Music for Airports

I was going to start this by saying that the last time I was in an airport on my way home I was having a bit of a freakout due to the combination of the claustrophobic/introspective and cynical music I was listening to (Radiohead, I think it was In Rainbows, but it might have been either OK Computer or Hail to the Thief), my white guilt alarm ringing loudly (I was coming back from Mexico) and the enormous group of high school kids acting like a disorganized shrewdness of apes high school kids. But I realized that I was wrong - the last time I was in an airport I was accompanied by a moderate hangover (and a couple buddies, one of whom's hangover was far more memorable) and an overwhelming desire to catch a few winks, but instead was being forced through the uncomfortable wringer of airport security. I didn't exactly get treated like a terrorist, but it's certainly no cakewalk. At least there wasn't a group of entitled 11 year-olds¹with 2 chaperones waiting to fly to a hockey camp where they will obviously learn from better than Winnipeg has to offer. That was shitty, not to confused with "the shit," which 11 year-old hockey players are certainly not, nor are their head-in-the-clouds chaperones/dads. Also, Toronto is a great time, and it's worth dealing with any amount of hangovers/hockey teams, including the Leafs.

  The second last time I was in an airport however, was kind of a unsettling experience. I had been hobbling around on a cane (which was rather stylish, by far the best part of breaking one's leg) on the beach in Mexico all week² and was suffering from a rather sore ankle, so I kind of just wanted to sit and be undisturbed by the goings-on of the airport. Unluckily, our flight was delayed and we ended up spending at least 6 hours in the Toronto airport, 2 of which amongst a group of boisterous young adults who were probably in grade 11 or so. It was the first time I'd watched high school aged kids interact in quite a while, and it was shocking to watch the group dynamics play out, and it caused a considerable amount of introspection. This bled over into thinking about the ethics of travel (particularly by plane), and questioning my own motivation for visiting Mexico for a week. To flex our egos/financial superiority? To relax in a warmer climate? Posties around the city are constantly going away for a week and coming back with a far more even and deep tan than our blue-on-slightly-different-blue uniforms allow. Also, usually a little fatter, that postie metabolism will catch up to you when you're sitting on your ass drinking mojitos all day.

This time out I'm being hit with a lot of the same sentiments, sans hangover this time though. I am unbelievably tired (probably something to do with the whole "not going to bed last night." I'm pretty sure it'll pay dividends soon enough. Like when I fall off this bench in a snoring heap in 5 minutes). The entitled nature of people sitting in airports particularly in Canada and our neighbours south of the 49th parallel, frustrated at being "forced" to pay $10 for a subpar cheeseburger, tiny dogs in their little dog carriers making very undoglike noises, and just generally loud, obnoxious individuals trying their best to make sure that everyone knows that their personal opinion is of utmost import to their neighbours, even if that opinion is just about how much they hate Air Canada.

I'm fully aware of the fact that a month spent in another culture is hardly monumental. Andrea and a number of her teacher friends spent 2+ years in Thailand, my friend Rachelle is on her (I think) 4th or 5th year total in Palestine, and any number of close friends of mine have spent around a year away in Europe, South America or Asia on some sort of exchange program or another, but even after a month (or a week will do apparently) in a completely different culture, it feels bizarre to be back in Canada. Granted, Vancouver airport is as full of Asians as any you'll find in Canada, so it's a bit of a buffer, but at the same time, seeing everyone dressed in their typical North American pleb garb, sucking back their outrageously sized McDonald's sodas - it's a trip. And I don't think one that you can fully prepare yourself for. Upon arriving in Thailand I was blown away by the hustle and bustle, the traffic, the smells, the heat, the noise...a fairly stereotypical case of culture shock. But that wore off, and although I still think that Bangkok is way too busy, I got used to it. Being back in Canada, I know I'll adjust very quickly and acclimatize myself back into a North American way of living rather quickly, but perhaps it's the reverse culture shock that one should really take note of, and examine what it is that is actually so shocking about North American culture. The water warms up so slowly that we don't jump out, but there are a number of bizarre and perverse aspects of North American (dare I say consumer culture? I do, I do dare. I triple dog dare me in fact) that are worth taking a second look at. Start by taking your bike for a ride, I know that's on my list of things to do when I get back.

Trip itinerary - Stay up all night in Bangkok. Leave Bangkok at 6 AM (which was actually 6 PM yesterday in Winnipeg, but 6 AM today in Bangkok). Land in Tokyo 6 hours later, 3 hour layover, take off, spent 8 hours in the air between Toyko and Vancouver. In an hour, get on a plane, fly 3 (or so) hours to Winnipeg from Vancouver, arrive 7ish Winnipeg. So basically we left at 6 this morning, and we're getting to Winnipeg 13 hours later. Travelling over the international date line is weird.

¹I think you might call this shameless self-promotion. Or at least a tad ostentatious.

 ²the first and only time I've ever gone to an all-inclusive resort - it was a surprisingly good time. It helps that I couldn't really walk, it's easy to have a good time lying on a bed outside, underneath an umbrella with enormous iguanas wandering by on occasion, and waiters taking your drink orders much more regularly. Iguanas would make poor servers, they're far too inconsistent. And scaly.

³ Apparently this time out I decided that Godspeed You! Black Emperor would be a better choice to not invoke feelings of alienation and tension. Good job, sleep deprived/zombiefied brain.

Wake Me Up, I'm Dreaming

  So with that, basically our holiday is over. We left Kho Phi Phi this morning on a "long tail" boat, then hopped onto the ferry after a lively discussion about what makes a shake different from a smoothie (I think it has something to do with the fruit/dairy content) and what is the difference between a smoothie and a leesie (which is the same thing as a Thai smoothie. Maybe). After a kind of weird intermittently interrupted nap on the gentle waves of the sea in the Bay of Thailand, we arrived in Krabi, were shuttled to the airport by some young-ish, misogynistic van drivers, whom I'm pretty sure yelled out the window of the van that the three (tiny) young adult women on a scooter were going too slow because they were too fat. Which is possibly the regional fashion of how to pick up ladies, or more likely, they were assholes. But then again, who isn't at age 19/20/21-45?

  We're now flying back to Bangkok to basically run a couple errands, have a couple more cultural experiences (if you go to Bangkok, you'd probably kick yourself a little for not at least walking through the Pat Pong (red light district), since if you ask anyone who knows next to nothing about Thailand, their first response is something along the lines of "Thailand? That's like China, eh?," and "a lot of hookers, right?"¹ So it's apparently a sight to behold. Then it's the long flight(s) home, which I'll probably spend staving off sleep, because I have had some crazy ass/disturbing/vivid dreams this entire month.

   I very rarely remember my dreams when I'm sleeping in my own bed, and so the ones that do manage to trickle through my superego filter I usually take somewhat seriously and I tend to carry them around for a few days afterwards, mulling over the significance and trying to decipher any deeper meaning that can be found in the imagery or emotional content. This month has given me WAY too many dreams to delve too seriously into any of them, but I'll give you a quick survey.

1.My friend Lyndon, who is rather thrifty, and eats a lot of taco salad, decided that in his quest to put on a few pounds, would begin eating at McDonald's more often, which he kicked off with a 5 visit day, each time getting at least 2 cheeseburgers. Dream Lyndon is much less healthy and far more impulsive with his diet than real Lyndon - real life implications? Probably none other than I think Lyndon probably eats rather healthily, and an all McD's diet isn't a great idea.

2. I was in an old factory in the Exchange district of Winnipeg with a few friends, tearing out old pipes and ducting for salvage when the entire building began to crumble. After nearly expiring, I manage to escape in a fairly epic and adrenaline pumping fashion - real life implications? I think it might have something to do with my thoughts about Canada Post eventually crumbling under the pressure of technological advancement, and what I want to pursue in terms of career in the future.

3. This supremely screwed up dream I had about playing a show at The Zoo in Osborne Village, although it definitely wasn't The Zoo (it was actually in the basement, sort of. There was a lot of dysfunctional dream logic taking effect in this one, spatial orientation was right out the window), in which I came across a really grubby naked transvestite in my quest for the bathroom, followed by looking at myself in the mirror and feeling (quite vividly, and terrifyingly) someone's long nailed hands scraping at the back of my legs. When I turned around, there was some ghoulish figure sitting in the bathtub behind the clear, mildew-ridden shower curtain with long, wet hair covering their face. I took matters into my own hands and tried to throttle them, at which point I woke up with a start, a racing pulse, and an inability to fall back asleep for at least an hour. I think this one had to do with all the Ladyboy spotting I had been doing, and maybe everyone needs a good nightmare once in a while to scare the shit out of them?

4. I had a dream that we had left Thailand a few days early, and I was very frustrated by the fact that we had forgotten to do all the things we needed to do in Bangkok before we left. A lot of this dream took place in my high school and on the bus back to Steep Rock, a bus that was being driven by my deceased bus driver, whom I confronted about his being dead. I guess his answer was convincing enough, because I remember thinking that it was a reasonable enough answer and returning to my seat. The strangest part of this dream is that I was pretty sure I was dreaming the whole time, and that we were probably still in Ao Nang, but I wasn't able to wake myself up for at least an hour. Perhaps this was along the lines of dreaming that I had slept through my alarm the night before the exam, only to wake up at 4 and feel like I had been shit-kicked throughout the entire exam. The frustration of not being able to awaken from my dream was this bizarre palpable feeling that I was entirely aware of during the dream, but at the same time I didn't have any crazy lucid dreaming experience, as I definitely would have used my dream Superman powers to fly around and do some wild stuff.

5. I had a couple other weird ones about Folk Fest being right around the corner and my Birkenstocks getting wet (which has been on my mind way too much this trip - "Birks, they're the greatest sandals in the world, just don't get em' wet, because if you do, it's a pain in the ass." But besides those 4 the others are pretty much just dream rubbish that doesn't really make any sense. I'm looking forward to getting back to my own bed/pillow, where the only thing that wakes me up in the middle of the night is an overwhelming need to pee, or when the dog is having a nightmare/has decided that 4 AM is good time to lick her nose about 87 times in a row.



¹There is, in the defence of the ignorant, a lot of prostitution in various forms in Thailand. For example, I'm pretty sure that the white dude in his late forties with a fairly monumental beer gut has a monetarily based relationship with the beautiful late 20s/early 30s Thai girl beside him.

LET'S HAVE A PHI PHI (Pronounced Pee-Pee, which is not to say that you should associate this with urine, but with a Ki-Ki, which is a party that has no connection with bodily functions)

  I'm sitting in our (rather fancy) hotel/guest house/this weird cabana house thing (I'm told it's referred to as a "bungalow") in Koh Phi Phi, laying out after enjoying a day filled with being rocked slowly on the ocean not unlike a child in their mother's arms, but more likely to induce vomiting (I didn't vomit), and laying on a beach with beautiful white sand (all sand colors are cool by me, I'm an "all sands are equal" kind of guy) and surrounded by small, lush green islands. The last week of what has been a very fulfilling, exciting and thought-provoking trip has been filled largely with just sitting back and relaxing, reading by the pool/beach and getting sand in pretty much everything. Apparently it's somewhat invasive. I've actually been spending so much time in the classic, beach lounger chair back half reclined with my head up reading that my neck is seriously nipping, which is Irvine Welsh/Leithian Scots for "it hurts." It's usually reserved for describing one's aching head due to a hangover, but I think it sums it up nicely.

 This past week spent in Ao Nang was very relaxing. Which was a nice relief from the hectic schedule of hanging out in one city, then hanging out in another city, then going on a bike ride, then taking a massage class, then hanging out some more. So you can understand why we were so excited to get out of a concrete jungle like Chiang Mai where it's all hustle/bustle/drink tonnes of beers for the relative quiet of an island getaway like Koh Phi Phi, where it's fish all day/read on the beach/drink tonnes of beers. It's also given me a lot of time to reflect on what I'm coming back to in Winnipeg, which is clearly the greatest city of all time, anywhere.

 We were sitting in a restaurant (where we kind of got screwed around a little) about 5 days ago and for the first time since getting to Thailand I heard a little piece of home - some Neil Young. Neil Young is as much a Winnipegger as much as I'm an Ottorbournite (I spent 8 months there once), but he still reminds me of home. And my heart broke just a little, listening to Neil sing about getting old and searching for a pulmonary organ that defies the laws of physics. It reminded me of nights spent listening to and learning his songs, of days spent walking around the various areas of Winnipeg delivering mail, pondering lyrics/trying to learn French, beercycling around the city, occasionally cursing at motorists for cutting by me too closely (which I've developed a different perspective on since visiting SouthEastern Asia), running around in the backyard with the dog, playing music with friends, singing with The Riel Gentlemen's Choir...you get the picture.

 Being on holiday, especially a holiday that is more involved than just sitting by the pool and being served hastily mixed drinks by underpaid Mexicans, is a highly rewarding experience and I wouldn't trade it for anything. All things aside, you know those disgusting cross-stitch things that you might find on the bathroom wall in your Grandma's house that say Home is Where the Heart is? It's saccharine and cliche, but it's aggravatingly accurate.

 My biggest trepidation leading up to this trip was missing out on all the aforementioned minutia and the enjoyment, the visceral emotional experience that summer provides and the memories that come along with it. Perhaps in the future someone might create some sort of splitting your consciousness device to let you be in one place but also experience the joy of that kicking party your buddies are playing at. Hell, maybe they already have...

 Whatever the final net gain/loss of being away from my favorite city during what is basically my favorite part of the year/being in an amazing culture that I feel enormously lucky to have experienced, I feel richly blessed to have seen as much as I have this year, and to be so loved in and so in love with the place I call home.

Holidays Are Made For Reading

Sarah really nailed it on that one. We are really taking the holidaying seriously at this point. We're staying Ao Nang, which is sort of like Puerto Villarta or some city on the Caribbean coast, sitting by the pool, slowly roasting lightly tanning (I'm looking at myself in the mirror right now, and I've developed a slightly splotchy red pattern across my chest and shoulders. And in the part of my hair, perhaps it's time to go with a somewhat Goth-esque side-part. Done. It looks stupid) and doing my best to devour some of the literature I've determined that I didn't have time for in the past. This last push towards holidazed-out bliss, combined with the considerable amount of time we've spent in transit (I don't really get carsick) has resulted in my getting an unexpectedly large volume (I've already bought 2 more books because I've gone through all the ones that I brought. I'm beginning to see the value of an e-reader) of literature. So now let's be hypercritical and talk about what we didn't like about them, because that's what educated white people do!!!

(this is in order of consumption)

1. The Time Traveller's Wife (Audrey Niffenegger) - I really liked this book, particularly the first 2/3 of it, when Henry's existential and emotional crises were at the forefront, as they are replaced later on by Clare's trepidation and difficulties in trying to bring a child (a likely "chronologically displaced" one at that) into the world. It is I suppose a tad "chick-flicky" at times, but that's really a lazy and inaccurate criticism. It makes you feel, and that isn't something to criticize, especially since it's not trying to just blatantly manipulate your emotions. And time travel is generally a pretty interesting concept, especially if the author doesn't waste a tonne of time trying to get around the mechanics of it, which Niffenegger does none of. Even less than Shane Carruth's Primer, which you should go watch. Just ask Terrell. I had a little reluctance about finally getting around to reading this book (it's been on my shelf since I lived at Fleet), but that was needles, because it was beautiful, and would recommend it to nearly anyone.

2. I Wear the Black Hat (Chuck Klosterman) - CK is the bomb. Sharp and biting social criticism wrapped in a hilarious pop culture drenched candy coating. This book is about villains in our society, both real and fictional. A villain is someone who Chuck deems "Knows the most, but cares the least." I feel that this isn't really the greatest measure of determining who is/isn't a villain, but that instead Klosterman chose this because it fit his thesis best, and allowed him to slap that tag on whoever drew his humerous ire. That said, he presented it pretty convincingly, and I ate this one up in a couple bus trips. Perhaps most memorable was his early on statement that Snidely Whiplash is the prototype for villainy that basically every other villain throughout history has tried to measure up to, based solely on the fact that he enjoyed tying buxom lasses to railroad tracks (only to be repeatedly thwarted by the dimwhitted Canadian law enforcement officer, Duddly Do-Right. I haven't seen the Rocky and Bullwinkle Show since I was probably 9 years-old, but I'm pretty sure it was a gem), if only because it sums up Chuck Klosterman's rather slanted view on the world. It was no Killing Yourself to Live, but it was a highly entertaining read nonetheless.

3. The Slap (Cristos Tsiolkas) - a common find in the bargain section at McNally, it looked interesting each time I went back there (which is every time I find myself at McNally, which is often enough) so eventually I caved and picked it up. It is an examination of family/friend dynamics in the wake of an incident at a "well-lubricated" neighbourhood barbecue in which a man slaps a friend's child (because he was being a real shit and was probably going to smack the first man's child with a cricket bat), and not unexpectedly, the child's parents go kind of batshit. The book is separated into 8 different chapters, each one written through the viewpoint of different characters, not a completely unique literary device, but used successfully, it can be a very effective way of conveying the complexities of a situation. Unfortunately, some (about half) of the perspectives were not of any interest to me, I really could have used some more of the first and last characters. Basically what I learned from this book is don't go around slapping other people's children¹, and try to keep up a healthy tan, which are admittedly, pretty good bits of information.

4. The Rebel Sell (Joseph Heath & Andrew Potter) - I once quoted this book in a (fairly important) paper without really reading it. I found the section that sort of applied²  to my thesis, and just quoted it straight out, taking the time to read a couple paragraphs on either side. Of course I had intentions to read the whole thing, but the life of a music student isn't ripe with spare time to read entire books. I mean, come on, do professors really expect to forego important social interaction just to study all night?!?! I'm pretty sure they don't. And if they do, you're probably in the wrong program and you should transfer out pretty much immediately. To one that isn't lame. I hope no one is noticing that I'm not actually talking about the book, because I don't have a heck of a lot to say about it, mostly due to the fact that it was somewhat dense reading material. Basically its main thesis is that the "culture" can't be jammed, that the counterculture isn't actually railing against anything (it mostly uses consumer culture as the dragon to be slain), and instead is being easily co-opted as just another part of consumer culture, i.e. hippy love beads are a great sale item at The Forks, aren't they? Instead, they say that the countercultural movements have really missed the point, and instead the problems of society aren't due to some "system" but collective inaction. It was a tad nihilistic at times, and although was thoroughly engaging, it failed to offer very many concrete alternatives or methods for accomplishing what they believed the countercultural movements (particularly of the 50s and 60s) had failed to do.

5. Filth (Irvine Welsh) - Geeze, if I thought The Rebel Sell was nihilistic I was in for it this time out. Irvine Welsh can wring beautiful eloquence out of utter depravity (Trainspotting is still, years later and at least 4 reads through, one of my favorite books), but this time out it was just a little too much. When I was 16 I had a shitty interaction with a cop and I started to think that there were some real assholes in places of authority, but I hope none are this jaded and depraved. Or if there are (and there probably are), I don't want anyone I know to meet them. I'm hoping to trade this one in for High Fidelity in the hotel lobby.

6.La Guerre? Yes Sir! (Roch Carrier) - French Canadian author writes short, concise book about relationships between French Canadian villagers in the 40s, and their relationships with "les maudits Anglais!" Best part? "Christ en bicyclette sur son Calvaire!"

 7.Norwegian Wood (Haruki Murakami) - I haven't actually read this one yet, but since 1Q84 was something like 1200 pages, I've read enough Murakami to know that it'll probably (hopefully) be a bit of a pick me up after being stuck in this literary mire of depression. Actually I've thoroughly enjoyed all of them, there's been something to love in each one. But especially the first 2. This was way too long. I'm gonna go hit the pool now, work on my splotches. I'm getting used to the side part already.

¹ this was actually something I was aware of already, perhaps contrary to what a couple earlier posts may had alluded to. A lot of people in the book (mostly the dudes) seemed to think the kid deserved it, although they did prefer that it would have came from his father, but his father was an antagonistic, failed-artist drunk. So he was too busy being a dick at the time to be a half-assed parent.
² it didn't really, which is terribly evident after reading the whole thing

The Stars Look Very Different Today

The stars you see in Thailand are different from those we gaze upon in Winnipeg. When you actually take the time to think about it, it's not surprising, when you cross the equator, you start looking at a completely different part of the night sky (the sun still looks the same, but unless you'd like to get really good at handling a white and red stick, I wouldn't suggest exploring this statement too closely), but it's only when you can really see that difference that it begins to settle in. Last night was the first time I could see the stars beyond a handful scattered across the sky - Bangkok is a light-polluted smog factory, Cambodia was a quick trip that its fair number of streetlights, and Chang Mai is about the same size as Winnipeg. And I don't think there's an Assiniboine Park equivalent, or if there was, it was being occupied by a children's fair - Ferris wheels, although they admittedly do get you higher off the ground, are not known for being the pinnacle in stargazing settings.

So last night, being in Krabi/Ao Nang was the first opportunity I had in which I could look up and actually see the night sky since I had been on a plane to Beijing, nearly a month ago. It was humbling and terrifying, as the realization of "I am so far from home" really took root within my synapses. I know I've been away from home for 3 weeks already, but there was something about seeing something that you can only see from the opposite side of the world that words can't quite express. Perhaps it was the disorienting effect of not seeing familiar constellations, Polaris not being there to guide my way North, or Orion's Belt gone black, obscured by the curve of the Earth. Thoughts of explorers, long dead, flooded my thoughts as I wondered how they managed to navigate the vastness of the oceans, or how they dealt with the uncertainty of not knowing, or even how they managed to develop the boldness to just say "Screw it, we're going anyway, we'll probably find something. Bring some salted pork, it's probably going to be a long trip."

All this led me to do some thinking about my travels in Thailand, and the time that has passed since getting on that plane in Winnipeg on the 29th of July. Some of that time has obviously been spent in transit (and a funny little trick of travelling across the International Date Line is that you don't get to experience an entire day, but I'm pretty sure I talked about that already), but largely it's been spent enjoying Thai/Khmer culture, drink and food. And some displaced Western culture/drink/food, but that's pretty unavoidable, that shit's e'erwhere. I've tried my best¹ to dive into the culture and people around me, but considering that my Thai is limited to counting to 5, saying hello, thank you, beautiful and I'm full, that's gotta be a pretty shallow dive.²  That said, I think I've done as good of a job as possible at this point, doing my best to learn the small bits of language to deal with vendors and service-people, and definitely done my best not to be one of those annoying foreigners stumbling down the sidewalk, dropping their beer on the street and being bitched out by an angry Thai police officer. For little guys, they seem to have a lot of pent up rage. Not completely unlike our own boys-in-blue actually, although perhaps a little more openly trolling for "tips.³" 

Admittedly, like many other people who have gone to "exotic" destinations before me, some of the "authentic" qualities that I'm seeing in Thai people are due to my own misconceptions about Thailand and Southeastern Asia in general, but as I've tried to glean through my own interpretations of how things should be, I've learned that ultimately, Thai people aren't so dissimilar from ourselves. They want a good job, they want a good family, some nice things, and to be happy. So far it seems like most of them have at least the last part locked down, tight.



¹Best is a widely ranging term, very dependant on what you happen to be doing on any particular day There are a bunch of students at Lertlah that have "Best" as their nickname. Best 1, Best 2, Best 3...So obviously best is on a bit of sliding scale.

² as in Blue Badge swimming lessons shallow dive, a rock-the-5-meter-at-the-Pan-Am-into-the-kiddie-pool -in-your-neighbors-backyard-sort-of-shallow-dive.
³ Tips - Not Only for the Service Industry Anymore!

I Have Slipped the Surly Bonds of Earth...Put Out my Hand and Touched the Face of God

I'm soaring over a landscape of indescribable (I'm still going to try, I'm a tad stubborn) beauty right now. Sweeping and anthemic music is filling my ears and lazily sliding by my window are clouds that look like they were pulled from Van Gogh's most vibrant dreams. The landscape is littered with lush, green mountains and a brown river is slowly winding its way to the ocean, bringing the season's heavy rains back to their temporary home, continuing the endless and essential process of the water cycle.  Small cities are found every few minutes along the river, their roads spreading like some kind of benevolent urban arachnid. The general busy-ness of Thailand streets is literally miles away and it all seems to express some sort of supreme serenity from up here. Flying can be stressful, it can be uncomfortable, it can be frustrating, and it can seemingly bring out the sociopath in even the most level headed pacifist, but moments like this are pure bliss.

We're leaving Chiang Mai and headed for Kanchunaburi, which is a somewhat bittersweet feeling. Chiang Mai was wonderful, it was full of excitement and natural beauty, and the people we met were (mostly) filled with vibrance and exuberance about being in Thailand. It also smelled a lot nicer than Bangkok, so that was an added bonus. It still felt somewhat manic compared to sleepy Winnipeg, but that's only because all of our business takes place behind closed doors and in skyscrapers, so far from the street level of pedestrian traffic that the only proof you see of anything actually taking place is often the flustered assistant returning from Starbucks with a tray of steaming white cups: in general Chiang Mai is pretty laid back. People work long days (often 10-12 hours), but it's usually in a field that they enjoy (which is often evidenced by the mile wide smile the locals tend to be sporting 90% of the time), and at a pace that would be ridiculous to call rushed. The tourism industry seemingly employs 80% of the populace in Chiang Mai, which of course is cause for some conflicting feelings in myself, but after spending a week there, I've pretty much resolved most of those conflicts. Chiang Mai has its seedy underbelly, but that's something you need to be aware of when you come to Thailand, it's very pervasive. Tourism is Thailand is quite varied, but sex tourism is certainly a focus, so if you have any delusions about not seeing anything that might make your skin crawl at least a little, you're going to find those delusions debunked.

But even though the people of Chiang Mai are surrounded by a bunch of strangers doing strange things, they take it in stride and they are in fact quite lovely. Our guest house hosts were a great example of this: Nina was a serious looking matriarch with a heart of gold (and sort of served as our Thai mom for the week) and Stella, her slightly younger sidekick, who was kind of like your badass¹ older sister who buys you liquor when you're underage. They greeted us with smiles and advice for our days, the scoop on which restaurants are best and were very assuring when Andrea went to a class while I laid in bed cradling my ailing stomach. "Don't worry, we'll take care of him," was their reassuring response, and more than anywhere else so far in our trip, we felt very much cared for.

¹ But not really badass in the least. Unless by badass you mean uses a lot of powdered skin bleach and makeup(I guess bronzer would be the cultural equivalent for most of us). But she was still totally a sweetheart.

Chang Mai I love you, but You're Breaking My Heart (and almost my ankle, and my wrist, and probably my spleen)

According to Wikipedia, Chang Mai is the second largest city in Thailand (home to just under 1 million people, not exactly a close second to the bloated sprawl of Bangkok and its 8 million residents), the 24th greatest place in the world to visit as a tourist, and the most culturally significant city in Northern Thailand. Not bad shakes, eh? I wouldn't exactly put too much stock into that 24th greatest tourist destination designation, since it ranks Bangkok at 13th (which is kind of a hellhole, just ask anyone who's been there) and there's no mention of Winnipeg. That said, I'm pretty sure that list was created before work began on the Museum of Human Rights, otherwise I'm sure we would have cracked the top ten. Probably top three even.

It is monsoon season, and it has lived up to its name in Chang Mai. Today was the first day we saw sun all week, and it rained poured from about 1700h yesterday until 1130h today. It did make it very convenient/easily justifiable to grab a massage (at 6 bucks a pop!) during the downpour, and also removed any shred of guilt about over that second superbottle of Chang however, and even though it was raining, life goes on without skipping a beat. Nothing closes (the night market closed a little early, and the French girl I passed last night felt that "le temps est merde"), everybody just keeps on driving their scooters around like maniacs, and the puddles were remarkably warm. It's completely unlike a rain storm in Winnipeg, where even if you do decide to bike to your buddies' concert at The Zoo in the rain and get so wet that you pour out half a pint of water from your shoes, you still regret it and wish so badly that you had driven, or taken a bus, or at the very least that you don't have to ride your bike home through the sporadic showers (that last one worked out, "big ups" to my good friends Seth and Tera). In Chang Mai, it's not that it's raining, it's just not sunny, and that's a great thing, because there are loads of great things to do, rain or shine.

Mountains shrouded in a pale white mist surround you as you wind your way up, past an ancient Buddhist temple that has stood in some form or another for over 700 years. Finally your van stops as you get to your ultimate destination - an elephant conservation camp, with a panoramic view of lush, green mountains, wrapped by a lazy river winding through the grounds. Thailand has kind of a strange relationship with pachyderms - they're revered almost as gods and literally helped build the country, but due to deforestation and the exploitation of the giant paenungulates, there's about 5% of the population left from 100 years ago. Which is obviously pretty shitty. The park we went to doesn't exploit them (i.e. riding on their backs ala Tolkien's oliphaunts¹ and utilizing training methods that range from morally questionable to completely barbaric), and they predominately foster old and disabled elephants (apparently a popular way of teaching an elephant a lesson is to blind it in one eye.  And eventually in the remaining eye. Barbaric is really the best term for it without resorting to profanity). And they've got rescued dogs running around all over the place, hilariously that the elephants are scared of. Apparently there's even some truth to the myth of elephants being scared of mice, largely due to their ability to sense vibrations through their feet. They are rather intelligent animals, but they really don't have a sense of how ridiculously large they are. Which is probably a good thing most of the time.

The next day, ride up the mountains again, higher this time until you've reached the top, the point at which you become enrobed in that same mist, then hop on a bike and ride miracle your way down it. And back up a little, but mostly down. It's unfortunate Manitoba is so flat, as riding a bike down a mountain is a pretty much a kickass time (definitely kickass in fact). Although the frequent bailing off your bike for the first 1/3 of the ride is a little disheartening, once you learn to trust your ability to balance a little more and get behind the physics of it being easier to maintain a straight line when you're not riding the breaks like an 80 year old dude (or a 15 year old girl), it actually becomes rather enjoyable. Relaxing even.²  My back hurts, my legs hurt, my ankle hurts and my arms hurt, but my heart is full. A couple of prairie kids went up, and we certainly came down prairie kids as well, but with some well-earned bumps, bruises and scrapes, along with some fantastic pictures, the joy having
biked through a jungle/forest/rice farm(which used to be an opium farm) and a healthy dose of moxy.

Also,when kids in Chang Mai play on the most whimsical bouncy castle thing that you've ever seen, they don't listen to carnival music, they listen to D&B. Yeah, that D&B, seemingly Thai parents in Chang Mai want their kids to grow up to be ravers.


¹ I've never read Lord of the Rings, due to the fact that I'm not a huge nerd. I even had to look up how to spell oliphaunt.
² Not really. You still feel like a badass the whole time. And for some bizarre non-intuitive reason, especially when you fall. Particularly if you happen to fall in an epic fashion.

North American Scum

As we move past our unobstructed view of the gentle, supple curve of the earth, out of Cambodia and race towards the impossibly enormous towering body of clouds, which to my untrained eye look like they may contain rain, turbulence, and (for some) considerable anxiety (solid good times/GTs for others), I am struck by a couple of very clear thoughts -

1. I am a very lucky individual. No amount of self-justification about hard work and effort changes the fact that being born a white North American is basically winning the race lottery. There's a reason people call them #firstworldproblems, they really aren't problems. Even if you are near or at the bottom rung of society, there are innumerable social programs that can put you back on your feet, or at least lend you a helping hand of sorts. Having the option to hop on a plane to Asia, and then on numerous flights around the continent is something that an enormous percentage of the general populace will never have (here comes some of that turbulence. It's probably going to be a pretty good time), and losing focus on that is a real dick move. And considering how critical I can tend to be about dick moves and the dicks that pull them, it would be a real hypocrisy if I didn't recognize this. The second thought that keeps skipping (like a scratched cd, not a schoolgirl) through my mind as we fly through this (so far) giant, benevolent, white fluffy mass is:

2. Murder is objectively bad, it's 100%, all the time, a morally objectionable thing to do. Killing a old person is bad and it's universally agreed upon that killing a child is worse (obviously), but it's probably a good thing that even though I'm fully aware of the frowned upon nature of offing a kid, there are rules against infanticide¹. I say so because this fat weiner kid behind me, who is relentlessly kicking my seat in between his high-pitched shrieks of wonder with air travel (which is definitely something I can empathize with, as flying is incredible)/discontent about not his father not bending to his every whim (which he does eventually anyway) is doing his best to make the least of my flight experience. I know bitching about something like an inconvenience during air travel (which is basically a magic trick. Thanks Wright bros, you fellas were onto something) kind of flies in the face of what I wrote just above this, but it's really a culmination of being frustrated by North American tourists in general.

This kid is not North American. In fact I have no idea what ethnicity his father is, but he's definitely European of some variety. His mother is either Thai or Cambodian. This is a pretty common occurrence in SouthEastern Asia - white dude goes travelling, meets girl, gets girl pregnant, spoils the subsequent child, everyone gets fat and obnoxious. (There's a terrible odour permeating the cabin, and I assume that the child behind me may have just shit his paints. Figuratively I can only hope). North American/European/basically white people in Asia are unfortunately consistently abhorrent. My favorite quotes thus far include "Oy, u've got'a lovely f-ace," (drunk Brit. The "-" between f and ace are his belch. He was addressing some nice Khmer woman in the market), "I'm like gonna try to put these fans up in my room, but like we'll see. That bitch probably ripped me off, and they'll fall apart," (drunk American girl, pleased with herself for "getting a deal" (she didn't) and for belittling the woman who sold her the fans) and whatever the hell this dude and his shitty child have been on about since they got on this flight.

It's unreasonable to throw an entire color of people under the bus, I'm not trying to do that and I doubt anyone would perceive this rant in this fashion. It is however exceedingly frustrating to be inevitably lumped in with an enormous group of unlikeable and entitled travellers who bring about the urge in the locals to try and take advantage of them, due to the fact that the a large number of the locals have been jaded into thinking about foreigners as dollar signs.

I know that I've been guilty of some of the iniquities I've mentioned above, and anyone that has seen me at a party, maybe even shotgunning a beer for laughs and in some backward fashion to prove my masculinity, knows that sometimes like to play the party-hard fratboy/douchebag occasional, peppering my party conversation with rough-edged colloquialisms and the more than occasional f-bomb, but to not have that filter, and just view the world through "bro-shades" would be devastating, and utterly crushing to my hopes of eventually self-actualizing. I'm pretty sure "crushing it" at the gym, "killing it" with the ladies, and drowning in a bathtub of Jägerbombs and Heineken isn't part of Abraham Maslow's hierarchy of needs.

I guess that ultimately I could just do for my white guilt alarm to stop ringing so loudly, because even when I'm doing my best (I didn't really learn any of the languages, so I suppose I didn't exactly do my best) at being an informed and educated tourist, it's all too easy to look around and see a fellow honkie drunkenly hitting on some girl who's trying to sell him something, while at the same time trying to save 1$ on something that is already 1/4 (or less) the cost it would be in their homeland. Thailand, a place of great beauty and a haven for pro-bro behaviour.

¹ I don't actually want to kill this child. I just wish that he was a) not sitting behind me, or/and b) that he would sit and be quiet. Seriously, "inside voice" for this child is the average skip's yelling to their sweepers halfway down the ice. Papa is also very loud. And irritating. I wonder where the little bugger gets it from?

² It's really too bad that I can't find a clip of Rube from Dead Like Me saying "I'm gonna kill that fucking baby." He really communicates the frustration and the accompanying guilt that anyone goes through when they are exceedingly frustrated with a child in an airplane/airport. Apparently youtube isn't ripe with Dead Like Me clips. Ain't that a shame.

A Flatty Squirrel on the Road

On the road from Phnom Phen to Siem Reap I had a lot of time to think about real issues, you know the things that really matter. I also had a lot of time to fear for my life, due to our driver's propensity for veering into on-coming traffic to pass buses, cars, motorcycles heavy laden with an entire cord of wood, and a variety of other motor vehicles (this may have been partly my fault. See below). So here's a list of "deep shit" I thought about/realized during that 5.5 hour minibus ride.

1. Chuck Klosterman is awesome, and is the coolest white guy you don't know - I knew this already, but Chaz provided the literary focal point for my journey. A new Klosterman gets me all in a tizzy every time (well, maybe not the fiction. I'll buy that when it's on the discount rack at McNally. Which usually doesn't take very long). I love the language, I love the in turns obscure and hilariously strangely chosen cultural references, I love the criticism, I even love the font (his newest book, "I Wear the Black Hat," is not written in his usual choice of font, a "tweaked version of helvetica". I got over it in a couple pages. But I did just spend 5 minutes trying to find the name of that font. Which is wicked). His arguments are sometimes excessively serpentine, and he can be criticized for using some particularly verbose language at times, but he's still totally a dude. And (probably) way smarter than you, although he's chosen to use that intelligence for a fairly bizarre purpose, but knowing why the Dixie Chicks are the new Van Halen is arguably just as important as finding the cure for AIDS. Or maybe just the common cold.

2. A great experiment, albeit a rather dangerous one, would be to get a group of about 50 people you know together (it would help if they are overly confident drivers), get them into cars, and drive around a major Canadian city like a Cambodian cabbie might. It would probably last about 10 minutes, but it would definitely be memorable.

3. Cambodians have some of the most beautiful souls of anyone on earth. They are wonderful, patient, happy, and kind. They are also some of the most trusting people you'll ever meet. They're so trusting that they'll let some sick foreigner wearing aviators use their bathroom, no questions asked, even if he just fell out of some minibus on the side of the road. (side note - bidets are totally the way to go. Whoever thought up this whole toilet paper sham is a complete and utter dumbass).

4. Aviators are the coolest sunglasses around, them shits are awesome. They also happen to be the sunglass selection of choice for stereotypical portrayals of sex tourists or pedophiles. So if you decide to go with the 'avs, be forewarned that you look like a creep. But also that you look fashionable, and somewhat devil-may-care, which is a great vibe to put out. You also may get mistaken for a pilot, but that's solely conjecture, it hasn't happened to me yet, and I've been on a 100% aviator diet for the past 8 years.

5. Lists kick ass. They're generally a lot more fun to write than one long, semi-coherent exposition on something like relative morality in pop music, and they're also generally a lot more fun to read. Chuck Klosterman - big fan of lists, and they're often some of the best parts of his books (especially the fictional ones, mostly because they kind of suck otherwise), except when they become excessively long and tangential. Which this is currently becoming, but you'd probably disappointed if it weren't, right?

6. Dogs - totally a great time. Even if you're not a fan, you have to admit some admiration for their happy-go-lucky outlook on life: You run around, you eat some garbage/something that tastes like garbage, you "clean" yourself, you sleep, you've always got something fun to do (easily amused) and most people think that you're hilarious. Even the street dogs of Asia seem to be having a great time. If you're not having a great day, all you need to do is look around at some street dwelling canine, with his big droopy ears, his mile wide smile and be picked up by the unbridled joy in their faces. It's infectious. As are the diseases that they carry, but just don't touch them and you'll be fine.

7. It's a senseless tragedy when an animal is killed by a motor vehicle - I didn't see this transpire, but I saw our driver narrowly miss 2 dogs and 1 cow, and I was well aware of the potential for feeling really shitty and morose in all of those interactions. So I leave you with this gem, from The Riel Gentlemen's performance at the Park Theatre this past spring. Or at least a link because blogger is being a real dingus.

DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN! DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN!!!!!!!!

     No, that's not the literary representation of Smoke on the Water, although I can understand why you might think that. Nope, that's the immortal road trip anthem "I Can't Drive Fifty Five," Sammy Hagar's ode to trying to have a good time driving down the California freeway (likely on the way to his famed bar, Wabo Cabo), but having his buzz killed by the most buzz-killingly lame group of law enforcement officers the USA has ever known - the highway patrol. The Red Rocker might have been bummed by his inability to crack 55 MPH (that's 88.51 KM/H for us Northerners anyone who lives in a country with enough sense to use the metric system), but at least it gave him the inspiration to write a sweet party-rocking epic. If Sammy had lived in Thailand, he would have had to find something else to rip on the cops about (drugs), because driving like a maniac, that's no big deal.

      You know how you feel like a bit of a badass when you're crusing around Winnipeg on your sweet 10 speed and instead of waiting for all the cars in front of you to get moving, you slip between the curb and the passenger side, sometimes risking drawing the ire of an overzealous motorist (who's just looking out for your safety anyway, right?)? Thailand driving is sort of like that, except bikes do whatever they want, whenever they want, motorcycles/scooters weave through traffic, needing only a couple inches on each side to decide that "Hey, this lane is too slow, I'm gonna pretend that I'm playing a game of tag on the play structure and go between those two buses, that taxi, that garbage truck, forget that red light, and to hell with that old lady in my way." Tuktuks (sort of a motorcycle with a cab on the back) veer constantly into oncoming traffic to save a couple minutes, and taxis are constantly going on to the shoulder, following their tuktuk brothers into the wrong lane and honking at most anyone to get out of the way. Buses mostly drive like regular buses, actually they might drive a little better than Canadian bus drivers, they're at least a little less surly and jaded.

     It works sort of like a finely tuned dance - everyone sort of understands that everyone else drives like shit, and they behave accordingly. I haven't seen any accidents yet. It's rather amazing, and if you can relax for a moment, it's quite impressive. The nerves of the average Thai taxi driver must rival that of most NASCAR drivers, and they don't need to get together every weekend to drink a metric tonne of beer with their redneck friends just to celebrate how skilled they are at turning left. The constant push and pull of Thai traffic would baffle even the most seasoned of Canadian drivers, and although it is a lot of fun to drive around on the back of a motorcycle/tuktuk/backseat of a taxi, I constantly find myself flinching, based on the expectations I've developed from driving around in North America. Rocketing down the 401 in Toronto at 150 km/h made me feel like a badass, but I'm humbled by basically every person I've seen driving around in Bangkok.

Every Thai Person with a Driver's License (or without) - 1, Tyler - 0.

    So Sammy, I feel for you and your frustration at not being able to drive 55 on the California highway whilst loaded up on homebrew your own craft distilled tequila, but suck it up - You could have some real problems like trying to maneuver your scooter with your wife and 3 kids through rush hour in a city of 12 million. Meh, that chorus probably would rock as hard.