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.
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