LOCATION: Thoeng, Thailand (Lao Border)
APPEARING: Jamison | His Neighbors | Yours Truly
APPEARING: Jamison | His Neighbors | Yours Truly
After my harrowing day exploring the tiniest tip of Burma, I caught a local bus to Thoeng, a miniscule, single-stoplight town about 20 km from the Lao border. I was here to spend the night hanging out with Jamison, on the last night of his 2-year Peace Corp assignment. The bus here was local, small, cheap, rickety, fun, hot, and tiring. Three 15 y/o kids (two girls and a ladyboy-- what transvestites are called here) kept chatting me up (to the laughter of the whole bus filled with Thais) and asking me about my home, if I thought they were beautiful, whatever random thing they could think of. Before getting off, one of them handed me a plastic necklace with a plastic heart-pendant that said "Love" on it. It was a gift from all of them-- again, much to the amusement of my fellow busriders. I was asked a couple of times if I had a girlfriend in Thoeng... because what other purpose would a farang like myself have to venture to a non-farang place.
At the only intersection in town with a stoplight, it was bizzare to see Jamison saunter up the sidewalk, a white-fleshy human so different and awkward looking compared to everyone else around. That two of us might be here one the same day, at the same place... you would have guessed the Thais in town thought the world had simply stopped spinning.
We walked around town and found a group of kids playing a game with a wicker (now plastic) ball and a badminton net. Think volleyball with everything but your hands and arms-- and think Pele, and bicycle kicks, and breakdancing and whiskey. We declined the whiskey, but could not decline a game. It was like throwing a bloody chicken into a pool of piranhas, final score: 15-3, sore ass from hitting the pavement, pulled groin from pretending I can still do gymnastics-like aerial kicks, and a slightly bruised ego. All in the name of fun, right?
After the game, we treated ourselves to massive ice-cream sundaes.... did they really have a banana split here? Really? Did someone slip acid into my drinking water?
But the night wasn't over. As a going away night, Jamison's neighbors wanted to have a party. That meant we would each bring a few bottles of beer over and maybe a snack or two (bag of peanuts, prawn crisps, fish cookies). I had no intention of drinking too much, but peer pressure is a terrible thing-- specially when you are afraid of stepping over cultural lines, such as not drinking when your host offers a toast. Chun Kaew ("hit glasses"), is a phrase that still echoes in my head with a sickening ring to it. Of course, it did not help that I had too much sun exposure, too little water, too much fun running around Burma, and too much harrassment from my 15 year old tormentors on the bus ride over. We drank, we joked, we scrambled together phrases in broken English and corrupted Thai, we ate soup and chips and noodles, and sat on a hard tile floor, alternating which foot or buttcheek would fall asleep. At 1 am, I channelled whatever energy and sanity I had left in me, bid Jamison and the 4 others my farewell, and dragged myself back to Jamison's extra room, where the floor and I proceeded to get closely acquainted with one another.
I am exaggerating my exhaustion and my inebriation only because all would have been fine had a full night of sleep ensued. No, not going to happen. A little before 8am, Jamison's other neighbor, a 40/50 mother figure knocked violently on his door to invite us to breakfast. Sure we would love to stop by, in 30 minutes (or 5 hours). I never fully fell back to sleep.
Walking the 300 meters to her house while the sun mocked me was not what I would call fun. My stomach was rumbling a sour siren call of pain, my head throbbed of sickening dehydration, my internal mechanism for balance was convinced that I was falling and spinning as my feet were less than firmly planted on the asphalt. But at least there would be food... spicy, spicey, fish curry, ground pork simply smothered in ground chilis, too many steamed greens... not enough time. Oh, and for Jamison and I to split: about 10 pounds of black and white sticky rice with piles and piles of perfectly tree-ripened mango, all drenched in about 5 cups of coconut cream sauce.
That, my friend, is how an athiest finds God... at least as long as his prayers for serenity remain answered-- or perhaps, not yet rebuked.
Oh, and if you ever find yourself in such an absurd situation, pray thee book a ticket home the day before. Or else a hellacious 8 hours of 100 degree weather, local busses, nausea, pain, soul-searching, sweat, birdflu-crowded insanity awaits. I didn't have a ticket... no AC, no express bus home, no salvation.
Hey, but as they say: my body and my mind may suffer, but my humor... oh my humor, she remains faithful, fanciful, and poised at my back with a prison shank and a toothless grin.
At the only intersection in town with a stoplight, it was bizzare to see Jamison saunter up the sidewalk, a white-fleshy human so different and awkward looking compared to everyone else around. That two of us might be here one the same day, at the same place... you would have guessed the Thais in town thought the world had simply stopped spinning.
We walked around town and found a group of kids playing a game with a wicker (now plastic) ball and a badminton net. Think volleyball with everything but your hands and arms-- and think Pele, and bicycle kicks, and breakdancing and whiskey. We declined the whiskey, but could not decline a game. It was like throwing a bloody chicken into a pool of piranhas, final score: 15-3, sore ass from hitting the pavement, pulled groin from pretending I can still do gymnastics-like aerial kicks, and a slightly bruised ego. All in the name of fun, right?
After the game, we treated ourselves to massive ice-cream sundaes.... did they really have a banana split here? Really? Did someone slip acid into my drinking water?
But the night wasn't over. As a going away night, Jamison's neighbors wanted to have a party. That meant we would each bring a few bottles of beer over and maybe a snack or two (bag of peanuts, prawn crisps, fish cookies). I had no intention of drinking too much, but peer pressure is a terrible thing-- specially when you are afraid of stepping over cultural lines, such as not drinking when your host offers a toast. Chun Kaew ("hit glasses"), is a phrase that still echoes in my head with a sickening ring to it. Of course, it did not help that I had too much sun exposure, too little water, too much fun running around Burma, and too much harrassment from my 15 year old tormentors on the bus ride over. We drank, we joked, we scrambled together phrases in broken English and corrupted Thai, we ate soup and chips and noodles, and sat on a hard tile floor, alternating which foot or buttcheek would fall asleep. At 1 am, I channelled whatever energy and sanity I had left in me, bid Jamison and the 4 others my farewell, and dragged myself back to Jamison's extra room, where the floor and I proceeded to get closely acquainted with one another.
I am exaggerating my exhaustion and my inebriation only because all would have been fine had a full night of sleep ensued. No, not going to happen. A little before 8am, Jamison's other neighbor, a 40/50 mother figure knocked violently on his door to invite us to breakfast. Sure we would love to stop by, in 30 minutes (or 5 hours). I never fully fell back to sleep.
Walking the 300 meters to her house while the sun mocked me was not what I would call fun. My stomach was rumbling a sour siren call of pain, my head throbbed of sickening dehydration, my internal mechanism for balance was convinced that I was falling and spinning as my feet were less than firmly planted on the asphalt. But at least there would be food... spicy, spicey, fish curry, ground pork simply smothered in ground chilis, too many steamed greens... not enough time. Oh, and for Jamison and I to split: about 10 pounds of black and white sticky rice with piles and piles of perfectly tree-ripened mango, all drenched in about 5 cups of coconut cream sauce.
That, my friend, is how an athiest finds God... at least as long as his prayers for serenity remain answered-- or perhaps, not yet rebuked.
Oh, and if you ever find yourself in such an absurd situation, pray thee book a ticket home the day before. Or else a hellacious 8 hours of 100 degree weather, local busses, nausea, pain, soul-searching, sweat, birdflu-crowded insanity awaits. I didn't have a ticket... no AC, no express bus home, no salvation.
Hey, but as they say: my body and my mind may suffer, but my humor... oh my humor, she remains faithful, fanciful, and poised at my back with a prison shank and a toothless grin.
