Who knew that a person could do so much in so little time that they could be so ashamed of? My first act after getting settled in the backpacker ghetto of Ko Sahn road was check out the bootleg documents a street vendor had for sale. Call it an issue of alphabetical order, but when I tossed open the thick three ring binder and on page numero uno was a journalism degree, complete with transcripts prettier than mine, from none other than Arizona State University, there was a simultaneously wonderful and horrible feeling of having arrived. It was if the universe has taken a moment to whisper in my ear "Bangkok's been waiting for you Branden." Let it be known only fools ever think that Bangkok has been waiting for them for any reason other than to play some terrible trick. It was a rather ominous welcome considering what the city had to offer. Bangkok is to Las Vegas as all the crack cocaine in New York is to a sip of decaffeinated coffee. While I have been to Sin City I have never made it to the Nevada Suburb of Slight Indiscretions. But honestly, who could be bothered? Can Cesar's Palace of inaccessible excess really compete with Muay Thai kick-boxing in bars filled to the rim with Thai hookers dressed like Catholic school girls? Designer clothing? Ed Hardy and Evisu jeans for 900...as in Baht...Yeah man, I got fifteen bucks for that. The city is the closest thing to the island of lost boys that Pinocchio did a brief stint on that I have ever seen. It is a free for all slug fest that only those with floating standards of morality can appreciate.
Of course this is not so much the story of Bangkok as it is the story of Ko Sahn road, the holding cell and spring board for westerners into SE Asia. The obscenely cheap food options and international vibe makes for a great scene in some regards. You can get your i-pod updated and charged while a Lady-Boy serves you a helping of Pad Thai noodles for less than a dollar. But all these people looking for something, whether they are chasing dragons, enlightenment, themselves, or just experiences. The good news is somebody, or several somebodies, just around the corner does have what you are looking for. "Special price. just for you friend."
In the context of a SE Asian city Ko Sahn road hurts. It is like every situation that involves sacrificed values for the ability to survive in a capitalist market. The place caters to Westerners worst taste and often darkest secrets. In the Lonely Planet a sex tourist was quoted saying "We don't come to Thailand for the ruins."
Come for the ruins?
Mother Fucker! We all brought the ruins.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Almost an Israelite
In the past when I had found long standing platonic female friends sitting on my chest in their bathing suites or with their faces inches away from my penis, it had usually marked one of the last acts of the friendship. But in the case of Robyn, who had assumed both positions within five minutes, it was quite the opposite. A surface description of the situation paints a lovely if entirely inaccurate portrait of the situation:
I was half naked, on my back, in a beach bungalow, after a vicious party, with an intelligent and attractive woman; bonds were being formed, friendships strengthened and all involved, especially the woman, knew that there was a serious J.O.B. to be done. And guess who got to sit back and watch?
It was Robyn's drunken commitment to the job I most appreciated.
"Isss okay Brannan....were gonna get yer dick unstuck from your zipper."
It was the night of the Pre-Full Moon party on Ko-Pha Ngan, a tropical island off Thailand's long SE coast. In the late 1980s a psychedelic mushroom birthday bash on Hat Rin beach was such a success that the Full-Moon parties became a monthly tradition. The party grew in scope and reputation through the nineties and was at some point usurped by the most vile cadre of tourists who turned the event into a revolting hedonistic bash that ranks up on the scales of guilty pleasures next to watching a video of Sarah Palin pleasure her self with the barrel of a shot gun. Realizing the economic upside of the festivities, the island's business' and communities responded in a US Military industrial complex like fashion. As it is almost always good for the economy to be at war, it is always good for the economy to be throwing a party. Full Moon pre-parties, Full-Moon after parties, half-moon parties, the-moon-is-still-up-their-oh-my-god parties, and just about every other occasion you could imagine that involved the moon and a hyphen became a reason to party. Remarkably enough, sacrificing the South Eastern peninsula to the ghastly masses had a pee-trap like effect. The bad stink stayed down and the rest of the island managed to hang onto some charm of a backwater.
But back to my dick...
After retreating from Hat Rin, lame people, and bad techno the post-card perfect beach by our bungalows and almost full moon was just too inviting, and the buckets (yessiir, that says buckets) of whisky too inspiring. I went Directly from the pick-up truck taxi to the beach and found my self splashing naked in the crystal blue water, enjoying my self way beyond the ability of simple words to describe. Once my tree hugger whims had been fulfilled I hastily jumped back into my shorts, giving next to no thought to the fact I didn't own a towel, and headed for the Bungalow to change into clothes for sleeping. That's when the troubles started.
The stiffness of the zipper was not at first a problem that I thought would turn into a two hour ordeal. When I realized what was hampering the action of the medal clasp it was just a little humerus. Little bit of penis, little bit of humor...big part of penis...well, I didn't think it was too funny any more. After a half hour of fighting the medal teeth in the bathroom it became obvious that my struggle was about to become a group activity and I called to Robyn to bring the drugs. I had planned on turning my nose up (probably right after taking) at the over the counter Valium purchase. But now it had a brand new significance in my life, pants, nose, and blood/brain barrier. In my new and much more agreeable state, I leaned back and let Robyn go to work. While she slowly pulled, assertively yanked, and aggressively ripped around my groin, I shrieked along with my i-pod to the White Album. May I say Rocky Raccoon and his tribulations seem far less traumatic than they once did.
As an hour and a half passed, the sun came up and no progress had been made a new tactic was a must. Robyn vanished and reappeared with a small sword disguised as a knife. This was my cue to re-involve my self in the process. No doctor, Moyle or regular person had ever been close to my penis with a sharp instrument and I could not think of any good reason for that streak to end. I took the knife and slowly started to cut the material between the zipper and shorts. After about ten very careful minutes, Free at last Free at last!!!!
The damage assessment was quick:"I can't handle this I am going to sleep." In the morning however, there was a 3/4 inch scar that looked like a splotch on the highway where a car tried to stop too quickly. The smell of burning rubber was oddly present too.
After a week or so the physical scars have done a remarkable job of healing up, the jury is still out on the emotional.
I was half naked, on my back, in a beach bungalow, after a vicious party, with an intelligent and attractive woman; bonds were being formed, friendships strengthened and all involved, especially the woman, knew that there was a serious J.O.B. to be done. And guess who got to sit back and watch?
It was Robyn's drunken commitment to the job I most appreciated.
"Isss okay Brannan....were gonna get yer dick unstuck from your zipper."
It was the night of the Pre-Full Moon party on Ko-Pha Ngan, a tropical island off Thailand's long SE coast. In the late 1980s a psychedelic mushroom birthday bash on Hat Rin beach was such a success that the Full-Moon parties became a monthly tradition. The party grew in scope and reputation through the nineties and was at some point usurped by the most vile cadre of tourists who turned the event into a revolting hedonistic bash that ranks up on the scales of guilty pleasures next to watching a video of Sarah Palin pleasure her self with the barrel of a shot gun. Realizing the economic upside of the festivities, the island's business' and communities responded in a US Military industrial complex like fashion. As it is almost always good for the economy to be at war, it is always good for the economy to be throwing a party. Full Moon pre-parties, Full-Moon after parties, half-moon parties, the-moon-is-still-up-their-oh-my-god parties, and just about every other occasion you could imagine that involved the moon and a hyphen became a reason to party. Remarkably enough, sacrificing the South Eastern peninsula to the ghastly masses had a pee-trap like effect. The bad stink stayed down and the rest of the island managed to hang onto some charm of a backwater.
But back to my dick...
After retreating from Hat Rin, lame people, and bad techno the post-card perfect beach by our bungalows and almost full moon was just too inviting, and the buckets (yessiir, that says buckets) of whisky too inspiring. I went Directly from the pick-up truck taxi to the beach and found my self splashing naked in the crystal blue water, enjoying my self way beyond the ability of simple words to describe. Once my tree hugger whims had been fulfilled I hastily jumped back into my shorts, giving next to no thought to the fact I didn't own a towel, and headed for the Bungalow to change into clothes for sleeping. That's when the troubles started.
The stiffness of the zipper was not at first a problem that I thought would turn into a two hour ordeal. When I realized what was hampering the action of the medal clasp it was just a little humerus. Little bit of penis, little bit of humor...big part of penis...well, I didn't think it was too funny any more. After a half hour of fighting the medal teeth in the bathroom it became obvious that my struggle was about to become a group activity and I called to Robyn to bring the drugs. I had planned on turning my nose up (probably right after taking) at the over the counter Valium purchase. But now it had a brand new significance in my life, pants, nose, and blood/brain barrier. In my new and much more agreeable state, I leaned back and let Robyn go to work. While she slowly pulled, assertively yanked, and aggressively ripped around my groin, I shrieked along with my i-pod to the White Album. May I say Rocky Raccoon and his tribulations seem far less traumatic than they once did.
As an hour and a half passed, the sun came up and no progress had been made a new tactic was a must. Robyn vanished and reappeared with a small sword disguised as a knife. This was my cue to re-involve my self in the process. No doctor, Moyle or regular person had ever been close to my penis with a sharp instrument and I could not think of any good reason for that streak to end. I took the knife and slowly started to cut the material between the zipper and shorts. After about ten very careful minutes, Free at last Free at last!!!!
The damage assessment was quick:"I can't handle this I am going to sleep." In the morning however, there was a 3/4 inch scar that looked like a splotch on the highway where a car tried to stop too quickly. The smell of burning rubber was oddly present too.
After a week or so the physical scars have done a remarkable job of healing up, the jury is still out on the emotional.
Been a while
So it has been quite a while to say the least.... I have been having nothing short of a ridiculous time on this here trip that has included three continents, six countries, and a few more adventures than I am entirely comfortable with. The last three weeks I have been all over Thailand and am now in a small city in the far North East. It is a legal entry point for Laos so it sees a lot of back packers. I am in a great guest house that looks over the Mekong, but considering that I can't remember the name of the town, and Luang Prabang (a small UNESCO listed city on the Mekong that is supposed to be jaw dropping) is only a few hours away, I may have one more trip before hunkering down for a prolonged period in one spot.
Over the last eight weeks I have walked up to a war zone, gotten my dick stuck in my fly, stumbled in on a wild Buddhist ceremony, hooked up with a tranny (whoops), hitchhiked in the developing world, showed up fifteen minutes late for a riot, been in multiple motor bike crashes, and pretty much just exhausted my self. To date the biggest lesson I have learned, which is perhaps more of an affirmation of what I already knew, is that you can NEVER over estimate the value of being able to laugh at your self. Yeah, that one has really come in handy...
So I am gonna start ya'll off with a doozy. This story struck me as the most traumatic and funny of the things that I am willing to talk about. By the way, Chronology for the blog is totally out the window. It has been too long so stories are just going to come in the order I feel like writing. I hope to either buy a really cheap computer in the next few days or get mom and dad to ship me mine so I can include photos and run a much slicker looking blog. You should check back on a regular basis because after this, the updates are just gonna keep coming. Keep in mind I love comments and always want to know what you think I should be doing to make things more entertaining, improve writing etc. so let 'em fly, I know Heather will. And let your friends know. I'm trying to turn this into a job.
Over the last eight weeks I have walked up to a war zone, gotten my dick stuck in my fly, stumbled in on a wild Buddhist ceremony, hooked up with a tranny (whoops), hitchhiked in the developing world, showed up fifteen minutes late for a riot, been in multiple motor bike crashes, and pretty much just exhausted my self. To date the biggest lesson I have learned, which is perhaps more of an affirmation of what I already knew, is that you can NEVER over estimate the value of being able to laugh at your self. Yeah, that one has really come in handy...
So I am gonna start ya'll off with a doozy. This story struck me as the most traumatic and funny of the things that I am willing to talk about. By the way, Chronology for the blog is totally out the window. It has been too long so stories are just going to come in the order I feel like writing. I hope to either buy a really cheap computer in the next few days or get mom and dad to ship me mine so I can include photos and run a much slicker looking blog. You should check back on a regular basis because after this, the updates are just gonna keep coming. Keep in mind I love comments and always want to know what you think I should be doing to make things more entertaining, improve writing etc. so let 'em fly, I know Heather will. And let your friends know. I'm trying to turn this into a job.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
