A Holiday Special Double Issue!

…And we’re back!

Before I begin gushing about our fantastic island getaway, I do need to finish talking about India. So here’s a huge post covering, not one but two countries. Merry Christmas.

People keep reminding us that India is a country of extremes and it really is difficult to explain our experience.  Or as one local shopkeeper said, “This country doesn’t function. The day it functions, I will leave because it will no longer be India.”

Holding hands while wearing a "Straight" shirt? Talk about sending mixed signals.

I had lived in a country whose population of deities rivalled the numbers of its people, so that, in unconscious revolt against the claustrophobic throng of deities, my family had espoused the ethics of business, not faith.
- Salman Rushdie’s Midnight Children

Tiff and I have had numerous debates about India and its “spirituality.” How can a country who has so much blind faith that one bathes in the Holy Ganga, a river so disgusting that locals joke that bacteria doesn’t even want to live in it, waters with such high fecal contamination that it should be the Goddess of the Runs. And yet when the sun sets, the holy city of Varanasi is overrun by gangsters.  (Although not an inconvenient place to die; there are almost 200 funeral cremations performed a day there.)

An easier stroll during the day, without the million mosquitoes.

I think we have a difficult time remembering the good times. I try to recall our stroll along the river and this is the first thing that pops up: Tiff and I having a relaxing conversation and enjoying the peaceful waters, sitting on the stairs. Watching an Indian man walking toward us, as he approaches he climbs two flights of stairs to get in striking distance so he can lay a finger across Tiff’s knee while he passes. (Never successfully.) And this happens a lot. (We met a young Israeli girl that lives in Goa, who carries around stick for this.)

A picture of inside a train station. And a really lost cow.

But with some extra effort, I remember us walking, watching a casual game of cricket being played near rubble — and smiling because they were having fun, not trying to win (similarly, I like Bollywood dancing the best: they don’t do it to look cool, they move their body out of true joy) ; I remember us, sitting on the steps and talking with a Hindi-speakin’ Indian woman who lives in Vancouver and venting together about some of the bullshit of India. (A fantastic ploy rickshaw drivers use: when you ask how much you owe them, they say, “as you like,” and work on your guilt. Brilliant.)

…no people whose word for ‘yesterday’ is the same as their word for ‘tomorrow’ can be said to have a firm grip on the time.
- Midnight Children

Surprisingly all our trains, which run notoriously late in India, arrived and departed on schedule. (Except for the last leg into Kolkata, its arrival was delayed for about 8 hours.) I loved riding the trains in India; lying on my bunk bed and just watching everybody walk past, the food vendors, snake charmers, the eunuchs… it’s better than TV.

"Jumpin' Jiggawatts! Take me back to the future, cabbie."

We didn’t stay in Kolkata very long (I watched City of Joy), but we did roam the streets long enough to get a quick taste of the only city that still allows human rickshaws.  I feel bad enough when rickshaw cyclists pull our collective fat ass around, but I don’t understand how anybody can employ a human rickshaw. This is like getting somebody to piggyback ride you from place to place and it’s at the same pace as if you were walking your own shamefully lazy self. Backwards? Yes. India? Totally. We walked away (on our own two feet) from the country happy to leave, with just the easy-to-remember horrible moments but when I think about it now, I would want to return again in my lifetime to explore the south — and I loved some of our experiences, which could have only taken place, well, in India.

Our food paranoia in India made us look fantastic in swimwear.

But Thailand is the easiest freakin’ traveling. I feel like we’re traveling in Europe by the number of Europeans we meet versus local Thais. However! We did meet up with one of Tiff’s friends, who lives in Bangkok and, only upon further questioning, is a direct descendent from the King of Siam (y’know from The King and I). We picked his brain as he drove us around, while matter-of-factly pointing out statues (“Oh, that’s my grandfather.”) around the Grand Palace. My number one question: “Have you ever made a mistake at a club — because its dark — and found out that you wer—”

“No, never. But all of my friends have once. Me, never.”

I always knew about the accepted third gender, or ladyboys, in Thailand but I was surprised by how many I (non-sexually) bumped into. And Tiff’s friend had a well-trained eye. Tiff and I have a difficult time identifying them sometimes, but, man, this dude… literally seconds pass as he checks the rearview mirror, as three girls cross the street at night. Then, “The one in the middle is a ladyboy.” Us: “Nooooo waaay.” Him: “You don’t understand. I can not make a mistake in the club.” Then admitance: “OK, one time I was fooled but it didn’t matter because she was a celebrity and I recognized her afterward.”

Our humble home for three weeks.

For about 22 days we have been at the relatively remote beach on Ko Chang island. It was great to just relax, meditate, read and talk to people that we would see again the next day.

Deadend Seafood Restaurant. Fantastic garlic shrimp.

We met so many interesting people, including a South African who worked for a secret society in Texas, incorporated by rich oil men, country singers and politicians (Bush attended the year before) who just eat tons of steaks, rough it in the wild, and drink for an entire week. It takes two years as a maverick (sorry, invite only) to officially join, in which they can’t refuse a drink from any other member; And a Canadian who was a prime-time host on CBC, living the highlife and dropped everything; And sisters from the Bay Area, who replied, after Tiff mentioned SF was her hometown, with “I got a big San-Fransisco-vibe from you,” a response that couldn’t be more San Franciscan. And so on…

Pen and I playing with our food.

But I enjoyed my time with the staff the most, especially this moody 17-year-old named Pen. After a few weeks, we slowly became friends, when I asked him if he could teach me how to fish. So many nights at 1am, we walked the shallow waters and he taught me.

Actually, Pen caught that.

Now I know how to spearfish, net and gut everything from fish and squids to stingrays and barracudas. Plus, I learned how to catch prawns with my barehands (then eating them alive) and to properly kill a fish with your fingers. Then we would eat our catchings the night afterward. (Stingrays are freakin’ delicious.) In other words, I became an island boy.

Tiff posing with a dead squid. Absolutely heartless.

And then Tiff made it look easy by outdoing us and all my nightly efforts when she just stumbled on to a dying, humongo, beached squid. She killed it with her mind. One of my favorite nights was when Tiff (finally) decided to accompany us two on a black moon (no moonlight). The water around us brightly lit up from the plankton as we walked in the ocean. Pen and I cast a net all-manly-like, while Tiff danced around pretending to be a fairy. However, no amount of magic dust could get this girl to accurately spear a fish. Seriously, please take a look at Exhibit A and don’t worry: No animals were harmed in the making of this film; thanks to Tiff’s constant missing.

And that fish was handicapped. Y’see, Pen would take the fish off the net, which was now crippled, and let Tiff go after them since they were too slow to escape back into the sea. Too sporting? I say “shush” to the fish-empathizing members of my audience.  We ate it. Besides, even the Dalai Lama eats meat. Give it a rest.

The epic last supper at the Treehouse.

Pen’s bro Tae, a hardworking 22-year-old, was a sweetheart and bought tons of food for our last dinner there. He spent thousands (the kid only makes 7,000 baht a month) in preparing for it and it was one of the sweetest gestures we have received on our travels. And it was worth the, uh, horrible food poisoning I had afterward. Anyway, Tiff and I would like to wish everybody a Merry Christmas! So here: