Horton Nears a Jew

Pak Chong, Thailand. The road to Pak Chong is surprisingly steep. I had been led to believe that most of southern and central Thailand, much like Twiggy Lawson, was completely flat. Trekky and I weren't quite prepared for that sort of climb so early in our relationship. Oh right, Trekky. I almost forgot. I did mention that I bought a Trek 4300 mountain bike and a couple of panniers so I could bike out of Bangkok, right? Good, I wanted to make sure we were up to speed.

As I was saying, I was quite exhausted by the time we made it to Pak Chong. Saddle sore doesn't even begin to describe the volcanic welt that has formed round my bottom. But the destination was worth it. Pak Chong is only a stone's thow away from Kho Yai National Park, a largely unexplored patch of virgin rainforest. There were several areas of deflowered rainforest but I don't go for those types of shenanegins.

Kho Yai only has a handful of trails, three to be exact, and to be frank, I am not sure I could have found my way around without a guide. Trailbuilding must be a bit down on the priority list in Thailand. So, we a small group from my guesthouse we set out with an eagle-eyed guide and a 60X magnification monocular scope. Right from the start we were rewarded with a wonderful sight, a trio of rare gibbons, a species of ape that almost never touches the forest floor. According to Wikipedia:

Gibbons are masters of their primary mode of locomotion, brachiation, swinging from branch to branch for distances of up to 15 m (50 ft), at speeds as high as 56 km/h (35 mph). They can also make leaps of up to 8 m (26 ft), and walk bipedally with their arms raised for balance. They are the fastest and most agile of all tree-dwelling, non-flying mammals.

And you should see them fling poo. Halfway through our walk we encountered a massive, twisting, 50-meter strangler fig. Strangler figs are unique in that their roots grow downwards from atop a host-tree, sometimes strangling them to death and leaving a hollow core, as was the case with this specimen.  A series of thick, wooden tendrils climbed up into the sky, and since I was dared, and no one care ever say no to a dare, I climbed about fifty feet off the forest floor into the tangled canopy. What a rush.




There was so much to take in. The roads were literally crawling with troops of macaque monkeys. Cars would zip around them as if they were simple pests. Very odd. Our pièce de résistance was yet to come.

 Hey, uh....could we get a ride to the market?

Just as we were getting to leave, luck grabbed us by the trunk--a long elephantine trunk. Two wild elephants came rumbling out of the forest, seemingly from now where, and began to forage around the edge of the right. Our guide dropped the back door of the flat-bed, and I joined him with our legs hanging over the edge, cameras at the ready. We we no more than 15 feet from 1500 tons of elephants. It wasn't until one turned towards us and made to charge that our hearts leapt in our throats. Our guide yelled at the driver, who floored it. Luckily the elephant backed off. We spent another half hour watching them, majestic yet massive beasts. As we began the long ride home, I asked if the guide if he had ever been charged by an elephant before. Yes, he said. "This new car. Old car..", he paused and slapped his hands together, "like pancake!". His laughter took us the rest of the way home.

 Oh, an eleph....I mean, AHHHHHH!!!!

It's the...Year of the Tiger, It's the Thrill of the Fight

Khorat, Thailand. In America, February 14th might be celebrated with candy hearts, cupid's arrows and legal reminders to remain at least 150 yards away at all times, but here in Thailand this Hallmark holiday kicked off an event of significantly more epic proportions. That's right, Chinese New Year.

Chinese New Year differs from American New Year in at least one key way: our New Year, with its champagne flutes, midnight kiss and firecrackers, is about as lame and doddering as Dick Clark on barbitu....actually, just Dick Clark. CNY on the other hand, is a bit like watching Cirque Du Soleil orgasm in the middle of a town square with thousands of people cheering it on.

Let me back up a bit. Trekky and I arrived in town late on the 14th. Honestly, I didn't even realize it was it was a holiday until I inadvertantly walked into the center of town looking for some dinner. What awaited me was a spectacle the like of which I had never seen. At the far end of the long promenade, a movie screen was erected to play showings of classic kung fu movies. Next came the food vendors. Row upon row of foods that cannot possibly be pronounced using the English language. I ate several things that crunched, squished and squirted, all to my delight. In the center of the promenade was where the real action took place. The Story of the Dragons.

Ï'm sorry...are you a dragon? No? Then shut the eff up".

From what little I could gleen, two great dragons--each brought to life by a dozen able young men, lit with a thousand glowing bulbs--got pissed at some jackholes who threatened a young girl.

 

  I am so pissed at those jackholes right now"

The dragons got all vengeful and stuff, and began a rampage that could not be stopped--that is, until five men dressed like they leapt from World-of-Warcraft came flying out of the sky with giant swords and plunged them into the dragon. This should have worked, except that real fireworks were shooting from the dragons mouth right at the men, and they soon retreated.

Nothing can be said to improve this picture

A hero needed to be called. The men puppeteering this lengthy serpent next ascended and spiraled the dragon around a sinewy pole, so it could achieve its aim of becoming a 30-foot tall helix of glowing, fire-works spewing death. Oh yeah, and some guy dressed like a hero swung up on another pole, bashing the dragon on the head until it died (that little dude on the stick). Maybe. I think. It was all very confusing.





Finally, the stage erupted in a show of massive fireworks, dancing dragons, beautiful women, a level 70 Tauren Druid and, of course, Dick Clark. It was awe-inspiring. There was a whole lot more but a picture is worth at least 280 more words in this case. Wait until you see the video.

 

Chinese New Year: 1    American New Year: 0

Shampoo is for Sissies

Ayuthaya, Thailand. At first glance, one may not realize that I have thick, luscious locks of curly hair. If it weren't for a relatively tight crop and the wonder of modern-day hair jellies, what with their industrial holding powers, smooth finish and delightful aromas, I would not be the dashing, slick-backed young man I am today.

Wait a minute? Why would I do this to my hand? Hmmm.

Unfortunately, getting a decent hair-care product in rural Thailand was proving to be difficult, at least one that didn't make me smell like a salted cod. The hot and heavy humidity out here had curled my hair fierce and angry, like a persian cat in heat.  So I did what any self-respecting traveler who has been hanging around monks for a while would do--I lopped it off. It's amazing how something that takes months and months to grow can be removed in less than six seconds.

Better question: why would I do this to my head?

It's about 20 degrees cooler now, and I have a big enough pile of hair to send to one lucky, old-school German grandmother. My new, sleek design was going to come in handy though. I could tell. It must be time to roll. I can feel it in the air, over the globe of my hull-free coconut.  

Oh my. What have I done?