Hey, kids...

Saturday night was... eventful, to say the least. Mostly, Bangkok never ceases to surprise me.

I went out with five friends to check out a nearby bar featuring live folk music. It turned out to be Thai folk music. We stayed for about two and a half minutes.

We walked up the street and stopped at 7-11 so a few people could buy beers. We were standing around, discussing what to do next, when an older white man approached us.

He introduced himself as Dee Dee and said he noticed that we left pretty quick. He was there to offer us his sage advice on entertainment in the city. "I'm a professional," he said.

He asked if we were Khao San Road people. Khao San is the main backpacker strip here. I haven't been there yet, but it's supposed to be full of cheap, dirty bars. "No. Not so much," we told him. We explained that we weren't tourists.

He went on to tell us where to find the best gay sex show on Patpong (a notorious red light district). Then his Thai wife walked up.

We asked where they were going. "Back to our hotel. We just bought a big bag of ganja. You guys know; you're from California."

Erin looked at me and mouthed, "Could this get any weirder?"

"What happens if the police catch you with it?"
"Oh, come on, the police are the ones that sold it to me."

We learned that he'd lived in Bangkok for eight years with his wife before they moved to the U.S. He said something about owning a business that sold designer labels like True Religion, Seven for all Mankind, and a few others that were supposed to impress us.

Before leaving, he wished us luck and held out a downturned fist toward Ryan. Ryan obediently extended his hand, palm up, and received a fistful of pot.

"You kids have a good time."

Sensitive to the fact that we were standing right in the middle of a sidewalk in front of 7-11, Ryan quickly shoved his hand into his pocket. Dee Dee and his wife left, and we started wondering aloud whether the Thai people watching us down the street were authority figures of some kind.

We walked to Saxophone Pub for some blues music, where Ryan spent the rest of the night nervous and fidgety and wondering what would happen if he got caught with that stuff in his pocket.

Gotta love the neverending supply of old, sketchy white men that Bangkok is so ready and willing to host...

the beach, or: what i imagined thailand to be

Having grown weary of the pollution, bad smells, and crowding of the city, our group of 21 American teachers decided to venture to a nearby island called Ko Samet. The first leg of the journey was a van ride from Victory Monument to Banphe. This van operation was run out of a purple tent and the "tickets" were... unofficial, to say the least.

The van ride normally takes three to three and a half hours. We got there in two and a half. Our driver couldn't be bothered with that whole "stopping at traffic lights" thing. He would turn left at the light and then turn left again immediately to catch the green light at the intersection.

We took a 15-minute speedboat ride from Banphe to the island, avoiding the state park entrance fee of 200 baht by doing so.

The entire journey cost about $9 and took between three and four hours.

Our hotel was made up of little bungalows. They were simple inside, but comfortable enough. And cheap - which is the really important thing - with four people to a room. The hotel for two nights cost around $18 a person. Not bad at all.

We ate lots of good food, lounged around in the sand, played in the waves, and got eaten up by mosquitoes. Glorious - except for the mosquito part. That was actually kind of miserable. I scratched the bites on my legs, which, combined with the heat, was too much for my poor skin to take. It's getting better since I've been back.

I had one creeper incident, although he wasn't too much of a creeper. The first morning there, Mariela and I went out early to look for a quiet piece of beach. We set our towels out and laid down to nap. When we woke up and sat up to look at the ocean, a Thai man in torn jeans was walking by. He came up to us, trying to introduce himself and his friend. He said something about a camera and we shook our heads, not understanding. He walked away for a minute and came back holding a camera. He wanted a picture with me. By this point, I was confused. Was this his hobby? Collecting photos of himself at the beach posing with random white girls? It's a lame hobby, if you ask me. He'd be much better served by learning to garden.

I tried to tell him I didn't want my picture taken. He wouldn't be dissuaded, so I figured it'd be less trouble to just smile for the camera. He bent down next to me and his friend snapped the photo. When he stood up, I held out my hand palm up and demanded, "20 baht! 20 baht!" "Oh, no, no..." he said. Then he went to Mariela and took a picture with her. They walked away. A minute later camera man was back, holding a bottle of water. He offered it timidly, trying to tell us what it was. We caught the word "osmosis," but that was about it. He left for good, and we started laughing. And no, we didn't drink it.

Friday and Saturday night we watched fire shows at two different restaurants. The second night it was all really young guys, from ages 14 to 19ish. The had rap music playing and each one came out individually to do tricks. The first guy was twirling what amounted to a Molotov cocktail. He was the most impressive, in my opinion, because it seems like it'd be harder to spin and throw and catch a bottle than it would a long stick. He was even dancing to the music while juggling the bottle between his hands and throwing and spinning it into the air.

I've told some of you about my laser lawn cutter idea. As it turns out, the Germans have already done that. I've got a new product idea for a different niche market: A braille oven/stove. I haven't checked Google to see if it's been done, but I think blind people should be able to bake brownies just like everyone else.

my momma always told me...

I was walking up my street just now, wallet in hand, to buy a kilo of mangosteens from a fruit vendor. I was excited, because I’d memorized the Thai phrase for “Can I have one kilo?”

A man was coming toward me; a fellow foreigner (I know this because he was black). I smiled at him, because in Thailand - the Land of Smiles - that's what you do.

I reached the fruit cart, felt too shy to say my Thai phrase, and bought my mangosteens by just saying “Neung kilo.” Whatever, it got me my fruit.

I turned around to walk back. I hadn’t gone very far when a black Honda stopped next to me with its window rolled down. It was that guy. He asked my name. I told him. He asked if I was working in Thailand. I said yes, and asked what he was doing here. He works here, too. I asked where he was from, and he said Paris.

He has his phone in his hand, looked at it, and asked me for my contact. I told him I didn’t know my phone number, which was true. Then he asked where I was staying. In my head I envisioned responding with, “Sorry, my mom told me never to talk to strangers.” Deciding this would be too juvenile a response, I went with, “Sorry, I’m not comfortable telling you that.”

He said OK, and that maybe we’d meet again.

Thanks, but no thanks, Mr. Parisian stranger! I'm no fool; I just watched the movie “Taken” on the plane coming over here!