Bitch is Back

I thought I cruised through the Jet lag when I woke up at 8am this Friday morning, with a little yawn and a lot of good vibes. I got back into bed at 11 am, following some errands, just to take in the rain falling on ground sound from underneath my old pal the comforter. I woke up at 7 pm, my Friday vaporized.

I am home, with Poodle M as the result of our very serious and very focused prayers that we said in our Taxi to Bangkok Suvarnabhumi International Airport.

We caught a cab at 5:00 am in Bangkok, right outside our hotel. The only thing we noticed as being different was the route to the airport, but the meter seemed on schedule. If this were a NYC cab, I’d have slipped into my bubble of self-absorption and gotten on my phone, or chatted the ride away with Poodle M. But this is a foreign land, and you watch your route, your meter, and your American Nards like an insatiable pitbull hungry for more babies. And that’s why Poodle M noticed that we were going the fastest we’d ever gone on any Thai road at any hour (90 mph), we were in more than one lane for long stretches at a time, and our driver looked as sleep deprived as your bog standard Gitmo Detainee. Could have been drunk, drowsy, or hopped up on goofballs, whatever it was, we each silently wondered which of our friends and family would figure out who hated lilies, and who wanted an open casket, or who would know we were dead at all. I left my car at the shop before we left, would my mechanic eventually sell my car?

The short story is THERE IS A BUDDHA. We prayed and prayed for congestion, maybe a busted spark plug, anything to slow us down. I clapped a few times loudly and we said more prayers. We arrived with no incident.

We agreed to give him money for breakfast or a motel near the airport, or rehab, and he was on the extra money tip way before us. The fare was 230 Baht, I got out to get our bags, Poodle M gave 500, and got back 200. This is another area where guidebooks suck, they have basic phrases in the back, like where is the hotel, but they don’t tell you how to politely say in Thai, “Hey Sleepy, who you think I am Snow White? You better put 70 more Baht in this hand, or this other hand finna get bitchy.” But we did not; I just kept pounding on the trunk, making sure to get our bags before he wrapped the car around the nearest pylon.

(Tipping note: No need to tip taxi drivers, it is a practice to round to the next 5 Baht. Math note: It’s 33 Baht to the Dollar. 300 Baht divided by 33 equals $9.10. Choice note: A pittance by our standards, and money we had planned on giving, only we wanted the option of handing it over, instead of leaving it up to the Mummy to decide his take. Reaming Note: Our first taxi ride from the Airport to our hotel, before we knew anything about anything, was 700 baht, more than twice the average.)

I’d like to thank all the Shankly fans for your visits, emails and comments during my time away from the big desk. I have certainly had a great time taking it all in. I am excited to travel to more far away places that have fewer safety regulations, more street food, excessive pollution, gridlock up the tailpipe, and people who don’t speak my language. [Insert obvious joke about Downtown LA or Pomona here.]

I said I wouldn’t hit the ground running, and so far, I have not made too many telephone calls, definitely have not checked my work email, or contacted my trusted co-workers, Sam and Dawn, and I’m not looking forward to the backlog of emails waiting for me, as well as the shit storm of criticism from my boss about the things I may have let slip through the cracks. Whoops, how did it get to be the future so fast?

It may be a while before I report on the mishaps at work. I know you understand. I will be checking myself into a coma on Monday at about 8:10 am. Send flowers to Poodle M, I like gerbera, peonies and star gazers, no fucked up dyed carnations. Please play Smiths songs by my hospital bed. If you see my right pinky toe twitching, I am singing along on the inside to Half a Person.

It’s nice enough to be back, but I miss our slice of Nirvana. We worked hard to make that slice. Phuket is primarly for Western assholes on their honeymoons with matching flip-flops that imprint JUST MARRIED in the sand. Although our beach was far from perfect, and cluttered with dovey-eyed man/woman combos, we made it ultra pleasant, and I look forward to returning. Poodle M had his books and magazines; I had an iPod borrowed from Kate DeGovia, esq. (You should get her number, she springs people from all kinds of snags). And we had our icy shakes and plenty of purposeless time.

Let me recap, although this was not the Oprah, wildest dreams vacation, this was also not the budget, fresh-faced youth, not-a-tourist, cool backpacking, sharing a bus bench with a chicken, ass strapped to the roof of the train, diarrhea expedition. Our mission was to park it in one or two spots far away from the marriage blinded, do as our lazy asses wanted, and get there in relative comfort and convenience. There are certain cultural, as well as personal conflicts in that, but we decided to put all that ethical mumbo jumbo on the back burner, in favor of barbecues, massages, and taking it way the hell easier than we’ve ever allowed ourselves to. There was no future, and if we did address it, it was around locations of the upcoming meal. Vacation from thinking. Simple.

We made one wrong turn on the scooter, my fault. Our love of buffets headed us to the place that should have had a big banner outside proclaiming HEY WESTERNERS, YOU LIKE THAILAND? COME IN! It was the most expensive dinner we’d had, serving mediocre fare, except for the desserts and this saucy noodle dish. Saucy for sure, I almost took my clothes off it was so good. As with many Phuketeries, we ate under the stars, ocean as backdrop, but this night was special, it was the night they beat tourists over the head with THAI CULTURE.

The dancers came out looking Thai, in fancy dresses, wacky chandelier headgear, and gold gold gold! See? This is THAILAND! This is how we do it! You like? I don’t have photos. It was boring, and if it was authentic, someone in cultural affairs should send out a memo to all dancers and bands to tone it down bro. It was exactly the imagery - dancers in native garb, amazed tourists, torches in the sand, and plenty of seafood dishes - that makes up all Asian airline commercials. I’m glad we finally found it after all this time, now, when a Singapore Airlines commercial comes on during Grey’s Anatomy, I can emphatically point and say, “I’ve been to Asia and it looks just like that. You guys should check it out! It’s cool!”

I loved coconut everything - coconut desserts, cookies, and wafers. I had coconut yogurt twice daily to keep the extrusion machine in good working order and kept cool with coconut ice cream bars, and coconut shakes.

Coconut was my stock flavor, and I also particularly loved the screwball flavored packaged snacks. I had two ice cream bars of note, and I think a strongly worded letter to Good Humor about bringing them here is on the horizon. Good Humor sells in Thailand, an ice cream bar with a Taro Root center, coated in coconut ice milk, and another wacky and disturbingly good one made of coconut ice milk, containing jack fruit, corn, and GREEN BEANS. Green F’n Beans yo, wassup wid dat? I also really enjoyed the nori flavored, as well as the cuttlefish flavored Lays Potato Chips. These would never fly in this country of culinary scaredy cats that anxiously cling to their berry, lemon, and nacho cheese flavor. Wake up and smell the Pad Prik King People.


Tuk Tuks, pictured above are cute and lame. They’re unsafe, they’re open air, they’re unmetered, which means they cost whatever the driver feels like charging you. Taxis, especially the pink ones, were our preferred mode of transit. They are metered and have climate control, which unlike cars in the states where temperature controls go from red to blue, Thai cars go from blue to bluer. It’s how I like em - cheap, pretty, and ice cold.


Our hotel concierge was nice enough to give me a crash course in Thai at 4:30 am, on the morning we arrived. By the middle of our first day, we developed a decent taxi muscle and could easily and confidently tell the driver where we wanted to go, beginning each transaction with our favorite ice breaker, “Hello,” in Thai. Even though we didn’t know much more, this seemed to smooth out the choppy transaction. Poodle M really loved to flex his third learned phrase, How Are You? This usually caught the recipient off guard, and then endeared Poodle M to them, but sometimes they’d answer off book, to which Poodle M could only nod and grin, hoping to hell they didn’t say anything like, “I’m fine, Is that a stick of pork sate up your ass?”

Our visit was too short. As I wrote in previous posts, the smell is disquieting, the smiles are mysterious, and you’re going to get reamed, but hey you’re in Thailand, where the food is absurdly delicious, the water is jewel colored and warm, and you can get knock off anything.



*****

Final Notes – Hit or Miss

Hit: Spray hose attached to our toilet. The importance of this bears no explanation.

Miss: And you’ll be sorry.


Hit: Ultra amazing street food on sticks, in banana leaves, deep fried, steamed, flogged, what have you.

Miss: No pesky health codes to get in the way of you and your salmonella, hepatitis, worms, mouth lice, what have you.


Hit: $5 Thai massages every 20 yards.

Miss: Not your pampering spa day, but more like something you’re nice Thai cousin would do for you while watching TV or listening to his/her favorite Asian music, under fluorescent lights of course.


Hit: INSANELY low prices on knock off anything.

Miss: You touch it, you buy it. And if you put it even close to your body, and you don’t buy, you may have this happen to you – Skinny ass vendor wielding a calculator chasing you down the alley screaming 100! 100! OK 100! How you like that GIRL? LADY! YOU LADY! LADY! YOU GIRL!! On second thought, don’t even look. Looking is the same as buying.


Miss: Un-marked prices on all goods sold on the street.

Hit: Say nothing while the vendor yam yam yammers on about authenticity and suddenly a 3000 baht Breitling watch knock off can be yours for only 700 bhat. Translation – a watch that normally sells for $5,000.00 in its genuine form, starts off at the Night Bazaar for $90, and with no negotiation of your own, just by looking at the watch with one eye open, it can be yours for $21. The getting is good here my friends.


Hit: Fake Louis Vuitton purse for $60.

Bigger Hit: Fake Fake Louis Vuitton purse for $6. Why is this better? You’d be the only one in your tri-county area sporting a genuine Louis purse that closes with a Gucci clasp.


Not a hit, never, ever: Tourists in corn rowed weaves.


Hit: Our abode.


Hit: The view from our window.


Miss: Our window.


Hit: In line water heater.


Miss: Shower and Toilet in one.


Miss: Toilet paper as silicone caulking.


Hit: Our Beach

Miss: Our bathroom drain, and all drains empty the soapy water and other grime into a small stream, into a larger stream, right into our beach.



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Hits

Misses