The Journal of his Delights

I put aside the camera today. As my Friederike advised me at one point, don’t let the picture taking and blogging get in the way of the trip itself. It’s very easy for me to get distracted by my visual brain. For one thing, it’s been ages since I’ve been this focused on photography. It feels really good, but the camera is an intermediary. Sometimes that’s welcome, and sometimes it’s not. Today was about seeing without the camera.

One thing I noticed…the Yellow Shirt. Apparently, yellow is the color of the king, and there are many, many people walking around Bangkok wearing yellow shirts with the logo of the monarchy emblazoned over the left breast. You also see images of the king everywhere. That part’s not so unusual, I suppose. The same is true in Amman for example. No, what’s truly eerie is when the anthem plays. Then people stop in their tracks, and just wait till it’s done. The first time it happened, I was at the Skytrain working with a guard to top up my card. Midway through music starts to play over the loudspeaker, and the guy completely stops paying attention to me. The guard next to him stands at attention and salutes the entire time. The attendant behind the booth stands up. All the people walking to and fro completely stop as well and just stand there. Okay, not entirely. Some of them, I could see, where impatient to start walking again.

The second time was today. I needed to take a break from the city and the heat and the cars and their pollution. So I went to see a movie. (The new Pixar film, Ratatouille, which I recommend.) It turns out that one of the trailers for the film is actually an ode to the king, a montage with music. Everyone in the theater stands up. Everyone. The folks next to me glance my way to see what I would do, and so I stand up too. I have no reason to give offense, but I can’t help looking around and thinking how spooky it all is. It’s like I’ve stepped into the episode of Doctor Who (ep: Rise of the Cybermen) where the entire Earth’s population freezes for their daily download of news and entertainment, including a joke of the day.

What happens when everyone believes the same thing? What happens when a person is deified? No matter how wise, everyone makes mistakes…

It’s a good thing that backpacks don’t need to breathe, because there are a couple of guys here in the lobby of the hostel wrapping theirs up entirely in plastic wrap. Does that make them exhibitionists too?

Kidding aside, I can see where that might be useful if checking a backpack through as luggage.

The photographs from my first day in Bangkok have been posted to Flickr. I hope you enjoy them - below are some samples:

On the Skytrain today, three guys who looked just like Mark Hamill! Together, traveling as a group. Talk about surreal… almost made me wonder if there was a convention nearby.

I found myself last night as I was coming in on the shuttle trying to pin down Bangkok. In my head, “This part looks like Los Angeles, this bit Amman…” and so on. What is about us that makes us want to try so hard to categorize everything around us? I eventually forced myself to stop. Bangkok is Bangkok. It’s not and can’t be a combination of any other city. Sure, there might be echoes and there might be universals that underly “city-hood”, but in the end, every city has its own personality. Trying to fit it into a box only guarantees that you’ll not see what’s truly in front of you.

As for what I’m seeing in Bangkok - it seems to me to be a city of contrasts. Layered, but perhaps not as finely granulated as Tokyo. It’s quite easy to see the ultra-modern right next door to run-down and abandoned. Multiple realities exist adjacent to each other. And that includes me and the other tourists. We occupy the same physical space, but the processes and interactions we undergo are different. My ticket on the river boat is not the same ticket as the Thai woman next to me. The door to the Reclining Buddha is different for foreigners than for Thai people. These are just manifestations, I think, of a deeper separation. I am a potential source of income that’s quite clear, but of something different too. I can’t put my finger on it yet though. Maybe it’s cultural, maybe class, a combination of the two with something else as yet undefined added in? I don’t know.

Not that there aren’t interactions between these realities. The Thai woman chatting about food with the family from France as we wait for the ferry. The man coming up to me to ask where I’m from - to talk about Jordan. But then that conversation is tainted by my suspicion that he wants me to buy something. In the end, he encourages me to visit a local site and bids me a good day. It’s sad, and I’m vaguely ashamed of myself. Not that people haven’t been trying to get my attention to buy something or to ride in their taxi. But it’s not been obnoxious. I don’t know where the balance is, and I think I need to learn it. If anything, I expect Phnom Penh to be the same (but different of course).

There was a woman begging in the street, a baby in her arms. As I walked past, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the smallest of my change. 4 baht in total. After I walked a small distance I stopped myself. That was hardly anything at all, and I had two larger 10 baht coins. Why didn’t I give them to the woman? 20 baht is something like 75 US cents. I’d given more to mediocre street performers in London. So I went back and gave her the coins. Later in the day, I ran into more beggars. Not a large number - during the course of the whole day, maybe 7 or 8. But that’s the thing - the problem underneath that was bothering me - how much of yourself do you give away. I’m not necessarily talking about money. In the end, one person can’t save the world, and coming back to the balance - a person has to find a way to negotiate the emotional (and financial) drain that potentially exists when working with suffering.

Let me be clear, for the most part, Bangkok seems a prosperous city. But in peeking between the city’s cracks, I’m seeing where my own fault lines lay. In the end, I think I will set a limit. Each day, x amount is how much I will give away. As for the more intangible? I don’t think such a simple solution can exist. Or at least not in terms of limits. Perhaps boundaries? It’s a subtle difference, but that might be the key. I’m thinking ahead, of course, to what it will be like to work in places where the poverty is devastating. But then again, I don’t know what the future will bring, and in the end, I don’t want to lose sight of what brought to me this journey in the first place. Best to take each step at a time and not borrow trouble from the future.

Just a heads up that I won’t be putting descriptions on the just uploaded photographs till tomorrow. I’ve been running into technical problems, which are thankfully resolved, but it’s 2 am after a full day of traveling and I’m exhausted. Tomorrow.

I have left Tokyo for the time being - it was ten days, but they passed so quickly. I could easily have spent another month and still felt like I’d only scratched the surface. Tokyo is that kind of city.

Lowie and Wataru flew up from Fukuoka to join CC and I in Tokyo. They arrived quite late on Friday night, but that didn’t stop us from going out to eat - Thai food, perhaps a foreshadowing of what was to come? Afterwards, we headed to a karaoke place local to Jinbocho.

In the U.S., karaoke is a public event. You sing in front of a bar or restaurant audience. In Japan, however, karaoke is done in rented private rooms. That way you can sing to your heart’s content without feeling like you’re performing before a room of strangers. It’s good for those of us who might be shy about singing in public, and it leads to interesting realizations.

For example, I’ve always assumed that I don’t sing well. That assumption was tempered by the belief that it probably wasn’t all that bad and that I was just being overly critical. Well, no. In fact, that night, I learned the truth… I can barely sing at all. Oh, I can match the rhythms alright, but other than that… might as well ask a metronome to the party. Ah well… I still had a great time anyway, and I enjoyed listening to the others, all of whom sang much better than I. We didn’t leave the place till 4 am, and so we were zombies the next morning.

That didn’t deter us though. There was shopping to be done. Specifically, Wataru wanted a day of shopping in Harajuku and Lowie was looking for a dress. Alas, a full afternoon of walking around (after visiting the Imperial Palace), and were left empty handed. I did, however, manage to get some shots of some the hip and fashionable out and about on a Saturday afternoon. The World’s Crappiest Digital Camera was really showing its limitations, but head on over to Flickr if you want to check them out.

In the evening, we celebrated Wataru’s belated brithday by fulfilling a wish for a fine dining experience. Apparently, it’s very common for CC, Lowie, and Wataru to eat out at funky places. But an evening of being serious, of “formal and normal”, that was unheard of. So “for the love of Wataru”, we all got dressed up - Samer in a suit, CC and Lowie absolutely gorgeous in their dresses - and we headed to Casita, a French restaurant. And let me tell you… I can’t sing their praises enough. Probably the best service I’ve ever received at a restaurant ever.

For example, we had accidentally walked past the restaurant, and when we called to verify the address, they sent someone down to the street to guide us back and show us to their 3rd floor location. Second example: whenever someone would rise from the table to go to the restroom, one of the staff would come over and refold their napkin. All evening it was like that, except without being snooty or pretentious. Just friendly, attentive care. And the food was very good too. I ordered one of the course menus; 6 courses for 12,600Y (something like 115US). A steal for the quality of food and service. Enough raving: 9.0 on the Samer scale. Highly recommended.

So now I’m in Bangkok. Safely arrived and a bit tired. It’s a longer flight than I expected. Maybe seven hours or so. JAL continues to impress, although I did have a scare at Narita. My luggage was apparently way over their weight limit, and I was looking at a 600US charge to bring it on the plane. Fortunately, since I’d booked through American Airlines, they ended up using their luggage guidelines (by piece instead of weight), and I didn’t pay a thing. Whew.

Bangkok was so pretty to fly into. As the plane came in, I could see the full moon from my window, shadowing the plane, reflected in the water. The little girl behind me kept saying “sugoi” (amazing) and “kirei” (beautiful). She was so sweet - in that moment I forgave her the times she kicked the back of my seat. It’s the little things, eh?

I took a shuttle bus to the hostel I’m staying at; Hosteling International’s Sukhumvit. Wow… cool place. Nice decor, clean - I like it. And just down the street is a series of (what look to be well established) food carts. A number of local people were eating, and the smell was amazing. I came up to one and pointed at the duck and pork. I ended up with the two meats over rice with a brown, sweetish, pepper sauce. Not bad. 40BHT, which is around 2US, I think.

I’m in Bangkok till the August 2nd. I don’t have any major plans other to do what I’ve been doing - going around and taking in what I can take in. I do have some shopping to do - hoping, hoping, hoping to buy a new camera cheap. I also have a short list of sights to see from my former flatmate, Goal. How it all plays out? Who knows… that’s part of the journey.

Yesterday was a rest day; an opportunity to respond to email, post pictures to flickr, and otherwise catch my breath. The most strenuous activity of the day was a haircut; an adventure in itself but a humorous one - a cross-cultural exchange of limited English, even more limited Japanese, and a discussion of the relative merits of Arsenal vs. Manchester United. In the end, I walked out with a smile and a great haircut, although I fear I was something of a challenge to the staff. Every year I have less hair to work with, and the catalog of styles was truly daunting. The one thing I made very clear: no “buzzo”. Can you imagine me with a buzz cut? Maybe one day, but not bloody likely right now.

Later I spent the evening in Shibuya again to people watch. Japanese fashion is so interesting, and so much care is taken in creating just the right image. I’ll try and get some photos before I leave, but my camera’s batteries died last night. (My third set since arriving.) In any case, in addition to the usual ultra-fashionable set, I saw a number of Tokyo’s “alternative” styles. Not just Ganguro, but also Banba and Himegyaru.

The one image before my camera died:

I’ve uploaded my photographs from Days 3 & 4 in Tokyo to Flickr. I hope you enjoy them. Some samples:

There’s so much to take in of Tokyo. It’s quite a complicated and layered city. Rather than try to put together a coherent account of my visit to Tokyo/Japan, I’ll offer some random thoughts and observations. Maybe after a little time, I’ll be able to put together something more… well… put together.

* Starting with the surreal - I suspect that Tokyo, and the Shibuya district in particular, probably spends more money on hair care per capita than any other area in the world. Wow. Cuts and colors working towards very specific images. It’s fascinating. I also saw my first Ganguro girl. This is a fashion style that involves blond hair and deep tan on a Japanese young woman.

* If you’re going to climb Fuji, you’ll want to bring 3 liters of water per person. I recommend 1 of those liters be a sports drink of some sort. Also, bring a light. Some accounts of climbing Mount Fuji say that you don’t need to - that you can count on the huge number of other climbers to light your way - but I disagree. There were long stretches when it was just us, and more lights in our group would’ve been welcome.

* Tokyo has a fantastic subway system. I have yet to see a delay, and the people are very good about following the formal and informal etiquette. The cars are even air conditioned. London can learn a lesson from this city’s system. Continue Reading »