the grind

I try to never lose sight of what an amazing experience it is here. I meet a ton of the friendliest people every day. Being a big white guy gets you near celeb status when you are in non-touristy areas. I have moved out of my hotel room in the the budget travel area Pham Ngu Lao, which is the local equivalent of Kao San Road. If you havent been to Bangkok, this is the backpacker street that’s a bit of a joke, with so many westerners, each toting a lonely planet and sporting a t-shirt with an ironic message or wearing a sarong but still looking not the least bit local.

The residential area where I share a cute 3 story house with a Vietnamese guy named Hai, a French dude named Simon and his local girlfriend Me, is just 5 minutes over the bridge from the city center, but that’s far enough to remove me from any kind of kitsch shops. It also lessens the possibility of anyone I meet speaking a lick of English. For this reason ive elected to take a course in Vietnamese at the local University. That still leaves quite a few spare hours in my sparsely filled day, but with class prep for the 3 classes I teach and the countless hours of practice that learning a new language will require, ill be lucky if I am able to squeeze in a yoga class every few days.

I was getting a social life together, when a guy on a motorbike snatched the iphone out of my hand mid conversation. I shouted and chased in his direction for a few strides before the bike was lost in the throngs of traffic. I plan to replace the pricey phone that makes you an obvious target with something considerably cheaper, but it may take me a while to build up a new set of numbers.

Nights are a little tricky. it’s not like I know a ton of people, so as night falls, I usually settle into one of the thousands of street kiosks which take over the entire sidewalk forcing pedestrians into the perilous roads. These mom and pop restaurants set up nightly with dozens of crappy little stools that are more suited to a child than someone my size. The things are flimsy and strain under my weight, but so far, I haven’t completely embarrassed myself by shattering one. A good meal can be had for a buck or two, and soup is appropriate fare for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Pho, the noodle soup you can get in the states for about $7 is a safe bet, if you make sure they understand that you dont want any of the mystery parts like pigs ears, intestines or other gross looking shit. Another great choice is the sour fish soup with tomatoes and something that looks like bamboo, but is edible. Theres another one with phosphourescent cubes of tofu floating in it.

While this satisfies my hunger, I still feel the need to do something where conversation with someone might be possible. A handful of super trendy clubs have pricey cover charges and drinks to match. While I normally prefer hole in the wall joints where you can actually hear what the person you are talking to is saying, I went to a fancy schmantzy place sat night. The Cage sounded like the kind of place that might have a goth decor and one of those human cages suspended from cables with semi-clads dancing like at Limelight, the NYC church turned disco that was hugely popular in the 80’s. This place was far more subdued, Bamboo birdcages hanging everywhere, with chandeliers suspended inside them. A cool look I may want to borrow if I ever decide to decorate my place with a 1930s French colonial “indochine” look. The music was actually pretty decent, the DJ working hard to mix some interesting beats, not once playing anything annoying like “tonight’s going to be a good night”, Acon or Lady Gaga. Probably why there wasn’t much of a crowd.

None in fact. Tough break for a club that could easily support 200 to have just a dozen or so. There were 3 women in the place, but all pretty glued to the man standing beside them, and one by one, they were the first to exit. Half a dozen dudes were all that remained, leaning against the bar and staring dumbly at the empty dance floor. Just then the front door opened and a couple of groups piled in, not exactly filling the dance floor but at least reminding you what it was there for. While this made the place feel more like a club, these tight-knit groups were pretty inpenatratable. When a couple of pretty local girls walked in and seemed enthusiastic about the music, sitting alone but doing a bit of chair dancing, I went over to see if they spoke a word or two of my mother tongue. Turns out, they could speak several words, but you really need to listen well to understand someone with an accent, so the pro sound system didn’t provide the best backdrop. I just smiled to everything they said just as they probably did whenever I attempted to communicate. Not a minute into the conversation, Lili got super friendly and I would be a liar to say I didn’t enjoy her wandering hands and the total grind session you dont generally get for your first go on the dancefloor. But where do you go from here if you wont take home a working girl? She wrote her number on my hand, where it remained the remainder of the night while I slept. I glanced at it once more in the morning before stepping in the hot shower.

Metalica

The name of the bar I found just around the corner from work, a super dull neighb by day, a computer district with place after place selling nearly identical shit. But at night, a half dozen cafes, a couple of enticing restaurants and the place I'm in which is rocking out transform the area.

Ok, rocking out might not be the right term, the band was doing "how deep is your love" when I walked in. but now their doing their better material, grunge era stuff like "can u take me higher" by Creed, Alice in Chains and the like.

They don't have Carlsberg Beer I ordered, and I hate to order the Mexican or American imports they serve for top dollar, so I go for their signature cocktail, expecting something with more balls, but I'm disapointed again. The martini glass is adorned with a marachino cherry, and the drink captures the medicinal flavor as well as chalky consistency of kaopectate. Yummy. Price of this must to avoid cocktail is 88,000, or as i often use to guage cost, the same cost as a sushi dinner.

The cute asian front girls nail J.LO's "lets get loud", but the keyboard sounds more like the accordion from our elementary schools music teacher, Michael Berle. Band speaks English perfectly, tho with a certain accent I can't place, prolly from the Philippines or Singapore. Dressed in short shorts and metalic boots, they are nice eye candy and the place starts to fill. But other than a single mixed table, it's all dudes, making this place which already takes it's decor tips from stripper bars, with its all black/grey decor (hides stains) look even more like a place where change is given in singles. just install a brass pole.

A ten minute drum solo is prolly not what u expect in the middle of "rolling on the river", but they deliver a dubble portion of ear shattering percussion. Bon jovies "it's my life" follows. A fave at clubs, the type of song that DJs will switch off the volume and get huge audience participation. Not even near my top 10, but at least it's not "po-po-po-popoker face". Who the fuck is Lady Gaga, and more importantly, why do chicks have the absolute WORST taste in music! Most annoying song on the airwaves since Rihannas "my umbrella"

So this is going to make me sound like a geezer, but I sware the volume they're covering Tina Turner at is doing irreperable damage to my eardrums, and rattling some of my internal organs. Wonder if u can even get earplugs in this country. Today, I watched a shirtless man prying at the rebar holding the tiny cement ledge he was standing on. He was only on the 2nd floor so the fall probably wouldn't kill him, but safety is not a major preocupation.

Bands taking a break and I'm relieved momentarily, but then Modannas "like a prayer" super remix, with added bone shakin' bass comes on. Shit, just when I thought Id check if the blood running out of my ears was of any concern. I am forced to stop tapping on the phone keyboard and literally put my fingers in my ears. Just as I make it to the door, they start to belt out a reasonably believable Cocaine by Clapton. It's definitely hit and miss here, with a range as wide as a karaoke club, spanning the full range between Janice Joplin and Dolly Parton. And like the popular Asian pastime, the more you drink, the better it starts to sound.