And the craziness continues. . . .

The protesters have made their final push. Into the main international airport. Yesterday. I have a flight to India on Friday. Hey Thailand, figure it out before then.

Check out the video in this BBC article.

Just when I thought I couldn't be anymore amazed. . .

The protesters have made their final push. Into the main international airport. Yesterday. I have a flight to India on Friday. Hey Thailand, figure it out before then.

Check out the video in this BBC article.

Throw Me A Life Ring...I'm Drowning In Culture (The Second Installment)

I decided that in order to make the retelling of this story more palatable for the reader I would break it up into three, semi-logical sections; the first of these sections being Delhi, the second Manali, and the third Leh. This would ideally make it possible for you to read my ramblings in smaller doses and hopefully preserving any enjoyment one could possibly derive from hearing the story. Let me apologize in advance for the length of the entries and any pain it causes.

In case you had a break since reading the first installment, I'll take a second to bring you back up to speed. Ruby and I have just narrowly escaped the grasp of The Dark Prince himself in the terrestrial hell that is Delhi and are currently on the road to Manali.

Manali, at an elevation of 1,950 m or 6,398 ft, was a welcomed change from Delhi. The ride to Manali was quite long (550 km) and took nearly 22 hours in the bus, mostly due to the accident and a couple stops there after for meals and to switch buses for one with a less smashed windshield. One meal was particularly interesting as we stopped at a restaurant along the road. Ruby and I were cautiously approaching the place where it seemed the food was coming from when we were approached by a tall, smiling Indian who immediately addressed us in loud English, "You want food?" to which we nodded, apprehensively, and he responded quickly, just as loudly as before, "Sit!" We sat and were each nearly immediately served with large metal dishes of food. We ate between giggling and marveling to one another that we actually made it out of Delhi.

Upon arrival Ruby, the French Canadians, and myself took the 2 km walk from main Manali to the town of Vashist. When we reached Vashist we parted ways with the French Canadians in the search for a place to crash. We found the Hotel Valley View, which came recommended, albeit understated, by Lonely Planet. The rooms were 250 INR (approximately 5 USD) and overlooked the Beas River Valley and various snow capped mountains, this in addition to the hot water was well worth the 5 USD a night (rather 2.5 USD since there were two of us). We ventured upstairs to eat and were greeted by the smiling faces of the French Canadians asking about the rooms, we told them we were staying there and told them that the view was spectacular and there was hot water. We sat to eat in the hotel, lacking the energy to explore the town further, and were greeted by another smiling Indian whose name was Jammin. We ate and returned to our room discovering a feature that we had overlooked previously. Through the door to the room was a light that became known as the “submarine light” seeing as it was just a bare, red bulb.

The following day we went upstairs again and were greeted by Jammin and ate a quick breakfast where we decided to climb the ridge behind our hotel. A quick note about Jammin: he, when asked how he was, would answer “I’m good man; good day, you know ‘santi santi.’” A phrase we didn’t really understand, but would nod and say, “Cool man, good to hear.” Also, breakfast most days consisted of a cup of milk tea, known as chai. This sweet nectar of the Gods consists of black tea brewed in milk to which a little mixed spice and enough sugar to rot your teeth are added. Manali truly introduced us to this drink that we subsequently drowned ourselves in for remaining time in India. Anyway, it was overcast and drizzling off and on but we left anyway with the idea of just diving into the forest and clambering our way to the top of the ridge. There was a small path towards the end of the road so we started on that which soon dissolved into us following animal paths through the woods. We reached a waterfall about two-thirds of the way up the ridge, but that marked the point that ended our climb seeing as in front of us we saw thick, overgrown brush and beyond that was a rock wall. The trip down was much easier than the trip up and consisted of us sliding down a washout path that covered most of the distance we had climbed. We then proceeded down to the river valley to do some walking along the river. We walked down behind the hotel and walked through the apple orchard behind the hotel and came to a rock next to the road. I jumped down the two or three feet without incident but Ruby didn’t quite have the same luck. She took the jump and landed with her body positioned to far forward over her feet and tumbled forward, jamming her finger in the process. In case you forgot, Ruby was present when I got my concussion and bruised ribs taking a tumble over a hedge, so I took the opportunity to have a good laugh at both the situation (Ruby falling) and the role reversal. After walking up the river bed for a while we returned to the hotel to shower and then headed out for dinner.

The following day we set our sights on climbing the ridge across the valley from our hotel. This involved us walking down to Manali to the bridge across the river, then turning around and walking along the river towards Old Manali, and then diving into the apple orchards across from our hotel. We again ended up following more animal paths up towards the top of the hill through apple orchards and past people working in the fields. We covered a considerable bit of ground but again never reached the “top.” The way down we decided to try another path and ended up stumbling through apple orchards and past houses trying to find the road at the bottom. Eventually we popped out on the road, oddly enough, about 50 meters up river from where we dove into the woods. We walked back to Old Manali and had lunch in a shanty next to the river that was packed full of Indians. We figured the fact that there were so many of them there meant that the food had to at least be halfway decent, which it certainly was. Along the walk back we were intercepted by a pack of Indian girls that wanted to take their picture with us. After taking a couple of pictures with them we continued our walk back towards Manali which was soon interrupted by nearly two full barrels of monkeys (we assumed each barrel of monkeys would hold about 20 monkeys, and there were about 30 to 35 monkeys present). Clearly the person who coined the phrase “As much fun as a barrel of monkeys” had never had monkeys blocking their path. We tried to walk through them appearing as non-threatening as possible, but one small monkey decided that wasn’t going to happen and decided to shriek at me and bear his teeth whenever I got anywhere close. At this point we were surrounded by monkeys and began to slowly back away. We waited on the fringes until they had disbanded themselves through intense infighting and dissolved, screeching, back into the woods, and we made a mad dash past. On the walk back from Manali to Vashist we walked past a puppy, which was much more excited to see us than the monkeys were and jumped around and barked happily at us.

The following day, tired from the two previous days of hiking, we decided to walk around the towns and check out the various temples in the area. The first temple we visited was built in the 1553 and was a building around a rock outcropping that once inside, you crawled, one at a time, underneath had a look at the statue and came out. Once out from underneath the rock you would walk over to a guru and he gave you a handful of sweetened, crispy rice and gave you a red dot between the eyes. Leaving the temple we ran into a group of Indian school boys on a school trip. They walked with us for a while and introduced themselves to us, one of which was introduced in the following way, “This is my fattest friend.” To which the fattest friend responded “Yep, that’s me! I like fast food!” The guy that was introduced as “the group leader” walked down the road with his arm around my shoulders and asked me what my favorite foods were. All of my responses were hilarious to them, and by the time we parted ways with them our pictures (sometimes with the kids and sometimes not) were on multiple cameras and camera phones. We walked back up to Vashist and visited the temple in town and continued walking to a waterfall along a path that led out the far side of town. Along the way we ran into a couple groups of cows being herded back home for the evening, one of which “like[d] [Ruby]” as stated by the farmer walking them as the cow took a couple steps down a mountain directly towards Ruby. I truly thought the cow was going to plow Ruby off the mountain. The waterfall we found at the end of the trail was spectacular and I walked behind the waterfall getting soaked by the spray off the rocks at the bottom. We returned again to our room, satisfied by another awesome day in the Himalayas, where at the door we saw Indian women holding giant white rabbits. These bunnies were also at the temple and if you paid 10 INR (0.2 USD) you could take your picture holding the rabbits, which Ruby gladly participated in.

The following, and final day we spent in Manali, we spent walking up the Beas River Valley and through a couple small towns up river from Manali. The weather was clear and the walk was awesome. We spent most of the day walking. When we got back to the hotel we tried to call the company through which we booked our van to Leh and find out the number of our van, but when trying to call out from the hotel room phone, we accidentally called the front desk. The person on the other end was Jammin, who was thoroughly confused by what we were asking and came down to the room where we had to try to explain that we called the desk by accident. We paid our hotel bill and then there was a knock on the door when I was getting into the shower and it was Jammin with his cell phone in hand. He handed the phone to Ruby and he had called the number of the place we had reserved our seats through and we were able to get a couple of bus numbers. We went, after sleeping a little, up to the meeting point for our van to Leh where we waited in the cold for about 45 minutes to an hour at which point we were picked up by a taxi and driven down to the van which was parked in Manali. After careful selection of CDs by the driver we were on our way to Leh across the second highest motorable road in the world.

The Thai Man's Burden

Over a century ago, a little known Brit by the name of Rudyard Kipling, Rudy Kip to his friends, wrote a poem entitled "The White Man's Burden". The poem lays out the West's need, burden if you will, to colonize those countries believed to be less civilized and developed. Decades of development have shown just how ridiculous the poem is and allowed present generations to focus on Rudy's more lasting contributions, such as the Jungle Book.
Although difference in content, I've discovered a phenomenon here in Thailand that fits well with the title of Kip's 1899 work and I have taken the liberty of dubbing in "The Thai Man's Burden". A common form of transportation here in Thailand are songthaews ("two rows" in English), small pickup trucks with benches lining the bed for passengers to sit on. Whereas buses are fit to transport individuals across the city and between neighborhoods, songthaews are ideal for intra-neighborhood transport.
It is not uncommon for us to catch a songthaew to get to a larger bus stop or to shorten the commute between home and a restaurant. Yet every time we set foot in one of them, business for the driver immediately drops off. I'd love to be able to say that it is because Thais are so kind as to cater to our every need, but that'd be ridiculous. As gracious as Thais may be, they're still rational. No, the problem is that other Thai passengers won't get on. Despite the driver's efforts to coax passengers into the back of his truck with constant honking, no one wants any part of it. It would be great it I could write this off simply as coincidence, but given the numerous times it has occurred, I can't.
I harbor no bad feeling against Thai's not wanting to ride with us or simply waiting for another songthaew, of which there are plenty. I also don't pity myself, a rare occurrence to be sure. Instead I feel bad for the songthaew driver who is forced to shoulder the burden of a couple of farang, at the expense of other passengers, until we reach our destination. So if any Thai songthaew drivers in Thonburi are reading this, here it is, an open apology for the loss of revenue caused by any and all farang during the past 5 months and the coming 2 months. Anything outside of those boundaries, well, I can't be held responsible for that.

Throw Me A Life Ring...I'm Drowning In Culture (The First Installment)

First things first, Mr. and Mrs. Phillips, this is Dan writing, and let me apologize for causing a month or two of confusion about "the fall." I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I was the one to take the fall.

More to the point, I (still Dan) just got back from a trip to Northern India to pay a visit to the Great Himalayan Mountains. I, with Ruby, left Thailand on a nearly empty airplane bound for Colombo connecting to Delhi. After two uneventful flights we arrived in Delhi for our one night stay before departing to the Himalayas. Let me preface this story with one comment on Delhi; if there is a Hell and it happens to exist on Earth, I found it, and it's Delhi. Look no further. That being said, we got off our plane around 11 pm and wanted to go to Paraganj (a district in Delhi) to find a place to stay for the night before departing for Manali the next day. We got a ticket from the prepaid taxi stand and were immediately whisked by some impish Indians to their taxi which we were under the impression would take us where we wanted to go. Wrong. We were driven around the God forsaken city, being told that Paraganj was flooded, burned down, and collapsing into riots, all of which we feverently denied and practically begged to be taken to our destination. After much time wasted we were taken to a dimly lit and smoky "Tourist Information" shop. There we were lied to about our travel plans, told that the road to Manali was washed out and we would never make it. When we said we didn't care and would like to try anyway, we called "bus companies" (I placed bus companies in quotes because I'm sure it was the owner's friends) who all told us they were booked full. We turned down every offer they placed forth for us as they chain smoked cigarettes, literally end to end. Eventually we continued on our way with the same cab driver, who again refused to take us to our destination and instead took us to a hotel of his choosing, the whole while telling me that I was a "bad man" and that "I didn't care about [Ruby's] safety" and that "I wasn't [Ruby's] friend." We, for lack of any other possible options, stayed in this overpriced room and decided to regroup in the morning and try to continue from there.

The following day we had various similar experiences with auto-rickshaws eventually landing us to continue on foot for fear of being just driven around and lied to. We finally, after much heartache, made it to a true government tourist information office and were directed to a reputable location to buy a bus ticket to Manali. We bought our tickets and the bus left that evening, around 5 pm, and it was presently 11 am. We decided to go somewhere and sit with no destination, and just blow off time until our bus left. We found a grassy knoll and defended it from people trying to sell us things from shoe repair to ear cleaning. Eventually we returned to the location where our bus was supposed to arrive and we met two French Canadians who were headed to Manali as well. Buses started arriving and we, along with the French Canadians, ran around checking each bus and none of them were ours. Eventually we found our bus, getting a parking ticket, and successfully boarded our bus.

We felt we were on our way, shockingly still on our original schedule, when we felt the desparate hands of Lucifer make one last grab from Delhi. Our bus got in an accident. It hit a truck that cut us off and the truck took off into the night. The spare driver, who was in the luggage compartment for lack of seats on the bus, jumped out babbling frantic Hindi and flagged down a passing motorcycle and took after the truck. After an hour and a half on the side of the road with Indian police he returned without the truck and we reluctantly left. This time truly on our way, cursing Delhi and praying the rest of our trip would go better than the first 18 hours.

Seriously?

Despite my busy Monday schedule over here (and Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, but never Sunday. . . never), I still make time to attempt to be an informed individual. Notice the word attempt. In doing so, I check the New York Times, BBC News, ESPN, and my e-mail on a regular basis. On the good 'ol NYT today, yesterday for the US, there was a article that made me realize how long I've been away. Entitled, "In Age of Impatience, Cutting PC Start Time", the article sheds light on a horrid, terrifying aspect of American life: the wait between hitting the power button on your computer and then being able to waste time on it.
Only the US. Don't get me wrong, I love the Stars and Bars, overeating, basketball, real breakfasts, democracy, HBO miniseries (Rome, John Adams, etc.), Ed Harris, and Cranium as much as the next American, but only in the US could this be a problem. One individual, Sergei Krupenin, believes that "It’s ridiculous to ask people to wait a couple of minutes." A couple of minutes? Seriously? Do "A Couple Minutes Abs" workout (patent pending), eat breakfast, scratch yourself. But wait, maybe this Sergei holds some sort of degree and he's performed research that explains how vital these few minutes are. Nope, his only credentials are that he is the executive director of marketing for a company that makes quick-boot software for computers. American advertising at its finest: if there isn't a market for your product, create one.
I can only imagine people over here in Thailand worrying about those hundred or so lost seconds. This is a country where the phrases (in Thai of course) "It will come" and "No problem" are like national mottos. A country where monsoon rains allow one an enjoyable respite from daily activities, not an inconvenience as one struggles to keep to his daily schedule.
So thank you Mr. Richtel and Ms. Vance for shedding light on this horrible atrocity that requires an immediate solution. The ailing citizens of the US, nay, the world, will forever be in your debt.

The Thai-Cambodia Temple Conflict Explained

Following my trip up north for a week, I got about a day’s break before my parents arrived, both fortunate enough to have shifted 12 time zones for a week’s worth of travel. Using the convention of requiring a day of recovery for each time zone crossed, that would put them somewhere in either Eastern Europe or the Western Pacific (however it works) as they boarded the plane back to the States this past Friday. They were troopers though. Each day they’d outlast me, but that was only because their bodies were incapable of sleeping past 6 AM.

Thailand was the bookend for their visit, with Bangkok and a cooking class at the beginning and Koh Samet and a dinner cruise at the end. All the end between time was spent taking in the . . . sights of Cambodia. Yeah, sights, that’s a good way of describing them.

A quick note to preface the following paragraphs: most of this won’t be politically correct. In fact, all of it won’t be. Furthermore, who am I to judge a country on the few citizens I’ve met or the small number of places I’ve visited? But then again, to judge it on anything else wouldn’t make sense, would it?

For the past few months, Thailand and Cambodia have been exchanging words and shots (and gamblers) over a small plot of land within a temple complex called Preah Vihear. What’s so special about one temple when each country has hundreds of others? As far as I can tell, the only thing forcing this issue is Cambodia, a country that functions almost solely on revenues from temple tourism. Thailand on the other hand is simply playing the role of the more accomplished, diversified friend that isn’t going to give something up simply for the principle of it.

Tourists pay $20 for a visa upon arrival and then another $20 to enter the Angkor temple complex. Notice I use the denomination of American dollars. That’s right, the Cambodian riel, trading 4000 to the dollar, isn’t even the preferred denomination in the country. Yet somehow that gives Cambodian visa officials the right to refuse my bill with Andrew Jackson gracing the front all because of a centimeter long tear in it. On what basis do Cambodians have to refuse that bill when it is still perfectly valid in the country that minted it?

But back to tourism. A solid 4 million tourists visit Angkor Wat alone each year, putting the income from tourism (visas and all) at $160 million. Not bad huh? So where does this money go? Not to the development of infrastructure as the capital, Phnom Penh, had very few regions in which a paved road intersected a paved road and the bus ride from Phnom Penh to Siemreap felt more like a ride on the ocean. Education then right? Nope, the kids I met were either selling bootleg books and DVDs, spouting facts about the US, or mowing the grass by hand at Angkor Wat with a scythe. Public works programs? Not quite. The

Cambodian government, albeit faced with a tall task, appears to do little about the status quo.

To be fair though, Cambodia has been ravaged by tourism, perhaps worst of all by

some of its own Asian neighbors. Japanese and Korean companies have the tourism industry so vertically integrated that Andrew Carnegie would be patting them on the back. Japanese tourists will fly over in large groups on Japanese owned airlines and are picked up upon arrival and shuttle around by Japanese owned bus companies. They stay in hotels that are undoubtedly financed by Japanese investors, typically eating at those restaurants housed in the hotel. They then proceed to visit the Angkor temple complex that unsurprisingly has been funded in part by the Japanese government. So what net economic benefit do these companies and tourists bring to the country? Well, I guess they do buy a substantial amount of bottled water. . .

So there you have it, Cambodia’s struggle for temples that ultimately fill the pockets of foreign companies, with American dollars at that. With more companies being developed, more local guides and drivers are put out of business forcing them to become more desperate and more pushy with the tourists that are traveling separate from large groups. This creates bitter memories for the tourists who then recommend to the friends to avoid the place or go with a tour group, thus continuing the cycle.

So there you have it, a naïve Midwesterner’s take on a country he spent less than four days in. Is that the whole picture? Probably not, but it’s the only one that could have been taken. But to leave it at this would be unfair to Cambodia and the millions of tourists that will entered the country whose only hope is to be disappointed (yes, I’m under the impression that millions of people read this blog). There are 3 bright spots to look forward to during a visit to Cambodia: (1) Angkor beer, the national beer of Cambodia, (2) baguettes for breakfast, a remnant of France’s colonization of the country, (3) incredibly soft shirts at dirt cheap prices, just beware of searching for a purple Tiger beer shirt size M.

In my search for pictures, I came across this blog that was great except for the fact that it reminded me how many amazing shots of tour groups I missed.

A brief hiatus. . .

Yes, I realize that people are typically informed of a hiatus prior to its occurrence, but then again, this is Thailand, and if you ever do find something out, it's usually after the fact. The last month or so was a little hectic given that for all of our courses we had 5 presentations, 5 papers, and 3 finals in less than two weeks. Not horrible if you know the deadlines ahead of time and haven't been lulled into a false sense of security given your previous "workload".

During that time I got a bacterial ear infection, attended a three day Franco-Thai conference in one of Thailand's most ace hotels, learned to entertain Thai kids from our neighborhood, and hosted Camille, a friend I met in India. And yes, the name says it all, she's French. In her defense though, she speaks fluent American. The picture at the right is one of my daily beard pictures taken while I had the ear ailment. The facial hair progression is posted online now.

Once classes ended we all split out for different locales. Half of the group stayed in Bangkok (contradicting my previous statement), while Dan and Ruby jetted to the Himalayas and Angela and I experienced the north of Thailand. No word yet from Duby (the collective title of Dan and Ruby). I'm just hoping their sherpa didn't strand them at the base of the mountains and drive off with their gear in his rickshaw. Duby has assaulted people for much less, so I'm not worried.

Angela and I enjoyed our travels to Chiang Mai, Chiang Rai, Mae Sai, and Sobruak, seeing a million different wats, flooded caves, and opium dens along the way. After a train trip of 16 hours back to BKK, Angela hopped a bus to Koh Tao with Elizabeth, Hillary, and Kevin to SCUBA dive and I'm holding down the fort until my parents arrive in approximately 6 hours. The picture to the right is one taken during our train ride back to Bangkok. It never ceases to amaze me how lush the rice paddies here can look, only to turn out such an unimpressive, bland product. Don't get me wrong, rice has held its own in the region, but you'd hope for a little more out of such fertile fields.

A few things I've picked up over the past few weeks: (1) Burmese refugees will not hesitate to chase you down if they have greater numbers and children, (2) delicious hashbrowns (read shredded fried potatoes) do exist in Thailand and you have to look no further than a 16 hour train ride from Bangkok to Art Cafe in Chiang Mai, (3) Thais will not hesitate to take you to an attraction that you will be unable to fully experience, such as caves during the monsoon season, (4) the race for governor of Bangkok in 2008 was more exciting than any other election I will ever witness, look no further than here for evidence.

This last picture is a shot from the heart of the Golden Triangle in Sobruak. The confluence of the Mekong and Mae Sai marks the intersection of Myanmar, Thailand, and Laos. To the left of both rivers is Thailand, in between the two rivers in Myanmar, and to the right of the largest river is Laos. Impressive, but it still has nothing on the Four Corners in the US.

The Taller You Are, The Harder You Fall

As if it wasn't enough to be the token semi-tall white guy in a country of short Asians, I had the privilege of adding to my reputation with the local residents of Thonburi. Let me do you a favor and set the scene, it was a hot, muggy day [that's to say that you'd expect anything different in Thailand] that was somewhat overcast [again, nothing out of the ordinary]. Ruby, Pai, Sarah, and myself decided to occupy ourselves by throwing around the Frisbee on the field in the front of the university. We first noticed upon arriving that there was a group of six Thais setting up a stage in the middle of our playing field, but we decided that since we were an unusually small group we could just throw and do our best to keep from hitting the workers. All was going swimmingly and I was sent a throw that was flying wide to my right, towards the bushes that line the field and represent a boundary between grass and a concrete path. I took to running after the Frisbee and it got to the point where I realized that I wasn't going to make the catch no matter how hard I tried, so I look up to find out where I had run to, and found myself heading straight for the trunk of a tree surrounded by a bush that is comes to just above my knee height. It was at that point that I was faced with two options, run into the bush and tree, or try to make jump the corner of the bush. In the split second I had to make a decision, I decided the latter was the option that best suited me, so I took my leap, and the bush took a chop shot at my feet and took me from my previously vertical position and laid me, not quite gently, into a horizontal position. I've since given up my quest to become an Olympic hurdler.

It doesn't take a physicist to alert you to what happened next, but the details of the impact escape me. What I can tell you, is that I hit concrete, and my head got involved along with the rest of the right side of my body. I remember next being greeted with a searing pain in my head and a dizziness that told me standing up was pretty near out of the question. Despite my debilitating dizziness, I told myself "Stand up, it won't be as bad once you're on your feet." Incorrect. I rolled to my stomach and got to my knees before being halted by pain and dizziness. At this point the others had joined me and I took questions on the concrete, although this is still relatively fuzzy in my memory. Eventually I was on my feet and moving to the other side of the field to have a nice sit and assess the damage. I had taken a scraping on various locations on my right side, and where I had hit my head [just above my right eye] was forming a nice goose egg. Sarah left to get ice and I sat and told Pai and Ruby how I felt and how I was happy that the concrete was freshly laid, but not still wet. My dizziness started to subside once I got ice on my head, but my vision out of my right eye was fuzzy, as if my right eye was refusing to focus.

Before too long we left the field to shower and reconvene for dinner. I wandered, still dazed, back to the dorm, seeing one of the other grad students from JGSEE on the way [don't recall the exact conversation, but I do remember telling him I'd call him for lunch the following day], showered, and my vision in my right eye still wasn't back to normal. After dinner I came back to the dorm and decided to sleep on the situation, having taken Advil to dull the searing pain in my head and my side, and read with my right eye closed so I could actually focus on the page. I called home in the morning when my vision still hadn't quite returned to normal, to get an opinion from Dr. Dad. After describing my symptoms he told me he thought I had probably gotten a concussion and maybe bruised a couple ribs [accounting for my pain with breathing, coughing, and sneezing] during my faceplant onto the path. Both ailments carried the treatment of rest, taking Advil, and avoiding further head damage. Mom had the advice of "being more careful with my head from now on."

Today marks about a week since my fall and my headache and swelling on my head are gone for the most part, but I can't quite say the same for my ribs, which still hurt, pretty considerably. I can only imagine that the Thais that saw me take my fall had a great story to tell all their friends and family in the area that had inevitably seen or heard about me or our group in the past 3 months, and I'm sure they came home with a story that I imagine started something like "You'll never guess what I saw that tall white kid do today..."

Obama? Oh boy!

The fight for democracy is on, or rather the pretense of such a battle. Back home you’ve got the John and Barack drama and here in Thailand we’ve got the anti-democracy People’s Alliance for Democracy locked in an epic struggle for unrepresentative control of the Land of Smiles. But let us shelve the Thai situation for a moment and focus on the presidential campaign in the land of milk and honey.

This past week saw the Democratic National Convention come and go, the finale involving an acclimated Barrack Obama wooing 80,000 people who were already going to vote for him. Word on the street was that a group of Americans here in Bangkok were replaying Obama’s acceptance speech at a restaurant on Friday night and all Americans near and far were invited to watch.

As soon as class was out we rushed home, unloaded our backpacks packed with homework, and set our sights on Roadhouse Barbecue, the location of the event. After a quick 2 hour cab ride into Bangkok in which we lost our seats and missed the first 20 minutes of the speech, we had made it. The next half hour was spent listening to Obama charm his supporters and woo the world with the crowd in the bar filling in his pauses with the appropriate applause and whooping and hollering.

A brief digression is necessary at this point. The organizing group behind this affair? Democrats Abroad. Yeah, that’s right, Democrats Abroad. Talk about redundant. The only Republican bastions outside the US can be found in Iraq and Afghanistan. So if you organize meetings concerning the US presidential campaign outside the US and you’re not in Kandahar or the Green Zone, there’s about a 110% chance that it will be a predominantly Democratic gathering.

So after the speech was over, the back-patting complete, the self-congratulations exhausted, and customary 8-year old trotted out as an example of "what is at stake in this election", what was left? Well, the same group that entered. Now I'm all for the democratic process and I signed up for my absentee ballot like a number of other people there, but I'm realistic as well. The most important part is my token action of sending in my vote and partcipating in our country's democratic process. I have no illusions that my vote will ever be counted, especially in North Carolina, but that's not the point. The point is that it still counts.

So that's what I took away from the evening. Well, that and the fact that two hour taxi rides with 6 people in one cab are about as enjoyable as getting your wisdom teeth out. Hell, if anyone deserved a pat on the back that night it was our haggard group stumbling into the restaurant a half hour late. Then again, the bleu cheese cheeseburger I had to end the night was reward enough.

Ja pai nai, krap?

Where are you going?

Regardless of time and location, if you're in Thailand, you're bound to be asked this questions at least once a day. The phrase in Thai, "Ja pai nai, krap?", is similar to "What's up?" or "How's it going?" in English. It's a standard way to greet someone and rarely does the person care what the answer is. The only time it really matters is if you're both going the same place.

In learning English, Thais have simply carried this phrase over and nothing could be more frustrating. Even after learning why Thais always asked where you were going, it took weeks to get used to it. Someone I'd run into would ask "Where are you going" and I'd stop, think about it, and then start to explain, only to be cut off by a blank smile and the realization that they didn't actually want to know where is was going. I could be on my way to surgery or to rob a bank and they couldn't care less.

It isn't anything personal. It isn't that they don't care about you. It's just a Thai phrase that takes some getting used to. Everytime it happens I feel like I'm in this Budweiser commercial.

I've since grown somewhat accustomed to the question and in doing so, learned to fight fire with fire. The two prongs of my attack: (1) Ask where they are going first. (2) Tell them I'm going to do work. This later response is one you'll get from the Thai's about 90% of the time. When in Rome. . .

But wherever I do end up going, I do so in style:

Look Who's Blogging Now

Well, for those of you who haven't been reading the signature line, there are two people registered to this blog account, and I am number two. If you haven't deduced my identity from the first line of this entry, I'm Dan, of the Dan and Brock signature. Initially when the idea of a blog was presented, I was apprehensive. As someone who is more than familiar with the internet, I knew all to well that bloggers are not only not taken seriously, but they are the brunt of many an easy, and often truthfully painful joke (pictured). I'll admit that I've mocked bloggers, and not without justification. I believe that Maddox best described "blogger" as a "[t]erm used to describe anyone with enough time or narcissism to document every tedious bit of minutia filling their uneventful lives. Possibly the most annoying thing about bloggers is the sense of self-importance they get after even the most modest of publicity."

After a lot of soul searching I have decided that, despite my better judgment, I will begin adding to this blog my own blow-by-blow commentary of our trip to Thailand. This is not to say that I think that Brock has been doing anything but a stellar job, but now that I represent 50% of the UNC contingent remaining in the KMUTT dormitories, I feel it is my job to also try to contribute to this effort, since I maintain sheltered from true Thai society.

So it is with bruised pride and a heavy heart that I concede defeat to the allures of blogging. For reference, Livejournal is a blog, only under a different name. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, Livejournals and Blogs are one in the same.

Movin' on up

After a few days deliberation, it's official. 60% of the UNC contingent here is movin' on up. Don't get me wrong, the dorms have been above average here, with a bathroom in our room, filtered water just down the hall, and fresh sheets every few days. But I never really felt like I was in Thailand. The main interactions with people outside the university took place during trips to get food and traveling. When you're school and classes are only 2 minutes away, it's pretty easy to confine yourself to that small area.

Everyone living in the house had their own reasons for moving. Me? I had only one: to become more of a part of Thai culture or at least become more exposed to it. Although it didn't hurt that the house has a urinal in it, on the first floor no less.

The new digs aren't anything spectacular, but what can you expect when you're six farang looking for a place to stay in Thailand for only 4 months. Unfortunately we couldn't find a place that was furnished, but we'll manage. I mean, I have yet to see a Thai household with more than one chair in the main floor. Sure, there's a big screen TV, but apparently the comfort of the floor is something they aren't will to give up.

The most difficult part is trying to figure out what to call it. It's a three-storey structure wedged between other similar "houses", with three bedrooms, three bathrooms, and a living room area. An apartment? More than that. A townhouse? It's not in the Hamptons. I guess I'll just settle on calling it a house. The picture on the right is one I expertly nabbed from the internet, but it is quite similar to what the front of our pad looks like.

By no means is it perfect, but we weren't expecting that. The neighborhood is exactly what I wanted though. As I walked back to university the other day dodging bikes who's capacities were exceeded by two kids, receiving curious looks from old women chatting on the stoop, and losing pounds by the minute in the heat and humidity of Thailand, I realized that this was Thailand. Living in the dorm here gives about as much information about Thailand as living in Hinton James reveals life in Chapel Hill. So as we navigate the intracacies of the house, from the remaining cockroaches to water pressure on the third floor, it'll be interesting to see what the real Thailand has to teach us.

So if you're ever in Thonburi, just stop by street 5/2 and say hi. Just be sure to bring your own chair.

A 3-hour Tour

After a brief hiatus, we're back at it here in Bangkok with school work, rice, and, well, a lot of down time. This past week we had a few days off courtesy of a Buddhist holiday so we all headed down south to the beaches of Thailand. Dan and I have both uploaded new pictures to Picasa so be sure to check them out when you get a chance.

The end of a less-than-comfortable bus ride saw us arrive in Krabi at 6 AM and then we were off to Railay for two days and then Koh Phi Phi farther south. This is where the story begins:

Koh Phi Phi is composed of two islands: Koh Phi Phi Don, the larger of the two where all the hotels, restaurants, and facilities are, and Koh Phi Phi Leh, the undeveloped little brother located 5 km to the south east. Parts of the movie The Beach were filmed on Koh Phi Phi Leh at Maya Bay, notably the main beach segments. Given my love for all things Leonardo DiCaprio and being able to watch a movie and nonchalantly mention, "You know, I've been there," it was a foregone conclusion that we'd be heading to Koh Phi Phi Leh.

The preferred form of transportation to the island is speedboat or Thai long tailed (pictured at right). Although our noses were not upturned, we still scoffed at the idea of traveling this way. Our method: the tried and true sea kayak.

The plan was to embark upon our adventure at 8:30 sharp. The monsoon season would have none of it and delayed our departure for two and a half hours. Finally the guy rented us the kayaks (500 baht for 6 hours for a kayak holding 2 people) and we were off. What he neglected to tell us was that he had never known of anyone to kayak out to the island. The beach from "The Beach" was located on the backside of the island, or so I thought, and it took us over an hour and a half to get there.

The trip was well worth it, especially seeing the looks on the other tourists faces as we paddled in and pulled our kayaks ashore. Given the overcast conditions, I neglected to apply sunscreen to my melanin-less sculpted body and I paid. Luckily I wore a white, long-sleeved shirt, so my chances for melanoma increased for only half of my body. Not wanting to go back out the same way, we drug our kayaks over land and put in on a bay on the other side.


On the the way to Ao Maya, to quote George Costanza, "the sea was angry my friend, like an old man sending his soup back in a deli", but the return journey offered new challenges. The water relatively calm, yet the Koh Phi Phi gods decided to test us with another obstacle: rain. We saw it coming in and couldn't do much about it. Soon, visibility was down to less than a half mile and all we could do was hug the coast line of Koh Phi Phi Leh until we could see the outline of Koh Phi Phi Don and shoot for it. One plus was all the cheers we got from tourists riding by in long tail boats.

The trip back took just over an hour and for my left shoulder it couldn't have come any sooner. In fighting the current, I had takend about 7 or 8 strokes on the left side for every stroke on the right side. We were out a total of 5 hours, but it felt like days. Am I glad we kayaked out there? Yes. Would I do it again? Yes. Will I cover every inch of my body with clothing or sunscreen? Yes. Do I think the Thai guy that rented us the kayaks will remember us? I can only hope so.

The Many Faces of Brock Phillips

One of the greatest parts of being in certain countries is that you'll always stick out like a sore thumb. Always. It's almost as certain as the fact that my pale skin readily accepts a vicious sunburn, yet scorns any form of tanning.

This having been said, you can do anything with your appearance and it won't change anything. You're still an anomaly. I've come to embrace this and spent the past 6 weeks "working" on my glorious spread of facial hair. I put working in quotation marks, because I've been working on it about as much as someone has been "working" their way through the first season of House. There's not much involved other than just sitting there.

The beard de Brock has been a work in progress with the overall goal being a paler Grizzly Adams. Beginning on the Fourth of July selective grooming was conducted. Here are the intended looks and what was actually achieved:


June 28 (Day 30)
Full Beard
Result: Kid Rock





July 5 (Day 37)
Full Beard minus the stache
Goal: Abraham Lincoln
Note: The hat is not my, I was holding it while the owner played on an inflatable slide.





July 7 (Day 39)
Mutton Chops
Goal: Dr. Jekyll from the movie "The League of Extraordinary Gentleman"







July 11 (Day 43)
Nothing
Goal: 2 year old boy




This last photo, of me not the kid, was taken shortly after I got a full face shave at a Thai barbershop for 45B ($1.50). You're thinking, "Ah, a full face shave, that includes the cheeks, jaw, neck, and the mustache region, where Brock's doo-doo-stache typically resides," and you would be correct on all accounts. However, you would have neglected to mention the forehead, nose, upper cheeks, and ears, all areas that were freshly shorn by my newfound Thai barber. Yes, I've finally found someone who will sympathize with my struggles with the pesky forehead hair that has plagued me for years.

Now the only question is, what's next for my facial hair?