Weary To A Degree (mass email 5.0)
Good Friend,
Lately, ever since the liver bug declared war, it seems as if I have been searching for a space like home. I seem to have conquered the depths of homesickness haunting me before; what I look for now is, yes the familiarity of home and being together with my loving family, but also an iota of permanence, settlement, around which I can find creative spaces, from which I can launch my tactical campaigns of discovery. As my money dwindles, the final drops hovering on the lip of the empty can, I plan to wrap up and head into China within the month, and be back in old Queensbury, NY within two.
This email truly warrants the increment in version to 5.0; so much has happened since last time, when our brave heroes were: flayed and flamb]ed in Paharganj, Delhi - me waiting a ridiculous amount of time to get my China visa (HUGE mistake to attempt in Delhi), my sister getting ready to scoot out to Nepal for some elegant education, abandoning me to the autorickshaw smog and teeming germ warfare of Hindustan. At that time we ran into Tom, our jovial and well-spoken Belgian comrade-in-abdication, and my fate tried to take a sharp corner, spun out, and reversed direction. Our dinnertime conversation about his experiences in Thailand (he planned to return following an excursion to Darjeeling and Calcutta) aroused my curiosity about Thailand. Still yellow in the eyes and faint in muscle and bone, was I already contemplating the continuation of my travels? I had my doubts, but was convinced enough that a stay up north would do my body good. Besides I planned basically to hit the beach in Thailand and rest like a good boy in case my recuperation in India was not complete.
The stagnant heat of Delhi lifted slowly on the overnight bus ride up to Manali. My fitful sleep was interrupted by my popping ears - ah, the familiar ascents in elevation - and then totally disrupted by the fearless speeds the driver hurled the bus to, in the dark, on rattlesnake roads somehow twisted through ravines and gorges, all a big blind corner. In the middle of the night, a stop for chai. Drowsy foreigners stumbled off the bus, unaware of the rusty trap laid. Yelping like dogs bitten in their sleep, they rushed back in for sweaters, pullovers, jackets that had been absolutely useless just hours before. The yelps materialized and floated casually in the blank of sound created … by leaving Delhi far behind.
Shanag, a village just a few kilometers up the road from central Manali (which was gearing up for the annual onslaught of both moneyed Indians and backpackers, looking to escape the brutal lowland heat), became my home for the next two and a half weeks. More restful days my soul has seldom known. My body greedily ate up the ten or more hours of sleep provided it every night, and my stomach the infinitely-snarfable boiled rice and dal and Raj dal and mixed vegetables and parathas and chutneys Leela, her younger sister Pushba, and Mama and Papa Thakur whipped up every day. In the waking hours I … napped … and … practiced djembe with impunity on the second floor roof, sun beating the spurious clouds backstage, snow painted peaks and a cascade of apple trees filling in the valley, greeting my eyes if open. Nobody to come tell me to Shut up, Stop playing already, verbally or by suggestion of attitude. Such inhibitions are rarely lifted. So I drummed away. The rest of the time was filled easily in talk, non-enjoyment of awful Bollywood movies the kitchen TV seemed magnetically tuned to (divine mandate?), and taking notes on everything from reflections about being sick to recipes observed from kitchen activity.
Leela’s mother, a hardy woman of 65 who still does an enormous amount of work despite her age, flashes a toothy grin (those teeth and the mush between them easily observed when she chews) and says I should eat “muli”, or radishes, as they will help me recover from jaundice. I head to the market in Manali and, surprised they are sold for a mere Rs 10 (US $0.25) a kilo, take home two kilos - that was one kilo too much as I discover why since first having the shock of radish tang in grade school, completely unexpected in such humble, even cute looking veggies, I henceforward always spurned them. The radishes here are not round and red, but carrot-shaped and white, nearly like the ones plucked from the earth in Super Mario Bros. 2, minus the smiling face (that would be SPOOKY!). My mouth quivers and puckers and my tongue sloshes around the raw slices; a faint burning sensation develops in my stomach. Bleegh!!! But it is easy to imagine that the unpleasant tang is precisely wherein lies the diminutive radish’s medicinal value, its healing powers, the potion in the poison. I become a radish zealot, always peeling the suckers, stuffing my face with them rabbitlike. And slowly, SLOWLY! something works! The toxic hues begin to lift from my eyes! My energy begins to gather and swirl in a small vortex, getting stronger and stronger, bigger and bigger. Was it the radishes? I ain’t sayin’ it waren’t!
In a calmly happy, even blissful state of mind, I left my good hosts the Thakur family in Shanag, to return to Delhi (quite unwillingly) and then by rip-roaring fun on Biman Airline’s turbulent flight to Bangkok, where I was received by none other than Tom! After a quick introduction to the flashy capital - you could hear the sound of twine snapping from my ears, tied as it had been tightly around the Indian experience for four months - culture shock was in effect - we headed to the famous resort islands of the Samui Archipelago, to the east of Thailand proper. (Phuket, another popular destination for more well-heeled vacationers, and ravaged by the tsunami last December, is on the west coast.) There on Koh Phangan we hung up hammocks and fed our days to the fishes. And one layer of skin to Helios. And one long night to the Black Moon Party. Make that two for me; after Tom left for Belgium (a sad day for all involved!) I proceeded to BREAK IT DOWN at the nearest Half Moon Party, hosted in the jungle unlike the Black Moon and Full Moon parties, which are held on the inviting sands of Haad Rin beach. The discovery in general: man, some people can PARTY! I’m not referring to the get-pissed-acquire-booty variety of party-goer, but the hardcore psy-trance fans who danced nonstop (con drogas?) from at the latest when I arrived at 4:00am, after startin’ up the groove machine at Haad Rin, to 11:00am, and then straight on through into the more chilled out After Party at a new location, until 4:30pm when I left, my lifebar utterly spent. What kind of batteries do these folks run on? I observed them taking nothing but beer and water. I was starving by midmorning and had to wolf down a couple of sweet baozi at the 7-Eleven, which is where I found out there would be an After Party at all. At the time I was reluctant - my feet hurt, my brain felt fried in fatigue, and I was HUNGRY. But spontaneity prevailed over classical Bino-sense, and before long I was sliding across the dance floor again, my energy accumulating and dissipating to the mood of a sine wave. Amazingly, my body stood up laudably well. Granted, I had already made certain to the extent possible by self-monitoring that physically, I was just about up to snuff again. In fact, up to and after the partying, up until even now as I write this, I have been feeling incredible, the phoenix reborn from the flames of Varanasi death and cremation! Though none of the lovely ladies have capitalized on this happy state of affairs … YET. The real indicator of health has been my mental/psychological state; recently I have been endlessly optimistic and enthusiastic, even ready to forge out through half-baked fluffy-caked ideas and embark back to China - via Laos.
And friend - THAT is the plan. Tomorrow will be my last day in Bangkok, and Thailand as well, for I will be heading by bus to Vientiane (pronounced “Wieng Chan”), the capital of Laos, to begin another two or three week long epic of discovery. I am excited , and I feel ready. Bangkok is pretty swish, but it also reminds me of many things about the home I will return to soon. Those reminders are full of impossible contradictions and illusions I have somewhat learned to chop down and see through this past year (yes, nearly that) of travel. I keep thinking, who knows when I’ll have another chance to come to Southeast Asia, or even Asia at all? Though my pennies be pinches and tightly at that, it is all justified in my belief that when I make it back through to the other side, the New World, no expense will have been spared, not in vain, only in the pursuit of living experience, of wisdom, and of the company of good people.
In the next few weeks email will be largely inaccessible for me, because the information infrastructure of Laos lags much behind China and Thailand which sandwich it north south. If you deserve a personal reply from me, rest assured you will get it in time - no way have you been forgotten! My fingers still grow a little warm, a little orgiastic at the thought of holding my own computer again, cradling my high tech baby. If not before that glorious day arrives, then you will certainly hear from me when we all stumble into those halcyon days to come!
Until then, be well, my friend! Take care of your health, take a little time for rest and inspiration, keep those TV’s off and newspapers rubber-band wrapped, make music with word and deed, and let your good energy radiate to all around you! I miss you muchly! And I leave you with an idea that has occurred to me in the past few days. That idea is: our social intercourse is so much like playing a came of “catch” with the other. Every day, at every time and place we share with other people, we have the opportunity to both throw and catch this deceptively important ball and either start up or continue games. There are several aspects of this metaphor which I would like to flesh out in the future, because I see it as useful for myself, as a reminder of the suppositions underlying my more shy, more antisocial moments. It is helpful to think of interacting as joining in a playful game, about which one should not be too serious. What are your thoughts?
Missing you, and
Power to your Dreams,
Bino / Haw-Bin