tempting traffic (1/4)

we returned to Hanoi the next day.

i watched the wet, shining asphalt. my head hurt. there were too many thoughts.

the movement the falling cold drops of rain over green slanting trees with old roots breaking asphalt cracking where people ride over it how many times how many times they stopped upon it that corner store those fences full of shredded cloth like clothing had been hung there little pieces of remnants somehow waving in the air as solemn ribbons a memorial without meaning to be a memorial trash cans bits of dust that came from somewhere to land on the side of the street and blow away again without anyone noticing even if they notice them elsewhere and if they are noticed there’s more yet there’s rivers sunsets moonsets flora fauna half cracked bottles blonde hair on lips with flaws with other lips locked over lips locked over fingers and eyes and cds scratched and abandoned and tall concrete telephone polls i wonder who has been beneath them what hand they leaned upon them and how many ants have crawled along their bases overlooking the fence memorial that somehow has more meaning than many funeral services.
modern days.
there are metaphors everywhere. and not.
the heat of the bus no the cold or anything in between i cannot decide it is not in me to decide it just is it is and the television playing a movie how can i understand words i marvel at the human mind look back out the window the brown water the rice paddies the small wooden concrete housing with too little space for too many people oh the lovers with no privacy the children screaming yelling panting up the hills playing with marbles and other cheap things making up like they’re cowboys or astronauts unaware of the war their parents waged for their freedom.
and still the shining asphalt unfolds before us not existing to us until we see it it could just as likely never have been until we put meaning to it by seeing it by understanding it moves on before us on and on round the creeks and bays and old bridges made centuries ago i wonder what they had looked like brand new the paint fresh and priests crossing the water upon them with bowed heads and i wonder what those priests were like and whether i had been one if there is such a thing as reincarnation or maybe a llama or a woman crab somewhere in the ocean.
my head hurts one thing leads to another to another without any periods because there cannot be any periods i’ve said that before but it’s true the things we think all at once and trying to see everything at the same time the smell of cat fur and mud in the pipes and crusted pizza crusts next to Sprite cans next to plastic bags someone spat into and the lightning and thunder above you can’t separate from the rumbling truck going by the green of the truck and the black of its tires all the wounded little scrapes and scuffs and the scooters around it the color of the eyes of the passengers and their thoughts their glances the sexual lust for strangers walking by reminders of places you’ve never been but have an idea about them and the flashing streetlights the café music American music whatever happened to other music why is it American music and all the history of the United States too.

what are you thinking, Steve asked.
i said nothing.

over the land we see cities (5/5)

so Hanoi continued on, and we continued on ourselves, a 5 hour bus trip towards the coast where Halong Bay waited in all its UNESCO glory. we had heard about, read about, seen the pictures of this place. the classic pillars of stone rearing their heads out of placid waters, grown over with vegetation, grown thin in places by erosion yet retaining their dignity. teeth of the earth. jaw of the sea.

and the city empty.

a typhoon was on the water far away, hitting the Philippines, smashing it to pieces and drowning people. in the protected bay, even, the wind whipped through empty avenues; waves chopping, splashing up onto the boardwalk brown silt and human waste. sandbags lined businesses, doors locked and boarded and ships docked at port. it did not help that it was still the rainy season.

it was the first time we saw its impact.

we grabbed a taxi that took us to our hotel. a few blocks from the waterfront, the streets lay quiet and eerily still. there was little traffic. there were few lights, all the windows dark and shuttered in the hotels and tourist shops. Steve and i walked to the waterfront down a long, slow, twisting grade with pastel buildings on all sides in different sizes built into the hills, rising like San Francisco in different levels and looking upon us from each other’s shoulders their vacant, staring eyes, their clenched, wanting mouths.
tourists were not here in big enough numbers.
only then would this world come alive, and the mouths open.
we met some Belgium and Polish boys standing alongside their motorcycles smoking and eating Oreos. one of them had crashed and he showed us his bandaged hand laughing. the Belgium kid’s bike’s battery had died and he was calling for help on his phone. but that was after we first met them, when they were all cheerful, talking about the drugs they’d scored the day before and the bars they wanted to hit that evening.
but it was raining, they lamented, and we agreed. they said they were heading out the next day to escape the gray.
we went across the way to eat at one of the only open restaurants.
it was good. and i felt good paying them.
the lights went out in our hotel later in the night, the wifi too and all electrical things in the building and several others in the battered city upon which we looked from our windows. gone, gone with the wind rattling at the windows.
the rain fell hard. Steve tried to go out to find the bars, but he ran back after being tossed by the storm. water seeped in through the window and dripped from the ceiling. it seemed the whole city might be swept away, and only the ghosts and echoes dragged along with it.

over the land we see cities (4/5)

from rural Laos where muddied rivers moved sluggishly and young Buddhist monks meandered in groups of two, three, ten down quiet, sleepy green roads, we arrived in Vietnam as the sun set over distant jungle hills, landing at a much larger international airport than the one we left, exiting the plane onto the runway to enter customs by foot, looking out across the scene and breathing in the humid air. i couldn’t help but pause and watch the molten clouds on the horizon, knowing that, at my age, the only thing my parents heard about Vietnam was the casualty list as hundreds of thousands of U.S. troops landed south to fight north. north, to where i stood as a tourist forty years later.
Hanoi.
2014.
America is Vietnam’s biggest trading partner. there seems to be no animosity between the citizens of the now-unified socialist country and their former capitalistic foes. China has become the threat. always the enemy of my enemy…
the city itself was a vast, sprawling network of unrestrained movement. like Bangkok, only with more culture, more defiance. this became evident as soon as we stepped onto the sidewalk, the side-winding roads all ablaze in colored signs and advertisements and headlights, streetlights and glowing neon clubs. no, actually, no streetlights. even more than Bangkok, Hanoi traffic was self-directed and frenzied, yet somehow patient. to the point it is impossible for anyone to understand the semi-controlled insanity unless ones sees it for oneself.
so we took a taxi into the city, and watched as we crossed the nighttime bridges lit brightly by floodlights. we passed under and over other highways and Apple stores, Gucci stores. Coco-Cola, KFC, Kit-Kat billboards portraying beautiful porcelain westerners standing beside those of Vietnamese banks, brand names, sodas, cars, celebrities.
we found our hotel and the front desk attendant was very kind. she smiled a lot and showed us our room and tried to help with our bags but they were too heavy. she gave us directions to a backpacker’s street similar to those in Bangkok, except narrower, and intimate, and lined with big, old trees with tall, shaking limbs outside a colorful patchwork of buildings stacked and piled atop each other.
i liked it. it was excitement to the flesh and blood.
Luang Prabang sat with French cafes and colonial buildings on the edge of grand rivers. Hanoi stood with colonial buildings, ancient traditional districts, hipster stores and sleek, modern restaurants. colossal skyscrapers stood in the distance, all glass and steel like those in Bangkok, yet, once more, more intimate somehow.
we slept well that night, the room cool, close, confiding. almost as if it was glad we were there to fill its emptiness for a night.
i tried to log onto Facebook, but Vietnam unofficially bans the website.
i don’t blame them.

over the land we see cities (3/5)

“The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.”

~ Socrates

yet Luang Prabang, for all its mystique and all its wonder, bored us after only four days. Socrates never witnessed the twenty first century: the beauty and the horror of things down to the bone. instant information at the your fingertips from the age of seven. am i conceited? am i ignorant? blind?
average Buddhist temples do not inspire me, in part because i have seen bigger online. rickety tuk tuks are nice departures from normal life, but only temporarily because i have my own, air-conditioned car back home. the tigers were fun to pet, and the elephants to ride, but fifteen minutes with wild animals controlled by a human master is no adventure. instead of marveling at their existence, i worry about their risk of extinction and humane treatment. and the water the locals drink. and the proper disposal of sewage.
when i see tall towers in a city you can be sure i have already seen tall towers in other cities. and bridges. and monuments. achievements in peace and atrocities in war do not shock nor disturb me. history has taught me that man does not in fact learn from his mistakes, that if someone builds something new someone else will surely build it faster. sociology has taught me the reasoning behind each culture, psychology the reasoning behind each person. if we are lost Steve checks his gps. if we are hungry we conjure money from a machine to buy food. we know the basics of Buddhist philosophy and compare it out loud to those of Christianity and Islam. we point and comment on how industrialization has impacted each country we pass, tasting the local fare and exclaiming good! but not as good as ___.

are our lives so easily dissected?

the way lonely attendants in empty tourist shops stare into the distance makes me say no.

give me not the ruined works of past ages. give me not the newfangled technology of some modern skyscraper. nature is beautiful in its own, wild ways, but even nature stands still to the point i must leave to find meaning somewhere else. yes, the Coliseum is big. yes, the Rockies defiant. but all things must come down, and i will not shed a tear for their demise. least not if they’re made of stone. part of existing, after all, is at some point not existing, whether that is after ten years or a thousand. i hope to see Venice before it sinks, but if it chooses to go before i do it is but one more city lost to the sea, joining the ranks of infamous Pompeii and mythical Atlantis.

give me instead a moment of solace between two lovers. give me the first words of dialogue between distant travelers, two opposing scholars. an argument. a riot. a prayer.
it is our own loud, brief, tangled lives that confound me enough to make me interested. how noble, how savage we are. how sickly sweet, tender, filthy.
the same hand that asks for money in Hanoi could easily be the hand that asks for food in New York. how few i will truly touch before death takes me. the world is the way the world is in the time that i live it. i may change it. it will change me. but this interaction is the beautiful thing. and so sparse, so fleeting. it is somehow both sublime and real. we have so few moments to give, and so few whom we might sincerely give them to. the tragedy of it. the gift. the pleasure. no new app, no old rampart could invoke such emotion as the actual story behind the app, the creators of the app, the lovers upon the rampart before its destruction.

we found ourselves staring desperately at white hotel ceilings as history was made around all us in its passing, yearning to be part of it and free of riding scooters down the same lanes, eating food from the same cafés, avoiding vendors selling the same products. so we rose and got changed and changed our visas and changed our flights, we changed everything, and flew out to Hanoi that same night over two weeks ahead of schedule. and the clocks ticking. and the clocks ticking. and Venice sinking lower with each passing second, ringing for me in the back of the head.

“…I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire…I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you might forget it now and then for a moment and not spend all of your breath trying to conquer it. Because no battle is ever won he said. They are not even fought. The field only reveals to man his own folly and despair, and victory is an illusion of philosophers and fools.”

~ William Faulkner

over the land we see cities (2/5)

our hotel was in the company of other hotels, bars, restaurants, French cafes on one side of the Luang Prabang peninsula as the Nam Khan and Mekong rivers diverged on either side. our balcony looked out upon the street the first two nights, but we changed rooms and so sat up late at night watching the lights reflect on the Nam Khan as people lived their ordinary lives unaware of our observation.
we rented a motorbike for two of the days, exploring the town and driving twenty kilometers out to find waterfalls to jump in and escape the heat for a short while. the water bubbled and boiled over the ledges, drowning several walkways that in dryer seasons might have escaped such fates. people gathered around the lower portions of the falls, jumping and diving in, feeling the cold current dragging against their bodies. but we first climbed to the top, close to a hundred feet up, and looked across the peak before the precipice and thousands of gallons poured over.
we ate and slept and took a day to ride elephants and wade into more waterfalls in the rural parts of the province, every day walking through the night market, drinking ice coffee watching people driving by, visiting with other foreigners from Sweden, Spain, New Zealand. our neighbors in the hotel came from America and we spent time on the balcony near to midnight conversing everything that came to mind.
and still we grew bored. as one day rolled into another Steve and i found ourselves weary of treks and motorbikes and fried rice and noodles. with almost a week left until our departure to Vietnam, we spent more and more time in our room, going through a routine of breakfast, room, café, room, dinner, room. it was nice to sit and read and write some days, but at times my thoughts got the best of me and i found myself in places of the mind it is best not to be. Steve was especially maddened by the silence, the clock that ticked on with no agenda but its own. never slowing, never speeding. simply moving, irrespective of our prying eyes.

and i wondered with my head on my arm on the balcony rail, gazing out at the brown river moving sluggishly by. big dreams. day dreams. bright white clouds in a bright blue sky, i wondered what it would be like to fall through them, open your eyes and feel yourself plummet through the ice crystals and rain, dragging them with you like a comet out of space. only you’re human and gaining speed and burning in the atmosphere.
i wondered what the river would look like a hundred years from now. with great spires of glass and metal and bridges and moving, mechanical wonders grasping on to all sides of the water. and young women in strange outfits followed by great golems of robotic design. and secret conspiracies in need of discovery by a young hero.
i wondered at a different world in the sky, a steampunk world in the past; a boy and a girl against the universe, what that would look like, and whether it was possible anymore to find a companion in the midst of so much spinning.
a lonely girl with her head also on her arm on a railing, wondering to herself at the possibility of mermaids in the sea.

“The cost of oblivious daydreaming was always this moment of return, the realignment with what had been before and now seemed a little worse. Her reverie, once rich in plausible details, had become a passing silliness before the hard mass of the actual. It was difficult to come back.”

~ Ian McEwan

over the land we see cities (1/5)

the bridge crossing into Laos was a new and wide feat of concrete, smooth beneath the shuttle bus that took us on our way. fanning out and over the running, muddied waters of the Mekong, we watched as forested hills and mountains grew large in the windows before us and a flatter Thailand disappeared behind. such is travel, the act of movement. on and on we go unrepentantly, unaware of the people we never meet who might have prolonged our stay.

Laos border patrol signed us in and stamped our passports and we exchanged baht and dollars for kip. a tuk tuk took us and several others to the nearest bus station and we got to talking with them. all were from other Asian countries: Japan, Thailand, Taiwan. the oldest among them explained he was a professor of political science in Taiwan and was traveling with several of his pupils to see Laos and the effect of China upon their economy and culture. he spoke English well and we ate at a tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurant outside the bus station as we waited for our rides, discussing the current state of affairs in South East Asia.
he had studied in America, earning a PhD from Ohio State in the 80’s. it helped to pass the time, that conversation with him, but he left two hours before we did and Steve and i ended up watching a match of soccer on a bus station television until a young man from Argentina approached with his girlfriend and we talked with them about sports and travel for a time until they too had to board their bus and we sat watching the game again. another couple from Germany arrived on tuk tuk and were friendly towards us. our bus arrived and they joined us in boarding it. before being allowed to get on, every passenger was told to remove their shoes. apparently it is a Laos, Buddhist custom of respect, so we did so and boarded cautiously the old vehicle.
furnished with worn shag carpeting and stained brown and yellow seat covers, the bus was hot and humid and cramped. a pair of Laotian teens offered me a strange, sweet sandwich and i accepted gratefully, drinking only a little water so as not to have to stop on the road.
the Germans moved to the back of the bus for more space; the middle-aged man in front of us was American and gloated about his 23-year old Laotian girlfriend; they turned on an Indian comedy movie up front dubbed in Laotian, and with that jolted to a start.
night fell and i tried to read a magazine, but it was too dark and the lights didn’t work. it was hot. and stuffy. and the movie was too loud. and grating. the Germans eventually asked them to turn down the stereo, as everyone on the bus had fallen asleep or was trying to, but they simply turned the screen off and turned the surround sound up.
so we went, curving too fast around the corners and up and down the slopes of the Laotian hills. it was a full moon outside and every now and then i’d look out to see a steep drop beside our road as we went careening past. i turned my head and steadied myself for my demise, tossing and turning, waking and sleeping a fitful sleep, the clock turning forward maybe an hour, maybe two every time i glanced its way till dawn when the world grew gray and outside mist clung to the hills, the fields, the lush, green jungle.

the sights and sound (4/4)

we spent the morning in the hospital for Steve’s rabies shots. the hospital was big and relatively clean and though we waited several hours in the waiting room watching people being carted around on stretchers and in wheelchairs, the cost was just over one hundred US dollars.
the rest of the day we relaxed in our room, entering the heat outside only to eat. we passed the dog that had chased me and bit Steve the night before and Steve grumbled about it. but i pitied each dog and cat and animal i saw. even the tigers, stolen away from the wild and put into their little cages. the dogs themselves were mangy and tattered and slept in the streets; the cats the same, sometimes with their tails cut off at odd places. people did not care to touch them. what cruelty is that: to make reliant upon oneself, and then to neglect completely that responsibility. and to such creatures that are unable to defend themselves, to escape and make a better life on their own.

“The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated.”

~ Mahatma Gandhi

the next day we woke early as the sun rose gray over the city. we grabbed a tuk tuk to the bus station with several Thai locals and i ate overpriced rice while Steve relaxed in his seat before our bus arrived. around us waited others, mostly for trips to Bangkok. we loaded our things below when our bus arrived and boarded at last, heading north to Chaing Khong and the Mekong river crossing into Laos. the trip was long, maybe five hours. but the seats were comfortable and the air conditioning working the entire time. it was a luxurious bus, better than many in America. they offered free food and free drinks and a Thai movie on big tv screens.
it was an ugly feeling though, sitting inside looking out. the dilapidated houses, the dilapidated dogs. the people in the dirt and garbage and bugs and malaria. yes, we were tourists, here to visit. but only in a way that suited us. sitting elevated, pampered and cool, we were American, but not here to wage any war or raise any monument. no, we were not here on any humanitarian mission but rather to point and to photograph other human beings as they tried to live, talk in hushed voices about their mannerisms and accents, send tweets, Instagram photos, and buy trinkets to prove our adventures not just a manufactured story to our friends at home. we were here to buoy the economy and then leave, glad to have the ability to do so. two worlds divided by tinted glass, and on either side a coincidence of birth.

“Of all the preposterous assumptions of humanity over humanity, nothing exceeds most of the criticisms made on the habits of the poor by the well-housed, well- warmed, and well-fed.”

~ Herman Melville

the sights and sound (3/4)

we lounged with tigers in the morning as they slept and played; a trainer showed us his scars and several batted each other over a piece of wood with paws the size of baseball mitts.
how high can they jump? i asked
the trainer laughed.
over the fence.
we respectfully set our heads upon their stomachs to feel them breathing. they twitched their tails and eyed their surroundings. the cages, the toys, everything but us. they knew we were there, but we were unimportant. one male watched another male in a different cage pacing, stalking back and forth, back and forth, his muscles evident beneath his fur.
so soft.
so deceptive.

the night bazaar began again somewhere, but we went to a different one. it was larger and full of more locals selling local things. people played music; monks sold corn; disabled men and women asked for change on the corner. we met some American girls from southern California. i thought of V, but they were nothing like her. they were nice but there was no bite in their smiles. we parted ways after a brief conversation and Steve downed his fourth Seven-Eleven beer before heading towards the lights and noise of a bar.
i was tired. i almost left. but I stayed just a little longer drinking iced coffee in a quieter restaurant and watching people go by. they went like they did in America, with short-skirts and eager, predictable laughter. they seemed to be scared of something. it was in their laughter and their eyes.
Steve found some foreigners from Russia, Myanmar, and somewhere else. i don’t remember where. he said they were fun and one was cute, so i left him for the comfort of our hotel room and walked down the quiet avenues past still-gurgling fountains and closing stores. on the way back i passed some dogs on the side of the street. they were well-fed, but looked worn and scarred from fighting. one barked and chased after me. i let it. and kept walking. the dog stopped, confused, and the barking stopped. i did not look back.
another dog further on slept in the gutter. there was no one to love it.

i would love it.

i would love it, if it let me.

Steve came back late with stories and new, lost friends and also a shallow bite on his calf. after parting with his drinking buddies, the dog that had barked at me had bit at him. oh, the irony. to roll with tigers only to be maimed by dogs.

“There was a thing called Heaven; but all the same they used to drink enormous quantities of alcohol.”

~ Aldous Huxley

the sights and sound (2/4)

the train set into the night struggling against its own weight, shuddering, grinding against the tracks. we lay our sheets over the stained cots provided us and lay ourselves upon them. i took the top. Steve took the bottom. the world went by. i drew the curtains about my bed and closed my eyes. the movement rocked us to sleep.
i dreamed of Detroit. for some reason i dreamed of walking its bombed-out schools and burnt-down houses. churches stood gutted and lonely against the sky and deer gathered around. nature was taking it back. it was a murder a day, the papers said, and the deer ran through my dreams trying to escape the gunfire.
Steve woke me as we approached the last stop and time and sound returned to me as i scrambled to fold my sheets and pack my bags. Chiang Mai: the northern, second city of Thailand. outside it was greener than Bangkok and cooler, not least because of a cloudy sky. a crowd of tuk tuk and taxi drivers waited out front of the station and vied for the disembarking passengers as we left. a songthaew driver caught our attention and took us to our new hotel. we paid him and went inside to where it was tiled and air-conditioned. there was a bar to the right, a lounge to the left; conference halls, indoor pools and workout room open all night. our room was not ready yet and the offered us a seat but we left our bags and wandered into the streets instead.
the clouds held and so did the cooler temperatures. we still sweat but things seemed cleaner. very little made my eyes water. there was trash in the gardens and trash in the gutters, but there were also more trees than Bangkok, entire avenues consumed entirely by ivy crawling into the emptied rooms of partially vacated buildings.
we walked by these, past one of four stone moats that served to separate the old parts of the city from the newer additions. we turned right and then left and then right again, through busy intersections and past Buddhist temples circled by white walls. the balcony of our hotel room looked over it all, the rooftops, canopies and canals.

after some discussion we rented a motor bike and sped down the crowded main streets and empty side streets, past cafes and book stores and local eateries. we ate again and felt the relieving breeze of a fan in the restaurant. the clouds had cleared and it was hot once more.
nighttime was thick and velvety. we got a tuk tuk to a midnight bazaar and the driver tried to drop us off at a strip club. pretty, made-up Thai girls came out on high-heels to entice us. Steve said no but he smiled and blushed, encouraging them. i told them no, that maybe we’d come back. the driver smiled and looked back at us, laughing with his big, wide teeth as if he knew our weaknesses. as if he had caught us.
but he only knew Steve’s weaknesses.
i told him to drive and he did, Steve giddy the rest of the way.
the streets of the bazaar came into view then, well-lit and packed with sidewalk vendors and people milling among them. there were displays of wooden figurines, handmade coasters, American t-shirts, iphone covers. many things that repeated on many stands. we ended up at a pub listening to cover bands playing American classic rock songs.
i watched the waiters and the waiters watched me. i wondered what they were thinking. the vendors too, falling asleep behind their booths as foreigners picked through their belongings. i wonder if they dreamed of similar things. places where they wanted to go. people they wanted to see. or deer running through their graveyards in the dark.

the sights and sounds (1/4)

i did not sleep when we returned to the room. Steve did, eventually, drift off between one of the lulls of our conversation. but i went on, listening and writing. or at least trying to write. i opened my notebook and pulled out my pen. i set the pen down and changed the song on my computer. i picked the pen back up and put it back to the page. i changed the song again and looked at the wall. i thought of my grandmother. i thought of how some places in Thailand smell like her. maybe they just remind me of her things, the old stuff in her basement. there are smells that do that to you, even if they shouldn’t.
i picked the pen up once more but words would not come to me. i listened to the music in my headphones. the night was not so hungry as the first one. Bangkok did not feel so big and i stayed up with it through the sunrise. Steve woke in the morning and we went for a walk.
the city was nicest in the mornings and in the evenings, i think. before anyone else was up, after everyone else was asleep. the streets were quieter then and no one yelled at you for anything. the shadows were still long and cool in the morning and you could watch people cleaning up from the previous night and setting their shops for the day, while in the dark the scars and potholes were hidden so you could only see them if you really tried. only things in the light could be seen and it was sleek and dangerous and inviting.
it was our last day in Bangkok. we took a tuk tuk to see the grand palace. someone tried to tell us it was closed but we ignored him because many people are liars and he was just one more. it was open and impressive. inside the palace gates we bought our tickets and waited a short line to the old temple yard. full of bristling spires and rooms, every inch of every building seemed gilded with gems and bright, glittering things. pictures and paintings. gold and silver. you could not take pictures inside, only outside. you could not wear shoes or hats when standing before the emerald Buddha. it was decadent and shiny and old. there were donation boxes outside each hall. we left after a few minutes behind some elderly Chinese tourists and saw the armory lined with rusted swords and pikes and another temple or two, each packed with a tour guide and her followers.
somehow the smell of urban progress and urban decay had not made it past the walls.
it hit us on the way out.

we checked out of our room and walked to a nearby park on the water with our packs. we found a stone bench protected from the sun by a tree’s shadow. sitting felt good and the wind was pleasant against my face; my shirt and shorts clung to me. we wore pants to the palace, but would never have survived as the sun got higher.
the wind blew again and i closed my eyes to feel it. the river carried its water out beneath a long, modern bridge held up by golden wires. big commercial boats chugged through it. squirrels played in the trees and i listened to them as Steve got up to look into the water. from our side a lone man began to row himself across the river’s width, bare-chested and brown from years in the sun.
Steve grew bored but i enjoyed watching the man row, sitting in silence, watching him and the old, wooden canoe he sat in gliding at times, struggling at times across the water. the birds and squirrels and shaking, moving canopies made noise. in the near distance Buddhist monks conversed.
i talked with Steve about our plans and turned back to watch as the man made it to the middle of the river. a tug boat dragged several barges beneath the bridge and he looked small beside them, out there with his paddle and canoe being passed on either side by great, rumbling engines.
we walked to a familiar street where we bought Pad Thai from a vendor. eating it as we went, we approached another tuk tuk to take us to our tourist agency to pick up our tickets. the woman we had spoken with two days earlier was surprised to see us so early but gave us our tickets and said our visas would not be ready for a few more hours.
so we bought water from a Seven Eleven nearby and from there walked a mile and half along winding, unknown roads and over unfamiliar highways to the train station. it was a hot, miserable trek that found us both stained with sweat and exhausted by the end. but, led by Steve’s gps, we managed to see other neighborhoods outside the tourist areas we had already visited.
it was the everyday come-and-go of citizens. no one yelled at us. no one approached us with wide smiles like old friends. tuk tuks honked, but if you shook your head they continued on instead of following you. there were trees down every avenue and small, quiet bridges over small, quiet canals, dappled, broken pieces of crooked canal of trees in asphalt and flowers between the cracks. shopkeepers in shopfronts living their lives for their families, serving only in Thai, driving, eating, thinking only in Thai.
without the gps we would never have found our way.
but there it was, along another, larger canal just past a cluster of tall, business, hospital buildings. and in the distance the center of Bangkok loomed high in glass and glamor.
the train station lay within its domed, metal hull alive with foreigners, locals, workers, policemen. the front desk said our tickets were good, and, buoyed by this knowledge, we set out again walking through Bangkok, through Chinatown, down and around its construction detours, its market vendors, meat, metal, and machines. we found another park. kids played soccer in the basketball courts fresh out of school in their school uniforms; parents and grandparents walked round the outdoor track and stretched and conversed round benches beneath the tropical trees.
clouds grew dark above us. the air was thick. you could feel it it was so thick. thick like water, thick like spit. walking through it, sitting, you were wet simply because you were there. the clouds got closer. we rose after an hour resting and found a tuk tuk to bring us to our visas at last.
rain began to fall as we began to move.