Bangkok

Big. Loud. Obnoxious. Saturated with tourists. Hot. Exceptionally humid.

Welcome to Bangkok.

We arrived in Bangkok, and all of the fluids that had accumulated on the flight over immediately drained through our pours and evaporated into the environment. We caught a bus to Koh Shan road, an area so inundated with foreign travelers, that it was difficult to find a Thai person. It reminded me of Las Vegas, at a fraction of the cost.

I ate a grasshopper. I wanted to try a scorpion, or maybe a maggot, but the food vendor offering such dilectable assundries moved elsewhere before our return. Dammit. A man only has so many opportunities to consume fried insects, and I can't imagine finding the same offerings at the local supermarket back in the states.

The food challenges my stomach at every turn. I love it, but I have a tendancy to add too much chili powder to each meal. My forehead turns into a waterfall, and the rest of my body follows. I feel like I'm deflating with so much water rapidly exiting my gelatinous form. With so much delicious food products to consume, such as spring rolls, phad thai, grasshoppers, scorpions, maggots, worms, red curry chicken, green curry chicken, swordfish, fruit shakes, banana pancakes, banana waffles, pineapple, mango, some type of jerky type beef that was so good we had to have two, spicy papaya salad, noodles with chicken, noodles with duck, cashew chicken, chicken with garlic and peppers, and countless others, that I think I'm beginning to look a little like the Buddha sculpture I bought in Tibet - fat and happy.

After picking up Aimie, Keith's good friend, we slept peacefully, in pool's of sweat, and the next morning worked our way to the Grand Palace. The previous post contains pictures of the incredibly intricate structures. They exist as wonderous monuments to the Buddhist religion, and integrate so much detail and artistic beauty, that they almost seem surreal. We arrived at the profound compound later in the day, as our trip had yet again fallen prey to the mechanics of a well conceived and perfectly executed ploy to divert our attention elsewhere.

Stay tuned for part two of our Bangkok exploits, and the trip to Chaing Mai, where I'm stretched like a used piece of rubber by a Thai woman half my size.

A Partial Glimpse of Bangkok

This blog shall not extend beyond the barriers of insantity.

A special and specific thanks goes out to Brandon Fibbs, who thus far, has responded with comments to almost every blog. Thanks Brandon.

I'd post pictures of the Grand Palace in Bangkok, but I've consumed far too much Thai beer. So, I've decided to sleep instead.

Oh, what the hell. Here's one to keep the saliva pouring. Or maybe two . . . or three. Enjoy!

Tibet to Bangkok

This post picks up where the previous Tibet blog left off. I suggest reading books about the chaos theory and quantum mechantics to thoroughly understand the principles surrounding the structure and methodology of my posts. Think of various streams of thought all happening simultaneously, and you might have some glimpse of the bizarre workings of my obviously disfunctional and highly unpredictable cranial functionality.

Tibet and Potala Palace - Part 2

So, we wanted tickets. I offered my soul and five dollars, but neither seemed to hold any weight. I suggested telling people we had SARS, and then running frantically into the complex, but Keith intonnated that we would probably just be shot. I knew Keith was around for some reason, because it certainly wasn't for sponge baths or picking up loose foreign women. After some deliberation and multiple conversations with various bystanders, we decided to return the following day to aquire tickets. A risky, but logical decision.

Finding ourselves once again in the Tibetan quarter, lost and hungry, we walked in circles searching for yet another palace. Actually, our objective involved finding a nunery just outside the Muslim quarter. While conversing and debating as to where this residence of celebate woman might be, two young Tibetan students interjected quite abruptly after over-hearing our dilemma. "You look for nunery?" the youngest of the two inquired. "Yea," we responded with some curiosity and hesitation. As we had been conned and coerced innumerable times during our travels up to that point, nearly everybody, including Buddha, Jesus, and McGruff the Crime Dog, was held at point with an aire of suspicion. "We can show you," the little navigator insisted. We looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, and allowed the two local inhabitants to lead us into the unknown. I wondered what kind of unexpected tom-foolery we were in for this time. Maybe some kind of high pressure bake sale. "You buy muffins now!" "No, dammit, I don't want your crappy muffins." You can be assured they would be crappy, as bread and pastries in Tibet left much to be desired. "You have no choice. I stalk you for entire trip until buy muffins!" This prospect seemed terrifying, but I was tired and therefore complacent. So, we followed. As we walked, by some heavenly, miracle-type occurance, it slowly became unbundantly, and thankfully clear that these two students melded with our existance for only one reason. Like every Frenchman, they wanted to learn English. Well, actually they already spoke English quite well, unlike the French, and they wanted to practice. Having discovered this, and verifying their good intentions with a visit to the nunery, which we didn't go into because it was three dollars instead of ten cents, we allowed the minature tour guides to lead us on a facinating tour of Lhasa. We were given explanations, histories, directions, advice, and great information on a number of temples in the area and on Tibetan culture. Following the expansive walk through town, we accepted an invitation to one of the student's home. The smallest of the two, Peter, lead us to his humble abode, where after meeting part of his family, we consumed yak butter tea and Tsamba, a doughy substance that went quite well with the fatty drink. We drank, ate, and talked, exchanged email addresses, and left with a sense that we experienced some genuine hospitality.

Potala and the Sneak Attack

While touring one of the temples with Peter and Dawa (the other student), I ran into an Italian, who sounded like a German, who informed me that he snuck into Potala Palace with a tour group earlier in the day. This sounded very intriguing. We knew at this point that any legitimate method for entering the palace would be either too expensive or nearly impossible. So, we agreed to use stealth and cunning to acquire access. Finding the tour group entrance, we waited around for a mass of eager lemmings to filter into the complex. This occured quite rapidly, and attaching ourselves to the tail end of the group, we tried to enter. We were optimistic for a moment, thinking our keen and praticed abilities to act and blend in rendered us indistinguishable from the others. But this proved ineffectual. We were cut from the group, like small growths of fungus from a block of cheese, and told that we were far to handsome to enter the great Buddhist temple. Gathering quickly from such a sudden blow, we pointed to the group, gestured, spoke in quasi-English, and motioned that I was Buddha's second cousin Ronald, and Keith knew the Dalai Lama through friends on his mothers side. They wouldn't have it. Our plans were foiled. We meandered around like bobble-heads, wondering what to do next. Suddenly, the woman at the table caught our attention with some indecipherable comment, and motioned us into the compound. Without any hesitation, we moved quickly inside, in complete disbelief.

The palace was incredible. Giant tombs of the previous Dalai Lama's sit in narrow rooms with tall, ominious ceilings. Precious jewels cover the gold boxes that house the remains, along with exceptionally ornate decoration. Thousands of Buddha statues sit housed in glass cabinets. They once were scattered throughout the palace, but have since been gathered and imprisoned after the Chinese occupation. Thrones, shrines, beautifully detailed models of other temples and palaces, and countless other rooms make the Potala Palace a wonder to behold. As with Jokhang Palace, pictures were not permitted in the interior. Sorry.

From Tibet we flew back into China, and the next day, into Thailand. A Thai post will hopefully follow sometime in the near future. Only time will tell.

China Insert

Welcome to the world of non-linear blogging. I apologize for not posting using some sort of chronological methodology, but my brain works in ways that common physiological science could never hope to understand.

I've decided to post some pictures of the Forbidden City in Beijing, the Great Wall of China, and the Panda Research and Breeding Facility outside of Chengdu in Sichuan Province. These particular events occured in order as they've been listed, but I can't guarantee any continuity beyond this intial indication.

The Forbidden City. What can be said? Quite a bit actually, but I've grown tired of writing about the Great Wall in the section below. Remember - Non-Linear!

Everybody's favorite under-appreciated tyrant.


We were told that the common tourist areas of the Great Wall had been rennovated, so we decided to take a tour that would send us to a portion that was far less visited. We sat in a small van for two hours, eating dumplings out of a plastic bag, and wondering if anyone in China ever saw the sun. Pollution turned to clouds, and clouds to mist and fog. I assumed at this point that China now owned the little bright ball in the sky, and that like dissent and revolt, the Chinese government just didn't want the Chinese to experience the bright and colorful rays of the sun. The gray of the clouds matches all of the sterile buildings in China anyway. We arrived, engaged in a great hike in the misty mountains, didn't see any Hobbits, observed an untouched portion of the wall, and returned to the city below to eat a great meal prepared by some the friendly locals.

From the huge capital of China to the huge city of Chengdu, we moved like fat Buddha's in the wind. Here we find more friendly Chinese people, the hottest food known to mankind, pandas, and an old Buddhist temple where the weary traveler can sit in a picturesque courtyard and drink green tea until the next Chinese tyrant in appointed and tea becomes illegal.

Images from Lhasa

I don't have much time to write anything additional, so here are some pictures from Tibet.

Corrupted, But Still Profound

Fifty years of control and influence have altered a very ancient civilization, but the customs and traditions of Tibet continue with a hardened resilence. The Chinese have built roads, airports, shopping malls, restaurants, sewage systems, and monuments, but the Tibetans continue to honor and worship the Gods of Buddhism with age old rituals, and drink yak butter tea, a staple of high altitude living. The worn look of the Tibetans runs deep in their veins, and one can only hope that the thoughness and persistence will carry on for yet another eternity.


After thoroughly exploring the multitudes of street vendors and maze-like alleys, the next morning we ventured over to Jokhang Temple. It initially appeared plain and relatively ordinary from the outside. The golden rooftop and bells provide the only real accenuation, and they're partially hidden from the courtyard situated at the entrance. Only from the roof, and the chapels buried inside, can a real appreciation of the temple be found. Just outside the large doors leading into an inner courtyard, devout pilgrims, monks, and visitors pray to the various icons of Buddhist theology. They lay a blanket along the ground, and with gloves or wooden blocks attached to their hands, transition from a standing position to one flush with the ground. They lay on the ground for only an instant before pushing their bodies back to an erect stance, and then continue the process again. It seemed like a hard and painful process, yet even the very old seemed to partake.

After entering the structure, and moving beyond the inner courtyard, a path can be followed that circles the center chapels. Here, countless prayer wheels wait for devoutees to pass by and spin the tall, gold colored cylinders. It seemed as if some pilgrims followed this path countless times, pushing the wheels into motion, and chanting prayers in various decibel levels.
All of this generated intrigue and facination, but the large inner sanctuary provided a glimpse into the profound wonder that still thrives within Lhasa. A small hallway leads inward from the modest entrance, and then pours into a massive room filled with giant sculptures of three Buddhist Gods, giant pots of bellowing incense, ornate decorations, and a large sitting area for the monks that pray within the temple. As pictures were prohibited in the chapels, it's simply a sight that needs to be seen to be believed and understood. Other chapels and shrines surround the main room, and directly behind the Buddha Gods, a small room filled with incredible intricate golden alters and statues completes inner sanctuaries of this amazing temple. This final room escaped our presence, as a line that would rival the one for Mr. Toad's Wild Ride at Disney Land snaked through the primary chapel, through the narrow hallway, out the entrance, and into depths beyond human conception. Yes, it was long, and we had more Tibetan street vendors to haggle with.

From Jokhang Temple, we optimistically meneuvered from the nestled locale of the holiest temple in Lhasa, to Potala Temple. Potala is a foreboding, exceptionally massive structure rising from the streets of Lhasa into the thin Tibetan air. It took over fifty years to construct, and it easily elicites such an effort. Not to be overtly self-righteous, but I actually built a temple like this in my backyard as a young and aspiring architect, and it only took me about six days. But I also had a power drill and as many strawberry waffles as I could eat. The Tibetans probably used sticks and square wheels, so their accomplishment may, after some deliberation and reflection, represent something somewhat more impressive. Anyway, it's quite profound. After walking aimlessly back and forth along the sidewalk in the front, we worked our way into the gate skirting the side of the complex. After climbing half way up the pathway leading to the temple, we realized that this path was actually the exit, and were forced to descend the same way. Arriving at the bottom, we discovered that tickets for the temple were very difficult to come by, and that the long line of people waiting at the ticket counter weren't there for a social gathering, or a congo line, but were prepared to sacrefice hours of their lives for tickets to the temple the following day. This was quite preturbing. While waiting in the hot sun for relative eons sounding intriguing, we decided to return the next day, and acquire tickets some other way.

Return to this blog in the following days for more long winded travel information.

Tibet

This will be a very short post, as two palaces in the city of Llasa await our arrival.

The Tibet opportunity arose, and we simply couldn't resist. We'll only spend a couple of days in the ancient and mysterious city of Llasa, but we had little difficulty measuring the the worth.

The people are incredibly friendly. Some of the Tibetens speak excellent English, so conversing with them has been a great experience. They, like the Chinese, are vigorous hagglers. I spent twenty minutes negotiating with a street vendor over some fake jewelry. We finally came to an agreement, with both parties exhausted, gratified, and relatively pleased.

I'll post some pictures tonight or tomorrow.

Suitably Exhausted

The days have been long and eventful.

On Sunday we visited the Forbidden City. The compound is enormous. It could easily take two or three days to thoroughly examine every artifact, building, temple, praying room, throne, and water closet. Wondering from one massive structure to the next, Keith and I weaved our way through thousands of visitors. Short of the courtyard within the Vatican City, I've never noticed so many people in one place.

Much of the Forbidden City is being rennovated for the 2008 Olympics. Some of the buildings are completely covered in scaffolding and construction materials. One courtyard leads to the next, as one walks through gate after gate, always confronted with a another magnificent spectacle. It truly is a facinating piece of Chinese history.

After spending hours forming blisters and soars on my feet in the Forbidden City, we decided to work our way to the East of the compound. We walked for blocks, searching for some kind of cheap, delicious sustainence. What we really wanted was dumplings, a treat that once tasted, invaded our dreams, and caused consistent, relentless craving. Damn the dumplings! Damn them and their dilectible, irresistible cores of limitless flavor. Anyway, we walked, and searched. After some time, we turned onto a street that seemed a severe contrast to what we had previously experienced. The neighborhood that houses our hostel consists of small, cramped little alleys, street side vendors, little restaurants serving chicken and beef on skewers, and swarms of both locals and visitors. This street, two or three blocks from the Forbidden City, seemed more like a mix of New York City, modern Chinese architecture, and the same stuff we found in the ghetto for ten times the price. It looked interesting and somewhat bewildering, so we proceeded. After wandering through a mall that may have been a transplant from Denver or any other large American city, eating some of the best cafeteria food one could imagine procurring in a cafeteria, and wondering why we were still in this very refined, modernized section of Beijing, we were confronted by two little Chinese girls who seemed innocent enough - if innocence were know a trait of the devil.

They indicated that they wanted to practice their English. They inferred that they wanted us to buy artwork created by students from Beijing University. They seemed genuine - at least partially. After some deliberation, and a trust in the perceived goodness of human beings, I decided to accept their invitation. I use the word "I", because Keith had quickly passed all decision making power to me, thereby excusing himself from the potential debacle this bizarre encounter might rapidly become. So, we followed. They lead us through a department store, up three stories, into a large eating area, and then into a tea house situated towards the rear of the room. It immediately became obvious that this so-called art show was actually some kind of extravagent scam. I had once again become victim of my notorious ablility to trust all people, regardless of whether they have a small pointed tail, and a weasel in their pocket.

We entered the fancy tea room, and were directed to a private room in the back. This wasn't good. We were warned of tea house, art show scams, and had already been coaxed into two during the first day of our visit. But this was the Death Star of cons. As we sat in this little room, faced with supposed student artwork, and two constantly smiling vixens, I was given a menu for tea. This couldn't be good. They wanted us to buy them tea. Dammit. I don't even like to buy myself stuff, let alone two obvious con-artists. I opened the menu only to find cups and pots of tea at hightly inflated prices. I quickly searched for the most inexpensive item on the menu - maybe some two day old muffins or a single boiled egg that could be shared between four people. I widened my already bulging eyes, and found only tea that should have cost fifty-cents for five dollars. Maybe we could all share one cup, or just buy a tea bag, and make our own tea in the bathroom. I grumbled and sighed, and rubbed my face like a man in great duress. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'll be traveling for months, and I can only afford things that cost less than the cheapest form of dirt. I can't buy buy either of you tea." I was rather proud of this. In a previous life, I might have conceeded to the pressure and persistence of these devilish creatures. But not today. Today I would readily admit that I'm cheap, I be damn proud of it.

The madness continued as these two experienced and rather capable women attempted to lull us into a complete and disturbing state of complacency. They progressed into a half hour exposition of how difficult it is to be a student in China, why we as rich, and successful Americans should contribute to the well-being and survival of the poor and willing, the history of China, Chinese art, Chinese symbology, the Chinese language, the animals of the zodiac, quantum mechanics, cooking, why it's not a good idea to swim after you eat, and how many dogs would be required to reinact the great battles of China. Facinating. After listening to Keith and one of the girls converse for some time about how everything they've told us was meant to build a strong and lasting friendship, the real objective moved from beneath the shadows of expensive tea into the muted light. Selling art. Over-priced, more than likely massively reproduced, and something that could easily be found on the streets of Beijing for a fraction of the cost. I felt like unleashing a small of army of minature monkeys into the room to thrash the hanging scrolls of meaningful Chinese history and symbology. But, I resisted. So, I sat there. Keith had already told the two scarabs that he liked one of the paintings, but never purchased anything on the spot. A lie, but a smart one. So, once a again, I was left to steer the ship through the reef. "I like this one," I said, pointing to a painting of some cherry blossoms in the corner. It means "this" they said, and "that", and "this" and "this" - and "this". "You don't say," I said. "How much does it cost?" "Oh, that's nice." I should have been obvious to them at this point that I couldn't afford anything, let alone a three hundred dollar painting. Realizing at least my partial reluctance, they moved on to something smaller. "How about this," she said, "I painted it." I looked up confusion. "You painted it?!" At this point, the situation turned into me apologizing, and sighing, and saying "no, I can't" so many times, I thought for a moment that I couldn't say anthing else. They shrugged and looked disappointed, and then pushed harder and harder, and I finally said to Keith, "It's time to leave." Keith left some money for some peculiar reason, and we departed after buring two hours of time that could never be reclaimed. Damn my gulliblity.

I already written far too much. On Monday we biked so far and so long in Beijing, that I thought I'd been anally raped by a blunt metal pole. Today we checked out a portion of the Great Wall. We had to hike to the top of a tall ridge, where untouched remnants of the stone and brick blockade still existed. Other, more famous parts of the wall have been rebuilt, and are saturated with tourists. Other than our group, we didn't see another soul. It was refreshing to be alone. Pictures are taking too long to upload. I'll try tomorrow.

The Blind Post

I don't know whether this post will exist, as I can't view it from the computer I'm working with. I suspect the Chinese government has blocked access to the viewing of certain blogs or blog sites.

First, I must comment on the environment, and the temperatures that lay within. Any liquid that is consumed is rapidly lost in perspiration. I have rashes in places that won't be explicitely discussed in this blog, but suffice it to say, they're not particulary pleasant.

I seem to be somewhat of an attraction in China, almost like a walking freak show. The taxi driver that drove us into Beijing felt it necessary to feel the matte of humidity saturated hair on my arms and legs without permission or invitation. Others in the alleys and streets have stared incessantly without regard for what we may consider common courtesy. Don't confuse this for a criticism of the people - it's simply an observation of the differences in the culture. Walking through Tianiman square, Keith and I quickly received many looks of curiosity, and even had our pictures taken with some young visitors who apparently found two strangers with massive bags attached to their backs a wonder to behold.

The people selling items on the street are very aggressive. Apparently, grimaces, stern looks, frowns, rapid shakes of the head, and a constant barrage of "no's" doesn't deter their push to sell Mao Zedong watches, kites, shirts, hats, books, and everything else that one might commonly consider expendable items - or junk. One kid trying to sell watches followed me for five or six blocks, reducing his prices on the obviously conterfeit products from 13 dollars to 2 dollars, until he finally became so fed up and frustrated, that he just gave me the watch and started walking in the other direction. Not to be deterred myself, I followed him for a block or two, trying to convince him that I wouldn't take the watch for nothing, until I finally just left it on a concrete barrier, exchanged additional facial expressions, and ran quickly in the other direction. Madness I say, madness.

During the rapid composition of this post, the stomach felt stable and agreeable. I mention this only because Keith and I haven't been excessively vigilent and selective of the food we choose to consume. It's all far too delicious to ignore or disregard because of potential death. So, we continue forth, eating all that looks appealing and interesting. Additionally, you can't beat 5 dollars for a wooden bucket full of dumplings, two giant bowls of seasoned noodles with some kind of meat (maybe dog, maybe bat, maybe dragon testicle - who can tell), and four massive beers.

We walked the compound housing the Temple of Heaven this morning. The intricate carvings, beautiful painting, and what appeared to be inlaid gold make the temple and surrounding buildings a spectacular sight for our weary eyes to behold. Within the park, in small brick laid courtyards covered by tall, small leafed trees, the Chinese residents practice playing strange, primitive instruments. Some play alone, some with small ensembles, and some play opposite singers, who allow their voices to radiate far into the park. We watched a group of four play hacky sack with such grace and talent, it would make participants in the US envious.

Tomorrow we either wonder back into Tianiman square, and the Forbidden City, or we rent bikes and ride into the unknown. Either way, one thing can be known for certain - those selling trinkets will show no mercy.

I've decided not to take the 17' Sony Monitor

Packing supplies for a four month journey into the world at large is a painful, exhausting, incessantly frustrating process. I have this dreadful fear that I'll forget something simple, but important, and end up telling "what if" stories to other non-voluntary residents of some Chinese prison.

Such pleasant and optimistic thoughts for what should be an incredible trip! Maybe I'll just go to Kansas instead, and start teaching intelligent design!

Until the next round of pre-trip, high pressure anxiety . . .

Where's my Pickle?

My God . . . I now exist on the internet.