Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Travelogue #57: The End is the Beginning is the End, Part 2 / The Final Living-in-Korea Photologues


"Oh my God," my sister Anna said, her eyes hidden orbs behind windshield-sized sunglasses. We were wandering through an outdoor shopping mall on a crisp, cool October afternoon in suburban Memphis. My smiling parents walked a step or two in front of us. For the first time in over a year, my family was together.


Before my sister had name-checked God, I had made a random comment about how something or other reminded me of...well... "You are that guy," my sister continued, "you're that 'Everything I do reminds me of Korea' guy."

I didn't want to be a that guy. Nobody wants to be a that guy under any circumstance. I wanted to shake my head and protest, but my sister had a point. I had been on American soil for no more than three days, and that's counting the first day which included a jet-lagged hibernation in my bedroom followed by a hazily surreal dinner at Chili's. I was back. But was I really, fully back? Or was I caught in a bad SNL skit, starting every sentence with, "In Korea..."

Later, on a bench in front of Sephora, I saw two Asian women. Like a private eye I pretended not to spy on their conversation while, yes, spying on their conversation, hearing them communicate the unmistakable yo's and creo's that characterize Korean. I reported the news to my mom and my dad and my sister. They were suitably impressed. Minutes later, I somehow forgot I had already told this to Anna, and I told her again. "Okay, Alex," she said with a there-there smile.

And so I'm home. Home-home. Korea is no longer an everyday reality; it's a rich blur of memories bisected by memorable moments I tried to chronicle with purpose in this blog. What I wanted to achieve is a you-are-there intimacy. Nobody wants to read somebody who writes to the tune of, "I did this, I did that, I did this. Whoo-hoo." I didn't want to yell out my experiences; I wanted to share them. And I tried like hell to pull that off.

It's been a rewarding run. I've been humbled by the emails I've recieved, whether they've been from Korean college students, Australians looking to teach English, or Jewish lawyers from New Jersey stumbling upon my blog while searching for Korean soap opera stars. Thank you for reading, whoever you are.

I don't yet know what the future holds for this blog. I'm currently weighing options to apply for creative writing MFA programs. I'm also investigating opportunities to take Spanish classes in Argentina. That means this website might go on a temporary hiatus and return later with a new focus.

In the meantime, I'm off to enjoy a big, green, juicy Granny Smith apple, which reminds me of this one time in Korea...

Just kidding, Anna.Link

Here are the final photologues.

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Thursday, October 23, 2008

Travelogue #56: The End Is The Beginning Is The End, Part I


It's 4:28am.

I should be sleeping. I need to be ready at 6am for the hour-long bus ride to the airport. My bags are packed as tight as...well, it's too late and my mind is too not here to come up with an appropriately sound analogy.

Tonight I said goodbye to the friends I've made in Korea. We ate samgyopsal. We sang norebang. There were hugs. Even some tears. Context will come later. Later I will wrap up this travelogue that I started one year ago.

I will wrap things up in the coming days, and I will do so...

at home.

America, here I come.



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Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Travelogue #55: A Korean Amusement Park Wedding


O
n Sunday, I was a guest at a wedding and saw a baby tiger, a baby lion, and a full-grown chimpanzee. These critters were not swapping vows for a three-species intermarriage; no, they were mere spectators of a human wedding set in a cozy wooden lodge on the grounds of Everland, South Korea's own candy-coated version of Disney World.


Usually, Hyun-In is a beautiful secretary who works the phones and overbearing parents at Leadersville English Institute, but on Sunday, she was a beautiful bride bedecked in a gown longer than the state of Florida. While she posed for picture after picture in an open-doored parlor, a chimpanzee clung to its master in the next room, interacting with wedding guests who after realizing the bride was a princess-in-the-making, decided it was time to bond with a hairy primate.

Meanwhile, a marching band thumped in unison, a marching band composed of a fair share of white-skinned foreigners, leading Jovan to wonder, "Who decides to say, 'Hey, I'm going to move to South Korea and join a marching band that plays in an amusement park?'"


This was no ordinary wedding; this was an Everland wedding. The ceremony itself continued the carnival of surprises: at one point, the groom brought a baby cub to the front of the congregation. Why? I don't know, but the move was nonetheless greeted with smiles and applause. Instead of a priest or a minister, a professor from Seoul National University presided over the bride and groom's vows, all spoken in Korean of course, leaving my American-born colleagues and I to fill in the gaps of "love," and "eternity" and "faith." Jovan noted the casual chatting amongst the audience during the vows, creating an atmosphere more in the vein of a popular restaurant than that of matrimonial sanctuary. Was this a Korean thing? I always hesitate to label one Korean event I experience as representative of the norm, because clearly, every wedding has its idiosyncrasies, whether you're talking about Korea or the United States or anywhere else on the planet.

That being said, I did hear it's a conventional move to have the bride's mother hop upon the groom's back, and then have the groom race like a rocket through the crowded room. I saw this firsthand, and I don't think I was alone in marveling at how comfortable the bride's mom looked in transit. Maybe they had practiced this routine earlier.


After the ceremony and a tasty buffet lunch, my friend Nick and I found the bride dressed in the traditional hanbok gown. I only know Hyun-In casually, so I did not hug her, but I did say "Congratulations," jutting my palms in the air as if to say come-on-now-you-rascal-you. With a laugh, she repeated my gesture and said, "Thank you, Alex!"

Congratulations, Hyun-In, and let me promise you this: while you're on your honeymoon, I'll take care of the chimpanzee.


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Working on a new post...

Though my days in Korea are winding down, I'm still planning on completing a couple final travelogues before my departure on the 23rd. Right now I'm working on Travelogue #55: A Korean Amusement Park Wedding. I will post it in the coming days.

Thanks for reading!
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Saturday, October 4, 2008

Travelogue #54: What I Will (And Won't) Miss About Korea


T
he other night I couldn't fall asleep. It was very late and I was very tired but still my mind trilled like a xylophone. Suddenly, I recalled a post I made on this blog last November: "Three weeks down in Korea and forty-nine to go," I wrote. Three versus forty-nine.

Now, I'm on the other side of those numbers: forty-nine weeks down in Korea and three to go. Like many who've come before me, I've started to ponder what I will (and won't) miss about everyday life in this great peninsula. (Disclaimer: my views are shaped by my personal experiences as a hagwon teacher living in Sunae-dong, Bundang-Gu, Seongnam City, Korea from October 2007-October 2008.)

I Will Miss...

-
The Kids- A student of mine named Andy is nine-years old. He's got big ears and is gleefully oblivious to their size. He also has a reddened face, and I like to accuse him of drinking dong-dong-ju (a sugary alcoholic drink.) He responds by shouting "NO!" and flinging his little feet under his desk.


Another student I have is Joy. She's also nine, and at the risk of sounding cheesy, she is indeed a joy: always smiling, always scribbling the right answers in her notebook, and always politely asking questions. But the cutest thing she does is when she doesn't know an answer: she smiles, and says, "I...don't know." Not knowing has never seemed so endearing, especially in a room with a brat named Eric who wears rollerblades to class and a guy named Bob who, after I returned from the bathroom one time, pointed at me, waved his hand, and said, "Teacher, poo smell."

As for the children outside of my classes, the children I see in the streets, I act like a giddy fool in front of them. Whenever I see their suspicious eyes, I read a who-is-that-strange-foreigner question written in their pupils, and I comply with whatever preconception they might have of me: I dance, I arch my eyebrows, I puff out my cheeks, I squiggle my nostrils. I act like Robin Williams at a talk show appearance, reveling in attention ranging from smiles and laughter to absolute confusion.
In short, I've participated in a number of crazy-eyed staring contests with little Korean kids. I like the liberty of their low expectations: if they look at me strangely when they first see me, I can thereafter be as silly as I want. Win-win. Or in the words of Michael Scott, win-win-win.


-
The Foreigners - By foreigners, I'm talking about "waygooken," that is, non-Koreans. In Korea, I've met a fascinating melange of people: take the lanky African-Canadian who plays basketball to hide from his overprotective Korean girlfriend, or the biracial Hawaiian anarchist who plans to go into farming. I met both of them by chance: the African-Canadian saw me walking into town with a basketball and flagged me down, introduced himself, and asked if I needed another body to hoop it up. We played one-on-one and he told me about his history of more than a hundred sexual acquaintances. "You can write my book, man," he told me. As for the Hawaiian, I was in the same writers group as he, but we only had lunch because he found me in a random Itaewon backalley after a writers meeting. Itaewon is a crackling stew of hundreds of Americans, Canadians, Russians, and Nigerians, so it's a wonder that he spotted me.

And that's what I will miss: the spontaneity of encounters with people you only find because your different lives somehow crossed and brought you to, out of all places, Korea.

- The Secretaries - The secretaries at Leadersville English Institute are cute. They smile and say, "Annyong, Alex-a."

*
And they're also fun when they're not working.

It's the perfect way to start a shift. I sometimes wave at them and then stay in one spot waving for an uncomfortably long time.

- The Food - Through the year, I've talked alot about Korean food on this blog: the communal sit-around of the long tables, the alluring spices of dakgalbi, samgyepsol, and bulgogi, to name just a few of the dishes. What I will remember as an I've-officially-adjusted-to-this-life moment is the one late night in November when instead of craving a Wendy's Spicy Chicken Filet, I craved Jaeyuk DapBap, a Korean dish of sesame-seasoned spicy pork mixed into a big bowl of rice.

My cravings had matured. I was not only going to be okay with a year of Korean food, I was going to enjoy it.

- The Ice Cream - Koreans must love ice cream. For evidence, look at my neighborhood of Sunae. Within a forty-second walk, you'll find a Cold Stone Creamery, a Blue Ice Gelato, a Red Mango, a Baskin Robbins, and a 24/7 convenience store with an ice-case bundle of popsicles, my favorite being the one shaped like a shark's back and called "Jaws". When my parents visited in May, they enjoyed Red Mango's iced yogurt concoction called papbingsu. It was their favorite Korean treat.

In short, I will miss wandering out of my apartment at 2am and returning minutes later with Jaws on a stick.

- The Walking - I walk to work. I walk to the subway or the bus stop when I want to go into town. When I see the neverending congestion of Seoul traffic, I'm thankful I don't drive a car here. Also, there's something about walking that gives you a feeling of independence in a big city where you can get lost. And believe me, you can get lost.


I Won't Miss...

-- The Crowds- There are so many damn people in Seoul. Let me repeat: there are so many damn people in Seoul. And with the crowds in the city come the smells of tossed-away garbage and the pushing and shoving and the sense that you're not so independent, that you're an ant and you're squeezed and there's no escape, because there's always somebody walking centimeters from you.

Where's my oxygen mask?

- The Summer- Damn.

- The Lack of Meatballs - I've seen dozens of Italian restaurants in Seoul and not one of them serves meatballs. Seriously. Seriously. I feel the urge to become a bad caricature of an Italian man and thrust my hands into the air and say, "Why no meatball, my friends?"

- The Tired Students- The last class of the day starts at 10:05pm and ends at 10:45pm. That's late. And if I'm tired, my students are exhausted. Most of them wake up at 6am, go to school from 730am-3 or 4pm. They take a short nap, eat, and come to hagwon. Their eyelids droop as I teach them about TOEFL speaking and ask questions like "Some people enjoy having many friends. Others prefer to have few friends. Which do you prefer? You have fifteen seconds to prep, and forty-five seconds to speak."

The bell rings. They go home and do homework. Then they go to sleep.

That's childhood in Korea, or at least in a large, growing segment of the country.

- The Business of Hagwon- I won't miss the indirectness and the occasional language miscommunication that happens in the office between Korean administrators and American teachers.

If I ever miss my boss, I can just take a look at the picture I snapped of his three-story tall banner.

Let us hail our Glorious Leader.


- The Distance- As for distance, it's not just miles, it's minutes. What I mean is that I can never quite overcome the idea that my morning is America's night and vice versa. At night, after work, my Slingbox airs The Today Show. In June, I watched the primetime NBA Finals with my breakfast. Weird. Still weird.

Sure, the Internet helps when it comes to communicating with family and loved ones from back home. But it ain't the same, Jane. I miss being able to call my family in the middle of the afternoon, just to say hi. I haven't seen my sister in person since Rudy Giuliani and Hillary Clinton were the frontrunners for the 2008 presidency.

Let's just say that I'm excited for the day when my mom and dad will be three-dimensional people rather than pixelated webcam images.

--------------------

I haven't yet mentioned my co-workers. The truth is, to some of them I'm deeply appreciative of what they've taught me and how they've surprised me. Fairly or unfairly, I've always been a first impressions guy, quick to label a person upon first glance as somebody I expect to like or dislike. Well, dare I say it, I've become more open-minded: though I still think that first impressions do reveal a certain side to a person, I've found that most people have other sides belying first impressions.

If you think this is no-shit-obvious, you might be right. But it's one thing to supposedly know this and another to actually feel this, to see certain people surprise you with a zippy sense of humor or a heartfelt gesture that you never quite foresaw. I will take that knowledge with me, the knowledge that the person at whom you first roll your eyes might just become somebody you genuinely respect. People can surprise you, but only if you let them.



Most of the stories I've written on this blog have been about the sometimes humorous, sometimes befuddling criss-crossing of cultural norms and expectations in the eyes of an American in Korea. But what's striking to me is how much I will take home in terms of insight to my own countrymen, particularly those who worked with me in such close proximity for six days a week for fifty-two weeks. Sure, it's not all peaches and cream. As with any office, you have your gossips and your liars. I will not miss them. But as I prepare to return to America in the coming weeks, I've learned to keep my eyes open for new and unexpected friends.

I've learned to keep my eyes open for surprises.


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Monday, September 29, 2008

Travelogue #53: The Bangkok/Phuket Thailand Diaries, September 2008, Part 2


SUNDAY 9/14: Elephants, Monkeys, Sunsets, and...a Farm of Noodles?


You know you're staying in a questionable hotel when you rip two door handles off their hinges over a one-night stay in the Executive Room. For such accommodations at the Vaboir Lodge in Bangkok, the three of us paid only $12 a person, and I guess we got what we paid for: see the view from our balcony.



In Phuket, Thailand, we found a completely different brand of hospitality.





For $20 more a night, we hopscotched budget and found luxury. I suddenly ached to indulge in the Anna Pollack School of Vacationing: laying out by the pool, swimming for a few minutes, and returning to my towel and my iPod. If I was indeed my sister, I would also have an US Weekly in hand, as well as a strong opinion on Lindsey Lohan's impending lesbian nuptials. But that would have to come later, because Sunday was for the elephants.



Yes, that is a photograph of an elephant peeing, and yes, I was astonished by this creature's geyser-like force in going number one.

Jacinta rode the back of her own elephant, while Chris and I shared a seat on the back of another one. For twenty minutes, my sandaled feet dangled by our elephant's grandpa-haired curtain ears as our big gray one plodded and stomped through a trail of flourishing greenery against tropical blue skies.




In some moments of this ride I felt triumphant, as if being on top of an elephant was not so different than being on top of the world. But in most moments, I felt like I was Larry David riding an elephant.


What do I mean? This is what I mean.


Yep. "Riding an elephant in Thailand" was supposed to provide evidence of me looking like an adventurous badass. Instead, it provided me with a string of incriminating photographs that make me look like My Fair Lady. I later inspected these pictures, and concluded, with neuroses of Larry Davidian proportions, that while I had suffered with folded legs, Chris had enjoyed a far wider sitting stance on the elephant. I resented his apparent comfort, though I did nothing about it when I had the chance.


One day, justice will be served to you, Chris Snyder. Expect to sit scrunched-legged sometime, somewhere, in your future!

Later, we saw a "monkey show," where Diamond wowed us by dunking basketballs and unraveling knots, all while being jerked around with a metal collar by his trainer.
\

Now, I'm the furthest thing you can get from a PETA member. When I'm asked what my favorite animal is, I say "cow" because I enjoy juicy hamburgers. That being said, I can't deny feeling a shred of ambivalence at the sight of the beady-eyed Diamond hopping and bopping to its master's whims. I think it was the metal collar that unsettled me, for I felt a twinge of hurt in my own neck when I saw Diamond snapped into one direction and then another. Then again, if Diamond were to be let free, maybe the little bastard would tinkle on my shoulder. I don't know. I just don't know.

After the elephants and the monkeys and a random canoe ride through a sludgy sliver of river, our day's tour guide told our driver to take us back to our hotel. We were on our way, until our guide offered us an alternative: "Before hotel, you want to see farm?"

"What?"

"Farm. Pho farm."

Pho farm? From our understanding, we would check out a farm where Thai people produced the famous Vietnamese pho noodles. Did pho noodles even come from farms? I guess we'd find out.



Or perhaps we would not. This was no farm of noodles; this was a jewelry store. How ironic that our guide's more-than-adequate English suddenly dissolved in explaining exactly where he was taking us. We didn't buy anything, but we got a little taste of a more benign version of the infamous Thailand gem scam.

The perfect prescription for a would-be scam?




Sunset. Even with my dukes up, I could not fight its beauty.

MONDAY 9/15: Jews in Thailand?

After a morning of pooltime in which I neglected to put on sunblock and received a cherry tomato tan, I walked out into the broiling neighborhood outside our resort. And I found a Chabad House.



As I've said before, I'm not a regularly practicing Jew,
but I was still pleased to see a sign proudly inscribed with the Hebrew alphabet. Chalk it up to my cozy nostalgia of Sunday school memories from Memphis' Temple Israel. (Though in the mid-1990s, I'd rather watch the NBA on NBC than learn how to read Hebrew.)

Was the Chabad House welcoming?


Even though that man glared at me as I took a picture, I felt welcome enough. I eavesdropped on a crowd of Israeli men chatting on the sofas in the corner of the brightly-lit room, though I didn't understand a word they were saying.

I ordered falafel and challah. Falafel and challah in Phuket, Thailand? Why not?


In the past, I've read that Thailand is a popular vacation spot for Israelis, particularly in terms of young Israeli men and women who just finished their military obligations and are looking for a low-cost adventure. I saw this firsthand, as I listened in on an Israeli woman talking to a Thai cashier in English about a friend's delayed flight from Tel Aviv into Phuket.

Additionally, I saw the rabbi welcome a newly-arrived group of Israelis to the Chabad House, for this establishment is both a restaurant and a lodge. As the rabbi passed my table, I think he wished me a good meal in Hebrew. I nodded thank you.

Shalom.

Tuesday 9/ 16: Bangkok, Part Deux: Rip Me Off Gently

Before our return to Seoul, we had a full day ahead of us in Thailand's capital city. As I stepped out of the Suvarnabhumi Airport into the palpably humid Bangkok air, I wanted to go home. Did I mean home as in Korea, or home as in the United States? At that point, I would have said, "Either." I'd lost my travel jones. I'd lost my as-long-as-it's-something-I-can-write-about-eventually-I-can-deal-with-it-and-even-enjoy-it spirit. I didn't want to be haggled by rip-off artist tuk-tuk drivers. I didn't want to be accosted by street vendors to buy something I didn't want, much less need. Part of me wanted to see if I could get an earlier flight to Korea.

If you're saying, "That's supremely lame," I understand you...in theory. But in reality, come on, man! I was exhausted and sunburnt and Bangkok was hot and sweaty and crowded and cheap and bisected by a puke-brown river on which we rode a motorboat through a shanty-town village where Chris fed fish and Jacinta got angry at the fish for splashing her.



What can I say? On said boat ride, I found myself thinking less about getting ripped off and more about reading Entertainment Weeklys in the backyard of my home-home in Germantown, TN.

I thanked Thailand for its elephants and its monkeys and its cheap cashew nut chicken. But I could not wait to go home, wherever that was supposed to be.


A friend's 07' Thailand experience

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Saturday, September 20, 2008

Travelogue #52: The Bangkok/Phuket Thailand Diaries, September 2008, Part 1


S
omebody pinched my nipples: I don't know who, and I don't know how.

I don't have man-cleavage, which might sound like an odd thing to tell you, but having no man-cleavage is actually a statement of identity here in Phuket, Thailand, a steamy beach town where five-star resort palisades blend into streets with bleating bar lights, swarthy middle-aged Australian men hand-in-hand with very young Thai women, and hagglers who plea with you to buy everything from cigarette lighters to flower petals to go-go show tickets to magical wands that brush with a
ribbit across the ridged spines of frog molds.


Oh, and ladyboys. In Thailand there are ladyboys, mammals with Adam's apples and tight dresses and beach ball breasts of which I witnessed one ladyboy squeeze with workmanlike precision on the sidewalk of Patong Street. She (?) wanted to draw attention towards her and away from the Thai boys plopping monster iguanas onto the spooked shoulders of walking-by foreigners.


If the past few sentences in this passage were messy and chaotic, so was Thailand, or at least the sliver of it I've seen over the past three days.

Who pinched my nipples? I don't think it was a ladyboy; I think it was a lady. It happened under the Tiger Discotheque in a place called "Love Bar". Is that how they show love in Thailand? I guess that's why they call this country the Land of Smiles.

SATURDAY

Bangkok is a throbbing, tentacled organism of a city, its rickety rickshaws crossing lanes and centuries with its smoke-coughing scooters and honking taxis. Billboards promoting Hollywood's latest Adam Sandler movie mix along the landscape with gigantic images of Thailand's princes and princesses, all jeweled gowns and regal composure. From the back of a cab on a rainy afternoon, I behold the mad, smoggy churn of old Bangkok. Apparently there are skyscrapers on the other side of town, in new Bangkok, but that feels like a world's away from here.


We come to a stop outside Wat Pho, or the Temple of the Reclining Buddha. This is my first chance to see Bangkok on my feet. And I'm already tired.

Chris, Jacinta, (two teachers at my hagwon) and I arrived at 1pm after a five-hour flight from Seoul and a 4:45am wake-up. Though Thai Airways fed us well, I was still hungry and exhausted. So -


If Lays Chips wants to expand its market share in Thailand, I suggest a new ad campaign featuring the above photo collage and the slogan, "Buddha wants you to crunch. Do you want to crunch with Buddha?"

Before you decide that I'm being culturally insensitive on hallowed grounds, let me say that much of what I saw at Wat Pho felt anything but holy, unless you consider a little boy flicking fleas off a lumbering stray dog holy. In addition to the strays, I experienced a genuine incredulous did-I-just-see-that moment of a red-faced, deliriously happy British or Australian (I couldn't tell which) man sinking his mouth around the fist of a, well, Thai ladyboy as they strolled across the grounds. The man looked as if he was a puppy who'd finally wrested control of a prized chew toy. As I once told my father in a far different context, "we ain't in Kansas anymore, Toto."

On a more serious note, the Reclining Buddha itself was impressive in its sheer hugeosity.


Before walking into its periphery, you had to take off your shoes as a sign of respect. No problem there, as Korea has gotten me more than accustomed to that. What was interesting was this-


As traveler Philip Roeland puts it, "
There was a separate shoe storage area for Thais (again with a sign: for Thais only)...Do Thai feet and shoes smell like roses? Is that the reason why they can’t be stored together with the tourists’ untouchable shoes?" In his essay, Roeland goes on to discuss how not only are shoes treated differently between Thais and foreigners, but so are prices: there are frequently foreigner prices (higher) for certain attractions, and Thai prices (lower or free) for the same attractions. Roeland opines that, "Instead of remembering Thailand as the Land of Smiles, tourists might think of it as the Land-where-you-get-ripped-off-with-a-smile and never come back again." I myself wasn't equipped to much such a leap, then again, our trip had just begun.

As for the "mad, smoggy churn" I spoke of witnessing in the cab, I saw it by foot as we walked south of Wat Pho. Madness. Absolute madness.




Seen: a man in a sleeveless t-shirt on a plastic chair, kicking aside empty beer bottles as he wired together car stereo speakers. Heard: the rattling of movable stalls of grasshopper legs. Smelled: fried grasshoppers, which Chris boldly tried, proclaimed delicious, and remarked, "tastes like anything fried."

Earlier, we passed through a slunk-low market of flowers and fruits I've never before seen with names I've never before heard: rambutans and apple guavas and sopadillas and on and on

*Fruit photos courtesy of Jacinta Green

...with vendors sitting in clusters in front of their fruits, fanning themselves from the cloudy humidity and the constant congestion of people, people, people. I had to pee. Why do I always have to pee during inconvenient times? I somehow snuck into an alley and found a bathroom.

I found similar quality of toilets in China. In conclusion, when it comes to toilets, China and Thailand do not hold a candle to Korea.

Later, I had to go to the bathroom again. Chris and Jacinta marched ahead into the swirl of Bangkok traffic. I confessed that I had to pee, and Chris responded thusly: "Jesus Christ, again?" This angered me, and I think I replied with a not-so-veiled threat of peeing on his face.


I am not proud of my behavior at this juncture.



My batteries were running low. Tired hungry hungry tired hungry hungry tired tired. We taxied to the Suan Lum Night Bazaar, where I enjoyed a plate of green mole chicken for $2 U.S. While Chris took in a Muay Thai boxing match at a nearby arena and Jacinta hunted for bargains in the shopping district, I staggered to the corner of the sidewalk, where a security guard waved me over to sit beside him under an umbrella, so as to escape the drizzly rain.



I sat, my chin grazing my chest. The Suan Lum Night Bazaar was more tourist-friendly than the other areas through which we walked, but the synapses in my brain still felt overloaded: the is-she-or-isn't-she-ness of certain mysterious bodies in short skirts, the pasty backpackers, the cars, the scooters, the madness. I turned and saw another stray dog staring at me. I jolted up in my seat. I don't like dogs.

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