Author: montescott

Bar Trek

Oct 26, 2010

I always expect to get a routine going far sooner that is practical, and that has been the case here so far. After a week in Pattaya, I’m still trying to find the time for the myriad of projects I want to get up and running. The mornings have been the easiest: I wake up, do a few stretches, then maybe some stair stepping if I’m especially ambitious. I take breakfast on the tiny table in front of the TV and follow it with a relaxing meditation session. Afterwards, I power up my antique Compaq PC (circa 1998) and work on my memoir for a couple of hours, breaking for an early lunch. But then, as the afternoon heat settles in, the schedule gets fuzzy. Not sure if it’s laziness or simply my body still adjusting to the tropics, but I slide into a minor stupor. End up sprawled out on the bed, gazing up at a large, disgustingly happy painting of a family digging up clams on a beach somewhere.

At least the evenings are straightforward. Once over the jet lag, I’ve been able to stay up into the late hours, which is when things get fun at the local bars. Last Thursday I found one with a collection of friendly ladies and went there four straight nights. But something was missing, namely that special person whom I could have the hots for. In fact, of  the four or five women whom I’ve “befriended” so far, the two most desirable — indeed the only ones I have found halfway attractive — are, alas, both on the heavy side. One still has her pregnancy fat while the other features unnaturally thick legs. Not attributes I particularly appreciate.

There also was another negative with that place. A woman friend of the proprietor stopped by one night and treated everyone within earshot to nonstop chattering. The pregnancy-fat girl was giving me some very useful instruction on my Thai writing, so I tried not to notice. (In truth it was all gibberish to me anyway, both the loud conversation in Thai and the weird squiggles). After that I began looking for a more suitable spot to hand my pool cue and may have found it last night. This one is in the same outdoor complex (which is a collection of a half dozen miniature bars), adjacent to one of the main entrances. It’s a bit cramped, though I’d stopped by before in past Pattaya visits to meet a woman or two. The current head bar girl (Nok) is an excitable, late thirties woman with — I have to mention this, though it is not one of my turn-ons — a pair of prominent breasts. We played over a half dozen games of pool and I enjoyed her outgoing, fun-loving spirit. This is exactly what was lacking at the other locale.

Interestingly, a third location has come into play. While in the midst of my four nights of fun at that first bar, I noticed a familiar face at a nearby watering hole. This turned out to be a woman named Bom, whom I had played Eight Ball with a year and a half ago. What a pleasant surprise! She’s a serious player who would usually wax my ass unless I had my game in top shape. I did a side trip over to her place both Saturday and Sunday nights. Loads of fun, though once again I got pummeled.

Then Down to Pattaya

Oct 20, 2010

I almost missed my friend Alex at the Bangkok airport. An expat with a never-ending curiosity, he had introduced me to Thailand a couple years back and had graciously volunteered to once again help me get oriented. But I was delayed waiting for my luggage to appear and he nearly gave up on me. Because it was close to midnight, I wouldn’t have blamed him for tossing in the towel and am glad he stuck around.

We took a long taxi drive to the area of Sukhumvit Road famous for its ladies of the night. Alex helped me check in at an upscale tourist hotel there, then took me out for a late-night walking tour. I was already dazed from lack of sleep and the groupings of beckoning women only added to the surreal atmosphere. A preview of my new lifestyle? Well, I guess I could get used to it.

None of the alluring girls accompanied me back to the hotel. Just Alex. As mentioned in another post, my prior visits to this country were limited by one month Tourist Visas, resulting in a sense of urgency in sampling the goods. Not any more. As Alex and I neared my hotel, I realized that with all my affairs back home in order and no sentimental attachment to Seattle, I could spend the rest of my life here if so inclined. There’s no longer any reason to hurry.

I got to bed around 4:00 a.m., local time, and could only sleep for a few hours, giving me the entire morning to get up and on the road to Pattaya (about two and a half hours south of Bangkok). I’d told the manager of the guesthouse I’d be staying in that I’d be arriving between one and two in the afternoon and wanted to give myself plenty of time in case I got lost (which has happened, by the way).

Checking out of my hotel, I had to ride the Skytrain a couple stops (per Alex’s instructions) to get to the Eastern Bus Terminal. The main challenge was not the heat, or figuring out how to ride the elevated train, but the luggage I was lugging. Thanks to my fastidious packing, it was not overly heavy and my knees held up without complaint the entire day. But it made me slow and clumsy. In exiting the Skytrain station, I was tardy passing through the ticket machine cattle shoot and got nabbed by the flipper doors, forcing me to fight my way free.

At the terminal, I made a mistake (as I sometimes do when jet lagged) by letting an official-looking guy take charge. As he hustled me out towards a departing bus, and I saw I’d have to make a final mad dash to catch it, I gave up the chase. I signaled this to my host by crossing and uncrossing my arms once in front of me. He appeared to get the message, promptly moving on to another confused tourist. I re-entered the terminal, found the booth for the buses to Pattaya and bought a ticket.

It was an uneventful ride down. Musing about my new life, I found myself recalling that early ‘80s Red Rider album, As Far As Siam. I took in the partly cloudy sky and imagined it was three decades ago and that I was moving to this country as an energetic young man with years of good health in front of me. What a different life that would have been! Mercifully, though my body has slowed down, the spirit of discovery endures unbruised. How else to explain packing up my life at age fifty-three and starting a new adventure? Lunatic Fringe?

Off To Thailand…

Oct 19, 2010

The first leg of the trek over to Bangkok (courtesy of Korean Airlines) was from Seattle to Seoul and it took over eleven hours. Trying to relax in my customary window seat, I amused myself with a selection from the movie channel (an oldie, The Hustler, featuring Jackie Gleason and Paul Newman), then worked out a navigation scheme for the three audio channels that on occasion played tunes I liked. But despite a fair-sized bibimbap meal served by the stunning Korean stewardess, my body refused to recover from the abuse of the past weekend (too little sleep and too much self-indulgent eating). As punishment, I had to endure not only a painful stomach, but also a migraine and plugged sinuses. Guess I hit the trifecta.

A miserable beginning for this new chapter of my life.

We actually flew not into Seoul, but the new Incheon Airport about thirty miles to the west. Its sparkling interior resembles a ritzy shopping mall with prices designed to soak unwary, jet-lagged passengers. I took a mini tour and wasn’t overly impressed. But perhaps this was a reflection of my decision last year to put South Korea behind me. I’d had decidedly mixed experiences with the country, first laboring there as an English instructor for fifteen up-and-down months in 1995 and 1996, then a pair of quite pleasurable follow-up visits a dozen years later. In other words, it’s a nice place to visit, but you wouldn’t want to work there.

Though “only” five plus hours down to Bangkok from Incheon, it felt far longer. I gamely attempted to get some sleep, but it only came in brief snatches. I felt awful. To be sure, much of this came from my careless, pre-departure overeating, but it’s also true that my once-reliable body cannot handle these long flights like it used to, even compared to a few years ago. It reinforces the suspicion that in the future I’ll be cutting back on my travels.

Enough writing for now. All that sugar from the Cokes I imbibed wandering about in the heat this afternoon, fighting off sleepiness, is wearing off. I’m going under.

My Long Ago

Oct 15, 2010

Here I am doing an entry at the Seattle Central Library with my Thailand luggage piled next to me. I checked out of my hotel around noon, leaving me with a few hours to kill before getting on a Community Transit Bus heading up north for a final get together with some friends.

There was one final act of closure today. At lunchtime, just before checkout, I walked over to the Seattle Center to have a meal at one of the many restaurants that circle the food court in the main pavilion. I deliberately chose a location where I’d once had a Friday dinner after work twenty-six years ago, soon after starting at Airborne Express. (I only did this a single time, which is why I remember it — Vietnamese cuisine. Now, appropriately enough, it’s a Thai eatery.) I had my first paycheck with me that November night and was initially baffled by the amount — it was barely enough to get by on for one month. Then it hit me: I’d be getting these every other week. An opportunity, if I was miserly enough, to stash away some serious dough.

And so I did. Coupled with some gutsy investing, in a little over two decades after that Vietnamese meal I was finished working for a living. I owe a lot to that young fellow who set a course that placed me in the position I am today. (Unfortunately, the food this time around was quite forgettable.)

Time now to gather the belongings that will sustain me for the winter and beyond, depart this glassed, quirky building with its spiral floors (which I’m actually going to miss), and catch that bus.

Next entry will be from the Land of Smiles!

The Mediterranean Inn

Oct 9, 2010

Well, it’s my last day as a monthly resident at this hotel. During the seven years since I checked in for my first long visit, it’s proven to be a fairly good place to stay. The location was perfect: two blocks to my private mailbox; a short bus ride to my storage unit; and during the end of my career at Airborne Express (when it was taken over by DHL), but a seven minute commute — on foot. The monthly rates have been reasonable, and the flexibility invaluable. When my parents began needing help, or I was ready for another overseas excursion, all I had to do check out and head to the airport. It was a perfect fit for my nomadic lifestyle.

It’s therefore fitting that the preparations for my upcoming Final Odyssey took place here. The previous six months have in fact been some of the busiest and most demanding of my stays at the Mediterranean because of some health problems I’ve tried to tackle and the details of the move to Thailand. Nevertheless, I hope I’ll someday look back at this place and time with a degree of nostalgia.

Mr. Sol has been fighting a losing battle this week. His appearances have become less frequent as the Rainy Season gathers strength. I have never been enamored with the gloomy Seattle fall afternoons, but knowing I’ll soon be making my escape gives me a perverse kind of pleasure this time around. It’s like I’m giving Mother Nature the middle finger.

“Someday you’ll find that I have gone.
But tomorrow may rain so, I’ll follow the sun.”
Lennon & McCartney

And a Happy 70th Birthday John, wherever you are!

An Old Comrade From Work

Oct 7, 2010

My longtime acquaintance Tom started at Airborne Express (a freight forwarding company) way back in 1983, a year before I did. Initially, we were part of the same programming group and did a few lunches together along with a couple of the other fellows. Always agreeable, and quick to see the humor in even grim situations, Tom is one of those people who never seems to have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed. Perhaps a bit too well-adjusted for the anal retentiveness of computer programming — some six months after I arrived, he opted to leave the IT Department and pursue a new career direction one floor up in International. Airborne not being a large company, I would on occasion bump into him and we’d inevitably share a laugh. (Eventually Tom would realize the error of his ways and return to IT.)

As the years passed, and that original group of young programmers grew smaller (and grayer), Tom and I began having semi-regular lunches once again. I think it was because we both liked having a fellow old-timer to share the latest company news with rather than one of those newly hired twenty-somethings who had no recollections of the good old days. (I still remember humorously scheduling him for our meals, using Microsoft Outlook and keeping track of whose turn it was to pay. Always his, for some strange reason.)

Our favorite lunch destination became a bar called T.S. McHughs (“The Irish Pub of Lower Queen Anne”) and when I got back in touch with him recently to catch up, it was only natural we’d meet there for old time’s sake. Dinner this time around.

It was the same routine it’s always been with us: I ordered a large bowl of the clam chowder, while Tom had one of their sandwiches with fries and a pickle, which I stole. Since he did not need to return to the office, he added a beer as we settled down to compare notes on how life has been treating us. In Tom’s case, there was some bad news: Group Health, a company where he’s been doing programming/consulting work for the past two years, is laying him off at the end of the month. Given the dearth of COBOL jobs here in Seattle and on the West Coast (COBOL being a programming language, the tools of our particular trade), he’s begun considering working back east. Maybe Chicago, or even Philadelphia. It’s obviously a stressful period for him, but he’s keeping his chin up, having been through this before and under equally bad circumstances. Like me, he’s been thinking of getting out of Seattle, so this could be the “kick in the rear” (his words) to properly motivate hime. I admire his attitude.

Afterwards, I found myself feeling a bit melancholy, which I at first attributed to Tom’s situation. But when I got back to the hotel, I realized it was something more than that. Those T.S. McHughs lunches during our Airborne Express years were very enjoyable affairs, our humor being on similar wavelengths. Tonight’s dinner, given the new directions our lives appear to be heading in, probably marks the end of our Irish Pub get togethers.

Ballard

Oct 7, 2010

This morning I made a trip up to the Ballard area of the city to drop off a batch of DVDs at Rain City Video. I’ve been a loyal customer there ever since I purchased my first VCR way back in the fall of 1996. I would stop in on Thursdays after work (half price days) to load up for the weekend. It was an inexpensive form of entertainment with a wide variety of movies to choose from. I would always take home four: a foreign flick, horror, drama and maybe a few shows from a TV series. That pleasant tradition has been revived this past summer and in the past few weeks I’ve begun splurging to use up my remaining credits. Today was the final time I would be stopping by so I decided to commemorate the occasion afterwards with a sentimental stroll through one of my old neighborhoods just a few blocks away.

The first stop was at the Nordic Heritage Museum. I’d last been inside three years ago — October 11 — which would had been my Norwegian grandmother’s 100th birthday. A kind of tribute to her. The next day I left for my Round The World expedition. I view the museum as the starting point for that ambitious, historic trip. Already, I have trouble imagining myself doing it. How did I ever muster up the energy?

I was not interested in going through the exhibits again, so I spent some time in a playground area adjacent to the parking lot, taking advantage of yet another nice day by learning to read the sundial there. 

The apartment on 24th and 67th where I resided from 2000-2002 was a two bedroom affair on the top (fourth) floor with a killer view. There I played my guitar and piano, prepared delectable meals in my crockpot, rode my bike to work, and was active in the church. I had no car. With most of my needs just down the street (a QFC grocery store, the Ballard Branch of the Seattle Public Library), I could easily get around on foot. Those were what I consider my Seattle Renaissance Years, a time when I came the closest to actually putting down roots.

Why, one might wonder, did I not stay in that pleasant habitat a year or two longer and enjoy the agreeable lifestyle I had built? Because there were other adventures I wanted to embark upon. It was not yet time to kick back and relax. Maybe it will never be that way for me.

The apartment building still looks the same, eight years after I moved out and cycled off to Iowa (see America Bike Ride). No wave of nostalgia hit me as I gazed at up at my bedroom windows. Too many years have snuck by. I caught the #18 bus back to my hotel.

Discovery Park

Oct 5, 2010

The Indian Summer that arrived yesterday continued through today. Not wanting to miss what might be my final chance at lovely weather, I took a bus out to Discovery Park for the afternoon. It was not as enjoyable as it should have been. Everyone and their dog was out and many of the owners regard the park as nothing more than a huge kennel run. The canines are unleashed to sniff around and frolic about. I picked up a long stick to use for walking and self-defense (though it did not come to that). Then there was the poor black rabbit whose tameness clearly suggested it had been abandoned. Less than twenty feet away was a sign prohibiting people from doing just that.

This is a side of do-your-own-thing Seattle that has always troubled me: the disregard for the rules if they in any way impede upon one’s chosen lifestyle. Want to keep a dog in the city? Let it run loose in the parks and ignore the lease law. Tired of caring for that rabbit? Dump it. Like to cycle? Ignore those red lights. And if one were to be so bold as to confront these people, they’d receive an indignant response.

Anyway, entering from the east side of the huge five hundred acre park, I gradually circled around to the old parade grounds. (Much of the area was once the site of Fort Lawton and some military families still reside there.) Just beyond the place where almost a century ago young cadets used to march in formation is a worn, paved road that I like to amble back and forth on. This time I spent a good forty-five minutes, savoring the mellow autumn sun while letting my thoughts meander. The tranquility made it hard to believe I was actually in a bustling metropolitan area of over three million people.

This place has had a few special moments for me such as the time I and a friend took advantage of a rare celestial event to see all five naked eye planets above the western horizon shortly after sundown. Because Discovery Park looks out over Puget Sound towards the Olympic Mountains to the west, there’s not much light pollution in that direction. We were able to locate the quintet of heavenly bodies in the clear evening sky with no trouble. On another occasion, when I was considering returning to Japan to teach English again, a contemplative amble along a deserted path choked with blackberry bushes helped me to realize I’d become ill-suited for that kind work (and that I did not much care for thorns, either). I no longer had the enthusiasm and in fact needed to let go of that rigid country.

For today’s visit, there was no grand revelation awaiting. I didn’t require one. When the time came to return to the hotel, I simply headed down to the South Gate, refreshed. Passing century-old trees, I turned and faced the parade grounds for a last look. I’ve always made a pilgrimage to this park prior to departing on one of my winter trips. I believe at some level it recharges my spirit. Who knows if this will ever happen again?

Trial Pack

Oct 3, 2010

In the airport these days, you see people lugging these monster suitcases behind them. Big enough to have contained the Hiroshima atomic bomb. With room for a hair dryer and cosmetics bag.

I have never believed in traveling that way and even as I prepared for a possible year abroad, I remained focused on keeping my “stuff” to a minimum. To encourage this, I would limit my luggage to a backpack and a small, Softside Samsonite suitcase (try quickly saying that four times). Initially I feared it would be like packing sardines into cans, yet it was far less a challenge than I expected.

To begin with, there was of course no need for any cold weather clothing. Just stuff seven t-shirts, six pairs of socks and some underwear into the backpack. This left the shoes, two pairs of shorts and a pair of jeans for the suitcase. (More than traveling light, I was going to be living light.) As for the toiletries, medicines and important papers, they could be crammed into the side compartments of the suitcase. No problem at all.

But a critical test remained. Since the suitcase lacked wheels, would I be able to carry it, the backpack, and an ancient (1998) Compaq PC without getting a hernia? To find out, I packed everything up, fitted myself into the straps of the now-fat backpack, slung the PC pouch over my shoulder and lifted the suitcase. Glancing in the mirror, I resembled one of those Apollo astronauts skipping about on the surface of the moon, encased in their bulky suits. But I had to deal with earth’s gravity.

My hotel (The Mediterranean Inn), has a charming sun deck on top with lovely views of the city, Elliott Bay and the Olympic Mountains. It’s a nice place to sit and let one’s thoughts wander and I decided to use this for my endurance test. After climbing two flights of stairs, I made myself march back and forth in front of the empty lawn chairs for about ten minutes. This was by no means some macho exhibition; I wanted to make sure that after I’d gotten off the plane in Bangkok I’d have the stamina to haul all my travel gear through immigration, across the cavernous Suvarnabhumi Airport, then out to a waiting taxi, at which point I could collapse in the back seat.

When the ten minutes were up and I was still standing, I returned to my room, happily shed my baggage, and collapsed on the bed.

Mission accomplished. It pays to be thorough!

Packing List

Sep 26, 2010

The next major Thailand task is to decide what I’m going to be taking with me. It helps having already been over there. In fact, when I returned from my last Asia adventure, I made a point of identifying anything that might be useful on a return trip, but was not needed for my U.S. lifestyle (e.g. extra washcloth, insect repellant, condoms). These were stashed away in a small garbage bag so I could easily retrieve them. (Part of me knew that I’d someday be going back.) There’s also a Word document on my PC containing important travel items to bring along, which will serve as a useful starting point.

For a tropical climate, the key is not so much what clothes you bring (t-shirts & shorts being sufficient), but what medicines you take along. You never have to worry about getting too cold, just getting sick, usually from the food or the flu. To that end, one should have the means to deal with cramps, diarrhea, nausea, headaches, congestion and coughing. (Really sounds like I’m going to have a fun time, doesn’t it?) To be sure, most if not all of the remedies to these can be purchased from a Thai pharmacy, but I’ve discovered, to my extreme annoyance, that foreign medicines are usually much wimpier than their U.S. counterparts. Better to bring stuff you know will work.