Sixty Seven Minutes

A placard of Madiba on Robben Island

I remember his 92^nd birthday.  We were in Cape Town and his birthday wish was for everyone to give 67 minutes of service to represent his 67 years of fighting poverty and racism. With his words, I started my 67 minutes and I ended up entirely giving 19 months of my life to selfless service in many forms.  Thank you Madiba for your light and your gifts that you shared with humanity.

Sixty Seven Minutes, may we all continue to give.

It's a Regular Street Food Heaven

Eating in north-eastern Brasil means that you will inevitably come to terms with the fact that you’re likely to end up with splatters of dendê oil on your shirt.  Azeite de dendê, that thick bright orange reddish coloured oil seems to be omnipresent in the cuisine...and I cannot seem to get enough of it!

Moqueca de Peixe - Seafood Stew

Acarajé

Pastel de Queijo

Açai com salada de frutas

Café e Coxinha:  My Breakfast of Champions :-)

Imagine the World Cup - Imagina na Copa

As I try to determine whether or not I want to apply for match tickets for next year’s World Cup in Brasil, I’ve been asking a few friends and strangers about their thoughts on the event.  The responses have been somewhat pessimistic in nature. Some have indicated that they’re frustrated that the government would spend any money on the 2014 World Cup, arguing that there’s a much greater need for investments in healthcare and education.  A friend of mine pointed out that the infrastructure is already bursting at the seams.  “Imagine when you add in hundreds of thousands of soccer fans for a month?  What’s going to happen? It’s going to be a mess.  I’m going to try to be in LA for the duration of it.” Despite similar infrastructure concerns and many problems facing South Africa prior to the event in 2010, in my humble opinion, the nation hosted a pretty successful World Cup. 

As summer days stretch out into the early fall, Brasil’s currency, the Real, has significantly weakened against the dollar.  It’s currently trading somewhere around 2.38 to 1.00 USD. Even with a weakened Real, you will find that basic goods and services are quite expensive here.  Most economists point to the tax system, a system that prioritizes consumption tax over income tax, for the high prices. You need to be prepared to pay at least a 30% sales tax on most items. The protests earlier in the summer were sparked by an increase in bus fares. Residents in Rio and Sao Paulo spend a much larger share of their income on transportation than residents of Paris, New York or San Francisco. I met a few people in Sao Paulo who said it’s not uncommon to spend 4 hours a day commuting to work. You begin to understand why even a slight increase in public transportation costs would be the explosive spark for social unrest, an icing of salt to add to the cake.

On my 2^nd day in São Paulo, my friend suggested that I get a transit pass to make it easier for me to navigate by various methods of public transportation throughout the city.  We attempted to purchase a pass at two neighboring stations and found that both were out of stock.  “You might want to come early in the morning,” said one of the station agents.  “We receive 20 passes a day and we’re out of transit passes at the moment,”  said another. “This is a city of 22 million people and the station receives 20 passes a day,” my friend said, shaking her head. “This is only one example of something that will have to change before the World Cup next summer…but I can guarantee you that it won’t…”

I still haven’t decided if I’ll be in attendance for next summer, but I am hoping for the best and I do believe that Brasil will successfully host the event.  If I do go, I’ll be sure to explore the impact of FIFA’s relationship with the local communities where I stay. This will be the second World Cup to be hosted here.  One major downfall of the 1^st one hosted in 1950 was the nation’s loss to Uruguay for the championship.

*** Match tickets for Category 1 – 3 range from $90 to $990 USD.  Currently the first round ticket lottery is happening on FIFA’s website: http://www.fifa.com/worldcup/organisation/ticketing/apply-for-tickets/index.html

[1]Romero, Simon. (2013, July 22). Prices Fuel Outrage in Brazil, Home of the $30 Cheese Pizza. The New York Times

---

Perseverance Pays: Finally receiving my São Paulo Transit Pass

[

Traffic Rhythms

Rainy Wednesday in Pelourinho

A few weeks ago I was caught in a sudden tropical torrential downpour without an umbrella.  A young-ish man with a charming smile came to my rescue within seconds. Appearing to the right of me, he was wielding a large beach umbrella. “Hello there, I can provide shelter from the rain so that you can cross the street,” he said in a voice that was full of chivalry and with seemingly no strings attached.  I was then escorted across each lane of the four lanes of traffic, from one side of Avenida Sete de Setembro to the other.

Sometimes it’s the little things that help you adjust to a new place: Finding the nearest supermarket, figuring out how the transportation works, acclimating to the weather of a different climate. Simply learning how to cross the street is probably somewhere near the top of my list.  Initially, my instinct here was to step out into the street as I had become accustomed to doing in Southeast Asia. I made my way down Rua Marques de Caravelas on my first day in Salvador and I stepped out into the street, expecting that the traffic would effortlessly swerve around me if I crossed one lane at a time.  To my surprise, instead of becoming one with the traffic, I was almost side-swiped by a bus as I stumbled back for the safety of the curb.  Traffic just doesn't roll like that in Brasil.  Trust me, you will be run down!

Waiting for the 'refrain'....

As one day turned into a few days which turned into weeks, I began to relax into the rhythmic patterns of my surroundings. There are those gorgeous moments, almost like a musical refrain, when the cars queue in a line to make a left turn - that’s my opportunity to cross. I started to find the ubiquitous bass line in the roaring of a bus engine and the staccato in the frying pop of dende oil. My Spanish soon muddled itself like the limes in a caipirinha into a sort of make believe Portuguese where ‘ventana’ became ‘janela’ and ‘poquito’ became ‘poquinho’.  ‘Hablar’ morphed into ‘falar’ while ‘calle’ glided into ‘rua.’ I've oddly come to find some success in my communication efforts.

At the end of a day of strenuous technique training, some friends and I ran into the young man with the umbrellas at a beach near Porto da Barra. I asked him the price for 2 umbrellas for the 4 of us to share. 

“Ah…você fala bom Português,” he said. 

“No”, I replied. “I really only pretend to speak 6 words of Portuguese, but it seems to be working.”  

(PS… I've now been crossing the street perfectly fine on my own for about a month.)

Meu próprio guarda chuva

Elemento Fogo

Priceless are those moments when the spirit catches you and whispers a fire into the back of your neck that gracefully opens your back while undulating down your spine like a serpent.  

From your movement in the world, there comes a new found humility and strength.

Técnica Silverstre Training - Escola de Dança

Let Go and Let Brasil (but be sure to have your visa sorted!)

If you’re planning to head to Brasil and you happen to be American (and by ‘American’, I mean one of those North American, US citizen types), you want to make sure that all of your “T’s” are crossed and your “I’s” are dotted as you prepare for your departure. US citizens are required to obtain a visa prior to entering the country.  I was very particular about reading all of the fine print and created a checklist for myself.  I had heard a few horror stories regarding the visa process, but I personally had no problems at all in getting a visa, which was turned around in about a week.

The cost is $160 dollars, a fee that is reciprocal for the fee that the U.S. charges Brasilian nationals for visas to visit the U.S. You have to secure the date and time to drop off your application with the Brasilian consulate.  In order to secure your date to drop off your application, you will need a protocol number, which you can obtain after you fill in your visa application form online. Some websites state that they will expedite the process for you, but eventually all of these sites will lead you back to this one: https://scedv.serpro.gov.br/

Here you will need to fill in the application after which you will receive your protocol number. 

Checklist…..You will need the following:

·         A valid passport with an expiration that is at least 6 months after your intended date of arrival in Brasil.

·         One visa application per person.  You will need to bring the receipt page with the bar code.

·         One passport size color front view photo that has been taken within the last 6 months.

·         Proof of travel – You need a printed copy of your itinerary which includes your full name, confirmed itinerary, flight number/vessel name and dates of arrival and departure.

·         $160.00 USD reciprocity fee.  Cash, personal checks and credit cards are not acceptable forms of payment.  All consular fees must be paid in U.S. Postal Service money orders. The fee is paid on the day of the visa appointment.

You can go to the consulate in person to drop off your application or you can have someone drop it off for you. If you elect to have the application dropped off for you, it will cost you an additional $20.00 fee. 

I was able to get an appointment within two weeks of filling out the form online.   For the Brasilian consulate in San Francisco, visa applications are accepted from 9:00am to 12:00.  I was told that you cannot choose the length of time for the validity of the visa that you are granted, however I believe that 10 years may be the default at this time.  I was granted a 10 year multi entry visa, which is longer than the expiration of my current passport.  I was told that once I obtain a new passport, I can show the valid visa in my old passport to be allowed entry in the future.

The only issue that I encountered was my arrival in Brasil.  After an 8 hour flight from Miami, I had gone to the washroom soon after departing the plane.  I inadvertently ducked under a rope to reach the end of the line at immigration, an action which led to a pretty intimidating federal police interrogation and multiple threats to be repatriated immediately back to the US. 

My suggestion: 

**** Do not duck under any ropes in the immigration line and if possible use the washroom during the flight as soon as the last seat belt call is announced prior to landing.****

Once you make it here, I’m sure you’ll find that it’s well worth the hassle as it's really quite an incredible place. As a child, I always thought that musicals were absurd, because it was my belief that people would never just burst into song in real life.  I’ve seen folks erupt into song in Salvador da Bahia, and often. The occasion isn’t carnaval, but rather a Tuesday evening on public transportation. 

Pelourinho - Salvador da Bahia

Thank you Brasil, my love – for I’m now permitted to be held again in your embrace for 180 days per year over the next 10 years.  My heart overflows with gratitude to finally return. 

Sunset at Porto da Barra - Salvador da Bahia

300 and Some Odd Days or So....

There are three hundred and twenty one days that remain until the kick off of the next World Cup in Brasilia on June 12, 2014.  A few years back, a friend of mine from São Paulo shook her head while commenting that the 2014 World cup would pull the veil off the darling emerging market economy to expose what’s really going on.  So far her predictions seem to be true as there have been widespread protests throughout the country in response to, amongst other things, tax money being spent on stadiums at a time when hospitals and schools remain underfunded.  There have been reports of disadvantaged residents in Rio living in close proximity to Estádio do Maracanã being displaced from their homes due to stadium developments. During the 2010 World Cup, I encountered several locals in South Africa who referred to FIFA, the international governing body of football, as “Thiefa.” There were even rumors of threats to remove accreditation from reporters who were critical of the organization.  Some locals suggested that FIFA was a mafia of sorts due to the strict brand regulations on the food and beverages that could be sold (and who were allowed to sell them) within a specified radius of each stadium. 

It seemed that I was so absorbed into soccer that I almost lost the fact that I was going to South Africa or to the African continent for the first time for that matter.  During the flight from Frankfurt to Johannesburg, I was slumbering in my FC Barcelona #10 Messi jersey against my window seat when I was awakened by my spouse.  “Look at the flight map……we’re going to Africa,” he said.  As I looked at the flight map, I saw the image of our plane flying straight down the middle of this gorgeous continent with the southern tip as our destination.  Soccer aside, it was quite an amazing learning experience to visit a country so complex and rich in diversity with a constitution that recognizes 11 official languages.  We would end up travelling by every imaginable mode of transportation from Johannesburg to Durban to Port Elizabeth to Cape Town in pursuit of the beautiful game. 

I haven’t decided if I will attend the World Cup in 2014, given some of the controversies.  My heart resides with the people of Brasil.  However I do feel it’s important for the world to see how a host country is impacted by the staging of a large event like the World Cup.  Certainly there are many positive and negative impacts of the relationships between FIFA and a host country.  If you’re a fútbol junkie like me, be conscientious. If you do attend World Cup 2014, talk to the people about their experiences as citizens of a host country and be sure to share their responses with everyone you know. 

With 321 days to go, today I find myself going through pictures and reflecting on 2010 and the beauty that is South Africa. 

Durban = it's Bunny Chow!

Hluhluwe Imfolozi Game Reserve

Spain vs Germany Semi Final in Durban

View of Table Mountain - Cape Town

A Tapestry of the South African Flag

Winery near Cape Town

Johannesberg: Ghana vs Uruguay - Gyan's Penalty Shot...heart breaking 

“Dance translates what I cannot say in words….” Rosangela Silvestre

Obakoso Rehearsal - YK Photo

Dripping in sweat, I’m lying flat on the floor with my arms stretched out in front of me along with other students in a sort of prostration to the drums. The heavy bass of the surdo drum vibrates through the floor and through my being.  It’s the end of an Afro Brasilian dance class and my face hurts from smiling.  As my forehead rests lightly against the floor, I recollect my first encounters with this music, with these rhythms, a style that I haven’t danced in many years. 

I was living in Japan when Brasil gently collided into my life.  It was February and a colleague had taken me to a carnaval celebration outside of Tokyo in Kawasaki-shi.  There were several performances comprised of large groups of women and men adorned in colorful sequins, feathers and beads.  The entire room seemed to be spinning in a loud boisterous eruption of rhythm. I was soon intertwined into a gorgeous texture of sound that weaved a pulsating energy through the cavity of my chest.  It was entirely intoxicating and it wasn’t long before I too was jumping up and down, swaying side to side, laughing in abandon and joining in a lyrical shout along w/ the crowd:  “Água

água água mineral, água mineral….você vai ficar legal!”

I wondered where this had been my entire life. 

I was approached by several young men who, looking at me, spoke to me in Portuguese.  Looking at them, I tried to communicate back in Japanese.  They were Brasilian born Japanese and Portuguese was their first language. I explained that I spoke Japanese, but that English was my first language, which made for quite a humorous moment of cross cultural confusion on all sides.

I had no idea what profound impact that evening would have on my life.  It was the first time I experienced live Brasilian music. It was one of my first experiences with the music and dance of the African Diaspora. Throughout the rest of my time in Japan, I found myself sort of immersed and embraced within a Brasilian ex-pat community. This meant that I learned to dance Samba do pé and Afoxé.  I learned to dearly love and appreciate the roots of the music. I stumbled upon the life force known as Oxóssi as I learned to make moqueca de peixe.  I learned that in fact everything tastes better when fried in that thick dark reddish dendê oil. I would return home speaking almost as much Portuguese as I did Japanese.

 

Teaching dance workshops on a return trip to Japan

That February outing in a suburb of Tokyo illuminated and altered the trajectory of my life in many ways. I became impassioned to embark upon piecing together the disparate parts of my identity as I came to recognize and embrace the beauty and diversity of the African Diaspora in the Americas and its artistic expression. I would eventually make several emotionally charged trips to Brasil, Cuba and Haiti. I would find myself in a sort of spiritual repatriation, walking with purpose on a journey that likely began lifetimes ago. I would come to find solace through the voices that echo from beneath the water, from behind the mirror…echoes reminding me that I’ll never again be broken, even when illusion makes my surroundings appear as shattered.

This morning’s class was like a celebration, a reunion with the infectious joy that ignites my heart.  Embedded in my muscle memory, the vernacular of movement held my body like a glove. I think I genuinely laughed for the first time in a long time. I was at a loss for words really, flooded and uplifted in gratitude and memory. I was without a script. I really didn’t even follow the choreography, as it wasn’t necessary.

Speechless.   

This morning, I just danced from my heart.

Photo Inspiration - Omi Olorun

The Travel Hangover

Varkala Beach & the Arabian Sea: Kerala, South India 2012

Have you ever returned from a long trip to find yourself feeling less than ecstatic about being home? You may long for the daily routine that you’d become accustomed to while away. You may yearn for the landscape, the flavors, even the scent of the place you recently inhabited.  Within the past year, I have managed to spend more than a 1/3 of my time abroad and I’ve often found myself in a sort of travel hangover upon returning home.  After my most recent excursion, I was literally making mathematical patterns out of the shadows on the wall, aching to be elsewhere in the sun. One thing for certain is that no one is really going to feel your pain. What do you say? “Waaaah…I miss having banana pancakes and Vietnamese coffee on the beach, swimming in warm tranquil ocean water until the late afternoon and riding around an island on a motorbike?”  Being hung over after travel - it’s one of those side effects that no one really spends much time talking about.  So, I decided to share a few of the mechanisms that I’ve employed to help me to cope with the uneasiness of returning home.

Staying Active

If you had a routine that you followed before your trip, start adding the routine back into your regular schedule.  I follow a regimen of yoga and an Ayurvedic diet and I make a point to do my yoga at approximately the same time every morning.  I’ve found the re-establishment of my routine to be very grounding. Getting enough exercise is always instrumental in keeping the mind positive and knocking out the post trip blues.  In addition to yoga, I also add in other types of exercise like running, lap swimming and dance classes.  There was one day last week where I did my yoga routine, went for a run, then spent a total of 3 hours walking before taking a dance class.  At the end of the day, I realized that I need to be cautious about being overly excessive.

Remember: There’s no place like home

Another great thing to do is to remind yourself of all the things that you love about the place you call home.  Sometimes I’ve even pretended to be a tourist by visiting some of the landmarks where I live and taking photos.  I’ve captured some shots of gorgeous sunsets in my neighborhood.  I find it thoroughly enjoyable to fully immerse myself back into the vibrant cultural mix of my home city by embracing the artistic and dance communities that I’m a part of. Probably one of my favorite post trip activities (and one of the first things that I do immediately upon each return) is to reconnect with family and friends.

Getting Organized

I’ve found it helpful to clear out some of my belongings that I no longer use and to do a bit of re-arranging in my flat. Ridding myself of old stagnant stuff has made the re-adjustment process easier to swallow.  I’ve also been keeping things moving forward by working on my resume/CV and taking some tech classes online.  It can be quite uplifting to organize journals and pictures from the recent trip.  At the moment, I’m still going through photos and arranging them into an event folder and I’ve been working on some additional writing related to my travel experiences.  It’s a great way to relive the smiles, the endless white sugary sand, the mesmerizing way that the palms seemed to always be gently waving to the sky….(sigh)

Pampering Yourself

I’ve always been an advocate for taking time out for a little pampering. Part of my regular routine involves abyhanga, which is an oil massage that I sometimes administer in the morning before yoga.  Abyhanga provides increased circulation and increases levels of stamina.  Of course pampering can take many forms…from facials and foot massages to simply preparing a fresh meal or going for a long bike ride. Whatever pampering may be for you, remember that taking good care of oneself can make the process of returning home that much smoother. 

Choosing the Next Destination....Where to Begin?

The time in between trips can be particularly hard on you if you have nomadic tendencies. Making the switch to returning home can be uncomfortable and sometimes that discomfort can be more than just the jet lag from a 15 hour time difference. I’ve had several people suggest that a good remedy for the travel hangover might be to start planning the next trip.  I haven’t begun this process yet as I need to get organized with my work and my flat. However, the next adventure is never far from the back of my mind.

At any rate, these are just a few tips that have kept me going when I’ve found myself feeling a bit hung over after an adventure abroad. 

Most important: Stay Positive!

Serious Destination: Phu Quoc Island

 After my somewhat self imposed exile on Koh Phangan, I traveled north back to Bangkok, a 12 hour trek by boat and bus.  The following morning I flew to Viet Nam, where I spent a week on Phu Quoc, the country’s largest island located southwest of the mainland in the Gulf of Thailand.  I arrived in Phu Quoc after a 50 minute flight from Ho Chi Minh City to a brand new international airport that opened less than a month ago. The island appears to have a fast growing tourism sector though it is still quite undeveloped, possessing dense emerald coloured forests, the Ham Ninh sandstone chain of mountains and small vibrant fishing villages. Here you’ll find long quiet stretches of sugary sand combined with temperate water that is both turquoise and tranquil.  It’s naturally a wonderful place for water activities like snorkeling, sea kayaking or diving.  It’s also a great place to do a whole lot of relaxing in a hammock with a good book and of course…you can also cruise around the red dirt roads on a motorbike.

Road near the national park

 My friend rented a Sirius motorbike and we immediately personified the bike, referring to her as “Sirius” (or perhaps the spelling should be “Serious”.)  

Here she is....It's Serious!

During a long afternoon ride on one of the aforementioned roads, Serious suffered a punctured tire. It wasn’t long before we were taken in by a local family who realized our predicament and gave us rides to their home to fix the tire. It’s really amazing how much you can communicate with hand signals, a vocabulary limited to a couple of words and stick figures drawn on a map.  In the process of the tire repair, we were each offered numerous shots of homemade rice whiskey accompanied with fragrant leaves and thick slices of boiled sea snail.  The kindness and generosity extended to us that afternoon turned Serious’ wounded tire experience into one of my sweetest travel memories.

If you’re planning a trip to Southeast Asia in the near future, I highly recommend adding Phu Quoc to your itinerary. With all of the extensive development plans, the island is certain to be a very different place within 2 years.

Inside Phu Quoc's New International Airport

My 1st meeting w/ Serious

A Long Beach Restaurant at Sunset

The Seafood Selection at Dinh Cau Night Market

Banh Mi Vendor Near Sao Beach

In the Jungle with Myself on Koh Phangan

Spontaneity, it’s one of the things that I love about travel.  It’s in those moments when you encounter the unexpected that you’re given a gentle reminder of just how resilient you are.  I had taken a solo detour south to Koh Phangan, an island in the Gulf of Thailand that is famous worldwide for its Full Moon parties which draw 8,000 – 10.000 revelers on a monthly basis. The island itself has an almost mysterious air to it that I can’t quite put my finger on.  The landscape possesses a magnetic pull that seems as equally beautiful as it is dangerous.  I was there during an off time from the full moon event and had the opportunity to meet many locals who were amazingly friendly.  I also met several individuals from all over the world who told me tales of how they had succumbed to the island’s vortex and were either now permanently living there or spending several months there each year.

And so it was that I found myself in the Jungle.

I made a plan to spend an afternoon in Than Sadet, a beach area near the eastern tip of the island that can be easily reached by boat from Haad Thian. I was told that there was a road that ran north to the area from Thong Sala, a popular area on the southern coast of the island full of guesthouses, bungalows and boutiques.  I was also forewarned about the condition of the roads should I attempt to make the trek by motorbike.  Naturally, I opted for the roads and the motorbike rather than taking the boat route. 

The ride was quite exhilarating. The paved road soon gave way to dirt and I found myself surrounded by the jungle in all of its gorgeous hues of green and lush rolling mountains in the distance.  The road was quite uneven, at times like a treacherous path of crevices that sometimes dipped more than 2 feet.  I would walk the bike up the hills between the crevices and then I would ride down, maintaining my balance on the bike while navigating the uneven gravel.  The jungle, dotted sporadically with tall slender swaying palms, was vibrant and moist. The wind was softly blowing through my hair. This was exactly what I was looking for. 

With a bit of effort, I made my way to Than Sadet beach where I spent the day climbing through a small cave and up several flights of concrete stairs to find an astonishing view of the surrounding area.  It had taken me close to an hour to travel by road from Thong Sala, so I planned to head back around 4:15 in order to make it back before sunset.

I began to head back along the same road and after about 30 minutes, I realized that I didn’t recognize my surroundings.  There were leaves and foliage growing through the road, something that I didn’t remember seeing on my way in.  I noticed that there weren’t any vehicle tracks on the road.  I was going the wrong direction.  I turned around and pushed the motorbike back up the hill that I had just ridden down.  At times the wheels of the motorbike would grind in place as I tried to push the bike over the gaping holes in the uneven dirt. 

I found my way back to what seemed to be a slight intersection in the path and this time I veered to the road slightly to the left.  After another 20 – 30 minutes, I passed a pile of coconuts across the street from a thatched roof structure.  Again, I noticed that there weren’t any vehicle tracks on the road and soon foliage was growing through the dirt in the path in front of me.  I was on the wrong road again.  I turned around and with sore arms, began pushing the motorbike back up the hill. The bike slipped from my grasp and fell to the right of one of the crevices as I slid to the left braking my fall with my hands.  My hands were throbbing in pain and I looked down to find them slightly bleeding.  At this point my mind began to race. ”My hands are bleeding a bit….I’m not sure which road to take. My liter bottle of water is not quite ¼ full and it’s going to be dark soon…”

A small snake then slithered its way in front of me.  It was about a foot long and was the width of an electrical cord, but nonetheless it was a snake.  I can be pretty intrepid and at times friends and relatives have even referred to me as ‘fearless’, but if there’s one thing I have an absolute unnatural fear of… snakes.  I stood frozen in the gravel.  I could only hear the quickening of my heart beat, which was deafening in my ears.

”It’s getting dark and I’m in the jungle….and there are snakes….”

“There aren’t even any tire tracks. How long would it be before anyone finds me?!”

“OK, Breathe….Breathe….”  

Sweat was slowly trickling from the back of my neck down the middle of my back as I tried to calm myself by repeating the mantra that I had been given.   My arms were lightly shaking as I continued pushing the motorbike back up the hill.  I once again found the intersection and I pulled out the compass app on my iPhone which confirmed that the road veering furthest to the left was headed south.  I proceeded along this path and soon enough I spotted a grey truck on the road heading towards me.  As I approached the window of the truck I asked the driver “Thong Sala?” while pointing to the path in front of me and wishing that I spoke more Thai. 

Yes” he replied, motioning for me to turn right at the end of the road. 

“Kapoon ka!” I said with a large smile of relief.

The uneven dirt soon returned to a paved road of comfort that took me back to the civilization of a Thong Sala beach lounge restaurant where I had gone for lunch the day before.  In the back of the lounge facing the beach is an intricate network of tree houses.  The conversations amongst the clientele seemed to always be in mixtures of English, Thai, Swedish and Japanese.  I ordered an orange pineapple shake and shared some laughs about my day long journey with my rented motorbike. 

“Is this your first time to Koh Phangan,” the bartender asked.

“I’ve been to Thailand before, but yes it’s my first time on this island,” I responded.

“Ah, you’ll be back,” he said with a smile as he handed me my drink.  Soon after, everyone in the lounge seemed to pause to witness the sun as it began to set over the sea. I found a peaceful solace observing the sun as it bled itself across the horizon, leaving the sky streaked in fiery shades of orange. It was in that moment that I began to look forward to my return trip to this island.

A January Sunset on Koh Phangan

The Visa on Arrival

The Grounds of Wat Pho

I had initially planned to stay in Bangkok for a maximum of one week and now it’s been a full 10 days.  As we waited for visa approval letters for Viet Nam during the holiday period, one day easily became two, which naturally became three.

I think after a couple of trips here, I’ve finally managed to fully grasp the concept of allowing myself to become a part of the traffic when crossing the street.  The traffic here is a sort of friendly chaos that makes crossing the street part instinctive, part intuition and all confidence that the approaching vehicles will effortlessly swerve around you if need be.  Everything is to be taken one lane at a time.

Khaosan Road at Night

The locations where we’ve stayed so far have been in close proximity to Khaosan Road, a well developed backpacker haven somewhat known for its debauchery.  Every evening the street explodes in bright collisions of colorful lights, with the bass lines of several dance tracks grooving at different intervals from the bars on the sidewalk and right now there’s no escaping ‘Gangnam Style’. It can be fun, but too much of a good thing can be an assault to the senses.  In contrast, a short ride on the Chao Phraya River will bring you to Wat Pho, where you can immerse yourself in the peaceful atmosphere while visiting the place where the largest reclining Thai Buddha resides.  It’s also possible partake in a massage at the excellent massage school on the premises.  I was fortunate to take a private long boat through several undulating curves of the city’s canal network and along the way had the chance to dangle bits of bread with my fingers into the water from the side of the boat to feed a large population of thick plump grey catfish with hungry oblong mouths.

Usually when the term ‘visa on arrival’ is used, it means that the entry visa is stamped in your passport at immigration when you arrive at a border with little preparation beforehand.  Although the visa for Viet Nam is consistently referenced as a visa on arrival, what I didn’t realize is that this visa is really a pre-arranged one.  This means that we had to obtain approval letters beforehand to be presented when entering immigration in order to obtain the actual tourist visa.  The visa approval letter did eventually arrive by email and I was very much looking forward to traveling to Ho Chi Minh City today only to be told this morning that my flight had been cancelled.

Inside the Long Boat

With yet another added day in Bangkok, I took the opportunity to revisit the Chao Phraya River. Gently rocked in the river’s bosom, I slowly fell into a light slumber amidst the sound of the water.  Although the boat was swaying, the surroundings today seemed eerily still as even the wind seemed to hold its breath.  I’m anticipating what tomorrow will bring and I’m quite certain that I’ll finally be on the way to my next destination.  In the meantime, I’ll enjoy the stockpile of mangosteens that I’ve gathered…those small dark purple coloured fruits with thick skin and citrusy flavor.  Like Bangkok, these delightful balls of perfection are slightly sour and incredibly sweet at the same time.