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Of course, one never thinks much about censorship unless either 1) in a political/philosophical university class or 2) being, in fact, censored.

And, at present, I’m both. China has attracted a bit of press attention (that terrible, backwards Communist state! oh my! (note the sarcasm)) for censoring large segments of the internet– anything from pornography to potentially subversive politics is liable to get filtered by China’s much-hyped firewalls.

What the press fails to mention, however, is that China isn’t unique in its attempts to limit the scope of the World-Wide-Web. No– although not as extreme as China– Thailand censors all in-bound internet traffic as well.

Being an especially conservative society, it’s not surprising that pornographic material is filtered– no where in South-East Asia is television more prevalent than Thailand, but it should be noted that American movie and music channels are filtered for offensive language, nudity, violence, and even the wrong brand of cigarettes. Alas, I’m unable access my favorite website– www.sex.com– which, although I’ve never actually been to, I inevitably had to try to visit after reading that I couldn’t. Sure enough: “Access Denied. Your system was configured to deny access to this URL.Because this url was and improper/obscene website.” (the type-os are accurate).

In addition to pornographic material, however, certain websites degrading the royal monarchy, part of a Separatists movement, and those websites that are economically advantageous for bankers and businessmen in Thailand to buy off government officials to block.

It’s funny– riding on the bus the other day, I looked out the window as the bus was passing a huge, ornate compound. The imposing sign by the guarded gate read: “Royal Thai Ministry of Counter Corruption.” Yeah. Right.

In Chiang Mai, there’s a wonderful city ordinance, according to my Lonely Planet, that prohibits the construction of buildings taller than 4 stories within 200 yards of any wat, park, or historical place. The design was to preserve city’s skyline, and has been mostly successful, except for a hotel or two that was able to pay the right price to the right official to have this little ordinance overlooked.

Along these lines… I’m told that “all the garbage Bangkok produces is recycled.” I’m told that everything is sorted, and then recycled appropriately, so “feel free to throw everything in the trash.” But I don’t buy that. Let’s look at it this way: a sprawling, urban metropolis, long on impoverished people, and short on infrastructure, with approximately the population of New York City proper (Bangkok has, at last estimate, 7 million people to NYC-proper’s 8 million, although some sources put Bangkok’s population at a disconcertingly vague “5 to 10 million people– what? we know that in 1993 there were 8,335 elk in Yellowstone National Park, a rather exact figure, but Bangkok’s population is only known within a figure of oh, say, 5 million people??!). Anyhow. Recycling. So here’s what’s proposed: in the developing industrial center of Bangkok, Thailand, there exists a recycling program vastly superior to any found in the United States? Maybe I’m just mis-informed. Maybe recycling isn’t expensive. Maybe it’s more economically feasible than raping the surrounding countryside for new raw materials. Maybe no capitalist has figured out how to turn a quick dollar on saving the environment in the United States, so we lag behind Thailand in terms of recycling…

Somehow I doubt it. To me, “everything is sorted offsite and recycled” sounds a lot like the Royal Thai government announcing to the people “don’t worry, just keep consuming and expanding industry. Feel free to throw everything away– we’re taking care of it.” Which actually means “expanding our capital base and industry is our greatest concern. We’ll worry about the environment later– for the time being, let’s just get some money flowing in to the economy while we bury millions of tons of trash in the countryside or dump it in the ocean… near Singapore… ooh, yes! Near Singapore! What an insidious plan!”

I would look into the question a little, but I somehow doubt I’m going to be able to find something in Thammasat’s limited library that says “actually, it’s all just a big lie.” The media and press in Thailand is self-censoring, much like the American movie industry under the Production Code.

I guess I’m just a conspiracy theorist at heart. Or I’m skeptical about the fact that a country that can’t remember if it counted Bangkok’s population by ones or by twos (was it five million … or TEN million?) has a recycling system that exceeds the United States’.

Well, forgive me. I didn’t mean to go off on a meaningless tirade like that. What I had meant to do was write a bit about my trip up to Chiang Mai. So here goes:

-I took an overnight train from Bangkok to Chiang Mai

The train was comfortable and an efficient way to travel– I spent a few hours awake reading, and then turned in for the night, and woke up the next morning well rested and twenty minutes from my destination– any other form of transportation, and you lose a day in travel time.

-When I arrived, I immediately met up with my trekking group, and we set off for the countryside outside of Chiang Mai. We hiked for ~5 hours through jungle, rice paddies and bamboo forest before arriving in a hill tribe village where we stayed the night.

-The next day I woke up early and was guided to another hill-tribe village where I met up with a different group. We were out of the jungle and into the countryside by 1:00PM.

-The first stop was bamboo rafting, which was quite a thrill. It was quite a bit more mild than white-water rafting, but there’s an element of “I’m floating down a river on six bamboo trees” that a rubber raft just doesn’t have.

-After the bamboo rafting, my group and I went on an elephant ride, which was absolutely a thrill. That Hannibal crossed the Alps with an army of elephants in 218BCE is a feat beyond comprehension– we went no more than a mile, and the elephants, eating a vast amount of food along the way, begrudged every step.

-After returning to Chiang Mai and showering up, I rented a 125cc motorbike, took a brief tour of the city, and then retired to my hotel to wait out the rain.

-After waiting out the rain, I went out to try to find Chiang Mai’s Night Bazzar (perhaps the single largest tourist trap in the world) and found myself stranded by the rain a second time– this time retreating under the awning of some random building down some dark alley– the fist escape from the rain I came to.

And can I say something? American’s don’t know the first thing about rain. And that’s a fact– I sure didn’t, but believe me: I’m learning quick. Imagine a rain storm that has half the drama of a thunderstorm, twice the volume of rain, and ten times the duration. That’s just the start of a monsoon shower. I spent upwards of a full hour under the awning while the heavens dumped, in a steady, determined manner, an ocean or two of water on to Chiang Mai. There wasn’t any wind or massive thunder or impressive lightning strikes. There wasn’t even the massive torrents of pelting, cold water that characterizes Western thunderstorms. No, it was simply a slow crescendo of rain starting at a light patter and peaking at a steady downpour that lasted for no less than 30 minutes before it began to subside. I’ve never seen so much water.

After an hour or so of waiting, a kind Thai emerged from the building I was hiding by, handed me a disposable raincoat, smiled, and walked off. I can’t say how many times I’ve been touched by the random generosity and kindness of many of the Thais I have encountered… but many of them are so amazingly kind and eager to help.

As if that wasn’t enough kindness, however, later on that night a Thai woman who barely spoke a marginal amount of English drove me around Chiang Mai for a half hour, looking in vain for a gas station that was open past 10:00PM. Hmm… but let me back up a little.

Apparently, as one of those surprising features of Thai culture, Thai vehicles do not require gasoline after 10:00PM. Vehicles rented to foreigners, however, do not contain this mystical power. This is my conclusion, anyway, from the fact that all gas stations in Thailand cease selling gasoline at 10:00PM. Yeah. So what do you do if you need gas at, oh, say 11:00PM, if, oh, say, it didn’t even occur to you that your rental vehicle might have been rented to you with little more than fumes in the gas tank? Well, if you’re me, you start pushing your gasless motorbike until you find a gas station. Or, in my case, you find yourself flabbergasted by the selfless generosity of another Thai, who, even though she barely could speak a word of my language, saw a foreigner pushing a motorbike down a street late a night and decided that she wanted to help. Not wanting to be a burden, I initially tried to decline her offer, but she was insistent, and I… was grateful. I parked and locked my cycle, and she gave me a ride all over Chiang Mai looking for a gas station that was open. None were.

Her name is Nan, and she’s a 30-something single woman who makes her living by managing the wholesale import of souvenirs. Ironically, she lives in the same district of Bangkok as I do, but she happened to be in Chiang Mai on a business trip. Or at least this is what I gathered from our broken conversation.

Eventually we despaired, and she drove me back to my bike, which I resolved to push back to my apartment and refuel in the morning. I thanked Nan as best as I could, and once she saw that I was taken care of and on my way, she drove off.

There was no reason why she should have stopped in the first place, and no reason why she should have been persistent in trying to help me. But she was. And I’m still rather taken aback by that. Obviously, I have something to learn from the people I’m surrounded by here. Perhaps we all do.

I saw Cardigan Welsh Corgi nearly killed in traffic tonight. Walking back from dinner, I looked out into the street just in time to see the dog stop in the middle of four oncoming lanes. The cab didn’t even slow down. Boom. Somehow, after a little summersault and crawling it made it into the next lane of traffic. At least the second car tried to slow down, but in Bangkok’s traffic… boom. Another summersault. And then the distraught owner was there, picking it up and rushing to the vet clinic where, apparently, it had escaped en route to. Even after being hit after by the second car, it never yelped, despite being very much alive.

So there. It’s out. Do I feel any better? No. Not at all. There’s your happy, the world is round and perfect image for the evening.

-Fortunately, a gas station I walked past kept a small reserve of gas in a plastic bottle under the counter for destitute idiots such as myself. For about twice the price of daytime gasoline(highway robbery, to be sure, but at that point I would have given my first born son for a half litre of petro (not being one for primogeniture, anyway)), I procured for myself a litre of pure 91 octane gas-o-line. I must have used half of it driving around in the sheer ecstasy of being able to drive around, before I finally returned to my lodge.

-The next day I got up, saw a few temples, and drove into the local hills to see … another temple. But I’m so glad I did. The hills were absolutely beautiful– trees, elevation, all that good stuff, and while I was at the top, the quintessential, oriental mist settled around the top of the mountains, hiding the world in erie, white uncertainty.

-Gravity rocks. I drove the entire way down (15km or so) in neutral. In other words, I rode a motorcycle for 15km without actually using the engine. I even managed to pass a couple trucks on the way down. I could have been on a bicycle.

And I guess that’s about it. I returned my rental, had dinner, and returned to the train station, and made it back to Bangkok in time for class Tuesday morning. It was a great trip.

I really enjoyed Chiang Mai, especially. It struck me as being to Bangkok as Jackson must be to New York City– certainly it was rather touristy, but at the same time it was surrounded by mountains, had a number of nice parks, and was generally a clean and attractive city. Although I’m sure it was present, the poverty wasn’t nearly as visible. The pollution was still a problem, but at least the streets were clean.

And that was my trip.

Goodness, that was a long post.

As you might surmise by the recent lack of posts, I went to Chiang Mai for the weekend. I had a fabulous time, and shot entirely too many photos, but time does not allow me greater detail at the moment.

This was taken, before slighy modification, at Wat Phrathat Doe Suthep Rajoravihara outside Chiang Mai:

Download Image: 800×600 :: Full Image

Bangkok is growing on me.

It really is.

I couldn’t say exactly why– only that, as I walked over the Pinklao bridge on my way home tonight, I found myself feeling some sort of affection for the city. And I can only imagine that this feeling will grow ever the next nine months.

Where else, after all, can you go to a milk & bread bar like the one I went to with some friends after class today? The premise is simple: the shop serves different types of milk (sweetened, chocolate, etc) and various types of toast.

From left to right: Bread with yellow custard on top, bread with green custard on the side, toast with butter, sugar and cinnamon, toast with condensed milk and cinnamon, toast with pineapple jam and bread with chocolate spread. My coffee, sweetened with condensed milk, was very tasty.

Speaking of foods, as per various recommendations I’ve received, I have tried the following foods:
-Leches (mmm!)
-Phad Thai (not remarkably tasty, but probably more due to the chef than the dish)
-Green coconut (ha!–)

There’s a small park-ish area across the river from my apartment (10 minutes away walking, 5 jogging) where I’ve put up my line three of the last four days. Josh has gone with me twice, and he’s slowly improving. The Thais’ reactions have been just outstanding. A lot come and watch for a while, and then eventually wander off. Tonight I met Aat, who sells flowers for a living. He wandered into the park, watched me for a while, walked off, and eventually came back to stay and watch and, in his own fashion, cheer. Aat, like two others before him, was willing to try it, but after only a few shaky steps holding my arm, he laughing gave up, saying “it’s very difficult!” Yesterday, I was offered Thai whiskey by four old guys who watched, sitting around, talking, smoking and drinking whiskey out of water bottles, and tonight received a free massage out of the deal (a little sketch, but hey– it was a good massage! It’s all part of the experience, I suppose).

Of course, I shouldn’t be surprised by the generosity I’ve been shown. Thai culture is one that makes offering to figures they respect or revere. I visited a museum last weekend that where the entire second floor was just filled with various offerings to the Emerald Buddha– thousands of ornate Buddha images made out of precious metals, and other pricey handicrafts, all left as tribute to the Buddha. And that was just one temple– with thousands and thousands of little offering. And Bangkok has several hundred wats. The aforementioned flowers that Aat sell are for one purpose only: leaving as offerings in front of Buddha images.

Curiously, (like hobbits, I suppose… heh, too much LOTR!) the Thais seem not to have much sense of adventure. Of the few that I’ve managed to encourage into trying it, none have been willing to risk a fall or try it a second time. One, using a tree, didn’t even make it all the way on to the line before he gave up. Of the Americans I’ve introduced to slacklining, I can’t think of any who gave up after a single try, and only the most bland of individuals have refused all-together. Most Americans seem willing to fall and otherwise risk injury and sterility and to do so repeatedly until they improve.

Of course, Bangkok, population seven million, probably has fewer car accidents in a day than Wyoming, population 450,000. Correlation? God only knows.

or Bangkok, Closed City. Or Bangkok, Symphony of a Staggering City. Anyone recognize the theme?

I saw the sun today for the first time since I arrived in Bangkok. And blue sky, above the city’s skyline. Blue sky. Sun. And suddenly streets were a little less dirty. The river, a little less drear. The city, a little more friendly. A little more livable. A little more likeable. And that’s so important.

To describe just the experience of walking for just a block along any given street would take volumes, I think, and be entirely inadequate. A hundred photo albums, I think, would come no closer to the mark of describing– communicating– what it is to be in Bangkok– to see its sights, hear its sounds, smell its smells…

Goodness, the smells. Never before have I encountered such a diverse olfactory experience. The smells are everywhere in the street. Some are decidedly pleasant. And some are decidedly unpleasant. And most are entirely indeterminable. In a city with so much water, the smells are inevitable. In a city with so many people, the smells are inevitable. In a city with such richness of culture, of culinary mastery, the smells are inevitable. The smells of chicken, fish, flour frying in oil, cooking over one of a million little grills… the smells of stagnant water, mingling with the smells of wood turning green and trash turning black, mingling kids growing, playing and laundry washing, drying, and parents getting old, sinking into sunken chairs, staring out into the rushing street from their anonymous garage stores and food stands. The smells of a thousand tuk-tuks spraying their toxic fumes on to the streets, and a thousand trees, choking to clean the air. The smells of a thousand bodies on a sidewalk. Some perfumed. Some unwashed. Some with hands folded over head, face pressed to the pavement next to their empty coin cup, begging in abject misery. Humiliated– hungry beyond humiliation. Smelling of the streets.

The locals say not to give to beggars. The locals say that begging in Bangkok is mob controlled. The locals, I think, are embarrassed. Embarrassed by their brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, begging in the street. And how do you say he has no legs? And how do you say her cheek is larger than my fist, and hanging below her chin? …her face looks like bloated, melted wax? I say “so be it.” I say let the mob control begging. They say the mob is corruption, exploitation. But I say the mob is structure, security, stability. The mob is a promise that, for a small price today, there will be food tomorrow. Even if selfishly, maybe the mob looks out for those everyone else just tries to brush by. The man who’s only leg is swollen to a pale white, and covered in sores and pustules… I can afford to make his cup jingle. Her cup jingle. For fifty-cents a day, a mob member can eat. Such a small price to pay.

But most of all the smells. The billowing cloud behind that in-need-of-repair bus that settles like fog on the sidewalks vendors and the sinking grandparents in anonymous garage grocery stores. Smoke an incinerated-hydrocarbon cigarette. Smoke a pack a day. Breathe deep. Take in that black lung.

Wide open spaces. Yeah. “Wide open spaces,” laughed Josh today. I have a picture of those. I know what they’re like. I’ve walked them. I’ve driven them. I’ve worshiped them. I’ve hated them. But what about that man? No, more likely, the only thing he’s seen is the concrete– endless miles of concrete, just like the concrete he pushes his face to now, begging for my loose change. Change. Change. Change.

Have I gone on long enough about the poverty? Have I gone on long enough about the pollution? Have I gone on long enough about the smells? no– i must write volumes. i must fill pages and pages and pages. until i understand. until i comprehend. until my heart breaks. until the tears well up inside me and burst forth, washing away the filth and grime and pavement, leaving a beautiful, changed Bangkok… beggars swept away by the riches, smells purged by pain, rotten timber to ashes and dust…

Or perhaps I’ve gone on too long.

“Welcome to Bangkok. Drink lots of beer,” he says to me. He said to me. But the abject, they have no beer. So let them drink wine, right?