It's Bohemian

The waves crashed more violently than just a couple weeks before against

the rocks that I sat on. Enormous clouds seemed to swell in the bluest

of skies, appearing too big to remain floating as they were. Hanan was

sitting at his usual place, at the table outside his tour office,

drinking his nightly Chang and smoking when I decided to join him. "Two

Thai. One boy, one girl. Water take away." he said as he pointed out

toward the ocean with his chin. "lifeguard save them." he said after so

long a pause I had begun thinking about how those same waters I was

entranced in meditation with had taken two souls; how one persons peace

could be holding hands with another's loss.

It's been some time since I've written, not for lack of material, but

possibly it's abundance. After leaving Vietnam we realized how beautiful

it actually had been, though we may not have been ready for one another.

It's hard to describe, as many things are here, how each place has it's

own song and spirit, often unfamiliar and in its mystery somewhat harsh

at first, until you step back and realize you'll never be in a place

with that same embrace ever again. In Vietnam it was the coffee (ca phe

sua da) and pho, the pagodas and the countryside. In Thailand, it's the

feeling of being at home with the mangos and jak fruit and sticky rice,

and the quest for 30 Baht pad Thai, not to mention the iced tea with

milk, the waters, the sky, and the smiles.

This last Full Moon Party was intense, more so than the last. Often I

felt as if I was one huge organism caught in the beat of life beyond

reality; often witnessing itself and oneself as if in a reflection,

knowing you are a part of a whole and somehow that whole at once.

Koh Toa was beautiful. Being able to dive and dolphin swim among fish

around massive white domes of coral, and seeing your friend float above

hundreds of fish as a crackling sound streams around you, the sound of

them feeding audible in the water, is like landing on an alien planet.

You sometimes even feel as if you're lost in space.

Koh Samui - home, in spirit at least - someday, soon, a reality.

And tomorrow, moving south, and into Malaysia within the week.

How do I tell the story of having thought I was kidnapped by my taxi

driver, finding myself in a small cage with a matress on one wall and a

machettie on another, only to realize he was offering me a peace pipe?

Or how, with a backpack pulling me backwards I sat on a motorbike as it

went speeding up and down the slopes that hug the Andaman Sea as I was

taken to bungalows that had closed for the night, and how, knowing where

the girl who runs the place lives, I go knocking; a head pokes out

behind a curtain, slightly scared, mostly confused and shocked to see

me, responding to my knock with "sorry, I naked!" These are the things

of life, my life, and not a tourists journal of sights to see.

And then there is the reunion with Moon Bedi, after 23 or so years, not

having had a clue of his whereabouts for all these years, only to

reunite on Phuket.

How does one describe life? I guess one lives it, and shares what one

can.

We have been on the island of Phuket for about 4 days now. Keeping track of the day and time seems to be getting harder and harder…so we start caring less and less. Leaving Koh Lanta was a bit difficult. We stayed in a very comfortable environment and it felt like home. We also liked the cheap bungalows (250 baht per night), the quite ocean, soft white sand, and the sultry sun. We liked the style of the island and the tranquility that goes along with it. We grew quite fond of the people that surrounded us, and we especially liked getting to know all the locals. Neil was the local scuba pro with a calming spirit, who introduced us to Mona, the fun yoga instructor, who was friends with Suzanna, who ran a long boat company and often invited us to parties and such. We have shared drinks, stories, and laughs with all of them and could never forget the amazing people who made Koh Lanta so close to our hearts. There were people me met like the women who cooked us food every morning at Fat Jaks, or the waiter whose name we could never pronounce properly, but every time we saw him around the island he would come over shake our hands and reiterate that fact that he knew our names. It's always so delightful to see familiar faces around the island. It makes me feel like less of a tourist.

But alas! We are on Phuket Island. After a 5 hour ($6) van ride (with air conditioning!) from Koh Lanta we got dropped off in Phuket Town, which reminded us of cluttered Bangkok, so we made a quick jet to a truck to take us to a beach. We spent the first 2 hours on Nai Harn beach searching for accommodation. The problem was that we were hiking up incredibly steep terrain with heavy backpacks and sweat dripping from every pore of our skin. I was quietly cursing the woman who owned the restaurant we ate at back in town for suggesting we stay at her favorite beach…I was also secretly cussing out James and Sarah for continuing the bungalow search (on mountainous roads in the blistering heat) that obviously wasn't going to lead us anywhere promising...

Finally we arrive at the cheapest bungalows we could find which was surrounded by costly hotel resorts. So we caved and ended up paying 400 baht per night. That is the most we have ever paid for a bungalow, even though it's only about $12 bucks a night…divided by the 3 of us! So we finally shower, relax, go for dinner, and sleep away the days exhaustion.

We quickly learn that Phuket is very touristy and nothing is free. You even have to pay for shade under umbrellas! I guess the thais need to make their money somehow?!…The next day was the Thai New Year,  which is besically a huge water fight ALL DAY LONG!

We didn't quite know what to expect, but quickly found out on our walk to breakfast at Food Mama's that morning, that kids are going to squirt you with water guns, and adults are going to douse you with buckets of water. We didn't really mind- It was quite refreshing on such a hot day! After we stuffed ourselves with fresh fruit and banana pancakes, we decided to go in search of cheaper fruit than the mangos they were selling for quadruple the normal price at the local market. We asked our friend, Ron, at local Tourist shop where the closest market was and he directed us to the 7-11 a couple kilometers down the road! On our journey to stock up on fruit- we were getting squirted by every passing car, truck, or motorcycle by water guns and buckets full of FREEZING cold water. Not soon after we began our journey, 3 thais stopped and asked if we wanted a ride. We were shaking our heads, as to say, 'no thank you' but they were persistent. They pulled over to the side of the road ahead and waited for us to catch up. We were frantically thinking how to get out of this situation because we don't like to pay for rides when we are perfectly content walking. The thais on this island seem to charge more for short rides than we are used to. Anyways to make a LONG story semi-short…We ended up hopping in with them because they were going to the water fights and wanted us to join them. So James hopped on the back of the motorcycle, and Sarah and I jumped in the side car attached to the bike with 2 other thai women.

We continued to drive down the road further and further away from our Bungalow and beach that we were growing familiar with. The further we drove the more intense the water fights got! There were loads of Thais occupying every square inch of the backs of trucks and tuk tuks. There was cold water, hot water, blue water, pink water, ice water, squirt guns, buckets, cups, hoses…anything you can think of to drench fellow celebrators. The roads were full of people- everyone enjoying the festivities with smiles as big as could be. Laughter overwhelmed the streets. People would also put Prickly Heat Powder or baby powder all over bodies of passerby's. Everyone was dripping wet and freshly powdered all day long. It was such a nice feeling to have complete strangers come up to you and put their hands full of powder on both of your cheeks in such a soft and comforting way. We couldn't be happier in this moment.

After a couple hours of water fights our friend Gin (pronounced Jean) unexpectedly came up to us with Fried Chicken and water. This gesture meant the world to us! We are used to paying for everything, and now we just received a gift from a new friend. We were thrilled. We ended up hanging out with our new friends all day long, laughing and chucking water on innocent passerby's. A couple hours later we decided to go to Gin's (Jean's) shop, which come to find out was the cutest, most stylish restaurant we have seen on any island so far. It was called Ratatouille and served fine french cuisine. We stayed there for hours slinging water by the bucket to anyone who happened to drive or walk down the road. Gin would bring us ice cold beers and Mai Tais served in a giant baby bottle! Finally after we couldn't pick up our worn out arms, we decided to walk a couple kilometers home. Gin insisted on driving us and we were overwhelmed by all her kind gestures throughout the day! That night we slept like babies.  

The rest of our stay in Phuket consisted of getting pummeled by gigantic waves, snorkeling along the rocks, eating at Food Mama's (because we always get free plates of fresh fruit for desert) and renting Motorbikes to venture along the rest of the island.

We spent most of our time hanging out with Gin though! We felt such a ginormous pull towards her and always wanted to be in her kind, caring, compassionate, and warm company. I have never in my life met someone who was such a sensational being. In the evenings we would go to Ratatouille and eat, drink, play games, laugh, dance, and anything else we felt like doing. One night after we closed up the shop, she took us, along with Thea and U (two Burmese boys who worked for her) to the beach with a big box of wine, candles outlining our beach mat, and delicious Thai snacks. There was a silent lighting storm illuminating the sky, longtail boats surrounding the length of the beach, hermit crabs scurrying to find holes in the sand, and island dogs playing off in the distance.

 We continued to laugh at each other, learn thai phrases, drink too much red wine, and take pictures of the nirvana that surrounded us. After our wine was drank dry, we pilled on our motor scooters and  they proceeded to take us to some cool look out points on the way home. We were happy to be back to our bungalows and continued raving about how awesome of a night we had! James passed out on the floor that night (without a pillow) because he claimed the room was spinning too fast when he lay on the bed. Sarah and I crept off to a soft slumber, only to awake to a buzzing hangover the next morning. We don't drink a lot here in Thailand because waking up to fiery heat the next morning, is never a fun chore….

After eating yet another overly-filling breakfast at Food Mama's for $3, we met up with Gin because she was going to take us to Big Buddha that day, and then we were going to get massages together. I'm not going to write about Big Buddha now…kinda too much to put into words. So you'll have to check out the video footage I captured and see for yourself. But here's a picture of what to expect!

After yet another  overwhelming display of kindness on Gins' part after she treated us all to a wonderful lunch consisting of raw meat which we cooked ourselves in a boiling hot pot of soup, we proceeded to get nice relaxing massages. It was my first Thai massage and definitely not my last! Gin had to leave early to pick up her mother who was coming in town, and had arranged for Steve to take us home after, so we didn't have to walk or pay for a taxi. (SO THOUGHTFUL) When we finished up, we hopped in Steve's car and he just so happened to be blaring the Lady Gaga CD! We had a nice ride back and invited him to join us for a beer so we could hang out with him longer. He told us lots of stories about his scuba adventures all over the world, and all the crazy stuff he's seen under the sea. He left after about an hour because Manchester United was playing and he was missing the game. He told Sarah he would take her to the airport the following day, which was like 2 hours out of the way. That just goes to show how wonderful and caring the people are that we have surrounded ourselves with here in Phuket! I don't think we would have enjoyed ourselves as much had we not made the right decisions which allowed us to meet such wonderful people. I just keep thinking that if we would have stayed in the ocean a bit longer, or not asked Ron how to get to the market, we wouldn't have randomly ran into Gin! Our whole adventure in Phuket would have ended up a lot differently….

Now I'm on another giant bird in the sky, en route to another destination. It's always refreshing entering another city. New tricks to learn, new sites to see, and new people to meet! The excitement never dies!...

The Misadventures of James Watson:

First and Foremost, I need to honor James for traveling with 2 females. That is not an easy endeavor, but he handles it with a chivalrous ease. Especially on the day when Sarah and I went off for pedicures, left him behind accidentally with no key to the bungalow, and no money. He was having some issues with his contacts so his left eye looked like it had a severe case of pink eye, and he also had a heat rash breakout on his body. Not a pretty site. He was walking around like a sad little puppy with a rain cloud over his head all day. Then we finally found him hours later walking down the side of the road aimlessly, picked him up on the scooter, and proceeded to search for a pedicure spot after a good day of shopping. We found a place that we liked so decided to make a U turn and go back. The bike was too heavy for me to turn around with the weight of Sarah and James and myself, so i kinda layed out the bike on its side while skidding to a halt and almost running into a tuk tuk (taxi)…The problem here was that the bike fell on James' leg!…He got all pissy and started limping away, so we left him on the other side of the island because he didn't want to be around us. The girls continued to search for a hot pedicure spot. We finally arrived after a hard day of negative energy from James (for good reason) and we proceeded to get the most horrible pedicure i've ever got in my life…I guess that's karma?…

Today James barely scraped his toe on coral while snorkeling and has been complaining about it every couple of minutes. In his defense- It's a pretty nasty cut. He's been walking with a limp all day, and not in a gangster way. We will walk ahead of him, then have to wait for Grandpa Watson to catch up…So then we make a trip to the store to get him some bandaids for his new boo boo (because we already used up all the bandages we had stocked up in the first-aid kit) and they turned out to be really measly. He continued to wad them up and kept them stuck on the end of his big toe by putting on his smelly socks on over his hiking sandals so we would be able to walk to get mexican food for dinner. Once at Los Amigos he ordered the SPICIEST of all Thai Spicy burritos, and his mouth slowly started to light on fire…I think I saw steam coming out of his ears?!…Sarah and I continued to laugh at him the whole meal as he struggled to get through his burrito with a bright red face and a torn up toe.

 *   *   *

 James often needs nurture and attention.    There was this one time when he got burned jumping a flaming rope with me at the Full Moon Party.  I was jumping the rope, it getting faster and faster the longer I was jumping, when I noticed someone was behind me.  I didn't know it was James until a few days later.  However, I think the realization of there being a person behind me threw my flow off a little and my feet hit the rope.  I tucked and rolled out of the way of the flaming rope, but, unfortunately for James, he did not.  It hit him in the mid-section and burned his flesh.  There was one spot where it burned some skin off, the rest just the surface.  Now, I am prone to getting burns.  Motorcycles, steam, hot oil, scalding water, CHI, heat lamp, fire…these are all things that have burned me and left noticeable scars…so I know the pain my friend was feeling.  I was a little shocked at first because he was making a big deal out of this burn!  Especially for a fire dancer in-training!  We had to run to the closest bar stand and get some ice.  James was asking for 3 cubes of ice and it took a while for the people to figure out what he wanted.  "I got burned by fire" he kept telling them.  After his ice cubes melted as we were making our way to Mushroom Mountain, he would look in every bucket that was tossed aside or half way empty for a piece of ice.  Oh, I must add this other piece of information.  The same scenario happened to Jess and I where my feet hit the rope, I tucked and rolled and she took the rope to her neck.  Did we hear Jess telling us every minute that she got burned or looking in empty whiskey buckets for a piece of half melted ice?? NO she didn't!  I think at some point on the walk we actually told him to be quiet about his burn and toughen up.  Jess and I are not the most consoling people at times.  I don't know at what point in the night he stopped talking about the mass pain he was feeling from this burn.  In the morning, I gave it a look and had to give the guy some credit.  Just a little though, I have definitely had worse, but maybe this was his first time getting a burn?  I still chuckle to this day when he lifts his shirt to show and tell people we just have met about how he got burned by fire.    

He is a brave soul for traveling with two strong-minded females.  James puts up with a lot from us (mainly Jess) and does it very well.  He got the short end of the stick for sleeping arrangements in Koh Lanta.  We had to sleep inside of a mosquito net, with a fan on the opposing wall from where James slept.  After the air blew through the net, past me, then past Jess, the hot, sticky air got to James.  He was not getting any cold air and spent most of the night sweating.  I didn't realize this until one night I noticed Jess was sleeping very close to me.    Every time I woke up she was right there practically on top of me.  She told me the next day that James' area of the bed and his pillow smelled so bad that she couldn't sleep near him.  That same day I noticed a stench as James passed by me.  I later found out that he hadn't been using soap to shower because Jess told him he was using too much and needed to ration better.  He had also been rotating the same two white shirts for I don't even know how many days in a row.  (These were the only breathable shirts he had, and we had run out of laundry detergent.)  Jess heckled him about the stench of the bed and told him he had to sleep outside or do something about the sheets.  So, James lit a mosquito coil and about 5 incense sticks in our tiny bungalow and went to shower.  He came out and got into bed.  "Can you hand me the Prickly Heat?" he asked me.  When I get into bed I see that James has turned into a ghost and doused himself in this powder.  He also put it all over the sheets that he was sleeping atop.  "I am so cold right now…Iv'e never been this cold!"  he says.  So that, and a little fan adjustment seemed to help his sweaty situation on our last night in Koh Lanta.  

Grandpa Watson - always the first to rise, worried about bugs or street food, whistling while he showers, and rubbing his eyes like a baby when he is tired.  I feel like…you just gotta love the guy!  

I don't know if these tales are as funny to yall as it is to us?!…I think the visuals and effects of these stories is what makes us feel like we have to pee our pants every time we think about these instances, but I hope every one who reads this understands the enigmatic character of Jamison Watson. He is tremendously awesome beyond awesome, and this trip definitely wouldn't be as interesting without him!!!...

*To anyone who knows James and would like to contribute to the tales of The Misadventures of James Watson Please feel free to write up a little narritive and we'll put it up for everyone else (including James) to enjoy!!*

I'm sitting in a bungalow in Phuket, having just posted about what we expected to see once we got here, about to write what we have seen now that we are here, and do not think it would be right to do so without writing a little more about Ko Lanta.

 Ko Lanta, much like Ko Samui, felt like home. Part of it was the beach; part of it was the bungalow; but more than anything, it was the people.

 I will never forget the greeting we received from Love when we first arrived. His tanned face had the slightest hint of age, his smile radiant, his eyes radiant, his sunglasses on his head, long dreads hanging over his shoulders. That smile said "you're friends if you choose to be." The first words he uttered echoed everything else about him - "Sabai Demai" he asked? It's a form of asking how are you, but it's asking about your entire state of being. Are you happy more so than are you well. A sick man who's happy is greater than a healthy man who is not.

 Jess and I bought snorkling gear because I was bit by the snorkling bite, thanks to our friend Bert. Swimming in the water, not knowing how deep it was on your left, hugging the rocks to your right that allowed you to see the ocean floor, it's hard not to fear the unknown - that unknown to me mostly translated into sharks. Bert and I decided we would go and try to catch fish one more time, this time making our way to a rock that was jutting out of the water a ways away. That fear of "what's under there" stays with you while you swim. I thought that if I got there fast enough, no shark would have a chance to come get me. It's somewhat of a fools logic, similar to thinking you can outrun a shark if you needed to. As we swam out there, I would look up to see where Bert was and where the rock was; if Bert was near, it felt safer, not because he would be able to do anything about an attacking shark, and I guess not because it decreased my chances of being eaten by 50% with him out there on the menu. Not sure why I guess. Maybe it actually is the latter. I would stick my head out of the water and notice that he was a ways away, on course, headed toward the rock as I headed out to open ocean.

Halfway there Bert said something to the effect of "so what do you think," more so asking if I was going to make it I think. I said "let's make it to the rock" in the form of both question and statement. He said "I'm fit" and started making his way out there. I have to admit, I like that expression a lot. We didn't see a lot of "beach bodies" in Thailand; not in the stupid American standard that's plastered in magazines and on gym ads; but that's not what it was about. Got a six pack? Who cares if you can't swim for more than five minutes. Are you fit? That's what counts, anywhere you are.

We finally made it to the rock and climbed up. Trying to spear a fish was futile out there. If you missed, or even if you hit, that spear could end up in a crack somewhere or deep enough to be lost forever.

Standing on the rock I confessed my fear of the ocean. Since I was a child I somehow knew I would die out there; no idea how or why; it just was. I told him of my fear of sharks to which he told me "well, deh awh none out ear." What?! No Sharks!? He told me of the many things to worry about in the waters (and out of the waters) in Australia, and not to worry about it out here since there really was nothing to worry about.

We decided to swim back; I put my head in the water as Bert dove off the rock. A few minutes later I stuck my head out of the water and noticed that Bert was far from me, closer to shore than I was, the rock between us. I had started swimming the wrong way. I heard from the distance as he yelled over to me "where are you going you crazy American bastard!" I started to swim toward him, back on course, laughing under water, making a loud, hollow sound of laugher under water. I guess the knowledge that there were no sharks removed my need to get back to shore quickly. What for....there are no sharks!

I look forward to finding Bert when we make it to Australia someday; he knows the outback, and we hope he will guide us through it.

There are others to write about on Ko Lanta. Neil, for example, who we are sure we will see when we return with Kate in May. I somehow feel that he, Susanna, and the friends at O-Zone will have a larger role to play in our love of that island then they have so far. I look forward to it, and somehow hope they look upon us tenderfoots as friends as well. I miss them. It's an odd feeling.

April 12 -

We're on a van on our way from Ko Lanta to Pkuket. We have been told not to bother with Patong, the most popular of the beaches on the island; "it's the devil" Richard told us, a guy we met who runs a free diving business out of his bike or wherever it is he choses to set up shop in as he moves around Southeast Asia. I can't think of a better way to run a business - something mobile - something free. You could tell by Richards smile that he felt he was living the life, and I couldn't agree more.

From every account of it, Patong is what sludge is made of. We definitely will pass through it at some point, possibly on scooter, and might stroll through at night to see what it's all about, but I hope we stay close to our scooters so that we can make our escape within 30 seconds of being there should we determine that we were right.

Sitting in this van on a five hour ride to Phuket is going to be interesting. It's Thailand.

A cellphone went off behind me, the ring tone was Usher with Lil' John screaming "Yeah! Yeah!" do do, do do "Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah!" I turned to see a grandmother pick up the phone.

Leaving Ko Lanta is somewhat sad. It feels like it felt when we were leaving DC only three weeks ago. Going to Phuket was originally our goal, having been told it is the place to be. Everyone raved about the beaches and the sand and the sun, so when we planned Thailand, we thought "Phuket." But having seen the things we've seen and experienced the things we've experienced, Phuket (not having gone yet) feels like the place we would have skipped had we known the things we know now. This trip feels like we're on a long journey to the airport, which is essentially what we're doing. After a week in Phuket, Jess and I are on our way to Vietnam, and Sarah is on her way back to America.

Who knows, we might think differently once we're in Phuket, but we felt at home on Ko Lanta and Ko Samui, so it feels like we're leaving home. A tourist spot just doesn't seem like the place to be.

Last night I saw phosphorescent algae for the first time.  Little neon blue balls about the size of sprinkles that are all over the sand and in the water.  We did not know what we were looking for at first however.  It started by a recommendation we got from an islander who said we had to go into the water at night with as little light as possible.  That sounded fair enough, so around mid-night we wandered down to a secluded and dark part of the beach.  Of course, as we all know,  it is against the rules to take a mid-night swim in your bathing suit.  So we donned our birthday suits and ran into the pitch black sea.  I felt so free!  I always enjoy a good mid-night swim and this was one that I will never forget.  So after we ran in, we started looking into the water.  I was expecting to see my whole body glowing as if it was in neon paint under a blacklight.  That didn't happen.  I thought I saw some kind of a dull light in the sky and desperate to see this phenomenon I asked "Wait is that it below that cloud?"  Jess laughed and told me it was in the water.  She said wave your hands around and kick your feet.  We did that and I was certain I saw the lights this time.  I was waving my hands back and forth and could see neon bubbles leaving the tips of my fingers and floating up to the top.  Jess saw it too!  But that is all they were, bubbles lit by moonlight and floating to the surface.  We stayed in the water for a good hour.  Just standing and looking at the sky, trying to stay in one place and not let the waves toss us around.  Its so different in the ocean at night.  Everything is illuminated by the moon and the starry sky.  Its much cooler out yet the water is still warm.  You can't see any fish swimming around you like you can during the day, but you know they are still there.  We finally scurried like little crabs to the shore and put on our clothes.  I was actually a little chilly from the cool breeze.  As we were making the trek back to our bungalows and the beach party, we saw the real thing.  The little bright blue lights that glow in a neon color.  They were on the sand and it seemed if you stomped your feet they would appear.  So there we were, stomping all over the sand watching the blue sprinkles decorate the shore.  It was really neat and something I have never seen before.  One of many things to add to the list of things I have never seen before--until now!  

The rest of the night was filled with non-stop trance and house music that went on all night.  I had a few beers but that was it!  Something peculiar is happening to me...I have not had the desire to drink like I usually do!  I guess the main reason is there is no stress here and no reason to want to "unwind".  I already feel totally content, not a worry in the world, and drinking just makes me tired.  Whatever the reason, I like it.  

Well I am getting eaten up by these mosquitos.  We ran out of DEET today and they are having VIP access to my blood.  I am quite used to this though, the climate and insects here are much like Houston.  Lots of ants and mosquitos.  Itchy now, but in the morning just a red mark.  

I am so thankful to be here, now here.  

The beach is whatever you want it to be. I think I've said that before, but I can't reiterate enough how much it really is what you make of it. Earlier when I was walking to get some breakfast, I was caught up once again in the beauty of it all. After breakfast, as I walked back to my bungalow, I walked through the same sand which now felt like a graveyard in the aftermath of the night before.

Last night, we partied. A bottle of Sprite was how it started, sitting on the beach again watching the sun as it set quietly over the water. The waves seemed to hush us into the evening as it washed up onto the sand…shhh…shhh…shhh…

The bottle of Sprite had a little kick to it. Every Thursday night, The O-Zone Bar has an all night party that starts around 10pm and goes on until the last has left and the sun has begun to rise. It was exactly a week ago that we had arrived on Ko Lanta, and on that Thursday we were exhausted from our days journey from Ko Phangan, so we went to bed with the sound of base resonating through our bodies, waking every few hours to find the party was still raging - midnight, 2am - some girl yelling "whoo, whoo!" to the beat of the music - 4am, still pounding - at least it's not an English girl on the phone with her mother "mummy, I want to come home" in tears, sobbing loudly in between "I know I didn't (muffled words through tears) but I want to come home now mummy…"

This night, we decided we would party. The music behind us grew louder; we got up from our lounge chairs on the beach, the sun had gone down, and we strolled to the thatched hut that was the bar. Behind the bar were our friends, Honey and Pete, with whom we played cards and taught Golf to the night before. The 14 year old girl took our order, her uncle (I think) leaning against a cooler behind her, talking to someone else behind the bar who was most likely also family; Pete, 12, got us our drinks. To the left and right of us, people had their party face on; hopes of meeting someone, sharing a story or a smile, hopes of being entertained or being an entertainer and having someone laugh with you. Honey asked us "cards?" as Pete got the drinks, and we nodded, smiling. Sitting at the bar playing cards with the 12 and 14 year old bartenders is a surreal experience. Sabi Sabi.

Jess won…if you don't know the magnitude of those two words, then you don't know Jess. I could explain what this all means, but I prefer to say, if you don't know Jess, then you're missing out. So figure out for yourself what these words mean.

We finished our drinks, exchanged a few words with one of the regulars here, an Aussie named Bert who took me out snorkeling the day before in hopes of spearing a fish, and then strolled off to get into the black waters of the night and see some Tinker Bell-like magic.

A word about Aussies. A word about foreign people in general I guess, of which I assume Americans to be as well to everyone else who is not American. There is a little conundrum here for me when it comes to conversing with foreigners, particularly Aussies because of my current position in the world. Which is ruder: asking the person telling you a joke or asking you a question "excuse me?" three, four, or seven times, or after the first couple attempts, just nodding, smiling, and depending on their expression, saying "oh yeah, that's too bad" because you noticed they aren't smiling at all while you are, or saying "that's hilarious" and thinking of alternatives to that phrase knowing you will most likely use it again the next time you don't understand the punch line. This is really an issue for me. You would think that toilet paper is an issue for me out here on an island, but no. I haven't used toilet paper for a week now, and the water hose at the side of the toilet is one invention we should never have civilized ourselves away from. I blame the paper industry for that one. So no, not toilet paper. I've never been cleaner. The problem for me is Aussies, and the hope of not being rude. I mean, can you say "sorry dude, but you speak too fast, and it's not even that you speak too fast but the fact that half your sentence was slang and the other half gibberish. Here is an example dialogue:

(Australian accent)

"…and they'en he came ub da may, roight? (the word "right has an inflection, emphasizing the retoric question) And ya know what e seys at may?"

Now here is where it gets tricky. You only really had to follow the gist of it all until now when you're about to be given the punch line. You look at the speaker like a deer in headlights, acknowledging that you're ready to hear it, but inside your head thinking "oh man, I have no idea what he's saying."

(Thicker Aussie accent than before. Punch lines always tend to go by in a blur, so read the next part as fast as you can)

"An he pots da you en jib do yanker unda baggouliganifa"

This is where you smile, watching the speaker like a hawk to determine if you should be laughing harder,  or not at all.

As Jess, Sarah, and I walked to the dark northern shore of Long Beach, they asked me what our Aussie friend was saying, and I had to admit "I had no freakin' idea!" But really, how rude is that!? Shouldn't I be doing something that would allow me a greater chance of understanding what the conversation was about? Especially on Thailand. For all I knew, I agreed to something I would never blog about! (I didn't by the way). And it's not for lack of trying to understand. Believe me, over 50% of MY conversation was "wait....what?" Another 20% was "Oh man, that sucks....wait.....what?" There is another 20% that's just plane "wow" but the wow is more of a "I have no idea what you're talking about but I should have said that about 5 minutes ago after the fifth wait....what? but now it's too late so…."wow". And the last 10% is a combination of some possible contribution to the conversation during which you realize you're not even talking about the same thing because he has a confused look on his face and often looks away as if he is contemplating if you even exist or if he just had a psychodellic experience with a retard monkey. Anyway, I would appreciate help on this topic. Know why? Simple. Is bugnay do whalid for da fifth time an refogerin on da range!" Yeah...

We got to the north part of the beach where the sand ends and the rocks begin, but it wasn't as dark as we had hoped. Lights from the nearby resort were shining on the beach, and darkness is what we wanted. The night before, a photographer on the island who Susanna introduced us to at a bar on the south end of the beach told us to find a dark area of the beach, strip down and go into the black water, get chest deep in water and stare out into the darkness before us. After a minute or so, look straight down into the water; not back into the lights on the shore; wave your hands under water in a feathering motion, and the water would start sparkling because of the phosflorecense of the algae in the water. It would be as you had the magic of Tinker Bell in your own fingertips. We did just that, but the light was a little too bright to see much of anything. We plan on trying again tonight, hoping that this photographer friend is not as crazy as we currently think he is. The night we met him, he stuck a dogs entire face in his mouth, saying the dog loved it. From where I was sitting, that dog was not only bewildered and slightly in fear for her life, but it had an expression that never left that dogs face as if it was frozen there after years of "love" of that sort by it's owner. I mean, that dog looked like it was on crack! For now, we want to believe in magic, so the black waters will be welcoming some skinny dippers tonight, once again.

We were in the water for a good 30 minutes, sharing things we saw with one another. Someone would look up at the sky and say "it's as if a black sheet was pulled over everything and holes punched into it so that we can see the light behind it shining through." A little later, after a conversation or two, someone else would look up and say "it looks like glitter. You just don't see this in the city." We all saw the same thing, but couldn't contain our perspective of it. It's so beautiful and you just can't bring yourself to realize that you're all seeing it, as if only you are seeing the beauty and no one else is and you just need everyone to be in the same place of wonderment together.

We walked back to The O-Zone Bar. The crowd had grown, and we found our place at the bar. It was late now; Pete had gone to bed, but Honey was still serving drinks, sipping on a Pepsi out of a glass bottle through a straw as she paced the bar. Her mother was behind the bar with her. She ran the place, and reminded Jess and I of Dagny Taggert (Atlas Shrugged). Her daughter would take over the place someday, running the bar and the party, running the restaurant that was attached, running the bungalows and the motorbike rental. This was her future, but it was also her present. Honey goes to school on the mainland in Krabi, and although she is getting an education, and although her math skills beat that of a few in our group, her future is most likely here. Licenses and age restrictions do not prevent her from learning how to work, how to run a business, how to secure an alternative future to the dream that for her is America. I think of all those kids that, at the time, wanted to be the next Michael Jordan. Homework wasn't the priority. Getting out onto the court was the only way out of the ghetto. If one of them could do it, they all could. Well, there are only so many Michael Jordans and Larry Birds out there. Only so many who make it out of the ghetto on a scholarship and make it. The large majority end up uneducated and without much skill to show for it. Honey on the other hand, was learning a trade that was less work and more a way of life out here. Age restrictions, laws, legislation and licenses mean nothing here.

Jess asked me during breakfast "so, what are the rules here?" I knew what she meant. There are no rules. Kids that aren't even teenagers are on the roads riding scooters like everyone else, going to the store to pick something up, or to pick up a bottle of gasoline.There are gas stations here, but it's easier to buy a bottle of gas - a rum bottle usually that has been recycled by filling it with gasoline to fill up scooters on the road. 40 Baht for one bottle, 100 Baht for three. Three fills up a tank. Behind the bar at almost any establishment, you will see someone smoking a joint. You don't bring a pipe out, but weed is everywhere. It's illegal, but the rule? Don't bust it out in the face of those in authority; and don't come here and turn this into your hippie resort where you do nothing with yourself but smoke and make shell necklaces. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but this is not just an island. This is their home. This is not a retreat. This is their home. This is not just a place you vacation and explore the world of sin. This is their home. Respect that. Respect them. Respect one another. Rule? Rules are for a society that is so entrenched in a "way of life" that if someone deviates from it, all hell breaks loose. Here, there is one rule. Respect others.

Our Aussie friend was telling me last night about the five fingers and the left hand. The conversation was sparked when we asked our favorite guy behind the bar what his name was. We have been here a week, and this is the first time we did not find out everyone's name on the first day or two. "Love" he said. "Is that your real name? or the name you go by?" asked Jess. "Real name" he said. He shook the Burts hand, then Jess'. He came to shake mine and I said "shake with your left hand." I know the left hand is considered dirty in many cultures, mainly because it's the one used to clean with, but people use both hands for everything now a days and that rule seems a little outdated. So I said it. It's something I heard Jimmy Hendrix used to say. "Shake my left hand. It's closer to my heart" placing your right fist over it while you extend your left. Love smiled and shook with his left hand.

The aboriginies of Australia have a saying about the left hand, and about each finger on it. Burt works with aboriginals a lot, for a company that builds resorts and then sells it to the aboriginies over time, as they can afford it, so that in time, they are running their own sustainable tourist economy. The first finger of interest is the thumb. You make a fist and stick out your thumb, then point it right back at yourself. First, respect. You must respect yourself before you can respect others. Lift your index finger as well; two, trust. Trust in yourself so that you can trust in others. Middle finger - love. Learn to love yourself, who you are, as yourself, the way you are, and you can learn to love others. Ring finger - honesty. Be honest to yourself. We tend to lie to ourselves and be convinced of it so much more easily than we can to others. Be honest to ourself (to thyself be true) so that you can be to others. Pinky - nobility. You cannot be a noble person is you cannot be a honest one; you cannot be honest to yourself if you have not come to love who you are. You cannot love the being of yourself if that self is not a person that can be trusted. And you cannot be coe to trust yourself if you do not respect yourself. That part I got. I missed the last part which went something like "jabadana fogait fo sho tall lasy." I know we were to try a Salty Lasy today, and doubt that the five finger - left hand - aboriginal saying has anything to do with the yogart drink we were to have today.

We met an American girl. We knew they the three girls to Jess' left were American by the drink they ordered. Can you guess? On an island in Thailand, on the opposite side of the world from Mexico, and tequilla is what they ordered. I guess not everyone is brave enough to try the fermented snake moonshine. I certainly am not. One of the girls goal was to...yup....get on the bar and dance. You can take the girl out of America, but can't take the America out of the girl. Or the guy I guess, because as unfortunate as this may seem, there are pictures of your author on that bar dancing as well. Do do do do ta tam.

This morning, I decided to help clean up the aftermath; less the aftermath of the party but that of the night itself. There are huge trees with leaves the size of your face that offer welcome shade all around the island. The leaves change color and any given tree will be 90% green and 10% yellow-orange ty-dye on any given day. At night mostly, but through the day, the orange-yellow leaves fall from the trees, covering the ground. The guys who work here were raking the other day and Jess got up and asked if she could help. Love (who's name we didn't know at the time) asked "why." Less of a question really, because I think he knew the answer and simply wanted to hear her say it. "I like doing it" she said. Watching her rake I wanted to do it also, but knew it was her moment and her meditation. Today was mine. As I raked the leaves, pulling sand and shells along with it, I whistled the song I will use for my video on the islands that I should be making in the next couple of days. The people at the bar kept laughing. A smile and a laugh here in Thailand mean so many things. In this case, the laughs were a form of support. I would look up in the direction of the laughs and see thumbs up and smiles. For me, that moment was a sense of purpose. Being unemployed for the first time in a very long time, I sometimes wonder what I'm doing here on the island. What is my purpose? I'm figuring that out. No hurry as of yet. There is plenty of time and plenty of opportunities to get it wrong. When you learn how to live simply (without toilet paper for a week!) and learning to live even more simply - hey, we're still at a resort for all intents and purposes; so what if we have only a fan and a cold shower and wash our clothes in buckets - raking leaves is purpose. It's  work. It's time to meditate on where you are, who you are, and what you want to do next.  When you have friends, what else could you ask for?

By the way, Jess got stung by a jellyfish today on her left forearm. I don't know what it mans yet, but I think the sea is reaching out to her. Yeah, what else would I think? She's the Animal Whisperer. I'm sure there is more to come, ye with little faith.

Day to day, things just tend to happen. At some point, you realize there is no way to write everything, and there is certainly no way to write things in any kind of order. So, what do I write about? What are the things I feel most important to share?

I saved a bug this morning from dying. It was one of those huge beetles the size of a fat thumb, fly around, making the sound of electric hair clippers, knocking it's head into things and making this sound a deck of cards makes when you slap it against your hand. This one wasn't flying though; it was laying on it's back, stretching it's arms, legs, whatever those six things are, and spreading it's woody wing covers and it's transparent wings out into the sand as if to make snow angels. "Dumb bug doesn't even know how to turn itself over," I thought to myself, standing both disgusted and heroically altruistic above it, knowing that I would struggle with a thought and then perform the actions I am about to describe.

When you're scared of bugs like I am, all kinds of things go through your head when you think of saving it. You know it's not a rational fear, but at the same time, bugs bite, and I'm not one to try to determine which bug does what. They don't seem to try to figure out which human kill them and which don't, and I serve that side of the human spectrum. What if the moment I flip it over it comes at me and bites me? What if I try to save it and one of it's wings gets busted, so it starts flying around in circles, smacking me in the head as I swat it and end up killing it anyways, only after it's infected me with it's bugness and possibly a horrible bite? These bugs are huge - can huge bugs have rabies? What if being around it gives me some kind of bug leprosy? And it's just all around gross to look at! These are actually tame descriptions of the kind of indescribable neorosis that find's its way into a mind like mine when it comes to bugs.

So I picked up a piece of coral, decided that it was not large enough to flip a bug over with, found a new piece of coral, wedged it slowly under about an inch of sand beneath the bug, flicked my wrist in the same motion as leaping backwards so as to flip the bug over and get out of harms way together. Success! I saved a bug! I received no reward, and this bug would most likely accidentally run into another of its own of the opposite gender and mate to make more of these hideous things - there was no way in the world that this bug would be able to figure it out otherwise- and I would most likely be fortunate enough to encounter it in my unenclosed shower later at night and be bit. C'est la vie. In in the wake of my awesomeness, I strolled across the sand and into the warm ocean water, feeling I could possibly catch us a shark for dinner should one come my way; I flipped over a massive bug and could now take on anything.

Swimming in the ocean is - well, as indescribable in a beautiful way as describing the thought process behind a fear of bugs is in a gross way. I feel like every description falls short of what it really is. It's not the crashing of the waves; it's not the way your body bobs with the movement of the waves or ebbs and flows with the movement of the water as it rises into shore and then bows back out to sea; it's not the sun, reflecting off the water and off of our face, or the massage of water and warmth on your body; it's what you make of it in your mind. It's the peace you find in yourself. It's like taking an energy drink for the soul, an elixir for a meditative mind. It's just something you have to experience for yourself.

Jess and I were in the water discussing purpose (we're both reading Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand) and realized that the ocean is our living room.

I swam, I did ocean aerobics, I tread water and allowed myself to drift on my back; I slowly made my way back to shore, running out in long, high steps with the crashing of waves, somewhat run-hopping out of the water in my last steps, and jogged to the chair in the sun where I had left my book, only to find that bug that I had just saved, dead.

So, the important things…well, we're gong snorkeling later today…is that important?

We sat watching the sunset yesterday; a plate of fruit beside us - pineapple, mango, papaya, watermelon, and banana - and a plate of homemade chips (french fries in America). Dimly lit artistic creations at the bar behind us glowed as a complement to the sky in purple and pink and red and blue as the sky itself swirled with these colors, the wisps of white clouds brushed through as the sun shot across the sky in spears of light. "God light" a friend of mine used to call it.

As we watched the sun go down in aw of the beauty, a mixed group of five Thai men and boys sat at the bar, facing the other direction, their backs to the ocean, watching Rush Hour 2. They had tasted this paradise so many times, it was no longer something to worship as we did. I found it funny that they were watching a movie about two Supercops, one from America and the other from China, fighting an English diplomat from making a fortune off of Chinese counterfeit money. A girl from the bar came over to us last night while we were playing cards and asked to watch. We taught her how to play Golf, and she asked us questions: "are girls my age like me in America? Do I look young like them?" She is 14. "I love New York. Manhattan." She may find her way to the paradise we escaped from to find our own, but it's not as simple for her; she knows it, we know it, we play cards.

Yesterday morning we put on goggles and went diving near the shore for seashells. It's no so much in the discover of something spectacular as it is in finding something in general, and not so much in finding something as much as just going down underwater, holding your breath for as long as you can while making sure you have enough to come back up comfortably (I never surfaced comfortably because I always struggled to stay down there longer than I should), feeling the water get cold so quickly as you dive down compared to the warm water on the surface, fighting the salt and the air in your lungs, both of which hope to pull you to the surface, while waving your hand over the sand, revealing whatever may or may not be under the surface. It's not about the acquisition - it's about the process.

I think I've always been about that process; the goal being the ability to go deeper the next time, to experience it further because you know how it is to be comfortable on the surface of it all. It's like the time I went sky diving; an advanced free-fall, with an instructor holding onto my suit on either side of me as we went floating through the sky having jumped out of a plane at 10,000 feet. When you don't know what to experience, when it's your first time and you don't have a place to file it oath tools prepared to absorb it, it goes by in a haze. You don't have the opportunity to witness the entire beauty of the horizon, or notice that you just fell through the clouds. The experience is still wonderfully surreal; unparalleled by anything you've ever done in your life. You still come away from it unable to look at the sky the same way again, feeling as if you somehow conquered it, yet knowing it can never be conquered. You made it's acquaintance for the first time. But you know you don't truly know it; you know there is so much more to learn before this acquaintance becomes comfortable; but you've said hello, and you can now forget the initial discomfort and fear and approach it with the ability to say "let's see how far we can go." Net time, you will witness yourself floating down past the clouds...

I'm sitting here now at the cafe, eating another fruit plate, swatting either flies, mosquitos, fruit flies, tiny black ants, or large red ants off of myself of my plate. I took a pair of underwear I had washed earlier off of the line hanging outside of our bungalow only to find tiny ants had found their way there and I assume found something sweat on them to enjoy. I have a suspicion it's the water in them that they are after. As I picked the ants off I realized how unenjoyable it would have been to have missed one before putting them on. At some point you have to forgive the insects all of their trespasses. I think about what the world would be like without them moving about and cleaning up after us; the only way for them to keep up with us and all the trash we produce would be to become a greater nuisance. Watching a bird pecking at the ground, eating an ant or one of the other bugs that I have no name for; watching a lizard climb up a tree, licking at the bark quickly, picking up lunch with its tongue. I've stopped worrying about flies landing on me, but I don't think I will ever allow flies to hump on my leg. Just not one of those things I will ever be comfortable with. I'm still unsure what the purpose of mosquitos are; we have all been bit over and over, and there is both dangle fever and malaria to consider; I surrendered to them swarming around my head as I hand washed my laundry in a bucket, pressing and tumbling and squeezing the shirts and pants in my hands as sweat and dirt from the days quickly changed the color of the water to brown. Hand wash your clothes sometime. It's very therapeutic. Can't find the time? You're dong something wrong...

You learn things on an island that you think about an know about in a city, but never quite grasp the gravity of. A white shirt may look nice, but over the period of a day (and sometimes just an hour), that same white shirt in black would be considered clean, while in white is a dirty mess. I like the white shirts I've bought here, but it's time to start buying clothes of different colors. Patterns to hide dirt or salt stains. We purchased some incense to burn under our clothes to give them the sense of cleanliness in-between washes. You start getting answers to questions like "why do people from this culture often smell like this" or "they all seem to wear this." Necessity.

I walked from Long Beach down to a southern beach and watched the sunset at Rasta Baby. I sat on a deck, leaning against a branch that was there as a backrest. The sun went down to the sound of Stevie Wonder. Ironic, I thought, to watch a most beautiful sight, hearing music created to bring so much peace and joy to the heart by a man who could not see what I was seeing then; what he somehow helped create for me - that moment in time - never able to see it himself.

It got dark; I decided to walk back, somewhat hoping to find a taxi to take me down the dark street back north to Long Beach. The first taxi, then the second, then the next all refused for some reason. A couple times a young boy was sitting behind the wheel rather than the driver; no one really seemed to be doing much of anything. I decided to keep on keeping' on until I found someone who would take me. I heard a familiar sound that I had not heard for nearly 20 years; the call to prayer from a Muslim mosque, echoing out into the street. Ko Lanta, this island, is predominantly Muslim. Having been raised in Saudi Arabia, the call to prayer was heard echoing throughout the city five times a day. I would sometimes wake up to it at 5 in the morning; a muffled whisper in my bedroom but a sharp song floating through the air outside. Men would come streaming out of their houses, dressed in traditional white dress, heads covered, walking toward the nearest mosque. I as now hearing this sound, 20 years later, on an island in Thailand. I don't know what prompted me to do it. I had a debate in my mind about it prior to walking in, as I walked toward the mosque, two steps forward and half a step sideways. Was I clean enough to pray? Was I going to break the bond of the group prayer by entering, having not prayed for so long, having eaten meat that is not halal (the Islamic version of Kosher), being (so many things some would consider not Muslim), having….so many things.

I walked in. The group was small; my presence alone increasing it by 10%. I stood in line as the Imam (leader) commenced prayer, and I prayed, for the first time, in that way, after many years. I don't know why I did it. I didn't have any need to do it. I didn't have any obligation. There was nothing specific I wanted out of it. I just did it. Existential I suppose - not so much Objectivist. Plenty of time to figure it all out.

*    *    *

This is the story of Jess, the Monkey Whisperer. It should be known that although many years of training have come with this title, it is not training hat has made Jess the Monkey Whisperer, nor is it an accurate statement to say that Jess is simply the "Monkey" Whisperer, for she has a way of talking to, befriending, and often liberating animals.

About liberating animals. Remember that squirrel on Ko Phangan? Jess called Alex over, one of the guys who helped run the bungalows at Phangan Villa Beach Bungalows. "Why is that squirrel in that cage?" she asked, not scornfully, but as a matter of fact and not. "Oh," said Alex in a somewhat confused and astonishes whisper that seemed drawn out as if a continuation of his own thoughts. "If it was me" he started to say. I quickly thought "wow, he doesn't like it either, but needed some affirmation before acting upon releasing it himself."

"Oh," he continued, "if it was me, I would put string around neck…" and now my thoughts took a complete turn to thinking this guy is as crazy as the guy running this place…" I would put string around neck and let run up tree. More free." Confronted once again with different notions of freedom. Alex leaves only to return moments later, walking up to the cage with a string in hand. He grabbed the squirrel and put the rope around it's neck, and started walking toward us. He paused, brought the squirrel eye to eye with himself, then brow to brow, kissed it, looked at it again, then continued walking to us. He put the squirrel on Jess' shoulder; the squirrel was, relatively anyway, free.

Okay, not a big deal you might say.

There was a monkey at the bungalows that one of the girls brought out one day. All the monkey wanted to do was to climb up a pole or a tree; any kind of high ground meant some sense of security. The girl had very different intentions, to make sure it got nowhere near a pole or tree. Poles, not so bad really. The monkey climbs it, and as the girl demonstrated, a quick jerk on the rope and the monkey is on land, frantically looking for something else to climb. There was a tug of war with the girl as the monkey tried to avoid the dogs on the beach, none of them meaning any harm, and while it swatted from time to time at her or anyone else who got near. I'm not sure if any of the swatting was a form of attack or just what monkeys do, swinging their arms around them looking for something to grasp and climb. The sharp nails made the movement look aggressive, but it may have been nothing.

After about five minutes of madness, the girl took the monkey away. As Jess and I walked back to our bungalow, we noticed the monkey rope attacked to a tree, the monkey high up eating a fruit that we found not to be ripe enough, a little bitter, and that made the tongue dry. Jess picked some off the ground and held them up for the monkey. Minutes passed and the monkey did not respond. Jess stood there, waiting. A good period of time had passed and no communication. I could tell that Jess was about to give up, something she should have done a while ago I thought. In one last attempt, she looked at the monkey, cocking her head to the side a little, mouth opened as if to speak but and say the words "come on, do you want some or not?" her hand held high and arm outstretched gesturing the same question. The monkey came down and grabbed a fruit. Jess started feeding the monkey for the next ten minutes until all her fruit was exhausted. The monkey sat low on the tree, as low as it could be while still on a branch, a little above eye level to Jess, sharing an orange that she peeled and shared, taking a slice for herself from time to time.

Okay, not a big deal you say? Maybe not for you big city folk. But when was the last time you freed a squirrel, had a snack with a monkey, or fed some form of cactus leaf to an elephant (yeah, that's right…an elephant…grabbed it right out of her hand). I may not have won you over with this one, but I'm sure I will. The Adventures of Jess have just begun, so her stories of animal whispering have as well.

Oh, and the bird auctions? They are actually bird singing gambling competitions. People keep birds to take to these contests in hopes of wining money for the birds singing abilities.  

It's nice not having a job. It gives you lots of time to do what you truly want to do, and in my case that is to travel. We meet plenty of other drifters who are also happily unemployed. Some do it because they can, others do it cause they can't find work back home, others do it because life is too short not to enjoy every second of it- 

I've been gone for less than a month and I am starting to get antsy. I always have an overwhelming urge to be productive. To create something. To do something effective. So naturally I re-evaluate my life once again:

There's my American Dream: To own a studio loft somewhere on the west coast where the people are funky, inspiring, and cheerful. I will have a lazy katt, and a little spunky dog. There will be perfect, cozy guest quarters so family and friends are ALWAYS welcome to come stay with me. I'll find work as a powerful executive or push the limitations of my doctorate degree in neuroscience and experimental psychology. That's how it goes in America it seems, make tons money you don't need, for things you don't need.

Then there's my Thailand Dream: Get a quaint little bungalow on the hillside of a beach running on solar power.  Wake up to a fresh breeze gracing my face every morning. Have a relaxing yoga setting in the corner of my porch. I'll have my pet monkey running around, causing trouble. I'll spend half of my day doing creative projects online, and the other part of my day progressing the recycling movement on the island.

…And finally my Japanese Dream: To have a small room made of paper thin walls that slide open and shut, with a Zen Garden growing in the backyard and singing birds perched on the window. I will be a nanny for a happy Japanese couple's baby. I will teach him English, and in return, I will learn Japanese. I am so intrigued by their culture. I want to learn more. The woman are so graceful and elegant. I want to take my shoes off before entering a home, wear kimono's everyday, be a fine sake connoisseur, giggle at the hirojuku girls, and admire the divine cherry blossoms trees everyday…At least that how I think my Japanese lifestyle would be like?!…

But alas! I am here in Thailand!… I just helped the bungalow owner rake leaves off the sand and got the rarest satisfaction out of it!…And now I am sitting on the beach, wiggling my toes in the sand, watching the cotton candy sunset with a cold beverage in hand. The shell-less crabs look like grey blurs running across the sand, then they disappear just as fast as they came, into a hole in the ground. I guess I don't have much to complain about, and this is just the beginning of my jobless journey….But this journey is my current job….And i am positive I'm learning much more sitting here thinking about how the world works rather than getting caught up in a mundane humdrum existence. So when I get down on myself for not being productive- I need to remind myself that I am here, living in paradise and so many other people would love to be in my shoes. So I guess I can't complain about much?!….

Last Night, we got an invite to party. I would have been content not going and instead playing cards with 4 Generations of Thai children, but I felt happy that a local islander thought to invite us on Facebook. So we went and met some CHARACTERS. The place we went to was owned by a skinny German guy who put all his creative recycled art all over the place. There were lights made of used up lighters, and sculptures made of driftwood. This place had an amazing ambiance and great music jamming! The fire dancer at this party was the best i've seen yet!!! He had such control over the tiny balls of fire attached to his hands. I have developed an intense admiration for this art and plan on continuing practice, so the next time i actually firedance, I won't burn my hair again.

We consumed a couple of delicious cocktails, said our goodbyes to the interesting people we met that night, and started our wander home along the side of the ocean. At night you see crabs scurrying from their burrows to the ocean, but the shadows make them look much bigger than they actually are! We sat along side of the coast, gazing up at the Black dome above our heads. All the glitter is overwhelming. I have never seen this many stars in my life! The sound of the ocean continuously pouring into the shore. It's paradise. I reminded myself that I can't ever take my location for granted. 

I can't wait to see what tomorrow's sunset will look like!?...

There are hundreds of things that I really love about everyday life here.  Today I will mention two of those hundreds of things.   

Buckets are first on the list.  In just about every bathroom you go into here there will be a bucket with water in it.  In this bucket will be a pan or cup of some sort to extract the water and pour it into the toilet in order to flush.  Right next to the bucket there is a small hose with a spray nozzle on the end to use in the abscense or replacement of toilet paper.  We had been using toilet paper for a while (which you don't flush) and then one day we ran out.  We were using the spray, all telling each other that the toilet paper was out and we needed to get more.  But no one ever did.  I think we all have converted now and don't miss toilet paper at all.  Its refreshing and clean. 

But enough about that, and back to the buckets.  Containing water to flush the manual toilet in not their only use.  They can also be used to wash clothes.  This is the most therapeutic and sastisfying thing I have done in a while.  Its fairly expensive to get your clothes washed around here.  I have gotten them washed once on the last island and it was that time again.  Lugging around a mix of dirty, damp, clean and dry clothes in humid weather and a stuffy bag does not leave them smelling like lavender for very long.  So when we were at the store buying mangos, we picked up a bottle of detergent.  Jess and James washed their clothes a day before me and commented on how fun it was.  I thought about this and realized I had never washed loads of laundry by hand.  Yeah I've washed a shirt or two in the sink before...but never loads of clothes from pants to bras.  So I dumped all my clothes on the floor and started washing, wondering if I would enjoy this process as much as they.  And I did.  The whole process was stress releaving and therapeutic.  I think the idea of sitting down and devoting a hour and a half of time to something that is usually a mindless task was a big part of the sastisfaction.  It was a bit of a work out too!  Kneading you clothes, scrubbing them, pushing them up and down in the water, rinsing, wringing them out and hanging them to dry takes a bit more enegy than throwing in the washing maching, dumping in some soap and pushing a couple buttons.  I felt so good after doing this task I looked forward to the time when I had to do it again.  They were dry the next day and I awoke to see that little ants were even helping in the process.  They were all over on of my white shirts.  I was worried they may chew holes in it when James told me they did the same thing to his underwear the night before.  "I think they are cleaner than they were when I hung them to dry." he told me.  So I left the shirt there and the next day they were gone.  No holes and I can't say the shirt looks noticibly whiter -- but I'd like to think they helped it a little. 

So, the lesson I learned from all this is that sometimes all the technology and tools we have to make life easier actually cause us stress and take the feeling of self sastisfaction away from us.  I have witnessed many people totally bent out of shape and in a panic becuase their washing machine broke or their dishwasher isn't working.  Almost like the world is ending.  For what?  Find a bucket!  I won't forget the bucket and will hopefully find a way to incorpoate one- or something similar- into my everyday life. 

Mosquito nets are also nice.  I like them for the practical reason of keeping the bugs away, but they are also sort of symbolic.  When you climb through the opening and clip the net shut, stuffing the bottom of the net under the matress to make sure nothing can creep in - its time to go to bed.  Nice and cozy, protected from the blood sucking mosquitos outside.  Then in the morning, when it starts to get a little heated in this bubble and there are no longer bugs to be protected from, its time to get up.  Once you crawl out of the cuccoon, the day has officially started.  There is no laying around in bed taking hours to wake up... its too humid for that.  Plus, you can't feel the fan as good from the inside of the net. 

This morning I woke up hearing words I have never heard before.  Cool huh!?  The situation could have turned out to be not so cool but it is neat to think that in my life, until this day, I have never been woken up by someone saying, "Everything is ok now but there us a tsunami warning in effect until 8 o'clock."  That was James.  Jess and I were still enclosed in the net and half asleep.  I didn't move because James said he would come tell us if we needed to leave.  But I was thinking about where all my stuff was and preparing myself to stuff it into my backpack as quick as possible if need be.  Then about thirty minutes later a woman who works here knocks on the door and gives us the same warning.  I was really not concerned for some reason, and figured I would run when I heard it getting real chaotic outside.  Luckily, that never happened.  Tornado, Hurricane, Thunderstorm, Hailstorm, and Flood warnings I've heard them all...Tsunami was a new one though. 

We were supposed to leave "The Beach" bungalows today.  After looking for different bungalows on another side of the island and not finding any we liked, we realized our spot is pretty prime.  We are pretty much the only people here, have made friends with the owners, the beach is gorgeous and we pay about 7 bucks a night.  Change is good, but sometimes its better to keep a good thing going.