Leaving tomorrow, haircut

It's a beautiful day in Portland and I've been finishing up my last odds and ends before leaving tomorrow. I'll be flying to San Francisco and hanging out with my old friend Jeremy for a few days. Then it will be off to Bangkok in the small hours of Thursday morning. I've been talking with another friend, Sheila, about traveling together in Cambodia and Thailand, and I hope it works out. As of this point, I'm pretty sure I'm going to try to extend my trip another two weeks-- until the last week of July. However, to get the return date changed for free, I have to wait until I get there.

Last but not least, I shaved off all the hair. The new haircut has had a reverse Samson effect. Sure, it may not be the most flatteriing haircut, but on some visceral level it means I'm letting go, at least for the time being, with preconceptions of how I should look, and even more importantly, with how my friends see me. I feel like a new man.



Why do I always look so sad and existential in these photos I post? It's because I look so damn goofy with a shaved head and a big grin on my face. I am, quite honestly, feeling exhilarated.

Last Thursday on Alberta and speaking Thai

Last night I met up with a group of friends at Zaytoons on Alberta. It was Last Thursday, when all the galleries are open late, there's art in the streets, lots of people, dogs, carousing, and rabble-rousing. Costumed men on tall bikes rode down Alberta, slowing down traffic. The bars and restaurants were full. There was quirky, DIY art everywhere, Portland style. I've always thought of Last Thursday as the epitome of what I love about Portland, and it was fitting that we were having drinks on 23rd and Alberta. I caught up with old friends, though it seemed too brief and informal-- no surprise given only a couple of hours, a bar, and a dozen people. I took some pictures. I got sad about leaving Portland. In turn, I experienced yet another wave of gentle terror about my travels.

I spent yesterday afternoon learning Thai phrases. I can count to ten in Thai now. I can say hello and my name is... and please and thank you and what is your name? I can also say delicious, very good, I like spicy food, I love Thailand... as you can see, I am endeavoring to be as diplomatic as possible. I am learning what's up, I don't understand, I'm deaf, Can you speak more slowly, do you speak English, where is the bathroom, what time is it? I listened to internet sound files, trying to decipher the confusing pronunciations. The Thai language has five tones-- low, medium, high, rising and falling. There's an almost sing-song cadence to the words, and saying a syllable in the wrong tone distorts the meaning. On the other hand, there is no confusion with conjugations and declensions, offsetting the difficulties of learning the tones. Obviously, my pronunciation is off, and it will be much more difficult, if not impossible, for me to master these tonal differences. Still, I feel a certain sense of empowerment in knowing the meanings of these words. There is no better way to learn about a culture than to learn its language, and even my brief forays and stock phrases will give me an advantage that many other Westerners do not bother to have.

And then of course I've learned, "Mai bpen rai", the ubiquitious whatever/you're welcome/it's all good. I'm reminded of the ever-present and often vague side-to-side wag of the head in India. Gestural communication is so essential, and it has its own special telepathy. It is ancient and visceral in a way that spoken language can never be. I am just as excited to decipher these unspoken cues, and this will hopefully alleviate any difficulties with my otherwise Babelian dialogues. I will be saying "Phom nuuok, mai kao jai khrap" a lot: "I'm deaf, I don't understand." It'll be a good way to shake the touts, at least.

Missing Portland and sandals for a big boy

Yesterday I went down to the Sandy River with a few friends. We waded out to a small island and sat on the beach with Scots Broom and small cottonwoods as windbreak. It was a beautiful day, and there were hawks, osprey and turkey vultures wheeling overhead. It was Chad's birthday and he's California dreamin', so Hunter said. We've all got some form of travel on our minds. Hunter showed me photos from his SE Asia travels of two years ago, offering pointers and also further whetting my appetite. The current was fast from Mount Hood snowmelt, the water cold and refreshing. We had a beautiful view of the cliffs on the far side of the river.

In short, I'm going to miss Portland and the Pacific Northwest, though I'm excited to be going to Baltimore. When I visited the Hopkins campus, the magnolias and cherry blossoms had all bloomed with the first lustiness of spring. I allowed myself to believe, at least for a moment, that I could live without the lush year-round greenness of the Pacific Northwest.
Anyway, it should be plenty green in Thailand. I checked the ten day weather forecasts for Bangkok, Chiang Mai, Vientiane and Phnom Penh, and they were all about the same. Highs in the 90s and scattered T-storms everyday (I do think there was a sunny day projected for Phnom Penh about a week from now).

And I found a pair of sandals that actually fit me at Next Adventure today. Used Tevas and a very good deal overall, making up for the kiddie sandals I've got. Also on the supply front, I purchased another memory stick for my digital camera as well as NiMh rechargeable batteries and a charger. Something about packing these technological items seems deeply incongruous to me, though I can't say exactly why. I don't want to be dependent on modern amenities. I'm not going over there to watch TV or surf the web. And I'm even planning on avoiding air conditioning as much as possible. I'd rather be one with the weather, the world and me in a state of constant liquidity and 98.6 degrees.

Kiddie Sandals and Travel Reading

Yesterday I picked up a couple of used travel tomes at Powells, an essential staple as important as malaria phophylaxis and underwear. The two titles could not be more diametrically opposite. The first is "Novel Without a Name" by Duong Thu Huong, a Vietnamese writer who was one of only three out of 40 to survive in her volunteer troop in the Vietnam War. I've read another book by her, "Beyond Illusions", which was excellent, and "Novel Without a Name" provides a Vietnamese perspective on the war. It's kind of ironic that I'm reading a Vietnamese author, as the bulk of my travels will be in Thailand and there is no love lost between the two countries. It's tiny Cambodia that acts as a buffer and gets beaten up by its two bigger neighbors on a regular basis.
The other book is Henry Miller's "Tropic of Cancer", a foul-mouthed but hopefully amusing invective which chronicles Miller's move to Paris as he aspires to be a published writer. He was 30 at the time. The only parallels I can think of between our lives-- two young aspiring writers go abroad for inspiration. In a way, "Tropic of Cancer" seems like requisite reading for me as a soon-to-be MFA student, especially when you consider the expansion of freedom of speech laws that were enacted as a direct result of this book.

On to my other mundane topic. I ordered a pair of used size 10 Teva sandals in the mail, via Ebay, and I was pleased at the sweet deal I got-- $10 including shipping & handling. Well, they came in the mail, and apparently I ordered a pair of kiddie sandals (at least they're size 10). If I were six years old, they'd be perfect. So much for being prepared for this trip... Maybe I'll get sandals over there.

A few words on being a Deaf traveller

Yesterday I was at the Portland farmer's market and there was a Thai lady selling hot sauces at one of the booths. She told me her husband was from northern Thailand and that the area around Chiang Mai was very friendly, as well as a reprieve from the heat of Bangkok.

Well, that's what I think she said, anyway.

For those of you who don't know, I was born deaf. Or mostly deaf, anyway. I have a hearing aid in one ear. I can't hear anything without it. When I wear it, the world crowds in all at once, everything blurring together-- voices, music, ambient noise, the breeze, engines rumbling by. Even when there's no background noise, sounds just don't have as much clarity or definition for me as they do for others. I rely on lip-reading and gestural communication. I like loud, theatrical people who enjoy repeating themselves. A little patience doesn't hurt, either.

You can imagine the difficulties with learning a foreign language. There are sounds I can't pronounce correctly, let alone hear. Many words are very similar, and unless I have context, it's hard to tell many words apart.

Context isn't something you have when you initiate a new conversation, and it's not something you have when entering a new culture with a completely different language structure. Many Thais know at least a smattering of English (to which I'm deeply appreciative-- not many Americans seem to have much respect for others learning our language). So I should be fine, right? Not really. It's particularly difficult for me to understand people with strong accents-- not only are words pronounced differently, but more importantly, people move their lips differently. Hence, a friend of mine who might be German still retains a manner of speaking native to her homeland, causing confusion on my part.

Then of course there's the matter of the hearing aid-- if it gets wet or damaged, which is certainly a possibility, I'm without hearing altogether. I wouldn't even hear a bus coming up behind me.

Some would look at this as a disability, but those of us who are part of Deaf culture would look at this as a different perspective and a unique challenge. Sure I'm not going to understand a lot of spoken language, but I'm better than most at picking up emotional and expressive cues. I've learned to rely more on my inner senses-- my gut, mind and heart all tangled together and sending their sometimes conflicted signals of what's going on around me. I hear the world differently, but as a result, I also see, smell, taste and feel the world differently. Like any deaf person, or anyone coping with a sensory "disability", I have to.

So this is the story of my life, more or less. It's been empowering, it's been frustrating. I can guarantee numerous miscommuncations while I'm on the road, but one advantage I have is that I'm used to that. LIke many Deaf, I've been practicing at being a foreigner in my own land for a long time. In a lot of ways, it's given me the courage and curiosity to travel.

An Itinerary for Your Amusement...

Since I've had months to ruminate on the particulars of this trip, I've put together a loose itinerary of what I plan to do. When I get the wanderlust, I have the tendency to get into bull-headed, full-throttle ahead traveling mode. I get an idea of what I want to do and then I stick to it. In a lot of ways, this is the way I live my life as well, but the tradeoff is a lack of flexibility. I'll find myself spinning my wheels and standing my ground stubbornly if things don't work out. That's not what I want. I've just started doing yoga again and of course a big part of this trip is getting my brain to stretch more. If I end up following this itinerary, wonderful. If not, that's even better.

I'll be landing in Bangkok at noon on May 5th. The advantage of the daytime flight (most flights into Bangkok come in at night, I've heard) is that I can go directly to the train station and head to Ayuthaya, which is only a couple of hours north of Bangkok. I only just realized this last night, and I'm already doing some itinerary-tweaking. I'd rather save BKK's intense urban feel for last, and adjust to the inevitable culture shock in a more low-key place.

Ayuthaya, as well as Sukhothai further north, are on my list as must-sees. They are both UNESCO World Heritage sites-- the ancient Siamese kingdoms go back to the 1300's and are full of wats, temples and palaces. It's important for me to get the historical and cultural context of Thailand, and I have a fascination and a deep respect for the temples of the east after numerous amazing experiences in the temples of India and Nepal (while on the other hand, the likes of Notre Dame didn't quite have the same effect-- sorry, Europe).

North of Sukhothai I plan to go to Chiang Mai and use the city as a launching point to other northern Thai cities, such as Nan and Pai. I know a lot of people think beaches when they think Thailand, but I think of the jungles and mountainous regions of the north. After two or three weeks in that area, I hope to cross the border at Hong Xuai into Laos (see? I already said "hope"-- this itinerary is starting to get amorphous). There's a two day boat ride down the Mekong to Luang Prabang, another UNESCO site as well as an incredible backpacking destination in its own right. There are plenty of day-trips in the region to caves, small villages and the jungle. After Luang Prabang, I'll pass through Vang Vieng, which wouldn't interest me (it's so touristy now), except for the presence of an organic farm just north of town, where I just might volunteer for a week, depending on how my trip is going and whether they need me. Then it's south to Ventiane, the capital, where I'll spend a few days.

From there, I might continue south in Laos or I might cross back into Thailand and head to Cambodia for Angkor Wat and Phnom Penh. Also high on my list is Ko Chang, which is a national park and an island with beautiful beaches, thus satisfying a little bit of the beach vibe while allowing me to prove my sanity when I return to the states. (You didn't go to the beach? In Thailand?!! Are you crazy?)

There are a few other places I'd like to fit in-- more time in Cambodia, a side trip to Ho Chi Minh, a trip to Phetchaburi a few hours south of Bangkok, but I'll probably only get a chance to do the last of those three. I don't want this to be a whirlwind trip, and there's only so much I can see in 70 days. Well, feel free to laugh at this and disregard. I'm certainly very curious how my actual trip will play out.

So now I've reached the ten day countdown for flying to Bangkok. I've been enjoying the fabulous weather in Portland over the last week. This city has become so familiar to me-- and after four years, I feel it is more my "hometown" than the actual place I was born and raised. I've purchased most of my remaining supplies for the trip. Hopefully, my final pack weight will
be around 25 pounds. The only thing that could really tip the scales is books. My Lonely Planet travel guide. A novel, which I still haven't decided on yet. And my black bound notebook, which will hopefully contain a much more thorough journal than similar notebooks chronicling past travel experiences. I've been thinking a lot about India. Returning to southeast Asia is also rekindling nostalgia for my experiences studying abroad in Mysore and travelling around south India and Nepal 4 years ago. I'm saddened by the latest clashes in Kathmandu because I vividly remember my time there. I also have several friends who will be going to India this summer. I find myself imagining them going through the similar experiences of intense culture shock-- the teeming masses, the poverty, the smells, the rich history and architecture and spiritual undercurrent that is India.

Culture shock-- I'm bracing for it now. I'm incredibly excited about going to Thailand, but sometimes I wake up a bit terrified and feeling more than a little crazy. I imagine the stifling heat, the language barrier, the loneliness, the simple fact that all of my material possessions make up only 1/6th of my total body weight. The fact that I'm a deaf guy doing this alone. My most important possessions, other than the requisite passport and plastic, are my hearing aid and glasses. In other words, my senses, my consciousness, my faculties, the things that make up, on the most basic level, my life and soul. That's all for tonight...

Franzi's Existential Musings...

I've been in Portland, OR. for the last four years and that time is about to come to an end. Portland's fragrant cherry blossoms and lush greenness urge me to stay while the rain says we come and go. There are three avocadoes in the window of my girlfriend Kate's room, and the yellow overchair in the corner is piled with what amounts to my most valuable possessions for now. My immunization lists and itinerary and plane ticket for Bangkok. My paperwork for the Johns Hopkins Writing Seminars where I'll be attending next year for an MFA in fiction. And to think two months ago I was staying up late in the nights with a dark beer, dark chocolate and dark thoughts about where I'd be when the rains ended.

Since I started the MFA application process more than six months ago, it's been an introspective and uncertain time. Soon it will be an extrospective and uncertain time. I purchased my ticket for 9 weeks solo travel in SE Asia, and it's been four years since I've been abroad. I've been working to allay the usual fears: tropical illness, misplaced luggage, feverish fugues in which I find myself in a longboat to Myanmar with no recollection of my name. At least I'm not taking Lariam, which kept me up nights in India as stone devas danced the tandali on my sleep-paralyzed form...

So I'm starting this blog. Ostensibly it'll be a way for friends and family to keep up with me as I travel. I've never been a big fan of those group emails anyway. We'll see how this bloggy thing works. Do I really want to spend hours in Luang Prabang holed up in an internet cafe? (The better question would be, is the internet cafe air-conditioned and a purveyor of ice-cold Beerlao?)

I'll be flying out of Portland May 1st, two weeks from now.

Note: below is my new profile picture, from March 2007, while a first year student in the MFA program at Johns Hopkins.