The Bangkok Two-Step

Never trust a fart in southeast Asia. Wish I’d have heard that little gem sooner.

They say you’re never more humble than when, as an adult, you shit your pants.  Well ladies and gentlemen, I stand before you today as humble as the Buddha himself.

Now if you’re reading this you’re probably saying, ‘is this really how he’s going to open his blog?’  Yes. If the true point of any type of travelogue like this is to lay bare the entire experience, the up’s and downs, the strikes and gutters (as the dude would say), then yes, mine will open with me shitting my pants at the rooftop pool of my Bangkok hotel.

Also, being laid low has afforded me the only time thus far in this trip to stay in one place long enough to put virtual pen to e-paper.

My convalescent home for the time being, the Rambuttri Villa hotel just off of Khao San Road. As any experienced backpacker of Asia will tell you, Khao San Road is a wretched hive of scum, villainy, and cheap pad thai.  Initially inhabited by the proto-hippies who flocked to Thailand in the 60’s dodging the draft and looking for a place to ‘mellow out’, it is now a sea of white-guy dreadlocks and pulsing techno. But none of this interests me at the moment. I’ve barely made it out of my room and away from my beloved western toilet.

I’ve named this porcelain beauty Michael Bay. Because even though it’s full of shit, it just keeps on working. Why name the toilet? Well I’ve spent more time with Michael over the last week than some girls I’ve dated. At this point, we’re very close. I’m thinking about asking him to be my kids godfather.

About now some of my closer friends are saying ‘see, I told him. He eats that weird food, this is what happens’. They may be right. I have no clue where in the last 30 days, 3 countries, and god knows how many towns and villages, I may have picked up this bug. But let me say this: I REGRET NOTHING.

I don’t regret the sparrows in Hanoi. I don’t regret the entrail Pho in rural Vietnam. I don’t regret the testicle and heart BBQ in Cambodia. I don’t even regret the Balut (OK I kind of regret the Balut).  And I sure as hell don’t regret the countless other questionable meats, soups, stews, porridges, salads, and sticks that I’ve consumed thankfully over the last month.  They have all been pieces of the puzzle. Understanding a country through it’s food.

As a rule my traveling companion Evan and I have shunned, for the most part, western eateries. Preferring the back alley joints where unknown delicacies are spooned from giant steaming cauldrons and eaten on what appears to be a child’s tea set furnishings.

Rarely speaking the language we do a lot of pointing and play a lot of charades (god help anyone who plays us at the next party) but have more often than not come away with the best meals we’ve ever eaten.   And for every dinner you’ve ever eaten, my gluttonous ass had three, so that’s saying something.

That said, there have been some notable exceptions.  Butt soup 100clicks south of Hanoi was our first test. But when you pull into a restaurant that is in all reality the back of someone’s house, and are delivered with such overwhelming pride a steaming bowl of…something, that is in all likelihood more than the entire family will eat for the day, would you turn your nose?

Tell the man in the picture you want a sandwich. I fucking dare you.

– Nick

(Photo by Evan Miyamoto)