Drunkenness at the World Cup - Munich '06

There is nothing like celebrating a German World Cup soccer win.....in Germany.....with Germans.....while drunk on German beer.

See my 2006 World Cup photos at:

www.flickr.com/photos/zatarain

My Afternoon at the Baan Tamachart Spa in Phuket

I got just a little too much sun on my first day on the island of Phuket. Since it was my first full day on Phuket, all I wanted to do was spend the day at the beach. Doing nothing. Reading. Sleeping. Veg-ing. My problem was that I forgot that in that heat and humidity, and with multiple trips into the ocean for a swim, you have to keep re-applying sunscreen. I didn’t get totally fried out there or anything, but I could definitely see a red tint to certain parts of my body.

So the following day, I planned on staying out of the sun completely. I decided that one nice way to do that would be to schedule a peaceful afternoon at one of the many spas on Phuket. I didn’t want some over-the-top establishment, with an atmosphere of sophistication, reminiscent of spas I’ve seen in the U.S. Phuket, it being a resort area, has plenty of those. I wanted something more quaint, and the woman at my hotel’s registration desk suggested a spa which was only a five-minute walk from the hotel. Baan Tamachart, it was called, and she assured me it was small, but with excellent service. That sounded good enough for me, so I had her make the appointment, and she told me that the spa would be sending a car for me at 2:00 pm, the following afternoon.

The next day, a driver arrived at five minutes ‘til two. I’d found that I’d hardly ever been kept waiting since I arrived in Thailand. We left the hotel, and as it turned out, the drive, because of the many one-way streets in this area of Phuket, actually took about five minutes as well. But at least riding in the car kept me out of the sun…and in air-conditioning.

I walked through the spa’s entrance and was invited to take a seat in a serene reception area, which was furnished with teak benches that featured hand-carved details and plush cushions and pillows. Oil paintings of water lilies decorated the bamboo- latticed walls. A young girl brought me a cold glass of fruit juice, while the receptionist confirmed that I was here for a half-day, sun-recovery package, and then went over some details with another woman.

The woman disappeared through a doorway leading to the spa area and not long thereafter, she returned, and I was introduced to her. Her name was On, and she would be taking care of me while I was at the spa. She was a very slight woman, probably in her early forties, and she was very soft-spoken, like I had found most Thai women to be. She had a big smile on her face, and she invited me to step through the door and to sit on a chair in front of which, was a large bowl of steaming, hot water containing rose petals.

I sat down and On removed my flip-flops. Then she washed each of my feet in the hot water and scrubbed them with sea salt. She patted them dry and then directed me to change into a beautiful, almost regal, loose-fitting sarong. I did so, and placed my clothes and belongings inside a large ventilated wooden locker. On then led me to a showering area and when I was done cleaning up, we proceeded to one of, I found out later, four treatment rooms. It seems that this spa only serves four customers at a time, which explained why there were so few lockers in the changing area. Wow, this was indeed a small-time operation, yet thus far, it was obvious that every detail had been thought of and that the level of service had remained at a very high level.

I entered the treatment suite, where peaceful, Asian music was playing through the speakers in the high ceiling. A padded table, wrapped in some sort of cellophane, sat in the middle of the main room. A small stairway led from the main table area down to a preparation area that also contained a shower and a large wooden bathtub. I thought the plastic-wrapped table was a touch meant simply to convey cleanliness. Actually, I soon found out that I would be cocooned inside of the plastic, like some sort of party leftover, as part of the body wrap I had purchased with my spa package.

On had me change into a baggy, nylon, Speedo-looking thing, and motioned for me to sit up on the table. Once there, she applied a cool mixture of aloe vera and cucumber pulp to my back and shoulders, and then had me lay back so she could cover me from neck to foot in it. After applying a few pints or so of the green sludge, she folded the cellophane around me, basically mummifying me inside it. She draped heavy blankets over me and covered my head and face with warm towels, leaving only a small hole for me to breathe through.

I lay there, motionless and embalmed, for around thirty minutes, dripping sweat the length of my body. I could feel pools of perspiration gathering beneath me, as rivulets formed on the sides of my face, down my shoulders, and along my sides. When I moved, I could hear and feel it slushing underneath me. Through the towels that enclosed my head, I could also hear the muffled sounds of On in the preparation area of the room and the muted sounds of water running and birds chirping outside.

When On returned to the table, she removed the blankets and plastic, and pointed toward the shower down the stairs. As I entered the shower area, I could see that the bathtub had been filled. After showering, On helped me into the bathtub, which had been filled with coconut milk, hot water, bubbles, suds, and more rose petals. I reclined contentedly in the wooden bathtub and took in my surroundings.

The suite I was in looked as if it had been designed to look centuries old. There was nothing in it that looked modern except for the shower and the fact that there were speakers imbedded in the ceiling. In fact, the entire spa seemed to have an ancient feel to it, as if the purpose of its design was to assist customers in leaving their modern stresses behind and escaping to a simpler, more relaxing time. I found it very easy to completely lose myself there. The feel of the spa was appropriate, because the techniques and treatments used in Thai spas are literally thousands of years old. The traditions and recipes have been passed down through generations. It was not difficult to imagine someone, hundreds of years ago, maybe even a prince, being pampered in exactly the same way that I was being spoiled, now.

A small amount of sunlight filtered in through the tiny windows and candlelight dimly brightened the shadowy corners of the room. On brought me a small pot of the most delicious herbal tea I’ve ever tasted. I just closed my eyes, drank my tea, and surrendered myself to relaxation, becoming convinced that no modern pill or piece of machinery can replace the power of a soothing setting, natural remedies, and the human touch, in attaining physical and spiritual healing.

After another shower, On began an hour-long aromatherapy sun-oil massage of my entire body. This was not the deep-tissue massage that I enjoy so much, but rather, a more gentle, relaxing massage, meant for relieving aches and pains and ridding the body of stress and fatigue. With each movement of On’s strong but gentle fingers and hands, and each whisper of her kind voice as she sang softly in a language I could not understand, and didn’t need to, I melted slowly into the soft padding on the table. Massage is something that is ALWAYS over before you want it to be, and I was somewhat distressed when I realized that an hour had already passed.

On prepared a comfortable resting place for my head using some towels, and began going through a process of alternating hot towels and cool creams to my face. Between cycles, she tenderly wiped away the various lotions and concoctions she had prepared and applied, and gently rubbed my temples and scalp. Finally, she covered my face in a cool, sticky substance, and then placed long slices of cucumber over my eyes and entire face. She then covered my cucumber mask with cold, damp towels, again leaving me a small hole to breathe through. She returned after fifteen minutes and, with my face still wrapped, she began massaging my feet. She brushed a cool, thick liquid onto my feet and toes, and then she vigorously kneaded and stroked my feet, as the menthol- or mint-infused cream caused my feet to tingle coolly. Then, On removed the facial wrap and began a more detail-oriented, twenty minute neck, scalp, and face massage.

She finished me off with a short, more traditional style, Thai massage of my back and shoulders, during which she climbed onto the table, then all over me, bending me this way and that, jabbing her knees into me, and contorting me to her will. On only seemed satisfied when she could finally hear audible pops and cracks coming from my spinal column. With a soft giggle and two words, “All finish”, I was brought reluctantly back to Earth.

On held up my sarong for me and expertly cinched it around my abdomen. Then, she walked me back to the locker where I’d stashed my clothes. After changing, On brought me to a small sitting area, where a small snack and hot tea were waiting for me. I thanked her and asked her to pose for a picture with me, which she did, producing for me that big smile once again.

I gave her a nice tip, and she gave me a “wai”, the traditional Thai greeting and thank-you gesture, which consists of a slight bow, with the palms pressed together in a prayer-like position. (The higher the hands are held in relation to the face, and the lower the bow, the more respect or reverence the giver of the wai is showing.) As usual, I got the feeling that a Thai citizen was more thankful for the opportunity to serve me than I was for having been served by them.

I received many wais while I was in Thailand and each time, they had this same affect on me. When someone wais you, you somehow feel more important and respected than you deserve to be. The wai endears me to everyone who has given me one. To a Westerner, it just seems like such an overly respectful way of showing true thanks.

When I walked outside to the spa’s car, which was waiting for me, the sun had begun setting. My soul felt cleansed. My body felt redeemed. And my spirit was lifted. I’ve heard that feeling better makes one look better. Thanks, On. You are one gifted and talented lady.

See my Thailand photos at:

www.flickr.com/photos/zatarain

Learning to Surf

The entire universe is powered by waves. Energy waves. Light waves. Sound waves. Radio waves. All are present; and all are undetectable to the human eye. But a breaking ocean wave is one of the only instances in which that power that runs everything around us actually becomes visible.

There is a moment, shortly after you accept that your demise is imminent, when it occurs to you that you could be elsewhere; that had you lingered a few minutes longer over breakfast, or stopped to get a newspaper, or been delayed ever so briefly in any number of possible ways, you would not be here right now, confronting your own mortality.

This thought occurred to me just as I encountered a very large wave…a rare wave…a surprising wave…a wave that really had no business being where it was…pitching and howling…and leaving me with a fraction of a second to make a decision. The options were not good.

Ahead, I could see Rikpun paddling his surfboard furiously up the face of another wave…a much kinder wave. Rikpun has been living on, or near, beaches his entire life. And he is not what you would call a ‘normal’ Thai male. But it was Rikpun who introduced me, just one week before my 40th birthday, to the world of surfing.

In the late afternoon, I would often see him riding the waves in front of my seaside hotel. He worked at a restaurant a few blocks down the beach and he must have negotiated with his boss to have his afternoons off because every day around this time, I saw him out there. One day, as he was preparing to exit the beach, I asked him if he would teach me how to surf. He agreed and now, a day later, here we were.

A few minutes earlier I had yelled out to him, “What should I do now?”, once I’d finally managed to bring both myself and my rented surfboard through the break zone. This had taken me at least a half an hour to accomplish, of which, a good twenty-five minutes were spent underwater in various states of distress.

Over the deafening roar of the crashing waves behind us, he yelled back, “Look for wave, shape like ‘A’!” I thought it was sort of odd that this Thai surfer, who spoke broken English at best, albeit decent enough English for a Thai, would have any idea of just what exactly an ‘A’ looked like.

A wave shaped like an ‘A’. Hmmm. I looked around. I saw Z’s and W’s and V’s. I saw the Cyrillic alphabet. I saw Arabic script. I saw no A’s. Finally I gave up and chose the next wave that would have me, which turned out to be a poor decision. The demon wave picked me up and after that, I have only a vague recollection of spinning limbs, a weaponized surfboard, and chaotic whitewater, all kind of churning together over a reef. Oh yeah—and the taste of salt water—LOTS of salt water—salt water which I tasted through both my mouth and my nose, and which I swear, I somehow even tasted through my ears as well.

This wave was nothing like those pictured in glossy surf magazines, the ones with perfect barrels heading inexorably toward sandy beaches populated exclusively by gorgeous, buxom girls in string bikinis. No. This wave was mean. It raised me up…as in twelve feet high…above a rapidly dwindling layer of water covering a very sharp reef shelf and then, just as I thought I was going to race diagonally down and across its face, it suddenly disintegrated and I felt myself free-falling. Somehow, I barely missed the reef, but still, the impact of the drop (imagine jumping off the roof of your house and landing flat on your back in your yard) left me winded, which was highly unfortunate because the wave, or rather the remains of the wave, still had plenty of forward momentum and I found myself in the previously described condition of hurtling through a foamy froth that was both lifting me and pounding me.

A novice surfer needs to possess a certain persistence. It’s like this—you are tethered to your surfboard by a leash wrapped around your ankle, and in one sense this is a good thing because it will always float…and you will not. This is important because you can hardly breathe until the wave finally decides to spit you out. But on the other hand, as together you and your board collide and pitch, you feel as if your foot might be ripped from your leg. Finally, after traveling the length of a football field, you realize that you’re not dead and miraculously, you can actually feel the sand beneath your feet. You spend a few moments checking for injuries and putting yourself back together, certain that you have acquired just a little more knowledge, just enough wisdom to ensure that next time, you are going to let waves like that one just roll on by.

Well, I decided that this was not for me. Somehow, I had escaped physical injury, although mentally, I feared that I might need therapy in order to ever again approach even a bathtub filled with water. “That sucked,” I declared.

“You pick wrong wave,” Rikpun said, after surfing the same distance that I had tumbled, and in a state of such languid repose, that he seemed to be mocking my tumble through the maelstrom. “Maybe you try body-board first.”

And so it was that my days as a surfer abruptly ended after less than an hour, and I became a body-boarder once again. I’d body-boarded plenty in my life, and I recognize that in the world of water sports, body-boarding does not rank very high, being regarded about as manly as synchronized swimming, but I don’t care. I willingly and enthusiastically decided right then and there to give up surfing forever.

Body-boarding offers one the same opportunity as surfing—to become extremely intimate with a reef-breaking wave. You are in the wave’s bosom, sharing its fate, and when the wave is large and glassy and smooth, and you are riding it just where you should be riding it—just ahead of the break…not too high up it…and not too far down it—and the wave doesn’t do anything really nasty like suddenly collapse on top of you, crushing you against a boulder encrusted with sea urchins, well it is then that you really feel as if life is incredibly good.

And yet, there is something about being on top of a wave, just at that moment when it catches you and you prepare to fly down its face, that brief moment when you are now committed, and even though you are now perched very high, and from this perch you can see with remarkable clarity the jagged coral reef below, with its body-sucking crevices and toxic spines, you are at this moment—pumped!

Even when I didn’t necessarily want to body-board the waves, I sometimes went out just to float in the late afternoon, when the island was flushed with color. And later on that week, that week during which I both discovered and forsaked the sport of surfing, I happened to be traversing an inlet on my body-board, just minding my own business, when I saw four fins slicing through the water, approaching me with intent, and my first thought of course, was that I was about to meet my end, and that it would be a gruesome, horrific end, the kind that becomes island lore—“Hey, did you hear about that guy? That American? Four tiger sharks! Nothing left but a scrap of bodyboard.”

My heart rate quickened. But then, the creatures began to leap around me and I saw that they were not man-eating sharks, but playful, curious dolphins, and I suddenly felt very happy to be alive, floating in the ocean in the company of dolphins. For a long while, they stayed with me, darting underneath my board, swimming alongside, and then they went on their way.

On other days, I saw flying fish that vaulted at least twenty yards through the air, and silky rays that glided below me like shadows, and long sea pikes that launched themselves urgently above the waves, and schools of shimmering silver fish capering off the bow of my board. Sailing canoes and long-tailed boats drifted by, and I’d wave the wave of lazy contentment, a flick of the hand reciprocated.

I don’t want to get all sentimental about it, but being on the water just off the shore of a tropical island on the equator is about as sublime an experience as one can find on this planet.

What I Learned About Chile Peppers While I Was in Thailand

I had spent the entire day on the beach and had gotten a little too much sun. I knew that I needed to find something to do the following day that would keep me out of the sun. I wondered how, in Phuket, which is world-famous for its beaches, I could justify staying away from the beach and how I could best spend my day. I had already come to the conclusion that I was in need of a half-day at a spa for some pampering, and I’d scheduled a four-hour appointment for 2:00pm the next afternoon.

So the second half of my day tomorrow was set. I began reading through the numerous pamphlets and flyers at the tourist desk at my hotel, trying to find the perfect way to spend the first half of the day. Most of the brochures advertised activities that involved the water, or being outside, and I knew that my skin couldn’t handle a second consecutive day of that. Finally, I came across one promoting a cooking school located only about a fifteen-minute walk from my hotel.

Everyone that knows me, knows how much I love to cook, and while I was planning my trip to Thailand, I’d actually thought about doing this very thing. So I decided to go for it. The class began at 6:30am the next morning, and would last six hours, so it would fit in perfectly with my spa plans. Even better, when I made the reservation through my hotel’s reception desk, I found out that I wouldn’t have to walk to the class, because the school would send a mini-van to my hotel and pick me up.

I had a feeling that this class was going to be exactly what I wanted, because in addition to the cooking lesson, the group that I would be joining would actually be going to an outdoor market together, and we would be purchasing the ingredients that we would be using to prepare four authentic and traditional Thai recipes. Under the supervision of our cooking teacher, who would also serve as an interpreter between our group and the vendors, we would do what most Thai women do every day, that is, to buy the ingredients needed for that evening’s meal.

The next morning, the van picked me and my fellow class members up (there ended up being five of us) at our various hotels, and we headed for the market. Once there, our teacher gave us some choices/suggestions for four recipes and as a group, we chose them. We decided on the following menu:

· Tom Sum—a hot and sour soup with fish and kow neow (sticky rice)
· Panang—a chicken curry dish
· Pad Thai—a stir-fried noodle dish with chicken, tofu, and vegetables (the most popular Thai dish there is)
· Gai Sateh—marinated chicken, skewered and then grilled with a peanut sauce

So, we were going to make a traditional Thai soup appetizer, a typical Thai curry dish, the most popular Thai dish of them all, and one of the tastiest Thai dishes in existence. And if my previous experiences of eating Thai food in Thailand were any indication, we would have plenty of food to eat when we were done, and we’d have plenty of leftovers as well.

The market was definitely one of the highlights of the class, as we haggled with the vendors over prices, which is expected in any Thai market, no matter what you’re buying. The actual cooking of the items was fun, but nothing new really, to someone who is used to barbecuing, stir-frying, and wok-cooking—I was familiar with the methods. Eating what we had made was definitely rewarding. But for me, learning about the ingredients was the best part of the class.

I’d rarely, if ever, cooked with ingredients such as fish sauce, tamarind, turmeric, lemongrass, rice noodles, and chili oil or paste. These ingredients are all present in many Asian foods, but one thing that sort of stands out in Thai cooking is the extent to which chile peppers are used in Thai cooking. And since spicy peppers are one of my favorite foods to play with in my own kitchen endeavors, I really focused in on what our teacher had to say about them. And since chile peppers were used in all four of our menu items, she actually had quite a bit to say about them as well.

Here is some of what I learned.

First of all, Thailand has the highest chile pepper consumption in the world, per capita. There are regions of other countries, where chiles are eaten, in some form or another, at a slightly higher rate, but for entire countries, Thailand is Number One.

It is a medical fact, that chile peppers have some notable, beneficial health effects when eaten. They are high in Vitamin C and they help stimulate blood circulation. I had heard that they were good for you, but now I learned in which ways this is indeed true.

Capsaicin is the component in chiles that produces the hot sensation you feel when you bite into one. It also triggers a flush of endorphins that help in the efficient flow of food through the digestive system, and that accelerate metabolism by helping the body burn food more completely. It aids in the breakdown of fat in the body. Capsaicin is also extracted from chile peppers and used as an anesthetic in creams to treat muscle aches and pains. Apparently, the nerves in the affected area are unable to report pain to the brain because they are engulfed by the burning sensation the capsaicin causes. (Oh...and pepper spray? Yeah. That's capsaicin too.)

In Thailand, there are other, more spiritual powers, that are associated with chiles, as well.

Thais view chile peppers as an aphrodisiac that adds to sexual prowess, a precursor to exceptionally “hot” love, so to speak. For centuries, Thais also used chile peppers extensively in rituals, cures, and tortures. Thais are among the most superstitious people in the world, and even today, they burn salt and dried chile pepper to rid their houses of evil spirits and curses. Salt and chile pepper are also burned to neutralize a bad neighbor’s behavior—if the wind blows in the right direction, salt and chile will be burned so that the smoke they produce will waft toward the offending neighbor’s house, and hopefully, end the bad manners or conduct originating from there.

In Northern Thailand, especially, it is believed that eating spicy food makes you stronger, and that people who cannot tolerate lots of hot chile are cowardly. I guess I’ll never turn them down again. Appropriately, Northern Thailand is the home of som tam, a papaya salad, which is one of the hottest, spiciest dishes in all of Thai cooking.

Chile peppers grow naturally in the tropical climate of Thailand, making them readily available year-round. The plant that produces them actually originated in Bolivia and Brazil, but was brought over to Southeast Asia by the Portuguese, in the 16th century. It was rapidly incorporated into Thai cuisine.

One reason that the plant grows so voraciously throughout Thailand is because of a perfectly designed act of nature. Birds are not irritated by the capsaicin present in chile peppers like mammals are, and so, they eat them avidly and do not have to compete with other animals for them. The seeds within a chile pepper contain the highest quantities of capsaicin, thus deterring mammals from eating them, as well. The seeds pass through the birds’ digestive systems unharmed, and then are subsequently deposited elsewhere.

The myna bird is a species that is one of the prime eaters of chile peppers. Thais once believed that birds that eat chile peppers can learn how to speak, an idea that, if you believe it, may explain why myna birds are so adept at mimicking human voices.

The hottest chile pepper known to man is the Mexican habanero pepper. But Thailand has the second-hottest. It is the “prik kee noo”, which means “mouse-dropping chile”. It gets its name from its small size and shape, but it packs a major punch, in both its red, and green versions. The red version is spicy and colorful, and lacks any aroma. The green version is a bit milder and has a distinctive, fruity aroma. Thai cooks often use both the red and the green chile in the same dish, using the red to add color and the green to add fragrance.

The most common way that chile peppers are used in Thai cooking is to simply chop them up and add them to a dish, followed by a milder, roasted or deep-fried pepper. Then, there are dozens of different chile pastes, in which chiles are combined with tamarind, garlic, sugar, salt, dried shrimp, fish, onions, and/or various forms of fish sauce. Curry pastes also include chile pepper in varying quantities, which are added to combinations of base ingredients such as shallots, garlic, lemongrass, kaffir limes, shrimp paste, salt, and ginger.

Chile pepper is so important in Thai cuisine that it is also used as a condiment, in its dry, ground form, and is served as such with every meal, much like salt and pepper are in America. In addition, almost all Thai meals are served with small bowls of chiles in fish sauce and chiles in white vinegar. There are also dedicated condiments which are served with particular dishes that include chile peppers: fish-dipping sauce (pureed green chiles, lemon, lemongrass, fish sauce, and salt), meat sauce (dry ground chile pepper, lemon, fish sauce, roasted ground rice, and shallots), spring roll sauce (red chiles, vinegar, and sugar), and chiles fried in oil until they are rendered into a thick, dark red paste, with a very pungent, roasted flavor.

Thais believe in balance when it comes to cooking, just as their Buddhist beliefs promote balance in their daily lives. And because chile peppers are such a staple of Thai cooking, Thai foods will usually contain three other distinct flavors (salty, sour, and sweet), all meant to balance out the spiciness of the chile. Ideally, it is not possible to detect how much chile may actually be present in a meal, because the other three flavors often fool the palate as it tries to detect the spicy chile pepper, which is almost always there in some amount, at least.

One of my favorite details of a traditional Thai meal is what is almost always brought to the table as the standard accompaniment to the meal. When meals are served, a small lazy Susan-like tray or basket is brought out, containing items which represent the four balanced flavors. Salty, is represented by a ramekin of soy sauce; sweet, by a ramekin containing sugar; sour, by one containing vinegar; and spicy, by what else? Dried, ground chile peppers. Small amounts of all four are spooned over everything from rice, to noodles, to vegetables, to soups, and then mixed in. And I’ve got to tell you, there IS a difference when food is eaten without these four additions, and the meal is just barely, discernibly better with them. You can’t quite taste any of them singly, but together, they somehow improve the dish’s flavor, however slightly.

After learning so much about chile peppers, and eating so many different meals that either included them, featured them, or tried to hide them, I have discovered that it is quite possible to get high from eating chile peppers. And like the effect that a drug can have on some people, I fear I could have become addicted to them just as easily. No matter how long I might have remained in Thailand, I don’t think I would have ever become tired of eating Thai food…or Thai chile peppers.

See my Thailand photos at:

www.flickr.com/photos/zatarain

My First Trip to Bangkok, Thailand - Soi Cowboy

Soi Cowboy by Night
Soi Cowboy by Day










The bar I chose could have been any one of the dozens of bars that line Bangkok’s Soi Cowboy on both sides. The “soi”, or “street” in English, is only around 100 yards in length, and at first glance, one would hardly call it a street. It’s really only wide enough for one lane of motorized traffic. I guess you could say that Soi Cowboy is part sidewalk, part avenue, part alleyway. It serves pedestrians, automobiles, motor scooters, and even commercial vehicles, the latter of which, if I’d not seen them on the soi with my own eyes, I’d never have believed could possibly navigate the narrow lane.

Soi Cowboy is just one of the many “entertainment districts” that pepper the Sukhumvit area of Bangkok. It takes its name from a retired American military man who opened one of the first bars there during the Vietnam War. He was nicknamed “Cowboy” because he always wore a cowboy hat. Soldiers on R&R often came to Bangkok to drink, party, and procure the services of prostitutes, and many of them ended up in this area. Subsequently, more bars, restaurants, and brothels opened for business, and soon, the entire street was catering to servicemen. Now, it caters mainly to tourists and expatriates, as word-of-mouth has made this street one of the more famous sois in all of Bangkok.

Jutting out into the middle of Soi Cowboy are food stands; mobile barbeque grills bolted to the backs of trailers, the handlebars of bicycles, or just plopped down wherever space can be found; coolers filled with iced sodas and water; and chairs upon which, exotic-looking, young Thai women are perched. These women might be waitresses, massage practitioners, prostitutes, or hostesses, and it’s not always easy to tell who is who, even after the benefit of a short conversation. They are all selling something, be it food, drink, a relaxing back rub, or in many cases, even themselves.

Much of the foot- and wheel-traffic mostly just lingers. It is impossible to walk the length of Soi Cowboy in a straight line and at a constant rate of speed. No single mode of transportation has right-of-way over any other…well…except the many stray dogs…they are definitely lowest in rank. They basically spend their time avoiding being stepped on or being hit by vehicles. And it’s not like the vehicles attempt to avoid them. No…it’s pretty much up to the dogs to move out of the way. But often, they don’t, and they are missed by narrow margins, as close as just a few inches, in which case, the dogs just lie there. It’s only when they are threatened with certain, and I mean IMMINENT danger, that these scrawny creatures dart to safety. Apparently a couple of inches doesn’t qualify as being in real peril. It must work out for them okay though. I didn’t see a single dog that appeared to be limping.

At least some attempt is made…sort of…to avoid hitting pedestrians. Thankfully, the speeds are slow enough that reaction times, on both parts, usually prevent the impact of metal against flesh. In dodging one such impending collision, I find myself on a raised step, a couple of feet away from the entrance of a bar, which may as well remain nameless, for if it has a name, I see no way of deciphering it from the jumble of Thai script and English words that make up the various advertisements and hastily prepared chalkboard menus that crowd the area in which I am standing.

A pretty, young Thai girl apparently ascertains that my adjacency to this particular establishment must mean that I’d like to enter it, and so she locks her arm with mine, spinning me toward the entrance, which is framed in brightly colored, helium-filled balloons. Our momentum propels me over the threshold, and a frigid, air-conditioned blast washes over me and jostles the balloons, as she pulls me past a small grill, where satay chicken and whole fish sizzle. I notice a large cooler filled with ice and Singha, Tiger, and Chang beer, as the young lady directs me inside, cooing, “Welcome! Welcome!”, repeatedly.

A winding staircase leads from a small bar area on the street level, to a billiards room on a balcony on the second floor. As I look around, it is apparent to me, that the original owner of the building and the architect who’d designed it, must have entered into some sort of compromise years ago, when the place was built. Yes…it was a building, but barely so, because much of it is open to the sky, the street, and the environment. It almost seems to be transient, as if it was built with the idea in mind that it could be disassembled quickly and moved, if and when such action were ever necessary. Evidently the negotiation had ended in concessions being made by both owner and architect. The result of the bargain was this bipolar structure I was now standing in.

There is no front door. But clearly there is an entrance…just not a well-defined one. It is as if somehow, the street melts into the property and the property bleeds into the street. But unlike most crossbred structures, this one feels cozy and comfortable. In the daylight, the place has a lazy, languid grace to it, despite its turbulent, chaotic surroundings. At night, a few hours from now, I’m sure it will look bejeweled, with hundreds of neon lights encircling it and radiating from within it.

Upon entering, my mind feels like it is on sensory overload. My new acquaintance seats me at a table and I make a conscious effort to rapidly decompress. Jet-lagged, after a 20-hour trip from Denver that included connections in Seattle and Tokyo, running on fumes really, the only thing keeping me awake is an acute awareness and exhilaration that I think is inevitable when you find yourself halfway around the world from your home, in a country where you don’t speak the native language, where nothing at all is familiar, and where people’s mannerisms and characteristics are so different from yours. It feels like an adventure. So much is happening. I’m weary, yet I’m wide awake.

My senses are bombarded…with busy, hectic movement all around my vision’s periphery…with the succulent smells of roasting meats on the grills…with the cacophony of various types of music drowning each other out and of giggling girls joking with each other. There’s always a lot going on, just about anywhere you go in Bangkok. And everywhere you go, whichever of your senses are being incited, there seems to be multiple stimuli competing for your attention. This is my first full day in Thailand, and therefore, I’m a little on edge anyway, and very aware and sensitive to all that’s going on around me. Everything is new to me and I don’t want to miss a thing! It is overwhelming. You almost have to take a deep breath, just to quell the excitement of it all. There is just so much to see. So much to notice. Sights. Sounds. Smells.

And those smells of Bangkok will assault you. Bangkok is not a clean city. But it isn’t in complete squalor either. There is the occasional pungent, underlying odor of grime and filth that can overpower you at times; but then the wind shifts, and you find yourself inhaling the wonderfully fragrant aromas of the orchids, lilies, and jasmine that thrive in the many courtyards and gardens—sanctuaries of tranquility created by the residents to combat Bangkok’s notorious congestion, it’s clamoring racket, and its confusing mazes of concrete, steel, and asphalt. Or, in the next instant, you turn your head and notice the scent of sandalwood or lavender incense being burned nearby as part of a Buddhist prayer offering.

My mind is now swampy…my thoughts, muddy. I pause and savor the redolent air, and both the astringent odors and the sweeter, more pleasant smells help to clear my head just a bit. But ultimately, clarity proves to be unattainable, and as that fact dawns on me, it’s probably a little undesirable anyway. I mean, who really requires clarity when they’re vacationing? It occurs to me that I am in need of a cold beer and a shot of tequila.

The girl that dragged me into this place is back at the entrance doing what a hostess does. As I rest there in my seat, two butterflies in human form dance fluidly from the shadow of the staircase in the back of the bar and out into the sunshine that filters through the entryway. As these two bar girls approach my table, their silken skirts flare and fold and flare again in graceful swirls of color. In broken English one of them asks me if I want something to drink. I order a Singha beer and a shot of Cuervo. She disappears swiftly into the shadows from which she’s come, while the remaining beauty presents a cold, damp towel, and begins wiping my brow, face, neck, arms, and hands with it. This brings instant relief from the heat and humidity of the Bangkok afternoon.

She asks me where I’m from, whether or not I have a girlfriend, and other getting-to-know-you-type questions and steps behind my chair. She begins massaging my temples, then my neck, and finally, my shoulders. The other enchantress arrives carrying a tray, upon which sit the most minuscule shot of tequila I've ever seen, a profusely sweating bottle of beer, and an ice-cold glass. She pours half of the beer into the glass, sets everything down on the table, and then sits in the chair next to me.

These being the first Thai women that I’ve had a chance to really talk to, I have many questions for them. Since I speak no Thai whatsoever, and their English is pretty basic, and stilted at that, and their pronunciation pretty hard to understand, it is sometimes very difficult, but nonetheless, interesting and fun. They explain to me that they earn a percentage of every drink that is bought for them, so I buy them each a few cokes over the next hour or so, which they sip slowly, keeping pace with me and my beer. They never finish a coke before I finish my beer and if they ask for another, they do so in an extremely polite manner.

I learn that it is their job to spend time talking with the customers, and as I get to know them, one of them begins to unintentionally sweep me off my feet. She really piques my curiosity, with her stories about the reality of her rural life before coming to Bangkok…the responsibilities and hardships involved…and her descriptions of the things that are important in life to her, and to a Thai woman, in general. And of course, there is her absolutely pure beauty—which is a combination of her arresting, and to me, unfamiliar facial characteristics; her genuine sincerity, sraightforwardness, and outgoing nature; and her matter-of-fact inquisitiveness about myself and my country. I have soon found myself completely captivated and enthralled by her.

It is refreshing to be in the company of someone who is so frank, charming, and lovely. I am somehow able to see through many of the misconceptions Westerners have about Thai women and am even able to delve, somewhat, into the psyche of a typical, traditional, Thai village girl who has left the countryside to settle in this big city. My new friend attempts to explain the differences in Thai attitudes and culture to this naïve American, and it is quite educational. I find that there is a definite, pronounced gap between Thai traditions and customs and my own Western mentality, and I hope to somehow bridge this gap over the next three weeks.

Throughout our conversation, I sometimes flirt with she and my other hostess. Of course I do. I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t. And they do flirt back, but the ways in which a Thai woman flirts are very different from the ways in which an American woman would.

For instance, these two are fascinated with the soft, light hair on my arms. (Thai men rarely have body hair). It's a challenge trying to get used to their slender fingers combing through it. Now, by American standards I am not a very hairy guy. So it had never occurred to me that I would ever have two women gently tugging at my arm hair, telling me that I am “like monkey”. And had I ever imagined myself being told that I was "like monkey", I never would have dreamed that along with such a comment, would come assurances that it should be taken as a compliment.

Sincerity and honesty is very important in Thai society. Thais believe that the window to one’s soul is through one’s eyes. Therefore, Thais look people squarely in the eyes when they talk. They believe that if you are being untruthful, your eyes will give you away. More than once, as I struggle to answer a question and by force of habit, look around aimlessly, my new Thai friend gently nudges my chin with her fingers back in the direction of her expressive face, so that she can see into my eyes as I answer. It is strange to have someone scrutinize you in this way, but just as I am sure that she would be able to detect deceit in my eyes, I see the acceptance in hers that she feels that what I say is true.

I learn that to the Thais, we Americans smell like butter, and that this is an attractive scent. Our diets are so different. I guess what—do we eat fattier foods? It is somewhat unnerving, but not at all unenjoyable, to have a beautiful Thai girl place her nose in your neck or against your shoulder and sniff you, then smile and nod her head approvingly.

But I also learn that outside of a bar such as this, where it is part of their job to be in close, physical proximity to the customers, traditional Thai girls would avoid such public familiarity with a white man, lest she be mistaken for a prostitute by other Thais. Even if a Thai man and a Thai woman are in a committed relationship, intimate contact between them in public is frowned upon. Nevertheless, I can’t help but imagine how heads back home would turn if I were seen walking down the street, holding hands with either of these two delicate, dazzling, sirens.

But I have come to realize that it is so much more than typical young Thai women's exquisite figures, their flawless skin, and their impeccable physiques. There is something fascinating about their engaging smiles. I have come to realize that the inviting Thai smile is truly a very happy one, and that the average Thai girl is more content at heart than the average “farang”, or foreigner, that comes to visit Thailand. I’m so impressed with their genial nature, their cordiality, and their friendly demeanor. They are outgoing and funny, but are at the same time, modest and reserved. They are kind-hearted and interesting…open and talkative. I can sense a natural, unfeigned esteem and respect coming from them, not just toward me, for my benefit, but emanating from them, unprejudiced and nondiscriminatory, for anyone they meet.

My God, if these women are representative of the Thai women I will meet over the next three weeks, then the overdone little jokes my friends and relatives made before I left, about me coming home with a Thai wife, are not going to seem so funny any more.

See my Thailand photos at:

www.flickr.com/photos/zatarain