Yeah, it’s…well, first off, thanks for asking. Yeah, it’s…it could be better. I did manage to suffer through Tuesday without Durian. So I figured, every-other day would still get me slimmed down, yes?
Yes, so I et one yesterday, Wednesday. I used the Durian Truck located out near the Boxing Stadium, rather than the Khlong Toei vendors. A little more expensive there, and the Truck, operated by a husband-and-wife team, is not every day in session. But when it is in session, it’s all Stop The Presses This Shit Is So god Damned Delicious! time.
In other words, to-day, Thursday, I et two fruits from the Durian Truck. And though you may expect that I’m all about to chuck the diet; you may just need to re-expect. The diet will live on! Tomorrow is a new day!
But, also. Looking for orchards to which to pay visit, I ferreted out this Bangkok Postpiece from a few years back.
At the Suan La-ong Fa (Sky Mist Orchard) in tambon Khao Phra of Nakhon Nayok’s Muang district, over 50 species of the popular fruit, some with names completely unknown to most Thais, can be found. The orchard has, against virtually impossible odds, managed to preserve some near-extinct durian.
And so I sez, “Rata, does this place accept visitors?” Given this loan lead, Rata – what a star! – did the leg-work in learning that not only does the orchard welcome visitors; but that on Saturday – two days from now – there’s some sort of festival, or show, or expo, or something going on there. She’s got the directions all written out for me. Couple of hours from here.
It’s a bit of an expedition. The one real catch is that one of the segments is via moto-taxi. Which, not only have I a morbid fear of motorcycles; but speaking as a pedestrian, I find them even more loathsome than their four-wheeled cousins.
But when it comes to Durian, I think, probably, my “convictions” are right out the window. If the moto cracks up and I’m never heard from again; know that it was all in the service of Durian.
So, anyway, the transition to Rainy Season was much less gradual than I’d been expecting. Two days ago was still hotter than the proverbial Blazes; yesterday was cloudy all day long, then, come evening, the sky opened up and belted us a good one. To-day was off-and-on raining all the whole entire time. I did at one point spy one or two patches of blue up there in the heavens. But only one or two.
For better or worse, it did let up enough for me to patronise the Durian Truck.
Yesterday I visited the Royal Barges Museum, over on the west side of the river. I’d had it on good authority that the museum would be worth the 100 Baht admission fee. Uh, no. The boats were pretty neat (not sure why they call them “barges” – they’re ornate long-boats used for Royal processions) and all; but there were only, like, eight of them. Took ten or fifteen minutes to check them all out. It’s maybe worth about 20 Baht, at most.
Worse, though, they wanted 100 more Baht for photo-taking permission. Jeez, talk about a “royal” reaming! Well, it wouldn’t have mattered, ‘cause I stupidly formatted my camera’s card before I’d got the latest batch of pictures from it. Just ‘cause I’m, y’know, stupid.
So that means also no pictures from Wat Suwannaram. It’s located near the museum, and is renowned for the quality of its murals. And they are quite something – possibly even worth making a return trip to re-take the photos. Visited a few more temples, and generally wandered around Thonburi for the day.
Was all excited to then rock out to Lumphini aerobics. I’d missed them Monday owing to the bowling match, then Tuesday with the sore foot. Wednesday would be the day! And then…and then…the skies darkened, the winds picked up, the thunder/lightning drew ever more the near. And the sky opened up wide.
And the aerobics were not to be.
If this is the bottom-line bottom-line of rainy season…I’m not so sure I’m for it!
Be that as it may, I do have some media to share in lieu of the lost, and also the never-were, photos. First up, the group pics of Bowling Match 2012, from De Talak’s Facebook.
Next, a photo’d been sort of lost in the shuffle. It’s actually from Nong Khai, at Passport Control. I’m in love with dude second from the left.
Finally, a very, very special treat for y’alls! Almost certainly the most special treat since Brain Power Center back January.
The potty-mouthed Canadian is gone, off to Vietnam. He’s left memories to last a lifetime. But: what of those that weren’t present, and thus no memories by which to revel in his Canada-fied glory? That’s right, motherfuckers: surreptitious cellphone recordings! Hey, if he’s gonna have a loud/obnoxious conversation right there in the common room, it’s fair game to put same on the Internet for alls to enjoy. (To his credit, this has got to be the only loud/obnoxious cellphone conversation in World History that’s actually been interesting enough to circulate Internetside…)
Bad news: Chanthaburi World Durian Festival 2012 is at its end. Good news: I can now feel free to moderate my Durian consumption; and hopefully lose this frickin’ gut I got on me! Uh, by the way, Buddha’s big round belly? Eating Durian; being a Fat/Lazy Fuck. No other explanation.
Fat/Lazy Fuck?
Back in Bangkok now, Monday afternoon. The Japanese used-clothesters have returned from Chiang Mai and want to “play bowling”. I had (to my mind casually) asked them, before, whether they put any English in their rolls? Simple question’s been haunting them ever since, ‘cause they thought that anybody who would ask such a question must be some kind of a ringer.
To-day I reassured them that, no, not only is my roll straight as a arrow; but I haven’t even bowled in twenty years (or what). But now I’m wondering why they were so worried about it? Will there be stakes? We’ll see!
As far as the last days in Chanthaburi went: it breaks down like this.
Saturday morning, I was to it to pay for a coupla more nights at the hotel, and noticed this pricelist. Another use of the term “washing powder”. Love it! What is/are Kongtip vs. LM/LM cigarettes? Got me!
I wanted to go visit this exhibition whose posters I’d seen around town. At the DERM Gallery, if you’re keeping track of these things. In typical Thailand fashion, the locals I asked for directions were only-too-willing to help out…and also typically Thailand, their directions were opposed to the tune of one hundred eighty degrees.
Luckily, they all agreed upon the road on which the gallery is sited; so it was just a matter of walking its length in both directions. Turns out, I’d already seen this exhibition during a previous walk down there along the river road, had made a mental note to come check it out, then forgotten about it. Turns out they were one and the same; though I didn’t see any signs to the effect of “DERM Gallery”.
Visited a temple while heading in the wrong direction. Not too fond of the temples in Chanthaburi, to be honest. They’re mostly these gaudy/cartoon-y Chinese constructions. This one, I thought it funny that the sign tells in English what the sign is regarding, but everything else is in Thai.
I guess we can figure that the temple was either built or begun in 2368 (N.B., in the Buddhist calendar, it’s currently 2555).
The art show was quite good. Scenes from Chanthaburi, mostly centering on the river area. Here’re a few of my faves. Photos of photos: lame as; but at least photos of photos were permitted here, so, strike while the iron’s hot and all.
Also took a stroll down “Gems Street”, in session Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. Not really floating my boat, I’m afraid.
In some more scenes from the wonderful Namphu Market, we see the freakiest/coolest vendor in Chanthaburi (probably can’t tell, but she’s always got her face all dolled up with white makeup)…
…some beautiful storm-clouds rolling in…
…lady slicing up a jakfruit…
…lady on a bicycle (one of the very few bicyclists in town)…
…a trio of ladies vending kebab (“Thai BBQ!” they kept trying to entice me)…
…and a hamming-it-up moto-taxi driver.
Also at the market…well, one is continually reading about the dire situation of global fish populations. In this light, it’s sobering and depressing, but also pretty amazing to see the quantities offered up for sale at just two small stalls in one Market in one small-ish town in one small-ish country in the World.
In happier news, Sunday at the park was some kind of kayak regatta. If you think these announcers are crazed during (what I’m guessing to be) the participants’ introductions…
…just wait ‘til you hear the call of an actual race (and note that they’re even more excitable during the closely contested heats).
At the Festival, a portrayal to live by!
Though, not everybody found it quite so inspirational as all that.
Here’s the Rambutan/Mangosteen-eating contest. Beforehand, I’d been sitting down by the river, watching the races, and was invited to join in. Rambutans? Fuck that shit! I politely declined – but it was a fun occasion to witness.
Well, shit. Can’t get the file uploaded. Must be corrupted or something. If anybody wants to come and visit, I’ll let you watch it in person.
Sunday evening, made a brief visit to a wonderful temple I’d been wanting to visit all week. The gates’d been closed all week long, and finally now they were open. I think for some or other event soon to begin, as the Ordination Hall was all set up with chairs in theater-style and the novices were sweeping off the walking-paths. So I felt sort of like I oughtn’t really be there during this time, and made the visit of much shorter duration than I’d’ve liked.
But, damn, this was a really great space! All set in amongst lots of beautiful trees, and with some incredibly ornate and strikingly unusual-looking structures all about the grounds. For example!
To-day, Monday, after de-boarding the bus at Bangkok’s Ekkamai terminal, I figured I could just cross the street and catch the same city bus by which I’d arrived to the terminal for my outbound trip to Chanthaburi.
At the stop, a group of yellow-shirted ladies arrived and motioned for me to sit down and wait, rather than standing. I was all right standing. They asked me (or so I guessed) where I was headed. When I told them Khlong Toei, they grew consternated; as though they were of the belief that there shouldn’t be any Khlong-Toei-bound carriages arriving soon…nor ever.
I used my digits to indicate to them my intention to catch the same #149 by which I’d arrived. (It wasn’t on the list of routes serving this stop – but it’s not at all unusual, I’ve found, for routes to be wrongly omitted from the stops’ lists.) Another, blue-shirted, lady agreed with them that I was up shit creek if I thought I was going to get to Khlong Toei from there.
But after she hopped her own bus, a young gentleman, speaking fine English with a vaguely Creole-sounding accent, but to-that-point only silently observing, joined the fray. He told me to get to Khlong Toei, I should cross the street and catch the #149 – but that it’d be a long time waiting.
While I was trying to confirm that this would mean that it was a circular, rather than a to-and-fro’, route, a rather heated exchange erupted (in Thai, natch), involving the fine young gentleman and the ringleader of the yellow-shirted ladies. After some time, he again advised catching the #149 on the other side of the street.
“But it takes a long time?” I asked.
“Yeah. Just go sit in the shade and wait for it.”
But before I could do, another heated exchanged between the two, after which the fine young gentleman asked, “Can you take a taxi? It shouldn’t be more than sixty Baht.”
I said that, come to that, I could just take the Skytrain – but that I preferred to take the bus. One final heated exchange ensued, before I was finally sent off to the other side of the street to wait. And factually, it wasn’t a very long wait at all. Okay, maybe somewhat so by Bangkok standards; but for those used to waiting for the bus in Sea-Town, it was a comparative walk in the park. But shit-howdy how I’d sure love to know just what line of thinking was exchanged between the fine young gentleman and the yellow-shirted lady.
Turned out it wasn’t really a circular route; but rather that Ekkamai was the end of the line. Instead of laying over at the terminal, however (like is done at Sai Tai Mai), they just loop around to the main route via the next road over – hence the catching of the bus on the same side of the street to which one’d exited.
Anyhow, a super-fun bus ride. Good rule of thumb for Bangkok city buses: any time you’ve entered a bus with wooden planks for the flooring, you’re in for a super-fun ride. Don’t usually feature music, however; and never music this righteous, nor with a driver this awesome.
Tuesday morning update, check it out.
We went last night to “play bowling”. There were six hostel guests, and one hostel staffer; the latter acting as de facto guide/host for the evening. All told: three Japanesians, one American, one Thai, one German, one Dutchman. Four bucks a game, not so bad. We split it into two teams, determining to take the average score to figure the winning side; the loser agreeing to pay for the next game.
Right out the gate, I opened up with a very nice 0-1; and after two frames my tally stood at a so-impressive four pins down b/w sixteen left standing. I don’t think I even notched my first spare until the fifth or sixth frame. But once I finally found the perfect ball; I began to pick up steam. Indeed, my 159 in our second game proved to be the highest score of the fourteen person-games for the evening’s event (i.e., seven rollers multiplied by two games per the each). Funnily enough, that was more less my average score back when. Guess some things never change.
Most craziest thing that happened was probably when I was standing front of the ball-return, looking up at the scores, and a god damned bowling ball fell out and landed on my foot! What the shit is it with all my foot injuries here? I walked it off, and thought it had after a few minutes healed just right; but now this morning it’s bothering me. I think it should be fine by tomorrow. But, shit. Man.
Anyhow, here’s to it.
Yoshi, one of the two Japanese instigators of the Bowling In Bangkok, in an early, pre-flash-use, shot.
Daisuke, his used-clothes partner-in-crime, in a newly-activated-flash-use scenario.
Couldn’t count the number of times he went over the line – lucky thing good ol’ Walter Sobchak wasn’t there to fuck him up two times!
A crazy-weird “ghost” image; also pre-flash.
The third Japanesian, new to the hostel. Looks more, here, as though he’d just lost control of his basketball dribble! He’s a good man, and a good bowler.
The post-tourney group-photo gather-‘round.
We split the two games; although our team had far the highest two-game average (this little fillip counted for nothing or less than). After, we went for eats to Khlong Toei (cooked-food division). The German noted that he’d tried under-ripe Durian, on some Thais’ advice; and thought it okay, but would like to try some soft.
I promptly went and got some; soiling my slim-down-vow in one fell swoop. Well, I figured there’s always tomorrow, right? Also, when I’d returned to the hostel, they’d presented me with a couple of packs of freeze-dried Durian. I’ve heard about this before now. I think it’s available in the States, but I could never find any at the Asian Markets. Pretty delish, as it happens; not as sweet as I’d been expecting.
I think the German found the Durian basically tolerable. The Dutchman seemed quite impressed (his first-ever sampling); the Japanesians, you’ll recall, had a few weeks back said it was okay but that they’d no need to ever try it again. Well, they done tried it again, and now they’re whistling a different tune; saying it’s rather begun to grow on them.
They’ve just split the hostel, and in fact split up; one heading to Singapore, the other to Hong Kong.
Only a few familiar faces now remain.
The Koreans have returned from Chiang Mai – the one whom I’d earlier reported to be fast becoming addicted to Durian kept e-mailing me during the Festival asking for updates, and wishing he could’ve been there. I went searching and found a couple slated for Penang in July; he says he hopes to be able to cross my path then. Durian Power speak the word!
The Aussie who’d organised the art project has returned from Cambodia, where he’d spent some weeks building a yurt! I am in receipt of notice that he needs to “fuck off to MBK” (one of the mega-shopping-centres) for something or other.
The Japanesienne and her Italian boyfriend are still looking for an apartment.
And Carolyn, rather than repairing to Hua Hin, has flewn all the way back to the States!
Really interesting new arrivals include a Frenchman who lived nine years in Japan, and speaks apparently impeccable Japanese. He was up ‘til very late hours of the night holding forth with the three Japanesians. Don’t know about what they were speaking, but he had them laughing their asses off all night long. I’m talking, like, every fifteen or twenty seconds the Japanesians would bust out cracking up. It was pretty nuts.
Dude’s also a martial arts instructor; came here specifically to learn/teach Muay Thai Boxing; but owing to a motorcycle accident, is now laid up, no boxing, until his wounds have healed. They’re pretty nasty looking, I do declare.
Canadian music-festival enthusiast sporting many tattoos, and cursing nearly as much as my own self. He put in a rush-order for a Vietnam Visa (having to pay double the cost, or something like) ‘cause his friend wanted to meet him in Hanoi; only to find out that his friend’s rented a motorcycle to ride to Saigon; so now he (the Canadian) doesn’t know when he’ll be able to see him (the friend) to give him (the friend) a hockey jersey he (the Canadian) had purchased for him and’s been lugging around for a month’s time.
After setting forth with all the gory details, he (the Canadian) concluded with the opinion that he (the friend) is a “fucking dickhead” – to my never-ending delight.
He (the Canadian) had lost his camera, then found it. Latest I heard from him, he was asking another guest, “You haven’t seen a pair of sandals anywhere?”
There’s also a German girl who’s as fascinated as myself with the Bangkok city bus system. I’ve given her some pointers; as well as told her where to find mangoes as good as the ones I was just-then devouring.
Well I cannot seem to hold on to a fucking thought
This whirlwind’s got me and I’m racing out the door
It’s nice for a while, but when I try to focus
All of my convictions come crashing down around me again
A dark side to eating orchards’ and orchards’ worth of Durian, you say? But what, pray, could it possibly be? Is such practice not the most unmitigated bliss? Well, it’s like this: eating orchards’ and orchards’ worth of Durian doth transform the eater into a Fat/Lazy Fuck.
What, just eat fewer, you say? Just control oneself, you say? And so will the eater say, to hisself or herself, with frequency. Easier said than done, however! The Durian haunts one’s waking and sleeping moments. One may eat other than Durian, one may do other than eating Durian, one may (attempt to) think about other than Durian.
But in the end, the Durianist’s “convictions come crashing down” around him or her again…and again…and again. Never been addicted to smack, nor even alcohol (or what have you). But this is surely akin. Of course, Durian is known as one of the more nutritious foods. It’s considered the King Of Fruits not only for its deliciousity, but also for its exceptional food value.
But who wants to be an zombified Fat/Lazy Fuck? Perhaps this is why the season is so brief in most places; generally clocking in at a few months’ time: okay, be a Fat/Lazy Fuck for a coupla months each year, but otherwise eating Mangoes and stuff.
Truth be told, I didn’t come to the World Durian Festival 2012 to not eat Durian. Will attempt, at Fest’s conclusion, to exert some modicum of self-control. As for to-day, however, scored either some frighteningly kick-assed deals…or maybe taken for a ride. Suspect the former.
It’s nearing the conclusion now; tomorrow the Festival’s last and final hurrah. So many vendors, so many Durian, and (frankly) surprisingly few attendees can mean this: there are now many Durian in the “Farang Zone”; i.e., perfectly, wonderfully, self-openingly ripe. Thais won’t buy ‘em this way; so the hawk-eyed vendors call out to the passing Farang (who’d thought he’d already made all the Durian purchases required for the day’s eating), “Hey you!” — gesticulating toward the basket to which the fully ripe Durian have been relocated.
One and one-half kilos of Kan Yao (my fave), normally priced at 70-80 Baht per kilo, for 60 Baht total? Yes, please! Two kilos of Mon Thong (my second-fave), normally priced at 50-60 to the kilo, for 40 Baht total? Yes, please! (For more in re Thai Durian varieties here is one helpful page.)
The wagon’s shaking and I feel it start to tilt
And I just go tumbling right back in a whirlwind again
To give an idea of the poor attendance (actually, it was pretty packed last weekend), here’s the scene from a few nights ago, at the mainstage. Gots to love the one guy up front though, in for all his worth!
The band were quite thumping, too. And what a backdrop!
And check the massive inflatable namesake off the side of the stage.
Yesterday, Friday, I signed up the Durian-Eating Contest. They told me it’d begin at about 5:00; but at about 5:00, it was instead some ceremony, or dedication, or such-like.
Here’re the Door Prizes. Chanthaburi may be the King Of Weird, but this is actually pretty par for the course as Thailand goes.
Finally, it was time to throw down. Here are a few of my competitors.
And the small but enthusiastic audience.
It looked I’d be the only farang to participate; but at the last minute, this Aussie gentleman joined up.
Despite its name, the contest’s rules required the participant to, before digging in to the Durian, eat all of those fucking Rambutans first. Such contemptible bullshit! But being a guest, I didn’t want to rock the boat. In this clip, I on two occasions clarify that all of the fucking Rambutans must be eaten first.
My intention had been to just leave the camera running straight on through the contest; but audience-members kept grabbing it and taking pictures of me with it. Weirdos! But I’m glad they did; ‘cause they came up with some pretty cool shots.
But at last I did manage to record most of the contest proper.
Ha! You see that shit? The ending-whistle blown even before I was able to get in my first bite of Durian. Fucking Rambutans! Although, it doesn’t appear to me that I’m getting them into my mouth so much more slowly that the competition – I think most peeps must’ve gulped ‘em down with minimal chewing: not conducive to digestion, yo!
In case you’re wondering why I kept eating after they’d already blewn the whistle. It’s ’cause I hadn’t realised they were gonna come around and weight everybody’s Durian (to determine the champeen). I just figured that somebody had already finished his or her Durian off and thereby won the title; and that I was therefore free to go ahead and eat mine up. Everybody else got their remains packaged up to take home, and then just split. So I was left there by my lonesome, eating the Durian – much to the audience’s delight.
The Grand Prize was a potted Durian tree, but all participants received one of these bunny-cups…
…wrapped in this. I like how it’s now the “amazing” World Durian Festival.
In other news-about-town, so many people here have poodles! Not only this, but they take the poodles out with them where’er they go. Seems like every fourth or fifth motorcycle has got a poodle riding along.
From the Weird-‘n’-Wacky Signs Dept., you’ve gotta be in love with this dude.
For more bunny-love, here’s the City Arch (most medium-sized cities in Thailand have an arch on the main drag, at the city limits).
At the festival, watching one of the musical acts, this gentleman turned up to watch as well. He’s the second – second – gentleman I’ve seen here carrying around a women’s purse. One, you could say, well, probably some kind of Charles Manson character (or what). But two? It’s officially a town craze.
He later asked me from whence I’d come; when I told him from whence, he began jumping around like a maniac, huge smile on his face…and then performed a pantomime of a soldier firing off his rifle. Goofnut. (Yes, yes: I’m all too aware that the locals consider me — barefoot farang schlepping enormous quantities of Durian hither and yon — to be the goofnut. I can even hear them laughing about me after our brief encounters.)
No evening complete without a stroll through the Market.
Finally, here as everywhere, old ladies love to feed the animals. The catch is that here, they just look a little bit more wackier in doing so.
A strange and wonderful town!
And speaking of strange and wonderful, recent search terms by which people landed at this blog:
“can durian be planted the botom of the mountain”
“issue about trend in smuggling for example durian festival and rumors of price in malaysia”
You’re a monk of a certain age. You’ve attained a level of respect. You’re entitled to travel in style, you’re…
The weather here in Chanthaburi can’t seem to make up its mind. Partly sunny, mostly cloudy, spitting rain, torrential downpour: these are all, at any given moment, in play. But even when the latter, the Durian must get through!
It’s a welcome change after the searing heat of Siem Reap, Bangkok, and Vientiane. When the little breeze kicks in, it’s the absolutely heaven-sent atmospheric condition – much reminiscent of Hilo Town in this way.
I stepped off the bus, to be immediately greeted by the first of many a downpour to be experienced since my arrival. After waiting for it to settle to a dull roar, walked around a while, and found a charming little hotel right in the middle of town; then promptly et the best Durian of all my born days. Never got that one from the Festival, however; but rather from the huge, sprawling Fresh Market just a few blocks from the hotel.
That set the tone, all right.
The seat of Thailand’s Durian Empire, the province is also in abundance with Snake Fruit (first noticed these in Cambodia; but have not yet tried, as they’re rather pricey), Mangosteen (off the hook delicious, and ringing up at 50 cents to the pound!), and Rambutan.
Despite it all, though, the number-one most-favourite delicacy appears to be the same as it is throughout Thailand.
But, at least at World Durian Festival 2012, the in-season fruit reigns supreme.
More vendors than one can shake a stick at, of course. But also a free Thai-fruit buffet, a Durian-eating contest, and lots of floats (literally floating in the lake).
Now, why an elephant, or a frog, placed atop a bed of Rambutans?
Well, why not? Hell, why not a half-marathon-running frog?
There’re also some music stages; the musicians here seem to be much more accomplished that their Nong Khai brethren.
Here are the prize-winning fruits.
And check this enormous jakfruit.
If all the fruit madness weren’t enough, Chanthaburi is some kind of global transshipment hub for rubies and sapphires and stuff; so the town’s loaded with shoppes selling and buying same.
On top of all this, there’s something about bunny-rabbits. See one of the helpful town direction signs.
In addition, all of the streetlamps are adorned thus:
So, a town with a lot going for it; so one would think. But in point of fact, it’s absolutely no aspirations whatever at attracting tourists. The people are just the people, the town just the town; and any sign of a caucasoidal visitor is almost like as good as a alien from Mars.
A good place to experience genuine Thai culture – but the would-be anthropological visitor soon discovers that while he’s watching them, they’re watching him as well!
But they folk’re damned friendly, they are. Why, just yesterday, a couple drove up on a motorcycle and handed me a bag of Rambutans. A fortuitous event, as, though I cared for them not in Hawaii, I’d been wanting to try some here.
…And now I remember why they’re suck-ass. It’s ‘cause the damned skin of the seed adheres to the flesh, so’s one cannot but eat this frickin’ skin when chowing down the fruit. Bleah. Besides, its flavour is a very pale imitation to the almighty Lychee.
After struggling with a few, I purposed to just re-gift them. This was easier said then done, however. Tried giving these things away all over fucking town, and nobody would take them! Sheesh. Finally, the receptionist here at the hotel was happy to have them. He started munching away quite immediately.
Even the free Durian samples have been forthcoming – from vendors and civilians alike.
Well, one thing I did do yesterday was to help some dudes unload a beverage delivery. So, possibly, word got ‘round that there’s a Barefoot Farang in town helping out with the manual labour. Maybe that’s because why I later was being gifted with Durian and Rambutan alike? Probably, though, it’s just ‘cause the people here are just genuinely very friendly.
I did receive some pretty funny “advice”, whilst down by the river lunching a huge quantity of Mongosteens. A fisherman stopped by to shoot the shit for a little while; assuming that I would soon be on my way to one of the islands.
I corrected him that I’m here in town for the Festival. It at first didn’t register, but when I added “Durian”, he became quite animated indeed, warning me not to eat any more. See, ‘cause if one mixes Durian with whiskey (or so he says), it’s curtains. And, “You don’t need to die.” Huhn, the possibility of abstaining from whiskey rather than from the King Of Fruits had apparently not crossed his mind.
Anyhow, it’s presumably the absence of any touristic pretensions which gives the town its charm. I’d say, “I love this place – except for the goddam traffic.” But here, the goddam traffic seems to be essential to the people’s beings.
I mean to say, that while motorcycles are inescapably annoyingly numerous throughout Asia; here in Chanthaburi, it’s as though they’re not just a tool to get from place to place, but instead a very extension of one’s self. As if, were a townsperson to be separated from his or her bike for more than a few moments’ time, certain death would swiftly ensue.
Can’t put my finger on it; it’s just the feeling I get. At any rate, there’s something just a little bit off, just a little bit goofily weird – even by Thai standards – about the people here. Quite endearingly so, let me hasten to ad.
One can see it in the signs and advertisements, for one.
I like how the raindrop makes it look like she’s a solitary tear running down her face; but even without, don’t you wonder just what’s going on in that phone conversation?
I’ve never before heard tell of “Muslim Food”. Probably it means Halal, I guess. Meanwhile, one can’t but hope that this won’t be on the quiz.
As far as this goes…well, what can one say?
But, now, see if you don’t agree that the people here are wonderfully wacky; some kind of a breed apart.
World Durian Festival 2012 off to a rousing start, as my billfold is already several ounces lighter than it so recently had been. Tonight’s Bill Of Fare:
Just finished off four small Durian; you gotta know: Durianless since Sunday, I was, previous to having done, one unhappy camper. I did share ‘em out with the De Talak peeps; so it weren’t quite the gluttonous outburst as it may on first blush sound.
The gang’s all here (well much of it, anyway).
The Japanesians, returned from Ko Samet (though just now out the door to get the Night Train to Chiang Mai). They will’ve returned at about the time the Durian fest shall be concluding; at which time they want to go bowling. Er, do Vivo Barefoot produce a bowling shoe? (Only semi-joking here, folks: the line is pretty huge; wouldn’t be totally shocked if they did do.)
Lee, the Finnish Chinaman, returned from Krabi (where he dropped his i-phone “into the sea…it’s totally dead, into the sea; you cannot fix it anymore”). He’s back to Finland on Sunday.
Two of the Koreans, still here from when last I left. One of whom is becoming a fairly avid Durianoholic (at Khlong Toei, as I type these words, making his first-ever purchase).
The super-nice Japanesienne and her Italian boyfriend, looking to rent an apartment and open a business here. She appears both aghast and elated that there is such an event as the World Durian Festival 2012.
Carolyn, the stock-market-playing grandma, has been here continuously since my first visit, though, cleared of gout, she’s off to Hua Hin tomorrow.
Chris, the Indonesian with the impeccable Queen’s English.
The Koreanne shopping addict, returned from Cambodia.
Not to mention Rata, who burst forth a fascinating and hilarious rant against the private school in her neighbourhood, whose children’s parents’ rude and ignorant behaviours whilst dropping the brats off for schooling have sent the residents into a tizzy.
Just another day in the vortex! To think, I’d not even expected to bed down here for this night (nor, of course, to’ve attended Lumphini Aerobics!). My plan was to bust out to Chanthaburi straight away; but the train rolled into Bangkok four hours (count ‘em!) behind schedule; and as I don’t have the faintest foggiest idea where I’m going to drop stakes in Chanthaburi, I want to get there plenty early in the day to be able to have a look around.
The last hour or so of the train ride was taken up in conversation with a twenty-something Thai; spoke pretty good English, but his accent made it often difficult to work out what he was saying. This didn’t prevent him from insisting that I answer his queries concerning American practices in re lightning rods, charcoal, hydroelectric power, uranium, potatoes, voltage, and other increasingly bizarre topics. Son of a bitch had the nerve to complain to me about my accent whene’er I tried to use some Thai words.
The Durian in Nong Khai were incredibly expensive, but the lychees incredibly inexpensive — not to mention scary-delish. I decided that the Lychee is my third-favourite fruit; Durian and Mango neck-and-neck for the Top O’ The Pops. At its best, Durian is untouchable — but bullshit fruits are more common than I’d hope (still, I’m better at selecting too-right Durian than I am Watermelon), while Mangoes are consistently ace-high.
Have taken another decision as well; to wit, I’e concluded that to open Durian with a knife is a sacrilege. If the Durian ain’t ripe enough to open by hand, it ain’t ripe enough to eat. You can carve that into my fuckin’ tombstone; ’cause it’s my Biblical Law now, bay-bee.
Dreaming of Durian eaten and still to-be eaten, I remain…
So it came to pass that on Monday evening, I kept asking the staffer here at the guest house whether there would be a parade next day in honour of International Labour? She kept answering that, not to worry, the guest house would remain open business as usual. It’d only be government offices that’d be closed.
O-kay. I took a different tack, asking, how about the buses out to Buddha Park; expecting a resounding NO, the buses would not be running. Instead received a resounding YES, the buses would be running; else how would all the good Lao people, having received a day off work, get out to the park?
Right on! Up nice and early Tuesday morning, there was a walkathon (or what) in progress.
Only other evidence I ever did see that the most Holiest Day in all of Communism was in progress was…
Shit you not!! They set up this fucking slide thing in the middle of the park. It hadn’t been there Monday, and it wasn’t there to-day. Happy Labour Day, kids!
Grabbed the city bus out to Xieng Khuan, arriving shortly before the scheduled opening time of 8:00 in the AM. Kid came running up to collect my admission fee. Then, when I emerged from the shitter, he was there to collect that fee – only to go booking back up to the front gate when he seen another group approaching.
Even by 8:00 in the AM, it was already so hot. But I’d not known about this place when last I’d visited Vientiane, and wasn’t about to let a little obstacle such as 9,000° outside stand in my way.
What it is, it’s the analog to Sala Kaew Ku; which, you may recall, I consider to be one of the very greatest sites in all of Asia, if not the goddam Solar System itself. The artist had built the Vientiane (it’s actually about 30 kilometres outside of the city, down the bumpiest road in World history) Park in 1958; then was excommunicated from Laos; taking refuge in Thailand, where he cracked it wide open with the Sala Kaew Ku in 1978.
Whereas the Nong Khai site is the full realisation of a fantastically depraved worldview; the Vientiane Park is more like a wack testing ground. Well factually, it’s not even all that weird – except for the so-called “Pumpkin”.
You head in through the mouth, there; and inside there are four levels, with an under-lit room to each level. The first- and third-level rooms can only be achieved by climbing up an outer stairway to levels two and four, and then descending/ascending the inner stairways to get to one and three.
From the roof, one has a nice view of the Park, including the great Reclining Buddha situated nearby.
Inside the rooms are some (relatively) pedestrian Budhhiatic scenes; although you can see they’re not terribly well maintained (whether this is by design I do not know).
But the real story is the absolutely horrific displays of violence portrayed right alongside. Maybe this is a sort of commentary on the ridiculous Hell and Damnation imagery depicted in so many religious artworks? At any rate, it’s the stuff of which nightmares are made. (Funny thing is, all the kids gravitated to goofing off inside here while their parents were exploring the rest of the Park.)
As I say, the Park isn’t as wacked-out insane as is its Nong Khai cousin, but it does have its moments.
Also, far fewer of the towering giants; but, then again, there are a couple.
It’s got the Nong Khai Park beaten like a drum in one department: butterflies. There’re lots of ‘em (as befits its Laotian address)! You can see a few here.
As in Nong Khai, there are some terrific juxtapositions given sight by one’s particular location and viewing angle at the given moment.
Another thrill Nong Khai’s doesn’toffer:
This may be the most treacherous staircase ever.
But then once you get to the top and have a look inside…
…it’s just a goddam empty room. Sick joke!
This man/Naga is pretty bad-assed.
As, in general, is the Park. If one would choose one of them to which to pilgrimise, it’s the Nong Khai side without a moment’s hesitation. But the Vientiane side’s certainly worth a visit as well. (And at $2 for the round-trip bus and admission, quite the bargain!) I’ll’ve uploaded the pics to my Flickr page’s Sala Kaew Set.
The return trip, we stopped in at the Frontier — about eight kilometres from the park — to pick up riders to bring into town. I remembered, now, how much I love Laotian bus drivers. “Talad Sae! Talad Sae!” the driver repeatedly shouted out his window as he drove around the area, a fistful of Kip he’d collected in fare clutched in the same hand with which he operated the gearshift. Talad Sae is the morning market; located next door to the bus station.
“Talad Sae! Talad Sae!” That exclamation is gonna drive my dreams, I suspect, for many weeks to come.
Vancouverite with whom I shared the dorm the first two nights was pretty cool. He’s just got on the 24-hour bus to Hanoi. Said he’d been out, a few nights ago, with a couple of friends (a Belgian and an Alaskan), drinking beers down at the river.
The Alaskan fired up a reefer, and the threesome was immediately beset by the fuzz, who wanted to fine him ten million Kip (about $1,250). He was able, after a few hours’ arguing, to get off by paying everything he had on him; which was about $200. You just don’t wanna light up in Laos, mang.
The Vancouverite also cast another vote for Nepal. He’d in February trekked about four days’ worth of the Annapurna Circuit, and had quite loved it. He’d not gone to Nepal for trekking, as it happens; but because he’d been to Kathmandu as a youngster, and wanted to return. Then, after having been there a few days, he realised all the backpackers were heading out to trek, and decided, When in Rome…
Yesterday evening, Tuesday, I drew a pretty large crowd whilst juggling in the park. There were even a handful willing to give it a try – quite unusual in my Asian experience. A few who were especially appreciative of my abilities stuck around for quite a while, practicing their English on me.
Names of “Tao” and “Symphun”, they were super-nice guys. The latter eventually started going off with back-flips, hand-walking, one-armed pushups, the whole shebang. I told him this was much more impressive than my stupid little jugglings.
As he was leaving, he became the third Indochinaman to request my e-mail address. The first two have to-date failed to contact me. Hopefully, this time’ll be the charm, as I really quite enjoyed these gents’ company.
As night came on, there was a fine light-show over the Thailand side. Didn’t hear any thunder, so I suppose it was fairly far off. One will see a half-way decent flash near the end of this clip. No surprise, though, the camera’s lens failed to capture any of the truly magnificent goings-off.
To-day, Wednesday, scooped up my Passport with freshly minted Thai Tourist Visa ensconced safely inside. I’ve actually got until the 29th of July to enter the Kingdom with this Visa – but there’re Durian to be eaten, and they shan’t be eaten in Laos!
This shop was pretty funny looking; though I didn’t attend.
After some exceptionally delicious lychees, I did find my way back to the gallery whose exhibition I’d loved so much last time I’d been here. Was disappointed to find that the same exhibition is still on display, even though it was supposed to have closed on the 28th of February. Well, the photos are still as breathtaking as they’d been the first time. Photographer’s called “Adri Berger”, in case you wanted to order some prints.
A fine Vientianese sunset; and this all-too-brief Laos sojourn is at its end. But not before a nice send-off: as I write these words, we’re in the midst of being thwacked by a decent little windstorm. I expect– ooh!, up to the minute: lightning has just begun to materialise.
Yesterday morning, Sunday, woke up bright and early and hoofed it down to the Kanchanaburi bus terminal. The ride in to Bangkok was about 15 Baht cheaper than had been the ride out, and took about one-half of one hour longer. Dunno; but it seemed a fair trade.
This sharply-dressed gent was going around to all the buses waiting to depart, and selling these books. Thinking they may’ve been puzzle-books, or possibly short stories? Whatever they were, he looked to be doing a pretty decent business.
Arriving to Sai Tai Mai, something pretty cool happened. Little back-story, first.
I’ve this concept in Seattle, I call it “bus-luck”. So, like, if you get to the stop, and the bus shows up within about a minute of your having arrived, that’s good bus-luck. Conversely, if you miss the bus by thirty seconds (i.e., it was within your sight) or so (i.e., somebody tells you it had recently come and gone), that’s bad bus-luck.
Some days, or weeks, seems to be all one or the other. “Wow, unbelievably great bus-luck to-day!” one might find oneself marveling. Or could be just the opposite.
Of course, the luck can be compounded by transfers. Example: you miss a bus by a few seconds, because there was too much traffic for you to get across the street. Maybe the next one comes fifteen minutes later; but then you’ve gotta wait thirty minutes to transfer to a connecting bus – though would had to’ve waited only five had you caught that first bus. In other words, that thirty seconds or less cost you forty minutes.
This example is not at all unrealistic – at least in off-peak hours; and it’s made even worse if it’s night-time and winter.
Anyhow, so we’re pulling in to Sai Tai Mai, and there’s the #507 pulling out of its berth. Arf, lousy bus-luck indeed. But wait! The bus I was on, instead of pulling all the way into its berth, stopped in the parking lot to let everybody off; and did so in such a way as to block the #507 from attaining the exit. So, I was able to indicate to the driver that I wanted on, he opened the door, and WHOOPS, that’s some frickin’ great bus-luck right there!
I would even call it about the best bus-luck conceivable, except that it’s kind of impossible to have bad bus-luck in Bangkok, what with there being so many routes, and each running with such frequency (ten minutes’ interval at most). If it’d been in Seattle, in such a far-flung location, on a Sunday, that little blocking maneouvre would’ve saved an hour; no doubting it.
So, got out to Khlong Toei and purchased three (count ‘em!) Durian, plus some mangoes, to take back to the park and eat; being that I had some time to kill before hopping the Night Train to Nong Khai.
Was joined in a quite lengthy and fascinating conversation by a Scottsman name of “Max”. Right off the bat claimed that Seattle is named after a town in England, and not after Chief Sealth.
We were talking about Cambodia, and I happened to mention that I really loved the music there. He quite agreed, and we discussed at length the joy of discovering obscure Folk musics. He told me of a band he says will knock me down two times, name of “Gangagiri”. Some kind of kick-ass didgeridoo band, says he.
He continued to ply me with many interesting stories of his travels – in his zeal to stay in the rock-bottom cheapest accommodations, he’s been through the mosquito crucible on more than one occasion.
When he was ready to take his leave, he motioned to shake my hand; me protesting that it was all sticky with mango. Didn’t matter, he said, and proceeded to clasp my sticky hand with both of his. I thought this so odd that I began to wonder if he’d just somehow picked my pocket – but it appears not to’ve been the case.
As he was walking away, he re-emphasised the importance of checking out this band Gangagiri. I’ve located the website of the act in question; have yet to check ‘em out yet. The dude was pretty insistent, though; so you may wanna have a listen.
The train ride wasn’t so uncomfortable as I’d feared it’d be. I think those were actually second-class seats; although they were the cheapest on the board for this route. Maybe no third-class available for Night Trains? Anyway, at 250 Baht, it’s the same price as staying the night in Bangkok; yet here I am in Vientiane. Such a deal!
Out on the platform, waiting for the train to arrive, this wing-ding was going down.
Dude you see flashing the “peace” sign right there at the end came up and introduced himself. Name of “Sharif”. Several participants motioned for me to join in. But the thing is…
Okay! I made a chart. Here’s a chart for, like, if somebody’s been in Asia so long that their skin is as dark as the locals’, how do you tell them apart? Well, you could consult this chart.
Subject
Disposition
Weather
Dancing?
Farang
Belly full of Durian.
9,000 Degrees 0ut.
Doesn’t feel like dancing.
Local
Belly full of Pork.
9,000 Degrees out.
Still feels like dancing!
God, how Thais seem of late to love to shake they booty! Maybe the heat is brung upon a general delerium?
This guy was taking it all in in-stride.
Arrived to Nong Khai at about 6:00 in the AM, and had a nice, morning-cool two-kilometre walk to the Frontier. Stamped out of Thailand like it weren’t no thing, and then began all manner of unexpected occurrence:
Compelled to bus across the Friendship Bridge connecting Thailand and Laos, rather than walking, at a fee of 20 Baht. That didn’t seem to me very friendly.
Charged $2 in “overtime” fees for crossing into Laos before 8:00 in the AM.
Discovered that the 50-cent city bus to town from Passport Control wouldn’t be along until 8:00 in the AM, so ended up riding a share-tuk-tuk for 50 Baht (though it took us all the way to the Royal Thai Embassy, saving a twenty-minute walk from the bus station).
Discovered that tomorrow, Tuesday, is a Holy Day in Laos, so cannot pick up my Thai visa until Wednesday. On the upside: May Day in a Communist Capital city! Will there be a parade? God damn better be.
Rather than the advertised $30, the visa fee is 1,000 Baht (about $33).
Visa application requests the phone number of the applicant’s guest house in Vientiane. No Wi-Fi at the Royal Thai Embassy (?), so I turned in my paperwork and paid the fee, then went searching for an Internet Café. Found one straight away, and paid fifty cents for about one minute’s surfing to find the requested number. Man at the embassy wrote it in a little book, but didn’t even take my name. Said if there’s a problem, he’ll know whose application with which to match up the number.
But hopefully there shan’t be a problem, and Wednesday evening will see me back on the Night Train to Bangkok…thence on to Chanthaburi for World Durian Festival 2012! (Still trying to work out where to stay in Chanthaburi, however – the pickings seem rather slim.)
All right, so, the deal with travel in Thailand is that while the buses are more convenient, faster, and much more comfortable; the train is insanely cheap (at least when traveling third-class).
For some reason, however, the train fare to Kanchanaburi is the same as the bus. So, I thought to bring the bus here. One could either catch a minivan from Victory Monument – which is very easy to get to, but whose drivers are notorious for their lead-footedness. In fact, there’ve been so many accidents on these routes that the government is trying to crack down.
But not wanting to take my chances, it meant trying to get one’s ass over to the Southern Bus Terminal. By utilising a very helpful city map hung on a wall at De Talak, it looked as though I’d found a way to get there with only one transfer. But wondering if there weren’t a better way, I began to snoop around, and discovered this incrediblyuseful page, which listed the #507 from Khlong Toei to Sai Tai Mai (as the terminal is named) without transfer!
Could it be? Than, a De Talak staff-person, was highly skeptical. But she phoned the Transit Authority, and the latter confirmed its validity.
So Thursday morning, after a longer wait than expected (I think one – or possibly even two – coaches had gone MIA), I hopped the #507. Owing to rush-hour traffic, it was a long enough ride. But that was okay. Only a fifteen minute wait for the Kanchanaburi-bound bus, and only a few hours from Sai Tai Mai to here.
Ended up walking to the guest house from the bus terminal. Normally like to do that anyhow; but wasn’t exactly sure where it was, so considered getting a tuk-tuk. Was able to haggle a rickshaw driver from 60 Baht all the way down to 20 (tip for dealing with tuk-tuk drivers: pick up your bags and begin walking; that’ll get them off their number right quick); but I’d told him 10, and would accept nothing more.
Was able to keep fairly well shaded during the walk; and found the guest house just fine. But by the time I’d made that walk, checked in, then went out and got some food, it was already fairly late. Even arising quite early, and making a rather short trip, inter-city travel can be an all-day affair.
Picked up my first lychees of the season! I’d seen some in Siem Reap and also Bangkok; but they never looked good. These ones looked decent; and turned out to be just that: decent, not mind-blowing. When I was walking back with them, though, a street-vendor busy prepping food for dinner flagged me down as I passed, and asked if she could have some.
“One? Two? Three?” I indicated for her to take as many as she pleased; and she was most appreciative indeed. So there you have it: Thai/American friendship via lychee.
Quite nice little guest house, with a very cool/loud-mouthed proprietress. Here’s the view from the patio just outside my room.
Ought, perhaps, to explain just what in the Hell I’m doing here. Well, what it is, its being one of my ten favourite movies of all times (maybe even edging near to the top five), I’d wanted since learning that Kanchanaburi is the site of the infamous Bridge Over The River Kwai, to make visit. Finally now have got around to doing just that.
Here we have Sunset Over The River Kwai. Almost rivals Luang Prabang’s Mekong sunsets, don’t it?
It occurred to me that I’d not actually watched the movie in some years; so on Thursday night I downloaded it and gave it a watch. And…I’m sorry to report that it’s no longer in my top ten favourites of all times.
I still think it’s a great movie; and certainly its central message that war is madness and that military officers on all sides are jack-assed crazy persons still resonates with me quite strongly; but it now seems to me to be a little over-the-top for my taste, especially with regard to the viewers’ proxy, Clipton.
Well, that’s the way it goes.
Yesterday, Friday, I went to visit some museums related to the Bridge and the Death Railway. (There’s also a cemetery dedicated to Allied war dead – 7,000 POWs who perished building the Railway are lain here in Kanchanaburi.)
But on the way to the first museum, I ran smack into this wild procession.
Don’t know about you, but for me, any town in which the locals are dancing their asses off at 9:00 in the AM is a town I like!
Soon, yet another procession showed up to join the first.
Now twined, they marched together on into the temple.
As per usual, the camera’s mic just can’t capture the sounds very well. So – again, as per usual – one’ll needs must trust me when I say that the bands laid a big-time whipping on the llama’s ass. So fucking great, they were!
This fine young gentleman offered me a brew. I did decline his kind offer; many, I can assure you, did not decline.
What was it all about? My best guess is that the Men In White were on this day being ordained into the monkhood. But, it’s only a guess.
So, still on the way to the first museum, visited a whole other temple, totally unrelated to the party temple. Pretty cool; has this big huge “horseboat” thing out the front.
There’s a small structure with a Buddha’s Footprint inside.
The main chapel has a wonderful ceiling…
…including this stone-cold killer Naga composition.
The murals here were quite good generally; though many of them were obscured by ceiling fans.
Still walking toward the first museum, passed this oddity.
That’s the great thing about travel: you never know when you’re a-gonna walk by a wall with hundreds of shards of glass glued onto its topside.
Okay, the first museum was housed inside a replica of a POW hut. Inside was mostly pictures as well as copies of news articles — the latter mostly to do with reunions, or passings of people who’d laboured on the Railway.
Pretty small-time museum; but worth the 30 Baht admission; especially for enthusiasts of black-and-white photography.
Back up to the first temple, the party raged on. Damn, that band just knocked me a good one. A still-under-construction building on the grounds, down by the river, looks rather like some sort of spaceship.
The next museum, the Thai-Burma Railway Centre, back up in the middle of town, is much more extensive. Took a few hours to look through it all, and well worth the 120 Baht admission.
Later on, had some decent-but-not-great Durian. Kinda like the lychee had been.
This morning, Saturday, got up at 6:00 in the AM and made the hour-plus walk up to the Bridge. Even at 7:20 in the AM, there were already quite a few people aboard.
A temple across the river, not yet ready for prime-time, has still got its Buddhas all wrapped in plastic.
The view of the bridge from there, with train in mid-span.
And then I walked back across the river…and that was kind of it. Don’t know exactly what I had hoped to find with this little pilgrimage. But, basically, I didn’t find anything except a ho-hum bridge and oodles of souvenir-selling Thais.
It’s kinda like, one time I was in New Hampshire, and decided to look for J.D. Salinger’s house. I may or may not have passed and seen it. And then…so what? Doesn’t matter! The works of art may have sent your being to an incomparable place; but tourist points-of-way aren’t gonna enhance one’s appreciation of the art. Or so is my experience.
But it might be worth it anyhow. Certainly was in this case: the museum located near to the bridge turns out to be one of my favourite places in all of Thailand! Weird-assed place with a gruff-but-lovable proprietor.
There’re two buildings with five or six floors each. The bottom floors are dedicated to the Railway; mostly dioramas of emaciated POWs in hard labour, as well as blown up pages from memoirs (in many different languages).
Speaking of language, check out this particularly flowery account of the destruction of the Bridge. “Higgledy-Piggledy” for the win!
The upper floors are loaded down with ephemera. But neither rhyme nor reason, that this farang can discern, account for selection and placement. Just wonderfully weird collections of…stuff.
For examples!
Though I could find no clue as to what this sign is on about, those are words to live by there, to be sure! And amen to this as well:
Yeah, all three of the museums are careful to indicate that they’ve been curated not to specifically call out the Japanese for their sins; but to make witness to this particular horror in this particular war; noting that all sides in all wars comport similarly to what the Japanese had done here in Thailand.
Moving on, why are these shoes on display? And why is the one pair on top of the case? Fuck if I know – but I ain’t complaining!
Why is the motor-car set atop the train? Fuck if I know! (But dig the dude’s afro in the lower-right of the photo.)
Why are there dozens of casserole dishes filled up with woodchips, then housed inside many display cases (many more than are shewn here, in point of fact)? Fuck if I know!
I want this chickenbelt…
…but I daren’t lose my composure.
A collection of red t-shirts, anyone (again, many more than you see here; and, also again, no apparent rhyme nor reason whatever)?
Looking for oddly juxtaposed photo displays? Look no furhter!
Can you guess what the display introduced by this sign may look like?
C’mon, have a guess! While you’re thinking about that, have some wall trophies.
Okay, here’s the display you’ve, hopefully, guessed correctly.
I think it means: don’t take this picture-frame off the table???
Well, in addition to all of the crazy/weird/awesome shit, there are some pretty great murals as well.
I especially enjoyed the black-and-white and blue-and-yellow murals. Dig those shoes!
Also, from the upper terraces, some kick-ass views of the Bridge, and the surrounding mountains.
One sentiment with which I absolutely cannot agree, however…
Fuck patriotism, man! That’s from whence the “sinful behavior” springs in the first fucking place.
I have downloaded the movie To End All Wars, and will plan to wrap up my Bridge excursion with an evening screening. I’ve not seen this movie before now; but it’s to do with the Railway. (Update: Don’t bother with this one. Turned it off after thirty or so minutes; owing to exceeding stupidity.)
There’s lots of other interesting-looking shit to do around here – but not in the hot season. I may make a return visit when it cools down some. Actually, rainy season would be just the trick, perhaps, as it’d be great to be right at this very guest house when some huge-assed storms roll in.
Now, however, ‘tis time for some cucumbers…to be followed by a nice pair of Durian!
Here are some pictures of the Durian hijinks from earlier this week; taken by Rata’s cousin, and posted to the De Talak Facebook page.
That’s Lee, the Finnish Chinaman. Shortly after, he got to horsing around a little too much, and ended up injuring himself slightly. Moral of the story: play with matches, you may get burnt.
