Nomadism 101: Detroit, MI

Doing some catch-up on my recent nomadism...here are pictures from my grandmother's funeral - you can see more at my Picasa site.


My Sister, Chelsea


My Cousin Brandon and I


My Grandfather

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Nomadism 101: Scotsdale, AZ

I spent this weekend at a boarding school in Arizona - I joined Lennox and Danny M. on their annual trek across the desert from LA to Thunderbird Adventist Academy at the edge of Phoenix. Lenn always speaks of the time he spent there as a really special part of his year - being able to share his stories and music with the high school students. I jumped at the chance to get out of town - I'd get to hang out with two amazing musicians and meet some new people.





There's something really special about teenagers - all the hurt and hormones vibrating inches from the surface. We smirk and write it off as angst - but there's something pure about it - people floating somewhere between childhood and adulthood, all prickly with those beautiful rough edges society hasn't sanded down yet. I've always preferred diamonds-in-the-rough to the over-processed mass of shiny we seem to value so much, but I suppose I digress.




So--being surrounded by academy kids who are learning far too fast to cram all the uneven edges into neat, little, masks always brings out the melancholy in me. So, to you, the kids of TAA - careful with those masks - they get stuck and slowly steal your souls; but I suspect you already know that. Thanks for sharing your time with us, listening to us, and letting us listen to you. And to one particular person, thank you for sharing your stories with me; sometimes I need to be reminded why what I do matters, I'm glad a few little films I created years ago were able to get you thinking - you know, it has nothing to do with me, I just listened.

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Nomadism 101: 120 Hours*

Other ways to experience this journey: Enjoy Lizzy's perspectives and Eric and Alyssa's angles

Day 1: Bangkok
There is always a shortness of breath, a tightening of my rib cage whenever I enter Bangkok. The beginning of any journey, however short or long, is always like stepping off a diving board, a momentary reluctance, and then the plunge into something that is all at once familiar and unknown.
Lizzy and I see Eric H. and Alyssa S. as we head down the stairs of the Skytrain station and into the noise and heat of Sukhumvhit street. A few minutes and several soi's (streets) later, we are at Rasayana waiting for our meal and doing the delicate dance of exploring experiences that we humans tend to do when meeting others for the first time.
After lunch, we head to the Chao Praya river, someplace I haven't spent much time since the early 90s. There is something relaxing about traveling through water, no matter how filthy, and by sunset, I decide I like the other bank of the river, with its warm street lights dancing across the broad cobblestones with a comforting orange glow. We narrowly escape being locked in at the Wat Arun temple and manage to get back across the river. We pass luxury dinner yachts serving their guests what appears to be high cuisine. We pass riverfront hotels, their opulence even more obvious at night, and I am again amazed at the extremes of poverty and wealth in Asia.

Day 2: Phitsanulok and Sukothai
We pass the night in a third class train rattling it's way north. Sleep is tantalizing and elusive. We arrive in the city of Phitsanulok early in the morning and find what appears to be a bus station to sleep in. We are back on the road at 7:30. We're playing the trip by ear, and there is a wonderful immediacy to everything that happens. Our plan includes heading to Myanmar (Burma) for a day trip at some point, but right now we head to Sukothai, one of the ancient (though the more appropriate term is pretty dang old) Thai capitals.
Asian ruins have been a part of my life for a long time; and sometimes it's not really the places the effect me so much as the people with whom I travel. It's been a long time since I've been able to travel with a group of people that help inspire me. The textures in the ruins of Old Sukothai are alluring and I spend about a 24 frames of film on trying to capture some of their magic.
The advantage of journeying with travellers versus tourists is that a traveller is always interested in actually connecting with the culture in which they wander; and combined with a lot of curiosity, you can stumble on a lot of neat little things, like the strangely Islamic-like chants of monks blessing new initiates; their newly shorn heads glistening and their beautiful white ceremonial robes isolating them in the crush of the crowd.

Day 3:

WILL
~ by Marcia Falk

Three generations back
my family had only

to light a candle
and the world parted.

Today, Friday afternoon,
I disconnect clocks and phones.

When night fills my house
with passages,

I begin saving
my life.

(borrowed from Samir S.)

Today we wake early, and I feel like I've actually gotten some rest after my first real night in a bed. A deviation: If any of you are ever in Sukothai, I recommend TR's Guest House in New Sukothai. We are joined by Andy, a British traveller who has been exploring Thailand for the last few months, as we continue our journey to Chiang Mai. I had first noticed him as we ate at the night market Friday night. His dreads, neatly tied back, his exotic features, and his flowing Thai clothes had caught my attention. We stand for part of the trip as a result of being the last people on the bus, and dive into seats vacated during the trips while trying to stay close enough to keep up our conversation that spans religion, politics, and Farsi. There is something slightly wonderful about the ability of strangers traveling to join forces. A symbiotic occurrence and a little like cellular synthesis with bonds a easily divided again as mitosis...but with friendships that may last for years after.
We spend the day together, finding a guest house, food, and perusing the night market. We wander into a temple complex (Wat) on the way to the market, attracted by the sounds of the monks' evening chants. We enter one of the buildings in the complex and spend some time marveling at the art. A monk glides in, his robe shifting to show the runes of protection tattooed on his left arm. He sits with us, and we trade questions; he is curious about where we are from, we are intrigued about the life of a monk and the paintings on the ceiling above. He tells us the story of the Buddha's life and as the buildings begin to close for the night, gently escorts us out.
Chiang Mai is a city in which I can relax a bit. While heavily influenced by tourism, there is something charming about it's fusion of east and west. The coffee shops and numerous used book stores carrying mostly western titles across from the walls of the old city. The pace here isn't the frenetic, hyperventilating heartbeat that drives Bangkok.
We explore the night market, relax in an Irish beer garden, and return to the semi-quiet of our guesthouse where Alyssa and Eric read us to sleep (The Places In Between by Rory Stewart .)

Day 4:
Our plans for Myanmar have almost completely disappeared. Eric has spent the last few days trying to get in touch with the Myanmar Embassy in Bangkok and guesthouses across the border with no success. The buses that leave for the Thai border town of Mae Sai seem to be few and far between. We're all ready for a little bit of rest, so spending the day in Chiang Mai isn't too much of a disappointment.
We travel to the Wat at Doi Suthep, one of the mountains surrounding the city, and spend a few hours exploring what is considered to be one of the most holy places in Thailand. Another deviation: If you end up visiting the Wat, check out the museum on the premises...it features currency from all over the world. Definitely good for a few moments of entertaining investigation.
We return to the city and decide to wander through the University of Chiang Mai. Our journey back to the city takes us through the more Thai section of Chiang Mai and we find ourselves in the middle of a festival. I wish we could blend in more, we are some of the only farangs around and it's fun to be in the center of something for Thais and by Thais.
I feel torn between enjoying the chaos and wanting to curl up in a quiet corner. Noise assaults us from every direction and tipsy Thais dance and wave at us and try to start conversations.
I should note that if you end up doing some contortion in the temple courtyard, the monks will enjoy the fun, but eventually a Thai woman will become offended enough to start yelling. I wonder when humans got all confused and forgot that holiness should include fun. Maybe some boundary was crossed...something we as ignorant farangs didn't understand, but I'm a big fan of gentleness; however, I can't completely discount the anger that farangs can incite. We in the West have a lot to answer for with our ham-handedness. Whatever the case, I hope one day, we can remember to find the joy in holiness again.
Lizzy and I plan to catch a night bus back to Bangkok, but our reluctance to leave Alyssa and Eric and Chiang Mai result in us staying one more night. With only one guest house room open, all four of us squeeze onto two single beds. I sleep fitfully...

Day 5:
We wake up, get cleaned up, and slip out, leaving Alyssa and Eric asleep. I forget that I have been planning to leave a few things behind for them. The joys of early morning exits. The bus ride takes a good part of the day, and we sleep off and on, amused by the amount of food and drink the bus stewardess offers the passengers. We politely decline on most of the food, but i enjoy an orange and the banana muffins.
We arrive in Bangkok at 5:30 and decide to ride the subway for kicks and giggles. Neither of us have been and it seems like the thing to do. Sadly, though the trains are sleek and hi-tech, the ride is just as exciting as, well...uh, riding a train without windows. We pick up some groceries and salads at the Siam Paragon mall, Bangkok's latest Wat of indulgence. Many people find comfort in luxury, but after the simplicity of the last few days, it feels treacly.
The van ride back to Muak Lek and the college is relaxing. I wind down, and enjoy the moments of quiet conversation. The fact that I'm leaving Thailand in a week begins to set in, the sweetness of a mangosteen rudely erased by the bitterness of the rind.

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Nomadism 101: A Daytrip to Cambodia pt. 2

(Scroll Down for Part 1)

Sitting in a Thai greasy spoon can be a dangerous experience. Whenever the cook tosses her mixture of chili and spices onto the wok, a wave of fumes washes over the restaurant. Mr D. coughs loudly, declaring that he's going to have to get some fresh air and a Thai girl sitting across from us looks up, grinning impishly. She's wearing a bright orange shirt and her long ponytail is tossed carelessly over her right shoulder. She laughs silently for a moment, then returns to the food she's sharing with her parents. The wait staff cover their noses with little napkins, waiting for the fumes to pass. The woman sitting at the counter buries her nose in her thin, gray and green striped hoodie and waits wearily. Her hair is damp from the moisture, her makeup is a bit smeared, and she looks like she'd rather be anywhere else.

I take shallow breaths and watch Mr. D leave and begin to have dark fantasies about what's happening with my passport. It's gone for good, I'm sure and now I'll have to go through hell to get a new one...or maybe they're setting up some scheme in which I'll get caught with drugs once I'm across; I'll end up in a Cambodian prison for years, and leave a bearded shell of myself full of HIV and Hep B. Hmmm, maybe I'll just stop thinking.

Forty-five minutes later, my eager guides re-appear, apologizing for the delay and brandishing my passport which contains a brand new Cambodian visa. I follow them towards border control and a little Thai girl appears, holding an umbrella over my head. I half-heartedly try to dodge her, but she is persistent in her quest to keep my skin from getting any darker. We get to Thai border control, I tip her, and she disappears. I stand in line for a few minutes, and once the grumbling woman stamping passports has let me through, I re-emerge into the hot sun and stride towards the Cambodian check point. My guides appear, and walk me across the short bridge that separates the countries.

Children appear around us, begging for change. I look down at the little girl tugging at my pants and try to smile as I shake my head. She's literally dressed in rags and has these desperate, sad eyes. I feel filthy as I look up and try to ignore her. What I really want to do is grab her up in a big bear hug and tell her that it's going to be ok, that I can help her, that I can save her. But I don't, or won't, or can't. I just keep walking.

My guides tell me to wait. They again have disappeared with my passport, but I fight the urge to freak out. I'm completely in their hands, there's not much I can do. They show up with a Cambodian police officer who motions me over to his motorbike, and I hop on, with some reluctance. As we pass his buddies, they shout at him. He yells back gleefully and they laugh loudly. there are really only two options here; they're making fun of the fact that he's got a black man on his bike, or I'm at the wrong end of a bad joke that's going to end me up in Cambodian prison. I've never hoped to be called a nigger more eagerly; it's certainly better than the alternative.

He drops me off at a small building full of foreigners getting their visas approved and tells me to wait outside the building. Cambodia may be a struggling country, but they seem to have tried to make the border crossing look nice. There are several modern looking office buildings covered in blue reflective glass and what looks like a mall. The only visible difference between here and Thailand is that they drive on the right side of the road. The buildings don't distract me long because I've decided I really don't like the idea of a cop hanging on to my passport. It doesn't matter what country I'm in, police always make me nervous; and this one has my passport, and knows that I'd do a lot to get it back to relative safety in my own hands.

Thankfully, he returns quickly with the passport and we're back across the border. I have thirty more days on my visa and I can suddenly breathe again. I realized I'm soaked in sweat. The car ride back seems longer, but I enjoy the sight of the sinking sun peeking through the clouds like a bashful child peering through living room blinds as I fade in and out of sleep.

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Nomadism 101: A Daytrip to Cambodia pt. 1

Thai law being what it is, a visa issued upon arrival to this fair kingdom is limited to 30 days. If the visa holder in question wishes to supplement said visa, a 15 day extension is available in Bangkok; anything longer must be obtained across the border in Laos, Malaysia, or Cambodia. Mynannmar's right out.
What follows is the tale of my quest to obtain those coveted thirty extra days on my visa.

I wake up this morning expecting to get ready for a quick trip into downtown Bangkok to get a 15 day extension on my visa. It won't be enough, but right now, it's the only thing we have time to do. Expectations are interesting things...my morning continues with my Dad cheerfully popping his head into my room and announcing that I'll be heading to the Cambodian border with a man I'll call Mr. D. A, fellow American. He used to teach here at the college and still lives in the area.

By 8, we're heading to the border. The sun is rising, but the air is thick with haze from all the slash and burning that happens this time of year. But today, this doesn't bug me as much as it usually does, I'm excited; I've always wanted to see Cambodia, even if I'll only get to the border area on this trip. Four towns, fours hours, and a few naps later, we've arrived rather uneventfully at the border. At least in this area of Thailand (and I imagine a good bit of the rest of the country), most people live in towns or small cities. No bamboo villages here. I guess you'd have to travel up to the hill tribe areas to find actual villages, and from what I hear, those are disappearing as well.

But enough of that, I'm at the border. We arrive at the border and spread out around the official buildings is a large market. We drive under a large, pale yellow arch. The large text on the arch proclaims this area to be the "Golden Gate Plaza," and I have to smile a bit.

If you've ever packaged up a box of clothes and American goods to send to Cambodia, and wondered, as you dropped that well-taped box off, what actually happens to the goods, well ask no more. They end up here, in the Border Market. Cambodians, it turns out, don't particularly like hand-me-downs either. They started crossing the border to sell the contents of their packages and buy clothes they liked; and thus the market was born. It now sprawls around border control, and from what I could gather, contains just about anything you'd want to buy.

Mr. D and I park, and head off to border control to get started on obtaining a Cambodia visa for my jaunt across the border. Unfortunately, things have changed since he was last here, and we end up wandering around trying to find the entrance to the crossing. I'd like to note here that as a foreigner especially in Asia, it's a good idea to look like you know what you're doing. Looking lost attracts all the wrong sorts of people.

Rather unsurprisingly then, we're ambushed by two eager looking young men in grey polos sporting a travel company logo. They insist that they can get me over the border and back quickly with minimal hassle, for a small fee. I'm not that excited about the idea, but we are a bit lost, and they do look official, so we let ourselves get herded back to a restaurant where they have set up shop. They ask for my passport, fill out the documentation with a speed that suggests a comforting familiarity and then disappear, reassuring me that they'll be back in about 15 minutes with the visa.

Having your visa disappear in the hands of a stranger, no matter how reputable he looks, is just downright scary. We sit at the restaurant and minutes tick by. I figure that I might as well order some food and ask for a plate of fried vegetables and rice. The waitresses who have been standing around eyeing the customers scurry to work. No one looks very happy in this place. There seems to be an air of resignation that hovers around the wait staff. I look over the counter and watch the cook stir a huge pot of rice.

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