A Bowl of Stupid

My buddy Desho Bernard (Desho needs a hug), who produces comedic video clips for Guru Bangkok (i.e., The Bangkok Post), just made this lastest clip — about Facebook addiction.

And while I don't refer to myself in the third person (except during sex, of course), I am also one of the legion of Facebook addicts. Ahh, we laugh because it's funny, and we laugh because it's true — Desho can't go on!!

Damn, this shit is funny.

I'd like to be able to say that I contributed to at least a portion of the brainstorming that came up with this clip. But given that the concept — unlike myself — is REALLY funny … I think we all know that I had absolutely nothing to do with it. Dammit!

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For obvious reasons (i.e., the entire election process is about as interesting — and just a likely to make me vomit — as naked pictures of Amy Winehouse), I haven't been paying much (read: any) attenton to the American Presidential race for the past 2 years.

From what I've seen tho, apparently there's finally a black guy running this time — which is pretty cool, I guess.

Anyhoo, thanks to Chez ove at Deus Ex Malcontent, I've become much more informed about the entire process. Thanks kid … I think.

I thought this YouTube clip (which Chez also wrote about on his site) was both hysterical AND informative. It's about an apparent (ahem) 'rift' between John McCain and his wife:

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Taking a brief moment from responding to the emails I received while I was out "gone surfin" last month, I wanted to address a problem that's arisen in conjunction with my maintaining this blog — essentially this:

One of the main reasons I continued this blog once I started traveling was to provide some 'on the ground' guidance to others who may also be interested in the future in taking the same, or similar, trips as I have. I know I could have benefited from some of the information I've posted up on this site, and I wanted to 'pay it forward' … such as it is.

Truly, I've been able to live out the initial dream I had when I left the States, the dream of surfing waves that look EXACTLY like (or even better) than the break shown in the header of this blog — it is a gift for which I am eternally grateful.

However, I've also bitched — also on the blog (and elsewhere) — about the sheer number of 'surf-tourists' I've had to contend with in previously little known surf spots throughout Southeast Asia. Indeed, as has been pointed out, I myself am one of them — albeit in attendance at such spots for longer periods of time than some others (in all honesty, one of the biggest problems we 'surf-tourists' face are uber-rich surfers — mostly from America — who can afford to take 2-3 weeks out and pay thousands and thousands of U.S. dollars to charter boats, or stay in luxiurious resorts, or even buy property to use for 3 weeks a year. All this while we, the reletively 'under-funded' stay for months on end in modest surroundings, simply trying to find some good uncrowded surf-breaks.

It's a bit of a connundrum — how to repay the locals and others who helped me to obtain the gift of riding such great waves, while also not making all these great breaks super-crowded and not being a complete dickhead by 'hiding' such breaks for fear they too will be ruined next surf season for the uber-rich (or even the not so uber-rich).

It's for that reason that I've decided to do what I never thought I'd do (and never wanted to do) — I'm going to start censoring the information I write on this blog. Oh, don't worry, I'll write privately whatever notes I feel I need to remind myself about various breaks and spots I visit. But I'll no longer be making them public.

Sorry guys, but I'm done giving out this type of information when all it does is make the breaks more crowded for me (and the small number of other guys who choose to 'explore'). Yeah, I'll probably write a bit about the Philippines, since I already wrote about them last year. But once I head out into the Pacific — you're on you're own.

I know it sounds like a really dickhead move (and it probably is), but from now on, go find your own break … keep it off my wave.

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Gone? Gone, you say?

Not so fast, motherfuckers …

Yep. God bless the baggage handlers at Merpati Airlines and Air Asia in Jakarta and Bangkok.

Admittedly, for more than a few minutes there, I honestly thought I'd have to go back to Bali again on another shopping excursion — this time for 2 MORE new boards, plus replacement rashies, leggies, suits, and booties.

But apparently my bag is now sitting in the Bangkok airport, waiting diligently for me after being hustled back here on the same night-time flight I took back here — and only 1 day later.

Major, MAJOR props go out to the baggage handlers and customer service reps at both of those airlines — NONE of whom speak English as a first language, yet from whom I still get better service, and better results, than with other airlines I've flown with back in the U.S. (cough, cough … AMERICAN … cough).

Granted, I don't yet have my board-bag (or its contents) in my grubby little hands, but I have double independent confirmation that the bag is sitting in the Air Asia 'lost luggage' department at the Bangkok International Airport cross-town — which is a far cry better than having them languishing in the depths of another airport located in another country. Right?

It's funny. I never thought I'd be a good dad. I still don't, really. I'm just far too selfish and I don't really give a high-holy shit about anyone or anything else. But now I feel like I just went through one of those junior high 'Home-Economics' projects where you have to take care of an egg for a week in prep for parenthood.

Really, I thought I lost my eggs there for a moment. But I've got them back, god-dammit. I've got them back.

One word of advise, never let your surf gear (or your eggs, … or your kids too, I guess … whatever) out of your sight. God bless you all.

Excuse me, I think I'm gonna cry.

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I'm really not sure how to write about the following (semi-private) information — or even if I should — But I will, nonetheless. And I justify my disclosure of this particular issue for a variety of reasons … not the least of which is that I wish to impart on my friends, family, and other readers the sheer quality of the people I've met during my travels.

Anyone following may recall that I haven't said just how I came to be living in Bangkok, except that it resulted from a mutually beneficial decision — my friend Jill needed to go back to the States for a bit, while I needed a semi-permanent home here in Southeast Asia.

I initially didn't discuss the situation out of respect for my friend's privacy. However, upon my latest return to Bangkok, I learned that Jill and her family themselves started their own website, publicly disclosing the unfortunate series of events that initially demanded Jill's return to the States.

As aptly noted therein, the site contains:

[A] perfect representation of our lives as Lawlers, lives that have now been touched by cancer TWICE, nearly simultaneously. First with our mother, Mary, diagnosed with Glioblastoma Multiforme Brain Cancer in August 2007 and, second, with our brother, Craig, diagnosed with Metastatic Chromophobe Renal Cell Carcinoma in early March 2008.

Yes, you read that right — both Jill's mom and brother were diagnosed with cancer within only months of each other. And the dignity, grace, and good humour by which J and her family are handling the situation is simply beyond description.

I am a better person for knowing people of such a caliber.

I honestly don't think I would handle myself in the same manner were I to find myself in the path of a similar storm. I just don't have that strength of character. But at least I now have a model for how it's to be done, if necessary.

If you've got a moment (which you apparently do, since you're reading THIS dribble), please take a look at Jill's website. I'm sure she and her entire family would be glad to hear of any well wishes anyone may have to offer.

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(Rote, Indonesia — August 2007)

If it hasn't been made abundantly clear by now, I absolutely LOVE Bangkok. Love. It.

My friends here, the food here, the music, the shopping, the … well, everything — it's just a great place. At times, it reminds me so much of NYC that it's ridiculous (except for the cost of living … which, although nominal, is still high by Thai standards).

So, for anyone who has the opportunity, I highly recommend both visiting and/or living here (at least for some time, if at all possible).

That being said, there is still no surfing to be done in Bangkok. Or the rest of Thailand, for that matter (and to those people who say there's 'surfing' in Phuket, I would respectfully disagree … STRONGLY. Really, saying that you can go surfing in Phuket is like saying you can drive a car with your feet — sure, you could do it, but it don't make it a good fucking idea).

So, despite everything, I just made plans for another month-long surf trip down to Indonesia in a couple of weeks.

This time I'm returning to Rote, Timur — the place in the above picture, where I spent a month last August. Although not perfect, it's the closest place to it that I've found so far — small (or at least only intermittent) crowds, consistent and great (if not 'world class') surf, no electricity, no running water, and cheap as anything else to be found in Indonesia. Best of all, it's located in a small, stable fishing village with local peoples still relatively unbesmirched by the lure of plentiful tourists and their 'easy-money.'

So, despite a long, fun (and ultimately debilitating) night out clubbing at "BED" and "The Supper Club" on Friday night, I'm still nowhere NEAR my fill of all that Bangkok has to offer. But give it a couple more weeks … I'm betting I'll be ready for the tranquility of another island out in the middle of nowhere … or at least, I hope so.

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[Yours truly, waiting patiently at the Air Asia counter in the Singapore airport]

Okay, so here's the thing — I hate planning return flights just because they tend to lead to confusion or unnecessary complications 1-2 months after the plans were initially made. Case in point:

I just spent a month surfing in the relative back-country of southern Sumatra, living 'for the moment' with no full-time electricity, no indoor plumbing, and little regard for the future or the past. And then, all of a sudden, I get wrenched back to reality with the realization that I have a schedule to keep — flights to make, places to go, and the like. It all gets very complicated very fast.

I came and planned on returning via airplane from Sumatra through Jakarta (a necessity since no planes fly directly to Bandar Lampung from anyplace other than Jakarta). Then, when I got to Jakarta, I had a return flight through Singapore solely for the purpose of picking up my other piece of luggage to bring it back with me to my new home in Bangkok.

So, the trip was ostensibly to be — from Krui to Bandard Lampung to Jakarta to Singapore to Bangkok.

Following so far? Okay, that makes one of us.

Things started off alright, but it all went sideways somewhere in the skies over Singapore. It was only then that I realized I had neither remembered nor written down anywhere the information about my return flight from Singapore to Bangkok. Given the number of airlines I've traveled with over the recent months, I couldn't even remember which AIRLINE I was on. The only thing I could (or at least THOUGHT I could) remember was that I had an overnight stay in Singapore.

With that theory doggedly lodged in my cranium, I took my time getting things done when I got to Singapore at about 2:00 yesterday afternoon. Rather than take a taxi, I gave myself some extra time on a shuttle bus, stopped at a Burger King for much needed red meat, and then relaxed at a coffee shop down the street from my old apartment on Robertson Quay — waiting before I finally had to find a hotel for the night.

During that time, I also tried to find out what flight I was on today — trying via email, SMS, and finally waiting on the telephone with Thai Air, JetStar Air, Air Asia, and finally … Tiger Air.

Of course, being the last airline i called, I was booked to fly out of Singapore on Tiger Air. THAT DAY. AT 6:00 P.M. IN ONE HOUR.

D'oh!!!

I hustled as best I could to make the flight. I grabbed the first cab I found, gave the driver an extra S$10 for getting me there in 15 minutes rather than the typical 30 minutes. I got my surfboard out of the left luggage at Terminal 1 to bring it with me via another taxi to the Tiger Air counter at the 'Budget Terminal' 2 terminals away.

And, of course, I missed my flight. To take the next flight on Tiger Air, which offers non-refundable tickets, would have cost me about US$500.00.

For those of you that know me personally, I'll leave it to you to guess of my response to that offer.

I considered the option of staying in town, as I had originally planned. After learning of GREATLY inflated hotel rates due to an international food festival being held in Singapore this week, I decided to try to get a flight out later that night.

Singapore and Thai Air assured me they could do it for the bargain basement price of US$800.00. I briefly considered flying back to Los Angeles, which was about the same price, but then I saw that Hilliary Clinton won the Pennsylvania primary and I decided to wait until after 2 November before even considering a return back to the States.

Instead, I checked at the Air Asia counter, which had 2 more flights heading out to Bangkok that night. I booked passage for me and my surfboards (almost the price of another ticket) on the later one leaving at 10:20 p.m. for about US$150.00.

Grand total I spent extra for being stupid enough to forget my airline, my flight number, and my flight DAY — including taxis, shuttles, baggage storage and transit fees (and the US$30.00 'exit fee' I got jacked for by an immigration official in Jakarta), I put it at a rough estimate of about US$350.00.

That was one HELL of an expensive cup of coffee. Man, given this type of stellar intellect, sometimes I'm amazed I've made it this far.

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The drive to Bandar Lampung (BL) was actually quite pleasant in my perspective (One of the nice side effects of having survived the CRAZY traffic of India and Sri Lanka is that anything short of careening down the road pitched over on 2 wheels like Bo & Luke Duke seems like a walk in the park).

We got into BL just after dark, and headed straight to the only steak place in town — another outside dining place where they cook steaks, ribs, and chicken over an open pit BBQ right on the sidewalk. I got 1 order of ribs and 1 order of steak, as did each of the other 3 guys I was with. Total cost (including drinks, chips, and veggies) = appx. US$12.

Gotta love that exchange rate (or at least what's left of it).

After dinner, we headed back to the Hotel Pacific, where I enjoyed A/C and cable TV for several hours before passing out at about 0200 a.m., ready to start running errands the next morning.

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Yes, even perfection can get tiresome when not taken in moderation.

I honestly don't know how those professional surfers (and many amateurs) can stay in the water surfing for 6, 7 or even 8 hours a day for weeks on end. Luckily, I had a some great quality time here in the water with absolutely fantastic conditions and a low body count in the water (pictures to come).

But after a couple of weeks going out for several hours a day, my shoulders were constantly aching from all the paddling, my chest was (and still is) bruised from laying on the board so much, and I was just generally waterlogged.

So I hitched a ride with Andy (the owner of the Karang Nyimbor Hotel) to Bandar Lampung for some shopping, to get money from a working ATM machine (which I did), and to simply take a break from paradise for a couple days.

The morning we left, I went out for a quick paddle, hoping to get a few good waves in the swell that came in overnight. It was great — I paddled out easily, missing the set waves, got to the lineup just in time for a set, caught a screamer for a few hundred meters, paddled back around and did the same thing twice more.

Total time in the water: about 10 minutes. It was short, but it was the most satisfying session I had in a week — much how I like my sex (for any hotties reading, I'm just kidding; for everyone else, yah, not so much).

Then we headed into town - a 4-5 hour drive one way, up and down and around the mountains of southern Sumatra. It's a beautiful place, hardly touched but for the occational coffee plantations, rice patties, or small mountain village.

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Hey folks!

It's okay to come on back now everyone, I'm fairly calm now. But Jesus H. Christ on a pogo-fucking-stick, if I haven't had a nerve-wracking past few days.

First off, as noted in my last post, no one should EVER use AmTrust Bank for ANYTHING. EVER!! (unless you don't WANT to ever see your money again, of course). Fuck, I know there's a recession going on back in the States, but that doesn't mean the bank can simply STEAL my goddamn money!!

Regardless, that's what having an extra stash in your bank account is for, right?

Umm … yeah, not so much.

That's not to say that, besides also having the typical low-level 'scamming' thing going on, the local guys over at the Family Losman next door were also great hosts (although their facilities aren't as extensive as Andy's), so don't believe anything bad you may hear about them either. They're a bit cheaper, and they've just got a less extensive hotel/losman (i.e., Andy's got A/C rooms, a TV room, etc.). It just depends on what you want to do and pay.

So I'm here at Karang Nyimbor for another couple weeks — it's still not crowded in the surf, and my stress level has been reduced exponentially regarding money, so everything's cool.

Granted, it would be nice if the surf picks up a bit … but for now, I'm just thankful for what I've got.

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It's 4:00 a.m., I'm up all night in another random airport for the second time in 3 days, and I'm jacked up on a whole boatload of Nescafe instant coffee. This is the part of traveling abroad that they never tell you about on National Geographic Explorer.

Welcome to my fucked-up little corner of the world.

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It's now official — after Darfur and Iraq, India is my LEAST favorite tourist destination.

I've been laid up for the better part of 5 days now with what a local pharmacist says is probably Dengue Fever.

Admittedly, he may be wrong and I could have merely caught a really bad flu virus, since the only way to diagnose Dengue is via blood tests. But there's no way in HELL I'm letting anyone in this country stick me with a needle — doing it in Sri Lanka was bad enough. So, for bitching purposes alone, I'm just gonna assume I've got the Dengue.

He may be right — there's been an increasing number of cases in India over the past year, and I've been dealing with the symptoms described as being associated with the virus.

I've had a high fever on and off for the past 5 days — relieved only by copious doses of Ibuprofen (taking aspirin apparently makes it worse). I had a slight rash across my shoulders. My digestive system is in a worse state than Brittaney Spears' career. My eyes feel like they're gonna burn right thru my skull. And EVERY SINGLE BONE in my body aches. Intensely.

Yeah, there's a reason they also call this thing the break-bone fever or bonecrusher disease.

So I've been stuck in my room for the past several days doing anything I can do NOT to go crazy with boredom — reading books by the kilo, surfing the internet (when available), watching DVD's, and trying to get the most entertainment value as possible from my fever dreams.

The fever broke early this morning (but unfortunately has just resurfaced this evening — yea!), and I'm starting to get feeling back in my eye sockets. But I still can't eat anything, and I still feel like I just went 10 rounds with Bobbitt.

Hey, I'm not complaining (well, yes I am), because it could be worse — much worse. In that respect, I'm grateful that I'm (apparently) getting better. But, all in all, I'd rather be in Philadelphia.

I leave India in one week. Let's hope I don't catch a parasite or get rolled by a gang of rogue monkeys in the meantime.

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Yes, I'm finally in India - what a fascinating country shithole! And what better way to celebrate this auspicious occasion than for me to immediately book a flight to Krabi, Thailand.

Yes, India is just THAT good.

The presence here of what I had feared most — rabid European tourists and ego-driven nuevo-hippies everywhere — has indeed come to pass.

I originally planned on staying in India for 2 full months practicing my yoga and getting some further training should I ever wish to pursue it as a career in the future. However, I've since learned that most of the yoga ashrams and schools here — and especially those specializing in Ashtanga Vinyasa Yoga, which is what I practice — are a complete farce.

On the one hand are the loads and loads of 'yoga centers' catering to all these Westerners who have been led to believe that the best practitioners MUST be in India since that's where modern yoga developed. That's complete bullshit. My brief experience has confirmed what others have told me — you can probably get just as good, if not better, training anywhere else in the world.

Then, on the other hand is the fact that yoga practitioners here, and especially in Mysore, which is known for being 'ground-zero' for ashtanga training, in fact produces bigger egos than true ashtaga yogis. Most of the guys here project a real ego-driven sense of "I'm more at peace than you are, and I can prove it!!" Fuck that, if I wanted to sit in a room full of bitches comparing how flexible and happy they are about living with no money, I could have gone to any ONE of the many fabulous nude bars in Miami and had a much (much) better time.

I know, I know … don't be hatin' on India. Yeah, I guess you're right … it's not ALL that bad.

I mean, the food here is probably some of the best in Asia — I actually enjoy eating vegetarian cuisine when it's prepared THIS good. Plus, all the wannabe hippies with their long flowing gowns and ponytails DO make for excellent dinner theatre. And as an added bonus, all the garbage burning throughout the day makes for an absolutely beautiful sunset.

Okay, granted, you really shouldn't go into the ocean unless you want to bring a pet parasite back home with you. But then again, the numerous packs of stray dogs and the occasional elephant you may encounter whilst trying to walk back to your room will more than make up for any 'wildlife' you may otherwise be missing underwater.

So, rather than stay here any longer than necessary, I'm going back to Thailand in a couple weeks to meet up with friends from Singapore before they all head back to states for good.

I've got a multiple entry 3 month visa, but I'm not really sure for how long — or even if — I'll head back to India. Moreso, given the continuing escalation of violence in Sri Lanka (one of the same private buses that I took to leave Kandy on 1 February was blown up by Tamil terrorists the VERY next day, killing 18 people and injuring 55), I fear it's not safe to travel there again until it all resolves itself. Instead, I will go back through and pick up my surfboards on my way to Thailand.

I'm sorry, I don't mean to be a hater, I'm just drawn that way.

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(map of Sri Lanka — for your reference and files)

I've thought long and hard about how to begin this particular post, given the fact that my sister may eventually read it, and she in turn will eventually tattle on me to my parents (just like when we were kids … man, some things never change). The easiest way is this:

I will never NEVER hesitate to ask for directions again. EVER!

As mentioned previously, I headed up here to Kandy to get my Indian Visa - boarding a train in Mirissa (Matara) in the far, far south, that I was told (repeat: TOLD) went through Colombo and then straight on to Kandy.

Yeah, not so much.

I probably should have first noticed something was wrong when the train hit a military checkpoint set up by the Sri Lankan Army to the north of the town of Vavuniya, Sri Lanka. It was only then that I learned — through a series of conversations in broken English, Singalese and Tamil — that I was not on the train to Kandy. Rather, I was on the train to Jaffna.

As in Jaffna, Sri Lanka's northern-most peninsula that is mostly under the control of the Tamil Tigers, the rebel insurgents fighting the Sri Lankan government. As a quick background for anyone not following the latest news on this (i.e., mostly all Americans, myself included until recently), Sri Lanka has been squeezed in the grip of a bloody civil war for the past 20 YEARS — the Sri Lankan Government on one side and the Tigers ('LTTE') on the other. There had been a toothless 'cease-fire agreement' in place for the past couple of years, but that too was formally dissolved just weeks ago after a string of violent clashes between the government forces and the LTTE.

Now, it appears the country is heading back to war. A civil war. A bloody, nasty, unnecessary, ridiculously over-extended civil war.

Fortunately for the surf-tourists, the violence has, for the most part, not extended into the island's southwest area — at least the far southwest, where I was surfing. In contrast, from all reports, the northern area is a cauldron of violence not suitable for tourists or locals alike.

So, through my own ignorance and stupidity, where did I wind up taking a train ride to? You got it — the absolute heart of the Tamil rebellion. Man oh man, sometimes I really do live up to the title of this blog.

Don't get too riled up, sis — I didn't stay there for long. In fact, my stay in the north can be counted in seconds, not even minutes. Shit, I didn't even actually make it into Jaffna proper. Instead, the absolute SECOND I realized where I was — when someone who read English pointed it out for me on the map, at which point I promptly flipped out — I literally jumped off at the next stop, ran across another set of tracks, and jumped on the nearest train heading back in the other directions. No, I'm not kidding. In fact, I may have been screaming like a little girl at the time, but I can't quite remember.

I didn't ask where that southbound train was heading. Frankly, I didn't care.

I had seen how some of the other (ever-increasingly Tamil) passengers were looking at me as I was trying to glean our location, and I had visions of the next days headline:

"In other news, an American tourist was taken hostage today in the Jaffna region. Officials are unsure why this tourist was even in that war-ravaged region, despite warnings …"

So yeah, I ran away like the little bitch I am. And yeah, I'm okay with that.

Any of you war correspondents out there who want to size up — okay, you win the big brass balls award. I'll give you that right now.

No kidding, being in a war zone while you're actually at war is fucked up enough (although I've been prepared to do it). But heading into a war zone just for the hell of it? Man, that's just nucking futs!

Luckily, the trains here in Sri Lanka run almost 24 hours a day, so I eventually found another train heading over to Kandy from the ridiculously obscure area I eventually found myself back down in the south. But what should have only been a 5-6 hour train ride instead wound up taking me about 12 hours.

I'm now in Kandy, but I have to wait a full week to get my visa due to the national holiday on Tuesday. So I've been walking around the lake, up the hills, and around the town. The city is beautiful, despite the massively overt military presence (everyone seems to be carrying an automatic rifle — I've an absolutely comical picture of a sign at an ATM stall with a circle and slash through it, prohibiting not cigarettes … but automatic rifles. I shit you not).

And instead of Tigers, Kandy seems to be infested with monkeys and bats (and the occasional elephant). And I got bit by some guys dog (he was kind enough to run inside and show me the vaccination documents, tho). Hey, the dogs, monkeys and the bats ain't carrying automatic weapons or munitions, so I'm cool with 'em.

They say that every adventure isn't an adventure while you're going through it. Yeah, maybe. But I'm guessing there are easier ways of having an adventure than by inadvertently wandering behind enemy lines.

Jiminy Crickets, can't we all just get along? I mean, really, I only came here to surf. To hell with this, I'm heading back down south until my visa comes through next week.

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