Diving on the job, better than sleeping on it

Sitting at Nitty's restaurant, cafe, and budget hostel in Khao Lak, I'm happy. I'm tired and my back hurts, but a chair and a coffee milkshake are starting to work their magic.

I'm in Khao Lak for work. I put a half day in at the office this morning (Saturday) and then hopped on the motorbike for my first ever foreign-road trip. I've traveled plenty, but as I started the two and half hour drive north to Khao Lak, I realized this was the first time I've ever done any long distance driving out of the country. There was an indescribable relief as I headed across Sarssin bridge, which connects Phuket to the mainland. It wasn't indescribable because it was an enormous feeling, but because it was so odd. It was like being aware of the problem of being inside all day, but only once you had one foot through the door -- already striding toward a solution.

I picked up a pad of rice with fried onions and some fried chicken for lunch. I ate them in a small shelter next to highway 402 and a rubber plantation on my the way up. The seasoning on the fried chicken, especially the better stuff, always amazes me. It takes a specially seasoned meat to make you ponder the flavors almost every time you have it. I know Jackie won't be leaving Thailand until she's got the recipe for a good cashew and chicken dish; I wont be leaving until I can make a mean Thai fry chicken.

I got the second half of Saturday off this week because I'm actually on a business trip. Funny to think of me being on a business trip. (There is a lot about my life right now that I would have never expected ten years ago, even one year ago, most notably becoming an editor.) It;s a business trip because of the dive column I'm supposed to have prepared in two weeks.

I'm still struggling to get my fins under me and figure out what the dive community is like here and what matters to them aka our readership; however I'm making some progress. A dive company in Phuket, Sea-Bees, has a branch up here in Khao Lak, which is the famous jump off point for liveaboards heading to the Similan islands. I was put in contact with the manager, Marcus, up here and he offered to help me out. So I came up to interview him today and I'll be diving with them tomorrow morning for free (ethical journalism?).

The interview went well -- I think. It's so strange to be jumping into such a skill based profession like journalism with no training or experience. Obviously, the training is doing the work, but there is so much confidence, tact, and art to interviewing and this was the first professional interview I've ever done in my life. Luckily, Marcus is a happy, balding German, who was glad to talk. I struggled to move the conversation towards my original goal (wreck diving), because apparently the Andaman sea doesn't really have too much in the way of wrecks, which surprised me. I had thought that given that the areas nautical history dated back to ancient times with the trade  routes running from China to India there would be plenty of wrecks -- apparently there just isn't much to wreck on around here. None the less, the interview was good. I started getting a feel for how to do an interview and I also got some insights into what's important to the divers in this area.

I'm excited about the dives in the morning. The first dive of the day is going to be a dousy! With it just being a couple days since Loy Krathong (full moon of the twelfth month of the lunar calender) visibility on the wreck, Sea Charter, is going to be low and we might be dealing with a strong current, but we wont know until we drop down. The real issues is the depth. The wreck starts near the recreational dive depth limit of 40m, so we're going to be using Nitrox (thankfully I got my enriched-air certification) to extend our bottom time. No matter how you look at it, this wont be an easy dive, but it should be a pretty exciting one. The second dive will be an easier dive at some sort of sunken tin mining structure, which I'm also excited to do.

The issue of the Phuket Gazette that came out this week made me proud. Each week I've been more and more involved in the final product and this week I hit the trilogy: editing, layout (the first time I laid out a page it took me an entire day!) and contribution. It's the first time my name has been in a publication. It kind of feels like it's "self-published" because I'm on the editorial team and knew that it was going to be published, but I am published! Jackie and I were going to celebrate last night, but after dinner we were both tired so we had a drink, played a couple hands of cards in bedroom and then crashed out.

Traveling Fears

My biggest fear when I'm traveling isn't missing my plane (though that wasn't fun), breaking my legs after grounding during a big climbing fall, running out of money, going to Thai prison for gambling, or suffer from the bends after an emergency ascent while scuba diving, though all of those things probably should be concerns, my biggest (realistic) fear is insulting someone who is trying to be nice to me. 

I had to face that fear tonight. I have no idea of I was insulting or not, but just the idea that someone might have gone out of their way to be welcoming and nice to me and then through some sort of miscommunication I end up being a total asshole is mortifying.

When I was younger, and even more happily naive then I am now, I had to get a passport extension for my stay in Egypt. I didn't have a guidebook and in all honesty I have no idea how I ended up in the right building to get the visa extension, but I did. It was a big building complex. It had a Cairo feel to it -- dusty marble, obviously something that had built in a more glorious age. Along the hallway were mats, leaving only a thin strip of actual floor to walk on. I had no idea what the deal was with the mats, so me and my big size 12 american shoes went stomping down the middle of the hallway until someone stopped me from trampling over any more prayer mats. I had no idea. I was oblivious.

Tonight, wasn't as bad as stomping on pray mats, I don't think. Jackie and I had just gotten back from dinner and I was locking the gate. I felt a little weird locking the gate, because there was a group of men and women on the other side of the street under some prawn farm lights that I hadn't ever seen lit before. I felt like I was locking them out of my home, as if closing the gate was not a general safety measure, but an action being done to specifically keep those particular people out -- it felt wrong.

One of them said hi in Thai, one of the few things I could understand. I smiled. I try to always smile when I'm not going to be able to communicate anything meaningful, in hopes that at least my base intentions are understood. A dog that was with them stood up, barked and started growling. The hair on his back was up like a porcupine's quills. They called to him, but he didn't really pay them any attention. I thought about stepping back and just slamming the gate shut, but that would have seen to Farang like -- I don't want to lend myself to the idea that foreigners are or should be afraid of locals (or their dogs). I don't want to be part of that sort of expat mindset. So I bent down and called out to the dog. It relaxed a little. It's tale gave a halfhearted wag, but it's hair stood up and it closed in cautiously. Crouched down, I gently called to it and waited, aware that the group was watching me, perhaps hyper-aware of it.

One of the members stood up and came towards me talking. I had no idea what he was saying, though he carried a shot glass of liquor and was presenting it to me with his right hand, his left hand gently touching his elbow. Still crouched I took the glass, waied  to him, and said thank you in Thai.

I down the shot. It was an herbal liquor that reminded me a little of Fernet.

He started talking again.

I had no idea what to say. I had used up the entirety of my Thai vocabulary outside of pad Thai, rice, fried, and a variety of numbers, but none of those seemed appropriate for the situation.

I started mumbling words that he said back to him -- that's what I end up doing when I'm dealing with a foreign language and panic.

There was a long awkward silence, I was filled with the feeling that I was either supposed to give him something or that I had just said something really offensive. I had no idea. An hour later and I can't remember how things ended. He must have just walked away.

I still have no idea if I was rude or horrible or just obviously ignorant. Coming off as either of the first two when someone has gone out of their way to be nice still and always will mortify me.

Coming home

After four gorgeous sunny days I found myself racing from the office to an empty house under a dark sky, flashing with silent lightening. (I haven't officially started working. You can't work unless you have a work permit, which is still hiding in the bureaucratic woodwork of Thailand -- it is illegal to even be doing volunteer work without a work permit.) It was dark and the traffic was more squirrely than normal; I try to remind myself the question isn't when will I get into a crash, but how bad will it be.

Jackie is off on her trip her stunning trip, which is starting in the climbers paradise of Krabi, but I'll let her write about that when she returns. With Jackie gone my social life outside of the people at the Gazette has diminished to "Joe" and tongue-dog.

The house was dark and silent as I pulled into the freshly swept tile drive way. Lights on and the laptop up I smiled when the second half of Avril Lavigne "My Happy Ending" came on, which was quickly followed by Backstreet Boys, Hoobastank, and Shania Twain (http://8tracks.com/blondesouth/you-know-all-the-words-part-two). After a quick shower I grabbed dinner and then stopped in to "hangout" with Joe and tongue-dog. Joe's real name is Jackie Chan, he is a mobile-deep-fried-food vendor that parks his moped and attached food stand in front of "Jackie's and my" 7/11. It's so easy to claim things that you have no claim to. Joe started his business about the same time Jackie and I moved into the house. I actually remember visiting the 7/11 before he arrived. Now his wide smile and delicious skewered food is a daily staple for us. Tongue-dog is a long haired black and white dog that spends its evenings and nights at 7/11. Tongue-dog is a tired looking animal that is usually sprawled out asleep or half asleep on the white tile patio. Tongue-dog's tongue is always unadroitly peaking out of his mouth, a sliver of pink against his black and white muzzle.

Home after making my social rounds I  listen to the storm picking up force. The change in air pressure has put me at ill-ease as it opens and closes doors in the mostly unoccupied house. I find myself checking the locks and locking doors that don't usually get locked (bedroom door).

Though I'm not allowed to legally start work I have signed my contract. My job title is Contributing Editor, though in the official paperwork I am a "language adviser." I will be getting paid 30,000 baht a month during my probation period (3 months), after that I can receive a raise of up to 5,000 baht. I will get public holidays off and will get two weeks paid vacation. I will also get a contract completion bonus, which is a months pay!

The job itself will be "translating" Thai-English into an bastardized American/British English (we have a style guide that dictates when to use British English, such as the use of "mum" instead of "mom" and "learnt" instead of "learned.") I will also be doing layout for the paper and writing articles when needed. Though I am part of the news team we are encouraged to occasionally write features -- just doing news will fuck up your perspective of the world when you get headlines like this on a daily bases: Burmese crew's mutiny-murder run ends in Phuket, Dutch tourist slashed by deranged vagrant in Krabi, Phuket woman takes life by hanging, Phuket Prison warden hangs himself. All of those headlines have hit the website after I signed my contract about a week and half ago. So, to keep me cheery I'm going to be writing a diving column!

Like my Uncle Les used to say . . .

So much of poker is based on your mentality. It's about confidence and the way you mentally approach the game, every session, every hand. I wake up in the morning feeling fresh, sit down at the computer, and open up my tables. Five hands in and the morning's facade comes crashing down. All of the residual destructive forces that seemed to have disappeared over night  surface. You always try to leave poker alone when you shut down the computer for the day. But waking up everyday and getting crushed eventually wears down your ability to shake a bad day, because it feels like everyday is a bad day. All the losing starts nestling up inside you and transforming your mentality.

Last week I would start playing poker and immediately feel like a heavy weight boxer in a title match, but it wasn't my title match, no I was subbing in. I was a punching bag. I was the guy who had the line against him 11:1, that line was for me making it past round 6 - I'm not even sure they laid a line for me to win. That's what it feels like, like my only goal is to make it to round 12. Just be on my feet - it doesn't matter if I can't feel my face and I'm fighting six versions of the same guy, but only one of them seems to be tangible. My gloves feel like cinder blocks, too heavy to keep up. So I just stand there praying that the beating will end that I'll hear the bell and get to take a break. That's not a winning mentality. You can't win at anything with that mentality, because really, all you're trying to do is not lose as badly as you think you will - winning doesn't even seem to be part of the equation.

This is a graph of my "profits" (profits given in Big Blinds and not dollars) since arriving in Thailand and starting my stake. The green line is money won or lost, the blue line is money that is won or lost when we go to showdown (neither the villain nor I fold), the red line is money won or lost (usually lost) when either the villain or I fold. The little straight black line at the top of the graph is the zero marker - I've been dive bombing out of control since my arrival. This is the sort of  trouncing that starts affecting your whole life.

Last week my staker and I talked about what was going on after I sent him that graph. That is not a graph of a winning player. That is not a graph of someone who is utilizing their perceived edge in the game. 

That is the graph of someone who is getting soul crushed. We use that term in poker "soul crush." I don't think I've been on this side the the battle field before, but it really does permeate through your entire life. It sucks at your soul.

Waking up only to  be reminded that you are terrible at what you do is a hard thing. Then, having to do it and walk away from it like nothing happened is even harder, but you have to do it if you want any happiness in your life. So my staker and I talked. We were honest with what we saw and we've decided to give it a rest. Take an extended holiday, while I get my feet under me at my new job. I can't imagine a better thing to do. My staker has been a stand-up guy the whole time, something that shouldn't be taken for granted in the gambling world. It's not over for us, but something inside me needs to reset. I'd like to make his money back for him. I'd like to get back into poker - I love the game. But as things stand I'm taking a breather, so I'll see you later "you secret handshaking assholes." (Rounders Quote)

Getting a Job Round 2

I made a follow up call up to the Gazette Monday. Chris explained to me that I had written "good English" in my piece, but I had failed to write a newspaper article. The grammar in the article was great, the sentence structures was fine, the over all structure of the story was perfect, but the leading sentence would never be seen in a newspaper article. He needed someone who had a nose for a story, someone who could see the headline and bust out a great lead paragraph and then just monkey around with the English for the rest of the story. I had attempted to stay true to the tone of the reporter when I had typed it up and my goal had been to write "good English," which is something I've been working on for years now and it hasn't come easily (some of you might point to this blog as an example, but I have so many things to edit and re-write in a day that sometimes the blog does get the short end of the stick, and I'm sorry about that). So I had accomplished my goal, but that wasn't all Chris was looking for, which is too bad because the other half of it I think I naturally have. I think I can read a report, find a story, and be entertaining and concise when I write about it. All this aside, Joe, the publisher, wanted to meet with me and Chris wanted to give me another editing test. This time I needed to focus on the story.

I was up early this morning. Only four hours of sleep the previous day put me to bed early and allowed me to get up several hours before I my meeting with Joe and the second editing test. I took a nice morning run on the beach. I think my runs (typically mid-day) have really been helping me pull through all of this as well as support from Jackie, my family, and my friends. The sand under my shoes is constantly shifting, but I try to find the most well packed path as I jog next to the ocean. Before passing the spot that I was attacked by a dog on my first run I still pick up a rock or a handful of sand.

 After a long shower and a fresh shave, I start dressing. There is a lot of concern and frustration at the Gazette with their turn-over rate. People just have things come up and skip town, then they have to go through the hiring process and the long training process to get a new person up to speed. Chris keeps saying "We'll lock you up in a one year contract." I'm fine with that. I'm actually trying to make it clear that if things go well and the job is a good fit for me that I would be interested in spending at least two years with the Gazette. With charcoal grey pants, a white button down, and a blue tie I think I'm ready. I went out a bought a dark blue tie yesterday. I feel like a dark blue tie might help impress upon them a sense of stability, seriousness, and lack of whimsicality, things I imagine they would like after having to deal with so many people just taking off.  I immediately and unconsciously counter this image by taking a heavy real feeling pellet gun that had been confiscated from one of Jackie's students ages ago from my desk drawer (apparently no one ever claimed it) and started aiming the gun at the mirror pretending to be a FBI or CIA agent, or at least a man who needs to dress sharply and carry a gun. Following my better judgment I only take a notebook and the Kindle to the interview, leaving the toy gun behind.

TEFL Test

It's two a.m. and the rain outside is starting up again, cooling off the room. I'm tired. After 14 hours of working on my TEFL certification test I have finally submitted it. Jackie and I had been discussing it over the last few days and we were convinced that the test would be multiple choice and a breeze. Based off that assumption, what had seemed like a promising job prospect, and time/money running out fast I went ahead and downloaded the test today at 11:40. I had 24 hours to finish it. It wasn't multiple choice. The first 15 minutes of the test consisted of me starring blankly at the screen scrolling up and down, up and down, page after page, after page of open-ended questions.

The online portion of Jackie's test had been completely different, but she also had an in class portion to her course, which balanced everything out. For me it was one test, pass fail - no re-tries.

I sat down and started hammering out grammar and tried to avoid pitfalls, like sentences that were using the past perfect form in the future tense smashed up against gerunds - not pretty stuff. After the grammar there was phonics, teaching techniques, other teaching stuff, critiquing a video of a guy teaching, and writing a lesson plan. I was sensitive and ill-tempered all day, which wasn't good for Jackie and me. The stress of the test being so entirely different from what I had expected along with the other stresses that have been lingering since our arrival was just too much to handle in good form. Jackie and I did escape from the house together for a quick lunch and dinner, which were welcome breaks from the computer screen, which even now as I'm writing seems to be taking on a strange quality. I probably should have gone back over everything just to double double check and maybe do some editing, but the test had been open book and I'm too tired. I don't want to sleep on it. I want it to be done. So the test has been shipped back to  the International TEFL Corporation - wish me luck.

No Sympathy for Mollusks

When Jackie and I first started searching the tide pools near our house we found several stunning shells (Fredrick and Mr. Trout being perfect examples) and ended up returning them to the ocean. Fredrick in all of his red and speckled-gold awesomeness probably would still be returned to the the tide pools, Mr. Trout however wouldn't stand a chance. It's odd how quickly things have changed. We went from leaving any occupied shell, to collecting dozens and dozens of living mollusks to look for pearls or just because they had a more than averagely interesting shell. I have had to cut down on the amount of oysters I collect on any given visit to the tide pools since our first harvest. It took me three days to get through all of the shells (more because I just didn't get around to then the shear amount of them), so now I'm trying to collect only what I feel like cleaning that day.

(And that is why my right hand keeps getting stabbed)

 (Give Jackie some time and I'm sure these will be turned into something beautiful)

Walking through the water at sunset and listening to the muezzin reciting the adhan is as enchanting as Jackie described it in her last post. During these outing pure logic seems to slip away from me. An oyster will be clinging to a bit of rock, wedged in deeply. I'll go to pluck it and more often then not it comes free easily, but there are those that put up a fight, as much of a fight as can be expected from a tiny mollusk. That's the moment when logic seems to be sent to the penalty box, for suddenly I become almost convinced that leaving behind this particular mollusk is as good as leaving behind a pearl. In my head there is a link between the quality of the struggle and the value of the item, which, as I sit at my computer, doesn't seem to make much sense when it comes to collecting mollusks. I feel it necessary to keep up to date that, which I assume many people are very curious about. So, I'll be honest - I've still not found a single pearl, lots of pretty shells though!

Originally I was going to leave for Penang, Malaysia Wednesday night so I could get a two month tourist visa. However, because I would need to go there again, if I got the job at the Phuket Gazette, to get a b non-immigrant visa , Chris recommended that I just go to Ranong, Myanmar and get 15 day visa exemption, which is similar to the what I have now. The main difference is that when I first got here I arrived by plane so I got 30 days, but the trip to Ranong is over land, so I only get 15 days. I was delighted to just get the 15 day exemption, because it allowed me to do my visa run with Jackie, who needed to get the 15 day visa exemption  for a similar reason and because it seemed like a very good sign about the job. After my interview Tuesday,  Chris told me that they would try to get back to me sometime Thursday.

Five in the morning Thursday, Jackie and I stumble through our morning routine and walk to the nearest 7/11 to meet our ride to the minibus that will be taking us to Ranong at the boarder of Thailand and Myanmar. The minibus was probably more comfortable then my bed. It was wall to wall big reclining seats. The seats actually laid all the way back and the air conditioning was blasting. The Phuket Gazette didn't open until 9:00am and who knows when they were going to have the time to look over everything and make a decision, so I just went back to sleep. If I wan't such a pro sleeper I think I would have lost a little hair from my head because of nerves, as it was I slept off most of the nervousness. I unconsciously waited to hear back from the Gazette to see what track my life was getting ready to be thrown across. The time slipped by. It was 10:00am and then 11:00am and then noon and still no word from the Gazette. I worried that people might save bad news for the end of the work day, putting it off for as long as possible.

We got off the minibus at a gas station/parking lot. Passing through a walkway cut in a cement wall we headed towards, what I assumed was a river. On the other side of the wall was a street full of food vendors. A variety of kebabs, fried chicken, and fresh fruit were out on display. I would have never guessed that we were approaching the Thai immigration office. There were no gates or guards. 

In front of us the broad roofed walkway went down a series of steps and ended in heavy boat traffic and a small muddy waterway. What was across from us, battered shack like buildings on high cement pillars was identical to what was on our side. My first thought was, "What a shit border." Of course being a farang and new to this sort of thing I had no idea what I was talking about. The waterway itself was no wider then a a baseball toss from center field to home-base - I was not impressed. We stood in line with our departure slips (We have been told that it could cost up to 20,000 Baht if we didn't have them, but a woman traveling with us got hers replaced for free, along with bunch of grumbling from a border official.) and took in the nauseating smell of the river. If I was a man with a keener nose I'm sure I would have noticed the smell before the size of the waterway, but as it was I mostly just unimpressed with the waterway. Passports stamped, we loaded up in one of the few covered boats at dock and headed for Myanmar, which I had very wrongly assumed was just across the waterway. Eventually, we pulled away from the majority of boat traffic, which consisted of traditional Thai longtail boats. These wooden vessels, which had enough wear and tear on their painted hulls that they could have all been built in the 40s, were powered by fascinating outboard motors. The shaft of these motors is close to ten feet long, which created some interesting maneuvering techniques that included swinging the the spinning propeller across the front side of the boat. I couldn't help but imagine that people get clipped and lose a chunk of their face or shoulder from time to time. 

The worn buildings and tin roofed shacks suddenly gave way to an expanse of water dotted with tiny lush green islands and larger mountains that were part of the main land. It would have been breath taking if our plastic chairs that had been hammered into place inside the boat weren't so close to the engine, which thundered away like the most haphazardly built and defunct robot of the 1960s. The sound, pounding away in our ear drums and shaking us in our seats, made it nearly impossible to be awestruck my the majestic mountain sides and islands. Somehow the engine served as a constant reminder of a harsher reality that from our distance we were at could have been ignored. Golden statues and temples sporadically peaked out from the dense green mountain sides. One island, not much bigger than our house was home to an enormous golden statue with an elegant Chinese dragon wrapped around its base. That's when it occurred to me - Chris didn't have my phone number, he had Jackie's phone number, because that was the number on my CV. Jackie got out her phone - three missed calls. I was ecstatic! A closer look at the phone revealed that two of the missed calls were from me, which left one missed call from an unknown number - Chris.

That damn thundering engine would made it impossible to call Chris back from the boat. So I had to wait. Sitting there unable to do anything because of the noise I tried roll playing both of my reactions, depending on the news. I was so anxious. I had actually brought along the editing test I had taken during my interview. I guess the interview could have been broken up into four parts: talking about my CV with Chris and Steven, taking a "How well do you know Phuket" test, meeting some of the upper management (Ann), and most importantly an editing test. Chris had been very positive through the whole interview. Constantly he was helping me spin things to look their best. So often he just saw the positive aspects of what I said and did. My meeting with Ann, the managing director,  was very short, but seemed solid. Earlier I was left alone for ten minutes to take the "How well do you know Phuket" test and I apparently I don't know squat. There wasn't a single question that I knew the answer to and only two that I ventured guesses on (which after some research turned out to be entirely wrong). But learning about Phuket was going to be part of the uphill battle if I got the job and probably one of the most exciting aspects it. Lastly, there was the editing test. I had gone over common grammatical errors the night before. They gave me a "live" article that one of their reporters was currently working on. It was nothing like what I expected. Three paragraphs into the article I still wasn't sure what the main controversy was about. Without trying to edit anything I read through the article. I made notes on what the article was about and then I started selecting sections of quoted texts that I thought were grammatically sound enough to use in the article. With that done, I launched into re-writing the article. I felt exceptionally lucky to have just recently gotten experience doing article re-writes as a free lance internet content writer. Softly to myself I read each word out loud, over and over again. I struggled with determining if certain places should have commas or not. The editor behind me who was actually a graduate from Indiana University suggested that I talk with the reporter if I needed any clarifications, so I did. An hour later I figured I was done. They had wanted me to finish in 45 minutes or so, but nobody came by to check on me and I had been so immersed in what I was doing that I hadn't paid any attention to the time, not that the time really mattered. Chris printed off two hard copies one for me and one for him.

Had I parked in the front or back? he asked. The back was the employ parking lot and the front was for visitors. I smiled and told him the front, I hadn't wanted to be too presumptuous. He gave a small laugh. We spoke in general about how long I would stay with the paper and  how far away I lived, which would eventually put me in some nasty spots due to the fact that I was on a moped. He had a lot of small worries that made me feel like he was getting ready to take me in under his wing. 

"Feet up," he said as I was taking off. He'd once been with a girl who had her foot impaled by stick while driving a moped and dragging her feet, so feet up it was.

We arrived in Myanmar. I hadn't had the nerve to look at the edit I had done for the editing test. Throughout the interview Chris just kept telling me that it all boiled down to words, how good I was with words, how good I was at finding the story and editing it. So it all seemed to come down to the editing test and I couldn't look at it. What was done was done. I wouldn't even let Jackie look at it, but I had brought it along so when I got the news good or bad I could let Jackie read it and explain to me how big of an idiot I was. 

We got off the boat and headed towards a small building at the landing. Over the open entrance and into a dimly lit blue building that had a sign, which informed all visitors that they weren't permitted to go no further than 5km or 3 miles from that point. Myanmar obviously isn't eager to have guests at the moment. The guys who were in charge of our visa run handed a thin stack of crisp, new ten dollar bills to a man behind a small table. The man slowly looked at the front of each bill testing for counterfeits, then he flipped the stack of bills over and slowly looked over the backs of each bill. During this time our guides were using the official stamps on the table and stamping our passports and then passing them to the official who was quickly signing off on them. 

I couldn't wait any longer. Stepping outside I called the number back. A Thai man answered the phone. Chris is a wild haired Australian. After some confusion it was established that the man had been calling for Jackie, apparently someone from her school. Disheartened I passed the phone off to Jackie. 

Thursday passed without a call from the Phuket Gazette. And now, as I write this, Friday has passed without a call. I assume that Chris and Steven will be in touch with me one way or the other, so maybe no news is simply no news, but in the news business it strikes me that no news has to be bad news for a paper and it's potential editors. On the bright side, I should mention that they were hiring for two positions, so if I don't get the job I actually will have failed twice, but it also means that I am more likely to get the job.

The job itself sounds incredible, but for fear of jinxing what little hope I have left I'll wait before I share. Currently, however, I am back to working on my TEFL certification and preparing to start passing out my resume on Monday. 

A change in the current?

Having gotten a great deal accomplished early in the day, I sit on the front porch shucking oysters as a small storm continues its daily business. The tip of their shells are fragile and flake off as I stick the blade of my knife between their two halves and start to wiggle it back and forth. Sometimes the knife slips; I've got several cuts on my thumb because of it. Listening to the rain I gently wiggle the blade further and further back, and then there is a release as the knife tip cuts the the abductor muscle. The internal organs of the mollusk are so fascinating, because they are so clearly defined. I scrape the insides of the oyster out, delighted that some of the shells I'm cleaning have such beautiful mother of pearl interiors - promising pieces for the jewelry Jackie is  making. I throw the shells into a bucket of water and then pull another small thin mollusk from another bucket, which contains yesterdays harvest.

While out in the tide pool prying the oysters off chunks of rock or dead coral I referred to it as "collecting" oysters; Jackie corrected me - harvesting. She's right. I'm not casually picking up random shells. We are actively hunting down oysters, well at least I am. The idea that I could find a pearl electrifies me. On average three tons of pearl oysters produce three or four perfect pearls, which does not bode well for my search, because I'm not even sure if the mollusks I'm opening are actually one of the species that are commercially used to produce pearls. Along the Rawai beach front there are merchants selling millions of perfect pearls and shells. I doubt that any of them are wild pearls, but none the less the sheer quantity is stunning.

    

                                               

Luckily for me I'm not looking for a perfect pearl. I'm looking for any little precious gem, regardless of its market value, and all species of clams and oysters do produce pearls, some just produce better ones more often. Walking along through the tide pool searching for the big waving lips of  one of the giant clams I keep imaging finding one with a pearl the size of an egg and it being the largest ever found. It's fun to run through all the details of that sort of discovery from finding it, to the auction house, to the way I'd spend the money. I've gotten hold of several giant clam shells now. I say "giant clam shells" hesitantly, because they are very big, as long as my forearm or maybe as long as my arm, but they aren't the infamous "man-eating" giant clams of South Pacific lore. I absolutely love the "giant clam shells" and have several projects involving them on the back burner. Sadly I've left the best giant clam shell I've found so far out in the tide pool. We stumbled on it early on our walk and they are surprisingly heavy and hard to carry, so I dug it up and decided to come back for it, but sun had set by the time we were heading to shore, so I didn't have much of a chance.

I have an interview tomorrow. Jackie and I switched back phones (long story) and she received a call from Chris and relayed the message that I needed to call him back ASAP about the sub-editor position at the Phuket Gazette. I've ironed my lavender dress shirt and matched it with a dark purple tie that Barbara gave me when I was still working for Arthur Murray. I polished my black dress shoes, while watching Casino with Jackie. I've also taken the time to look over the Phuket Gazette's online publication again, as well as lot of the most common grammatical mistakes people make - I will be taking an editing test as part of my interview. Chris sounded very enthusiastic about meeting me and giving me a chance. He said that after reviewing my CV he had a much better idea of how I could fit in with the team. We talked about some of practical elements of getting the job, such as my visa, where the Gazette is located, what the hours would be and that sort of thing. To say I'm nervous doesn't even come close to capturing how I feel about this. I am more like a hyper-aware prize pig on slaughter day, than a man going to an interview. How this opportunity has been flung back into my path is beyond me, but I'm very grateful for it. A large factor in me getting the job, outside of the obviousness of being able to edit, will be how long I am willing to stay in Phuket. Chris originally got a cold start, and he's willing to give me the same opportunity, but the learning curve will be extremely steep. He estimated that it would take about six months before they could take the training wheels off me and another six months before I'll know the island. I know I would be willing to stay here for at least two years if I had a job that I enjoyed and was moving my career down the right path, so I'm planning on telling him that I'll be willing to stay a minimum of two years and I can only hope that it will be enough.

Fucket

The spiral continues. My appetite has come back, which is a blessing. Yesterday was the first day that I had three solid meals and even had room for some snacking. Jackie wasn't up for coming to the 7/11 to grab some snacks last night, so I went ahead and tried to pick up some stuff that she would have probably avoided. I ended up with Jing Jank Fish, which are tiny bit size dried fish that are covered with poppy seeds, a sweetener and some hot pepper. They were interesting, crunching, and fishy for sure.

I'm trying to stay positive about everything, but it's almost impossible given how set I seem to be fucking it up. I've been job hunting a lot recently in addition to trying to grind it out doing freelance writing, which I don't think will ever produce enough money for me to live off of. I had originally taken down the post "Ain't Living No Dream," because, despite some grammatical issues, I had put the Blog on my CV to the Phuket Gazette and that entry wasn't really the kind of first impression I wanted to give an employer.

I can't tell you how happy I was when I got an e-mail back from Chris at the Phuket Gazette. He wanted to talk with me. I spent the next morning brushing up on SEO (seearch engine optimizing) theory and gave him a call. He hadn't gotten my CV, the attachment had been removed by the Phuket Gazette's security, so the fact that he wanted to talk with me really didn't mean a whole lot. We had a quick talk and in many ways I was what he was looking for, but I didn't know the island well and I also didn't speak Thai, those were both strikes against me. If I had ANY newspaper editing experience I would probably have been able to land the job, but I don't. I don't have any kind of newspaper experience at all. I didn't work with The Optimist at Bloomington South High School and I had no affiliation with The Indiana Daily Student (IDS) at Indiana University. He asked that I review the job description and then maybe send him my CV. I looked over the job description and couldn't help but think that a break like this would be amazing. How many writers start out at newspapers? Of course I forgot that most writers can actually write grammatically correct English. In my reply to him with the CV attached I wrote the following.

Letter to Chris at the Phuket Gazette:

"Chris,

Thanks for talking with me today. I looked back over the add inPhuket Gazette and despite being new to Phuket and not having learned Thai yet, I think I will be a great addition to your staff. I am incredibly curious about Phuket and the topics that are important to both Thai nationals and the expat community. I more then willing to work extended hours to insure that concise and clearly written news pieces are flawlessly edited by their deadlines. I have attached my CV as requested. If  there is any further information that I can provide you with, please don't hesitate to let me know.

Thank You,

Isaac Stone Simonelli"

It would be hilarious if I didn't need the job, but as it is I can't fully express how upsetting it is to see myself squander opportunities at a time that so few seem to be within reach. I was nervously looking back on the message today to see when I sent it, so I could time a follow up call and let him know how writing is my life's passion and how I would be grateful for an opportunity to be a part of the Phuket Gazette - that's when I caught some of the grammatical issues. What burns is the fact that I had read over it several times and was worried about how wordy that particular sentence was.

As you might have surmised poker is still not going well. I'm desperately trying to pull my game out of a spiral. I am getting good input from friends on what changes I can make, but the nose dive continues. As it is I can't imagine turning a profit this month - too far down the rabbit's hole. With backup plans heading for the windows in a high-rise and my finances quickly being depleted I'm still scrambling to find a solution. I'm taking a TEFL course right now in hopes of getting my certification and getting a teaching job here in Phuket, maybe at the same school Jackie is teaching at. This would of course require me to pass the TEFL course. I am taking it without a tutor and the whole course depends on me passing a single 24 hour open book test. Given my current track record, I must admit that I am nervous, but I'm doing all the readings and trying to take the worksheets seriously and it's hard to take an entire worksheet on desk arrangements seriously. 

A Night Out

We took the long way back from the bar last night, seeing as I couldn't find the short way. The well lit deserted road wound through the mountainous landscape with the Andaman sea on our right. It felt like autumn was upon us with the smell of dry leaves in the cool air and a scattering of brown leaves on the road. As we approached partially cleared areas with large boulders I would slow trying to determine if they were worth coming back to and bring  the climbing shoes, after a moment I realized one of the smaller boulders in front of another was actually an elephant. The ride back took quite a bit longer then getting there and if it wasn't for the road signs I'm sure we would have had to call a friend for directions, however that wasn't the case. 

It was our first night seeing some a little of the bar scene in Phuket at night. We've walked through the bar district in Patong, but hadn't been around when things were really getting going. Jackie's co-workers were going out to celebrate Friday, which apparently doesn't come often enough in the week. Originally we were going to meet up at a place along Rawai beach, but we had a last minute change of venue and met a couple of the South African's at a 7/11 (a ton of the women who work with Jackie are South Africa, which seems strange to me) and headed to Nai Han, which is along the west coast. Not as familiar with roads and the massive curving ups and downs of the road as they wiggle along the mountains I struggled to keep up with the mopeds in front of us. Despite the dark and the roads we all eventually arrived at Nai Han.

Once parked we walked through a couple of normal tourist looking restaurants with clean tile floors and fish tanks. Then we arrived at Ska Bar. It felt like you were entering a bar in a pirates port, not a pirate port themed tourists bar, though it was a farang bar, but it actually felt like you were entering Libertalia in the 1600's. A rasta DJ was enclosed in a old wooden wheel house built right into the narrow lower deck of the bar. Stretching above the open air bar was an enormous banyan tree. It's trunk, visible on the second desk of the bar, was wrapped in hundreds of yards of fabric and ribbons. Hanging from it's outstretched branches were a dozen or so old crab trap lines and buoys. From each of these lines many nations flags, weathered and tattered, flew in the light ocean breeze. I couldn't put my finger on why, but the whole atmosphere created by the tree made me think of Peter Pan's Lost Boys. We settled in on some low plank benches around a rough table. Below us on the beach a small troupe of three or four fire performers were at work. Feeling a little antisocial I focused on the performers. The youngest of the fire spinners was a thin Thai boy who was maybe ten or twelve. H moved with the music spinning the fire staff faster and faster as the music picked up. Then it was between his legs, wobble, wobble, like an enormous fiery dick. The older performers took the "stag"and did more fire staff and fire poi. It was some of the best fire poi and staff I've ever seen and I'm not exactly new to the art.

Ain't Living No Dream

      The juxtaposition of the setting and situation are almost literary right now. The tides have changed, so the tide is actually in when Jackie and I get back from school, which means occasionally we take some Thai ice tea down to the beach and watch the almost smooth ocean as it runs up against the sand. This does mean that it will be a little bit before we're able to update our "Tide Pools" segment. So this is the setting. I couldn't argue with a single element of it.

       I think I'm getting sick. I've been eating less than a meal a day over the last five days. I'm exhausted, but I can't nap. I can sleep at night thank God, but I can't nap. When I do try, (though I honestly don't have time for naps)  I just lay there arms tucked under my thighs. I'm sure I look like a single link of unhappy sausage.

       On top of being exhausted and not eating, my body aches. Everywhere aches as I sit in the dark writing this. It's this chair I think. I never leave it. Isn't it sad to be one minute from the coast and an assortment of adventures, but rarely make the time for them? The drapes are drawn all day; the lush green trees and their clinging ephiphytes aren't visible. I'm just sitting half naked in a large room with a laptop and the air-conditioning blasting. It's been another day of getting destroyed on the poker tables. Rob swooped in this morning and did a great coaching session with me, but when I hit the tables variance took over.

      I'm not sure how much more variance I can take in my life right now.  It has become painfully clear to me why people don't take off on adventures similar to Jackie's and mine. Even Jackie's adventure seems better planned then mine. Most people don't understand variance. If poker teaches you one thing, it's what variance is and how it feels to be on either side of that equilibrium. Variance is always there in poker. If I get all the money in on the flop, that's after three cards have come out, and I have something as cliché as "Big Slick" an Ace and a King (AK) and some fish calls me with an Ace and a Ten (AT), even if the board is Ace of hearts, Six of hearts, Five of clubs (Ah6h5c) the fish rightfully should win money 12.7% of the time. He has basically given away his money, but he's not dead, in fact he is entitled to 12.7% of that pot. Of course that's not how it works. He either hits his ten and takes the whole pot or he misses and I get it. Some days the fish get all the bait. In fact almost everyday I've opened up tables since our arrival the fish have left me with an empty bait bucket and nothing on the stringer, which is why Rob was helping me out with some coaching. Back home, when I had my own bankroll and even a little money in the bank I didn't stress over the variance. It happens. It's part of poker. Now, with already having to split half of my "profits" with my staker and not really sure how I’m going to make it from month to month it's hard to see a 230 euro pot get shipped the other way.

      It has been pointed out recently to me that I've fallen into a holding pattern. It's true. I doubt it seems like it to many people, since I'm suddenly in Thailand, but it is true. I'm not really sure I'm any closer to achieving my goals then I was a year ago. I'm actually further away. My career path is shaky at best. I keep telling people I want to be a writer, but only a very small percent of writers ever really end up in the money and I would assume those people are writing screenplays and novels. I'm like a child, still writing my short stories and hoping that they get published somewhere. That isn't a slam on the short story form, it’s one of my favorites, but it's no way to make a living. I've recently started doing internet content writing, which is a grind in itself. The first assignment, the one I'm still working on is five articles at 400 words a piece. The article topics are the following: Farmers furniture online and drop leaf tables; farmers home furniture and farmhouse dining table; farmhouse coffee table and farmers furniture; drop leaf table and farmers home furniture; and farmers furniture and drop leaf table. I get paid a penny a word for the articles and I have to check them for content duplication. I'm trying to picture James Joyce hammering through these mind numbing articles so he could move on to writing The Dubliners - it's hard to do. But if I want to be a writer I guess I have to start writing and I need the money. I've also started applying to jobs around Phuket. I've not been systematic about it, but I'm applying for English Lecture jobs, hotel jobs, and a sub-editor position at the Phuket Gazette. I'm pretty much doing anything I can so I don't have visa issues in five months. I'm not looking forward to the prospect of overstaying my visa and doing jail time.

           The clock on the wall constantly ticking, ticking, ticking, makes me think of my childhood home in Sanders. The other day when I was scrapping along the bottom trying hard to just end up knocked out so I didn't have to deal with anything I realized that I have no home to go to anymore. I think this sensation hits a lot of people at some point in their lives, but it's scary. It's scary because home has always symbolized a safe place, a place where you can lick your wounds, a place where the outside world isn't allowed in. With the lack of a long term visa and not having job that's supporting me Thailand certainly isn't going to be place to wide from the outside world. What I kept thinking about is that if flew back the United States right now, how would I pick a destination? There are obvious choices. I have family and friends, but I don't have that single place that I would fly to for sure.

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.

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. 

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.