07 JULY 2014
SOPHISTICATED ROGUE TRAVEL TIP #1©
DATELINE: SAN FRANCISCO.
SOPHISTICATED ROGUE TRAVEL TIP #1©
DATELINE: SAN FRANCISCO.
I’m screwed.
I’m about to take a long trip. The trip is part of a larger plan about getting more work done, taking risks, life fulfillment, blah blah stopBillyfortheloveofPetestop. Anyway. It’s a big move, one I’ve been thinking about for a long time, and my realizations and expectations for the journey have been hitting me ever since I finally committed to it in my mind, ever since I finally said to myself, “You’re doing this,” last fall.
One of those expectations is, I’m expecting to be in a lot of places-
(This blog is gonna have a lot of obvious statements. Endure them, please.)
-and it’s a given that there will be times when I’m in a certain place, and I’m lost. For Chrissakes-
(This blog is gonna have swearing. I would ask you to endure it, but I honestly feel you should get over it, and actually, that you should enjoy it. (shrug))
(This blog is gonna have stage directions.)
-for Chrissakes, part of the reason I’m taking this trip in the first place is, I’m lost. So I knew I would be in exotic cities around the world, cities like Singapore and Beijing and Dubai and Barcelona and Buenos Aires and, uh, Monterrey, Mexico, and I needed to get used to feeling lost and feeling okay with being lost, that I wouldn’t be able to know where I was or where I was going every single moment in every single city through which I travelled…
I didn’t expect, however, the first city where I was beset with that feeling to be frickin’ San Jose, California, United States of America.
(eye roll) Jesus.
I flew into San Jose after a lovely visit with my brother and his family in Boise, with the plan to take public transportation to San Francisco. I wanted to spend a nice evening in one of my favorite cities, an American city I knew, before I embarked on this journey and found myself in places of which I knew nothing for the next nine months. I wanted to take a walk alone, find a nice, quiet restaurant to have dinner by myself, and simply relax before the adventure began, all in a city that gave me comfort…
…and I did, more than an hour later than planned, because I can’t a)read a goddamn sign or b)distinguish my left from my right.
First, I got onto a light-rail train in uh, “downtown” San Jose and went south when I should’ve gone north, prompting the first innovation this journey has prompted - there should be a corollary to the “walk of shame” (don’t pretend you don’t know) called the “disembark of shame” for when someone gets on at one train stop, only to get off at the next stop so he can walk across the tracks and go right back in the direction from whence he came. So that cost me forty minutes.
Second, I almost got on the right bus going in the wrong direction until the bus driver convinced me that he actually knew more about the bus’s route than I did. By the time he had me persuaded, by pointing at the bus stopped RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET from where I was, I had missed that bus - that departed RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET - and that cost me another half-hour. Which brings me to what I hope to be a regular feature of this blog:
SOPHISTICATED ROGUE’S TRAVEL TIP #1©*:
“Chances are excellent that the bus driver knows more about where you’re going than you do.”
and its sub-tip…
SOPHISTICATED ROGUE’S TRAVEL TIP #1a©:
“Arguing with the bus driver is frequently counterproductive.”
I can’t even make it forty miles in the Bay Area without getting lost. I’m gonna be able to handle India and Ecuador? (sigh, rubs forehead)
So. I’m screwed. Pray for me. Include it in your prayers to get me to stop swearing, if you wish.
Eventually, I did get to San Francisco, got my walk, got my dinner, and got my first, “Wait? You just up and quit your fuckin’ job?” from a skeptical bartender. So I will call yesterday a measured success. My desire is for that judgment to hold for the next nine months.
For those interested, my goal for this trip is to travel around the world. Deliberately, I’ve made only three “hard points” for the trip - well, I guess five “hard points”, including the beginning and end points, which I guess one cannot avoid when taking a trip. I’m thinking of them as clothespins hanging the trip on a line, perhaps a dirty clothesline tied between two tenement buildings high over a street in a cartoon taking place in Depression-Era New York City. (shrug) Whatever helps, dude.
First clothespin is San Francisco. Tonight I leave SFO - that’s AIRPORT CODE for San Francisco Airport - for the second clothespin, Sydney, Australia. The image of me sitting still in an enclosed space for fifteen hours should amuse many of you who once employed and/or dated me. I plan to purchase a third and fourth clothespin in the form of a flight from Lisbon, Portugal to Rio de Janeiro on February 1, 2015. So basically, I’ll need to figure out a way to get from Sydney to Lisbon in seven months. Fifth and final clothespin is, I’d like to have a birthday dinner (April 17, 2015) at this restaurant in New Orleans, Gautreau’s, mainly ‘cause it has a bench outside a picture window and I want a cool-ass picture taken of me sitting on said bench.
A needlessly romantic imagined image to go with a needlessly romantic and overambitious plan, to be certain. A plan which I’ll fail to achieve in its conceived schematic, no doubt. But whatever. We’ll see what happens. Every creative project becomes something different from its imagined form, is what I’ve found and grown to enjoy over the years. This is no different. I enter into this with the hope that when it is done, it’s a creative project of meaning.
Logistics:
-This is the website. You’re here, obviously. I dunno, bookmark it? Don’t mind that you can’t comment on posts? Cherish it?
-I have started a Twitter account specifically for the trip: @Rogue_Trip. Don't forget the underscore. Follow that for updates, notifications, little random tidbits and mini-bites, etc., and holy shit, please tell other people to follow it. My God, if a couple months go by and I’m trying find free wi-fi in the jungle in order to post stuff for a mere 53 people, I might just disappear into the Indian Ocean (or the Pacific Ocean, or the fourth dimension, YOU DON’T KNOW IT COULDN’T HAVE HAPPENED, DO YOU?) like that Malaysian Air jet (not a legitimate threat). I may be re-tweeting links from @Rogue_Trip, but I will not be posting trip-related stuff on my personal Twitter account.
-If you haven’t “liked” the Sophisticated Rogue Media Facebook page, please do that. I’m looking to use that more than my personal page, for updates related to the trip. Don’t give me that look; that’s branding, buddy. Yeah, I’ve got a plan for that. My personal Facebook page is most likely gonna be less-used, at this point.
So if you’re up for it, please follow along. I’m excited about this, and it’d be nice if you read this blog as I go. I’ve got some ideas for what form it will take, but married to nothing other than maintaining it in a regular way. So keep checking back to see just how it begins to form, please.
Take care. I have to make sure getting to SFO is a straight shot on the BART…
*SOPHISTICATED ROGUE’S TRAVEL TIPS© are meant to be for entertainment purposes only. The title of the tips, the tips themselves, and in fact the sobriquet “Sophisticated Rogue” itself are meant to be ironic, wry, and in no way literal, and if you don’t know that by now, well, (sigh), Jesus, c’mon, dude…
09 JULY 2014:
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE -
"BUS RIDE TO BIRCHGROVE"
INT. 441 BUS - BIRCHGROVE, SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA - 11am
(BILL sits on a bus, trying to keep his backpack from falling off its seat while he watches a Chinese-Australian MOTHER, who sits between her son (9?) and daughter (8?) in the “Priority Seating” up front. The SON presses both hands repeatedly against the bus window, checking the prints his hands leave, while the DAUGHTER, wearing a page haircut, a purple hoodie with pink & silver butterflies on the front, and big, black, block eyeglasses, tugs at her mother’s fleece.)
DAUGHTER: Mommy, I want an iPad. I need an iPad. I need it. I know you said it’s gonna hypnotize me. But it won’t hypnotize me. It won’t, Mommy. It’s not gonna hypnotize me. I won’t let it hypnotize me. I won’t. Mommy. Mommy. It will not hypnotize me. Don’t worry.
(The mother, staring straight ahead, says nothing.)
09 JULY 2014:
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE -
"SYDNEY"
EXT. BIRCHGROVE FERRY STOP, SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA - 8:54am
(BILL stands on the worn wooden dock, waiting for the 9am ferry to Circular Quay. He puts his earbuds in; Radiohead plays softly. He looks around at the green hills surrounding the water. An OLD MAN walks down the steep stone staircase to join him on the dock. Wearing a blue flannel shirt tucked into grey gym shorts and a large straw gardening hat, the man acknowledges Bill with a slight pivot of his forehead before stepping aside to let a BUSINESSMAN pass by him. The businessman, sporting a shaved head, wearing a shiny black suit and burgundy shirt with no belt, stands between Bill and the old man. The wind from the south pushes gently on the water Bill’s face as the sun’s heat sneaks in from the east, bouncing off the inside of his sunglasses’ lenses. Bill spies the ferry approaching. He watches it. Radiohead might’ve been a little on the nose. Bill smiles anyway.)
10 JULY 2014
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE
"CHARLOTTE CAFE"
INT. CHARLOTTE CAFE, BIRCHGROVE, SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA - 12:45pm
(BILL approaches the counter.)
COUNTERWOMAN: (smiling) You’re the American. I remember you.
11 JULY 2014
SOPHISTICATED ROGUE TRAVEL TIP #2©
“When traveling, never ignore advice. In particular, never ignore advice from your bowels.”
A year of so ago, I was discussing the evolution of quantum mechanics vis-a-vis the politics of the scientific community in post-World War II Great Britain with a friend of mine when suddenly, I had to fart. Then a minute or so later, I had to fart again. With the third fart came the recollection of an epiphany I once had.
So, to economize, “Broken Wind = Break Into a Trot”. Do not wait. Perhaps this requires three sentence fragments. Do. Not. Wait. A traveler must be prepared to instantly drop what he’s doing and adapt to a new agenda to drop what he’s doing. If “I didn’t have to go then,” is an tolerable defense against the accusation, “You should’ve gone before we left!” the first fart while walking on a city street disqualifies any further excuses. Walk into the nearest coffee shop, restaurant, mall store, church, or bank, and pretend with hand signals and stammered English that you plan to purchase something, light a candle, or take out a home loan as soon as your most urgent need is satiated. And, never stop moving. With earbuds in, a fifty-pound backpack strapped to your shoulders, and an utter ignorance when it comes to where the nearest men’s room is in a foreign city, you procrastinate at your peril.
*SOPHISTICATED ROGUE’S TRAVEL TIPS© are meant to be for entertainment purposes only. The title of the tips, the tips themselves, and in fact the sobriquet “Sophisticated Rogue” itself are meant to be ironic, wry, and in no way literal, and if you don’t know that by now, well, (sigh), Jesus, c’mon, dude…
13 JULY 2014:
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE -
"DIRECTIONS"
EXT. STREET - AFTERNOON
(BILL approaches an OLD MAN.)
BILL: Excuse me, sir? Do you know where I can find Parramatta?
OLD MAN: Parramatta? Ah, Jesus, you're not even close. You're miles away!
BILL: (frowning) Really? Parramatta Road?
OLD MAN: Oh, Parramatta Road. (points) That's right down there, about a hundred yards.
BILL: (stares) Thank you.
14 JULY 2014
ROGUE TRIP TRAVEL DISPATCH - WEEK ONE -
"BEGINNING"
DATELINE: SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA
It had happened on the first day, the very first day, goddamn it. It was supposed to be at least a little smoother than this. After finding the perfect occasion, a nearly twelve-hour flight from San Francisco to Aukland, New Zealand, to finally be able to actually sleep on an airplane, and getting through customs without a hitch (it appears that going through the wrong line and seeming mildly stupid to the exasperated agent may be an asset, here), I found the shuttle train into downtown Sydney with ease, then the bus to the home in Birchgrove where I was being hosted with even more ease. I had arrived. I was on my way. Nine months, around the world. Here we go. With a strong sense of “New Chapter Beginning!” swelling between my ears, I knocked on the door.
If you're reading this, chances are excellent that I miss you specifically, and chances are only slightly less excellent that I miss you enough that it aches.
I hope you’ll indulge some of my thoughts regarding how this trip treats me in order to get some of the more basic details and the pictures. I hope you’ll endure the running gags. People keep telling me this trip will change me. We’ll see, and you’ll read, I guess. So thanks for reading, too. I don’t want this to be so masturbatory that it turns everyone off, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious to see what effect this whole thing has…
15 JULY 2014:
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE (IN EXCHANGE FORM) -
"EXPECTATIONS"
"Sydney's been so nice," I said, "Such a nice start to this whole, whatever this is. I suspect it may be all downhill from here."
"You need to have no expectations."
I nodded. "That's what I do. I lower my expectations. That way-"
"No. You need to have NO expectations."
20 JULY 2014
SOPHISTICATED ROGUE TRAVEL TIP #3©
“A little OCD goes a long way.”
Being obsessive-compulsive gets a bad rap. People hear you’re compelled to return to your front door in order to verify (and often, re-verify) that you’ve locked it, every single morning before you leave for work, they’ll start to look down their noses at you, and in general, checking to make sure you haven’t left the oven on when you haven’t cooked a meal yourself since that pot luck back in 2005 could be considered an unproductive use of your time. It's got a stigma, that's why it's abbreviated!
*SOPHISTICATED ROGUE’S TRAVEL TIPS© are meant to be for entertainment purposes only. The title of the tips, the tips themselves, and in fact the sobriquet “Sophisticated Rogue” itself are meant to be ironic, wry, and in no way literal, and if you don’t know that by now, well, (sigh), Jesus, c’mon, dude…
21 JULY 2014:
ROGUE TRIP TRAVEL DISPATCH - WEEK TWO
"SLEEPING ON TRAINS"
DATELINE - MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA
“I need to figure out a way to sleep on trains or swear to God, I’m gonna kill myself,” I said aloud, shifting in my seat from one side to the other for the millionth time, and trying to find a resting place for my feet.
The Indian Pacific Train |
I thought I had a terrific plan. I’d purchase a two-month rail pass that would allow me to travel from Sydney to Adelaide to Melbourne, back to Adelaide, to Perth, back to Adelaide, up to Darwin. Sure, Australia is actually quite larger than the United States in terms of surface area, and sure, there were legs of the trip that would take over two days to complete, but I’d read and I’d write and I’d have time to think. I'd use my time wisely.
Well, choosing to try to read Infinite Jest and Ulysses when you’re exhausted simply doesn’t play (and I apologize to the spirits of Messrs. Wallace and Joyce for my arrogance on that score). Writing when you’re sleep deprived…well, you’ve probably read the results of that in past posts. Finally, it turns out that left on my own to think…yikes. Apparently I swear to God all sorts of things.
Ignoring the conversation, David grabbed a sheet of paper, and began to draw furiously, finally giving me a fine map of Sydney proper which included a detailed section of Watsons Bay. It included drawings of both the ferry I would take to Circular Quay, and the ferry that would take me from Circular Quay to Watsons Bay, complete with directional arrows, and several lighthouses that I was to hit while I was there in order to get the full experience. I’ll check, but I believe he drew some birds flying over the harbor as accent.
The Gap at Watsons Bay |
Federation Square, Melbourne |
Today, however, I’ve relaxed and had a lovely walk in a dog park at Williamstown, a little ways from downtown. I woke up and decided, “You know what? I don’t have to go full speed every moment. I don’t have to maximize every second. That’s how you wind up in a Hungry Jack’s alone at four in the morning watching Sky News cover the Malaysian Air tragedy on a grimy television mounted over the bathroom door and finding it so surreal you can barely function enough to walk back to McDonald's to wait over there.”
Williamstown |
P.S. I have booked a room to stay in the next time I lay over in Adelaide.
22 JULY 2014:
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE -
"BUSMATES"
INT. BUS - 7:30AM
(BILL sits in a window seat, listening to an Adam Carolla podcast on his iPhone as the bus pulls away from Melbourne. He laughs at something on the podcast. The OLD WOMAN sitting in the aisle seat next to him, wearing silver hair most likely cut around a silver bowl, looks at him. Bill laughs again. She continues to look until he meets her eye.)
BILL: Oh. Sorry. This is just funny.
(The old woman says nothing.)
BILL: You know, you gotta have some entertainment when you're on the road, right?
(Hearing something in the podcast, Bill laughs again. The old woman looks at him, and starts to bring her hands up in a "May I listen?" gesture but then, thinking better of it, stops and puts her hands down. Bill smiles. Five minutes later, Bill coughs - once - and frowns as he sees the old woman pull up the collar of her coat over her nose in panic, like the baby in the chase scene of RAISING ARIZONA. But, still. )
23 JULY 2014
SOPHISTICATED ROGUE TRAVEL TIP#4©
“Be 5’ 6” tall.”
This afternoon, I'll board another Australian train, the Indian Pacific from Adelaide to Perth. The journey will take a breezy 36 hours.
Uh.
This thought wouldn’t be so crippling if it weren’t for the knowledge that my seat on the train itself will prove crippling to my (strapping) six-foot, two inch frame. I’ve spent a long time trying everything in order to sleep on an airplane, to no effect, and now applying that same brainpower to the quest for restful sleep on a train, I’ve drawn one conclusion:
You have to be short.
Pretty simple. If you’re 5’6” tall, you’re going to be able to curl up, you’re going to be able to have enough leg room, you’re compact enough to fold yourself into any seat. If you’re over 5’6”, it gets problematic. Over six feet tall, you’re doomed. And there’s no answer, save for - simply be 5’6”.
Problem solved. Now, I beg your pardon, I’m off to find a hacksaw before heading off to the train station…
*SOPHISTICATED ROGUE’S TRAVEL TIPS© are meant to be for entertainment purposes only. The title of the tips, the tips themselves, and in fact the sobriquet “Sophisticated Rogue” itself are meant to be ironic, wry, and in no way literal, and if you don’t know that by now, well, (sigh), Jesus, c’mon, dude…
28 JULY 2014:
ROGUE TRIP TRAVEL DISPATCH - WEEK THREE
"iTUNES"
DATELINE: PERTH, AUSTRALIA
In Adelaide (again), I was FaceTiming my friend Jim in Los Angeles, trying to figure out if there was ANY possible angle I could hold my computer that didn’t make me look horrendous, so I almost didn’t hear the question. “So, how long’s this train ride tomorrow?”
“What?!” His annoyance made me lower the monitor to eye level. “A day and a half with nothing but ‘difficult’ novels? Are you trying to depress yourself? Go on iTunes right now and download some movies.” I watched him pull up a website. “Here,” he said, “Top 100 movies of the 80s. Let’s go down the list.”
SHUTE: You're a bleeder. And I like blood.
LOUGHTEN: Yeah? How 'bout your own?
I also boarded with a newly discovered lesson:
“Don’t be a hero.”
Cook, Australia - a town? |
Art Gallery of Western Australia - 27.07.2014 |
One or the other. And I’ll be armed with 80s movies I’ve already seen. The fifty-first screening of VISION QUEST might stop the bleeding.
29 JULY 2014:
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE (IN EXCHANGE FORM) -
"SO."
EXT. NORFOLK HOTEL PUB - NIGHT
The MAN sitting opposite BILL at the picnic table took a sip of his pint. "So. Whaddaya think," the man asked. "Taking this trip the right decision?"
Bill twisted his mouth, thinking about it. "I dunno," he said. Then he shrugged. "It wasn't the wrong one."
05 AUGUST 2014:
ROGUE TRIP TRAVEL DISPATCH - WEEK FOUR -
"WHAT TIME KALGOOLIE?"
DATELINE: ADELAIDE, AUSTRALIA
Apologies for the delay in posting. As mentioned, I've been on a train without WiFi for the past two days...Now.
Kalgoorlie, Australia |
And I again resist the urge to divide by 284.
The old man sits across the aisle from me on the Indian Pacific train coming into Adelaide from Perth. He’s not crazy or mentally challenged, as he’s traveling without a caretaker, unlike the guy on the train to Melbourne who kept going to the restroom every half-hour but never locking the door, giving several people during the day an unpleasant surprise when they opened the door themselves. This guy is just a cranky-pants. Half-elf-like, with a big, crooked nose, wearing a blue windbreaker and tweed pants, with white hair in a style that’s one half combover, one half finger in the socket, this old man is practically a secondary character on “The Simpsons”, and every five minutes he’s up wandering the aisle, asking in an accent that’s one half demented old man, one half eighth-generation Australian mixed with Greek, “What time Kalgoorlie? What time Kalgoorlie?”
My earbuds do nothing to help me. I try Gomez, the Foo Fighters, and the usually fail-safe Beastie Boys, but none of the bands completely drown out his incessant inquiry.
“What time Kalgoorlie?”
His question seems even more committed after he’s heard the conductor announce on the public address system, uh, the estimated time of arrival in Kalgoorlie (10:30pm).***
It’s enough to make me hesitate to take out my computer, as the man seems to think my possession of a laptop indicates that I somehow control the schedule of the Indian Pacific from my seat 5 in the Red Carriage. It does not. Each time he asks me (and he asks me every single time), all I say is, “I don’t know, sir,” as politely as I can.
It wouldn’t be quite so bad if not for two facts:
1. There’s absolutely zero to do in Kalgoorlie at 10:30pm. I would argue, based on my ten-minute walk through the town a week ago and a conductor’s warning, “Do not get off the beaten path, here, my friend,” there’s nothing to do at one in the afternoon, either, except perhaps get mugged for your daypack. What this half-elf has planned for after midnight in some mining town smack-dab in the boondocks of Western Australia is anyone’s guess.
2. The same half-elf hadn’t been asking the exact same question every five minutes on the train coming out to Perth a week ago.
Yeah, same guy. Same question for the same amount of time the train was moving - over thirty-six hours. And each time he asked me last week, I took a deep breath, muttered, “I don’t know, sir,” and I divided a number into 284.
284 is the number of days I’m expecting this trip to take. July 7th, 2014 through April 17th, 2014 is 284 days. So during moments on this trip when I’m having a rough time, I’ve been taking the number of days already gone and dividing it by 284.
As I type this the quotient is .09507042 (27/284). That means I’m 9.5% done with this trip.
You may find the fact that I do this math depressing. You might think that it defeats any effort to live in the moment and enjoy myself if I’m constantly calculating and re-calculating how much of the journey is completed and, by extension, how much further I have to go.
I disagree. Rather than the quotient seeming like a long ways to go, instead it represents progress. I keep thinking of this journey as somewhat of a creative endeavor, a project, similar to when I wrote The Vanilla Gigolo Prescription. I take comfort in the fact that, like any creative journey, it will become something different than what I set out for it to be. Also, continuing the metaphor, it challenges me to take a large undertaking one step at a time. If I look at the mountaintop from the valley, I’m not sure I could convince myself I could climb that mountain. If I kept thinking about writing the actual entire 450 pages it takes to complete a novel, I don’t know if I would have been able to complete The Vanilla Gigolo Prescription. But by thinking about it in terms of writing one or two pages a day, the task becomes not only doable, but manageable.
(Have you not read The Vanilla Gigolo Prescription? My goodness, you can buy it cheap here.)
This trip is similar. Looking at it as almost ten months makes it seem impossible, makes me want to crawl into the fetal position and sleep (this does not work on a train seat, by the way). But by breaking the trip down into pieces, looking at each piece as a lily pad I can step on as I traverse the river (yeah, I’m a frog in this new metaphor) makes it reasonable, doable, and even manageable.
Perth Zoo |
So I stopped thinking of July as spending a month in Australia. Instead, I started thinking of, “Next week is a week in Perth; that’s easy…Today and tomorrow I’m on the train; I can do that…And in a week, I’m in Bali.”
Now, I can do a week to make it to Bali, no problem.
Rather than make it tedious, it’s liberating me to focus on what’s right in front of me, as a percentage of the whole journey. It’s a piece of the pie I can taste right now. I don’t need to worry about next month or next year, those pieces will come.
So last week I was able to focus on the piece that was Perth. Perth joins Sydney and Melbourne on my list of cities I’d like to visit again. Maybe it’s the ocean, maybe it’s the ferries but Perth, like the other two cities, combines a sophistication with a charm and an ease that I appreciated greatly. I’ve been told it’s because Australia isn’t that old, doesn’t have hundreds and hundreds of years of history like, say, Europe, so the people who live here are able to not take themselves so seriously while at the same time embracing their homeland’s past. I look forward to exploring all three cities in more detail, digging deeper than I was able to on a trip that had a larger agenda.
Perth Zoo |
And I finally got pictures of kangaroos and koala bears. Now, true, I had to go to the Perth Zoo to get the pictures. I was too slow with the camera on the train the two or three times I saw kangaroos in the wild, and apparently koalas sleep during the day, which we can all agree is bullshit diva nonsense. The Perth Zoo was nice enough, but having not been to a zoo in over fifteen years, I was reminded that: a)zoos are pretty depressing places and b)it feels weird to be a single dude walking around a zoo by himself. Walking around the Royal Botanical Gardens and Kings Garden felt significantly less strange, and I’m impressed with a nation with such beautiful flowers even in its winter. I went to my first Australian play…and walked out during intermission of my first Australian play. Bad theater is international, apparently. Now, people who know me know I don’t leave plays during intermission, ever, but I decided, as I was watching something truly mediocre, I didn’t want to have to catch a later train out to my host’s home in Fremantle, I wanted to have time to grab a pint and still be home by 11p, and finally I decided, “I can leave, and I’m going to leave.” That piece was over.
My Australian piece of this trip is over at the end of this week, ending up in the northern town of Darwin, where I’m expecting to be able to shed my hoodie and jeans for a good two months. Next week’s piece of the trip is Bali.
I’m looking forward to the next piece of the trip, and adding another piece to divide into 284.
“What time Kalgoorlie?”
Settle down, you cranky, old man. We’ll get there when we get there. It’s progress, and it’s inevitable.
***UPDATE: When we finally arrived in Kalgoorlie, the old man didn’t even get up from his seat and instead sat staring out the window. What the Hell, dude?
08 AUGUST 2014:
ROGUE TRIP TRAVEL DISPATCH - WEEK FIVE:
"MY HOODIE"
DATELINE: SANUR, BALI, INDONESIA
My hoodie & me |
My hoodie’s starting to struggle.
Outside of Alice Springs, Ghan Train from Adelaide to Darwin, 07.08.2014 |
Darwin, Northern Territory, Australia - 09.08.2014, 10a |
OFFICER: (long pause) An incident.
ME: Yeah. I get that. What kind of incident? (joking) A murder?
OFFICER: (longer pause, as he contemplates playing along with me, then decides it’s a waste of his time, annoyed) Neh. Just an incident. (pause) We’re investigating it.
OFFICER #2: (from inside the van) Oi, go watch the news and find it, all right?
ME: (chastened) Got it. Thanks.
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE (IN PROSE FORM) -
"PLEASE CONFIRM FOR ME..."
WiFi here in Alice Springs is crap, so pictures will have to wait until my train arrives in Darwin; apologies. In the meantime, here's a RogueTripPlaylette for ya.
UPDATE 10.08.2014 : Well, the WiFi in Alice Springs was worse than I thought, as this never posted. (shrug) Here it is now...
***
I already knew exactly where I was spending the night in Adelaide, Australia. I had reserved it through AirBnB and stayed there already a couple of weeks ago, for two nights. So I was familiar already with the area and with my hosts. The familiarity relieved me. I've found I'm still getting disoriented as I'm on the road for these many, many days in a row. Anything that’s familiar becomes ballast that soothes me - a city I've been to, a public transportation system I know, a house I've slept in.
10 AUGUST 2014
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE (IN EXCHANGE FORM)
"FIRST IMPRESSIONS"
"So. What's your first impression of Bali?"
I thought. "That I may not leave it?"
"Good first impression."
13 AUGUST 2014:
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE (IN THREE ACTLETTES) -
"A PASSENGER ON A MOTOR SCOOTER IN UBUD"
ACTLETTE ONE - EXT. ADI JAYA COTTAGES, UBUD, BALI, INDONESIA - MORNING
(BILL, carrying a burlap grocery bag full of clothes and his backpack, climbs up the steps to the pathway, where a local MAN is seated on a motor scooter, waiting.)
MAN: Are you Bill?
BILL: Yes.
MAN: I am here to take you to the bike tour.
BILL: (looking around) Okay.
MAN: Have you ever ridden on a scooter before?
BILL: No.
(The man laughs, which sounds like this, “Bwahahaahaaa!” - as if there are more ‘a’s the longer the laugh goes on.)
MAN: Bwahahaahaaa! (motioning to his back) Come. Sit. We will go.
BILL: (climbing on the scooter) Sure.
MAN: Do you want a helmet?
BILL: Yup.
(The man, who himself is not wearing a helmet, reaches under his legs and hands something to Bill.)
BILL: This is a bicycle helmet.
(The man starts up the scooter and begins backing it up as Bill puts on his bicycle helmet while trying not to drop the grocery bag.)
MAN: You are a big guy!
BILL: Thanks, man. Wait, have you ever had someone this big back here ride with you?
MAN: My wife is as big as you.
BILL: Oh.
(By now, the scooter is turned around and the man begins coasting down the hill.)
MAN: (calling behind him) Actually, she’s not THAT big.
BILL: Oh.
MAN: Bwahahaahaaa!
ACTLETTE TWO - EXT. DOWNTOWN UBUD - FIVE MINUTES LATER
(The man is driving the motor scooter. Bill holds onto him from behind, continually checking his grip on the grocery bag. The scooter weaves through traffic.)
MAN: (shouting over the bike and traffic) How’re you doing, Bill?!
BILL: (shouting) Fine. Wait, you can’t fit-
MAN: So how long are you in Bali?!
BILL: -there. Jesus. Uh, ’til Saturday! Hey, there’s a wet spot up-
MAN: What is your job?!
BILL: -on the left. Okay, that’s kind of a steep hill, dude. What?!
MAN: What is your job?!
BILL: Well, I quit my job!
MAN: You quit your job!?! Bwahahaahaaa! Why?!
BILL: Watch the road, man!
ACTLETTE THREE - EXT. BALI BIKE-BAIK TOURS - FIVE MINUTES LATER
(The scooter pulls up in front of the storefront.)
MAN: Okay, Bill. We are here. (pause)
BILL: Thanks for the ride.
MAN: You need to have less worries, man!
BILL: What? Oh, I’m fine. That was all right.
MAN: You can let go of my shoulder now, Bill.
BILL: (lets go of shoulder) Yup.
18 AUGUST 2014
"ROBIN WILLIAMS"
For a long time, I’ve dreamed of living in Tiburon.
Last night, I was listening to the podcast Marc Maron did with Robin Williams a few years back where Williams discussed thinking of suicide only one time. He performed a bit about having a debate with his conscience about it, with his conscience patiently asking questions about why he was thinking of killing himself, and whether or not the bottle of Jack Daniels he was holding in his hand might, just MIGHT have anything to do with it, and why he might be holding that bottle, and so on and so forth. The bit was detailed, understated and very, very funny, a perfect blend of Robin Williams’s “comedic stuff” and his “dramatic stuff.” It concluded with Williams’s conscience convincing him to put the thought of suicide on the shelf where it wasn’t really needed, then or ever. After the bit was done, Williams told Maron that that was the only time he had ever thought of suicide.
20 AUGUST 2014:
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE -
"ATM"
BILL*: You're wrong, ATM machine, you're just flat-out wrong. I DO have plenty of money in that account. I checked it last night, as a matter of fact. You may SAY I don't but I DO. But it's cool, ATM machine. 'S cool. Lonely Planet TOLD me this would happen sometimes. You just don't know me or my account information 'cause you don't RECOGNIZE my world-traveling ass. And the joke's on you! Ha ha - now I have the perfect excuse not to go into that place that only takes cash - in 2014! - over there (points) but CONVENIENTLY has you over here! I KNEW that place was a tourist trap and I suspected it would bore me, anyway! I'm going to that place (points) over THERE and having a pint of Tiger. 'Cause it's 2014 and they take Visa. So thank you, ignorant ATM machine in a foreign land with none of the pertinent facts. Terima kasih!
*internal monologue
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE (IN THREE ACTLETTES) -
“A VELVET ROPE IS ONLY AS GOOD AS ITS WEAKEST BOUNCER"
ACT ONE - PAVILION KL (KUALA LAMPUR) CENTRE COURT - EVENING
(BILL walks past a large, open concourse in a shiny mall. The concourse is blocked off by velvet ropes. Looking, he sees that within the ropes a party is taking place: WAITERS and WAITRESSES dressed in all-black move amongst a well-dressed almost in all-black CROWD with glasses of wine and hors d’oeuvres, several CHEFS in white work at various food stations, both entrees and desserts, and a band with a lithe female VOCALIST wearing a short haircut plays on a small riser.
Bill stops, and changes direction, his facial expression clearly saying, “Free booze? Interesting.” He approaches an opening in the velvet ropes, the entry to the party, where a small WOMAN HOSTESS dressed in black, wearing a headset, and holding a clipboard, stands.)
HOSTESS: (accented English) May I help you, sir?
BILL: Yes, I’m here for this.
HOSTESS: This is the TimeKulture Swiss Watch Exhibition.
BILL: Yes. I’m here for this.
HOSTESS: You are? (She checks the guest list, presumably for “Only White Guy Within Five Miles Dressed in a Grey T-Shirt & Cargo Shorts and Wearing a Backpack”) Who are you?
BILL: (had this already chambered; he's had three beers and a plan all along, see!) I’m a travel reporter for the New York Times.
HOSTESS: This is a private event, sir.
BILL: (already seeing an opening in the velvet ropes at about 10 o’clock, where a bored WAITRESS is staring at her phone) Oh, okay. No problem.
HOSTESS: Yes, sir.
(Bill walks away, in the general direction of 10 o’clock.)
ACT TWO - PAVILION KL CENTRE COURT - TIMEKULTURE SWISS WATCH EXHIBIT - 30 MINUTES LATER
(The band finishes a song, to zero applause or reaction of any kind.)
VOCALIST: (into mic) We’re going to take a short break now. Thank you very much.
(A DJ begins playing music on the turntables, as the band files off the stage and past Bill, who sits on a faux-couch eating a plateful of ice cream and drinking a glass of white wine. The vocalist sits down next to him and proceeds to ignore him. Pause.)
BILL: Nice job.
VOCALIST: (looking him up and down) Thank you. You’re supposed to be here?
BILL: Sure.
VOCALIST: Then, thanks.
BILL: Sure.
VOCALIST: You’re American.
BILL: Yes. I'm a travel writer for the New-
VOCALIST: -and you’re supposed to be here.
(Bill looks up and sees the hostess walking around, mingling. He stands up.)
BILL: Take care now.
(Bill walks away.)
ACT THREE - PAVILION KL CENTRE COURT - TIMEKULTURE SWISS WATCH EXHIBIT - FIVE MINUTES LATER
(Bill spies a waiter with a tray of full wine glasses. He moves to him and takes a glass of the tray. Turning, he almost bumps into the hostess.)
HOSTESS: This is a private event, sir.
(Bill hands her the glass.)
BILL: Yes.
(Bill exits.)
24 AUGUST 2014:
SOPHISTICATED ROGUE TRAVEL TIP #5© -
"THE ART OF NEGOTIATION, PART ONE"
I had been warned that in southeast Asia, I would be expected to negotiate. “A warning,” the man in a Sydney pub had warned me, “Everything in southeast Asia is a negotiation.” Within a week in the region, this drunkard had been proven correct. Every time I was quoted a price and I merely said, “Okay,” I could see the look in the merchant’s eyes, a look of disappointment, of the epithtets “Tourist. American,” before a look of acceptance, one that said, “Well, sure, I’ll take this idiot’s excess money.”
I started to walk away. Then I heard something. “Twenty-five.”
*SOPHISTICATED ROGUE’S TRAVEL TIPS© are meant to be for entertainment purposes only. The title of the tips, the tips themselves, and in fact the sobriquet “Sophisticated Rogue” itself are meant to be ironic, wry, and in no way literal, and if you don’t know that by now, well, (sigh), Jesus, c’mon, dude…
26 AUGUST 2014
ROGUE TRIP TRAVEL DISPATCH - WEEK SEVEN -
"IGNORE THE GHOSTS, APPEASE THE GIANTS"
DATELINE: BALI
So the cause of the delay was an invisible, dancing giant.
The invisible, dancing giant didn’t like the papaya tree that had grown in the yard.
How one would infer that satisfaction? Beat me, but that’s not the point.
The locals in Bali believe that everyone exists on two planes - the visible half and the invisible half. They do not accept that there are two poles to things. They don’t view things as “good” or “bad” but everything is part of everything. Simply because we cannot see something does not mean it doesn’t exist, and if something exists, we must be aware of it, we must pay attention to it, and sometimes we must satisfy it. So of course there can be invisible giants. What’s more, the Balinese are very big believers in karma. What comes around, goes around. So if you ignored someone (even if you couldn’t see that someone or critique its dancing), what would go around is your house remodel, go around in circles indeifinitely. So if the invisible, dancing giant didn’t like the papaya tree then Kelly, her architect, and her family were going to have to figure out how to appease the invisible, dancing giant.
Kelly did not say they had found any skulls on her property, but for the rest of the week, I made certain to watch my step when walking from the house to the garage.
I don’t know why, but I had expected that we’d be seeing thousands of dolphins, everywhere we looked, that the sea would be lousy with dolphins, all traveling in organized regiments like a graduating class of a military academy as they paraded past. I might not have paid attention during that part of biology class back in junior high school. No, we had to show patience and lower expectations. There was really no way to predict when or where we’d see the dolphins. Dolphins are known as intelligent creatures, so they’re probably smart enough to discuss it at the annual migration orientation meeting.
30 AUGUST 2014:
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE (IN PROSE FORM) -
"REVENGE IS A DISH BEST LEFT BEHIND"
The Automatic Teller Machine (ATM) on the base floor of the Menara Kuala Lampur Tower had just begrudgingly given five hundred ringgits to a stoic German tourist, begrudgingly as he couldn’t help but look at the German's remaining balance, when his private communication sensor hummed; a call was coming in. Checking the Caller ID, the Malaysian ATM furrowed its brow circuits: Phuket, Thailand. It didn’t know any fellow ATMs in Phuket, or any fellow ATMs in all of Thailand for that matter. The ATM contemplated ignoring it, but something told it the call might be important. So it made the next customer, a Chinese tourist wearing a "This Is What Perfection Looks Like" t-shirt, wait, distracting him with whirs and buzzes as it clicked the communication through.
04 SEPTEMBER 2014:
ROGUE TRIP TRAVEL DISPATCH -
"THREE QUESTIONS"
DATELINE - AO NAM MAO BEACH
“Are you alone?”
**SIDE NOTE: Two months? Geez, that's a long time.***
***SIDE NOTE to SIDE NOTE: Only two months? Geez...
I’m not sure I believed that would happen.
So “am I alone?” Hell no.
…The shopkeepers and bartenders don’t seem to know what to do with this response, either.
15 SEPTEMBER 2014:
ROGUE TRIP TRAVEL DISPATCH -
"TEN WEEKS"
“How long you been here?” the waitress repeated.
That’s a healthy chunk of time, isn’t it?
Those thoughts give me a lot of inner turmoil. I worry that if I come home before the forty weeks I planned out, people will consider it a disappointment, term the trip a failure.
28 SEPTEMBER 2014
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE -
"AI YA"
INT. PHNOM PENH INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT CHECK-IN - MORNING
TICKET AGENT: You speak Chinese?
BILL: (sighs) No.
TICKET AGENT: (sighs) No. (looks at Bill's backpack) You will have to get your bag after you land on our plane before you get on the other plane.
BILL: (looks at bag) Really? 'Cause I'm going on separate airlines?
TICKET AGENT: Yes.
BILL: (sighs) Ai ya.
TICKET AGENT: You know "Ai ya"?
BILL: (nods) I know "Ai ya." (sighs) There's no way I'm not losing this bag, is there?
TICKET AGENT: No way.
BILL: Yeah, I mean there's no possi-
TICKET AGENT: I know "No way."
BILL: Oh.
(Pause. Ticket Agent nods to herself, then takes a sticker out of her desk and wraps it around Billy's backpack handle. It reads "Approved Carry On Baggage". Billy looks.)
BILL: Oh, I can carry it?
TICKET AGENT: I will allow you.
BILL: You'll allow me?
TICKET AGENT: (nods, closes/opens eyes) I will allow you.
BILL: Wow. Thank you.
TICKET AGENT: (smiles) I know "Wow." Wow.
15 OCTOBER 2014:
ROGUE TRIP TRAVEL DISPATCH - WEEK FOURTEEN -
I still can’t sleep.
The insomnia I blamed on overnight trains and their too-short reclining seats in Australia has chased me to hotel beds in Malaysia, guest houses in Thailand, friends’ apartments and even sleeper train compartments in China. Every night I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, rotating from side to side, flailing about in an effort to beat the hyperactivity in my brain off with, well, with my brain. It’s folly. My brain is tiny David, vulnerable in only his loincloth, armed with only his slingshot, on little sleep himself, incidentally, while the anxiety holding my brain hostage is Goliath, rageful after a cycle of steroids, rested after a vacation in the Alps, nourished after many, many hearty meals full of protein and carbohydrates for energy.
So, I try to think about calming things. I fantasize about what my life will become after I return from this trip. I can’t help it. It doesn’t mean I’m not having a good time DURING the trip. Even at the end of a good day, lying in bed I wonder where this plan of mine will take me after I get back to the United States, if I ever get back to the United States. For some reason, my visualization puts me in the countryside. I find this bizarre, as I’ve never particularly enjoyed the country and have always considered city life to be more fulfilling. But I imagine living in an Airstream trailer somewhere in Louisiana, near a bayou or on a pasture (I dunno, somewhere where they shot second unit photography for the first season of “True Detective” - (shrug)). My life will be simpler. I’ll rise early each morning, make my own coffee, do my writing for the day, and then allow my brain to relax until it’s time to go to sleep again. I’ll allow myself one beer. Goliath will have by now been slain with a rock slung to the dome. I’ll finish three novels in two years. My wardrobe will consist of nothing but blue jeans, white Oxfords, and Stan Smith sneakers. I will never wear a belt, and my most consistent pleasure will be walking my Irish Setter, MacGowan.
Because I will still have to make money, however, will still have to earn a living - literary novels selling what they do and Airstream trailers costing what they do - I will also be a copy writer for t-shirts sold exclusively in Asia.
The t-shirts worn in Asia are batshit insane. Several times per day, while walking the streets of cities like Singapore, Kuala Lampur, Bangkok, and Shenzhen, I’ve passed someone wearing a t-shirt and caught myself saying out loud, “Are you kidding me?” I feel my brow furrow, an amazed expression taking hold on my face. Because what I’ve just read on somebody’s shirt either makes no sense, or blows my mind.
For instance, here’s a random sampling of t-shirts I’ve seen, just off the top of my head:
“Brave Mind Brilliant Genius”
“Black Find Something”
"Always Be Proud of Yourself - Since 1981"
"Always Be Proud of Yourself - Since 1981"
“Fucking Weather”
“Eat Sleep Pepper Repeat”
I mean, I could do that job! Man, I could write gibberish like that in my sleep! Or even while TRYING to fall asleep. So, creating those t-shirts would be a great way to sustain my countryside living. Imagine writing without needing to pay any regard to grammar, syntax, literal meaning versus contextual meaning, even spelling (unless there IS, in fact, a knockoff luxury automobile called the “Betnley”). Brevity might be an issue for me, certainly. But my college roommate Michael, whom I’m staying with while in China, tells me it wouldn’t even matter if I tried to write “properly” for the shirts, that my Chinese boss would only “correct” them incorrectly, assuring me that he “knows English better than I do.” Quality control would be out of my hands. It’d be freedom.
Because the only requirement for a t-shirt worn in Asia is, it must express attitude. Certainly, American t-shirts have no shortage of attitude, but in Asia that concept is accelerated, heightened, microwaved. A t-shirt’s message must, must convey extreme attitude, more specifically the extreme attitude as expressed by a teenager. The words on the shirt must have either the aggression, braggadocio, or contempt for the world put forth by the average teenage boy, or the pie-eyed, Pollyanna, YA-novel romanticism and blind trust in love and happiness treasured by the average teenage girl.
Typical of attitudes expressed by teenagers, these messages are usually obnoxious, often plain wrong and occasionally disturbing. “Just like me,” I find myself saying with furrowed brow. But these t-shirts have also served as signposts for this trip, as messages or exhortations or admonitions meant just for me.
I sit in the McDonald’s in Shenzhen, China where I come each morning to write. I come for the cheap coffee; my host doesn’t keep any in his apartment, only tea, Starbucks is way too pricy and China, unlike other nations in Asia, doesn’t have a different 7-11 every twenty-two feet. While debating whether or not to get a second hash brown, a chubby teenage boy with a brush cut, a scowl, and a knee-length t-shirt strolls in. He walks to the counter, beginning his order in Mandarin from five feet away. His t-shirt is black, the lettering red. It reads: “Tell Yourself You’re Not Going to Like It”.
“Ugh. This is going to suck. Ugh. I have to take another overnight train; this is going to suck. Ugh, I have to go through immigration; this is going to suck. Ugh, 284 days; this is going to suck.”
Everyone who attended college knows a kid who didn’t want to be there. Maybe he hadn’t gotten into the school he really wanted to go to, maybe there were money issues, whatever. But this kid showed up in your freshman dorm in the fall already hating this school, the college he was forced to attend, the college he was stuck in. He pissed all over the campus, all over the students, their tastes and interests. He refused to even give the place a chance, determined to continue to hate where he was.
And guess what? That worked like a fucking charm - he continued to hate it and be miserable - and it served no one. This isn’t rocket science. Yet I continue to do the same thing, continue to lapse into acting like that same freshman (who, incidentally, I observed at the time and determined, “What an asshole.”). I stand with my arm out, elbow locked, palm up, resisting everything with a scowl on my face until I finally relent, and realize I enjoy what I’ve been resisting. Then I curse myself for being a stubborn moron.
I did it with frozen yogurt. I did it with “The Sopranos” and “Breaking Bad”. And now, I’ve done it on this trip. In a way, it’s as if after forty-five years I finally got my thin rejection envelope from “Normal, Happy Life A&M” and was forced to attend my safety school, “Take a Wild Journey Around-the-World and Hope Something Shakes Loose University” (and this school’s expensive, there’s no in-state tuition, dammit). For the first semester, I think I had my teeth gritted and my jaw set. Happiness is a choice and I haven’t been making it. I’m not sure I’ve ever made it. But I’m working on it. Trying to let go and just take the experiences as they come. This doesn’t mean that everything, every day, is going to be walk in the park. But it might help if I start unlocking my jaw.
It ain’t rocket science, moron.
I’m on a street corner in Singapore, stopped at a light. Waiting, I bounce my knapsack gently up and down off my back. The light turns, the little green man starts moving, and I cross the intersection. Walking the other way is a squat Indian boy, his t-shirt a chalky grey with lime lettering. As he passes me, I read it: “This Is What Perfection Looks Like.” I smile to myself. This is the ONLY pronouncement I’ve seen on more than one t-shirt during my travels in Asia. I’ve seen this shirt no fewer than five times, each time on a dude. And each time I’ve seen it, after needing only a brief thought, I’ve disagreed with the assessment.
I had my route all planned out. Australia for five weeks, fly to Bali, fly to Singapore, up to Malaysia, continue to Thailand, over the Cambodia, up through Vietnam, then to China, arriving at Michael’s around October 6th. But Michael’s schedule didn’t work with this plan; he and his family were going to the Chinese countryside on October 3rd. I was welcome to join them, but it would mean I would have to skip over Vietnam for now. Was I willing to do this?
Now, it seems like small issue but at the time, I didn’t like the change, didn’t want to alter what had been shaped as a fluid line rotating around the continent.
This fixation with perfection, even in such a minor, design way, must be hereditary; when I told my mother about the line I would trace around the world, going west from San Francisco, through Asia, Africa, up to Europe, over to South America, then up through Central America, ending up in New Orleans, she expressed reservations, only to finally admit that she didn’t like it because going back east to New Orleans after re-entering America ruined a relatively perfect circle.
But to Hell with it. Was I willing to do this? Yes, I guess I was willing to do that. And it’s been fine. I’ll hit Vietnam coming back. Currently, I don’t know where I’m staying in Hong Kong, my next stop. My next hard agenda item isn’t until the end of November, when I’ll meet a friend back in Thailand. I have no idea how I’m going to get from here to there. I have to fill the time. I will fill the time. I am determined to go to Africa, but where? I’m interested neither in truckin’ with Muslim fundamentalists nor the ebola virus. A recent email I received began, “I have serious reservations about every country that you’ve listed on the remainder of your itinerary,” and as much as I wanted to be flip, I couldn’t argue the point. But I’ll figure it out.
My itinerary has changed. It will continue to change. It has ceased to be perfect. Hell, my budget ceased to be perfect the moment I walked into the first pub in Sydney, Australia. Money and time has made me trim, made me adapt, made me shape this trip differently than I had it in my head lying awake trying to sleep in North Hollywood in June.
But the perfection lies in the imperfection. Every city I’ve visited, each day that goes by, contains not only great experiences but experiences I’ve MISSED, sights I’ve not seen, things that have fallen through. Each day comes with a conceivable regret. If I spend it sightseeing from morning to night, I worry I’m not really appreciating each stop and I fret I’m not getting enough work done. If I decide to relax one day, I kick myself for not fitting in three museums and eight temples. These imperfections are part of the trip. They make it mine. “Did you see such-and-such?” “Nope, that wasn’t part of this trip, MY trip.” This trip is singular. The regrets mix with the non-regrets to make it mine, and mine only.
Besides, there HAVE been perfect moments. Many. A young woman overhears me talking to a guide at the Jim Thompson House in Bangkok. She introduces herself as from San Francisco, and we wind up spending the day together checking out temples by tuk-tuk. I wake up in Siem Reap at dawn and am driven to Angkor Wat, where I wander from gorgeous temple to gorgeous temple by myself, no earbuds necessary, no other stimulus necessary, sweating buckets as the sun pushes down on me, looking at architecture that seems crumbling yet indestructible. I play rock-scissors-paper against two girls - they’re ten years old? - who can only be referred to as LITERALLY street urchins, to see if I have to pay one less dollar or one more dollar for the three woven bracelets they’re selling me on the riverside of Phnom Penh (I lose two series, one 3-4 and one 4-5, after blowing a 4-2 lead; C’mon, Billy Norrett, you vile choking dog!) I take long walks through farmland in the China countryside, earbuds now in, letting Paul Simon wash over me as I take in acres of blooming cotton and ripe peppers, waving at old women in straw hats picking crops. I play gin rummy with Michael on the overnight train back to Shenzhen. I receive a shy smile from the manager of the McDonalds where I write this when she recognizes my “Xie xie,” after she hands me my coffee.
There have been perfectly horrible moments too. Within two weeks I see two dead bodies in two separate traffic accidents. The first body is outside Siem Reap, Cambodia,. Cars and motorbikes are shepherded by police past a bloody corpse lying face-up on the highway, its dirty clothes almost completely ripped off of it. A van with a spider-webbed windshield idles nearby. No one moves to help the man, because there’s nothing to be done. The people in my minivan, all of us coming from the Thailand border, raucously discussing Bangkok strip clubs not two minutes earlier, are now silent. Two Saturdays later, Michael’s family and I are being driven to their nanny’s farm on a road atop a levee near the Yangtze River and we pass a man lying on the narrow road. This body is facedown, his motorbike is toppled to the side. A large wooden beam has crushed the man’s bare skull. Two men stand by an Audi, not moving to help him because again, there’s nothing to be done, and I mumble, “Well, there’s another one.” The moments are vivid but there’s nothing to be done.
Anhui Province, China - 04.10.2014, 2p |
I have several places where I’m taking notes about this trip. In one place, I keep a “Moment of the Day” listing. Not every moment is a good one. Some are somber. Some still make me angry. Each day has one, though. Those moments weave together will make this trip perfect, no matter where it takes me.
None of those dudes wearing the “This Is What Perfection Looks Like.” t-shirts come close to the word, however.
Another intersection, this time in Shenzhen. I’m rushing back to Michael’s apartment, as it’s after 6 p.m. and I’m worried my tardiness will delay their supper. The light turns green and I trot across the street, passing a girl whose turquoise t-shirt reads, “Great Hopes Make Great Men”.
A banging on the door to my bedroom snaps me awake. But I ignore it. A few seconds pass before the banging happens again. It is quicker this time, louder, more insistent. Squinting, I look at my phone: 7:12 a.m. What is this? My mind races to its home: the worst-case scenario. Maybe it’s the government, coming to arrest me, to throw me in prison as a political dissident. This is China, after all. Maybe they’ve found out a writer is hiding out in the farmland. The writer’s a satirist, the most dangerous kind of writer. Jonathan Swift. George Orwell. William Norrett. “It could happen,” I insist to my own scoffing. Now, I hear voices. They’re counting, “One, two, three,” hesitantly, timid. Their banging, however, is not. “Get it over with,” I mutter, launching myself out of bed. As I unlock the door, I have visions of diplomatic negotiations for my return to the United States, of international outrage at my mistreatment, at press conferences, my family trying not to lose their temper at reporters’ stupid and cloying questions, President Obama jabbing his finger at the cameras, insisting on my return, and finally, a hero’s welcome. “How much tail would I rate as a former political prisoner?” I ask as I open the door to-
-two teenage boys. Each holds a piece of paper and a pen in his hand.
They’re the kids who live next door to where Michael’s family and I have been staying these past few days. They want my autograph. I write out “BILLY” twice. They each look at their sheets, read “BILLY” out loud in concert, and smile. I nod, shut the door, and try to go back to sleep, to return to the Airstream in my mind. I am way too comfortable with what has just taken place.
After a few days in Shenzhen, a bustling city of over eight million people, we had taken a fifteen-hour train ride from Shenzhen to the nanny’s family farm in the Anhui Province. Michael and his wife Joan wanted to show their two kids what rural life in China is like. The kids have been, not surprisingly, somewhat ambivalent about this. Sometimes, they can barely muster up the enthusiasm to repeat their favorite imitation of me, shrugging and offering my own accepting-yet-laced-with-its-own-ambivalence, “All right.”
Although I had fun in the farmland, I certainly could’ve explained what it would be like to them before we left. Life in rural China is isolated. It’s deprivation of the highest order. I mean, there is NO Internet up here, man. Electricity, sure. Television, well, yeah, okay. But only Chinese television, dude. I’ve already had to deal with no Gmail and no Facebook for days. Fifteen hours north in the boondocks, you can’t even get Bing, bro.
(shrug) "All right."
(shrug) "All right."
But for me, life in rural China has also meant something else: celebrity. Now, I’ve read enough world census reports to know that while traveling around Asia, I was going to be a minority. In every country up until now, however, there have been at least SOME people who look like me. Bali had plenty of ex-pats from America and Europe, Singapore reminded me of Hong Kong in terms of the Asian/Anglo ratio (roughly 20:1 by my unscientific eye), and in Thailand and Cambodia the locals might stare at you, but you didn’t feel like you were the first white person they had ever seen in their lives. Even Shenzhen felt different, more familiar with me, than it did when I visited in 2006. In 2006, people in even major cities seemed to look upon me like I was an exotic animal.
(Back then, I occasionally used this to my advantage. Side anecdote: in 2006, when I last visited Michael, one day he and I took the train an hour northeast to Guangzhou to see the United States National Basketball Team play Greece in a warm-up for the World Championships. The crowd was entirely Chinese and very, very quiet, really only cheering three point attempts - I guess the fans were impressed by the distance, the shots didn’t have to even be made - and the U.S. team was playing extremely lackluster, content that nobody in the arena knew anything about basketball and that nobody around the world gave a shit about this exhibition game. The Chinese man sitting next to me would eye me suspiciously whenever I would raise my voice above a whisper. At one point in the first half, LeBron James was bringing the ball up court and made a lazy pass that was almost intercepted by Greece before being tipped out of bounds. As he waited for the referee to hand him the basketball to inbound, LeBron stood about thirty feet from where Michael and I were sitting, his back to us. Standing, piercing the library silence with my best impersonation of an irate coach, I yelled, “Hey, LeBron! Stop being so casual with the goddamn basketball!” The man sitting next to me looked horrified until he saw LeBron James whip around, searching for the voice, shocked, chastened, as if he had just been caught masturbating. Seeing LeBron’s reaction turned the Chinese man’s expression ecstatic, as if by seeing me elicit a reaction from the player I had affected the game. I had taught the man a secret about how to watch basketball, and he was grateful. He smiled at me for the rest of the game. I think the U.S. wound up winning by a point, and I bought a pair of Chinese National Team reversible basketball shorts that became a prized possession of mine for a long time. One of my proudest sports’ fan moments. A’ight, back to 2014.)
China is different, however. It started with my layover in the Nanning Airport. Sitting at my gate, scrolling my (useless in China) phone, awaiting my connecting flight to Shenzhen, I made eye contact with a young woman who walked by me with her husband. She was cute but I thought nothing of it, until two seconds later, I heard chattering Mandarin beside me. I looked, and it was the same woman. She made a motion with her hand and showed me her own (useful in China) phone. She wanted to take a picture with me. Uh, okay, sure. I felt it was so strange that I asked if I could have one taken with MY camera for ME - I dunno, for proof? - and she eagerly obliged.
Nanning International Airport, Nanning, China - 28.09.2014, 7p |
If I had known how common that interaction would be over these past few weeks, I wouldn’t have bothered. It didn’t happen so much in Shenzhen, where the most I got were stares, but get outside of a city center in China…and I finally got a sense of what it was like to be famous. I was gawked at by strangers. I was laughed at by strangers (I’m used to people I know laughing at me.) I was repeatedly asked to have my picture taken, often with women, and I’ll confess, I’m struggling to grow weary of that. One afternoon we were trying to find a place to eat lunch, and after being rebuffed by the only restaurant in the small town, while standing outside, a man dressed in a tuxedo grabbed my elbow and pulled me back inside. I thought he was the waiter, but it turned out he was a groom who had just gotten married and was in the midst of his reception. He wanted me to take a picture with him and his wife. Then with him and his wife, AND his brother and HIS fiancee. THEN with his parents. AND then we got a table. While taking walks, I was followed by people, adults and children alike. I think I now know what it’s like to be the Easter Bunny, to be a figure that for billions of people exist only as an idea and may not even be real. I’m not saying I felt like George Clooney or anything, but maybe an actor who people “know was in that thing” and “that guy who did that thing with that chick” and “I don’t know your name but I know you’re good.” Maybe not George Clooney, but I dunno, maybe William H. Macy after Fargo.
Don’t get me wrong, though. The value of celebrity is relative. Being the William H. Macy of China doesn’t mean any business in that nation suddenly now takes Visa. Every time I’ve had to squat to crap into the equivalent of a dash cut into a cement floor, I’ve wanted to shout out, “Don’t you know who I am!?!” No one in China understands a word I say after “Xie xie,” or “Wo jiao Bill!” and I don’t understand a word anyone says to me. I have to point for everything I want in a store or restaurant. I’ve discovered that I’m a pretty shitty, inaccurate pointer. Everything here is a struggle for me, nothing is simple. I miss my native language (that’s my excuse for how long this post is). I’m lonely. There are days I’m tired of the food, of walking, of the struggle to live as a stranger.
But that struggle is also what makes it great. When I’m able to communicate with someone, pierce through the differences, get the exact type of soda I want, have someone tell me THEIR name because they understand I’ve just told them mine (“Wo jiao Bill!”) that is great, that is a moment, that makes this perfect. That’s better than celebrity.
And I’m finding my groove. I’m not counting the days as much. But the number of days is building. I’ve been traveling for 100 days.
One hundred days. Holy shit. It feels insane, on some level. FDR might’ve done a lot in a hundred days, but he probably didn’t have to do it while not understanding 99.9% of what was said in his presence or having to crap in a hole. So, you know - we’ve all got our achievements, yo.
There’s still a long way to go, and I’d still like to see some more toilet seats around here. But I’m hopeful.
A mall in Shenzhen. I need running shorts. I’ve decided I’m going to start running, that even with all I’m doing, everything going on, there is still plenty of time left in each day to fill up with activity and even though I’m losing some weight on this trip I’d like to lose more and if I’m going to get some experiences just walking around these cities I’ll get some running around them too. That when I return home and move into my Airstream and walk the countryside with MacGowan reminiscing about this trip I’m gonna have to get slim jeans if I wanna wear ‘em without a belt, like a 31 or 32 waist. But I’m having trouble finding a store that sells athletic gear, only high-end boutiques that sell jewelry or perfume or luxury watches, with mammoth pictures of models and beautiful, slender saleswomen with amazing legs under black cocktail dresses, who lean against glass counters looking bored out of their minds. Maybe the second floor, I think. I find the escalator and as I start to rise, a woman with dyed rust hair in a ponytail passes me on her way down. Her lemon yellow t-shirt reads simply, “Live Life Today.”
(shrug) All right.
31 OCTOBER 2014
BEIJING
The Italian poet and novelist Cesare Pavese once said, "We do not remember days, we remember moments." And I get this. But with all due respect to Mr. Pavese, when those moments string together into a day, and those days move into nights, and those days and nights link up to form three days and four ni-
-enh, I'm not in the mood to argue the point.
Instead, I will merely smile to myself and say softly, "I will remember Beijing."
01 NOVEMBER 2014
IMPORTANT NEWS DEVELOPMENT
I REALLY wanted to go through this entire trip wearing nothing but black or grey t-shirts (with the white Oxford for special occasions), but a) I've lost enough weight that the XLs* I have billow and make me look fatter than I actually am in pics - IRONY, YO - b) several of the t-shirts might just up and start walking on their own given how often they get washed, and c )the sporting goods store I shopped at today was only offering the cheap price for the heather plum t-shirts. So get ready for a color explosion starting with Vietnam pics...
DON'T PRETEND THIS ISN'T IMPORTANT NEWS TO YOU.
*In part because I wanted some consistency in the pics, and in part because I enjoyed the notion of people wondering, "Is he wearing only two goddamn shirts this entire trip?"
**Oh, by the by. I am still an XL - but now I'm an ASIAN XL.** Boom.
***Shirt size - SPARE ME THE JOKE.
09 NOVEMBER 2014:
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE -
"NO, THANK YOU."
EXT. STREET, HANOI, VIETNAM - AFTERNOON
(BILL walks down the street, Vietnamese coffee with milk in hand. It looks like rain again. A STREET MERCHANT WOMAN, 50s, approaches. She wears a grey smock over loose brown pants and a straw conical hat. She carries a long pole over one shoulder. Both ends of said pole hold a large, open box. Each box contains a mass of trinkets. The merchant waves at Bill, who stops. He takes a sip of coffee.)
BILL: (before the merchant comes to halt in front of him) No, thank you. No, thank you.
(The merchant comes to a halt in front of him. With her free hand, she points at the mass of woven bracelets in one of the boxes on her pole.)
BILL: No, thank you.
(The merchant points at a mass of leather wallets in a box.)
BILL: No, thank you.
(The merchant points at a mass of paper wallets in the other box.)
BILL: (shrugging, smiling) No, thank you.
(The merchant points at a bunch of watches in one box.)
BILL: (laughing now) No, thank you.
(The merchant smiles. She points at a bunch of chintzy hand fans in another box.)
BILL: (laughing louder) No, thank you.
(The merchant smiles again. She looks at her boxes. She’s out of options. She looks at Bill.)
BILL: No, thank you. But thank you.
(Bill smiles. The merchant smiles. Bill turns to walk away, and sees a SECOND MERCHANT, with her own smock, her own conical hat, her own pole and boxes attached to her own said pole, sitting on a stoop. The second merchant laughs and points at the first merchant. The first merchant shrugs - “Whaddya want from me?” - and points at Bill. Bill points at her.)
FIRST MERCHANT: (imitating Bill) No, thank you.
SECOND MERCHANT: No, thank you.
(All laugh. Bill takes another sip of his coffee. He waves at each merchant separately and walks away.)
13 NOVEMBER 2014:
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE -
"JOB OFFER"
INT. A BAR IN HANOI, VIETNAM - AFTERNOON
(BILL sits at the bar chatting with the BAR ASSISTANT MANAGER, a Vietnamese woman, mid-30s?, bangs, competent. Bill occasionally glances at the BARTENDER, a Vietnamese man, er, boy, early 20s, faux-hawk, tattooed sleeve, dim - who sits at the end of the bar staring at his phone. In his week in Hanoi, Bill has been to this bar three times, and chatted with the Bar Manager each time. On this visit, Bill is playing the game, “How Long Before the Goddamned Bartender Notices My Glass Is Empty and Asks If I Want Another Beer?” in his head: five minutes and counting. Mid-conversation-)
BAR ASST. MANAGER: (accented English) What time did you wake up this morning?
BILL: I dunno. Ten?
BAR ASST. MANAGER: (mock angry) I awoke at eight, and I was here until three this morning.
BILL: Well, I don’t have a job.
BAR ASST. MANAGER: You need a job.
(The bar asst. manager notices Bill’s empty glass, and snaps her fingers at the bartender, chattering at him in angry Vietnamese. The bartender finally notices Bill’s empty glass. As he goes to pour a fresh draught, the bar asst. manager puts her face in her hands, shaking her head.)
BILL: Don’t worry about it.
(The bartender puts the new draught in front of Bill. Bill and the bar asst. manager look at the glass. Pause.)
BILL: (re: bartender) Is he proposing to me?
(The bar asst. manager again chatters in angry Vietnamese until the bartender notices, at the bottom of the full glass, the o-ring from the keg nozzle resting in the beer. The bartender takes the glass and actually tries to pull the o-ring out with his finger. More angry Vietnamese chattering. The bartender pours out the beer. He replaces the o-ring on the nozzle as the bar asst. manager again puts her face in her hands. As the bartender replaces the beer -no o-ring this time - she harangues him in Vietnamese until finally-)
BARTENDER: (broken English) I am very sorry.
BILL: Don’t worry about it. No problem. Seriously. I was kidding. No problem.
(The bartender, unaffected, goes and sits back down, taking out his phone.)
BAR ASST. MANAGER: I am sorry. He is new.
BILL: Seriously, don’t sweat it. Accidents happen.
BAR ASST. MANAGER: (scoffing) “Accidents.”
BILL: (joking) Maybe I should work HERE. Replace him.
BAR ASST. MANAGER: (not joking) Yes. Come work here.
BILL: I was kidding.
BAR ASST. MANAGER: No, no. Work here.
BILL: (hoping this will put an end to it) I don’t think you could pay me enough.
BAR ASST. MANAGER: (calculating) $1000 per month.
BILL: American dollars? (she nods) That’s not enough to live on.
BAR ASST. MANAGER: That’s plenty. Everything cheap here. Food, rent…
BILL: Yeah. I can imagine that phone call with my mother. “Mom, I’ve decided to become a bartender in Hanoi.”
BAR ASST. MANAGER: (re: bartender) Better than him.
BILL: Well, yeah.
BAR ASST. MANAGER: Call your mother. (thinks) You live with me. (laughs) I charge cheap rent.
BILL: Yeah…I don’t see that making the phone call any easier.
16 NOVEMBER 2014:
"SOME NOTES AFTER A 24 HOUR+ BUS RIDE ACROSS TWO NATIONS"
Thoughts I've had while traveling from Hanoi, Vietnam to Vientiane, Laos...
1. It is to be re-emphasized, the most comfortable way to travel overland in SE Asia is to be a five-foot six woman who weighs 84 lbs.
2. "Tom & Jerry" cartoons, or rather three "Tom & Jerry" cartoons played in perpetuity, at top volume, do not provide the late-night travel entertainment value you would think.
3. If I had permission and a week for training, I could improve the efficiency of Vietnam's entry/exit immigration system by like 30% (this would involve severe layoffs and an insistence that the remaining officers, you know, DO MORE THAN ONE THING THEMSELVES, however).
4. Spotting a fellow traveler the $42 she needs to get a visa-on-arrival in Laos at 7am can create a mild "Hey, I saved-a-damsel-in-distress" endorphin rush.
5. Having to ask for $1 back so you can cover your own "stamp fee" ruins that rush (I gave her the equivalent in my leftover Vietnamese Dong - SAVE YOUR JOKE, THAT'S WHAT THEY CALL THEIR MONEY.)
6. Be forewarned: if you help "push start" your bus after it breaks down 80km outside of Vientiane, your joke about getting a discount will be "misunderstood" (read: ignored).
18 NOVEMBER 2014:
ROGUE TRIP TRAVEL DISPATCH - WEEK NINETEEN:
"LEARNING"
I was concerned. Over the previous twenty hours on the bumpy, fatigued journey from Hanoi, Vietnam to Vientiane, Laos, our bus driver had stopped more than once, but each of the previous times it was usually just to smoke by the side of the road and chatter on his cell phone, waking us all up. This time, however, he was darting back and forth between the open door and the back of the bus, joined by his “staff.” When they were out of sight, I could hear banging where I imagined the engine was. They seemed unconcerned. I was concerned.
-I’ve learned that you can never drink enough water.
-I’ve learned that the first day you arrive in a new city, you just walk around for a few hours and you’re guaranteed to find cool things.
-I’ve learned you can walk all day long.
-I've learned that most people walk just fast enough to stay in your way.
-I’ve learned that the first day you arrive in a new city, you buy postcards and write them out that night.
-I’ve learned the first night you’re in a new city, you figure out how to get to wherever you’ll need to go when you’re LEAVING that city.
-I’ve learned that podcasts are better for killing time during overnight bus or train trips, but music is better accompaniment during walking.
-I've learned that the National is a great band to score a visit to Halong Bay, that Vampire Weekend is a great band to walk through Singapore with, and that Jay-Z is a fantastic soundtrack while walking around rural China.
-I’ve learned that once you spend years in restaurants where smoking is forbidden, sitting in one at a table next to smoking French tourists is a real eye-opener (and eye-waterer).
-I’ve learned that the bullet trains in China are amazing and that the United States needs to get on that, pronto. Please. Los Angeles to Las Vegas. Please. This is Day-One shit.
-I’ve learned that the baguettes in Hanoi are amazing, that hot pot in China is still the best way to eat dinner, that as long as you’re cool with beef, chicken, or pork, pointing at a picture will get you fed well most of the time.
-I’ve learned that in most countries in Asia, tipping is unnecessary. But apparently the trade-off is, whenever you ask a waiter or waitress for anything, there will be a brief moment where you’re convinced they’re going to just walk away from you without doing anything.
-I’ve learned that, collectively, the service industry really resents giving out the free wi-fi password.
-I’ve learned that most of the time, a recommendation from someone whom you meet on a train or bus or whom you chat with in a hotel lobby or bar will beat the recommendations in the guidebook. But-
-I’ve learned that just because the person you’re talking to speaks English, it doesn’t mean they know what they’re talking about.
-I’ve learned that if you don’t like littering you might have to carry a water bottle five miles to make sure it winds up in a garbage can. I've learned it's worth it.
-I’ve learned that there’s a ceiling for how high China can rise until they learn how to fucking line up properly. Learn to queue, yo.
-I’ve learned that in southeast Asia, there is no such thing as a sidewalk. Between either side of the road and the buildings bordering the street, there is a concrete area meant not for walking, but for motorbike parking, food stalls, motorbike DRIVING, old people sitting on tiny, blue stools, and children sitting on tiny, blue stools.
-I’ve learned you can fit a family of four on a motorbike.
-I’ve learned that there are no concepts so foreign to Asia as “yield,” the “right of way,” or “defensive driving.” It’s often said in sports that “the best defense is a good offense.” Drivers in Asia, in that case, are trying to desperately emulate Chip Kelly’s Philadelphia Eagle offense combined with Loyola Marymount’s basketball offense in 1989 all at once, then combine it with a gigantic swarm of bees each trying to get inside a honeycomb. The resource on this continent that promises to never run out is brake fluid. Using one’s brakes here is considered a failure.
-I’ve learned you’re allowed to every now and again read or watch something that reminds you of home without feeling like you’re cheating.
-I’ve learned that “NewsRadio” doesn’t quite hold up but Phil Hartman undeniably does.
-I’ve learned I can spend four months not watching football games or highlights and still pick NFL games better than my friends.
-I've learned that those stretchy, semi-pajama elephant pants that 98% of female backpackers in southeast Asia wear lose their novelty pretty quickly. I've noticed the locals don't wear them.
-I’ve learned that a woman on a motorbike, wearing an accessorized helmet (be it styled with a tartan pattern, in pink, or with some floral print) coordinated with her business suit and skirt, with her high-heeled shoes resting on the pedal, is a pretty damn sexy sight.
-I’ve learned I should’ve been smiling and holding eye contact with people for the last thirty years.
-I’ve learned you can be open to and respectful other cultures and their histories but also more patriotic than you would’ve thought your cynicism allowed. I’ve learned that all it takes to realize you love your country and understand that it’s great despite its faults is to walk through a desolate Aboriginal neighborhood in Alice Springs, Australia, to stand on an empty street in Tiananmen Square, China, to be warned not to let anyone on the mainland catch you with that protest leaflet you just put in your wallet in Hong Kong, or to walk through the Ho Chi Minh Museum in Hanoi, Vietnam.
-I’ve learned that for the most part, people all over the world see you smile and they smile back at you, want to learn more about you when they can, and are looking to help and not scam you.
-I’ve learned that, with the previous thing I’ve learned, taxicab drivers are not people. Enh, some of them are.
-I’ve learned that even though it’s not a scam, you’re not going to beat street urchins in Phnom Penh, Cambodia at “rock-scissors-paper”.
-I’ve learned that people may lose 75% of their body heat through their head, but I lose 90% of my sweat through my back.
-I’ve learned that my body odor is somewhat inoffensive. It’s debatable, anyway.
-I’ve learned (re-learned) that my foot odor is. It’s not debatable.
-I’ve learned that you’re allowed to say, “I don’t feel like going to any temples today.”
-I’ve learned that there are all the temples in southeast Asia, and there’s Angkor Wat.
-I’ve learned that you shouldn’t make any decisions until you’ve gotten out of bed in the morning.
-I’ve learned you should get out of bed the moment you wake up in the morning.
-I’ve learned that two cups of coffee or two bottles of beer are, for better or worse, reliable antidepressants.
-I’ve learned that a conversation over drinks with a stranger beats walking around a museum, that walking around a city with a travel partner beats walking around a city alone, and that when you tell someone you met to “keep in touch,” be prepared for that touch to change your trip in the best possible ways.
-I’ve learned that you need to adapt, and that’s how you wind up making things more memorable.
-I’ve learned that Australia is a donut. Tasty on the outside with nothing in the middle.
-I’ve learned the beaches in Bali are an even better antidepressant than two cups of coffee.
-I’ve learned that autumn in Beijing, China feels just like autumn in Manhattan, and that the foliage surrounding the Great Wall of China changes colors just like the foliage in New England.
-I’ve learned that every day is a short story.
-I’ve learned to believe - or at least try to believe - that it will be fine.
18 NOVEMBER 2014:
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE -
"UGH"
INT. FUNKY MONKEY HOSTEL LOBBY, VIENTIANE, LAOS - MORNING
(BILL sits talking with a Chinese WOMAN over coffee - complimentary for guests before 10am!.)
BILL: ...And what do you do?WOMAN: (blank stare)
BILL: Uh, what is your job? Um. What do you do?
WOMAN: (blank stare)
BILL: (mutters) Crap. Um. Work? What is your work? (mimes hammering - ?!?) Work?
WOMAN: (understands) Work? (Bill nods. She stammers.) Oh, I don’t have a job.
BILL: Ha. Me neither.
WOMAN: (puzzled, stammering) You don’t have a job?
BILL: Well, I’m a writer.
WOMAN: (blank stare)
BILL: (mimes typing) Writer?
WOMAN: (blank stare)
BILL: I wrote a book. A novel. Book? Novel?
WOMAN: (blank stare)
BILL: (thinks) Hm. (realizes) Ugh. (sighs) Okay. (holds up finger) Wait.
WOMAN: Wait?
(Bill takes his laptop out of his backpack, and boots it up. He sighs. He brings up the Internet.)
WOMAN: (looking over Bill’s shoulder) Amazon?
BILL: Yeah.
(A handful of keystrokes later…Bill brings up “Amazon Author Page: William Norrett”. The woman looks, then points at the author photo.)
WOMAN: You?
BILL: (wincing, nods) Me. (winces, mumbles to self) You’re an asshole, Billy…
WOMAN: (smiles) Ah!
(Smiling, the woman looks at the page for a moment, then points.)
WOMAN: What is that?
BILL: (blank stare)
(The woman begins to type something into her phone.)
WOMAN: (re: phone) Translate.
(She finishes typing, and shows her phone to Bill.)
BILL: (reading) “The Vanilla Gigolo Prescription”…
WOMAN: (blank stare at Bill)
BILL: Shit…
24 NOVEMBER 2014:
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE -
"REALIZATION"
INT. BAR, BANGKOK THAILAND - EVENING
(BILL sits nursing a beer while a cover band plays a song, the lead SINGER croons, soft but enthusiastic.)
SINGER: (singing) My baby's gone/I have no friends.
BILL: (to self) Man, he's really butchering this.
SINGER: (singing) To wish me greetings once again.
BILL: (to self) Song SOUNDS familiar...what is it, though?
SINGER: (singing) Choirs will be singing "Silent Night"...
BILL: (to self) Wait a second-
SINGER: (singing) Christmas carols by candlelight.
BILL: Oh, shit.
SINGER: (singing) Please come home for Christmas.
BILL: (sighs) Shit.
SINGER: (singing) Please come home for Christmas.
(Bill takes a pull of beer. Pause.)
BILL: (sighs) This might be a longer month than I anticipated.
26 NOVEMBER 2014
ROGUE TRIP TRAVEL DISPATCH - WEEK TWENTY
"HALF"
So far on this trip (knocks wood), there have only been two moments where I thought I was amidst legitimate danger. One of those moments was in Hong Kong. I blame Couchsurfing.*
*Not really.
This was the beginning of the trail. But there was no way to tell where it led, or how far. My mind flashed, as it often does, on GHOSTBUSTERS:
(The ghostbusters wander around Barrett's apartment, which has been destroyed. DR. STANTZ (Dan Aykroyd) sees that at one end, a staircase has been revealed. He looks at the rest of the ghostbusters.
DR. STANTZ: Hey! Which way do these stairs go?
DR. VENKMAN (Bill Murray): (looking) They go up.
17 DECEMBER 2014:
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE -
"WHAT IS A CURRENCY EXCHANGE?"
INT. INDIRA GANDHI INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT BAGGAGE CLAIM - EVENING
(To his surprise, BILL has just flown through immigration in less than two minutes - no line, amenable immigration officer - check passport, stamp passport, waved through. A pleasure. Now, he sees a currency exchange station right next to where his luggage is to emerge at baggage claim. "Everything's coming up roses!" Smiling, Bill approaches the currency exchange and takes out his wallet.)
BILL: (pulling out bills) Do you exchange Nepalese-
EXCHANGER: No Nepalese rupees!
BILL: No Nepalese rupees?
EXCHANGER: No Nepalese rupees!
BILL: (his happy mood ruined) You realize this is an airport in a country that BORDERS Nepal, right?
EXCHANGER: (says nothing)
BILL: You realize this is 2014, right?!
EXCHANGER: (says nothing)
BILL: You realize you claim to exchange currency, right?!
EXCHANGER: (says nothing)
(Another EXCHANGER comes over.)
EXCHANGER #2: One thousand rupee bills only!
BILL: (dripping with sarcasm) Oh, so you WILL exchange SOME Nepalese rupees? You said you didn't exchange any. But you will, huh? Wow.
EXCHANGER #2: One thousand bills only!
(Bill ruffles his Nepalese bills, pulling out one.)
BILL: Well, here's a thousand!
(Bill starts to hand the bill over.)
EXCHANGER #2: That is a five hundred.
(Bill looks at the bill in his hand. Pause.)
BILL: (under his breath) Goddammit. (aloud) Sorry.
(The two exchangers walk away. Bill looks at another exchanger, who has watched the entire exchange.)
BILL: Is there an ATM nearby? (to himself) I can't read this goddamn money.
25 DECEMBER 2014:
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE -
"CHRISTMAS MORNING IN MUMBAI"
A Rogue Trip Playlette in Three Actlettes
(Playlettewright’s note: for all dialogue, please factor in the language barrier - e.g. stammering, repetition, blank looks given to Bill, shrugs given to Bill, etc. The actor playing the role of Bill should realize that Bill has just finished an overnight train ride from Pushkar, India - 19 hours - and thus must show the appropriate build of exasperation during each actlette.)
ACTLETTE I
EXT. GUEST HOUSE - MORNING
(An open-air cab, or tuk-tuk, DRIVER pulls up to a guest house. BILL is in the back seat, shouting at him.)
BILL: I do not want to go here! I’ve TOLD you I do not want to go here! We PASSED the place I TOLD you to take me! Take me back there!
CUT TO:
INT. OPEN-AIR CAB - CONTINUOUS
BILL: I did not want to go here! I TOLD you I did not want to go here! Take me to the place I TOLD you to take me!
(The cab driver turns around. He indicates the guest house.)
CAB DRIVER: Here?
BILL: No! Not here!
CAB DRIVER: “Hotel”? (pointing) Hotel.
BILL: I said “hotel” at the train station. I didn’t know which one. Then we PASSED one, and I said, “Stop here.” “Stop here.” “Stop here!”
CAB DRIVER: (pointing) Hotel.
BILL: I want you to take me to the other hotel! Like I said!
(A “CONCIERGE” emerges from the guest house. He approaches the cab, and shakes hands with the driver.)
BILL: (seeing this, realizing the business deal) Argh!
"CONCIERGE": (to Bill) Hello, sir.
BILL: Hello. I’m not staying here.
"CONCIERGE": You’re staying here?
BILL: No. I want (indicating driver) him to take me to the place I said. Where I pointed!
CAB DRIVER: (pointing) Pointing here.
"CONCIERGE": You stay here.
BILL: (to concierge) Dude! (to cab driver) Dude!
"CONCIERGE": So, you stay here?
BILL: No!
(Bill gets out of the cab, takes his bags - his multiple, heavy bags - out. So really, he hoists them out.)
BILL: (indicating cab driver) If this guy won’t take me there, I’ll get another cab.
CONCIERGE: Where you from, sir?
BILL: Argh!
(Bill starts walking. After a beat, the cab driver follows him slowly.)
BILL: (to cab driver) DIFFERENT cab!
ACTLETTE II
INT. HOTEL RESTAURANT - MINUTES LATER
(Bill has found another hotel. He enters the restaurant and puts his bags - his multiple, heavy bags - down next to a two-seat table. So really, he plops them down next to a two-seat table. A WAITER approaches.)
WAITER: Room number, sir?
BILL: Oh, I haven’t checked in yet, they won’t let me check in until eleven. So I’m just going to eat breakfast and wait here, if that’s all right.
WAITER: No problem, sir. Coffee?
BILL: Yes. (anticipating what’s coming) Milk coffee.
WAITER: Black coffee?
BILL: No, milk coffee?
WAITER: Coffee, sir?
BILL: Yes. Milk. Coffee.
WAITER: No problem sir.
BILL: (sighs) Thank you.
WAITER: No problem, sir. Buffet?
BILL: (looking over at the buffet) You know what? I don’t think I’m going to do the buffet today. Could I see a menu, please?
WAITER: No problem, sir.
(The waiter leaves, then brings back a menu. Bill looks it over.)
WAITER: Room number, sir?
BILL: Huh? No, I told you. I’m checking in later.
WAITER: No problem, sir.
(As Bill looks over the menu, the waiter hovers.)
BILL: You know what? Why don’t you take care of the coffee, and by the time you come back, I’ll know what I’m going to order.
WAITER: Excuse me, sir?
BILL: Why don’t you go get me the coffee, and while you’re gone, I’ll decide. And when you come back, I’ll give you my order.
WAITER: Oh, I’m sorry, sir. Right now you cannot order off of the menu. You can only have the buffet.
BILL: (sighs)
ACTLETTE III
INT. RECEPTION - SECONDS LATER
(Bill approaches the HOTEL CLERK, a young woman. This - a woman working an “official” job-like job - is rare to Bill’s experience in India; aside from the occasional shopkeeper or street sweeper, the vast majority of employees in all areas seem to be men - so Bill smiles.)
BILL: (to self) Ah, right. Maybe dealing with a woman will give me some luck, here. (to clerk) Hi.
CLERK: Hello again, sir.
BILL: (smiles) Yes. Hello again. Could I please have the wi-fi password?
CLERK: I’m very sorry, sir-
(Playlettewright’s note: The actress delivering this line MUST deliver it as if it’s the ONE MILLIONTH TIME she’s said “I’m very sorry, sir.” Thus, it MUST have the perfect blend of automaton and utter lack of sympathy for whatever she’s “very sorry” for…)
CLERK: -but only registered guests are permitted to use the hotel wi-fi service.
BILL: I’m checking in four hours. (re: clock behind clerk) In less than four hours.
CLERK: I’m very sorry, sir, but-
BILL: You’ve already run my credit card. I’ve already paid for the room.
CLERK: I’m very sorry, sir, but-
BILL: (pointing to restaurant) I’m literally going to sit there until you let me check in.
CLERK: I’m very- (even she can’t hear herself say it again) If you want to check in early, for five hundred rupees per-
BILL: (realizing) Oh.
CLERK: Would you like to check in early, sir?
BILL: (stares)
Have a Merry and safe Christmas, everyone!
26 DECEMBER 2014:
SOPHISTICATED ROGUE’S TRAVEL TIP #6©:
"TRY IT AGAIN."
In preparing for this trip, I read an article which advised me to get a new credit card solely for the trip, and to use it as much as possible while traveling. Using a single card would consolidate the receipts, make it easier to track expenses and, if you got the right card, would give reward points I could then put towards future purchases.
Good advice - the card I got has essentially paid for my flight from Portugal to Brazil next month. (claps hands once) Boom.
But it still LOOKS like a credit card. It's got a bank's name and MY name on the front, numbers on the front and back and besides, last time I checked, we’re knocking on the door of 2015, here.
SOPHISTICATED ROGUE’S TRAVEL TIP #6©
Mild panic ran away.
*SOPHISTICATED ROGUE’S TRAVEL TIPS© are meant to be for entertainment purposes only. The title of the tips, the tips themselves, and in fact the sobriquet “Sophisticated Rogue” itself are meant to be ironic, wry, and in no way literal, and if you don’t know that by now, well, (sigh), Jesus, c’mon, dude…
31 DECEMBER 2014:
ROGUE TRIP TRAVEL DISPATCH - WEEK TWENTY-FIVE
"MIDPOINT NUMBERS & AWARDS"
I know we're a little past the midway point, but on this New Year’s Eve, some up-to-date RogueTrip numbers for you:
Days Traveled: 177
Months Traveled: 5.8
Countries Visited: 16 (New Zealand, Australia, Indonesia, Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, Cambodia, China, Hong Kong, Macau, Vietnam, Laos, Nepal, India, United Arab Emirates, Morocco)
Of 16 Countries Visited, Ones That Were Merely Layovers in Airports: 2 (Aukland, New Zealand and Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates)
Total Miles Traveled to date: 35,995
Average Miles Per Day (Total Miles Traveled/Days Traveled): 203.36
Miles Traveled by:
Air: 20,833
Train: 13,391
Bus/Van: 1,771
Days Spent in:
Australia: 34 (19.2%)
Asia: 139 (78.5%)
Africa: 4 (2.2%)
Pages in Passport: 52
Pages in Passport Now Filled: 19
Valuables Lost in Airports or Hotel Rooms: 0
Full or Half-Full Water Bottles Left Behind in Airports or Hotel Rooms: 26*
AirBnB Reviews: 14
Positive AirBnB Reviews: 14 (sample review: “He is a very good person.”)
Positive AirBnB Review %: 100 (sample review: “He come as guest leave as friend.”)
Photos Taken: 6,578*
Photos Taken That Don’t Include Bill: 37*
Postcards Purchased: 112*
Postcards Mailed: 61*
Postcards Mailed From Same City Postcard Purchased: 0
Bill’s Starting Weight: 215 lbs.
Bill’s Weight Today: 85.5 kg
Haircuts: 5
Most Days Gone Without Shaving: 7**
ATMs That Rejected Bill’s Card For No Reason: 6
Debit Cards Left In ATM: 1
International Phone Calls Successfully Made, First Time Dialing: 0
Number of Times Earbuds Dropped In Toilet/Urinal: 3
Pairs of Earbuds Ruined: 1
Pairs of Disposable Contact Lenses Used: 2
Maximum Months Advised to Wear Disposable Contact Lenses: 1
Packages Mailed to United States From China: 2
Packages Mailed to United States From China Which Could Be Considered “Lost” At This Point: 2
Number of Times A Woman Asked Bill, “How old are you?”: 78*
Number of Times Bill Responded “Guess.”: 78*
Average Age Guessed: 47* (scowls, middle fingers raised)
Highest Age Guessed (i.e., “Most Obscene Guess”): 52 (what the fuck?)
Number of Times Woman Recognized the OCEAN’S TWELVE joke Bill Made in Response to Most Obscene Guess***: 0
Club Sandwiches Eaten: 3
*estimated
**Nepal trek-related
***Exchange between Clooney and Affleck in OCEAN’S TWLEVE:
”How old do you think I am?”
“48?”
“You think I’m 48 years old?”
(pause) “52?”
M.V.P. (Most Valuable Place) race so far…
3. Nepal - if you’re going to pick a place for your first-ever trek, you could do worse than the Himalayas.
2. Bail, Indonesia - Every place I’ve been to, at some point I ask myself, “Could you live here?” In Bali’s case, the answer didn’t come in words. It came in me dropping to my knees, clutching the sand of Sanur Beach in both of my fists, and weeping with joy. I took that as a “Yes.”
WINNER: China - a month of seeing a good friend and his family, traveling a large swath of the nation, seeing both its urban and rural sides, and accumulating a book’s worth of stories in Beijing, that I cannot wait to write.
M.V.P. (Most Valuable Packed Item) race so far…
3. Tissue Paper - invaluable in Asia for reasons that should be self-explanatory.
2. Zip-Loc Bags (of various sizes) - a gift from my friends Jonica and Sandy that I never would have thought to purchase myself, these plastic bags have proven essential in a pinch: when I need a separate place for dirty laundry, compiling all the knickknacks and sundries I’ll eventually lose by mailing from China (see above), and most important, for providing me a safe haven for my laptop when it starts raining and thus, providing me peace of mind. Thank you, Jonica and Sandy. Now figure out how your Skype works!
WINNER: 4 In 1 Travel Electrical Adaptor - a gift from my friend Amy that I never would have thought to purchase myself (sense a pattern here?), these adaptors (fitted to fit in a small box which fits in a pouch in my backpack) have made charging the myriad of my electronic devices so easy that I barely even obsess over it at this point. Thank you, Amy. Now figure out how your FaceTime works!
M.V.P. (Most obVious imProvement Bill would implement in a country he’s visited so far…)
3. Garbage Cans - a minimum of one every fifty feet on every public street. I think this would instantly improve a nation's mood by 8%.
2. “Yield” and “Right of Way” signs
WINNER: Toilet Bowls.
M.V.P. (Most Valuable Performance By A Tourist Attraction) race so far…
3. Angkor Wat - Asia is lousy with temples. Every city in every country I visited in Asia, there were just loads of temples everywhere. I don’t mind admitting, there were some days I felt “templed out” and days where I was convinced some architect was just building “template temples” (that’s a Kaiser NFS joke for the three ex-co-workers who read this blog). But there are temples, there are TEMPLES…and then there’s Angkor Wat. Angkor Wat is not so much one temple as a campus of temples, built radically different than most of the temples you’ll see on the continent. Large, mossy, sweaty stones, one piled on top of another that seem both precarious and indestructible, part of the world's largest Lego set. Angkor Wat is beyond compare. I started walking around the “campus” at sunrise and as someone not normally filled with a great deal of spirituality, rarely (if ever) have I felt so peaceful. Recommend.
2. Great Wall of China - a new friend I met in Beijing took hired a driver for the day and we went up to Mutian-Yu portion of the Wall, grabbing McDonald’s before we left the city. The McDonald’s made her sick, and by the time we reached Mutian-Yu she was in no condition to leave the car. So I walked the Wall alone. It defies description. If I hadn’t had someone waiting for me in the car, I would’ve walked it all day. It’s unbelievable. Recommend.
WINNER: Taj Mahal - Let’s just say, the Taj Mahal covers for a lot of India’s sins in how it treats a guest. A LOT of sins. Picturing it in my head stops me in my tracks two weeks later. I stop in my tracks, someone walking behind me bumps into me, they say, “Come on, dude!” in some language, and I turn around and say, “Sorry. I was picturing the Taj Mahal,” and THEY wind up apologizing to ME. Go see that shit. Recommend.
Best Soundtracks to Walk Around Tourist Attractions/City Streets to...
Honorable Mention: Freedy Johnston “This Perfect World” and trying to match the album cover while taking pictures of the Taj Mahal, Angels & Airwaves, and Mos Def.
3. The National - entire catalogue on shuffle walking around Angkor Wat.
2. Simon & Garfunkel - “Best of” album, particularly good for rural/trek scenarios
WINNER: Vampire Weekend - entire catalogue on shuffle, walking any and all city streets.
M.V.P. (Mesmerizing Vocal Performance)
William Norrett (featuring Wei) - “My Heart Will Go On”, Beijing, China
M.V.P. (Most Vexing Person Met While Traveling) so far…
3. Cab Driver in Mumbai, India - Pretended to not understand “That hotel! That hotel!” Followed Bill even after being told there was no fucking way Bill was getting back in cab. Owned a blank look for the ages.
2. Check-In Agent, JetStar Airlines, Darwin Airport - kept interrupting Bill even though Bill was dealing with another agent, not him. Refused to accept Bills explanation that the airline’s website was not working when Bill tried to check in his bag the night before. Snidely said, “Thousands of people manage to use it (the website) every day without incident,” then tried to pivot out when Bill said, “I guess I’m just dumb, then. I guess I’m just dumb.” After Bill had calmed down, apologized, and joked (not to him, again, to the agent he was dealing with), “You’re gonna send my bag to Mozambique or somewhere, aren’t you?” haughtily said, “We don’t do that, sir.”
WINNER: William Norrett, various - Get out of your head, you idiot.
Part of what has been lucky for me on this trip is, every so often there’s been someone there for me. A friend or family member that’s popped up on my journey to give me something to hold onto. Just when I think I’ve been on the road by myself for too long, there’s been someone (or someones, or some family) that have been there to serve as a balance. Thus, the M.V.P. (Most Valuable Player) race so far…
(Four-way tie, listed chronologically)
McDonald/Simmerman/Verdeja - Bali, Indonesia - After five+ weeks riding the rails in Australia, a rougher-than-expected immersion into world travel, Bali was precisely what the doctor ordered. Relaxing, positive, encouraging, and beautiful, I was able to calm myself down with a normalcy I wasn't sure I'd ever see again. Without Bali, I probably would’ve just gone home. But in my week on the island, I got to see monkeys, dolphins, AND I learned how to play “Werewolves”. My host family welcomed me, and on a small level, they saved me. Thank you.
Jenny and Liz Ann - Bangkok, Thailand - Provided a port in a storm at a point I was drowning a little. Bought me a lovely meal at a lovely hotel. Prompted me to shop at Asiatique which was a diversion I never would’ve taken. Talked me a down a bit. Implored me to say “Fuck that!” to things or people I needed to say “Fuck that!” to (principally Jenny implored me on this score). Offered to take gifts back and mail them within the United States - the value of this cannot be overstated. Thank you.
The Gallaghers - Shenzhen, China - Hosted me for a month. Let me crash in their nanny’s room. Fed me. Entertained me. Allowed me to tag along with them on their family vacation to the country. Took me to numerous hot pot meals. Educated me about the Asian karaoke culture. It was (shrug) “All right.” Thank you.
Sue - Bangkok, Thailand - I was not planning on going back to Thailand. I had seen it. What I had NOT seen, however, was one of my good friends in Thailand. So whatever, I’ll see it again. Seeing Sue reminded me of kindness, of generosity, of having your shit together. She inspired me. Thanks to Sue for letting me tag along with her family on her vacation (I’ve intruded on a number of family vacations on this trip) to Chiang Mai, and letting me show her some sights in her own hometown. You need to get out more, Sue. Thank you.
Everyone have a Happy and safe New Year. I fly to London tomorrow. We'll talk soon.
-billy
13 JANUARY 2015:
ROGUE TRIP TRAVEL DISPATCH - WEEK TWENTY-SEVEN
"SOME THOUGHTS ON CLAUDE MONET'S EIGHT 'WATER LILLIES' AT MUSEE DE L'ORANGERIE" IN PARIS, FRANCE
1. The murals are in two long, oval-shaped rooms with stark white walls, already separating them from much of the other artwork in Paris that hangs on walls whose colors are almost artistic themselves. The juxtaposition of the white walls with the colors in the murals is striking. Soon after entering the first room, I muttered, “I’ve got the idea for wallpaper in my next apartment.”
2. Because there is blue, and there is “Water Lilies” blue. There is purple, and there is “Water Lilies” purple. There are colors, and there are Monet’s colors.
3. I don't have a picture to post here. Go Google Image it if you like.
4. This will make sense later.
5. It doesn't even make sense for me to post a picture.
6. This will make sense later.
7. There are four murals in each room, one on each “side” of the oval, Monet depicting the water lilies in his garden at Giverny from sunrise in the east at one end of the first room to sunset in the west at the opposite end of the second room. The four panels in each room are separated by open entrances/exits. A hidden joy in walking around the rooms was watching people enter each room and seeing their jaws drop and their step slow at what they were seeing for the first time. People would literally brake in the entranceway, amazed, as they saw the murals. Their companions would bump into them from behind. Then they would almost stagger into and around the rooms, or to the center to find an unoccupied space on the benches to take the murals in. That was fun to watch.
8. I’ve been walking around art museums around the world for the past six months. By the second month, it was no longer amusing to see people sitting on benches amongst some of the greatest works of art in history, with their heads buried in their phone screens. It was no longer irksome to see people standing before masterpieces, texting. You look at people’s faces and sometimes you can see them thinking, “How long should I stand in front of this painting? How long do I need to walk around this place before I can claim I’ve ‘appreciated’ enough art?” Because it had become commonplace. I don’t exclude myself from this indictment. I will walk through rooms without ever coming to a stop. There have been times I HAVE stopped on a museum’s steps and said, “I just can’t visit another museum today,” before walking away. Walking through a museum takes patience, takes curiosity, takes a willingness to ignore your various social networks. It’s not easy. Even if it’s good work, worthwhile work, it can still be work.
9. There was nobody’s face buried in a phone screen standing or sitting in front of the “Water Lilies”, and everybody’s face held joy and wonder, not boredom or obligation. Everyone’s face said, “What I’m looking at is beautiful. And looking at what I’m looking at is making me feel beautiful inside.” Men, women, children. Everyone's face told me this. That was fun to watch, too.
10. Last year, I told people I was going on a trip around the world, and I was told to take pictures. “Don’t be a cranky asshole,” I was told, “and take some pictures. You’ll regret it if you don’t.” I was reminded that growing up I’ve always been too lazy or too embarrassed to document my moments, that I’ve always thought it a pose to actively record my memories, and I was implored to put away this foolishness and to take pictures. And so I did. I’ve been taking pictures, I’ve been taking a lot of pictures, I’ve grown fond of taking them, grown interested in making those pictures interesting. And then all of a sudden, I step into two oval-shaped rooms containing what might be the most beautiful thing created by one man that I’ve ever seen in my life, AND I’M NOT ALLOWED TO TAKE PICTURES
11. (grumble)
12. I wanted to take pictures of the paintings, I wanted to take pictures of people looking at the paintings, I wanted to take pictures of me standing in front of the paintings, I wanted to take pictures of the rooms. I’ve never wanted to take pictures of something more in my entire life.
13. But I have a history getting into trouble with museum guards. Years ago at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, after scoffing at a comment my mother made about the size of the hands and feet on Rodin’s sculptures, I LOST MY MIND for a moment and actually PUT MY HAND on a Rodin sculpture’s hand. The guard in the room was not pleased, and even though I was immediately apologetic, I had to endure the speech (I deserved to hear it five times). On Sunday at the Musée d’Orsay I momentarily forgot about the signs symbolizing “No Photos” and snapped a shot of Degas’s ballerinas, and promptly got an earful of angry French from a guard who almost sprinted across the crowded room to threaten me with eviction (I definitely caught “removez-vous!” more than once). So I was already terrified about causing an incident in the Musée de l’Orangerie and had no desire to ruin what might be the highlight of my trip so far (“Solo Division”). But maaannn…did I want to take pictures…
14. ...Even if it was just to document that I was there, just so I could look at those pictures and remember what it felt like to walk those rooms, just so it could take me back to how it felt to stand there, to look at the murals. Because standing there, looking at them, made me feel good.
15. I realize how this sounds.
16. I apologize.
17. But I don't.
18. And I couldn't take pictures...
19. …so I imagined instead that I could sit with someone else in one of these rooms, have our coffee, and talk quietly every morning for the rest of my life…
20. …and I think the guard knew it. A very sophisticated, very French-looking woman wearing a bob haircut, a tailored guard sport coat, skinny pegged jeans and thick heeled, black patent leather shoes-
21. -I would’ve had no trouble inviting her to be my coffee companion in the fantasy I was concocting-
22. -she was quick to pounce on anyone who even made a move to snap a photo. She actually asked me to step back from one of the murals as I tried to examine how the curve of the oval affected it…
23. So a coffee invitation was probably a non-starter…
24. …and I wanted to ask her, does she get to “guard” these ovals every day? Has she earned the same beat for every day she works? Do the guards rotate from room to room, so they all get a turn watching the “Water Lilies” or is it her domain alone? And I wanted to ask her, does she ever get bored? She must never get bored. If the guards DO rotate, does she bounce out of bed, excited on the days she gets to sit in the ovals, watching people look at art that truly moves them?
25. “Anglais?” I asked her. She shook her head, and again motioned for me to back away from the metal guard. So I didn’t get to ask her that.
26. But I bet it doesn’t get boring.
27. So I decided, I have to get another loft apartment at some point in my life.
28. The National proved to be a tremendous band to listen to while slowly walking around the two ovals.
29. The Musée de l’Orangerie has three levels. The “Water Lilies” is on the ground floor. Below it are two levels (“-1” and “-2”). “-1” is the gift shop. “-2” has works from various Impressionists - including geniuses like Pierre-Auguste Renoir - and other art periods - including geniuses like Pablo Picasso. But the manner in which the museum is set up almost forces you to look at the “Water Lilies” first.
30. So it struck me that setting up a museum where people are seeing paintings - again, to be clear, paintings by greats such as Renoir and Picasso, for Chrissakes - only AFTER they’ve seen the “Water Lilies” is pretty goddamn unfair to those paintings and those artists…
31. …because if I’m any indication, a lot of people take in the “Water Lilies” before going downstairs to look at the other works, then at some point mutter to themselves, “Screw this noise, I’m going back upstairs,” and bounding back up the steps two-at-a-time to take in the “Water Lilies” again…
32. I’ve never done that before, gone BACK to a painting to see it again on the same visit…
33. …and not before stopping at the gift shop on Level -1 first, buying postcards of the “Water Lilies” and taking them with me to hold in my hand in front of the actual murals, so I could “compare” them. I’m not even sure what the point of THAT was. Suffice to say, I’ve never done that before either.
34. I’ve never said to myself, “Going to another museum today would be pointless.”
35. Not because I don’t appreciate museums. I appreciate museums. Now more than ever.
36. Even when they’re work.
37. In Paris, they’re not work.
38. Paris is a city with a museum that holds the Mona Lisa, that contains Venus de Milo. Paris is a city with museums such as the Louvre, the d’Orsay, and fifty others where the museums THEMSELVES are museum pieces.
39. And I’ve never thought to myself, “Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow to see this again before I leave.” (I didn’t do it, overslept and had to go to Le Poste, but still…that thought counts hard for something.)
40. Claude Monet’s “Water Lilies” at Musée de l’Orangerie in Paris, France inspired these thoughts in me.
41. And when I finally left, I decided that any time anyone says they don’t “like” or they don’t “get” art, I’ll ask them if they ever seen Monet’s “Water Lilies” at Musée de l’Orangerie in Paris, France. If they respond,“Yes,” I will simply walk away from them. Because they’re beyond hope. If they respond, “No,” I’ll smile and suggest that they withhold that judgment until they see those eight murals.
42. I'm sorry I don't have a picture to post.
43. But there was no photography allowed.
44. Besides, I've had enough trouble with museum guards.
45. And part of me wouldn't want to post it anyway.
46. If I took a picture, it would be mine.
47. Google Image them if you like.
48. But go see them, please.
49. Because they’re beautiful, and they made me feel beautiful.
50. And they will make you feel beautiful, too.
22 JANUARY 2015:
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE (IN THREE TRAGI-COMIC ACTLETTES) -
MY TROUBLE WITH MUSEUM EMPLOYEES CONTINUES...
ACT I - MUSEU PICASSO, BARCELONA, SPAIN - AFTERNOON
(BILL waits on the line to purchase a ticket. He scans the board listing the prices, and notices something.)
BILL: (shrugs; to himself) Huh. Worth a try. Why not?
(Bill is motioned to the counter by a MUSEUM EMPLOYEE. Note: for the following exchange, Bill’s Spanish and the employee’s English are respectively stammer-y.)
BILL: Olá.
MUSEUM EMPLOYEE: Olá.
BILL: Yo habla español un poquito.
MUSEUM EMPLOYEE: I speak English.
BILL: Oh, good. Gracias.
MUSEUM EMPLOYEE: It is okay.
BILL: Okay. Um, one adult, reduced price.
MUSUEM EMPLOYEE: Why “reduced”?
BILL: (too proudly?) I am unemployed.
MUSEUM EMPLOYEE: You are unemployed?
BILL: (less proudly) Si.
(Pause. The museum employee looks around.)
MUSEUM EMPLOYEE: (shakes head) We do not reduce the price simply because one is unemployed.
BILL: (points at sign) Yes, you do.
MUSEUM EMPLOYEE: We do not, sir.
BILL: Your sign says you do. (reading) “Under 25, unemployed…” It’s the second one.
MUSEUM EMPLOYEE: We do not, sir.
BILL: (joking) Look, it took a lot of courage for me to walk up here and admit- (seeing he’s getting nowhere) Your sign says it.
MUSEUM EMPLOYEE: I will check, sir.
(The museum employee goes over to another EMPLOYEE, and confers with her. She looks at Bill, scowls, and shakes her head. The museum employee returns to Bill.)
MUSEUM EMPLOYEE: No, sir.
BILL: You should change the sign, then.
MUSUEM EMPLOYEE: No one else has ever had the courage, sir.
BILL: (taking out wallet) Yeah…
ACT II - MUSEU PICASSO GIFT SHOP, BARCELONA, SPAIN - LATER
(Bill is poking around the postcard section. He notices something. He thinks, then approaches a MUSEUM EMPLOYEE, who is restocking the card section.)
BILL: Olá.
MUSEUM EMPLOYEE: Olá.
BILL: Yo habla español un poquito.
MUSEUM EMPLOYEE: I speak English.
BILL: Oh, good. Gracias.
MUSUEM EMPLOYEE: It is good of you to try.
BILL: Gracias. Um, “Guerica”.
MUSUEM EMPLOYEE: Yes.
BILL: (indicating postcard) You have postcards of “Guernice”.
MUSEUM EMPLOYEE: Of course, it is Picasso’s most famous, perhaps.
BILL: (pause) Yeah, but.
MUSEUM EMPLOYEE: Yes?
BILL: It’s not here, is it?
MUSEUM EMPLOYEE: Here?
BILL: Here, in this museum. I mean, I didn’t just walk through the whole museum and miss “Guernica”, did I?
MUSUEM EMPLOYEE: (a bit confused) No, sir. It is in Madrid.
BILL: Ah, good. I’m going there tomorrow.
MUSEUM EMPLOYEE: You can see it there, then.
BILL: Good. I just wanted to make sure, since you have the postcard, that I didn’t miss it.
MUSEUM EMPLOYEE: No, sir.
BILL: Do a lot of people worry that they’ve walked right by it?
MUSUEM EMPLOYEE: No, sir.
ACT THREE - MUSEU DIOCESA, BARCELONA, SPAIN - LATER
(Bill enters the lobby, holding a hot chocolate. He pays the MUSUEM EMPLOYEE an entrance fee, and she immediately starts pointing at his cup.)
BILL: I know, I know. (He takes a large sip.) Where can I throw it out?
MUSEUM EMPLOYEE: Que? Huh?
BILL: Garbage? Basura?
MUSUEM EMPLOYEE: (shakes her head) No.
BILL: What, then?
(The museum employee ducks down, searching for something. She emerges with a tag, used to hold bags behind the counter.
BILL: What? Really?
(The museum employee nods, giving Bill a ticket, then wrapping the matching ticket around the cup with a rubber band. The ticket # is 13. She puts the cup of hot chocolate in a locker and closes the door. She looks at Bill, then waves the back of both hands at him, as if to say, “Go. Go.”)
BILL: Okay, I’m going. I’m going. (to himself) This is my last museum of the day.
25 JANUARY 2015:
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE (IN THREE ACTLETTES) - "BLACKJACK IN MADRID"
INT. CASINO - MADRID, SPAIN - AFTERNOON
ACT I
(BILL sits playing blackjack. He has had, hm, two beers. He is with two SPANIARDS who do not speak any English. He is in final position. The dealer, ALISA - Spanish, fair-haired, pretty, mid-30s, and as Bill has learned over the past couple of hours, speaks English pretty well - deals the Spaniards a 14 and a 13. She deals Bill a 16. Her face card is a 9. Both Spaniards stand on their hands.)
ALISA: (to Bill) What would you like to do, Bill?
BILL: (rubs his face) What is it with everyone standing on these hands?
ALISA: What do you mean?
BILL: (indicates Spaniards’ hands) You guys have been doing this all month. (to Alisa) They have 14 and 13. You have a 9. The way I play is, I start off assuming the next card turned over will be a 10 or a face card. That’s where I start off.
ALISA: This is a smart assumption, as there are more 10s and faces than any other card.
BILL: Right? I mean, that’s how I would start off teaching my nieces how to play blackjack.
ALISA: How old are your nieces?
BILL: Ten, seven, and four.
ALISA: (thinking) That would be a good way to teach them.
BILL: Right? But in Spain - it happened in Barcelona, too - everyone is so conservative. They stand on hands they’re losing.
(The Spaniards confer.)
SPANIARD: (to Bill, in halting English, re: his hand) If we stay, we are still alive.
BILL: You’ve already re-bought three times. (to Alisa) Right?
ALISA: (shrug, slight smile) This is true.
BILL: So you’ve been dying all day long.
SPANIARD: Que?
BILL: I’d rather die on my feet than on my knees.
SPANIARD: Que?
BILL: (pushes “hit” on his screen) Hit.
(Alisa deals him a face card.)
ALISA: And you are dead now too. (But she is smiling.)
BILL: And so are they. Watch.
(Alisa turns over a face card, she has 19. Everyone loses.)
BILL: See? Everyone in Spain, you guys play so conservatively.
ALISA: Ah. But, Bill.
BILL: Yes?
ALISA: You are in Spain now.
BILL: True.
ALISA: This is what I say.
BILL: What do you say?
ALISA: (mock shrug) “It is blackjack.”
BILL: True.
ALISA: And you should not teach your nieces to play blackjack.
BILL: Alisa.
ALISA: Yes, Bill?
BILL: I am in Spain now.
ALISA: True.
ACT II - AN HOUR OR SO LATER
(Bill has had, maybe, four beers. New DEALER - male, Spanish, late 20s, friendly but his English is not good. The other Spaniards have left - too many deaths - but another SPANIARD - nice guy, early 20s - sits in last position. A hand has just finished. Bill points over the dealer’s shoulder, where a soccer match involving Barcelona is playing.)
BILL: Messi scored again.
(The dealer and the Spaniard look over at the TV. They watch for a moment, then turn back.)
SPANIARD: Si.
BILL: Messi, that guy is incredible.
SPANIARD: Si, yes.
BILL: I mean, he looks like he should be managing an Applebee’s, but he’s just unbelievable. You know why? ‘Cause he never stops working, he never stops trying. Other guys, someone touches them, they fall down, they give up on the play. But not Messi - he just keeps churning, keeps moving, boom, boom, boom, and then after that work, he’s open and he puts it away. He’s simply unbelievable. (Bill looks at the dealer and the Spaniard.) Right?
(Pause.)
DEALER: You are in Madrid, Bill.
ACT III - AN HOUR OR SO LATER
(Bill has had five beers. He is up 1900 euros. The young Spaniard is gone, replaced by two ITALIANS who sit in early position. These Italians speak no English. The same male dealer deals one a 13, the other a 12 - A TWELVE! - and Bill a 16. He deals himself a face card. Both Italians stand, and Bill rubs his face. He looks at the dealer, who with merely a slight expansion of his eyes says, “I hear you, brother. I hear you.”)
BILL: Hit.
(The dealer gives Bill a 9.)
BILL: Twelve plus nine is twenty-one.
DEALER: Si. (shrugs)
(Th dealer deals himself a four.)
BILL: Sixteen plus four is twenty.
DEALER: Si.
(The dealer then deals himself a seven.)
DEALER: Veinte uno.
BILL: Ay! (smacks his forehead)
(The dealer gives Bill another milld expansion of his eyes - “I hear you, brother.” - and begins to collect the cards.)
DEALER: (to Bill) You have had a good day, sir.
BILL: Thanks.
DEALER: So. You should save yourself.
(Bill stands.)
BILL: Gracias.
DEALER: De nada.
(Bill leaves.)
02 February 2015:
ROGUE TRIP TRAVEL (SEMI-) DISPATCH - "SUPER BOWL ILIX"
Sorry it's been a few days since putting stuff up.
I wouldn't quite call the below a TRAVEL DISPATCH. Sunday's itinerary, however, warrants a run-down, with each step's mission & mission status.
ULTIMATE MISSION for the day: To travel 8,835km from Lisbon, Portugal to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, and be in front of a television in time for the Super Bowl ILIX kickoff (9:30PM, Rio time).
5AM, Lisbon: MISSION: to wake up, shower, dress, pack, and leave an apartment I've been familiar with for only three days without waking anybody up. MISSON STATUS: FAILURE (AirBnB review pending)
6AM, Lisbon Airport: MISSION: to persuade a ticket agent that I should be given a boarding pass for my flight to Rio de Janeiro (via Madrid) despite not having a ticket which proves I will ultimately be LEAVING Rio de Janeiro. Apparently, the government of Brazil "could" deny my entrance into the country without proof of my leaving. Sample attempt at my persuasion: "Why the hell would I WANT to live in Brazil?" MISSION STATUS: ACCOMPLISHED (though boarding pass was accompanied with overt disdain, several pidgin English "I'm aware of that, Sir,"s and one "Well, good luck, Sir," from the ticket agent)
7:45AM (Lisbon time) to 7:45PM (Rio time): MISSION: to get some sleep while flying. MISSION STATUS: FAILURE (ABJECT)
7:45AM (Lisbon time) to 7:45PM (Rio time): MISSION: to find something new in the 537th viewing of MILLER'S CROSSING. MISSION STATUS: ACCOMPLISHED (In the opening scene, Jon Polito almost loses his overcoat off his shoulders as he says, "You'se fancy-pants, all of you'se." Never noticed it before, enjoyed watching those five seconds five more times...)
8PM, Rio Airport: MISSION: to pass through immigration without having to lie about a phony itinerary to leave Brazil ("Uh, der, I'm flying to Montevides on the 15th. Uh, der, I wanted to wait to buy my ticket 'cuz, der..." MISSION STATUS: ACCOMPLISHED (Benefitting from way too many people on line to ask ANYbody ANY questions about any aspect of their visit to Brazil, I sail through immigration.)
8:15PM, Rio Airport: MISSION: to procure my backpack without waiting for-EVER, as has been the custom on this trip. MISSION STATUS: ACCOMPLISHED (backpack emerged out of the back just as I turned into "Baggage" and looked for it. SYNCHRONICITY, YO!)
8:20PM, Rio Airport: MISSION: to procure a taxicab that will not rip me off. MISSION STATUS: FAILURE (my host's response when I told her the price: "Oh, you paid way too much.")
8:45PM, Rio - MISSION: to leave my bag at the apartment where I'm staying, meet my hostess, and leave for a sports' bar that is showing the Super Bowl without being abnormally rude to the hostess, who has already proven herself to be the definition of lovely. MISSION STATUS: ACCOMPLISHED (Hostess: "It is going to rain. You need my umbrella. Do not say 'No.' I will not watch the game, but as Gisele is my girl, I am supporting her husband and the Patriots.") (AirBnB review pending)
9PM, Rio - MISSION: to get a taxicab that will not rip me off, and to find Shenanigans (Irish pub in Rio that prides itself on showing American football) by kickoff time. MISSION STATUS: ACCOMPLISHED (Cab driver: "I know where we are going. You do not need to keep asking.")
9:28PM, Shenanigans, Rio. MISSION: to find a solitary square foot to stand on and watch the game amongst a massive swell of Brazilians drinking, laughing, and singing soccer songs, replacing certain words with "Seahawks" or "Tom Brady" before John Legend finishes singing the national anthem. MISSION STATUS: ACCOMPLISHED (upon persuading bartender to stash my host's umbrella).
9:29PM, Shenanigans, Rio. MISSION: to chastise myself as an idiot for wondering why anyone would want to live in Brazil. MISSION STATUS: ACCOMPLISHED
9:30PM, Shenanigans, Rio. MISSION: to strike up conversation with woman who looks like a Brazilian Rachel McAdams standing next to me, watching by herself. MISSION STATUS: FAILURE (ABJECT)
9:45PM, Shenanigans, Rio. MISSION: to not see an omen in racing across the world to make it in time for kickoff, only to deal with the bar's shitty satellite. (Shitty satellite reception was only a problem through the 1st quarter...) MISSION STATUS: ???
10:15PM, Shenanigans, Rio. MISSION: AGAIN, to strike up conversation with woman who looks like a Brazilian Rachel McAdams standing next to me, watching by herself. MISSION STATUS: FAILURE (ABJECT)
10:37PM, Shenanigans, Rio. MISSION: to correct the Brazilian Patriots fan wearing a Tom Brady jersey who continually yells out, "Marshawn Lynch is a BITCH! Marshawn Lynch is a BITCH!" by simply saying, "You are incorrect on this point." MISSION STATUS: ACCOMPLISHED ("Yeah, I don't know much about American football. Is Marshawn Lynch good? Which Seattle Seahawks would you say ARE bitches?")
11:18PM, Shenanigans, Rio. MISSION: to take solace in the fact that despite failing at starting a conversation with the woman who looks like a Brazilian Rachel McAdams, she is watching the game in the same exact pose I am watching the game (arms crossed, chin resting on one fist holding a beer), confirmed by her noticing our poses, shrugging, smiling at me, then going back into the pose, checking with my pose to verify accuracy. MISSION STATUS: ACCOMPLISHED
12:08AM, Shenanigans, Rio. MISSION: to make someone within earshot laugh with my joke that "What's the big deal? I've been imagining Katy Perry and Missy Elliott together for years..." MISSION STATUS: CONFUSION
12:16AM, Shenanigans, Rio. MISSION: AGAIN, to strike up conversation with woman who looks like a Brazilian Rachel McAdams standing next to me, watching by herself. MISSION STATUS: FAILURE (ABJECT)
1:30AM, Rio: MISSION: to catch a taxicab to take me "home" that will not rip me off. MISSION STATUS: ACCOMPLISHED
1:45AM, Rio: MISSION: to actually direct cab driver to the apartment where I'm staying, using a post-it note with the address and my horrendous pidgin Portuguese. MISSION STATUS: FAILURE (ABJECT)
1:48AM, Rio: MISSION: to arrive at apartment via cab without having to drive around the same block five times. MISSION STATUS: FAILURE (ABJECT)
2:00AM, Rio: MISSION: to try to get the cab driver to find apartment before my increasingly snide sarcasm ("Why should you know where you're going? You're just the cab driver. Yeah, this is the same exact wrong street as before - what're the odds?") is a)understood and b)enough to get my drunken ass thrown out of cab. MISSION STATUS: ACCOMPLISHED (BARELY)
2:05AM, Rio: MISSION: to try to enter an apartment that requires the use of three separate keys, and that I've seen for five minutes to this point, and enter my bedroom, without waking my lovely hostess, after having six Heinekens and while carrying a McDonald's take-out bag. MISSION STATUS: ACCOMPLISHED? (AirBnB review pending)
12noon, Monday, February 2nd: MISSION: to take a taxicab back to Shenanigans and recover the hostess's umbrella which you left at the bar before it gets discarded and truly jeopardizes your perfect AirBnB review record. MISSION STATUS: ACCOMPLISHED ("It says something to me about you that you went back to retrieve it.")
12noon, Monday, February 2nd: MISSION: to take a taxicab back to Shenanigans and recover the hostess's umbrella which you left at the bar before it gets discarded and truly jeopardizes your perfect AirBnB review record. MISSION STATUS: ACCOMPLISHED ("It says something to me about you that you went back to retrieve it.")
Oh, by the way. Sunday's arrival in Rio makes 20 countries on six continents visited to this point. (DON'T HATE THE PLAYER, ANTARCTICA. HATE THE GAME.)
And I'm starting to think...OVERALL MISSION: ACCOMPLISHED...
26 February 2015:
ROGUE TRIP TRAVEL DISPATCH, WEEK THIRTY-FOUR "ADVICE FROM AN OLD THAI WOMAN"
The train kept stopping and starting, sometimes every goddamn two minutes. I was getting frustrated. Each time the train stopped, not at a station but in the middle of the countryside, seemingly waiting for nothing, I alternated glances from my iPhone, to out the window, to the rest of the car. Outside, the sky was a brilliant blue and held stark, white clouds, and the fields and rice patties of the eastern Thai countryside were a shimmering green, a painting come alive. Inside, however, the train car was hot and humid despite all the windows being wide open, was loud from the chatter of families, the laughter of children, and the sales calls of vendors walking the aides with buckets of sauced rice, skewered chicken, and vegetables, and was smelly from sauced rice, skewered chicken and vegetables, and the sweat of the crowds of people sitting three to every two seats and packed in the aisle, a nightmare come alive.26 February 2015:
ROGUE TRIP TRAVEL DISPATCH, WEEK THIRTY-FOUR "ADVICE FROM AN OLD THAI WOMAN"
***
“Time flies.”
“Time is running out.”
This trip is ending soon. How I can feel both that the trip has a long ways to go yet is almost over confuses me. But I am determined to not let it affect how I feel about it. I’m determined to “forget the time” and recognize how all times must end.
I find myself at once looking forward to my trip’s conclusion but also dreading it, for the conclusion not only means that I’m no longer ON this adventure - “time’s up” - but that the next part of the adventure will be here and I’ll be forced to address it. I want to get a lot of work done when the next part of this adventure begins in April, and for that to happen I better learn to manage my time. Right now, I don’t know exactly how I’ll address it. “Only time will tell.” Also, how will this trip have changed me? I don’t know. “Only time will tell.”
Not so many hostels, heh.
So many mornings getting up too early to pack my backpack, to try another way to make the packed bag more compact, to realize I could’ve slept another half-hour, to check out, to say goodbye to my host, to get back to the bus station on time, the train station ahead of time, the airport with plenty of time, to leave - most of the time leave only for A time, ‘cause I WILL be back ANOTHER time - to go to the next place...
...where, more often than not, I’ll have a great time.
But I’ll remember the time someone told me to forget the time, and how important that time was to me.
20 March 2015:
Possible Soundtrack Selections for Scene in San Salvador International Airport - (INCLUDES PRODUCTION NOTES)
I had seven hours to kill in the San Salvador International Airport before my connection to Managua, Nicaragua. So, in addition to:
1. drinking too much coffee
2. drinking too much beer
3. lingering wa-ay too long in the Kenneth Cole Duty-Free Shop (I’m very much looking forward to starting a wardrobe again once I get back to the States, a wardrobe that doesn't include t-shirts and cargo shorts)
4. actually window-shopping and testing men’s fragrances*
5. watching a simulated FIFA 2016 video game match and cursing a video Luis Suarez
6. coming up with the following expression (to be used when, in the future, a daughter of mine comes down the stairs dressed too provocatively for, like a date or something): “Go back upstairs and change. You look like you work at a duty-free shop in the San Salvador International Airport.” (shrug) I’m working on it…
*Men's fragrances suck. Nothing beats simple Edge Gel After-Shave. If only I had some. Man, do I smell.
PROS: esoteric, deep Led Zep cut, so old it’s new? Attract baby-boomers?
CONS: way too long; too much buildup before the song accelerates; not esoteric in fact, way too old for today’s film audiences; baby-boomers not wanted as primary demographic.
8. “Lonely Boy” - The Black Keys.
PROS: guitar intro works nicely with washing of face/paper towel wipe of face/serious, questioning look at self in mirror at men’s room sink.
CONS: overused at this point; a little on-the-nose.
7. “Destino de Abril” - Rick Garcia & Rene Reyes.
PROS: A Latin song for a Latin American Airport? Synergy?
CONS: No, way too on-the-nose for a Latin American airport - REMEMBER, THE MUSIC IS TO ACCENT THE CHARACTER, NOT THE LOCATION; I walk too fast for the rhythm - maybe for the sequel when I’m sixty.
6. “Call to Arms” - Angels & Airwaves.
PROS: Good men’s room sink buildup/switch (see 8), perhaps just the right touch of hope for an anti-hero?
CONS: Too positive for an anti-hero? Blink-182 is much better band, we don’t want to remind audiences of that. I can just imagine the preview cards: “What, you were too cheap to get Blink?” Don’t go there.
5. “The Pretender” - Foo Fighters.
PROS: symbolism in song title? Dave Grohl would be a perfect cameo for surfer I met in Costa Rica.
CONS: Nirvana is a better band (see 6).
4. “Tougher Than Leather” - Run-DMC.
PROS: perfect rhythm/beat to match my stride; old-school hip-hop provides good background to character; probably affordable.
CONS: Kevin Smith already used it in one of his pieces of shit (CLERKS II?), not good to link with his hackery; hip-hop with wailing electric guitars may confuse audience; when examined, lyrics are really pretty stupid and inane (Run-DMC really got kind of a pass on this). I mean, they say "unconceivable" when it should be "inconceivable" - that's unconscionable. Can't in good conscience use this piece of music.
3. “This Is War” - 30 Seconds to Mars.
PROS: primal scream in song’s beginning really works when I get stuck walking behind old people in airports; there are several good opportunities for me to actually begin SPRINTING through airport - RELATABLE; chorus at song’s end a terrific opportunity for me to start dodging fellow pedestrians, a la O.J. Simpson in Hertz commercials.
CONS: Running through airports a la O.J. Simpson has been ruined by O.J. Simpson; would probably rather work with O.J. Simpson than with Jared Leto.
2. (tie) “Picasso Baby” - Jay Z.
PROS: severe switch of beats in song’s middle is perfect for the “finish my coffee white mocha/toss into garbage can/finger point at airport janitor all in one motion” - good discovery, there (REHEARSALS MATTER.); perhaps get Beyonce as female lead?
CONS: I really listen to too much Jay Z; pretty clear Jay Z is just reeling off names of artists he’s familiar with; I’m still uncertain as to whether the “Fox’s Box” is referring to Megan or Vivica A. - confusing?
2. (tie) “Trip Like I Do” - Crystal Method.
PROS: hip; energetic; vaguely nymphomaniac female voice lends sex and this film WILL BE SEXY. “I want you to trip like I do,” is a lyric that lends synergy to the sequence - LEVELS.
CONS: San Salvador International Airport not really a “rave-like” location; felt strange to be staring at myself in the mirror with a dude repeating, “The Christian…”; this film should be agnostic; I may be, in fact, too “techno-looking” for this piece of music.
1. “Force Marker” (from the film HEAT) - Brian Eno.
PROS: perfect “stride through crowd” piece of music; energetic; guaranteed to get audience involved for Act Two.
CONS: makes me want to rob the nearest bank wearing a suit and then conduct a firefight on Figueroa Av. - COST PROHIBITIVE. Table until foreign financing secured.
03 APRIL 2015:
ROGUE TRIP PLAYLETTE - "RE-ENTY"
INT. SAN ANTONIO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - INTERNATIONAL ARRIVALS - AFTERNOON
(Motioned from the head of the line, BILL approaches the CUSTOM AGENT, sitting behind his kiosk. Bill hands over his passport and his United States Customs Declaration Form.)
BILL: How’re you doing?AGENT: Good, good. How’re you?
BILL: I am fine.
(The agent looks at Bill’s passport, then runs it through the scanner.)
AGENT: What brought you to Mexico? Business or pleasure?BILL: Pleasure. Actually the end of traveling-
AGENT: Uh-huh.
(The agent thumbs through Bill’s passport.)
AGENT: You know, if you travel this much, you should look into our Global Entry Program.
(He searches and finds a business card and hands it to Bill.)
AGENT: It’s really useful for people who travel a lot. You can just go to one of the automatic kiosks and process yourself right through. You should think about it.BILL: Yeah, thanks a lot. I’ve been traveling for nine straight months, though. I don’t think I’m gonna be traveling much more in the near future. It was amazing but I'm probably gonna take a break for a little bit.
(Pause.)
AGENT: You should really look into it; it’s a great program.
BILL: Cool. I’ll look into it.
(Pause.)
BILL: Oh, is that it?
AGENT: Yup. Take care.
(Bill walks away from the kiosk, and back into the United States of America.)