Getting life up and going

               It was a rough start to what turned out to be a fantastic day. Already Jackie and I have started to fall into the outline of routine. We get up between 6:00 and 6:30 am, shower, dress and eat a little. Then we hop on the moped. (A long side note about mopeds. According to the UK’s foreign and Commonwealth Office over 38 people die a day in Thailand in motorcycle accidents. When we were preparing for Thailand I skipped over the warnings about motorcycles and mopeds, because I couldn’t imagine EVER using one while we were here. It just didn’t make sense. Every travel thing we read listed them as the most dangerous thing in Thailand. Now that we are here it’s clear why some many tourists die a year on mopeds, because they ALL eventually have to get on one. It would be impossible live in Phuket without renting or owning a moped or motorcycle, unless of course you are rich enough to rent/buy a car. So if you can imagine every single tourists, including the bad drivers and the questionable drivers, all zooming out into oncoming traffic, well it’s not hard to see why someone people die. This is not to belittle those that have died in traffic accidents in anyway. The system of driving here is very give and take. There is a general flow that the majority of drivers follow and once you understand that flow you are much better off. Mopeds are usually in the left lane or on the shoulder of the road. At stop lights you can just wiggle through traffic until you are at the front and then you can join the pack of other mopeds that have laced their way to the front. Personally I think I’m getting a hang of it. Yesterday I didn’t try to pullout into oncoming traffic, not even once! The habits from driving in the US are strong at first: right hand to turn on red, or pulling out and taking a right, check left – no traffic? Okay . . . GO!!! What is wrong with that scenario? Well oncoming traffic is coming from my right. But I’m getting a hang of it, rain and wind, even with laundry onboard.) Around 7:00 Jackie starts the commute to her school. I drop her off and come back to the house. On the way home today I finally saw the Famous Big Buddha. With my eyes finally not having to worry about every single movement of traffic they had drifted up past the roadside buildings towards the top of the mountains on the island. And there it was.  Peacefully it gazed down on the entire island, perched in a sea of green. It’s funny because just the day before a tourist asked me if I knew where the Big Buddha was. I had told him that I had seen signs for it, but had no idea and the whole time it was probably within eyesight if we had only looked up for it. That was the highlight of my morning. I was thrilled to have finally found it.

                The rest of the morning was downhill, a complete crash and burn. As is my schedule, I stopped off for some breakfast to take back to the house and start work. Poker is not an easy living, despite what some people say. Those at the top, the middle, and even where I’m at understand it's hard work, mentally and emotionally. I got crushed today. Hit my stop-loss like a boulder off a two story building onto a puppy – fast and brutal. For those who are not familiar with a stop-loss it’s a predetermined amount of money that you are willing to loss within a certain period of time, usually a day. By setting a stop-loss a gambler or card player can prevent himself or herself from going on tilt (aka crazy) and flushing their entire bankroll or in my case my backer’s bankroll. Lots of very talented players emotionally can’t show enough restraint to set a stop-loss or stick to it when the going gets dirty. It’s hard to be one-third of the way through your day and have to call it. You want that money back. But usually it’s better to take the day off. Review your hand histories, study, and maybe relax. I took the moped for a one minute drive to the ocean. The tide was in. Gently it brushed against the white beaches. Across the stretch of water another island rose like a she-hulk tit, large and green. I am living in paradise. Not something close to paradise, but complete paradise.

                After stopping in at my favorite soup shop I headed back to the house to do some writing, before I picked up Jackie from school. I got a little editing done.

                Once back at the house Jackie and I decided to explore the mudflats before dinner. How wrong we were about them. From day one we had seen local people out at the far edge of the "mudflats," 300 meters from the beach, collection things. We were curious what was being collected, so Jackie drove us over to the beach and we started out. It’s not mud at all, but a bizarre and fascinating landscape of broken coral, large scattered rocks, waving sand, and tide pools. We came across a variety of crabs, fish, live corals, and shells as we walked out past the tide line. We saw a couple sea cucumbers and even two lionfish! We’ll bring the camera out next time and post some pictures. Standing in the middle of the flats with the water at our backs, a multitude of sea life at our feet, and the Big Buddha, immaculately white, looking down on us from his green mountain top it was hard to be anything but stunned with happiness. 

It was a rough start to what turned out to be a fantastic day. Already Jackie and I have started to fall into the outline of routine. We get up between 6:00 and 6:30 am, shower, dress and eat a little. Then we hop on the moped. (A long side note about mopeds. According to the UK’s foreign and Commonwealth Office over 38 people die a day in Thailand in motorcycle accidents. When we were preparing for Thailand I skipped over the warnings about motorcycles and mopeds, because I couldn’t imagine EVER using one while we were here. It just didn’t make sense. Every travel thing we read listed them as the most dangerous thing in Thailand. Now that we are here it’s clear why some many tourists die a year on mopeds, because they ALL eventually have to get on one. It would be impossible live in Phuket without renting or owning a moped or motorcycle, unless of course you are rich enough to rent/buy a car. So if you can imagine every single tourists, including the bad drivers and the questionable drivers, all zooming out into oncoming traffic, well it’s not hard to see why someone people die. This is not to belittle those that have died in traffic accidents in anyway. The system of driving here is very give and take. There is a general flow that the majority of drivers follow and once you understand that flow you are much better off. Mopeds are usually in the left lane or on the shoulder of the road. At stop lights you can just wiggle through traffic until you are at the front and then you can join the pack of other mopeds that have laced their way to the front. Personally I think I’m getting a hang of it. Yesterday I didn’t try to pullout into oncoming traffic, not even once! The habits from driving in the US are strong at first: right hand to turn on red, or pulling out and taking a right, check left – no traffic? Okay . . . GO!!! What is wrong with that scenario? Well oncoming traffic is coming from my right. But I’m getting a hang of it, rain and wind, even with laundry onboard.) Around 7:00 Jackie start the commute to her school. I drop her off after dealing with traffic and come back to the house. On the way home today I finally saw the Famous Big Buddha. With my eyes finally not having to worry about every single movement of traffic they had drifted up past the roadside buildings towards the top of the mountains on the island. And there it was.  Peacefully it gazed down on the entire island, perched in a sea of green. It’s funny because just the day before a tourist asked me if I knew where the Big Buddha was. I had told him that I had seen signs for it, but had no idea and the whole time it was probably within eyesight if we had only looked up for it. That was the highlight of my morning. I was thrilled to have finally found it.

                The rest of the morning was downhill, a complete crash and burn. As is my schedule I stopped off for some breakfast to take back the house and start work. Poker is not an easy living, despite what some people say. Those at the top, the middle and even where I’m at understand its hard work, mentally and emotionally. I got crushed today. Hit my stop-loss like a boulder off a two story building onto a puppy – fast and brutal. For those who are not familiar with a stop-loss it’s a predetermined amount of money that you are willing to loss within a certain period of time, usually a day. By setting a stop-loss a gambler or card player can prevent himself or herself from going on tilt (aka crazy) and flushing their entire bankroll or in my case my backer’s bankroll. Lots of very talented players emotionally can’t show enough restraint to set a stop-loss or stick to it when the going gets dirty. It’s hard to be one-third of the way through your day and have to call it. You want that money back. But usually it’s better to take the day off. Review your hand histories, study, and maybe relax. I took the moped for a two minute drive to the ocean. The tide was in. Gently it brushed against the white beaches. Across the stretch of water another island rose like a she-hulk tit, large and green. I am living in paradise. Not something close to paradise, but complete paradise.

                After stopping in at my favorite soup shop I headed back to the house to do some writing before I picked up Jackie from school. I got a little editing done before it was time to pick up Jackie.

                Once back at the house Jackie and I decided to explore the mudflats before dinner. How wrong we were about the “mudflats.” From day one we had seen local people out at the edge of the “mudflats,” almost 300 meters out collecting things. We were curious what was being collected, so Jackie drove us over to the beach and we started out. It’s not mud at all, but a bizarre and fascinating landscape of broken coral, large scattered rocks, waving sand, and tide pools. We came across a variety of crabs, fish, live corals, and shells as we walked out past the tide line. We saw a couple sea cucumbers and even two lionfish! We’ll bring the camera out next time and post some pictures. Standing in the middle of the flats with the water at our backs, a multitude of sea life at our feet, and the Big Buddha, immaculately white, looking down on us in his from his green mountain top it was hard to be anything but stunned with happiness.

Day one Sex-Ed (Jackie)

I got my teaching schedule today! The head of the science department is being incredibly nice and giving me mostly honors classes and British Curriculum classes that are specially designed for kids with advanced English skills. But what do I have to do in return for this exceptional schedule? DRUM ROLL PLEASE....In return I also have to teach the dept heads senior sex ed class of 16-17 year olds. Yippee! Every teachers dream I’m sure. Did I mention that this will also be the first class I’ll ever teach? Unbelievable. Gotta admit that never in my life did I ever imagine that someday I’d be teaching ‘Dangers of Sexual Behavior’ to a class full of teenagers in a culture where I know absolutely nothing about sexual behaviors, norms, taboo’s, customs, etc. The only saving grace is that since it’ll be my first day teaching I’ll have to introduce myself to the students. Perhaps in a very lengthy fashion. Perhaps with lots of time for questions about myself. Perhaps it’ll be fun! ahahahahaha.

Anyway, aside from that I’ll be teaching biology, chemistry, and physics at all high school levels. I’ve spent the last 2 days shadowing various science teachers and while initially I was worried about being horribly unprepared, I think that even without any teaching experience I’ll be fine. Most of the teachers seem more focused on seeming cool to the students or getting through the material as fast as possible rather than actually trying to educate them or make the subject remotely interesting. Granted it’s the end of the term, the days are 9 hrs long, and there are 2,200 kids all taking lunch and recess breaks at different times so the decibel level in the school is deafening at all times. Some of the teachers I followed though didn’t even make it into the class until the last 10 minutes of the lesson while other classes were lucky if the teacher got past the lesson title. One class just involved the teacher talking about her various pets instead of covering basic chemistry. Another teacher just laughed when a kid pelted her with paper while she was writing on the board. When she asked why the girl threw paper at her another kid threw a wadded up paper ball at her and she laughed again and went back to her lesson. The entire class gasped, giggled, and when nothing happened, the class exploded in a paper fight and utter disorder, paper balls flying everywhere. Very unimpressive. I was surprised to find myself much more irritated with the teachers than with the students. It seems as if I’ll have to be a bit more of a disciplinarian in the beginning than I would like,  just to regain control of a class that apparently has had no rules and is never told to behave or be respectful. I don’t think it’ll be hard though. I’ve met some of the kids and they seem great, just pushing their boundaries because they can. I think the culture here has ensured that respectful behavior is deeply ingrained in every child  and reverting back to better behavior with a little guidance should be easy.  Fingers crossed.

About the House

Things are moved in. Our few belongings are mostly consolidated in our bedroom, though some of our gear is in the Yellow Room (the 2^nd bedroom), and my juggling stuff is in the Juggling Room. I’ve got to admit there is something ritzy about having a specialty room like a Juggling Room.

                The house is about as close to perfect as possible, even if we weren’t factoring in the limitations of our budget. The large double-wide front doors are beautifully carved teak and there is a small eye tacked over the front doors to bring good luck the house’s inhabitants.  As I write, gusts of wind rustle the thicket of bamboo on the side of the house next to our room. Despite being a minute away from the main road there is a certain feeling of isolation here.  The place has the feeling of having been a home, but one that wasn’t occupied recently. There landlord’s tasteful and interesting decorations are still on the walls. In our bedroom there is a strip of old weather worn boards painted with figures kneeling in the grass. In the hallway there is a framed armadillo skin that I am admittedly quite fond of already. The juggling room is bare, as it should be. The decorative wrought iron bars over all the windows seem more like decorations then protective measures, though I have no doubt that they serve as both. Sitting at the large desk in our bedroom I can’t help but to think back to our original impression of the place. There was something fundamentally creepy about our initial visit. It seemed perfect for a writer working on his second novel to slowly and quietly go insane.

                Finding this place was not as easy as we had hoped it would be, let’s be honest, what is? Kraum, our driver for the last couple of days picked us up and with a great amount of difficulty we were able to explain that there was one other place we wanted to see before we signed the contract for the place we saw yesterday. We had spoken with the landlords of the new place the night before and it was significantly cheaper than the other place. We were supposed to meet them at the house at two. We hadn’t gotten directions that night, because we figured it would just be easier in the afternoon, when we could let them speak to Kraum. However, every time we dialed the number we would get a string of gibberish and then an English translation, “the number you have dialed is currently not accessible.” Over and over the message came up.

We were already heading in the direction of Friendship Beach Rawai, but had no idea where the place actually was. Sitting up front with Kraum I tried to explain the situation. We stalled by stopping and buying Kraum a coffee. Finally we arrived along the main stretch of road near Friendship Beach, but we still couldn’t get through to the landlords.

It was tense trying to stall in that situation, especially because Kraum had seemed so adamant that we had gotten a great deal on the other house, the one Jackie mentioned as having a stunning view of the ocean. Frustration set in. It didn’t make sense, nor did it bode well that these people’s phone wasn’t working, but at the same time we felt a need to see at least one more place before we forked out 14,000 baht a month plus utilities for the other place.

 Running out of options we had Kraum find an internet café. There was another number included in the landlord’s posting in the Phuket Gazette. We called it and someone answered! She spoke some English, but mostly Thai, so we settled the bill at the internet café and passed the phone off to Kraum.  The whole way there Kraum was talking to her. We went down a dodgy hill and then started rumbling over some heavily potholed back alleys. To our left was the ocean, but what was really making an impression at that moment was the quarter mile of mudflats that mauled the landscape now that the tide was out.  There was a great deal of trash and three dumpsters being rummaged through as we turned onto the street that the house was on. Kraum was obviously not impressed.

                When the house came into view though, it was stunning. The heavy foliage and blossoming flowers that encapsulated the front yard were breath taking. The house, facing a half mile stretch of small shabby buildings each filled with aerated cement tanks, was chimerical. It seemed clean, dynamic, and interesting. There was of course the mutual feeling between Jackie and I about the place not being entirely safe.  It was really the contrast between the place and its surroundings that made it feel so unsafe. There were the dingy shacks across the street, the dumpsters down the road, the mudflats, the empty swamp field with small tin roofed structures as if made for dogs or ponies, all these things were in  contrast to the house, giving it an eerie unsafe atmosphere.

When Jackie and I first arrived and the landlord was still running thirty minutes late. Jackie and I found ourselves bemoaning  the height of the wall and gate around the house, which only came up to your chest, hardly a protective structure. We felt that we were in a neighborhood that a place that looked this well-to-do and occupied by farangs would be an easy target for burglar, which happens more often on the southern tip of the island then other areas. Jackie was particularly hesitant about the place. She didn’t think she would be willing to walk around the area at night or by herself. That sort of situation creates a dependency that is very unhealthy in a relationship.

                Even Kraum said the place was dangerous. In broken English he explained something about a Muslim being buried on the beach. He drew his finger across his neck as if to signify that the man had been beheaded. Our imaginations running wild, we began linking the three statues out front of the house, two tigers with heads and one unknown animal without a head, to something very sinister. With ample miscommunication Jackie and I were suddenly under the impression that, recently, a Muslim man had been slain and buried in this area. Kraum said he would show us.  We hoped into his SUV and turned around.  Slowly we crept past the rows of low-lying buildings and past the desolate sand field with the dumpsters. Kraum pointed at the walled in swamp fields, their tall grass reaching up to towards the tops of the small sheet metal roofed structures inside.  Lots of Muslims dead here. He swept his hand over the whole area. He wouldn’t like to live here. Maybe us, yes; but him, no, no he wouldn’t live here.

“Pee,” he said in Thai moving his hands like jellyfish.

Ghosts? The area was full of Muslim ghosts? Well, at least we knew what he had meant by dangerous. Of course he wasn’t going to have to pay for the house, so avoiding the possibilities of ghosts for an extra 3,000 baht a month had to be worth it to him.

                Later that day, after we had decided on the house, despite some reservations, I brought up the idea of buying a taser. I was worried about Jackie not feeling safe and I wouldn’t mind having it around either, despite the fact that they scare the living shit out of me. (After being hit with enough electricity to take me off my feet twice during my stay in Egypt I have developed a serious fear of electricity.) We should have felt thrilled, not only was the landlord very nice and genuine in person (over the phone it’s much harder to deal with people not speaking a language well, be it Thai or English), but she had actually dropped the price on the house for us from 11,000 to 9,000 a month.

     But Kraum’s opinion of the place still lingered with us as did our own concerns about safety. Jackie was particularly unsettled about the decision. We were hungry and we had just dealt with Kraum. Our landlady told us that he was actually demanding that she pay him money for bring us to the place as if he was a house hunter instead of a taxi service. In many ways he actually was functioning as a house hunter, but we had hired him as a taxi. Originally we wanted to rent a car ourselves and just tour the island, but we had bumped into Kraum and he had talked us into letting him drive us around, all for a great price. So when we had worked everything out with our landlord and we were told about Kraum’s side hustle I felt a need to deal with it. We told her not to worry about him and that we would pay him. Of course we had no intentions of paying him the amount that he was probably demanding from her, but had been trying to scam us behind our back, which was probably why we hadn’t been able to get many of the other places we had looked at cheaper. The whole ride back I talked to Jackie with a bizarre rapid speech pattern so I could figure out exactly what we should do. I wanted to take care of the issue and not just ignore it and then have him harass us or the landlord. The entire way I went over what I wanted to say. I based my plan off of the section of Culture Shock that dealt with managing a business as a farang in Thailand. Direct confrontation is not done, nor is criticizing. So when we stepped out of the taxi I told Kraum:

                “We talked to the landlady. You are our taxi driver so I will pay you. You are a very good driver, so thank you so much.”

                And then I gave him 1,000 baht, 400 more than had been agreed upon for his services for the day. Even after talking with him I felt a little jittery, the prospect of conflict can really get me sometimes.

                Jackie and I both a little unsettled decided to actually take the rest of the day off. We had been in Phuket for three or four days and still hadn’t jumped into the ocean or just relaxed and acted like we were on a holiday. We went to a restaurant by the beach and played some cards as the Australian Wallabies played New Zealand’s Blacks in rugby. My fried rice was hidden inside a pineapple, which was adorable and very confusing. (I had been worried that I miss ordered and had ordered an entire pineapple). We even got a couple of milkshakes. Afterwards we played in the ocean, Jackie got a new dress, and we returned to our room to watch a movie. It was exactly what we had needed.

                There has been a lot of talk about the lack of safety of our place. What’s funny is that even now a day into living at our new place and with an understanding of what’s around us the place doesn’t seem so unsafe (perhaps still a great set for a psycho-thriller). The low-lying buildings with the cement tanks are actually part of a prawn farm! The graveyard is a graveyard and after talking with our landlords, who are very straightforward and honest seeming people, the surrounding area really doesn’t seem that unsafe at all. When the tide is up the ocean is beautiful and when it’s out locals are walking through the mudflats collection something or other. All in all, the place feels perfect for us.

Here is the long promised link the a photo album with pictures of the house: 

https://picasaweb.google.com/101782615335640844329/OurNewHousw?authkey=Gv1sRgCID5pav_h9eiCQ

House Hunting (Jackie)

     The quest for a cheap, beach side, internet accessible, furnished, 1-2 bedroom house close to KKJ begins! As you can see our criteria is fairly extensive but essentially not too difficult for such a touristy area, except that we want all of these amenities for less than we paid for our house on Mitchell street ($250 each). We looked at a bunch of internet ads and google mapped the distance from various cities in Phuket to the school I’ll be teaching at.  Rawai, Nai Han, Karon, Kata, Chalong, and Patong are all located on the ocean and within a few miles of the school. The island is only 30 k wide and 10k long but as we quickly found, there are only 2 major roads so even though Mueang (where my school is) and Patong are 9 miles from each other, in order to get from one to another you have to drive to Rawai at the southern tip of Phuket and bounce all the way back up, making the drive up to 37 minutes. Troubling. Also, the eastern ocean is unswimmable.

     We hired a taxi for $30 to drive us all around the island, stopping at every rental sign we saw to quickly dial the 10 digit number and enquire about cost and amenities to people with varied grasps of English. Our driver, Crom, became essential as he decided to take over and question people in rapid Thai and demand cheaper costs for us! We each called dozens of people and visited about a dozen places, each time our standards rising and dropping depending on the place. We fell in love with a two story house in the middle of nowhere accessible only by steep dirt roads that was new, inexpensive, impeccably clean, and comfortable with beautiful wood floors and a spectacular balcony with a view of the ocean over the jungle. The problem: no internet. We can’t live in a place without internet because of Isaac’s job. Oh well we shrugged, there will be plenty of others just like it. And there were. But each had its own problem; unfurnished, expensive, too big, too far from the ocean, horrendous landlords etc. We even checked out a house next door to an elephant colony where a baby elephant gave me kisses on the cheek after grabbing bananas with its agile trunk from Isaacs and my hands. After 6hrs we were exhausted, disappointed, and without a plan. We were already well outside of the area we wanted and beginning to rapidly strip variables out of the equation. It was pouring rain by this time and we decided to head home and peruse a few houses on the way. Feeling keenly disappointed and aware of the possibilities of imminent and unsolvable issues that would require a massive overhaul of our original standards, our driver spotted a sign in Thai advertising a house. Jaded, we shrugged and agreed to see it. It turned out to be a huge teal house that was architecturally stylized to appear distinctly Thai. In the rain we walked up the stairs and into the house. Though obviously very old it had a kitchen, 2 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a living room and the clincher, a great balcony with a pristine ocean view and a big backyard with coconut trees and a swinging bench. It also has great neighbors who’ve we’ve already met, is within our price range, and is a 20 min moto ride from the school.

     Right before signing the lease we switched again. We found one last ad for another house, cheaper in the same area and while it lacks an ocean view, it is a gorgeous house 2 mins walk from beach with lots of windows, a front yard courtyard surrounded by tropical trees and flowers and is extremely comfortable. It also screams horror movie set. The flora enclose the house almost completely and in the rain the orange tiled courtyard becomes slick and the heavy engraved wooden door turns dark. In fact, you can’t really see the house at all unless you are directly in front of it and peek through the decorated iron gate. I should also mention that like an ad in Craigslist, it’s all about how you spin it. While the beach is almost visible from the house, it turns into 300 yrds of mudflats at low tide and you have to walk by a massively overgrown Muslim graveyard to get to it.  It’s also next to a gurgling prawn farm and seems to be completely isolated even though it is surrounded by buildings. All that aside, to us it’s a hidden mecca that is only a couple of minutes from the main road with terrific landlords and is only $150 each a month!

Daily Expenses

• Coffee for 2 (30)
•  Breakfast (50)
• Chauffeur for house hunting (1,000) 
• Lunch for 3 (340)
• Phone card top off (50)
• Elephant food (100)
• Massages (440)
• Fried foods on a stick (17)
• Grilled squid on a stick for two (80)
• Coffee (18)
• Mushroom soup (80)

Daily Expenses

• Coffee (18)
• Breakfast if pork soup (50)
• Lunch for two (300)
• Massage for two (440)
• Dinner for two (100)

I've had it up to HERE!

     A police officer sat down on a stool next to us at the bar as we started to eat a well deserved lunch. He smiled.

     "New river." He said looking towards the road with a small laugh.

     We were informed that the days weather was unusual.

     When you first arrive some place you tend to except all the oddities, be it the customs, food, or weather, at face value: so this is what they mean by monsoon season - apparently it wasn't. The rain I had chatted about earlier as setting a backdrop for a wonderful night of sleep continued into the afternoon. When Jackie arrived back from her school, full of stories, I still hadn't left the room (outside of my fantastic breakfast), so I didn't know the condition of Patong.

     With Jackie home and nothing else to do, but think about trying some more delicious Thai food, we set out for lunch. 

     The streets outside of Sea Blue Hostel and Guesthouse were flooded. They weren't terribly flooded, but definiantly overrun with water. Tuk-tuk drivers, hidden under their blue ponchos, drug their feet through the water as they plowed through the flooded street on their mopeds. We splashed across in our flip flops, keeping to the wet, but unflooded sidewalks, as we made our way toward the center of town. As we approached Rat-U-Thit Song Roi Pee road the more dramatic effects of the rain became clear.

     The rain obviously being melodramatic about the whole having nowhere to go thing, like a college kid several weeks after commencement, wasn't about to hinder our search for lunch. In fact it seemed to be offering us quite the opportunity for an adventure, as well as a fantastic way to contract a variety of tropical diseases. 

     With the small river forged, Jackie and I took a short cut through the shopping mall and appeared on the other side about as wet as when we had entered.We had assumed that it was just Rat-U-Thit Song Roi Pee road that was in trouble and how very wrong we were. It soon became clear that besides for a patches of high ground the entire city was awash. Sticking to the side walks we were managing to to stay mostly shin deep in water.

     The city was taking the weather in stride. Trucks and vans fearlessly drove through the rivers and the firemen were out helping Thais and farangs (tourists) alike cross the street. The stable arms and legs of Patong's civil servants were necessary, because the streets had turned into honest, swiftly flowing rivers and the side walks,  hidden under the muddied waters, seemed keen on stubbing toes and tripping up those of us who were still out and about.

     In all this drama it was nice to see many of the dead-eyed tourists, the recently deemed empty bags of flesh, take sight of their surroundings and engage them. Not all of them were able to rise to the occasion, some were still bent over a morning beer seemingly curing a hangover,  but some were and that seemed to be a start.  A couple of them even smiled as they watched Jackie and I posing for pictures with our umbrella or inside the phone booth. 

    One of the many striking features of Patong are the farangs. They give off an unsatisfied zombie like aura. Not all of them, but a range of thirty year old white men and their older counter parts seem to stalk the city. It's unnerving and disconcerting.You have the distinct feeling that they are displeased by the presence of other farangs and by not looking at you, you cease to exist. Then again perhaps it is more out of some sort of drunken stupor or shame that they avoid your eyes; my guess is that Patong isn't known as Sin City without a reason. However, if it is compared to Vegas one more time I will go on a rampage. If this was Vegas I wouldn't be so hard up for work. Honestly though, perhaps the farangs lack of acknowledgement of each other is more noticeable due to their contrast with the Thais. Thailand is known as "The Land of Smiles" and thus far Jackie and I have found little proof that it should be said otherwise (though I personally think it should also be known as "The Land of Mopeds"). The amount of eye contact and smiling that Jackie and I have a tendency for back home seems so perfectly in place here. For every one of our smiles or laughs there is one given in return.

     Back to the our poor flooding city, which one would at first assume is no laughing matter. Bags of sand were stacked military style in front of the open faced store fronts, blocking the lapping waters that stretched over the sidewalks from entering. The women in the massage parlors, standing in groups of five or six, wearing matching brightly colored uniforms, call out to us as we slosh down the side walk, our toes clinging to our flip-flops. Half jokingly they invite us in. Store keepers ask us if we are still shopping, always with a sly, knowing smile. Despite the good nature of the people towards the event our trudging journey was beginning to wear on us. The immediate and  adventurous aspects of the flooding had run its course and now it was time to actually find a place to eat. Finally we located a operating restaurant and scored seats at the bar. It was at this bar, while making quick work of a coke and plate of Pad Thai, that the police officer jokingly pointed out the coursing river to us. 

Maak Namm (Jackie Post)

     The quest for a cheap, beach side, internet accessible, furnished, 1-2 bedroom house close to KKJ begins! As you can see our criteria is fairly extensive but essentially not too difficult for such a touristy area, except that we want all of these amenities for less than we paid for our house on Mitchell street ($250 each). We looked at a bunch of internet ads and google mapped the distance from various cities in Phuket to the school I’ll be teaching at.  Rawai, Nai Han, Karon, Kata, Chalong, and Patong are all located on the ocean and within a few miles of the school. The island is only 30 k wide and 10k long but as we quickly found, there are only 2 major roads so even though Mueang (where my school is) and Patong are 9 miles from each other, in order to get from one to another you have to drive to Rawai at the southern tip of Phuket and bounce all the way back up, making the drive up to 37 minutes. Troubling. Also, the eastern ocean is unswimmable.

     We hired a taxi for $30 to drive us all around the island, stopping at every rental sign we saw to quickly dial the 10 digit number and enquire about cost and amenities to people with varied grasps of English. Our driver, Crom, became essential as he decided to take over and question people in rapid Thai and demand cheaper costs for us! We each called dozens of people and visited about a dozen places, each time our standards rising and dropping depending on the place. We fell in love with a two story house in the middle of nowhere accessible only by steep dirt roads that was new, inexpensive, impeccably clean, and comfortable with beautiful wood floors and a spectacular balcony with a view of the ocean over the jungle. The problem: no internet. We can’t live in a place without internet because of Isaac’s job. Oh well we shrugged, there will be plenty of others just like it. And there were. But each had its own problem; unfurnished, expensive, too big, too far from the ocean, horrendous landlords etc. We even checked out a house next door to an elephant colony where a baby elephant gave me kisses on the cheek after grabbing bananas with its agile trunk from Isaacs and my hands. After 6hrs we were exhausted, disappointed, and without a plan. We were already well outside of the area we wanted and beginning to rapidly strip variables out of the equation. It was pouring rain by this time and we decided to head home and peruse a few houses on the way. Feeling keenly disappointed and aware of the possibilities of imminent and unsolvable issues that would require a massive overhaul of our original standards, our driver spotted a sign in Thai advertising a house. Jaded, we shrugged and agreed to see it. It turned out to be a huge teal house that was architecturally stylized to appear distinctly Thai. In the rain we walked up the stairs and into the house. Though obviously very old it had a kitchen, 2 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a living room and the clincher, a great balcony with a pristine ocean view and a big backyard with coconut trees and a swinging bench. It also has great neighbors who’ve we’ve already met, is within our price range, and is a 20 min moto ride from the school.

     Right before signing the lease we switched again. We found one last ad for another house, cheaper in the same area and while it lacks an ocean view, it is a gorgeous house 2 mins walk from beach with lots of windows, a front yard courtyard surrounded by tropical trees and flowers and is extremely comfortable. It also screams horror movie set. The flora enclose the house almost completely and in the rain the orange tiled courtyard becomes slick and the heavy engraved wooden door turns dark. In fact, you can’t really see the house at all unless you are directly in front of it and peek through the decorated iron gate. I should also mention that like an ad in Craigslist, it’s all about how you spin it. While the beach is almost visible from the house, it turns into 300 yrds of mudflats at low tide and you have to walk by a massively overgrown Muslim graveyard to get to it.  It’s also next to a gurgling prawn farm and seems to be completely isolated even though it is surrounded by buildings. All that aside, to us it’s a hidden mecca that is only a couple of minutes from the main road with terrific landlords and is only $150 each a month!

Daily Expenses

All expenses will be expressed in Bahts for standard exchange rate see: http://www.x-rates.com/calculator.html

Currently we've only been getting an exchange rate of 1USD to 28.4 Bahts.

• Water (6)
• Cold pineapple slices (20)
• 2 Meat kebabs (40)
• 2 coffes + 2 eggs (20)
• 2 custard cakes (20)
• Green nuts (15)
• 2 Lg. waters (26)
• 5  nights stay in private room (2,441)
• Cab ride from airport to Patong (1,500)
• Cellphone (1,000)
• SIM card (200)
• Dinner for 2: Pad Thai and milkshakes (220)

A quick morning moment

     Jet lagged, Jackie and I managed to wake up an hour or so ahead of her 6:30 am alarm today. The rain is still pouring down. It looks as if it will consistently be raining through the night into the morning, creating the perfect backdrop for wonderful and heavy sleep. Awake and fully rested Jackie prepared to go to her school and sign her contract. Walking down the stairs of our hostel, she wearing my raincoat and baseball hat, I felt like a father taking his little girl to her first day of school. Though, unlike that little girl, Jackie quickly was able to bargain a deal with the taxi driver and was off.

     It's strange being left behind. I walked back through the flooded streets towards our hostel and pulled up next to a 7/11. There was a street vendor and three plastic tables with stools set up outside. The menu was on a single piece of poster-board and in Thai script so I could only point and see what was brought to me.  I watched her make a bowl of pork soup and rice. Sitting alone, just out of the rain and the flooding streets I tried to pace my self as I ate. It was extraordinarily difficult. Even now, back in the hostel, the flavors of the soup feel like they are humming and tingling in my mouth.

Almost there . . . and almost on time! (Jackie's Post)

Whew! We haven’t even reached Phuket and already our plans have taken some unexpected and potentially disastrous turns.  The description of Isaac and me as ‘seasoned travelers’ seems significantly misguided as we went to the wrong gate and missed our flight to Seoul despite having a 4 hour layover between flights. After some pleading, United Airlines set us up with a free room at the Hilton and free food while we dealt with the disaster of trying to find an alternative flight to Phuket as soon as possible and with as little of extra cost as conceivable.  After spending what seemed like hours on the phone with Vayama and Asiana airlines learning that all flights were booked and extremely expensive Isaac and I came up with what seemed like the best case scenario: repurchasing tickets for $500-600 each and leaving on the 26^th – 5 days after we were supposed to arrive.  This would mean I would not show up to sign my teaching contract as expected, we’d lose the deposit on the hostel we’d booked for the first week, we’d each be out about a quarter of our trip savings, and we’d be stuck in Chicago for 5 days. This was our BEST case scenario (and we’re very optimistic people)! The worst case was leaving on the 26^th and paying an excess of $1000 each.  We decided to try our luck with standby the next morning even though we were strongly discouraged due to the filled flight but we were pretty much out of options and getting desperate.  We also woke up to a $111 phone bill from the Hilton which I had to spend my much needed sleeping time dealing with. I cannot believe how many people I have argued with this trip already! I feel like I am always at the front counter complaining and explaining problems. Ick! And I hate confrontations of any and every kind. However, I will mention that everyone I dealt with was wonderful and did fix all issues in the end.

On a much sweeter note, after waiting standby for a couple of hours this morning learning card tricks and surrounded by our tightly packed and rather unwieldy luggage, we were hustled on to a flight to Seoul along with a woman and her 2 little girls who had missed the same flight the previous day as well as 2 other people within minutes of the plane taking off. We even had Asiana airline attendants come find us in the security line and rush us to the front of the line.  To make the entire unbelievable situation even better, not only was the flight free of cost, a woman volunteered to exchange seats so that Isaac and I could sit together! We were absolutely stunned to be handed our passports and boarding passes at the desk and even with both clutched in my hand I could not relax at all until we were in the air, and even then all I could do was sit there and wonder about our good luck and contemplate how this disastrous situation had somehow resolved itself quickly and without question and surpassed the outcome of even our most hopeful scenarios.  After 39 hours of travel we are now waiting for our (delayed) 6 hour flight to Phuket and an hour taxi ride to our hostel. Almost there… and almost on time! Cannot wait to crash out on this plane…

Terminal Trauma (Part Two)

     When you are stuck in a hotel, or worse yet, still wandering from Asiana personnel (which aren't actual there, because they have all gone home) to United personnel, while stumbling through the disbelief that you actually missed your flight, you think back to all the ironic moments that could have turned everything around. I remember showing Jackie our itinerary, which her dad and printed out for us in the morning, and asking if we needed it now that we had out tickets. No? Yeah, I didn't think so either - trash (actually recycled, so that wasn't a worst case scenario I guess). I remember the irony of walking through the airport when we just landed and telling Jackie that I prefer a long layover to a "flash" layover - at least you can't miss your plane. Worst of all though is all the details that just didn't seem to line up. The flight time was a little off (37min difference), there was no gate number or flight number on our tickets, and we were making a stop in Japan on the way to Seoul, which we didn't remember. Jackie actually went ahead and asked a slightly distracted United attendant about the stop over in Japan. She showed her our boarding passes.
     "So we're stopping in Japan?"
     "Yes."
     Well she was wrong. We weren't stopping in Japan. The United flight leaving from Terminal 1, Gate 17, was stopping in Japan and it was the only flight to Seoul on the departure board, but we were actually supposed to be flying straight to Seoul out of Terminal 5, Gate who-the-fuck-knows. We found this out after the "beep-beep" . . . "beep-beep" of our boarding passes being scanned.
     "This isn't the right boarding pass." A United personnel informed us.
     They took a closer look.
     "This is Asiana. See-" She pointed out a small "oz" on the boarding pass.
     Run. There was no way we could make it in time. Our flight was supposed to take off at 12:00; it was already past 12:00. We were in fucking Terminal 1 and we had to get to Terminal 5. Follow the signs. Panic - why are we out of security? Will we have to go through security again? These GOD DAMN BAGS! Up the escalator, over the road, and back down an escalator. On a train. Where the fuck is Terminal 5 in the O'Hare airport?
     Click, click, click. the train felt like it was a child's roller coaster. No speed, it just slowly plodded along, a heifer out to graze. It was four carts on a what look like wooden tracks. Oh, there's was a slight bend in the tracks and the train started to lean, following the bank - hands over your head . . . .woooooo. Finally, Terminal 5. Heading towards security.
    It's gone.
    We don't even get through security. That's when the fog sets in.
    We've made over a dozen international flights between the two of us. We've caught last minuet rides back from Timbuktu, Mali - but we just failed.
    There's no one at the Asiana desk. We're informed that they have left for they day and wont be back until the morning. We're told to go talk to United that they need to fix this. But the people telling us don't know that United got us to O'Hare on time. Yes, they did give us bad information, but is that going to show up in their system? I doubt it.
     Now we are standing in line at United International flight's desk, back in Terminal 1. A woman of Korean decent from Minnesota and her two little girls step up to the counter in front of us. Jackie and I started to listen to the woman relate her problem, well our problem actually.
     We stepped up to the counter next to her and reinforced her story with our own. We were misinformed by a United representative also. Yes, we were partly to blame, because it is our responsibility to know what gate to be at in what terminal, but a United personnel had told us we were at the right place, after looking at our boarding passes. And apparently we weren't the only ones misinformed.
     The nice woman at the desk commiserated with us. She made a phone call. No, nothing could be done. They couldn't reissue a ticket because it was all done through Asiana. They had no control over the matter. They were sorry, but there was nothing that could be done. We needed to talk to Asiana.
     "There isn't anyone at the Asiana desk," we told them. We NEED to figure something out. "We need to be on tomorrow's flight."
     Finally we asked for a manager. We waited. We waited some more. The personnel made a call. A new manager was going to come down to talk to us - we never found out what happened to the first one.
     She was a bigger black woman. With her hair slicked back she looked like nothing but business as she got our story from the woman we had originally talked to, ignoring us until she had figured out what our story was.
     I don't remember the first part of our conversation, but I believed it boiled down to us needing to call Asiana, because nothing could be done at all by United. They couldn't reissue our tickets; they couldn't do anything at all, because the tickets were originally issued through Asiana. She was sorry.
     I'm  not good with these things. I take it at face value. It made sense they couldn't reissue tickets. Jackie, however, is different. You might have just met Jackie this year or maybe you've known Jackie for years now without seeing her smile fall. Working through the burn on a Little 500 bike, or just chilling, she has a reputation for always, I mean ALWAYS, smiling. If you've not seen this smile fade, it's for the better. The soft lips and big tears in her eyes will wring out your heart, especially if it's your fault.
     The motherliness began to ooze out of the manager. As Jackie stood there fighting back her own tears and frustration with how fucked up everything was and trying to explain that we were moving to Thailand; that we had to get there. We had to be on the next flight. She had a contract, she could lose her job, everything . . .
     We got comped a hotel room at the Hilton and two vouchers for food. We received "Verification of Delay Forms" in hopes that maybe they would be helpful when we dealt with Asiana. If she could have put us on a plane I'm positive she would have. Jackie had transformed her into the warmest person behind a desk I  have ever met.
     We got the number to Asiana. We hauled our stuff to the Hilton got set up in a room and left a credit card down stairs so we could make outgoing calls at a dollar a call.
     Showers, more disbelief, and dinner.
     It would just hit us - we missed our fucking flight. There would be a calm and then it would hit us again.
     I started making calls. Asiana told us we needed to re-book through our travel agent. Vayama said sure they would do it but need a reservation code from Asiana. Asiana said they didn't know what the fuck Vayama had been smoking. Vayama tried to get me to call Asiana again, all of this costing a dollar a every time I hung up the phone. No. I put on my stern voice, it's funny how we have voices for moments like this. So Vayama called Asiana. It was going to cost us between 500 and 600 dollars, given the fees and the current difference in prices.
    Well, she would write an e-mail to her supervisors about the Delay Verification Forms we received and maybe they could wave some of the fees. Oh, and the ticket would be for the 26th.
    It looks like we were stuck in Chicago. We looked for new flights online, something that left before the 26th. Maybe we could just buy a new ticket for a little bit more and get to Phuket. Jackie was supposed to sign her contract on the 25th and start work on the 29th.
     We got in contact with Rob, a good friend, who was willing to put us up in Chicago, while we waited for our new possible departure date. It was hard to make the best of the situation, because there wasn't anything concrete about the situation. If we knew it was going to cost X amount of dollars and we would be on flight X then we could start to adjust: cry about having  lost any financial padding that we might have had for the trip and then move on, but as it was nothing was certain. Vayama stopped answering their phone and I still hadn't gotten word from them about waving some of the fees.
     So we hung out, stopped in at the pool, made more and more disheartening jokes about what fuck ups we were and then called it a night. We'd just have to get up early in the morning and run over to Asiana and hope that we could get on standby, but we already knew it was a booked flight.
     

Terminal Trauma

     It begins.

     I fear that this blog would lack drama if drama was lacking in Jackie's and my life, however perhaps we could have at least made it a little further before things decided to get so costly and "interesting." This post will have to be done in two parts, because sitting at Gate 17 of United Airlines Terminal 1 I had already started to jot down some ideas and reflections about the trip.
     Sleep deprivation will get you. In O'Hare during our layover after my third solid nap today (the first having been in the car and the second on the plane to O'Hare) I can feel the way my mind's approach to problems is changing. With parties, packing, and friends Jackie and I have been running on the a minimal amount of sleep the last few days. We snuck in about four hours of sleep after Friday's party, which had ended in a top notch dance party with Pants of Paul DJing and little skinny-dipping at an apartment complex not too far from the Old Mitchell House. Towel dried, with the sun coming up, we could have gotten a little extra sleep, but Jackie and I had brunch plans and had to prep-cook Marcia Ballard's famous pecan rolls. With an early departure for Indy on Sunday morning and plenty of packing and cleaning left to do Jackie and I had decided to pull an all-nighter Saturday night.  A couple of our friends, William and Maggie, came over late and we polished off our last Argentine malbec as we watched Sunset Boulevard , a classic black and white film noir.
     The sleeplessness had started to put a hurt on us. You could feel the tension between Jackie and I when I'd lay down her laptop on its side or she wouldn't help me figure out why the internet wasn't working for me as I looked up the name of the hostel we were going to stay at in Phuket. It was that snapping tension that is so characteristic of petty things.
     Ladden with our carry-on, which was pushing fifty pounds of stuff for me and nothing but uncomfortable to carry for Jackie, my mind would slowly plow the fields of our potential problems, like searching the country side of Cambodia for mines. My mind not functioning smoothly enough to disarm the potential issues blindly searched and when it felt the click of a depressed button it panic.
     "What if they wont let us into Thailand? I mean we don't have two-way tickets. Yes, Jackie has a job on the up and up, but what about me? Is $1,200 enough cash to make them think I can be self-sustaining and wont' be over staying my visa and/or working illegally?"
      When you're by yourself and you get kicked out of twenty-seven countries, which happens when you overstay your visa in the EU, it's not a big deal, because you only have to modify your plans. You don't have to worry about anyone else.
     And your mind keeps stumbling through all of this with perpetual momentum, but no direction - then you sleep. When you wake up on the tight knit grey carpet of O'Hare International suddenly your jaw isn't as tight, your tongue isn't pressed against the roof of your mouth, yes, you are still tired, but some of that confidence returns. That confidence is a good thing when you're trying to slide by.

     It's late. You'd think I'd learn. The TV in our Hilton hotel room is softly playing alternative rock as I look down on the O'Hare airport form the eighth floor. It's an unfortunate when things don't work out and it's mostly your own fault. Jackie's asleep and I think I should join her. Part Two will come soon enough, unless we can get standby on Monday's flight to Seoul, but I don't really see that happening. 

Luggage

Checked Bag: (Miraculously, after re-packing the bag six times and weighing it out on two different scales, the bag came to 50.00 pounds at the Indy Airport)

• Cigar box of treasures
• 6 quickdraws
• Dive repair kit
• Chief knife
• Watercolors
• Chalkbag
• Climbing harness
• 11 pairs boxer briefs (seems like a lot to me right now)
• jeans
• 3 pairs of socks
• Light travel pants
• Dress pants
• 2 Pairs of climbing pants
• Hoody
• 4 T-shirts
• 2 Light long sleeve travel shirts
• Silk boxers
• 2 Light short sleeve travel shirts
• Long sleeve base layer
• Rash-guard
• Lg. mesh bag
• Athletic shorts
• 2 Note pads (sewn pages)
• Needles
• Trekking shoes
• Rope bag
• Rock hammer
• Toilettery bag
• Fly rod
• 3 Juggling clubs
• 6 cases of contacts (for Jackie)
• 8 Juggling balls
• Waterproof Jacket (Hoosier Climber?)

Garment Bag:

• Three-piece suit
• 3 Dress shirts
• Short sleeve dress shirt
• Running shoes
• Black Dress shoes
• Laptop charger

Carry On:

• Pencils
• Pens
• Markers
• Deck of cards
• Highlighters
• 2 Laptops
• 2 Legal pads
• Condoms
• Sticky notes
• Finger strength trainer
• Sketch pad
• Climbing rope
• 3 Sewn paged note books
• Computer speakers
• The Art of Fiction
• Aspects of the Novel
• How to Escape from a leper Colony
• Divemaster manual
• Dive knowledge workbook
• Lonely Planet Thailand
• Dive Log
• Mp3 player
• Headphones
• Fishing vest
• 3 Paris of dress socks
• 3 Ties
• 2 DVDs on fiction writing

Wearing:

• Brown dress shoes
• Dress pants
• T-shirt
• Dress shirt
• North Face Jacket
• Money belt
• Wallet
• Deck of cards

Additional Items:

• Flip-flops
• Water bottle

      There is a time to look down from the cliff wall of Bloomington's quarries and there is a time to jump. Only twenty-four percent of 2010 college graduates who applied for jobs before graduating have one waiting for them and currently ten percent of college graduates over the age of 25 are unemployed. I love America, no I'm not being facetious. I am American. I don't go to Europe and tell them I'm Canadian. I didn't go to Egypt and Jordan and pretend to be anything but American. Despite having a president that I believe in and a political system that I don't I am not ashamed to be exactly what I am, a mostly honest, homegrown American. Nonetheless the time to jump has come. Jackie has graduated and I've been out of school for a year. We have no careers, we have no children, and we do not have a failing mortgage.
      At the IU Credit Union I was having Debby close my bank account.
      "So are did you graduate? Are you moving far away?"
       It's hard not to smile at the question. Why yes, Debby, I am moving far away. Not Evansville far away, not NY, NY where my parents are now. Not even California or Oregon, those are the brain drains for Indiana, are they not? No, I'm going truly westward. Is it not the quintessential American Dream to move forever west? And is it little surprise that in a day and age when we talk about the world being so small that we, Jackie and I, would end up in the Far East and the Kingdom of Thailand in our westward flight from home.
      I know that his my be one of the ways that many of our friends and family stay in touch with us, however I  have decided that I wont be censoring this blog based on that fact. So if our lives seem too troubled, askew, or otherwise disturbing feel free to send me your mailing address and I can just keep you in a postcard perfect loop.

This is the beginning of our story. Our first steps as children masquerading as grownups in an adult world.

For those of you interested in the nitty-gritty details of resources, expenses, and practical daily information I will be doing my best to include such things in enough detail as to make Lloyd's of London wrap up early for the day.