turning, turning

The mountains or the ocean?

Which is your choice for a relaxing getaway, an escape from your boring existence in which you regret every professional decision you ever made, always wondering what might have been had you chosen wiser, better, earlier?

Today I was reminded that my choice is the ocean, by default.

no, i haven't gone to europe, this is in taiwan

My cousin Phoebe took a couple of days off from work to take me to a mountain resort in central Taiwan known for its beautiful scenery of flaming maples, rosy cherry blossoms, and a sea of clouds in the midst of forest greens.  With names like "Monet Garden Resort" and "The Old England Hotel," the guesthouses in the region take on the style of European hotels in the Alps, sort of like an Asian Heidi visiting her grandfather in the Swiss Alps.  I had been looking forward to this trip since my return from Thailand.

However, the week long non-stop rain and the visit in February translated to naked branches of Maples and cherry trees with a wet ground full of muddied cherry blossoms.  On the drive up the mountain, we were both hoping for at least a hint of the sun to allow us a dry walk through the farm.  No such luck.  It was also at that time that I remembered one important detail about myself:  I have severe motion sickness in a car traversing through winding roads.  A couple of hours later, my stomach was violently protesting this trip.

If you've never experienced motion sickness, let me tell you that it is no walk in the park when your intestines are turned upside down and you feel as if your large intestines are making their way up toward your stomach.  Note to self:  no need to visit the mountains ever again.  I probably made the same promise the last time this happened, but memory of it has faded with the passage of time.  Perhaps a tattoo of "mountain = winding roads = puking to death" onto the back of my hand is in order.

In any case, Phoebe and I walked a couple of hours in the rain, imagining the view if the cherry blossoms suddenly stood up from the ground, bathed themselves in the rain, and flew up to reattach themselves onto the lonely branches.  What a beautiful sight to behold!

Instead, we were surrounded by misty mountain ranges and lush green vegetation, a perfect image of natural masculinity.

Who needs girly pink flowers anyway. 

Or silly hats with pink stripes and white hearts.

i left my heart

I've been back in Taipei for two days now.

It was cold, damp, and raining when I left her a month ago.  She has welcomed me home with cold, damp rain.  It's as if I never left.

Must find some way to live beyond it.

I miss San Francisco.

make chicken, not war

Last night, at 6:30 in the evening, the sun was setting at over 90 degrees Fahrenheit with a humidity index of 65%, I had the best fried chicken in recent memory.

Upon the recommendation of Paiboon, I visited the food stand of halal fried chicken and cold Thai noodles run by three Muslim women just up the street from my guesthouse.  Asked to get some take-out by his boss, Paiboon gave me a ride, which lasted all but 30 seconds, so no Wolverine hair this time.

As a self-proclaimed, but fully deserved, expert in fried chicken, I could tell immediately that this was some good chicken.  The skin crispy without significant coating, the color yellow from liberal amounts of cumin, these two-legged flightless creatures have been sacrificed for my enjoyment, and I was about to take advantage of it.

Right next to them were several pots of sauces for the noodles, one of which I recognized from a few days earlier as a green curry with a cucumber-like melon that was absolutely delicious.  I pointed to it, and after saying "fuk-kiaw, fuk," Paiboon began to giggle uncontrollably.  Hearing this, one of the women smiled and said, "fuck, fuck, fuck," then giggled as well.  She caught me by surprise, so I was laughing with them, although for a completely different reason, theirs being the similarity in sound between the Thai word for this melon and the apparent English word, mine the sight of this pleasant, hijab-donning woman uttering a series of English profanity with such jollity. 

After Paiboon left on his bike still giggling and muttering some long phrases in Thai to himself, I sat down to enjoy the chicken.  I was right, it was absolutely delicious:  the cumin gave it a unique but not overpowering punch, packing just enough heat to stimulate the senses without rendering me a perspiring mess.  I was in love.  As I bit into the crunchy skin and savored the tender meat, I watched the three women prepare food for more customers.  I remembered the recent news about the discovery of burned holy texts.

For whatever reason, some people in this world continue to feel the need to disrespect other people's beliefs, setting off an endless series of revenge.  They create laws based on their own religious beliefs to limit other people's freedom, while all the time complaining that their religious freedom has been compromised.

Make love, not war, it is said.  Forget that - there are enough abandoned babies in this world.  Instead, make chicken!  I say take all that anger you have toward people who are different than you and enter yourselves in a fried chicken competition.  Instead of burning sacred texts, heat up vegetable-based oils with no unsaturated fat.  Rather than guarding millennia-old secrets about the wrong-doings of your predecessors, learn the secrets of spices and coating techniques.  And as a substitute for throwing bombs, throw chicken bones.

The winner?  Those with the cleanest chicken bones remaining, after I have at them, of course.

1,237

I'm tackling the Tiger Cave Temple today.

Yet, I'm not interested in the tiger (there aren't any live ones anyway), the cave, or the temple.  What I am interested in is climbing the 1,237 steps to see the Buddha statue on top of a 600 meter high karst peak.  Since I am not joining any group tours nor can I ride a motor bike, my journey begins in getting to the Temple.

Remember the Song Thaew I took in Chiang Mai?  It is my friend here in Ao Nang again.  After consulting the guesthouse receptionist and a tour planner at one of several dozen tourist information centers in town, the consensus is that I should take a white Song Thaew to the Krabi bus station, then a red Song Thaew (on which side of the street I should embark is yet to be determined) to the main road leading to the Temple, then walk the two kilometers to get to the Temple.  Sure, I could take a taxi, but that would be 1,500 Bahts more and 1.5% as fun.

The original plan was to leave around 7:30 am so that I could get an early start to avoid the excruciating heat.  The average highs have been 90 degrees, and with the high humidity, it's equivalent to nearly 100 degrees by mid-day.  The plan was sabotaged by my procrastination which was picked up during residency in dealing with my classmates who were all perpetually late.  So, at 8:15 am, after a satisfying breakfast - I needed to fill my stomach to survive the climb, was what I told myself while gorging on toast, cereal, yogurt, eggs, sausage, and fruits - I set out to find a white Song Thaew.

Finding one wasn't the problem, as it turned out; convincing the driver to go faster was impossible.  There were just three passengers, so the driver stopped or stalled every two meters, hoping that more people would climb aboard.  The only thing that was climbing was the temperature, which was inching up by about one degree every 15 minutes or so, with each degree equaling one liter of sweat from me.

After finally getting off the white Song Thaew at 9:15 am, I frantically looked for a red one on either side of the street, which is the classic sign of a tourist in need.  Queue the motor bike driver.  A motor bike driver is pretty much a motorcycle taxi.  I have been approached by at least one of them everyday while in Thailand, and today was the first day when I was in need of one.  We agreed on a fee of 100 Baht for him to take me directly to the temple.  I put on the spare helmet, and we took off.

Fifteen minutes later, I finally arrived at the base of the karst.  The prerequisite photographic and videographic documentations complete, I marched the first step up.

there's a "10" in front of the "38"

Along the way, I passed by several other admirers of the Temple, some on their way up, some down.  Every now and then, a number indicating the steps already taken would appear on the rail.  The photo I took of this shows 38, my age, but there is a "10" in front of the 38 around the post.

At around 1,000 steps, the infamous monkeys began to appear.  Sure, the baby monkeys are incredibly cute and cuddly, enticing the inexperienced traveler to approach and pet it, but that would be a mistake, as would be feeding them.  Along the steps and around the railing, numerous monkeys lay in my way.  Since I had done my research, I knew that these monkey charge at the sight of any food or anything shiny.  They've snatched sunglasses, chips, and all kinds of jewelry from innocent or stupid (yes, there should be a distinction) people.  So I made a mental note to put away my watch and not to take out my camera when they were around.

Twenty-five minutes after I began my ascent, which included a few stops for photos and rest, I finally landed on step 1,237, about 1 kilogram lighter from the perspiration I had transferred onto my shirt.  I won't bother to describe for you what I saw - these photos and videos speak for themselves.

As everyone around me panted and puffed their way around the Buddha, I noticed that the monkeys had a sandal to play with.  Removing the shoes was a requirement at the very top as a sign of respect, so there was quite an assortment of flip-flops, sandals, and athletic shoes for these curious Georges to choose from.  The woman with one missing shoe innocently asked around, "Do you know how I can get my shoe back?"  Try praying to the Buddha.

cradled by the buddha

I didn't stay around long enough to watch the conclusion of this intriguing episode from the planet of the apes, as I wanted to get my flip-flops back on before the monkeys had further ideas and also needed to get back down by 10:30 to be on time for my return ride.  Just before leaving the top, a Swedish woman decided to enjoy a little snack.  Before she even took a bite, an adult monkey appeared on her left side, sitting on the bench with her.  She was alarmed and immediately tried to wave it away.  Then she noticed a second monkey on her right, upon which she screamed and got off the bench.  I told her to put her food away, but it appeared that she didn't understand my Swedish disguised as English.  I took step number one down and left her and the monkeys behind.

The person taking me back to Ao Nang was Paiboon, a staff member at the guesthouse who lives near the Temple and had offered to give me a ride since he goes to work around 11 am.  Paiboon is a chatty one, I found out shortly after I got on his motor bike.  As we chatted about the countries we live in, I was thinking two things:  I probably should be wearing a helmet, and I'm going to have the worst Wolverine hair yet.

some steps were 50 cm steep

Wolverine was how Tony described my hair the first day we arrived in Bangkok.  My stubborn, straight hair sticks straight out under three conditions:  under high humidity, when I sweat, and when I eat spicy food, which means that during my days in Bangkok and Krabi, I've been Wolverine - a nerdy version of it - not muscular, not sexy, and definitely not Hugh Jackman.

As my transformation into Wolverine took shape with the wind blowing against the short black wall my hair was forming while I rode on Paiboon's motor bike, our conversation turned to Obama and other leaders around the world.  We agreed that it is difficult for people in positions of power to accomplish all they hope or promise, due to political or socioeconomic circumstances that one individual cannot control.  Particularly when they go against nature, Paiboon adds.

I did not ask him to clarify what going against nature constitutes; in my mind, there were many ways to interpret this.  Sometimes my own actions seem to be going against what others describe as nature, yet nature seems to be helping me along.

I felt the wind against my face and thought more about my Wolverine nature.

a litter of tiny pups outside the temple

what's lost...

24 hours into my stay at Ao Nang, and I've found those missing Asian tourists I had mentioned a couple of days ago.

They're here, in Krabi, and also on Phuket, so I hear.

So why don't they visit Koh Lanta?  Let me first state that I haven't spend every waking minute pondering this issue; it really isn't as important to me as how I'll have my eggs in the morning.  It's just that when I came across a chartered air-conditioned bus full of Chinese tourists last night, I said "A-ha," as if I just discovered a secret to tame my hair in this awful humidity.

I can come up with just one theory regarding their absence on Koh Lanta:  they don't take risks.

Phuket?  That beautiful island that my neighbor's child's second grade teacher's mom went to last year?  Yeah, I've heard of it.  I've been thinking about going too.

Ao Nang?  Don't think I've heard of it.  Oh, right next to Krabi, with lots of tourists?  There's a tour group going next month?  That sounds like fun.

Koh Lanta?  Never heard of it.  You have to take a ferry about your flight lands?  No groups going?  Forget it.

Something like that.  Some people are like that.  Some people want a trip that brings to life images they've seen, and nothing else.

I want a trip that brings me to life, and nothing else.

farewell, mermaid

It's time to move on.

My last four days in Thailand will be spent in Ao Nang, another area in Krabi Province also known for great beaches.  Instead of riding in a minivan, which was the miserable way by which I arrived on Koh Lanta four days ago, I will be going by boat, as advised by Chai, the manager of the guesthouse Lanta Mermaid.

One of the non-people I will miss on Koh Lanta is Buan.  Now, my knowledge of the different species of dogs limits me to identify them by their color, size, how cute they look, and whether they shed.  So I can tell you that Buan is a female black dog, medium size.  But, more importantly, she is gentle and friendly.  According to Chai, Buan was a stray dog who started coming to Lanta Mermaid to follow its staff around four years ago.  She had the habit of accompanying each tourist across the street to the beach, hence the multitude of auto accidents she has suffered as a pedestrian the past few years, the last of which leaving her with a lame leg.

Nowadays, due to her disability, she no longer crosses the street, although I have spotted her numerous times standing at the edge of the curb looking out toward the water.  She does, however, perk up her ebony head at the approach of each tourist then roll onto her back, hinting for a gentle belly rub.  Playing with her reminds me of an old friend.

In the afternoon, on the boat to Ao Nang, I tried my best to hide from the sun.  I know it's counterintuitive that a person visiting the beaches wants to avoid the sun.  The easy answer would simply be that I'm weird.  But alas, no.  I am not that weird.  The reason is that I overtanned the first couple of days on the beach and am now paying a painful and very red price.  For those of you familiar with the great American sitcom "I Love Lucy," you may remember the episode where she and the gang visit Hollywood and that she is about to model a dress for a great designer, only to get so severely sunburned that she can hardly work and no amount of make-up can cover her excessively rosy cheeks. 

Well, that's me now, sans make-up and sans dress to model.  I've attached a photo, but I warn you, it's ugly - look at it at your own risk.  I'll spare you the details and won't tell you what part of the body that is.  Where's my Ricky to take care of me?

me, michel, and maya

But I digress.  Back on the boat, as I dodge the unforgiving rays of the sun, I meet two Fraus from Germany named Michel and Maya.  They are at the very end of the two-week journey in Thailand and are heading back to Bangkok before their flight back to Germany tomorrow.  We have a nice chat about our observations of Thailand, as it is also Michel's first visit.  They're photo shy - I don't blame them for not wanting to be photographed by a strange man who tells them the photo will be displayed on a blog - so I come up with an alternative.  Vielleicht our paths will cross again someday.

If you read my entry from yesterday, you remember that I visited Maya Beach on Phi Phi Ley.  Meeting Maya today reminds me of a third Maya that I know.  This Maya and I are great friends, actually we're more like lovers - how else to explain why she licks my crotch every times we see each other.  Gosh I miss her.  She has beautiful blond hair and remains the only female with whom I have ever cuddled.  Maya, my friends Joe and Lorenzo's beautiful Labradoodle. 

I guess I can recognize one canine specie after all.

poo poo on pee pee

Today I left the island of Koh Lanta... for more islands.

Not just any other island, though - we're talking Phi Phi, and in case you're wondering what's so special about "fee fee" or "fi fi," first of all, it is pronounced pee pee.  It was also featured in the movie "The Beach," which propelled it to Hollywood stardom.  Nothing like sharing a little screen time with Leonardo Dicaprio to make you famous.

Ko Phi Phi is actually an archipelago, Phi Phi Don and Phi Phi Ley being the two most famous islands.  It was on Maya Beach on Phi Phi Ley that "The Beach" was filmed.  It has been called the most beautiful island in the world, and it's easy to understand why.  The rock formation are standing, in a C shape that cradles a beach with the finest, whitest sand I have seen and the purest turquoise water to match.  I couldn't help but dig my toes and feet into the sand to feel Maya's embrace; if Maya were quicksand, I wouldn't have minded sinking into her.

 

There was, however, one serious drawback.  When something is that good and special - Linsanity being the most current and prime example, everyone wants a piece of it.  In this small bay, there were docked no fewer than 20 boats, and you know what came along with these boats.

Our next stop, Phi Phi Don, which, unlike the uninhabited Phi Phi Ley, is full of businesses and people, mostly of the unpleasant type.  Prior to coming here, I was warned that Phi Phi Don is pretty much a party island with tons of tourists and trash everywhere.  I don't know why I ever doubted it:  it's even worse than the picture I was painted.  The area is so small, and too many people wanted to cash in on its popularity that you end up with tiny business fronts, overcrowded spaces, and garbage everywhere.  I will spare you with descriptions of its smell.

What sorts of businesses are on the island, you ask?  Bars, tattoo parlors, restaurants, guesthouses in poor condition, and massage parlors, with a predominance of the former two.  Let's think about this for a second.  You have one of the most beautiful islands in the world, so you decide to come here to party, smoke, and get a tattoo, which you don't remember because you were too drunk and high.  I don't get it.

Sure, the island does still retain majestic views, but only from its highest point after a hearty climb, as the lower half is no longer a beautiful island.  It is a reminder of some of the ugliest qualities of mankind.  You will remember from news resports that Phi Phi Don was devastated by the Indian Ocean tsunami of December 2004.  Having seen the island myself, I would say the tsunami was Mother Nature's way of cleaning up the mess human beings left behind.  Unfortunately, being so "resourceful," we have quickly restored Phi Phi Don to the unattractive, odorous, unhealthy place it once was.  I'm afraid we're giving Mother another good reason to clean up after us.

I was happy to leave Phi Phi Don to return to Koh Lanta, which in comparison is much less developed.  Even though there are also a disproportionately large number of tattoo parlors here for reasons I don't understand, they are spread out enough that I can sort of ignore them.

Peace and quiet - the way Nature intended an island to be.

the four crew members of our boat

something about his face, hair, and beanie begged me to take a photo

timeless

I don't know the date or the day any more, until I write this blog each evening.

If I didn't have an itinerary to keep, time wouldn't matter.  I don't know where my watch is, and of course I don't carry my cell phone (not that I really did before).

Island time is no time.  It could be the most natural sedative, or it could drive you insane.  Your choice.  I am somewhere in between.

secrets of the island

Remember the monks everywhere in Siem Reap and Chiang Mai?  They're still there.

The Buddhist temples and the monks of northern Thailand have transformed into huts and bungalows in southern Thailand, and those bright orange robes of the monks have morphed into purple and gray hijabs on young women.  However, along the stretch of guesthouses and restaurants by the beach, there is no sign of any religion or culture other than the occasional woman wearing a hijab.  Like Siem Reap, everything I see, at least in this area, seems to exist solely for and because of tourists:  restaurants, guesthouses, convenience stores, laundry services, tourist agencies, and tuk tuks.

At dinner tonight, I flipped through a Thai magazine called "Secret."  Even though the writing was like a series of ancient incantations, the photographs were interesting and informative enough to tell me that this was a life magazine for the middle class.  Glancing through the articles, I came across two sentences in English in two separate interviews, the first of a young man on a bicycle, and the second of a middle-aged woman projecting success and confidence.

"Say what you would be, then do what is required," said the young man on the bike.  Simple yet so difficult.  I would be a filmmaker.  I would be a decent cello player.  I would be a speaker of several languages.  I would be a husband and father.  Yes, I am greedy by nature, and I want it all.  So where do I start?  I suppose what he meant was to recognize and know what one wanted to become, then take the necessary steps to reach that goal - without detours, without stopping along the way to check out what existed elsewhere, and, most importantly, without questioning the validity or possibility of one's goal.  I was curious about what he had achieved.

The second sentence in English, spoken by the well-dressed woman, was "You are not all-knowing.  Forgive yourself for not having all the answers."  Suddenly I heard "Hallelujah," saw a white light just ahead of me, felt shivers going up my spine, smelled the flowers of Elysium, and tasted stir-fried egg noodles with prawns in coconut milk.  Anyone else?  All right, perhaps not the egg noodles, but did you have one of those moments where it seemed like a random observation was actually a secret message meant specifically for you?

Well, I did.  Earlier in the day, I had to work on some issues related to the GLTF tennis tournament that I am directing again (I know, glutton for punishment).  I was trying to come up with solutions in anticipation of every possible problem that could arise, and it was not an easy task.  I am not all-knowing.  I will forgive myself for not having all the answers, especially when I am not compensated for this work and am working as a volunteer. 

Earlier in the day, I noticed how perfect everything was at my guesthouse - the room was impeccably clean, breakfast was more than satisfying, and the services were thorough and efficient.  I asked the manager the secret to his success.  The answer was to train the staff:  you either have staff members who share the same vision and goals as you, or you hold the staff to the highest standards and the most minute details then compensate them well for their work.  There you have it - the secret to a successful business.

As for me, I would be a filmmaker, finding people who share my vision and telling stories of people who don't have all the answers.

another cooking class: seafood salad

chicken in red curry

this little guy didn't make it into my dishes

sign of someone who has taken a Thai cooking class: turmeric

chicken with basil

colors of the island wind

Tonight, after a long journey to arrive on Koh Lanta, I rewarded myself with a fantastic dinner.  Since I was on an island, it had to be seafood.

The manager of my guesthouse, Lanta Mermaid, directed me to a packed restaurant called Lanta Seafood.  It was one of those place that display fresh seafood out in the front.  You put your finger out for a little pointing here and there, you do the Hokey Pokey, and that's what it's all about.

I had a big dinner of sauteed clams, stir fried prawns with turmeric, grilled jumbo prawn, fried squid, and stir fried kale.  Have you seen "Last Holiday"?  I felt like Queen Latifah at that five star resort in the Alps, except that my restaurant was built with straws and bamboo.  Besides that, I was a million-dollar black woman with the prefect combination of sass and kindness.

Strangely enough, besides the fresh taste and smell of the sea on my table, I was also enjoying a rhythmic vibration from the floor, which was composed of large planks.  Each time a waiter passed by carrying a plate of deliciousness which I thought I needed to have, the sensation from the movement of the planks provided a intriguing sense of calm and solidity.

As my eyes swept across the room (can it be a room without walls?), I noticed something else surprising.  Every customer in the restaurant was white except me.  Thinking back to my afternoon on the beach, that was also the case.  I seem to be the only Asian tourist on this island.  I don't know why, but this bothered me, maybe something about Europeans always wanting to colonize the rest of the world.  Gasp - what a politically incorrect thing to say!  Based on the languages I've heard around me, I would estimate that the tourists are about 40% French, 20% German, 20% Scandinavian, and 20% others (American, Aussie, Canadian).

view from my room

I wondered why I only saw white tourists, or why I even noticed that.  I think our brains have been taught by society to immediately notice two things about people - skin color and gender.  If you disagree and these two qualities never occur to you when you see random people on the street, good for you.  Me, I'm a different story, particularly as a person of color living in a predominantly white country.  Sure, one can argue that San Francisco is an exception, but your world isn't just the place you live in, it is also the television programs and movies you watch, the news you hear, the advertisements you see.

Back in medical school (my dark ages), we were often taught to carefully interpret statistics about patient populations, as there exists a significant difference between white and black people's body systems.  Okay, but how about Hispanics, Asians, Native Indians, and many others?  We didn't even deserve an honorable mention?

Sure, of course I knew that our numbers nationwide were not large enough to provide statistically sound analyses, but still.  Even when the super duper cookies that you made with love from your deceased great-grandmother's prized secret recipe don't take home the blue ribbon, you would still like to be recognized as having participated.  Wouldn't you?

Whatever the reason, non-white tourists choose not to come to Koh Lanta.  That's fine.

I alone am fabulous enough to add just a little bit of color to the tourist scene.

the hours and the minutes

6:00 am.  I wake up to prepare for what is to be a long day of travel.

7:00 am.  A taxi takes me to Chiang Mai airport.

8:20 am.  My flight takes off.

9:30 am.  The plane lands in Bangkok.

10:30 am.  My second flight takes off.

11:45 am.  I land at Krabi Airport.

12:30 pm.  The minivan driver who is supposed to pick me up enters the airport, asks three random people if they are Alex Lin, then leaves without me.  In the meantime, I search in vain for someone holding my my name card.

12:45 pm.  I contact the guest house, inquiring the whereabouts of the driver.  They tell me he is just delayed.

12:50 pm.  The information desk receptionist comes toward me, who is the only traveler left in the small airport.  "Telephone," she says.  I point at myself, questioning if she has made a mistake, as she certainly doesn't know me.  "Yes, you!"  I answer the phone, and the guest house gives me the above information regarding the minivan driver and rebooks for 1:30 pm.  In desperation due to hunger, I order a chocolate milk shake at Dairy Queen, the only food vendor in the airport.  God forgive me for consuming American food on foreign soil, the most despicable act against the order of nature.

1:35 pm.  A driver enters the airport, hurriedly looking for "Alex."  I dash forward, lest I be left behind again.

1:40 pm.  I enter a minivan with 11 seats, all but one is occupied.  My luggage is stacked on top of several others, and I squeeze into the corner seat in the very back.  Luckily, no one smells bad.  Hopefully, I don't.

2:25 pm.  The minivan enters a line of automobiles waiting for the car ferry.  The German and French passengers exit to have a smoke.  The locals and I sit quietly in the van.  I catch up on some reading, wishing I were anywhere else.

a car and elephant ferry

2:40 pm.  The car ferry arrives, taking us from Krabi to the island of Koh Lanta in 20 minutes.
 
3:10 pm.  We board a second car ferry to cross a bay.

3:30 pm.  We drop off a French couple, who requested to be taken to the center of town in order to rent a motorbike.

3:45 pm.  I arrive at my guest house, nearly nine hours after my first car ride of the day.

3:56 pm.  I relieve myself, enjoying the most satisfying pee in recent memory.

My long day of travel is rewarded with a stunning sunset at a sparsely populated beach lined with huts and bungalows instead of highrises and luxurious resorts.

Life is good.

an aimless day

This being my last full day in Chiang Mai, I decided to do whatever I want. 

Well, I do whatever I want everyday.  So there.  The plan was no plan:  I wandered all over the perfectly squared boundaries of the Old City, stopping at whatever caught my attention.

The highlight was meeting two local artists, one of whose work had already caught my attention a couple of nights ago at the walking night market:  Chumpol Taksapornchai.  I walked into his studio gallery and chatted at length with him about his work.  The simplicity but deeply philosophical and provocative nature of his illustrations resonated with my own approach to art.  There was an obvious Buddhist influence in his work, inviting the viewer to ponder the difference between alone and lonely.  Having begun his art career in Bangkok, it was after moving to Chiang Mai that his style took a new direction.  Most of his current work feature rain drops, which signify the constant changes of life and being:  water condenses only to evaporate again, a cycle which regenerates without constraints of time.

"consider" by taksapornchai

"silence under the moon" by bhumakarn

The second artist I encountered was Supachet Bhumakarn, who owns a gallery called "Things Called Art."  He had a special affinity for pachyderms, who often take center stage in his work.  My favorite painting was a large work called "Silence under the Moon."  There was a tranquil mystery to this piece, which he told me was inspired by his relationship with his girlfriend.  At the time, he felt that he had great difficulty understanding her, often only able to see a small part of her, hence the partial depiction of animals in this work.  I asked him if he understands his girlfriend (they are still together) better now; he just smiled.

Like all artists, he went through a period of self-doubt and fear of losing his artistic vision.  In the end, his imagination took the form of a rabbit on his canvas, himself represented by an elephant, and he called the exposition "No Rabbit on the Moon," hoping that the rabbit stays with the elephant forever.

In between strolling the streets and chatting up artists, I ate.  If my memory serves me, and it does so less well the more I put in my mouth.  I began with breakfast at the guesthouse, followed by - in random order - pastries, an ice cream sandwich, lemongrass juice, green tea milk, a bowl of kaow soi (delicious and distinctively Chiang Mai noodles in spicy coconut soup), pork ribs and noodles, and finally napa cabbage over rice.  Nothing cost more than 60 Bahts ($2 USD).

outside a coffee shop

the most irresistible invitation

view from my room

Of course, the day could not be complete with just visual and gustatory feasts.  The mind also required attention.  Luckily, there were centuries-old temples all over the Old City, including one across the street from where I was staying.  Every morning and evening, the sound of monks chanting resonated everywhere within the Square.  I visited two temples today, once sitting by myself in front of a statue of buddha in a futile attempt to meditate and find peace, the other time standing behind monks as they conducted their evening chant and prayers.

I can't stay I got much out of it, as my mind refused to be reined.  But that's all right.  This was an aimless day, and it could do whatever it wanted.