LaunchPad

Over tea

  Last night I was flipping through a journal from a fews years back when I lived in Spain. This is the entry that I came across-

...As he sipped his tea, he thought back to what he had endeavored. It all seemed so far from where he was now...his heart was pulsating gently, breath relaxed, his face calm and serene- a bit weathered now, but after any great storm things are never quite the same. He sipped his tea, and became entranced by the solitary flame of the candle at his table. The flame, he imagined, was not unlike him- alone on its own journey headed toward an inevitable end. Every now and again straying from its course with every breeze that passed, yet able to shine upright, brilliantly unflinching. Until the next breeze passed.

     Home would have to be one of his stops. Home. He didn't want to think of it right now. He was here and sipped his tea, lost to the charm of his flickering companion. He was exhausted. Rest was what he really needed. The tea was simply an excuse to people-watch and hopefully find another person to talk to. Here, amidst the calm of tea and candles, he reflected upon his predicament. Time would tell...Until then, well, even until then seemed out of reach. So he sipped his tea, knowing that decisions would inevitably be made that would forever change the remainder of his journey.

For now, at least he had his candle.

"Though the sun is gone, I have a light..."

                                                       -Kurt Cobain

There's something about Mandy

"Final call for all passengers of Hawaiian Airlines Flight 696, Honolulu to Sydney."

This is it- the start of my journey. Go forward. Anything is possible! I beeline to Gate 11.

   On board, I get as cozy as I can, now faced with the prospect of nesting for the next nine hours in a seat the size of a bucket. Glancing up the aisle, endless flocks of vacationing Tommy Bahama shirts, khakis, and loafers scurry by.

   I'm in the window seat of my row, and the first to sit. Looking over to the empty seat to my right, my only hope is that, a) the person claiming this seat weighs less than 300 pounds with no body odor issues, or, b) it's simply left unoccupied, thus resolving any likely conflicts of wrestling for the armrest, or inhaling a stranger's recycled breath for the remainder of the flight.

   And then, I see her come aboard. Strikingly beautiful, black, tall, and slender...seducing her way down, row by row, to the rear of the plane (a fake blond, but pulls it off...in a way). She scans the seat numbers, and stops at my row.

Heart pounding, nervous perspiration, I pray that this is her seat.

She looks down. Our eyes meet.

Thank you!

   As she settles in, adjusting her bag, seatbelt, flipping idly through airline magazines, I can't help but steal glances from time to time to get a good look at her. Admittedly, not exactly my type, but very easy on the eyes. The soft pink blouse was a very good choice- flattering in all the right places. Legs, long and toned. Out of appreciation, I feel like burning offerings to the airline gods.

She stuffs the magazine into the seat in front of her and looks over at me. "Enjoy your time in Hawaii?" she asks smoothly, opening the door for dialogue.

-"What? Oh, yeah! It was great. I mean, I just stayed a day, actually, but I had a lotta fun." The stammering is unplanned. I'm convinced she's absolutely turned on by it. She goes for the magazine once again. Wait!

-"So, are you from Australia or just visiting?" I ask. She doesn't even have an Aussie accent.

-"Visiting. I'm from L.A. And you? Heading down under for business...or pleasure?"

I grin. "All pleasure."

-"Oooh, I know what you mean. I needed to get away! Just a few days in Sydney."

Just three days? That's strange...I mean, it takes a day just to get there.

-"God, I hate flying coach!" she moans. "Normally, I never fly unless it's business or first." She reaches down to her handbag. "But, this time I'm the one paying, so..." pulls out a bottle of pills, "thank God for Vicodin!"

She pops a couple of pills and offers me the bottle. I politely refuse.

   A few hours in, and a few more pills, she is now flying much higher than anyone else on board. Our chatter waxes and wanes parallel to her struggle to keep consciousness. "So, what did you say you did for a living?"

She smiles, reading me with glazed eyes. "I didn't."

-"Oh...so...what do y-"

-"I'm a porn star."

What a difference a day makes

June 23, 2007

  As the train wheezes its way to the northwestern city of Chiang Mai, my thoughts still linger in Bangkok. It was only a day, but one without time, expectation, or consequence.

And, in part, that is why I enjoyed it so much.

  But it was not only the sheer thrill of spontaneity that made that first day in Thailand so utterly unique. It was much more complex than that...

   It was the three of us, foreigners to a new space as well as to each other. It was the outdoor food stand where we first met- with its boiling, curried noodles, and all things deep-fried. It was the night bazaar's constant, manic blur of light and beautiful color. The clattering screams of people, taxis, and everything moving. Tthe distinct tang and decay of Kho Sahn Road. The stagnation of the air- soiled and dripping. The absence of breeze.

   It was a listless afternoon in the park, as we sought refuge from the infusion of filth and dampness of the city. It was riding in flimsy riverboat ferries, fumbling through mud-water canals- almost Venice, only crude and confused, and nothing remotely like it. It was a vague awareness that, somewhere within reach of wherever we stood, slick palms and fingers shook and agreed upon the asking price of discounted humanity.

  But above all else, however, it was such an enjoyable day simply because of the three of us. The circumstances that brought us together. The newness of our jokes, the freshness of each other's faces. And the simple fact that we were no longer alone.

  For now, we are to each other, makeshift allies, of sorts- with no other past than the shared events of the day before. Aware of freedom to disband at any moment.

  Yet deep from within, we remain united by everything about this very place that, for us, makes it foreign. It is a particular unease- some may call fear of the unknown- that holds us together.

At least for one more day.

Not the way I planned it

July 9- I was on the border of Thailand and Laos, in a cheap hotel. It was the early stages of Hepatitis A. So close to crossing over into Laos, my next destination, but so very far. So far in fact, that the next border that I actually would cross, (one week later) was out of Thailand, and non-stop back to L.A. My attempt to circumnavigate the world is postponed, for now. At least the travel insurance was a sound investment. But now that the hellish days have passed, the last remaining obstacle in my path is only the taunts from friends reminding me that it was, perhaps, a stranger's fecal matter, mixed with a little bit of soy sauce and Phad Thai, that led me down this hole. I showed my friend, Mike, these pics.  "Ha! You look like shit, Andre! Well, I guess it's true what they say- you really are what you eat."

Do I look like I'm laughing?

Crocodile Bobby

   

May 2007, Cairns   

    My birthday. I'm alone. No friends or family. Cake? Forget it. Presents? Please. Don't kid yourself. It's just me. 

Good grief, Charlie Brown.

    My location - Cairns, Australia, gateway to the one of Earth's seven natural wonders- the Great Barrier Reef.

    What am I doing here? I'm looking for my way onto a boat, a ship, a yacht, a dingy, whatever. Just as long as it floats. I've only just begun my journey to circumnavigate the globe and have a month to kill before my next destination: Bali. 

So, on this very blessed day of my 24th blessed year, I find myself in the land of Oz, wandering the avenues of a town in the northeastern corner of the continent. Cairns itself is rather uninspiring. So I waste no time. I need a vessel. Walking up and down the streets of the town center, scanning bulletin boards and fliers on walls and storefronts, I read signs, "For Sale", "Wanted", "Driving North?", "Driving South?" "Need a lift?", "Looking for a lift", "Piano lessons?", "Wanna buy a parrot?" (okay, the last one I made up). Midst paper chaos, I spot a small notice that reads, "Looking for one single guy, and a "Lady". Skipper (60's) heading North. Contact Bob." 

Gold! 

I dial him up. "Um, hi, I'm calling about your "crew wanted" ad.

A voice croaks, "Yup. Come on down to the ol' yacht club, mate. I'll be takin' the piss."

-"Um, okay. Wait, uh, 'the piss'?"

Click.