Whenever anyone was looking for me, they knew to find me there.
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I receive random e-mail from strangers inquiring about my travels, specifics about certain places that I’ve visited, etc. I often respond vaguely to questions - even to friends - because much of it really isn’t what most people generally want to hear about. Trips to Thailand have never been about cheap shopping, beaches or long stays in 5 star luxury hotels on the cheap. Exactly the opposite on all counts, in fact, with visits to towns that many don’t even know about because there are no beaches there. No “jungle treks” organized there. No “waterfall” hikes. No resorts or Thai massages. And that I’m usually really, really happy if I can get hot water, even if it does comes out brown sometimes?I received in e-mail recently from someone who found his way to this travel journal,
“Ah…the problem of people at home understanding this compulsion…and understanding the process of absorbing and learning that goes along with it. So many times I’d come home from some long absence, even sometimes, after being involved in really harrowing stuff, and be asked, “so, how was your trip?” and I’d stumble for words–because how can you sum up, let alone accurately convey–the intensity, aliveness, expansiveness, joy, beautiful aloneness, shadows, darkness, horror, excitement, happiness, pensiveness, challenge, risk, reward, revelations, reflection and all the rest that goes into those compressed months? You try, and then the people you talk to will say something like “wow. That’s awesome…amazing…what do you want to eat for dinner?”
How do I effectively explain to someone what life an active warzone for “guerillas” really is, from my limited observations? War isn’t necessarily guns and explosions at your home everday; it’s the fear of attack that weighs in your heart and every moment of your consciousness. War, although there may be no explosions at the moment, means not idly sitting back for even a 1 hour lunch. It means no long showers. It means sleeping with the proverbial one eye open in preparation of attack. These are just a few living definitions of war. Times of war surpass, for lack of a better word, immediate physical threat. War is psychological. How do I effectively explain what I felt as I learned all of this; eating each meal on my feet, showering speedily, and being ready to run at all times? At. All. Times.
How do I explain the punch in the stomach that I felt when I heard that one of the Officers whom I knew had a leg blown off by a landmine just 3 weeks later? Or that I saw a boy who had his face blown off moments earlier by a homemade landmine? Or the gulity relief that it wasn’t me? None of this is a reality that we could ever imagine; me included at one time. How can I effectively explain the simultaneous feelings of admiration, fear, sympathy, humble rude awakening to life and priveleged guilt of knowing that I will most likely hike away from this war - barring any attacks - in my $120 New Balances that soldiers washed by hand in the stream upon our arrival, with my $80 Chaco sandals strapped to my $100 Camelback, in my $90 Patagonia quick dry pants, when for the last three weeks, I tiptoed around a field that surrounded the camp because I was afraid to step on our daily vegetarian meals from those same fields that I was trouncing on.
Though this “top of the line” “gear” was well worn through many previous travels it was ineffective in this extremely extreme game of REAL LIFE and a dollar sign wouldn’t save me. Where I slipped in monsoon muds, falling flat on my back several times and smashing a camera as we hurried through the jungle, soldiers ran down the nearly vertical hills in rubber flip-flops. The kind that we buy at the supermarket for about $2.00; they come in either blue, green or red soles. Each of the 100 times or so that I landed in the mud, I had to ask myself what my expensive gear was doing for me, if it couldn’t save my life in a likely threatening situation.
When a good friend prodded me about how I have evolved to such a complete disinterest in consumerism and materials, I had a hard time explaining effectively that my previous trips had planted the seed, but this Life or Death trip sealed the deal. I had the best equipment of the all the villages combined but I would still need 15 year old soldiers with deep shrapnel scars and rubber flip flops and to feed me daily and save my life. When I offered a band-aid to one who discovered bad leech lesions, he declined, stating that he’d probably like it and not have any when I left. We’re talking about a band-aid, people.
How do I explain that by the time I finally left, I was more bored at the brigade camp than scared? Times of war can be surprisingly boring. When sun goes down, there’s nothing to do but talk to each other through translation by the light of quickly melting cheap candles, listening to the playing of a very badly damaged guitar. The comraderie is nice, but how do you effectively explain the conflicting feelings of boredom and outright fear for your life through brutal death?
I have grandiose dreams of inspiring others with my true stories of the inherent goodness of people, and what life is like in another world where all of our expensive possessions amount to nothing in the extremely extreme game of Real Life. I’m not just talking about the difference in cultures amongst first worlds and their luxuries: San Francisco-New York-Paris-London-LA-Tokyo-Wherever. I’m talking about haves and have-nots. True needs and perceived needs. Life and death. I’m talking about being afraid to step freely because I knew that our vegetarian dinner may consist of the tiny leaves from underfoot if they could harvest nothing else. I’m talking about 15 year olds who have watched their family members killed. About 7 year olds waiting to grow into the insurgence.
In my mind is the reality of different cultures and foreign lands, etched permanently to be recalled when I get caught up here at home in the grind; and I do get caught up just like everyone else. I eat out every day, I live in one of the nicest towns in all of the U.S and I safely walk the streets at all hours. I take long showers and baths in one of our two full baths after an unemployed day downstairs lounging in the sun at our pool. I do get caught up in “nice” and I also forget what’s out there.
Hopefully though, I’ve inspired someone else with these stories and anecdotes. If that’s the case, then this travel log is doing it’s job. Even if we don’t talk about my adventures, I hope that you venture out to seek your own and share them with me. This log will continue with backdated stories and additions of lessons that I’ve learned along the way through people.
Christmas and New Years were spent abroad, and I’m home now.
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The rare large nosed Probiscus Monkeys exist only in Borneo in the Mangrove forest.
Macaques will steal your food while you are looking, break into your room by prying windows open, and take your first-born if he isn’t tied down…
Just shoo’d away from the cantina where he was trying to steal food.
This one. She and I had some words.
A mother and her baby. I sat for hours watching them before a male Macaque jumped boldly onto my path as a warning to step away.
Sneaking into the cantina.Pit Vipers will kill you. Okay. Nuff said….
I helped some Swedish National Geographic Photographers find the tracks of the bearded pigs. Here’s a link to the wild pig. It was fun to tag along and see him in action.
More monkeys on Bako. Sightings for these primates on Bako are rare, however a fortunate few have one last chance to witness the migration in mid-May 2004. They travel in small herds foraging the swamps and forest for frogs, chinese broccoli and tigers (beer). As well, this species has been known to prey on meek Chinese/Burmese/American creatures. They are indigenous to Finland, however, their propensity for tropical climates lead their migration to various Paradise locations. Their navigation skills are poor and the Finnish monkeys have been sighted wandering aimlessly in Kuching, Kuala Lumpur and Malacca. A first Thailand sighting was reported in late in 2003.
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“Block, Block, Block,” each time I kick with no block to protect myself.
My form is finally good and he gives me the thumbs up. He switches sides and commands, “Ten”. As I deliver the first two consecutive with my left, I wail, “TENNNN???. I give him ten with a weaker foot and I almost collapse at 4. He switches sides for another ten with my right foot. At 3, he pops me on the left side of my head. My head jolts hard; I didn’t have a fist up for a block. “Block, block, block,” he grins. “I told you. You didn’t block.” The next seven kicks are perfectly formed and the sound of strong, solid contact rings in my ears. As I try to recreate these sounds, the round comes to an end with my sweat dripping and flying, “Yab! Yab! Left! Yab! Right,elbow,elbow, elbow!” he shouts. The combination of adrenaline and awareness of power in my body, combined with his shouts and commands fuel my sheer will to destroy. I’m sounding fierce by the end. My elbow is completely bruised now. It dawns on me, as I fold over with hands upon my knees gasping for breath, and dripping sweat in the ring is Jab, Jab, Jab. Not “Yab, Yab, Yab.”
Women who come to Sor Vorapin Gym, get our 300 bahts worth per lesson. For instance, the guys who come to train take lessons get about solid 1 hour or less for their money. If you’re a girl, typically the only girl in the gym, the trainers will work with you, then other professionals will basically want to play fight. There will be no downtime. Not that they’ll refrain from hitting you on the side of the head or knee you in the kidney. Alternatively, you may get in a few kicks to their heads like I did - by luck. Or a few upper cuts then a jab - by blindsiding. I’m a beginner, but I’m unashamed.
After a quick shower, we reconciled with the beginning of New Year’s dinner. They pulled out the tables and out came a Thai spread - right in the alley of the gym. Drinking…eating…boxing. I received an e-mail from a friend at home stating, “You’re missing out on some great parties….” I wrote back, “I doubt that. You should be here.” You missed out.
A whole world awaits, and it’ll welcome you if you let it.
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