Barf Bag Musings

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  Chumphon, Thailand
Saturday, May 7, 2011

*these stories were written on the outside of an [unused] barf bag during flight 3797 from Delhi to Bangkok.

 Lightening Storm
As our plane started ascending, there was a lightening storm in the distance. It started out as a compact, powerful heartbeat - focused in a small area with a concentrated, bright light that looked like the dead center of a roman candle flame. Then as our plane gained elevation the lightening storm grew and spread until it almost looked like the billowing bursts of light couldn't decide which part of the cloud plains to illuminate.
The lights bounced around the city of clouds in an almost circular rhythm, with the kind of jumbled speed saved for the grand finale of a fireworks display or the dropping of bombs on distant, unnamed cities.
I sat above, perched in my little plane, watching the insides of great mountainous plumes of smoke receive shocks of searing white light, the kind that accompanies blue at the highest temperatures. All of this performed to the inaudible and uneven beat of the deep, sudden pfoom pfoom pfoom sound that emanates from a base drum when kicked. 
 Being above the clouds and seeing their great looming castles revealed under fluorescent flashes made me think they look like their own little worlds. 
The countryside of clouds below, our little plane in the middle, and the stars above--geez, that unbridled force of nature can sure stop you in your tracks when you're least expecting it. Must've stared at the entire theatrical performance for close to an hour -- and it was free! (minus the cost of the plane ticket). Makes me remember how little I am.
And then poof! Before you know it you're humming along again into the infinite night - no vibrant shoots of current but rather only the deepest color of blue imaginable - the kind you find staring down into a well or at a sheet of dark navy construction paper. 


 Cloak Room
  The last story from my memory's collection which I have entitled: "Well played, India". So Fran and I got stuffed into a cloak room for a night (our cheap, stubborn minds making us drunk with willingness). Only a fan and a window fit for a dungeon, the room rose to an unpleasant 95 degrees by midnight.
Fran has the uncanny ability to sleep through temperatures rivaling the Sahara desert, but I'm a wimp and therefore spent my time tossing and turning, and thus keeping Fran awake. Well she finally caved too, and we slumped into the white plastic lawn chairs dotting the open air rooftop. This was around 1:30 am, and we spent the rest of the night talking and counting the number of cat-sized black rats running their errands along the perimeters of the rectangle terrace, stopping occasionally midway to remember something they left at home. They would scale down the drain pipe, run across the cracked tile, creep into the toilets that lined the wall by our room, and then out and up onto the roof, darting between neglected potted plants, whose scraggly veins lay parched and porous from the baking sun.
  As the night wore on we grew more delusional - our conversation blending into a fantastic array of nonsensical exclamations and laughter. Then a familiar memory came over me and I sat and watched as the world began to wake up. I do not get this opportunity often - I usually don't make it through to see the sunrise, and therefore this experience is of a rare, and therefore more cherished, form. In fact the only other memory I have is laying on my rooftop in Isla Vista watching the sky lighten blues.
Besides the fading of the sky, this is mostly an auditory experience. Except for minor differences, it possesses the same qualities wherever you go in the world. It always starts with the animals, then the light, then the people. In America, it was the "fwap, fwap" of the newspapers hitting wet pavement and the rhythmic sound of the garbage truck inhaling and exhaling down the street that reminded me there was life on earth.
   In India, it starts with the birds. Just a few early risers, distinguishing the silence with their own unique song. Then this gets muddled by the uneven, competing frequencies of calls that follow. Following suit come the dogs - first a few brave ones barking away the night, then entire packs dotted throughout the city, seemingly miles away. My brother said this happens in Haiti too.
Then the people start: a man coughs and spits, a woman pours water into a bucket while humming, a single car speeds brazenly down the street. Then the street stalls open up - you hear the sharp sizzle of potato meeting grease and the sparkling whistle of a man working at his own pace. Groups of schoolboys, three or so, laugh in their blue, pin striped uniforms as they scoot through an alley only locals know on their way to school.
The rats are retired and I'm wishing I could do the same. The only thing keeping me awake is the realization that I am enjoying the rare gift of seeing the day unfold...an opportunity I so seldom have, and one that happens only on the most unexpected occasions.   
 
 We are currently in THAILAND, which is amazingly beautiful and exactly the type of place I want to be right now. Huge lush green jungles everywhere, making nature primary and inhabitation secondary, embroidered with waterways resembling bayous and lagoons, and bordered with tropical beaches boasting bleach blonde sand and turquoise water.
Everyone here is very friendly and helpful and always smiling. Upon arriving in lazy, countryside Chumphon, we had no idea where we were going, and two very nice gentlemen gave us rides on their motorbikes to the pier where we booked our ferry. Then we sat at this little wooden restaurant overlooking the water and watched fishing boats trudge by and bugs skim across the murky glass top. Everything is very slow and laid back here - I feel like I'm on vacation! I guess I kind've am. 
 We are taking the night ferry to the island of Ko Tao tonight -I'm excited to sleep under the stars!

  

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