras are displayed like luxury handbags on a shelf unit. There is a nook filled with books on design and an eclectic collection of CDs. The store is anchored by a lounge with Internet-enabled computers and wide-screen monitors. Prepubescent boys perched played games featuring guns and gore; the girls preferred games in which they taught characters dance routines. And there was wi-fi (why did I leave my laptop at the hotel)?

Siam Paragon Escalators

True Urban Park

Cafe

Tech Wall

Internet Access
I spent the rest of my time at Siam Paragon wandering through the mall, gawking at price tags and musing on globalization and consumer culture. I passed up the aquarium and bowling alley in favor of some quality time at Kinokuniya, one of my favorite bookstores in the world, and was tempted to pick up a new collection of short stories by one of my favorite writers, Haruki Murakami.

In my travels through Southeast Asia I've seen plenty of McDonald's, KFC and Starbucks, which didn't surprise me. I didn't expect, however, to find Bentley, Bose, Mont Blanc and Versace in Bangkok. Call me silly. Call me naive. Call it a learning experience.

What about the food? I've gone four paragraphs without mentioning anything edible. Well, it was a mall. The food court was beautiful, there were luxury restaurants to match the luxury boutiques. I ate a greasy plain plate of Japanese noodles with tempura prawns. I did, however, discover a local ice cream parlor called iBerry, where I was tempted by a scoop of Banana & Cheese ice cream in a waffle cone. I curbed the impulse and moved on.

There is a scoop of Banana & Cheese ice cream in my future. But that's another story. Stay tuned.

Hanging Out at Siam Paragon

The Andaman Express

I've been a slacker this past week about blogging. It's not that I don't want to blog, to fill you in on my whereabouts. It's just that I've been in a funk over my experience of late. Nothing bad has happened to me. I've just been disappointed over finding out that my expectations, however low they may have been, were not low enough. Bear with me as a complain for a while. It may not be pleasant, but I'm good at it.

When I last wrote, I was midway through a tour of the Andaman coast, a geographically spectacular region of Southern Thailand that attracts hoards of visitors throughout the year. My northward journey took me to the islands of Ko Lanta, Railay Beach and Ko Phi Phi, and finally through the tourist mecca of Phuket. These locations are all beautiful, with rugged coastline, white sand beaches, lush jungles and vast coral reefs. So what was my problem?

Railay Beach

Ko Phi Phi

Check out a map of Thailand and you'll see that the Andaman coast is a slender strip of land that connects the bulk of the country in the north to peninsular Malaysia to the south. Anyone that visits the area travels north to south or vice versa. As a first-time visitor to the region, I hit the popular spots (there's a reason they are popular, so why not check them out?), which meant I was part of a roving crowd shuffling from one beach to the next. That couple I met in Ko Lanta? They were in Railay too, and then again in Ko Phi Phi. Those British students at the next table in Railay? There they were huddled against the evening downpour at Ko Phi Phi. That couple I met over lunch in Railay? We had drinks at sunset in Ko Phi Phi and disovered that we were staying in adjacent bungalows. It's like we had all boarded a monorail and were getting on and off at the various stations along the way.

Backpacker Rush Hour, Ko Phi Phi
I mentioned in a post from Railay that I was looking forward to seeing Thailand. This feeling increased the longer I spent on the islands. Ko Lanta was quiet, with very few people in the resorts. At each stop on the journey north, the beaches were more crowded, the towns more frenetic.

I ended in Patong Beach in Phuket, the epicenter of sleaze. I'd heard so many horror stories about the place, about the sleaze and slime. I had to see it for myself. Bars, touts, hookers and scam artists don't add up to a pleasant time. Sleazy is too nice a word for Patong Beach. At least I found a friendly barber and got a nice haircut.

At Railay Beach and on Ko Phi Phi, I was surrounded by Eurpoeans and North Americans. Commercial areas offered an endlessly repeating loop of dive shops, travel agents clothing stores, minimarts, and restaurants and bars. Most of the restaurants served bland Thai food from English menus (I hunted down the places where the locals ate, and was generally happy with the food). At night the bars were filled with crowds of rowdy drinkers. Placards outside the bars advertised which movies they would screen each night ("Little Miss Sunshine" at 6, "Spider-Man 3" at 8). A few Internet cafes offered rows of televisions and libraries of Playstation 2 games, though I only saw young men (western and Thai) at the consoles, and they only played driving and soccer games. Everything I saw could have taken place at any college town in America or Europe.

Playstation Cafe, Ko Phi Phi
What makes this more interesting is that these are places that were hit hard by the Indian Ocean tsunami in December of 2004. But tourism is an important part of the Thai economy and rebuilding started immediately. A few shops displayed photographs of the destruction and aftermath, there were some DVDs for sale, and I saw one T-shirt with the words "Still Alive" printed on the front. But there were no memorials, nothing to educated visitors about the event. According to Wikipedia, on Ko Phi Phi 70% of the buildings were destroyed and 4,000 of the 10,000 people on the island were killed. Where are the memorials? There's a ton of money flowing into these places. Someone is missing a chance to do good.

The bottom line is probably simple: reminding people of killer waves is bad for business. And in southern Thailand, the tourism business is booming.

My Compliments to the Chef

I worked late every Thursday night at my last job, and was famous for ordering Thai. I called it Thai Food Thursdays. It became a sort of running joke that when Matt was working late, there would be a Thai delivery. Do I have to spell it out? I love Thai food.

I arrived in Thailand geared up to eat authentic Thai cuisine. I’ve been disappointed by the selection so far. I blame it on the tourist ghettos, where cooks dial down the spice to bland and then take it a few steps further. Perhaps I could learn to cook Thai food and set my own spice levels.

I emailed a cooking school when I was in Ko Lanta, but it was closed for the season. When I spied a brochure for a cooking school in Ao Nang, I jumped. Here was a chance for me to learn a few tricks.

I enjoy cooking. I believe that if you can read and follow directions, you can cook. There are variables to cooking well, of course, but the basics are quite easy. Follow the steps, don’t let anything burn and adjust for taste. Easy peasy.

Nevertheless, I haven’t cooked anything more complicated than pasta and steamed vegetables in the last five months. Could I handle five courses of Thai food?

I took at long boat from the beach at Railay to the town of Ao Nang and was greeted by a silent man with a sign reading “Smart Cook.” He chauffeured me for fifteen minutes through town, past more travel agencies and resorts than one place should be able to support, to a nondescript house on a quiet residential street. I was beginning to doubt my decision to enroll in a cooking class, but was greeted with a big smile by a young woman named Mark (confusing, I know). This is the low season in southern Thailand (i.e., the rainy season) and I was the only student. Private cooking lessons? Okay by me.

Mark Believes in Fresh Ingredients
Mark handed me a recipe book and we quickly got down to business. She told me we’d be cooking six dishes, each one a staple of Thai cuisine. I had been given the choice of four different menus when I signed up for the class, so I was familiar with the day's program. On the menu were some of my favorites – pat thai, tom yam soup, papaya salad, green curry – and some dishes I was vaguely familiar with – chicken with cashews and banana in coconut milk.

I donned an apron and we got to work. Mark introduced the basic ingredients of Thai cuisine – garlic, lemongrass, onions, galangal (a relative of ginger), chilies – and walked me through the first two dishes, Tom Yam Kung (hot and sour soup with prawns) and Pat Thai (fried noodles). She also told me that if I wanted more meat in any dish, chopping off a finger was not the way to go. It was barely past 9 a.m. and I was getting hungry thinking about the end product.

Tom Yam Kung and Pat Thai require little more than the blending and simple heating of very basic, fresh ingredients. The Tom Yam (my Tom Yam!) was perfect, the galangal, lemongrass and kaffir lime leaves supplying the distinct flavors of Thailand. The whole dish took no more than 10 minutes to prepare. The Pat Thai, I’m sorry to say, was not the best I’ve ever had (the noodles clumped together, it was too dry), but I got the gist of it and will do better the second time around.

Tom Yam Kung

Pat Thai
The next challenge was a curry paste. Somewhere in my past there was an episode in which I tried to make Indian curry from scratch. I recall being overwhelmed by the number of ingredients, the blending of the spices and a complicated round robin of heating, mixing and reheating. I’ve always assumed Thai curries would also be beyond my abilities as a cook. Perhaps I’d fooled myself into believing a delicious cuisine like Thai would have to be complicated. Of everything I learned at Smart Cook, the most important was that Thai food is not complicated. Even curry paste.

Once again, it came down to a few fresh ingredients. We were going to make green curry, but I told Mark about my passion for Penang curry and she offered to show me how to make that instead. It only required that we change a few ingredients – for example, dried chilies instead of fresh. She set me to smashing the ingredients in a stone mortar, telling me how old Thai women have very strong arms from a lifetime of mixing their own curry paste. Then she let on that most people use a blender these days. I was happy to be traditional about the whole thing and worked up a sweat smashing the chilies.

Smashing Chilies for Curry Paste

Ten Minutes Later... Curry Paste
We set the paste to one side and moved to the next dish, Som Tam (papaya salad). I love papaya salad, a spicy mix of unripe papaya, chilies and lime, but the unripe papaya has always been a mystery to me. I asked Mark about it and she led me into the backyard and pointed at a tree with a bunch of cucumber-looking bulbs growing like bananas. Mystery solved. She also pointed out long beans growing in the front yard. Fresh ingredients were sprouting in every corner of the yard. What had at first been a nondescript house was shaping up to be a self-contained center for Thai cookery.

There’s no bite to a dish without that one magic ingredient: the chili. Mark told me green chilies are the hottest, then red, and that the younger and smaller the chili the hotter it is. She also listened to me gripe about the lack of heat in the food I’d eaten lately and told me I could request a dish at a restaurant with a specific number of chilies. She then asked me how many chilies I wanted in my papaya salad. I chose two small green, one red and one that was half and half.

My Som Tam was spicy! My mouth was scalded, my nose running, sweat trickling off my brow. I say this with full awareness of the boasting I’ve done in the past about my tolerance for spicy food. With humble heart I admit I have a three-chili limit when it comes to Som Tam. Nevertheless, I ate most of the dish and savored every bite.

Papaya Salad
Halfway through the menu, I was starting to feel full. I’ve been eating well these past few months, but I’ve also been eating with moderation. The gargantuan portions of American eateries don’t exist in this part of the world. I eat a plate of food and feel fed, not stuffed. Three dishes before 10 a.m. is unheard of for me. I think Mark sensed this because she sat down with me and we talked for the next 20 minutes. We covered the role of food in Thai culture, the superiority of a thin over a thick crust in a pizza, and the ubiquity of processed foods in western diets.

Penang Curry and Kai Pat Med Ma Maung (fried cashew nuts with chicken) may sound like difficult dishes to prepare, but they were both, again, a matter of blending fresh ingredients and cooking them for a few short minutes in a hot wok. Mark was there to regulate the heat and keep me on track. I think the regulation of the heat and the timing of the mixing will be most difficult when I set out on my own. She put both dishes to the side and in we took the next few minutes to prepare dessert, bananas in coconut milk.

Penang Curry

Fried Cashew Nuts With Chicken

Bananas in Coconut Milk
I sat down and ate every delicious bite. When the food’s this good, there’s no such thing as full.

Not too shabby for my first attempt as a Thai chef. I was astonished that such simple dishes could yield such distinct and strong flavors. As far as I can tell, the secret seems to be fresh, local ingredients. Ginger is just not the same as galanga. Lime juice cannot be substituted for kaffir lime leaves. Dried chilies don’t yield the same heat as fresh chilies.

With the popularity of Thai food in America, I’m sure I can get what I need, at least in New York or Los Angeles. So here’s an offer: I’m cooking Thai food for anyone who wants it when I return home. Just drop by any Thursday night.

My Compliments to the Chef