Lady The Tramp- Female Travel Blog by a Woman Traveler

More to Come

2009-11-15T21:51:00.000-08:00

More will be coming very shortly......I will be spending Thanksgiving week at a place with internet, something I have been seriously lacking for the past couple of months....stay posted.

New Hope is Still Cool???

2009-08-14T07:07:00.000-07:00

I got two comments on my post about New Hope. Obviously some shop owners were a little disgruntled by my reviews.... Anyway, I'd like to post them, because these people do care about New Hope, and do care about retaining the old hipness of the little funky town. I hope that anyone traveling to New Hope will take these people's advice and maybe stop by their stores...
I still have to say, that despite the great efforts of people like this, New Hope is still being gentrified... I know there are still the funky shops in the "back allys," but the hip vibe and artsy appeal of New Hope should never be shoved into the back alleys.
Thanks for commenting!

Superkind has left a new comment on your post "Travel to New Hope, PA":

Night Owl Vintage clothing is now Night Bird Vintage clothing and is located at 12 West Mechanic St. New Hope. It is owned by the same great hippie dude that has had it for decades.
I own a business in New Hope, and let me tell you it is VERY hard to survive! People would rather buy things at the mall or online. Independently owned businesses everywhere are dying.

Love Saves the Day will refund you your 20 cents when you leave. They charge mostly as a joke because people treat the store as a museum, they want to look but have no interest in actually buying anything. Its pretty hard to make a profit that way!

The rents were too high for the used record store and the used book store. How many $5- alblums do you have to sell to make $2000 a month just for rent, never mind taxes, utilities, employees, etc.
The book store has moved to Trenton.

El Taco Loco has been in New Hope for over 20 years, and I find that it is typical for Tex Mex. Down the street there is an amazing Mexican place called the Blue Tortilla.

Next time ask a local shopkeeper to recommend you to their favorite restaurant! After all since we are here all the time we know the best places :-)

Oftentimes our memories of the past are made golden, and reality doesn't measure up.

New Hope still has funky back allys, and if you go up the side streets there are still cool shops filled with stuff you can't find at the mall. Clearly you missed the mortuary memoribilia and Victorian oddities shop, which is across the street from a funky punk rock shop, a vintage and retro shop, next to a hippie shop and above Night Bird Vintage.

You can thank wealthy developers for building condos and jacking property values. Unfortunately you cannot pass laws saying one kind of person is allowed to buy property or open businesses and another kind of person isn't.

If people want places like New Hope to flourish they have to support them! Otherwise we will all go away and be replaced by super wallmarts and such.

Don't be so quick to write New Hope off! Nothing stays the same after all!
____________________________________________________________

meshell has left a new comment on your post "Travel to New Hope, PA":

Well..I am sorry you didn't enjoy your visit to New Hope.The economy is hitting us hard here. Obviously, you didn't visit my shop on Mechanic Street called God save the Qweens. Perhaps if you would have walked up to it,you would have enjoyed picking through my shop, filled with awesome rock and roll clothes for infants to adults,vintage toys,collectibles,costuming,punk rock,even beautiful handblown glass by an incredible local glassblower.etc. There is something in my store for everyone. And then, you would have noticed that your famed "boarded up" vintage clothing store had moved to a bigger location right across the street.You also would have noticed an authentic old skool curio shop filled with interesting items from all the way back to the victorian age...also a newly added antique store...a mug shop,a beauty store, a corset shop and much more... so I hope you give New Hope one more chance...don't let 1 bad meal and a 20 cent entrance fee leave an additional bad taste in your mouth...you just need to take the time to shop the side streets...you just never know what you will find...enjoy...
meshell
owner of
god save the qweens
13 w mechanic st
new hope,pa 18938

Travel Book Review: Holy Cow

2009-08-06T08:38:00.000-07:00

The first time I started reading Holy Cow by Sarah MacDonald was in 2006, in the summer before I left for India. I never finished it though. When I read it I was disturbed by her initial hatred of India. She talked of the smog and rickshaw drivers and dirt and begging and bargaining and hassle of every day life there. I didn't believe her.

When I was in Costa Rica the year before I had met a lot of people who hated it, who had awful experiences there, who were in constant battle with the country/ culture. On the other hand, I had a great experience, I loved it, and to this day it is still one of my favorite places in the world. Because of this, I thought I could conquer India, that I could overcome the horribleness that many Western travelers experience. I had always wanted to go to India while growing up and I was determined to love it.

However, when I got there, I realized it was just too much. I couldn't handle it, and like MacDonald, I also became physically ill and depressed and hassled by the culture. I was so eager to run away, that I left on the last day of classes. I handed in my final revisions of my school work and caught a rickshaw to the airport. Despite my commitment to stay for a year, and my scholarship I had received to study there, I just couldn't handle it.
Since then I have always regretted not pushing through. I have always regretted not overcoming that challenge.

Now I am reading Holy Cow again, and loving it. I feel like I need to push through the reading, like somehow if I do that, then eventually I will be able to push through another round of India. I am more equipped (mentally and emotionally) to deal with that country now, and as I read her story, my yearning to go back is only growing. By the end of the book MacDonald has acquired a deep love for India, and a rewarding comfort living within the culture.

My boyfriend is going to India for a few weeks this winter. I have to stay in the USA and work for a couple months, but hopefully by December I will have enough money saved to embark on another journey through India. Out of all of the countries I have traveled to, I think my desire to return to India is the greatest, because I know it is the most challenging country I have been to....a challenge I want to overcome.

Travel Blogs are Weird

2009-07-25T08:27:00.000-07:00

I think blogging is a little bit weird, or maybe just the type of blogging one does. I write a travel blog. It is usually a non-fiction first person narrative. This is my favorite sort of writing, but often it is very personal. I write about places where I am and activities that I am doing. Other people have travel blogs that are more like travel guides and reviews. Maybe that is more effective. I think first person narratives are more interesting though.

Back to the point. Blogs are kind of creepy. Anybody in the entire world can read my blog and look at my pictures. If you Google search my name, you will find links to my blog. This makes an easy target for stalking. Everyone, everywhere can know where I am. Sometimes people who I don’t necessarily want to know what I doing know where I am.

I have a site meter on my blog to see where people are entering my blog and what they are searching for when they find my blog. Sometimes it is disturbing to see what people are looking for. One of my most popular pages on my photo blog is under the title “trash cans and school girls.” When I posted on “Women with armpit hair,” my blog traffic instantly increased by about 50 people a day. This is weirdo stuff.

Now that I am applying for jobs I wonder how much of this employers may be looking at.

Travel to New Hope, PA

2009-07-22T07:44:00.000-07:00

Despite the weather forecast of rain and thunderstorms all weekend, Saturday turned out to be a gorgeous sun-filled day. I peeled back the top of my convertible Volkswagen Cabriolet and hit the road, heading towards New Hope. In high school this was one of my favorite places to go, often taking day trips there with my mother, especially during my senior year of high school when I was homeschooled. New Hope is a little hippie haven on the PA/ NJ border. The streets are lined with quaint ancient buildings with back alleys leading to a run-down canal and there’s an old train line where tourists can ride up and down the tracks in antique cars. New Hope is famous for its antique stores and vintage clothing shops and boutiques offering treasures from every corner of the world. With its close proximity to Philly and New York, the artsy urbanites would flock here to go antiquing and many transplanted to open up art galleries or studios. I should say….this is how it used to be.

I arrived in the early afternoon to streets packed with tourists in big hats and khaki shorts. To my dismay, New Hope was looking a little less quaint. I cruised around looking for parking, and finally settled on a lot near the train where a new mall had been constructed. I was starving and thirsty from the drive so I jumped into the first restaurant I passed, a Tex/Mex place. I liked the decorations with orange and yellow and blue paint, Aztec calendar mandalas covering the walls, and a particularly awesome sculpture of a Mexican mariachi drunken skeleton. I ordered a taco salad (after one caught my eye coming out of the kitchen) and sat down to wait, sucking down a rootbeer.

My meal came, a big fried tortilla bowl with rice, refried beans, lettuce, tomato, cheese, sour cream, and guacamole. I doused it with salsa verde and munched a few intermittent pickled peppers (my favorite). Half way through the plate I couldn’t eat anymore. The food was mediocre, and maybe Taco Bell would have even been better. I surveyed the tables of other customers and realized everyone had a variation of these same ingredients. Nothing different, nothing special, nothing that looked any better. I guess that’s how Tex/Mex places are. The meal left me feeling full and my stomach never quite settled the food.

I stepped out into the hot sunshine. The restaurant was right next to a vintage clothing shop I use to like. It was closed, boarded up and all. I turned the corner and headed towards my favorite record shop. I had once gotten a Patti Smith record there and a Souxsie and the Banshees album for about 5 bucks. I found it also closed. Things were looking down, and my food still felt like it was bubbling up into my throat.

I headed towards the river, and the main drag. The sidewalks were swarmed with summer tourists, fat old men and shi-shi women. A dirty hippie decked in mismatched tye-dye was spotted every couple of blocks through the drone of people. The roads were at a dead stand-still with traffic. Solitary men with one ear pierced blasted 80’s dance music from their convertible Porsches and BMWs and a meaner sort of men dressed in leather chugged by on motorcycles, out to enjoy the verdant ride by the river down route 202.

I reached the corner, and to my dismay the famed vintage/ curio/ novelty shop was now charging customers 20 cents to enter. The shop windows were lined with signs reading “No Photos.” This every inch of this shop is cluttered with curious objects, antique wedding dresses, fishnet stockings, old metal lunch boxes, dirty playing cards, punk rock buttons, and other little trinket treasures. Somewhere they must have changed their politics, and were now charging people money to enter. I thought this absolutely absurd and refused to go in. Why would a shop charge people an entrance fee? This just seemed greedy.

I walked further down, and browsed the 500 shops all called “Shop of India” and all selling the same few brass statues of Hindu gods, Nag Champa incense and hippie clothing from India that Indians don’t actually wear. Some time someone must have gotten a huge shipment of these items, and never restocked or tried to find anything more unique.

After perusing shop after shop, I found one man who had imported a ton of knick-knacks from Bali. One sculpture stuck out as a jewel among the rest of the rubbish; a wooden image of Hanuman, meticulously carved in detail to show each and every hair.

I searched up and downs the streets for a used book store that use to have excellent deals, but this too had been swallowed up by the new commerce of New Hope. This was the final straw. New Hope was no longer for me. All the things I had loved about the place were gone. All had been replaced with pricey kitschy tourist shops. The artist seemed like ghosts, and the crafts were all cheap, imported, mass-produced. I guess an end comes to everything good. I know for sure I have no desire to go back to New Hope.

Little India in New Jersey, USA

2009-07-21T09:14:00.000-07:00

Missing India led me to Little India in New Jersey, searching for a meal, action, and a little bit of the discomfort felt in traveling. The little stretch of town itself is a hodge-podge of cars and restaurants and jewelry shops and stores selling knick-knacks and illegal Bollywood CDs and DVDs. I instantly felt like I was back in the land of the East listening to the blaring horns, wailing bhajans, and multitude of incomprehensible languages. The women were all decked in brightly dyed sarees and salwar kameezes stitched with sequined embroidery, and the men spit out great gobs of red paan soaked saliva, dying the sidewalks with the familiar bloody splotches. I walked passed shops selling sparkling expensively intricate gold jewelry, and perused a few selling old holy books in Hindi and shiny brass dancing Gods and Goddesses. A little food court appeared to be a main attraction, packed with shouting men running all over the place, devouring chai and Indian snacks. I ordered a sugarcane juice with lemon and ginger and uncomfortably waited amongst the men. Even a honky hippie couple entered the establishment, barefoot, dreaded, and cloaked in tie-dye scarves and baggy corduroys.

I think America is awesome because of our diversity. There are little pockets of people from every country of the world adding to our stew pot.

When I was in India I hated it. I hated all the crowds of staring people and all the commotion and all the pollution. Maybe it was just Bangalore, where it feels like everyone is desperately trying to hide the fact that they are Indian. The place feels robbed of its culture, like all the crap of India resides there without the colorful charm and spice that defines the rest of India.

I also think I went there at the wrong time in my life, to the wrong place, and with the wrong people; definitely the wrong people. When I traveled alone in India, in Rajasthan I loved it, but I hated my time spent in Bangalore, feeling suffocated. As soon as I left India I regretted it. I missed it dearly. I knew I had not unlocked the secrets or nearly explored all of the back alleys or met all of the colorful smiles that the country has to offer. I have always felt a yearning to return, under better circumstances.

For a few short hours I enjoyed this reminiscence of India and envied my sisterfriend who arrived in Dharamshala today.

Vagabunda goes corporate

2009-07-14T12:23:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I'm not actually going corporate....just searching for a job.

I have been getting some e-mails from people wondering where I am.SO.....I am currently stationed at my family home in Philadelphia. After a long semester in Brooklyn, I finally graduated after 4 long years abroad. But after writing a thesis and having all of my hair fall out due to stress and dengue related illness (I guess all of your hair falls out a couple months after having dengue...what a fun surprise that was), I needed a couple months to recuperate and be taken care of by my mom (she cooks delicious meals, what can I say?).

Now I am searching for a job. The past couple of summers I have relied on archaeology jobs to earn my traveling bean money, but this summer the beans just aren't sprouting. I had a potential job offer in New England which fell through (still a little upset about that), and contacted my old co-workers, most of whom are also hard up for work. I thought that this "economic crisis" wasn't going to hit dirt diggers, but I thought wrong. I am gauging the severity of shovel bum job loss by a post on shovelbums.org's job listings. There was a post for a project in Philadelphia, and hearsay suggested that they needed about 30 field techs. A couple days ago the company re-posted asking people to please stop sending in their resumes, as they had received over 500. I think this is cause for a little bit of alarm. My resume is competing with over 500, probably more qualified applicants.

So, I have moved on to bigger and better, or maybe just different things.
Ultimately, I want to help people, I want to works towards making this planet more habitable, I want to work towards humans being happier and less hungry.
SO, I am making a call out to my readers....Anybody got a job out there for a young, idealistic woman???

P.S. I will try to write some more. I am sort of just wallowing in a hole in the USA, not doing too much traveling, so I have been lacking passion for writing about my passion....traveling.

Almost finished

2009-05-01T12:30:00.000-07:00

I will be finished with this semester of climbing in and out of windows in a few days and then I will get back to writing. I have so much to tell you about!

Road Trip in Thailand Part II

2009-01-24T15:44:00.000-08:00

Here is part II of my road trip in Thailand. Hope you enjoy!

Road Trip in Thailand

2009-01-23T09:40:00.000-08:00

Between Christmas and New Years I took a little road trip through northern Thailand with some friends. We went to the country in Fang, Chiang Rai, the Golden Triangle, monkey temples and all over the place.
Enjoy the video

I'm a Bad Blogger

2009-01-11T05:10:00.001-08:00

Ok, so I will admit it. I am a bad blogger. Andy from hobotraveler.com says a blogger should post everyday. When he says things like this I always self-consciously think they are directed towards me. (Andy I know if you read this you will tell me I am self centered.....or have some other snide comment, haha.)
I go through long bouts where I just don't write on this thing at all. Maybe I am just super lazy.....or maybe there is the even greater problem that I let my "life" get in the way of my "life." Weird how that happens....
In December I was moving around through the wilderness quite a bit...trekking, going on road trips, and basically trying to get a little too caught up in Thailand. Oh, yeah, I remember, I was also writing a very long thesis....wow, that took up a lot of my time....those things are really hard to write, I realized....and you should probably give yourself more time than a week to write it.... no matter how much you want to be doing this instead........

But at any rate, I think I will start posting again. I am backlogged a little bit from Thailand....getting ready to move up to Brooklyn for a few months.....we will see where this journey takes me.

XOXO,
Mira

Empty Space in an Empty Night

2008-12-11T23:54:00.000-08:00

Middle of the night and there is confusion floating through my brain…too much coffee…too much life….The night is perfumed by farm scents…like I am home in America…tucked into bed with my actor daddy home from New York for the weekend and my artist mommy and the house smells of oil paints and love and comfort and creativity…familiarity…Here at empty space Chiang Mai the momma is a potter and the papa is a german actor who works in New York...the drama is all too similar.
and the farmlands of America must have flown on the breeze across the world to visit in Thailand…cow manure and chickens and the dank smell of irrigation water…I grew up next to a farm and a pond and here I am surrounded by rice fields and lotus ponds...but it is slightly different....spiced with enticingly fragrant foreign flowers telling me that this must be a dream…I must be in Thailand…I must be in the tropics…the longitude and latitude are all wrong for home…dogs are barking and roosters crowing and I fear they too are confused for the morning sunlight is hours away…or do they cock-a-doodle-do to wake something up inside myself…wake up…wake up…wake up….and out of this bizarre dream…this bizarre dream of infinite happiness that will never reach truition because somehow I have gotten time mixed up in my mind…between past present future future past future present…future present tense…present progressive…gerund….do they cry cock-a-doodle-do or eeky-eeky-eeee as they are Thai roosters and therefore must speak Thai more fluently than English…still lost in my dream…and things can be hard here like walking through vanilla pudding….I am afraid of waking up from this dream….waking up and saying goodbye yet again…and again and again and again…and it gets so taxingly depressing that they all turn into ghosts whom haunt my e-mail in-box…. “greetings from Germany, Hola de Honduras, Bonjour du France, Howdy from Colorado, I want to talk to you from New York, ‘Ello from England, Ni Hao from Taiwan.” How many must there be? I am scared of the impending doom of “Sawadee krop from Thailand.” I know it is coming. I, too, am a ghost hovering over a bright screen through the psychic medium of cyber-space…lost in the space-time continuum of I miss you after two years when are you visiting again been thinking of you XOXO.

Orphanage in Thailand

2008-12-11T02:34:00.000-08:00

I arrived at the Orphanage to a confusing scene. I visited the orphanage as part of my school curriculum. There were children crawling all over an open patio area. There were 2 camera men filming the scene. In the middle of it all was a very beautiful girl dressed in posh clothing. I soon found out that the girl was a Thai movie star, and she was doing charity work by giving gifts to the orphans. Everyone seemed very caught up in this, and no one really even noticed my arrival. I had no idea what I should be doing, so I just sat on a bench and watched.

The movie star was filmed dancing with the children. The children then sang her a song and she happily clapped. Next she handed out flowers as each child clasped there hands in a wai and replied “Ka phoon krop.” Next she handed out clothing and toys. The toys caused a complete uproar as the children ran all over, ripping the heads off of their new Barbies and crashing their plastic planes on wheels into people’s feet.

One little boy noticed me then, and we began playing with his little plane. I still had no guidance form anyone, so I guessed I should just play with the children. The movie star had stolen the show from me, though, and most of the children were not interested in playing with me, despite my efforts to be fun.

The whole situation was odd. No one from the orphanage approached me to explain what was happening. No one explained who these children were, or how they had gotten here. No one explained what the orphanage did, or how they were funded, or what happened to the children after they reached a certain age. No explanation. No one even asked me who I was, or why I was playing with the children. I feel like it would be easy for just anyone to walk in off the street and start playing with the children.

There were other foreigners at the orphanage also playing with the children. I didn’t know why they were there either. Maybe it was common for random tourists to volunteer to help at the orphanage? Maybe they were looking to adopt the children? I did find a bulletin board with pictures and letters of Western families who had adopted children from this orphanage.
All in all this was a strange experience.

Free Write on Getting Lost

2008-12-09T07:05:00.000-08:00

to lose my mind…god how I want to lose my mind.to just be blown away like all those crazy poets back in the day.. follow jack Kerouac on the road and jump on the bus and trip out to acid and go on a JOURNEY. The best parts of journeys in not the place you are going to but the getting there…I think I stole that quote from somewhere..but it is a good one at least…so I walk..i like walking..the first time I go anywhere I walk…for miles…walk…look….walk…look…if I get lost somewhere I will always be able to find my way home again after that…it is better when you are lost..you meet people..ask directions…find small little alley ways in morocco that are so crazy that there aren’t even maps of these places and everything looks so foreign and men with discomforting grins look out their windows and fat women washing laundry jeer at you like what the hell are you doing here and then you find a girl in a djellaba that leads you back to the street and holds out her hand when you thought finally finally someone is just being truly nice and good hearted..but no..that hand is held out to grab your heart…or your wallet,and you stop trusting the world again…stop following again…but you always start following again and in each new country it is so different…new people new faces..god I love faces…just looking at the shapes of eyes, the complexions….the way lips curl…maybe this is racist because I actually look at the differences…and in america we are not allowed to look at these differences..it is not politically correct..we all have to look the same….everyone is gray gray gray gray gray gray gray gray gray gray….AND I cANT StAND IT ANYMORE I WANT TO GET OUT OF THERE!!@ so I tend to say some comments that reallllllly offend people…but to me it is REAL REAL REAL…the world is real and it is true that people are DIFFERENT!!! Everywhere…I swear!!!! People in other countries know I am different..they look at my white skin and know I am not from there and it feels so good sometimes to know that it is ok to look at our differences and the world would be pretty sucky if the vision of America really was spread everywhere and we weren’t allowed to look at funny shaped eyes or kinky black hair or weird customs that really ARE wrong like cutting off women’s clitorises and how does America feel about that?????? But back to being lost..and lost maybe is an emotion…I want my mind to be blown and that is why I travel..to see crazy stuff on the street…the street is where its at and again that’s why I walk..to be with the people to walk by the lepers and the naked holy men and the children begging and the rickshaw drivers that I absolutely hate that grab at me and I always threaten to hit them and call them an a-hole but secretly somewhere deep down I like it…and travel changes you somehow…once you go maybe you cant go back..andy says I am well on my way to going over the edge..the edge of no return..where you just cant stay in that box anywhere and go to work in an air conditioined cubicle and work in an air conditioned cubicle and live in an air conditioned cubicle because your mind is just not there…and I love freaking people out who live in these air conditioned cubicles because there is sooooo much more to life!!! So much more that people don’t see…so much more that people should see…and I want to blow these people's minds until they see….be crazy…be bizarre…be eccentric…..and then I will be lost forever maybe…and I think if you lose everything and then you are lost then you are free…but this concept of free still scares me..and I don’t know if I can go there…I still have my attachments to the world…MY money. MY family. My pets. My stuff. My clothes…..MY bobby mcgee….and if I didn’t have all of this I would wonder…wander…wander….wander…..wander….wander.

Live Music in Chiang Mai

2008-12-08T05:06:00.000-08:00

I reunited with Heidi with many hugs and kisses and misses. After spending the day showing me all of the venues she had scoped out for me, she insisted that we go to the Brasserie and watch a to-die-for musician. We arrive at the bar a little after 11. It is just getting started. There is a small band stage set up where a young

Thai guy with an afro is wailing on the guitar. He is playing the blues, really playing the blues, and moaning baby baby baby. I am already blown away by his voice. His eyes were half closed in a sort of musical ecstasy. I could tell he was really listening to his music and was not mentally present on this stage in front of the crowded bar. I sat outside and listened to his set, already amazed and excited to see someone who has an ear for the blues.

After the set, another young Thai guitarist came on stage, but the rest of the band stayed put. This guy started playing classic rock. He was equally as talented, but different. Same, same, but different. He jammed out of his guitar, and Heidi and I joked about how his expression looked like he was climaxing.

About halfway through the set a tall skinny Thai man appeared on stage. In the midst of a song he quietly and humbly strapped himself to his guitar and began strumming back-up. This was what the crowd has been waiting for, this guitar maestro who has once toured with Bob Dylan. The young Thai guy backed off and Tuk began wailing, strumming, picking, jiving. I have never heard anything like it. Although it sounds sacrilegious, I felt like I was in the presence of the great one and only Jimi Hendrix. He was that good. He just rocked and rocked, breaking strings, stringing up new guitars, wailing, playing all of the classics, but with a twist. My eardrums undulated in delight, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off of his fingers. The whole crowd became mesmerized with his amazing finger picking, silent only until a break allowed roaring applaud. The walls reverberated with so loudly with guitar solo that the whole bar threatened to buckle under the melody. I finally realized the Hendrix album name “Are you experienced” must be titled thus due to the incomparable sensation one experiences when they watch such a master of music. Who would have thought such a musical gem was hiding out in a little bar in no-where-ville Thailand?

Monk Chat at Wat Suan Dok in Thailand

2008-12-07T07:13:00.000-08:00

Three nights a week Wat Suan Dok hosts a monk chat for foreigners. The idea is that the foreigners learn about Buddhism and the monks practice their English. Wat Suan Dok has a Buddhist university in Chiang Mai, mostly populated by monk students from the countries surrounding Thailand. The classes are in English, mostly, so the monks like to practice the language.

A red truck taxi dropped me inside the temple grounds in front of monk chat. I sat down in a bright blue plastic chair and was swarmed by fluorescent orange robes wrapped around swarthy bodies. The conversations started out with polite “how are you’s,” “Where are you from’s,” and “what is your name’s.” Most of the monks were from Cambodia. They were from poor families and had entered the monkhood so they could afford to study. Otherwise, their families wouldn’t have been able to afford to give them an education.

I wanted to talk to the monks about something other than Buddhism. For me it is more interesting to know about what they do in daily life, how they feel about the outside world and their internal dialogues about living the life of a monk. I asked if they ever thought about de-robing and starting a family. They all got a sheepish look in their eyes. One monk shyly expressed a slight hope in this dream. I think he was on the brink of this decision. I could understand how if one joined the monkhood solely for the sake of their education, they may one day dream of leaving the monkhood and once again leading a normal life after studying. Yet, somehow this question seemed to signal to the monks that I was interested in them. They became overtly flirtatious, asking me about boyfriends and dirty jokes.

(Thai Buddhist Monk circling a stupa)

They proudly told me about their Ipods and asked if I liked to dance to Shakira. I said yes. They asked if I could dance for them. I said maybe later. They giggled. These monks, I fear, have not overcome desire.

Another monk offered to give my friend a guided tour around the monastery. She accepted, of course. The monk, however, had ulterior motives for being alone with her. While walking, he asked her very personal questions about sex. She felt a little uncomfortable, but also in her naivety trusted the integrity of the monk’s vows of purity. Their conversation spiraled out of control and it reached its peak when the monk stated, “It would be okay if you touched me by accident. I wouldn’t tell anyone.” My friend took that as her cue to rejoin the group.

It was enlightening to see this side of the monks. Most people see them as spiritually enlightened and pure, but this monk chat showed a completely human side of the monks. They may be working towards holiness, but they are still humans with human desire. They are not quite perfect just because they shaved their heads and donned orange robes.

The Chao Phraya River in Bangkok

2008-12-06T02:55:00.000-08:00

A Poem

The Chao Phraya, the monster on which the empire of Siam was built. Walking past a community of the homeless and jumping a few fences I find myself drunk next to the river with a good group of friends and a bottle of moonshine. The river, black water moving fast, reflecting the moonlight. The bright silver orb flashes light on the rubbish and logs floating through the kingdom. All of Thailand was once connected only by this waterway, due to the dense tropical jungle that once stood in the way of development. Bangkok was like a Venice of the East, connected by canals, with riverboats slowly drudging their way up the Chao Phraya, floating markets, and countless romantic suicides of drowning in the swift currents. The river looks beautiful tonight; it must be dazzling in the sunshine.

Nightlife in Bangkok part II

2008-12-05T02:17:00.000-08:00

I smiled at a few Thai boys walking passed. One stopped to chat. He was wearing rasta colors, and decked out with hippie string bracelets. We started talking. He brought his brother over, who looked a little older. Amy got stuck with the brother.

They asked if we were hungry. I said no. They insisted we go eat with them anyway. I said ok. We followed the men down a couple of alley ways and through the Bangkok night. It was started to drizzle, and the brother was afraid of getting his head wet. Boy told me that he was half-Chinese and half-Thai. His mother had come from China. We exchanged a few words in Mandarin, and I asked him about Buddhism and his family. He was open, but thought I was a little silly for being so curious.

They wanted to take us to a food-stall that had Thai/Chinese food. We sat down on little red stools, scooting the table out of the rain. Amy continued to talk with the brother, a little awkwardly, and I continued talking to boy. They ordered for us, so I had no idea what to expect. The first dish arrived. It looked like shi-fan, a rice porridge that I ate in China. It was topped with a raw egg. I hoped mine wouldn’t be topped with a raw egg, and I would be forced to eat something gross that would make me sick. Luckily it wasn’t. It was just shi-fan with some sort of meat. I wasn’t very hungry and it took me a long time to eat my meal, but that gave us a little more time to talk. We got up to leave, and the bill thing came into play. I didn’t know if they had paid or we were expected to pay. I had heard that often people will seem like they are taking you out to dinner and then leave you with the bill. The brother pulled out a wad of cash and paid for us. I thanked him, but I was still a little confused. Did I “owe” them something now?

They asked if we wanted to go to a wat with them. I told them it was too late, so they said they would walk us home. We got to Khao San and they said goodbye. I hugged boy. They said nice to meet you and walked away. I got out unscathed, without any expectations. It was a strange encounter for me to meet a boy who wasn’t expecting anything other than to have a friendly meal. No asking to see me again. No trying to get physical with me. Just hello and goodbye. It was nice.

Khao San Road at Night

2008-11-30T00:16:00.000-08:00

Amy and I hit the street late one night in search of a party. We found a seedy underbelly of Khao San Road. Searching for a bar that wasn’t inundated with prostitutes and men seeking prostitutes, we found ourselves one street off of Khao San Road. It was amazing the contrast between the two streets. Khao San is swarming with tourists, drunkness, debauchery, and tourist prices. The next street over was blanketed by homeless families sleeping on the pavement. We stopped at a little stand where a woman was brewing coffee. She gave Amy a small cup and added just about a million different types of carnation canned milk. We couldn’t figure it out. Amy asked her how to say thank you in Thai. The woman looked at us like we were mad. We walked back to Khao San Road. The night felt young, but we still hadn’t found our party. We just stood on the street for a minute letting Thailand pass us by.

It was an interesting spectacle watching the people of the night. Prostitutes were on the prowl for foreign customers. Girls or maybe lady boys were approaching mostly older white men, following them just far enough to be sure they weren’t biting the bait. Then they would return to their original position outside of the bar, with the hook out waiting for another fish to stumble out into the drunkenness of the night.

Amy and I watched these interactions, trying to guess if the night-walkers were females or she-males. Two prostitutes finally wound their arms around two young blond boys. They were with a group of friends, all under 18 I imagine. I wondered if the boys would go through with the deal, if they knew the deal they were getting themselves into. God you can get into trouble in Thailand, I thought. Did these kids’ parents know where they were?

A self-proclaimed Japanese man approached me. Looking back he might have thought I was a prostitute too, just standing in the street watching the world go by.

He didn’t look Japanese at all. I gave him my Japanese alias “Mirataki.” He tried speaking Japanese to me. I told him he was full of crap. He tried to coax me into a bar with him. I refused. He walked away looking very angry.

Dengue Fever in Chiang Mai, Thailand

2008-11-25T18:21:00.000-08:00

I know there was a large gap in time that I was not writing on the blog and I hope you all were very worried about me ;).

Last Thursday night I came down with a very high fever. I rolled around in bed all night sweating and shivering and moaning. Friday I had an advising meeting, so I woke up early and rushed over to see my advisor. I told him about my fever, and that my head was just too sick to talk about academics.

I returned to my room with the intention of sleeping away my illness. The fever continued to climb all day long, and I started getting really bad pains in my kidneys and legs. When I was in Guatemala last April I had suffered a similar illness. I thought maybe I had problems with my kidneys. Maybe I was drinking to much coffee. Maybe I was really dehydrated. Maybe I had a kidney infection.

However, I was a little worried about my situation because my roommate had gotten dengue the week before. I was stubbornly determined that I did not have dengue. I am afraid of hospitals and did not want to spend days lying away dying.

Friday evening I took 2 I.B. Profen to bring down the fever. I felt ok for a couple of hours, but by Saturday morning I could tell I was getting worse, not better. Two of my friends coaxed me into going to the hospital to get checked out. The man who runs our hotel graciously gave me a ride over to the Chiang Mai Ram Hospital.

(Sick in the Hospital with Dengue)

I filled out some paperwork and then waited…and waited…and waited. Finally a nurse took me into a small room, took my temperature and blood pressure, weighed me, and asked a few questions. The doctor repeated this procedure. Then I was shuttled over to get blood drawn and pee in a cup. And before I could protest the nurses were shoving me into a wheel chair and admitting me into the hospital as a patient. I was not happy, but my high fever rendered me unable to protest.

There isn’t really a treatment to cure Dengue Fever, so the most they can do it treat the symptoms. I was hooked up to an I.V. to keep me hydrated. I guess hydration is the most important factor in surviving Dengue. Throughout the day they loaded me up with antibiotics, fever reducers, and stomach ulcer medication (I don’t really know why the stomach ulcer medication was necessary).

And so I thought I was going to die in a hospital bed from brain hemorrhages. I had a pounding headache behind my eyes and my entire body felt like it was being smashed underneath a steam roller. All I could do was lie there, aching and watching old Tom and Jerry cartoons.

I spent four days in this state. The hardest part about it was that I was incapable of doing anything. I hate being incapacitated, and worried about finishing my schoolwork and readings for my coming classes. I was sad that I was missing the field trip to the mountains and a Buddhist meditation retreat.

On the fifth day my fever had broken and I needed to get out of the hospital. My blood platelet count was at an all time low and the doctors recommended that I stay for a few more days. I couldn’t do that. I called in a nurse and begged her to take the I.V. out of my hand. The hospital finally realized that I was leaving, whether they liked it or not.

I have been out of the hospital for about a week now. I still do not feel totally well. My head is still rather fuzzy and I have developed a ringing in my ears. I do not have body aches anymore, but I feel weak, and get exhausted easily. I know that sometimes Dengue Fever cause hemorrhages in the brain, which causes brain damage. I am hoping my dizziness and hearing problems aren’t from brain damage. That’s all I need.

I always had the feeling that I would get Dengue one day. It is like playing Russian Roulette every time I get bit by a mosquito. I am always that person who has 50 mosquito bites, and no one else is bitten. Mosquitoes are harbingers of imminent doom.

Travel to 20 Countries

2008-11-23T18:49:00.000-08:00

The other day looking through my passport I started counting the countries I have visited. I realized I have been to 20, excluding my home country. The Bahamas, Mexico, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama, Ecuador, Morocco, Gibraltar, Spain, Portugal, France, Italy, the Vatican (politically this is a country, although this feels like cheating to count), the UK, India, China, Taiwan, and now Thailand.

(Me with my beloved passport)

Most of these countries I have visited in the past 3 years. How have I moved through the world so fast? I hope it is worth it. I hope I will remember all of my stories.

I have gotten to a point where I don’t know how to place myself anymore. A few weeks ago Andy from hobotraveler.com wrote that I am going over the edge of no return. I am wondering if I really am too far gone and what does that mean? Am I now not normal? It is true I am not doing what most people my age in my country are doing, but would I rather be doing what they are doing? They all seem miserable, confused, jaded and bored. They have crappy jobs, hate school, drink too much, hate their parents, hate the world. I wouldn’t want to be any of those things in a million years. Somehow my parents instilled me with a reverence for the eccentric. Am I well on my way there? Are my travels a journey through the world or through myself? Here’s to becoming an eccentric.

Eating Bugs in Thailand

2008-11-23T00:30:00.000-08:00

So somehow I developed a dream to eat big bugs in Thailand. I think I saw it on a travel program or something and have wanted to try it ever since. The other night after dinner a few friends and I bought 2 large bottles of Chang beer and 3 plastic bags full of different types of bugs; one of grub looking things, one of fat crickets, and one of locusts. The bugs were sold a street vendor on Khao San Road. She drenched the fried insects in soy sauce and sprinkled them with salt. We returned to our guest house, cracked our beers and spread our snacks on the table.

We each grabbed a huge locust from the bag, said cheers across the table and popped them into our mouths. I crunched into the savory little bugger, trying not to gag on the legs touching the back of my throat. I chewed through the exoskeleton and washed it down with a swig of beer.

(Eating Bugs with friends Brittany and Adam in Thailand)

The locusts weren’t half bad. Once you got over the fact that the bug was still intact with face, organs and legs, they seemed like a tasty bar snack. The grub things were a little harder to stomach. I kept calling them “butt worms.” They reminded me of maggots or intestinal worms too much. This summer I had dug up grubs like this doing archaeology. I remembered squishing them in my screen and thinking they looked like alien babies. The crickets were ok, but not as tasty as the locusts. In all, the bag of locusts was almost entirely devoured throughout the night, but the grubs lay mostly untouched. It was an interesting experience. Now I don’t have to try them again, haha.

Bangkok Experience in a Nut Shell

2008-11-10T01:50:00.000-08:00

Bangkok is a weird place, hippies, loud techno music or Bob Marley, hippie clothes, way too many backpackers, getting dreads on the street, tattoo parlors, guys picking up girls, girls picking up guys, no bars without prostitutes, pad Thai noodles, rickshaw drivers popping their mouths about ping-pong shows, huge bowls of fruit and yoghurt, cute white guys, cute Thai guys, seedy back alleys, half-Chinese half-Thai food with raw eggs, new language, street people one block off the beaten path, Pakistani pick-up lines, book stores, spice, bride shops, huge bottles of beer, new love (potentially though scary and a little too soon), old friends, frustration, compromises, rolled cigarettes, millions of 7-11’s, minty sniffers, rain and slippery sidewalks, nice women, mean women, nightlife, lady boys, distraction, excitement, Buddhist wats, prostrations to a golden Buddha, jasmine, orchids, marigolds, and lotus, incense, trying to light a candle in the wind, a “father figure,” eating bugs, missing home, still healing, Voldemort, dance parties to 90’s pop music, zombies, eating brains, sensuality.

Travel to Thailand

2008-11-08T06:08:00.000-08:00

Thailand Thailand Thailand. I am no longer in Taiwan, at all. I still have so much I want to write about Taiwan, but I feel like after just one week in Thailand I have completely forgotten Taiwan. I really loved Taiwan. It was a very livable place, good people, good food, good life. But in a way I am really happy to be away from Taiwan. I needed a change of scenery. I am happy to be out of my dungeon in Sinjuang. That room was driving me so crazy that I was starting to feel trapped. Life seemed inaccessible sitting at my desk in the dark corner next to my dark, sunless window open only to a loud mechanical noise and a musty mildew smell.

I went through a really hard time in Taiwan. I lost a lover, lost a friend, got really bored, got confused, cried, starved, spent too many hours lying awake in the sleepless dark. Thailand has given me a chance to move on. I don’t have to think about all my bad feelings anymore. The newness of the country has made me forget the oldness of my life.

After only one week in Thailand I am in love with the country. Each country always has a different feel, a different sensation of potential. Some places are calm, lonely, places where you just want to lock yourself in a room and study, some are romantic, some are boring, some are fun. Thailand is fun. Thai people are fun. I was really surprised when I came to Thailand. I was expecting it to be a little uncomfortable, to face the word “farang” countless times, to be ripped off, to be lonely, to hate all the hippie pot-smoking tourists with backpacks. I am finding it a lot better than expected. Thai people are just generally cool, almost in the sense of the American cool. I have already met tons of young Thai people who just hang out, play guitar on the street, artists, coolly dressed, cool hair, cool everything. It’s happening in Thailand.

Short Dick Man in Taiwan

2008-10-19T04:28:00.000-07:00

Cramped in a minivan with the rest of the CRC students we are speeding dangerously down curvy mountains roads. The Taiwanese driver is blasting bouncy club DJ music. I am dancing out of boredom of the long trip. Suddenly, I recognize English words singing from the speakers. I am shocked. Is she really saying that? I tell the other students to listen, lest my ears deceive me.

“Teeny weeny shriveled little short d!ck man. Don’t want no short d!ck man,” wails the singer with a harsh Queens accent. We burst out laughing. The driver is joyfully grooving to the beats. I wonder does he know the words?

I have had similar experiences around the world where I encounter people listening to profane English songs. I wonder if they would like the song if they knew what the words mean. Do they play these songs in English speaking countries? This is just plain silliness. Do I dance to songs like this in other languages that I don’t understand? After the short dick man song ended another song in Chinese started. I was still dancing, but with caution. What were the lyrics? Are profane lyrics common in Chinese songs?

I have now had this ridiculous song stuck in my head for weeks. It is a really catchy tune. With a little research I found a clip of it on YouTube, which I have added to this post. I guess it was a big hit song in the 90's.

I don't think the youtube.com video is working so here is the url: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IX380vS_Mzs