Here, I am normal

     I’ve always had a whacked up Circadian rhythm. When I was a wee lad of 4, I woke up at my regular time and was peckish so I went to the refrigerator and got an apple to snack on. I wasn’t partial to the skin at that time, so I attempted to peel said apple. With a steak knife. Maybe because I was 4 and didn’t have the motor skills of an older fellow or perhaps because it was 4:00 am-ish, that steak knife slipped and I ended up with a trip to the emergency room and the first of many scars. That’s right, 4:00 am. Normal for me even back then. And a bit late for me these days. 

     When I was working as an HR Manager in Kuwait, we had 24/7 operations. Some of the folks on night shift complained there was no HR representation available to them, so I volunteered to take the newly established 5:00 am to 5:00 pm shift to be able to take care of all of the questions/issues that popped up at night. Other members of the staff were relieved that I heroically stepped up to take that time slot, which meant getting up at around 3:30 am to get ready and make the drive and wait in line to get through security. Heroic? Not in the slightest. Quite cowardly, in fact. I was terrified of the 7:00 am to 7:00 pm shift. Getting off at 7:00 pm meant getting home at around 8:30 pm. And in my whacked out sleep that’s frequently the middle of the damn night. 

     Some people are night owls, some are early birds. My early bird-ness is off the scale. Or so I thought. I’ve been in Thailand and mostly Vietnam for the past month +.  I’ve been coming to Thailand fairly regularly for about the last 40 years but I only visited Vietnam for the first time in 2019. On that trip, I discovered that my Circadian rhythm chirps to the same tune that many Vietnamese hear. And this time around things are the very much the same. 

     I started out in Bangkok to visit Bumrungrad Hospital, where I like to come every year for a comprehensive physical. I had just the first few days planned because I wanted to get a clean bill of health before thinking of my next move. Clean bill of health: cha-Ching! Then I spent a few days marveling at the fancy pot stores that had opened up since last year in Thailand and then hopped over to Vietnam. I thought I’d spend a few days in Da Nang and after day one, I planted my flag. Why? Well, there’s decent surf, there were a few museums I wanted to see and because my people were right outside the hotel, on the beach. Walking, exfoliating their skin with the sand, doing syncopated dances, exercising and swimming. There are people on the beach at around 4:00 am. It’s crowded at 4:30. By 5:00, it’s a party, completely thronged. Mostly old people, and that’s okay because I’m old too. Their Circadian rhythm says to me, “You are like us. This is okay. This is normal.”

                                                   Early morning aerobics/syncopated dancing

                                                       By 5:00 am, the beach is packed

     I think it’s fantastic. It’s been pretty much the same in Hanoi, HCMC and Nha Trang - a LOT of people out early. Very early. Dancing. Playing badminton. Cycling. Of course, in part they are out at that time to beat the heat because it does warm up quickly. I’ve been all over SE Asia, and I’ve never seen so many people out - exercising - so early. When I head back, I’ll miss the long walks on the beach at a reasonable (to me and my Communist Vietnamese friends) time and the fantastic fruit and food as well. Time to settle back into the normal rhythm (for me) of life. 6th try at retirement was a charm!

 

The fruit

And the food. Mango salad. I’ll be adding this to my repertoire.

 

Ali

      As I age, I think about people who have changed my life in some way. One of those folks? Ali Zeitoun. I had transferred from the University of Hawaii to Texas A&M University at Galveston (and that’s a story for another day). My very first night there, I was introduced to two girls who were deep frying pork chops in their dorm room. They cheerfully said, “We’re eating healthy! We’re having salad with dinner tonight.” So to frame this narrative some, I was in the hippy phase of my life. I grew sprouts, swam, surfed, did yoga, put yeast on popcorn and drank lemon water with cayenne. Hey, we were all young once, right? 

     But back to Ali. I was minding my own business dealing with the culture shock from moving from Hawaii to Texas one day, drinking a bottle of said lemon water with cayenne and he accosts me and says, “Is that lemon water with cayenne?” Okay. Here I am on the campus of Texas A&M University at Galveston where some people think a healthy dinner is deep fried pork chops with a salad and this guy spots a bottle of lemon water with cayenne. “Uh, yes it is.” He takes the bottle out of my hand and starts guzzling, because I guess if you’re drinking that stuff in Galveston, Texas and someone else sees it and knows what it is, it’s fair game. 

     And just like that, we were friends. There was a small tight group of us in Texas that had lived in or were from Hawaii. Jack and Amy, Bill, Stu, Ali and myself. 

                                                    Stu, Ali and Bill, Galveston TX, 1982?

     Ali had traveled in India and spent some time in an Ashram studying yoga there. I asked him how he found the place, what it involved, how he got there, gimme some more information! He told me that it was a well worn path and there were lots of people doing it, all you had to do was go there, I’d meet plenty of people along the way and there were lots of different Ashrams. Just go. I graduated, worked for about 8 months and then I went. No one I knew before Ali had just…gone. And then I did. Before the internet, before cell phones we had the yellow book (Southeast Asia on a Shoestring), a camera and travelers checks. Know what? He was right. After a few stumbles, once you get on that backpacker’s trail, you meet people. My trip started out in Bangkok, which led me to living for few months (off and on) in a Buddhist monastery in South Thailand, then gong to India and spending time in an Ashram there studying yoga. 

     No matter what offbeat place I am in the world, I always think I’ll run into Ali - he’s that kind of citizen of the world. My serious travel experiences, my adventures (and many, many, many misadventures) started with Ali. He told me it was possible. Easy. He, with his stories of his travels, set up that pile of dry kindling. Maybe I lit the match, but without his tales and subtle prodding, I wouldn’t have spent a 1.5 years traveling around SE Asia and the Indian subcontinent in my youth. Those years really formed my world view and I’m grateful for the gentle push. Thanks Ali. 

Compromises. And checks.

     I had an interesting conversation a few days ago. I needed new checks, and I almost never use them or cash, but there you have it. I had just used the last one and thought it might be nice to have a few of those buggers on hand. So I called. The gentleman asked me to confirm my address and I said I lived in Huntsville, AL. I paused and then said...unfortunately. That was what sparked the conversation.

     Now before all of my Huntsville friends freak out, I'm the one who nudged Gwyne to move here, based on our own mutually agreed upon list of things we value in a place to live. They were weighted on a scale of 1 - 10 using an x/y matrix. During our talks, Gwyne would express doubt about a possible Huntsville move and I always said, “If you have a better suggestion/idea, I’m completely open.” Whenever I asked for better ideas, the silence was deafening. We started off resolving that there is no perfect place to live, BUT, these are things that we valued and rated:

1. Convenient (we are not people who want to live the rural life)

2. Close to a hub airport (we like to travel and have family all over, hub airports also have better fares)

3. Easy to use efficient mass transit available, desire to go carless (99% me)

4. Bicycle friendly (all on my part)

5. Money is an object (there are more desirable places to live than HSV if money weren’t an object)

6. Not cold and not oppressively hot - temperate climate

7. Close to the ocean (99% Gwyne)

8. Good medical facilities

9. Relatively safe

10. Relatively low rate of natural disasters

11. Strong economy

12. Good water supply (100% me)

13. Like minded people

14. Business friendly (as defined by the Economist)

I think we missed on 3, 4, 7 and 13. 

3 - (my) Desire to go carless. We do get by quite easily with only one car, we’re within walking distance of a Super Target. 

4 - Bicycle friendly. Hard miss. Santa Barbara is bicycle (mostly e-bikes for slackers these days) friendly. Boulder, same but without the e-bike madness. Crazy bike/pedestrian paths there and you can go wherever you want - easily - without a car. Huntsville. Not.bicycle.friendly.

7 - Close to the ocean (that was Gwyne). We’re not in Kansas, but we’re not close either. 

13 - Like minded people. Whoopsie! Huntsville is no bastion of liberal democracy, and 5 minutes outside of Huntsville and you can hear the banjos playing. Swinggg (and a miss!)

     Back to the conversation. He asked, “Why Huntsville?” I told him about our list and said we were looking for permanent home base. In our mid 50’s (back then) time to settle down, eh? We were living just outside of DC and loved it, but I refer you to item number 5 on our list. It’s stupid expensive to live in and around DC. I told him that the move was sparked because of something that didn't appear on our list. I said my wife is an extreme FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) and I’m on the other end of the spectrum, a committed member of team JOMO (Joy Of Missing Out). We know more people in Huntsville, AL than anywhere in the world, and that's really important to Gwyne. And he said, "You have just described EXACTLY my relationship with my girlfriend, man, how do you make that work? My girlfriend is always wanting to go out and hang out with people and she's all political on FaceBook." I wanted to ask him if he had been following Gwyne's FB posts. We all have political opinions/leanings but she likes to splat hers out to the world on FB, TikTok these days as well. I told him I love my wife for who she is, what she does and how she thinks. And she loves me for who I am, what I do and what I think. We’re very different, and we acknowledge that. I encourage her to be who she is, go out and have lunch with her friends and she recognizes that isn’t my gig and lets me be happy in my tight friend bubble. I said all you can do is love your partner and find a balance that works for you. Listening and compromise are pretty big components of making things work as well.

    He paused and said, "Wow. That’s something else. When I get married, I'm going to say this guy named Alan made it possible." I said, “Hey, keep my name out of it. But I hope you find something that works for you and her. This works for us. It may not work for you. But don’t forget, there are two of you.”

     Now. How about some of those checks, just in case I need one again someday, k?

      

Corn school

      Like so many other things in my life, I didn’t plan this, it just happened. I went to…corn school. And it was kind of glorious. 

     Before I get to the fascinating curriculum, let’s back this bus up a bit. Céline and I took a road trip down to ruralsville, Louisiana to see Bill. Céline has known Bill since birth, Bill and I have known each other for nigh on 60 years and have shared many, many, many experiences and more than a few misadventures.

I’m the little fella in the foreground with zinc oxide (thanks mom!)
In the background are Bill’s mom and dad and two younger sisters, Sandy and Laura are there. And Bill too. Leslie wasn’t there, so this was pre-1966.

     While in transit, we called Bill and he asked us to pick up some garlic. Céline was quick to ask him to quantify how much garlic he wanted. Bill said, “A lot.” ‘A lot’ might mean one bulb to some people. Bill wanted six. Glad we asked! We took off to explore a few food desert towns, Morton, Brandon and Chunky MS. I don’t think many people visit those places because there wasn’t much to see. Siri did me wrong when she directed me to Coopers Grocery store about 6 miles outside of Morton, which sold locally grown tomatoes and was mostly a hardware store. There was not a whiff of garlic in either Brandon or Chunky. We finally found civilization along the way and bought more than the requested amount of garlic.

     On the boring interstate, Céline noticed an astonishing number of blown out tires on the side of the road and asked about them. Why does that happen? What do you do if it does? Even though I was still a little irritated with Siri for the Coopers Grocery store recommendation, we went with her and discovered: most blowouts are caused by bad road conditions (potholes), improperly inflated tires, heat, high speed, heavy loads and uneven tire tread. Factoid of the day and you’re welcome. But then what to do when you have a blowout? You will hear a loud noise, like an explosion. BOOM! Remain calm. That’s their first piece of advice. Remain calm. Imagine doing goat yoga. Breathe in. Breathe out. Your car will violently pull to one side or the other. Be present. Do not use the brakes. Be deliberate and pull over to the side of the road. Calmly, put your flashers on. When you hear a loud explosion driving at 70 mph, you will not remain calm. Life doesn’t work that way, so stop it with that advice.

     We get to nowheresville and turn off the surface roads as directed by my GPS. It is partially and patchily paved.There is nothing but corn on either side as far as the eye can see. Céline says, “Whoa,”and quickly gets her phone out to take a picture of well, a whole lot of corn and a very lonely road. We take a left down Savage Lane and…we have arrived at our destination. Hugs, laughs and a quick tour, followed by dinner. After dinner, Bill informs us he has enrolled us in corn school the following morning. His uncle has a farm, is a corn savant and has invited us to pick as much corn as we want and answer any questions we might have. Okay, the first fascinating piece of minutiae I learned was about the silk that sticks out of the ear of the corn and is also in the corn husk. 

There’s the silk, making sweet corn love to each individual kernel. Behind closed husks, of course

Every piece of that silk is attached to and has made sweet corn love to one kernel of corn. The thingamagig at the top of the stalk is called a tassel and is the male flower. The female flowers are the ears and the pollen is blown from the tassels to the silks protruding from each ear. And each string of silk, again, is attached to one kernel. I did not know that. Please tell me more! 

Tell me more, please!

Does baby corn come from corn? Isn’t it another kind of vegetable? Baby corn, it turns out, is aptly named, because it is…baby corn. Before the silk has time to work it’s way down to and get all jiggy with the kernels and pollinate away, the baby corn is harvested before well, you know what occurs. 

Baby corn do do do do do do do baby corn do do do do do do do do baby corn

As I did some graduate work after corn school, I found out most baby corn is grown in Thailand, which is why you rarely, if ever, see fresh baby corn for sale in the U.S. And final fun fact from corn school is that all corn: is technically a grain, a fruit and a vegetable. The ear, or cob of corn is a vegetable, each kernel is a grain and all grains are fruits. 

And there’s the gang. Go ahead. Ask us a question about corn. Or blowouts, we got that too. 

#GOPGunsOverPeople #GOPpartyofno #GOPpartyofPutin #GOPpartyoflies

      I used to say *seriously* the price you have to be willing to pay for nearly unfettered access to guns is the occasional mass murder. But we’ve gone way beyond the ‘occasional’ mass murder. I wasn’t okay with the price to pay for the ‘occasional’ mass murder before, and I’m not okay with what seems to be a regular occurrence.

     I worked in the defense industry in the second part of my career. For the first part, I was as teacher.  4th grade was my gig. Those 19 dead kids? 4th graders. I thought about all the 4th graders I taught and loved and that was an additional gut punch on top of this God awful horror. You know what kind of drills we had in school? Fire drills. And today, in the U.S. you have active shooter drills. In schools. Jesus. Who are we as a country? What do we stand for? Is nearly unlimited gun access more important than the lives of children? After Sandy Hook, nothing was done. After Parkland, nothing was done. And there were hundreds of mass shootings in between, nothing was done. While in the defense industry, I had many friends who were Republicans and serious gun collectors. One guy I worked with in Afghanistan had 75 guns and over 20,000 rounds of ammunition. Why, I asked him? To protect himself from the government was his reply. He was crazy. And this is crazy. 

     GOP, c’mon. If I’m a felon, I can buy an AR-15 today. Sure, I’d be breaking the law, but if I wanted one, I could get one - just go to a gun show and buy from a third party. I’ve been to gun shows. I’ve actually been to two of them, both in Fort Worth. Then first time, I went because I was curious. The second time, I brought my wife (on Valentines Day, you’re welcome honey!) People march around with a flag stuck in the barrel of their AR-15’s that has a price on the gun. I have the money. I can buy one. No background check. If I wanted to buy a car, I’d have to have a license, which involves taking a written and practical test. Get insurance (which would include a background check into my driving history). Register and license my vehicle with the state. But not for a gun, thank you gun show loophole that the GOP won’t even talk about closing. And remember, law abiding AR-15 owners are law abiding AR-15 owners. Until the day they’re not. If I want an AR-15 today, I can buy one (and for the record, I’m not a felon, never even had a speeding ticket.) I have a clean background and have the money. I’ve never fired a gun before, but I can buy one, with no instruction, no training, no test to pass so I can demonstrate I know how to locate the safety, load it, store it and fire it. Again, that’s crazy. The worst tragedy is what happened, again, at Uvalde. The second worst tragedy is the GOP will obstruct any meaningful gun laws so they can hold on to power and money. Hey Republicans, are you going to do anything? Anything at all? I fear the deeply saddening answer to that question is no. 

#GOPGunsOverPeople #GOPpartyofPutin #GOPpartyofno #GOPpartyoflies

The last leg(s)

    I just spent some time meandering around Thailand and Cambodia. I have really missed getting on a plane and going somewhere…different. I planned this trip in 2020, but we all know how that worked out. The timing for this trip ended up working well. Due to fairly strict requirements for entry and mandatory mask wearing,

                                               Everyone was wearing a mask, everywhere. Even this guy.

it was remarkably quiet. That may put off some tourists interested in the night life, but I’m an early to bed early to rise kind of guy, so I was never into that scene. I started off in Bangkok, got my physical and a few things done in the miracle that is Bumrungrad Hospital. Being in Bumrungrad feels like a 5 star hotel. The physical is like a well oiled machine, station to station and then a nice buffet after tests are done. You get to see a doctor to review the results of said tests right after your meal. If you need any follow up appointments with specialists, you can likely get them at Bumrungrad, that day. I had two sebaceous cysts on my head and during the review with my physician I mentioned them. She said, “Oh, you have to go to surgery for that. They’re on the 15th floor. Would you like to see someone about that now?” And just like that, I saw another doctor who felt the bumps on my head and asked if I had time to get them taken out. They did a price work up, told me how much it would cost (mine was covered by insurance, but think of that - told the price before the procedure!) Bing bang boom. Out. Bumrungrad. Clean, modern, efficient, transparent pricing - everything US healthcare is not, which is why I’ll continue to return there for health care.

Bumrungrad food experience - hospital food I can get behind.

Like a 5 star hotel. I like how the guards salute and click their heels when you’re crossing.

Everybody gets temp checked upon entry.

     Cambodia was a delight as well, I’ve been to Angkor Wat twice before, and this was truly a once in a lifetime experience because there were so few people there. It felt like I was the only one wandering around some of those temples because, well, I was. Ta Prohm is famous for the trees that grew over the temple. There used to be lines of people waiting to get their picture taken there, this time, there were a few tourists wandering around but some of the lesser known temples were absolutely empty.

It was a surreal experience. I think the only downside about Cambodia was the COVID test on entry. Everyone had to have a rapid PCR test done maybe due to having to test an entire plane at once, they were less than

                                                          I did not try this beer in Cambodia.

gentle when administering the brain stab. I’ve had a LOT of PCR tests, and maybe because the Khmer’s have some experience in torture, that one was the worst. 

     After 10 days cycling around Chiang Mai, I spent some more time at Bumrungrad getting an issue with my hand taken care of. I chose to spend some recuperation time at the Shangri-la hotel, perched right on the Chao Phraya River. I enjoyed watching all kinds of watercraft, the barges, long tailed boats, water taxis and tugs ply their craft. I spent a lot of time watching life on the river go by, particularly in the am, when I took my breakfast right next to the river.

                                                              View from the Shangri-la

     Every time I leaned over the river, with my phone in my hand, I remembered Chekov’s writing advice: “If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter, it absolutely must go off. If it’s not going to be fired, it shouldn’t be hanging there.” I thought about this any time my phone got near the water and in my head the thought bubble said, “If your phone is hovering above the river, then in the second or third paragraph, there must be a ‘kerplunk’ which can only mean the phone has sunk to the depths of the river.” Every time I had that thought, I tightened my grip on my phone and slowly brought it back over terra firma. 

Do you know the mutton man? This guy was on the BKK side of the river, butchering halal mutton every day. He was okay because he threw scraps down for the feral kittens around his stall.

    Gwyne came for the last two weeks of my trip, first for her physical at Bumrungrad Hospital and then some much desired beach time. She spent her night in COVID jail before her second test came back negative. I bundled myself over to the other side of the river so we could start her vacation. We spent a few days there before heading down to Hua Hin. When my doctor asked how we were getting there, I told him we were thinking of taking the train. He was taken aback and suggested, strongly, we take a car there. I’ve been on many Thai trains, and I understood his reaction. They can be slow and timeliness is sketchy. The food vendors on them are great and it’s an experience I enjoy. But the last two weeks were Gwyne’s time, so we hired a driver to take us down there. Hua Hin is a rather sedate beach town compared to other more well known Thailand beach destinations, which suited both of us just fine. Gwyne did what she liked, which was to eat good food and lie by the pool, I did what I liked, which was listening to as many podcasts as I could on long walks on the beach after breakfast, then wandering around the markets sneaking street food and getting a massage every day. 

     And just like that, we were home again, home again jiggity jig. I had two months of luxury hotels, fabulous buffet breakfasts and plenty of delicious street food. Like I said before, everyone was wearing masks, all the time. Other than that, it seemed so…normal. Yeah, there were a lot of closed businesses and the more touristy spots were nearly empty. But the trains, buses, subway and metro were plenty filled. Shopping centers were buzzing with people. It was hard to find a seat at Sukhumvit’s Terminal 21 food court at lunch time. The second morning back home in Alabama, I had to go to the store to get food supplies. I called Gwyne and said, “What time does breakfast start?” We stayed at a few different hotels, sometimes the buffet opened at 0700 (middle of the day), 0630 (better) or 0600 (preferable). Back home? You make your own coffee, cut your own fruit, cook your own food and make your own damn bed. But not for long. 

Chiang Mai

      Chiang Mai has always been one of my go to happy places. It’s a city defined by a moat around mostly ancient walls and is super easy to navigate. I just spent 8 days there, on a bicycle or walking and have mixed feelings. Maybe it’s this whole trip and not just Chiang Mai. Maybe it’s everything else going on in the world. On the plus side, I gambled the masses of visitors to Thailand and Cambodia would not have surged the moment they opened due to onerous COVID testing requirements, restrictions and uncertainty. That was a win, it’s been fairly empty. I also hoped there would be a fire sale on 5 star hotels due to low occupancy, win #2. There’s only been one quick downpour since I’ve been here, I’m getting tired of all the winning. But it’s also been hotter than a pair of balls in skinny jeans, even up in Chiang Mai. And because I came early, I missed out on prime rambutan and mangosteen season, durian are not exactly plentiful either. Triple win and then triple lose, but the wins were weighted way heavier than the losses. The real pain though, comes from witnessing the economic devastation of two economies who shut down hard that were overly reliant on tourism revenue. 

     Chiang Mai seems to be coming back slower than Bangkok. Large swaths of the Night Bazaar are empty and many businesses along Taeprae road were shuttered. The tuk tuk drivers were ‘tuk tuking sir?’ and the massage ladies were ‘Massage kaaaaaaaaing?’ with a sense of desperation I’ve never seen before. They have always been super pesky, but this was on another very sad level. But this trip, I did something I’ve never done in 28 years of coming to SE Asia. I didn’t bargain. Not once. It’s part of the culture to haggle, even among locals though there’s still a cheaper starting price for them. Tipping is also not something many SE Asians do. But I did. Generously.

     The bike rides have been delightful. I usually started out getting lost somewhere outside the old city, then doing a loop on the outer and inter rings before stopping to pick up breakfast (20 baht or 60 cents for those counting, and surprise -  I’m counting) at a market. Along the way, there always seem to be 15th century stupas woven into the fabric of the city.

Across front the market, in the middle of the city

Choose your curry

Next to the University

The downtube had a logo ‘Live Natural’ I prefer unnatural tubes and tires on my bicycles

And the masks.

Except for a few freedom loving, my body my choice farang patriot tourists, everyone was wearing one, all the time. There is joy in putting on a fresh mask, and more joy in taking one off after a hot sweaty bike ride. 

This lady stoked her fire with charcoal every morning, cooking bananas

This guy fried something every morning and always had a line

And then there was this. Today’s gonna be fucking awesome. 

     I saw this on my last day. I liked it. But today is just going to fucking suck for some people and it’s going to be tragic for so many more. I’m not sure what to do except to try to make my tomorrow as fucking awesome as I can for myself and to try to live up to one of my favorite tag lines, from the podcast Freakanomics - “Take care of yourself, and if you can, someone else too.”