Kohrat

Khorat, Korat, Nahon Ratchasima, all the same town.  With a population of about 500,000, it is a largish provincial Capitol.  Before I dive into the blog, there are a few factoid notes that I have to scribble down.

Firstly, I have always nattered on about how bad Thai coffee is and for years that was true.  Instant Nescafe with lots of canned milk and sugar was about the best a traveller could get.  Over last six years, I have witnessed real coffee start to appear in Bangkok.  Now, however, a coffee cafe' culture is springing to life.  According to a young Thai guy we talked to, the coffee scene has become a status symbol.  If one can afford to hang in a cafe' sipping (sugary) espresso, one is above the hoi polloi of the grubby market folks.  Whatever the reason, good and better coffee is available on a much more widespread basis, and not just in Bangkok.  Class struggle or not, I am reaping the benefits.

And... Factoid #2:

Khorat boasts a large Japanese Ex-pat community.  There are also a number of Japanese businesses and manufacturing facilities here in Khorat.  One result of this population is an inordinate number of Japanese restaurants.  After seeing some of the traffic through this windowless and unwelcoming establishment, we decided there was probably a bit more than tempura on the menu.  

It was a hot and sultry walk-about through the old city of Khorat.  There are still a few of the old teak building scattered here and there, but mostly the old town is no different than the new town except that it is surrounded by a moat.  Two and four story concrete shop housed dominate the architecture.  The wealth of Nakhon Rachtasima is not in it's sights, but in it's people.  Everywhere we went, It was smiles and open curiosity.  So far, we have simply not seen a single Farang (European traveler/tourist).

The clouds were hanging low and the air was thick enough to cut into blocks.  The old Wat in the old city is surrounded by "water" that is even greener and stranger looking than the moat that surrounds the rectangle of the old Khmer city.  Even with the plumes of neon green, the water seethed with life.  We saw a five-foot long water monitor slither into the green slime.  And, there were these guys:

The denizens of the Wat pond, the mouths of the catfish.  

If you are one of the devout, you can have your ashes placed into the foot of the wall surrounding the temple.  If you are one of the wealthy devout, you can hove your own mausoleum on the temple grounds.  I have wandered many of these strange little "graveyards" that are a familiar sight at most Wats.  It is the photographs that I find poignant.  

It was time for lunch and we were lucky travelers.  We chose an open-air pick-a-pot joint across the street from the Wat.  The cooks were all smiles and we proceeded to try to parse out what was on offer.  Out of nowhere appeared a young Thai man who asked if he could help us.  The owner's son, he had studied at Univeristy of Wisconsin, which explained his english language skills.  After a few minutes of discussing the various curries, we were treated like royalty, set up with food and drinks, and entertained by our host.  We asked various questions about Khorat, learning about the Japanese, the coffee scene, and about the young gent's studies abroad.

One of my best meals yet, and very much Isaan-based cuisine.  In the foreground of the bowl is a dry and meaty pork curry, more reminiscent of Lao than that of Thailand.  The combinations of spices in the curry base was wonderful.  It was so much fun to try and parse out the individual spices.  There are other flavours besides the standard chile and curry.  Allspice seems to be used here as well as a moe herb base.  Of course, there is the Isaan standard, "plah rah," a fermented fish paste or sauce.  The greens and leafy are a standard both here and in Lao.  

Our crew at the cafe'.  One of the best meals ever.  I have come to realize that this particular journey is not about sights, temples or shrines.  All of that stuff is cool, and we will still pay attention to those things.  This trip, however, seems to be about plugging in with people, which we are having a great time doing.

"Look at me, Ma!  I'm on top of the world!"

The clouds were breaking off, the heat was heating up, and the sun was beating down.  It looked like the evening was shaping up to be a lovely chance for another walk-about.  What could go wrong...?

We heading back to our digs for a siesta/shower/smoke break.  As evening came on we were back out on the streets, heading to the far side of the old city for walking dinner through the the Night Bazzar.  

But one the way, we met this fellow.  This one is actually the girl lizard.  A Water Monitor, about four feet long (easy), and right in town in the city moat.  But wait!!  There's more.

Here comes the male, popping out of his den in the bushes, and chasing after that fine lizard chick.

"Only you...   can make my life worthwhile..."  Lizards doing the mating dance.  Big lizards.

Here is a link to a YouTube video I managed to shoot.  Warning:  contains Lizard Porn.

http://youtu.be/IhnO826FJ5I

So we asked and we walked, we ate and we ate.  Mmmmmm, crickets and bamboo grubs!  Yes!

We noshed our way through the the smaller night market dodging a few rain drops.

Noodles under the cover of the 7-11 awning.  This is a special Phad Thai made in Korat.  More savory and with a little crunch, it kicks culinary butt.  

After a few twists and turns, we found the main night bazaar.  Grabbing some poor skewers in chili sauce, we decided to walk the full length and check it out before settling on some more substantial dishes.  This proved to be a bad plan.  Note the heavy clouds in the upper left of this photo.  Also, if you look carefully, you will see a lovely Farrang in the photo as well.

Thirty minutes later, the Bazzar had turned into a wading pool.

First there is pulse of cold breeze, then another.  Then the patter of a few rain drops.  The heavy patter is a sure sign that it's time to seek cover NOW.  Luckily we did.  For the next thirty minutes or more, we watched a full-blown monsoon rain wreak havoc on the night market.  Food was floating away, as were buckets, gas cylinders, and those little plastic stools.  The poor folks were chasing after floating belongings as the storm sewers were overwhelmed and the water rose higher.  It was truly a sight.  Here are two videos that I shot, images and sound that capture this event far more than I can with written word.  It is worth watching them both because the second one shows how much worse it actually got.

Khorat Monsoon #1

http://youtu.be/EqP0fwMHqag

Khorat Monsoon #2

http://youtu.be/_RJGR3CGdgQ

Trapped like rats, we finally had to make a break for it.  I stuffed all my gear into my shoulder bag and tucked that under my shirt.  My Heart pulled her umbrella down low and off we plunged, splashing along looking for a street with higher ground.  One minute into the deluge was like standing in a warm shower turned on full blast.  The danger was the precarious footing as the water hid all of the holes, curbs and deep spots.  We picked our way through the the flood, carefully avoiding the ankle and leg breakers.  Finally, as the rain eased to normal volume, we ducked into a cafe' for sit-down food.

Laarb stew inside a real restaurant.  Not bad, and the roof was a big plus.

We waited out the storm, which eventually faded to a mild dripping.  Squelching and splashing, we wandered back to our digs and hung up the wet stuff to dry.  Showering off the grit and grime of the street water was another essential step.  

And there you have it folks, just another day in the rainy season here in Khorat.   Tomorrow we journey on, but that is the stuff of another blog.  So, as always, Ciao for Now!

Into Isaan

Isaan is the northeastern "bulge" of Thailand and one of the most rural and least visited parts of the country.  Those folks that do visit Isaan are usually en route to the Mekong for a river trip or on their way to Vientienne in Laos.  The more southerly portion of Isaan is a place where english is rare, Farrang are rarer, and a few Thai phrases come in very handy.  This ain't Bangkok.

A real Thai brekkie is essential on a travel day.  Last bowl of noodles in Bangkok.

The way deliveries get made in Bangkok.  Four wheels are a disadvantage here.

Ready to ride the Thai rails, we ducked through the MRT station and popped up on the far side of the chaos of Rama V.  Hua Lumpong (one spelling of many) is the main railway station in Bangkkok.  Two third class seats to Nakhon Ratchasima were 200 Baht each for the non-aircon 5.5 hour trip.  Second class is nicer, but the aircon will usually freeze one to death.  Besides, the vendors are more fun in 3rd.

If you need a quick trim and brush up, the Thai barbers can take care of you trackside.

Third class is the way to go, although the seats are a bit stiff.  You remembered your inflatable butt pad, the one I'm always going on about, right?

Koran, or Khorat, or Nakon Ratchasima (pronounced Ko-Lhat) is north and east of Bangkok.  It really does have two names, one being the old, one being the new.  This city of about 500,000 lies at the gateway to the plains of Isaan, just over the spine of mountains that separate the Big Mango from the northeast.  There is a strong Khmer and Laotian cultural influence here, which is reflected in the language and the food.  And Oh!, The Food!!  More on that in a bit.

Ayuttaya, the first main temple city outside of Bangkok.  I stayed here on my very first trip to Thailand.

The train chugs through Bangkok.  And chugs through Bangkok.  And...  One-and-a-half hours later, the countryside opens up as we near Ayuttaya.  It takes more than an hour one way to get to the outskirts of Bangkok.  By car it could be all day.  That's how big the Big Mango is.  Roughly ten percent of the Thai population lives in Bangkok, at least part time.  Riding out of the city by rail, a traveler can see the hard edges of the city.  There are rows of shanty towns set up to the very edge of the rail line.  Anywhere there is public land, such as under a freeway overpass or along the train tracks, there are whole compounds made of packing crates, corrugated metal and old signs.  Many folks from the north and the northeast flood into Bangkok after the rice is harvested in late October or November. They come to the city to work the jobs created by the busy tourist season of November, December and January.  When ther tourists go home in Feburary, they return to their fields to start the process of burning the scrub and planting new crops.  March can get very, very smoky up north.  

The train rolls slowly up the mountains, the Diesel engine throws little black smuts through the the open windows, the vendors ply the rocking aisles, selling everything from chicken on a stick to noodles and cold drinks.  People sleep, the train rocks, the conductor double-checks our tickets when we don't get off in Ayuttaya.  

Thai rail lines are narrow gauge, so narrow gauge in fact that one wonders how the cars stay on the tracks.  This is a legacy of the British, along with driving on the wonky side of the road.  Eventually we pull into Khorat.  Then there is the long sweaty walk-about to find the guesthouse.  After several wrong turns, false starts, and one backtrack, I left My One and the packs at a nice cafe and set off one more time.  Nuttin.  Okay, I found a Moto taxi guy who, for 20 baht, solved my problem by taking me up the tiny alley I had passed at least three times.  I gave him 30 baht, goodwill and smiles all around.  Once again, Thai locations : One.  Marco finding same : Zero.  Showered and rested, we ventured out as evening set on.

The statue and shrine to Ya Mo, the bad-ass wife of a local governor who, in the 1800's, roused the locals to fight against the Lao invaders.  Recent historians have written that maybe her heroic efforts have been a bit overplayed by the Thai Nationalists of the time, but the people of Khorat revere her memory.  Day and night, folks leave flowers and incense at her memorial.

Wait, didn't I mention food?  That's all there is to talk about in this wonderful town.  There is not a lot to do here.  The old city is surrounded by a moat.  Walking inside the old city is not much different than walking outside.  So, no real sights to mention accept for our bad-ass patroness Ya Mo.

Pick-a-pot in the darkened confines of the covered market.  Night has fallen and we are eating with the locals.  A few words of Thai are essential here.  On the other hand, one can just guess and point at what looks yummy.  And it all looks yummy.

Once you have your bowl, plop yourself at the bar and start throwing on the greens and fresh vege.  

So, we have a stewed curry chicken leg, a fiery fish curry over rice noodles, and a pile of vege to aid the digestion.  This feast of home-cooking will set a hungry traveller back 40 baht, about $1.15 by today's exchange.  

And no evening is complete without fried dumpling pocket things.  Pumpkin, bean, vege something and corn, we had a mixed bag of yummy fried treats for dessert.  And that, dear friends, was that.  From the gateway to Isaan, I turn my tired hands away from my keyboard and towards My One.  As always Friends and Neighbors, I bid you Ciao for Now!

 

 

Shopping Bangkok Style

When you need to get your shopping jones taken care of there is at least one place in the world that will "got 'er done."  Chatuchak Market is reputed to be the biggest open-air market in the world.  Basically, if you can't buy it here, you can't buy it.  As Lonely Planet says, you can buy baby squirrels in the JJ Market, as it is also known.  What you would do with baby squirrels, well, that's another story.  The Weekend market, the JJ Market, and the JJ Mall make up a shopping complex so big that it would be impossible to cover all of the stalls in a week.  Just in the main Chatuchak market area there are 12,000 stalls.  At the center of it all is the ubiquitous clock tower, pictured above.

My Heart and I had a mission.  We needed to find some traditional Thai garb for our ceremony, which will be held in October.  With that in mind, we descended to the MRT and rode almost the full length of the line to the far northeastern corner of Bangkok.  

The shoppers were already well up and about by the time we arrived.  The weekend market starts at six AM, with the hardcore Thai shoppers ready and waiting.  By ten AM the walkways are packed with Thai and Farrang.  

Thais love to shop and Thais love to eat.  The only thing that Thai folk like more than one of these is both of them combined.  No market worth its salt is short on food kiosks and The BIg One has enough food choices to confuse the most dedicated shopper.  

Two or three hours at any market will just about be my limit.  By afternoon, the press of humanity becomes more than I can take.  Fortunately, there is the sprawling Chatuchak Park lying just to the north of the market.  

Acres of quiet gardens, ponds with huge swimming lizards, what else does a tired shopper need to recharge his or her batteries?  We whiled away the heat of the day as the sun sprang out from behind the monsoon clouds.  Then is was the long ride back the entire length (minus the Bang Sue station) to our secret hideaway.  

As the sun fell and the shadows lengthened across the Khlong (canal, and filthy at that) it was time to follow that most important of Bangkokian pursuits:  Food!!

As darkness falls, the sidewalks sprout food stands like mushrooms springing full grown from the concrete.  Tonight our choice was the busy enclave of street food stands just across the Khlong from our digs.  After finally finding a vacant table, we settled in for some BBQ duck served over rice and greens.

The mood lighting is streetlights and headlights, the tea was icy, and the duck was fantastic.  Served with greens and seasoned egg, this plate met all of the major food groups:  Protein, Vegge, Carbs and Fire.

The night needed a capper and the best way to finish off a street food meal is with street food dessert! Time for Mataba!  Mataba, or Roti, is a thin thrown dough similar to a crepe, but springy like pizza dough.  As it grills in lots of oil, It is filled with whatever you Iike, then folded and grilled some more.  Slid hot onto the block, it's chopity-chop and topped.  In this case, it was my favorite, banana and chocolate filling topped with sweetened condensed milk and, yay!!, more gooey chocolate sauce.

The finished Mataba getting the chop.

No, it's not exactly health food, but it sure is good.  

Sated at last, at least on the food front, it was time for all good evenings to come to an end.  Another day in the Big Mango, and our last full day for a good while.  Tomorrow we set out for the Northest via the Thai railway system.  So, once again Friends and Neighbors, it's Ciao for Now!!

Reunion

Petchuburi traffic again, only wetter.

Bangkok is fully awake at 5:30 AM.  I was on my way back to the airport to meet My One and fetch her back to the guesthouse hideaway.  Retracing my steps of the previous day, sans heavy luggage, I rode the MRT to Petchaburi and then walked above the madness of Bangkok rush hour traffic to the airport train station.  The rain was washing the Big Mango as it is wont to do in the rainy season.  Once inside the airport, I took up my postition in the limo driver corral outside the customs exit.  During the tourist season this area is full of drivers and tour operators waving their signs for the hordes of incoming Farrang.  The airport is much quieter at this time of year, with an eerie abscence of the familiar hordes of arriving holiday makers.  The rains will last until well into October when the monsoon draws to a close.  November will see the first of the Farrang migration, which swells into flood tide in December.  But not now.  

My Heart appeared before me and we washed away the month of absence.  That is not the stuff of this blog, so control yourselves.  Reunited, I wisked her back along the same route to our guesthouse.  Our hosts provided us with the typical bad Thai version of Brekkie, a horribly abused egg and two pieces of toast.  

We were not alone during our late brekkie, as the local snails were on the prowl across the back of our bench.

While My Heart caught up on some badly needed sleep, recovering from the Vienna-Abu Dahbi-Bangkok route, I slipped away to my favorite noodle stand just up from our soi.  Hunkered under the blue tarp roof, I managed a real Thai breakfast.

Yeah, that's the stuff.  You keep the nasty eggses.  Yes, Precious, we wants our noodles!

Groggy but back on her feet, we were out on the streets and alleys by afternoon, walking through the heavy air of the back streets along the Chao Praya River.  Familiar streets, sounds and smells.  One of the most enticing and frenetic places on earth, the labyrinth of Bangkok's Chinatown will turn any walk into an adventure.  Sight, sound and smell will overcome navigational ability until one loses all sense of direction.  

A vat of steaming and aromatic pork being stirred and shredded.  It is then pressed into thin sheets and vacumn packed, ready for sale.  Like almost any other business in The Big Mango, the activity is pushed right out to the sidewalk.  Life here is conducted in the public view, open and vibrant.

Dinner time in Chinatown means eating on the street.  In this case, eating on the street in the rain.  The indoor restaurants are for the tourists and the faint-of-heart.  This place is my old standby, a long-standing favorite of the locals, tucked just off the insanity of the main drag through Chinatown.  I have been coming here for years and this is always my first stop on any street food walking tour of the neighborhood.

In the foreground, my favorite, fiery Phad Kee Mao with seafood.  My Baby chose a glass noodle seafood plate, pictured upper right.  For sharing, we had the crispy omelet with oysters on the left.  All of these delectables came sizzling on hot iron plates with a wooden carrier underneath.  Green lettuce leaves are dropped onto the hot iron to keep the noodles from sticking.  The greens char to a lovely texture, soaking up all of the fiery spice.  Yummers indeed.  

We walked back to the digs through the maze of sidewalks turned magically to tented cafes.  It is like threading a needle through a culinary dreamscape.  The smell of myriad cooking foods literally assaults ones senses.  The rain fell, warm and magical.  Traffic veered about the rain slickened streets. Just another night in rainy season Bangkok.

My One passed out into a well-deserved sleep.   I sat on the balcony, watching the rain and my friend the gecko.  And that, Friends and Neighbors, brings us full circle on my arrival back into the wonder of The Big Mango.  I leave you where I started, content with the rain, the heat, the sweat, and the noises of the night.  As always, thanks for reading, and Ciao for Now!

The Big Mango

There is a small gecko hunting the mosquitoes that are hunting me.  I am sitting on my balcony at the back of the guesthouse, sweating slightly in the moist night air.  It is 80 degrees Fahrenheit and 80% humidity.  The balcony overlooks the maze and tangle of tiny walkways and damp rooftops behind the guesthouse.  It is the rainy season here in Bangkok, my most favorite of Asian cities.  Bangkok es mi barrio.  When I walk out of the chilly aircon of the airport into that first blast of encompassing heat, feel the caress of the moist air, I know I am returning home.  

The press of humanity on the airport train.

I am packing far heavier than normal, lugging a heavy carry on, my trusty shoulder bag and a huge duffel.  There are things that need to be carried from Seattle back to Vienna and I am paying the price. Although I will stow most of this stuff at my guesthouse, retrieving it for the run back to chilly Europe, I still have to get the cargo from the airport to my secret lair near Chinatown.  Alas for the traveler carrying big bags.

Here is how it is done.  From the airport, one can take a taxi to the city, but that is 500 baht, or five good meals in Bangkok.  And I'm stubborn.  So it's onboard the airport train for 35 baht (one dollar) with a transfer at Makasan Station to the Petchuburi MRT station.  The frigid aircon of the subway will chill my sorry ass until I arrive at the end of the line, Hua Lumphong.  The guesthouse is tucked up a tiny soi (alley) just off busy Rama Avenue.  

The chaos of rush hour in Bangkok viewed from the Phetchaburi pedestrian overpass.

Sweating bullets and smashed cheek to jowl on the airport train at morning rush hour, I am reminded that I am in Thailand.  At my stop, I have to lug my heavy bags past the crush of Thai folks and out the door.  Instead of grumbling as I bump into them, they offer to help me.  Welcome to Thailand.

It's easy!  Just follow the signs and for a mere 30 Bhat, the MRT will drop you at the end of the line.

I have some laughs with the security check lady at the entrance to the MRT.  She wants to look in my carry on, sees the toothbrush on top, and waves me through with a big smile and a "Same-same," the ubiquitous Thai phrase for all is as it should be.  Arriving at Hua Lumphong is to be back in my neighborhood.  Exit #4 puts me out on Rama, threading my way past the noodle stands and food carts, the smiling Moto taxi dudes and the Tuk-tuk drivers lounging in their tri-wheelers.  No Brothers, no fare for you today, I know where I'm going and it's not far.  I turn up the quiet soi, walk to the end, and there is my last stop for the day.  Twenty-four hours of travel to reach this place.  

The view from my balcony after a long-awaited shower.  With the travel crud rinsed from my body, I enjoy a good cigar.

I had every intention of heading out for dinner, but the lack of sleep caught up with me.  From six PM until 5:30 AM, I slept the sleep of the dead, waking on Bangkok time ready to go.  I was up and awake with the early rush hour and heading back out to the airport to meet My Heart who is flying in from Vienna.

So, Friends and Neighbors, Sa-wa-Dee-Kap from the Big Mango.  More adventures to follow, of that I can assure you.  As ever, Ciao for Now!

 

Seat Time

A 1:30 AM transpacific flight is a good thing.  First, I've been up all day so I stand a better chance of getting some sleep.  Second, there is something special about an airport that is a ghost town.  I love sliding down the empty aisles past the locked up bars and trinket stands.  The S-Gates at SeaTac are shut down except for the duty free shops and the counters are all closed except for the few international flights heading out.

Twelve hours to Taipei.  I start a movie, preferably one I have already seen.  This puts my brain into neutral.  I watch "The Hangover" and wait for the meal.  For dessert I pop an Ambien and start a second movie, "The Grand Budapest Hotel."  I won't be awake to finish it.  

The doze comes on.  Neck pillow, butt cushion, blanket and ear plugs.  The Ambien kicks in and I go into a state that can't rightly be called sleep, but is not awake either.  In and out, in and out, shifting positions in a semi-dream state until the cabin lights come back up.  It is time for brekkie.  Almost six of the twelve hours have disappeared.  That's a good flight.

I know I'm going back to Asia because I have congee for breakfast.  Much better than a pre-fab mini-omelet.  Out of the darkness come the lights of Taipei, suddenly, appearing out of the blackness of the Pacific.  And then we are down, no flames, always good.  

Taipei is one of my favorite airports.  Big, civilized and well laid out.  My newest discovery was an outdoor smoking patio.  With three hours to kill I smoked a short cigar and chatted with a Montreal Ex-pat living in Saigon.  I love conversation with old Asia hands.  And yet more of the "What insanity are you Americans up to..."  I remain at a loss to explain it.  

Now it is time to drink coffee, watch the antics in the food court, and then saunter to my next flight.  A short hop to Bangkok.  The only grueling part of this trek will be lugging my bags throught the Sky Train and Metro to my super-secret lair in China Town.  I am packing far heavier than normal as I am schlepping more stuff back to Vienna.  Bad plan in a monsoon city, but it can't be helped.

So it goes.  The flying, the travel basics, all this feels normal to me.  I am back to what I am good at.  Next stop, rainy-season Bangkok.  As ever, Ciao for Now!

A Glimpse West

And I find myself under the glow of Mount Rainier.  "Curiouser and Curiouser," said Alice.  To go around the world, one simply has to keep going in one direction long enough.  Eventually one will end up more or less at the starting point.  So it is with me.

Vienna to Seattle, fifteen hours (who's counting) and into the waiting brotherhood of my circle of Seattle friends.  This was followed by a dash south to Tucson to see the Genetic Envelope and the Maternal Unit.  No closer to the end of the circumnavigation of the globe, I headed back north, stopping in the Sierra of California for some decompression time with friends.  

Back in Seattle, I helped a friend build a deck (What do you think Mr. N?  Was that downplayed enough?).  Why I did this is a mystery yet to be explained.  

The rest of the time is a blur of social gatherings with a final retreat to Hood Canal and good company.  In three days I jump onto the next leg off the journey, heading ever west.  After losing a day crossing the international date line, I will set foot to Bangkok pavement on Thursday.  My One arrives on Friday and we will then, in short order, disappear into eastern Thailand, the quiet of Isaan.  

Carve this.

This has been a disjointed and disorienting month, full of grand reunions with friends and deep pondering over the weirdness of this part of the world.  This is a disjointed blog entry as well, but one has to write about what one knows to be true.  Believes to be true.  Hangs on desperately to what might appear to be true.  

One novel is done and the task of publishing it about to begin.  The next novel is worming its way into my brain, fighting for attention.  I have slept in more strange beds in the last thirty days than I care to remember.  I am repeating the same stories, which is boring and futile, but socially necessary.  Surrounded by friends, I watch the USA slipping further into the theater of the absurd.  It is so very much like watching a slow-motion train wreck playing on a loop of film, over and over.  I simply cannot look away from the madness.  It is analogous to examining an infection on one of my own limbs and having to decide whether or not to lop the thing off to save the body.  Chaos, chaos, accept the chaos.  If the populace is willing to descend into madness, following the Pied Pipers of modern double-speak, I suppose that is one option.  I wish them luck.

Thailand, Thailand, a place to disappear.  I will become an observant traveler once more.  We will celebrate a new life, move forward, move on.  And then we will return to Vienna, Wien, back home.  I believe this trek has become the process of digging up roots and carrying them away for transplantation.  Or not.  Maybe it is just a longer goodbye.  

So, this is it.  I am sorry for your having to tolerate this nonsense.  I have three days to resume, to breathe in, breathe out, write, come back from the bewildering madness that lies so far beyond my control.  There is so much to do, so much to remember, so much to share.