December 31, 2007

it's been a long time, i know. creatively, the invisible line has been crossed, between what can still be captured in words, and what has seeped, disolved or run for cover to my more silent library of personal experiences. only the right combination of wine or company or stirring energies reopens those chapters, each still continuing in their own way, which is also my way, because i created them.

but even then, after some time, the words i give to the thing become a layer between the story and the experience itself. perhaps one of my weaknesses as a writer is that i need things to be fresh, alive, literally pulsing through me at the moment of composition, in order to find the words to bring my world inside, into the world outside.

so some stories will remain with me, for now.

but i did want to check in, because it is the last day of 2007. and it has been no small year for me.

despite the turbulence and unresolved emotions of the recent past, i cannot remember ever feeling as content as i do now. it's not that i have shed my skin, but rather that i have found a way to wear it that suits me quite well.

i am, maybe for the first time, all of me. not just one part that is happy, or another part that is sad. but all of me, in entirety, at the same time.

and here's the revolution: i like me. i like me just fine.

and actually, i like everyone.

and when people ask me, “how are you?”, i have begun to respond with a new combination of words for me:

“i feel perfect.”

it cracks me up when i think about it. i do feel perfect.

i have enough love in me for everything that comes my way, and this love, increasingly, is making my road very smooth.

and as I enter 2008, i could ask for nothing more.

taken on December 31, 2007

Trail Through Nepal

Kathmandu

Kathmandu Valley

Baktapur

Nagarkot

Bhote Kosi River Camp (16km from Tibet border)

Pokhara

Sarangkot

Kopan Monastery

beyond words

i regret never posting after Kopan. i am writing this now 10 months later, but will slip it into this place on the blog, the place where the most transformative experience of my life should have been given expression.

i did write a few emails in the weeks after I left the monastery. so that all is not silence, i will paste a few quotes here.

and i will just say this... everything i wrote then is still true. and the transformations I underwent as a result of what I learned at Kopan, remain the most positive turning point of my adult life.

~

"I can say that Kopan is the best thing I have ever done in my life. finally to feel something real, something really real. friend... it's beyond words. I stayed there for five weeks, and then it was time. A few days ago I left my new spiritual home, and headed out into the world to be tested, and also to test what I have learned..."

~

"I have been trying to observe my mind as I normalize after the safety and seclusion of the monastery. it's quite remarkable the mental hecticness i let myself live with, and how much energy my mind burns on things it cannot control, or change. how much energy is put into desire or fear, and not even with a constructive outcome. my brain spends so little of its time on truly constructive things, and almost no time getting in touch with its spiritual foundations. so, i would like to gently help these things to change..."

~

"kopan was a revelation and a journey, and in terms of just plain natural beauty, beyond words. i was grateful for every day i woke up there, and felt so deeply nourished by the experience as a whole. even though, there were some difficult moments, and confronting ones too..."

~

"i have decided to continue traveling for now, to continue studying eastern philosophy... i know in some ways things are still just beginning. i open up more every day, and experience many beautiful and healing moments..."

~

"i have come back into myself, and am regaining that strong core. the person whose life i can benefit most right now is my own, and it's time for me to really do that..."

entering kopan (bye for now)

when i am done with this post, i'll pick up my bags from Hotel Thamel and get into a cab to Kopan Monastery. i'll be entering the this Tibetan spiritual headquarters for the annual one month Lam Rim course, which covers the central text outlining the path to enlightenment in the Mahayana tradition.

it is going to be a challenging month. the day starts at dawn and ends after dark. we meditate and receive teachings all day, and keep partial silence. there isn't a day off in the month, and we are not supposed to read or listen to anything that is not related to the practice.

i have been waiting for today for exactly one year. i know i will be confronted with many things in the coming weeks. frustration. boredom. sadness. fear. an overwhelming desire to give up.

what i look forward to, is finding out what happens if i just sit through all those feelings. what is on the other side of them? can they be subdued? what are the rewards? what does that mean for my life? when i watch my mind in action and don't respond, what do i see? is this the mind i want? can i do anything about it? is it worth trying? what else is there inside me? what is there inside all of us? why do we suffer? why is happiness so fragile?

there's more. but then, there's always more.

i feel very good. the last days have been wonderful, and i feel i have arrived at today with the wind at my back. i am ready for silence. i am ready for learning. i have no expectations for outcome. i am just grateful, to myself and the universe, for giving me this opportunity.

i'll be offline for at least a month now, but am planning to keep a journal. i haven't kept a journal before, so i don't know if it will come naturally. but if it does, i'll post some excerpts later.

there will be plenty of dedications of practice in there, and those of you closest to my heart will have some very specific prayers sent your way.

simultaneously, deeply, and as a whole, my practice will always be dedicated to the benefit of all living beings. that they be happy, and free from suffering.

my idealism finally has a home. happy day.

time to go. peace out, peeps. i'll see you on the other side.

lady of the house

there's this cute dog at the Little Tibetan Guesthouse, where i am staying. Poogsu. she's the only clean-smelling non-mangy dog for about 100 miles. which is impressive, considering she exists so close to the ground.

i have been told, repeatedly, that i shouldn't call her "girl," because she's a boy. but she's got something of a french woman in her, i tell the staff. look at the glistening white hair, hanging all silky down her elegant back. look at those auburn ears. i lay my head on hers... look! same color hair!

the tibetan waiter is wishing i would just order another pot of masala tea, and stop talking crap he can't understand again.

he leaves. poogsu, my pretty doggy friend, stays. she loves my love.

for about another three minutes.

then she gets bored with me, and makes this big show of not needing me anymore, sitting up, looking around for the next best thing. then, swinging her hips out at generous angles (you want to tell me that is a boy?), she raises her pom-pom tail to the sky, and strolls away like a fluffy katherine hepburn showing me her asshole.

Poogsu really looked a little like this.

a happier leaf

Pokhara

Shiva has been loitering around my table lately. a waiter at Tea Time for a few years now, i befriended him last year during my long breakfasts and lunches on his terrace.

over the past week he has become increasingly sweet, and increasingly unsure. i do not want to encourage whatever fantasy is developing in his mind, and wish to erase whatever might be going on (not so uncommon between the more naive locals and innocently friendly tourists); but i also do not want to unnecessarily detract from the friendship that had developed.

when i walk in this morning at 9.30, Shiva is particularly adoring. he waves his finger at my clothes. "you looks very nice," he says, wobbling his head from side to side. i actually look terrible. i haven't slept much. my pants are baggy. my hoodie is sitting weirdly. and my scarf matches nothing. everything is in laundry. "thanks Shiva."

"what you do today?" (ths is always, without fail, the first question.)
"i'm finishing up today. i leave tomorrow."
"leave?"
"yes. kathmandu."
"tomorrow?"
"yep."
his faces contorts a bit. something that happens when his brain is under strain. i pretend not to notice. a few seconds pass.
"when back to pokhara?"
"i don't know. maybe in one month after kopan, to see lama yeshe. maybe not. i don't know."
he looks worried now, brows furrowed. i am starting to feel bad. disappointment, i have always felt, is the worst of all emotions. it lingers. it ruins things.
still, i don't have the heart to change the topic or crack a joke. better to just break off the conversation. how did this happen anyway? when did he become so earnest? does he really think that... ?

i pour myself some hot lemon ginger from the pot he has brought me, pick up my book, and give him one of those, "okay then..." nods. "okay," he says, understanding.

i try to find my sentence on the page. he leans away half a step, sways back, wavers, sways forward. i can see his feet in my peripheral vision. please shiva. suddenly, he turns sharply on his heal. he is towering over me.

"you are a good friend," he says. "you are my best friend."
he is looking straight into my eyes. he is, with the victory of fear overcome, smiling a big, honest smile. then, "okay," he says, and is gone.

that was all he wanted to say. humbled, touched, and wishing i had said something in return, i kind of stare into space for a while.

david gray is playing in the background, as usual. i have avoided this music all year. and now i start my day with it almost every morning. i have tried, passively, to reclaim it as a soundtrack to new days. still, its melodies never fail to lay memories at my feet. in my tea cup. sending remembered sensations into my fingers, my back.

shiva's sincere gesture has somehow softened me up, and the music pours into me. i feel happy, but my buoyancy is full of nostalgia. i know this will be my day now. nostalgia. i will remain sensitive to my surroundings, but with an open and grateful heart.

it was only a small prod, from Shiva. fairly insignificant, really. but it shows me that i am still blowing around in the breeze, albeit now a happier leaf. for most of the year, i have been completely susceptible to my environment. feigning consistency, but really knocked about in a constant storm of events and conversations and moments, each of which have direct access to my emotions, no matter how pedestrian (a butcher barking at me for being indecisive, a crying child's wet fingers, a sunset i need obscured by clouds).

now, increasingly, i wake up feeling a certain way, and remain that way all day. i feel funnier, cheekier, more open in my chest, and somewhere in there, unafraid. my mood is good, and it remains that way. events desirable, or less so, are simply swallowed into my vibe, instead of my vibe being swallowed by events.

my trip did not started like this, to be honest. i was feigning consistency for a while there, among the palm trees. but in the past days, i have noticed this buoyancy. it feels vaguely familiar, from a time long ago.

"Ilana?" I hadn't seen him approach.
"Hey Shiva."
"Today i have time after 11. Maybe we spend time?"
Now it is my mind that is straining.
"No Shiva, I am sorry. Last day. Very busy."
"No time?"
"No."
"And after 10? After work finis?"
"I am sorry Shiva. I will be with friends. I am sorry."

i'm really not sure where this is going anymore, but i wish it would get there. surely this doesn't need to be dramatic. plus, David Gray is still playing. this isn't the replacement soundtrack I was imagining.

"Shiva..."
"Yes."
"You are a good friend, too. you are a very good friend. but just friend, okay? just friend."
He looks worried again. then insecure. then busted. then just normal.
"Yes yes, okay. No problem."
"Okay," i say with finality.
"Okay."

I give him a warm, reassuring smile. I pick up my book. Shiva walks away. A few minutes pass.

"Ilana?"
"Yes"
"After you finis Kopan, maybe we go trekking?"

this is why i love nepal

a traveler's hamlet

Phokara

i. his ego burns on these dark nights. it burns like trash heaps in India on tuesdays. it burns like flags and bibles and bras throughout the history of passionate politics. his ego drips like wax, messy and uneven, smothering his attempts at un-selfconscious conversation. his waxy ego gathers in pale puddles, tries to harden into resolve, but despite the coldness of his world remains feverish and malleable.

ii. his personality has become synthetic. in equal parts pretty and pointless. he wraps himself in yak-wool blankets and sits on his porch at night. thick volumes of literature lie before him, and he turns their pages. no redemption here. maybe in the next chapter. maybe tonight. maybe next week, all will be revealed.

iii. he set out to become found to himself. it's been a year. it's been 16 months. and now, more lost than ever, he disintegrates before his own eyes. he tries to catch the sands of what he used to believe in as they trickle, insubstantial, into passing time; happy to be free of him, and of his need for love, which blocks all other progress, and which will not, ever, die.

too much to ask, apparently

Borderlands, 16 km from the Tibetan border

so this morning, kim and i hear that 23 people are arriving at camp for the night. although we never discussed it we look at each other and agree: men.

to avoid each other's thoughts we open our books, clever ruse, and fall silent as our imaginations go to work: how quiet do you have to be in a safari tent? do i need more candles? do any of my clothes not stink? maybe we don't sleep at all, and christen patch after patch of grass along the bhote kosi river?

three hours later there is dust in the distance. crumbling gravel. engines. blaring nepali music. they're here.

and one by one they appear. 22 dutch women. and one man. very friendly looking. about 54.

okay, okay. i hear you. no expectations. i carry myself to the river, squat down on my heels nepali style, and laugh at it all. the river laughs too. the mountain smiles. even the guy taking a shit in plain view on the other side seems to shrug his shoulders and smirk empathetically.

between rafting tivers and scaling canyons, we chill at the Borderlands camp site

nature of my mind

There is nothing i want that doesn't change when i get there.

nature of the mind i want

"The resting place of the mind is the heart. The only thing the mind hears all day is clanging bells and noise and argument, and all it wants is quietude. The only place the mind will ever find peace is in the heart. That's where you need to go." - Buddhist Monk

dreaming

if i ever write a book, i want the dedication to say:

this is for [name], without whom my stories would be a lot sadder

the distance between two rivers

Borderlands, 16 km from the Tibetan border

my thoughts found me again as i sat at our camp site overlooking the Bhote Kosi river. again, it is the rushing river that does it to me. and am i any closer to understanding myself now? it is one year, almost exactly, since the Parvati river undid me on a sunny afternoon just like this one in Kasol. so how do i measure the distance between two rivers? i think about it, i look for words, i shuffle through feelings. but nothing forms. i don't know the answer.

but also, i don't make one up. that is different. and i don't make myself any lofty promises. that is different too. and no hopes, for once, for the first time in two years, rise. it is just me, accepting my questions, sitting in the mountains at this rushing white river. alone.

but not. because there is one thing i know now that i didn't before; there is one thing that this past year and the road and the yoga and the mediation have been whispering to me in deep chorus; that despite my loneliness, despite my fears of ageing and death, and despite my palpable sense of being to myself failure; that i will never, ever, ever be alone.

the bhote kosi river from above

rafting the bhote kosi

big hearts in nepal

Kathmandu

after doing stints of literacy work with kids in new york and melbourne for years, i was surprises and heartened to find nepali orphans, who in many ways have the smallest fighting chance to overcome their circumstances, to be the most optimistic, the most pro-active and the most spirited of the 'disadvantaged kids' i have encountered.

this came about when a random street conversation with a nepali man who wanted to replicate my necklace turned into milk tea and a discusion about the work his brother, Jafar, and another friend, Sarin, were doing to help orphans and the elderly in nepal.

a phone call later and Jafar was there, a beaming kindness emanating from his every gesture, a humility, and also a cautionary assessment of my interest. he is wary of do-good tourists wanting to satiate a well-intentioned but superficial desire to 'touch' local orphans in a two hour drive-through.

more tea. Jafar and Sarin run a foundation called Shed the Light, which is funded by an Australian woman using profits from her Op-Shop in Queensland. she had heard of Sarin's work - since high school he dedicated himself to housing, educating and warming the hearts of orphans throughout nepal - and asked him to chair her foundation in Nepal.

sarin with the oldest and the youngest of the kids in the orphanage

the next day i was in a beaten up taxi with Sarin on our way to Kiran Punj, where 21 orphans between the ages of 5 and 16 are nurtured daily by another beaming Nepali soul called Paul, and his wife.

the kids were incredibly polite, even masking their giggles and whispers in their best attempt at good behaviour. one by one we shared our names, our backgrounds, and i asked each of them to tell me about their dreams. they all had one... and not the 'i want to be superman' kind. they wanted to be paediatricians, math teachers, nurses, and they wanted to travel to australia, to new zealand, to italy. they wanted to learn computers, and to read books. they wanted to give support to other children and elderly in need.

i'd brought them new notebooks, which they loved in part because the back was covered in a big nepali flag. one girl who wanted to be an artist got a new pack of colored pencils, and a few others who were interested in photography got a crash course with my point-and-shoot and then had free reign to practise on each other. most of the pictures in this post are theirs.

when discussing sports they wanted to know what i liked. those of you who know me know the answer: nothing. unless these kids ever heard of a gym. but how do i explain that? will these boys be impressed if i say... "yoga"? so i did something i really shouldn't have done... i lied... in the name of setting a good example. i said, "well, i like running."

god, how i hate running. i have avoided it all my life. a run to catch a bus leaves me aggravated for hours. why this is the first thing to come out of my mouth, i will never know. except the next thing that happens is that sarin says... "great! let's have a race!"

squeals. before i could bend my mind into an escape strategy, the kids were running all over each other to put on their shoes (all placed neatly on shelves in the corridor), coax me out of my chair (where i sat in mild, painful disbelief), and lead me to an open field outside.


wow. how i fell in love with that field. huge and wide open, the healthiest of playgrounds, giving a sense of freedom and possibility to the locals of this nepali neighbourhood. finally, i was the only tourist for miles. everywhere were kids and kites and bamboo swings and a cow or two.


yeah, we raced. and i would have come only fourth-to-last if it wasn't for a technicality going around the human beacon - sarin - at the half-way point. i swear. and then they raced again; i was the beacon this time, and the next.

more photos. more fooling around. slowly we were becoming friends. some kids remained distant, of course. others let their questions surface, let themselves enjoy the company of a stranger. even let themselves hope out loud that i would be back.

and would i? as the sun began to set, sarin said he had better get me back to Thamel, where tourists belong. as we walked away, he told me that i was the first tourist he had ever brought there. and i wondered, will he regret it? am i that superficial do-gooder tourist who just checked a box on her travel itinerary? will i make time to go back and teach them how to take photos without a flash?

when i got back to Thamel i opened my notebook to where the kids had been scribbling. there, in beautiful neat handwriting, was a note from the kid who, if i were allowed to have favorites, would habe been the one. it said:

My name is Phebika. It was nice to meet you. Please don't forget me, O.K?

Your loving friend,
Phebika

Phebika

you cannot see your reflection in running water. - zen master

a postcard

Kathamdu

earlier this evening, i went to a tall rooftop cafe called Helena's, where i loved to sit last year. the sun was setting and all the mountains around kathmandu became pink and purple silhouettes overlapping each other gently. hundreds of faded tibetan prayer flags flapped from the rooftops. the fairytale monkey temple lit up in the distance and began to glow in the misty air. a pale, almost see-through moon rose behind me. and i sipped my nepali tea, and just breathed.

my table at helena's

peeing at pilgrim's guesthouse

Kathmandu

the deep, old-world smile of the receptionist (cook, cleaner, travel agent...) at Pilgrim's Guesthouse in Kathmandu made me lay down my bag and decide i was home.

room 702, looked fine, $8/night. i was living in luxury compared to the $3 and $4 deals found by my backpacker compadres. but this is not my gap year, kids. i'm long spoiled and all grown up. in third-world inner cities, i'd like my mattress at least a few inches off the floor.

regardless of where i am, however, i have a funny habit of not immediately trusting toilets that are not mine. i am, and always have been, a serial squatter. often even at the houses of friends and relatives. i am also a seat-wiper, even in public bathrooms such as airports and restaurants, and even, sometimes, when the piddle isn't mine.

i found room 702 to be clean enough. but the bathroom floor, less so. and the toilet, i will spare you, had been recently used by someone with none of my urinal sensibilities.

i go to reception. could my bathroom please be cleaned, nowish? old-world smile. of course, of course.

i have tea on the porch. really need to go, but that's okay, i'll wait.

10 minutes.

hello.. hello... your room is ready!

greaaaat. i'm there in 15 seconds. the floor is clean. she shower polished. the toilet lid is closed. i open it. uuuuggghh.

i go to reception. this time, i am much more graphic. and i do not just want someone to press the flusher. i can do that. i want to smell disinfectant. i want someone with a long bristly brush and strong arms.

10 minutes.

hello... hello... okaaaayyy...!

the toilet seat is down again. i lift it with pincer fingers. and it is bright and sparkly clean... except for one thick black pubic hair, which i don't remember being there before, stuck to the side of the seat.

whatever.

it turns out, also, that the bathroom has a kind of slope to it. and that in order to squat, you can't just suspend yourself hands-free over the toilet seat; the sink plumbing gets in the way of your knees. so, you have to lean one elbow on the sink itself, and let yourself down slowly.

i was seconds from relief when, without warning, the sink detached itself from the wall, thrusting my right knee straight into the rusty pipe; meanwhile my left leg shot out to regain corpus balance, and my arse plummeted rapidly downwards, coming to sharp, professional stop about six millimetres about the toilet seat.

i knew one day those skills would come in handy.

i did finally pee. and reassemble the bathroom.

to add to room 702's charm, the flushing of the toilet sounds a lot like the wet fart of a rhinoceros. it lasts for seven minutes, and fades out for three.

Trail Through Thailand

Bangkok

Koh Samet

Koh Pha Ngan

Chiang Mai

old men of chiang mai

old men sit bent over wooden tables in chiang mai alley ways. they come from somewhere, not here. but it doesn't matter now. they were white once, no more. the color of the streets, now. the color of the chair, the table, the shadows they find. their bones are twisted beneath their skin, their necks crooked, like trees beaten by decades of wind. along their quivering laps their fingers dance, playing staccato melodies across their knees. their tongues move in and out of their mouths, like fish gills gasping for water. hidden in chiang mai's alleyways, old men, once young, men gasp for life.

i have legs

between chiang mai and chiang rai

walking through the jungle today turned out to be rewarding for unexpected reasons. the jungle itself wasn't spectacular. the waterfalls were minor. and the guide had a penchant for fiction.

but i did discover that i had legs.

i'm not much of a hiker. the two hikes in my history were less than three hours long, cumulatively. in nepal this is an embarrassing admission. am i allowed to love nepal as i do, without having climbed the annapurna circuit or everest? sometimes i think not. but i just know that i would be miserable hauling myself up a constant incline in the biting cold.

but today, accidentally, i found myself on a hike the extent of which evidently fell out of the description given to me in the booking office. i did know we would be walking a lot. i just didn't know it would all be uphill.

monsoon season is just now fading. water still trickles through everything, and mud gushes everywhere. the paths are not really paths, and a slip would send me either hurtling down a ravine, or splayed across sharp, wet rocks.

i loved it. the first 30 minutes involved a lot of heaving and failed attempts at mind over matter. but by the second hour i realized that i hadn't thought about my legs in a long time.

instead, i had been enjoying them. i loved my legs. strong, reliable, they carried me between bamboo umbrellas and kept steady over running rapids. they filled themselves with air as i bound uphill, and with lead as i carefully descended, counting equally on luck and strategy with each step.

i have legs.

by hour three i understood this. i became really aware of them. i felt closer to them. appreciation for them. i wanted to use them. more. i wanted to pay them back for carrying me.

i wanted to live in a way that acknowledged that i have legs. i never wanted to forget them again.

annapurna next week? maybe.

this picture actually has nothing to do with this post. it isn't even in thailand. it's nepal, at the foot of a bungee jump close to where i camped. i just didn't have my camera with me on this thailand trek, and so have no photos to bring it to life. let's just say that this is what i had hoped to see in northern thailand... but didn't.

the only person on the mountain

jungle between chiang mai and chaing rai

i wanted a little silence today. or a lot, really. i wanted some time by myself.

i feel okay, but i have a hankering for solitude. or perhaps solitude has a hankering for me. i've tried several times now to take a day to allow thoughts to rise. but i am constantly meeting people (which i am so grateful for), or else bumping into people i have already met. day after tomorrow i leave for nepal, and i can't leave thailand without having a truly quiet day, just me and the road.

ironically, i finally found this easy to do while bundled into the back of four wheel drive with four irish girls and an english guy, heading into the chaing mai jungle. i played silent from morning, restraining from saying hello or being inquisitive. if they asked a question, i would answer politely, but would not reciprocate. it's now 9 p.m., and i still haven't asked anyone's name. they did try to include me at first, but pretty soon wrote me off as silent and strange. which was fine with me, because i became invisible.

when we got to the camp, they huddled around, assessed. i walked the outer grounds, found kittens, looked at flowers. when lunch was served, i took my plate for a walk. two hilltribe women, teeth dyed an incredibly rich black from the betel nut they chew, were setting up stalls of their handicrafts. i browsed the bracelets, shawls, pendants and bags. i bought a bracelet, and later in the day went back for another.

when we set out for our hike, i hung back. the group hadn't stopped talking in hours, but their voices eventually became distant. up behind me came two hilltribe women, one in bright, heavily layered traditional garb, the other all casual, looking much more bangkok than rural village. both were beaming but neither spoke a work of english. perrrfect. we gestured and giggled our way up the steep muddy paths. they gazelle-like, me heavy-footed but optimistic.

at the waterfall, the irish+english stripped down and dove in. looking up i noticed a thin trail leading to a rocky plateau overhanging the waterfall. i started climbing, and soon found that the rushing water drowned out the squeals below. i counted red ants, collected leaves, and looked for monkeys in the bamboo.

we returned to camp before dusk, me 20 minutes behind, but in the company of our gentle tour guide, who was happy to invent responses to my stream of botanical questions, whether he knew the answers or not.

dinner was being prepared when i pulled in. one of the women from the path waived to me cheerfully from the kitchen. i gesture-asked her if i could help cook. she laughed as if i'd just highlighted an award-winning comedy skit, slipped the apron from over her head and dropped it over mine.

we mixed pineapple, potatoes and broccoli, marinated bowl after bowl of chicken and other assorted meats of which i will never know the origin, used endless spices i could not identify, and she showed me how to drain cooking oil from a deep-fried fish.

while the final preparations were being made, i wandered over to the black-tooth hilltribe women (i do wish i knew their name so i could be a little less derogatory-sounding), who were splicing bamboo sticks on their porch, surrounded by black cats. i gesture-asked if i could join them, and they also found my question hilarious, and answered everything with "okkeeyy, okkeeeyyy."

this isn't my photo, but it is in fact the older woman whose porch i sat on, and who made me the betel nut satchel

the older one showed me around, while stuffing more betel nut mixed with tobacco into her cheek (the betel nut is meant to create a state of mild euphoria, and may explain why everything i said was so hilarious). she offered to make me a satchel, and how could i refuse. into a bamboo leaf, she wrapped some limestone, betel nut and something else that was red (she pointed to the tobacco and said, 'no'. and i later found out it was so strong it would have made me high) , and i placed the packed into my cheek and bit down. it was... very lovely. sweet and interesting. juicy.

then she showed me how to spit a thick steady stream of burgundy saliva into a plastic bottle. this i respectfully refused, and both women howled with laughter.

we used our fingers to tell our age (60, 50, 31). then the younger one used both hands and one foot to tell me her "baby" was 14.

we were quickly running out of chit-chat, so we sat in peaceful silence for a few minutes listening to the river and looking out over the trees. then i thanked them profusely, and headed back towards dinner.

a few hours have passed now. i did eventually break my silence with the irish+english, and even played games with them into the night. including a game of 'would you rather...', which was new to me, but which involved choosing which you'd rather from two generally gross or sexually riske circumstances. and so it came to be that, in case they didn't know what to make of me before, now they knew for sure that i was at least an emboldened pervert.

they are sitting to the left of me now; their games continue. i bowed out to write in my notebook in this candlelight. but now i am getting tired. i am going to take my tea and retire, crawl alone into our communal hut, recline under a cascading mosquito net, and close my eyes.

in my mind, i'll be the only person on the mountain.

efficiency (and this coming from me)

chiang mai

i'm left wondering whether small thai guesthouses have just one frying pan in the back. no matter how simple your order, it will not be embarked upon - not even a slice taken out of a tomato - until everyone who ordered before you has been actually served.

what also sometimes happens is that the person taking your order will write each individual item on an a separate piece of paper:

sheet 1: watermelon juice
flip to sheet 2: cheese omlette
flip to sheet 3: toast
flip to sheet 4: bottle of water

this of course leaves me wondering, too. but i know there are some things that i am not meant to understand.

sunglasses and me

enroute kho pha ngan > chiang mai

i don't wear sunglasses much because i don't think they look good on me. i just don't have the sort of skin that can carry the 'trust me, i look good' load all on its own. on most days, this leaves me with a scrunched up nose and squinting eyes, which can't look too attractive either.

the last five years have been particularly challenging for me, as sunglasses have re-emerged as the essential personality adornment; the one that communicates for you, so you don't have to.

"i'm cute and quirky"; "i'm iceman"; "i'm back here somewhere, come find me"; "i'm gorgeous, back off"

the truth is i envy these people. all of them. they have found the glasses that complete them. they have found the one. in an accessory.

i too want to slip on a more perfect me when the sun comes out. i too want my sunglasses to smooth out my rough edges. to sexify me. to mystify me.

but i do not look good in sunglasses. they do not blend well with my face. the sit outside of it, wondering out loud why they have been placed there. they stare at other faces longingly, regretting bitterly the commitment they have made to me.

on my face, unfortunately, sunglasses are simply a tool. a way to protect my eyes from the sun. as if that was really their goal. pfft.

so, i rarely wear sunglasses. and i hope, from a place of humourless irony, that the cataracts i am surely earning myself trying to look better without than with, will someday come as deeply into fashion as the priceless plastic and titanium that so taunts me now, face after face, day after day.

me, scrunchy-faced, being shuttled, a bit like cattle, from one remoteness to another

leaving the sanctuary

was too excited to sleep last night. fell asleep okay, but woke up with every bird call. but it was an enormous pleasure to pass the night in this peaceful way.

i wrapped my mosquito net, usually flowing all bridal-like around the edges of my bed, into a tight ball suspended weightless in the air. let them bite me tonight. i wanted open access to the window, and for the window to have open access to me.

this is my bungalow in the morning light

without that layer of the mosquito met, i imagined that i was somehow closer to the jungle outside. i imagined i could hear all its noises more vividly now. the rustling of ten thousand leaves. the chorus of toads and geckos. the birds trading observations and secrets.

outside my bungalow window. there is an open view of the sea out to the right.

lying on my stomach i hung my arms out of the window, and felt close to the air, to the altitude, to the breath of the monsoon. fran, my adopted kitten, seemed concerned with a part of my body disappearing into the darkness outside. so with that horrid continuous screech (that has alienated her from others but endeared her to me), positioned herself on the thin strip of mattress between my chin and the open window, creating a fluffy red buffer between my body and the rocky descent outside. i wish i could let her know somehow that i was leaving today, and that it is nothing personal.

at 6.30 a.m. i decided to rise. the light over the sea was gentle, like a porter opening a door and with his other arm open wide saying, 'please, welcome, come inside...' i had a long, cold shower, during which i got bitten some more. but no agitation at all. interesting.

my bungalow neighbour had decided to stay on at the sanctuary and work for a few months, so i leave her with a few of my things, including The History of Love which she has been reading, and i retrieve my Nepal Lonely Planet, because soon, very soon, it will be time. A warm hug and see you soon.

my new friend bianca was the best wingwoman i could have hoped for

I descend the hill at 7.50 a.m., just as people from the sanctuary and neighbouring beaches are ascending for the 8 a.m. yoga class, which i am sad to be missing. the first person i meet is bianca, the sweetest friend and wingwoman i have made on this trip so far. more kisses and rainchecks. Adam from California sees us from inside the yoga hall and comes out for yet another high five and big smiled... 'i lllooove you, man..' I happen to be holding on to some incense, a note and some left over green for him, all of which i was going to leave at the front desk, so I hand it over.

i descend around the next bend and bump into another, and then another. they form what feels like a procession on this mountain path, each one warm and eyes smiling, each imparting me with their own wishes for the road, with their own blessings, with their own form of spiritual protection.

when was the last time i was surrounded by this much free-spirited good will? when did i last have this many friends in one place to embrace me? i arrive sweating and smiling to the pillowed heart of the sanctuary, at the bottom of the path, at the water's edge. more early risers are strewn around, lifting lassis and ginger tea to their lips, sipping softly, relaxing into silence.

the light is like a permanent pink dusk today. the water is calm. the rain is giving me safe passage. i sit at the bar with inga and luci, whom i have befriended easily, without having exchanged many words. i know luci has been traveling for over a year, and teaches english in northern thailand. also that she's fallen in love with a tattooist on haad rin, and was living with him for over a month until a small drama a few days ago. i know inga is from germany, and has a textile design business in hamburg.

"you're not leaving," says luci in disbelief. i knod. "but you're an institution here!" i smile modestly but to be honest i am deeply touched. i have felt a great sense of belonging at the sanctuary. although my stay was short, i felt very much at home. "how long have you been here?" she asks. "a little over one week," i say. "n-o-w-a-y..."

yeah, i don't believe it either. i really feel like i am leaving a little makeshift family behind.

and also, a whole lot of really good food. so i order myself a banana porridge and mango papaya lassi. while i eat, i chat with the boat guys, the manager, a few of the other staff. and then it's time.

i'm on my way north, to chang mai. it was a sudden descision i made upon waking yesterday morning, stirred i think by something looming inside me that needs movement in order to rise and reveal itself. i have told myself that what the road wants, the road will have, so i am leaving these comforting shores, and forging on into whatever comes next.

i swing my backpack to where it belongs, roll up my pants, and wade into the water. the lowtail boat is waiting for me a few feet from the shore.

thanks shanti

for almost two weeks i have been hanging around the incredibly beautiful sanctuary, an oasis of peace and open-mindedness on the sometimes ratty island of koh pha ngan. my friend Shanti shared this jem of this beach with me, and as he predicted i have fallen in love with this little world, this little beach, and with the way only a certain type of person is attracted here, and only a certain type of person recognizes how special, serene, almost magical it is. thanks shanti. it's been amazing.

the sanctuary

first thai massage

Kho Pha Ngan

she didn't exactly knead right. despite making a big display of swinging her body outwards and up into the air and then descending palm first into my thigh, i felt little more than a muscular shove.

the guy being massaged next to me - Herman from Holland, i would soon learn, as we exchanged travel itineraries while arched and upside down, skewered over pulp, round knee caps - oooed, aahhhed, and made other entertaining noises, while i lay in comfortable silence.

"hhhooow are you so quiet?", he finally asked, almost self-consciously, as if it were his personal inadequacy that kept me from massage climax.

and what could i answer? i would have loved to be screaming, howling, mirroring his deep sighs. But Bit.. Kit.. Kim.. Sien.. whichever one she was, just didn't have that magic touch.

and I'd known within seconds, as you do, that she wouldn't deliver. but for an hour, i indulged nevertheless, and left just as happy as herman.

because even a bad massage, on the banks of a tropical paradise, is still pretty good.

the massage place is in a little straw hut at the very end of this beach

winding my way home

Koh Samet

the sound of waves is always welcoming, and it's all i hear as i leave the lantern light of this sand-strewn bar and walk down the beach in the direction of home. my bungalow, somewhere in those shadows, stands on its hind legs at the end of an uneven path. at night, light falls there, unevenly too, and my feet tread more carefully. there are numerous paths clustered here, and i never really memorised which ones eventually lead to my bungalow. i just listen to the sea, and walk. if it takes a little longer to find my way sometimes, that's alright with me.

lantern evenings on koh samet

my bungalow is like these, but hidden somewhere up behind

they had to break into one day when the bungalow became mysteriously locked from the inside, despite having my own combination lock on the outside

ways to be happy

Bangkok

my favorite way to get around bangkok is on a motorcycle-taxi, identifiable from the million other motorcycles by the orange vests the drivers wear. ingenious idea, really, using these zoom-mobiles as taxis. and so, i will actually stand on a sweltering polluted corner for 10 extra minutes, shooing away air-conditioned cabs and colorful rickshaws, in order to catch one.

in addition to the speed factor (traffic here makes my muscles constrict), and the coolness factor (let's be honest), the other main reason i like moto-taxis is because their drivers are generally happier than rickshaw drivers, and are positively ecstatic relative to the taxi drivers.

i theorize that this is because they and they alone can traverse a bangkok block in less than 20 minutes, and so are, in their own mad and kamikaze way, immune to bangkok's near-unbearable traffic problem.

for example, as i write this, i am sitting on a bus which, if it was moving at all, would be heading from bangkok to the island of koh samet. in 25 minutes, we have progressed 1.5 blocks. as i look out in front of me, i see only an impenetrable wall of cars and buses, and it's hard to imagine that i will get anywhere at all this year.

if i was on a moto-taxi, i would be wind at their windows, these pungent, fuming cars, zooming by their collective rumbling with only a few third-degree burns and a mouth full of carbon to pay.

now that's my type of transportation.

that's dejana on a moto-taxi, me trailing behind her, as we zoomed our way from one place to another

touchdown, bangkok

touchdown. cab in from the airport, bangkok.

I arrive in Bangkok on a typically balmy morning, open my chest, and let the chaos in. Thailand's chaos is admittedly of mild variety, but a surrender is required nevertheless.

It begins at the cab stand, which in its sweetest-assault asian way, surrounds, harrasses and over-runs you.

Time explaining to cab driver where I was going: 13 minutes
Time wondering where he was taking me: 45 minutes

Then, a wild-woman reunion with Dejana, who's presence in my days now brings constant laughter and makes me feel like there is still so much ahead of me.

Then, swimming in Dee's pool in the rain... which becomes a bit of habit.

Dee lives, so appropriately, in a Gilligan's-Island-meets-Melrose-Place (seriously) tropical oasis, hidden away in the middle of this throbbing city. (Before I leave, I will submit a suggestion to the King that Bangkok be renamed BangBangBang.)

Over the coming days, I indulge in Dejana's spirited wonderfulness, discover and merge with her motley crew, and piece together the feelings and experiences that make up my dear friend's life, and that have so easily become lost to me as i circled the world in my own way, not always concentric with Dee's.

But now I'm here, and we have time.

I'm feeling grateful. And a little cheeky...

dee & me

basking in dee's care