I hadn’t planned to eat my way through Bangkok. In the end, Bangkok got the last bite, swallowing me whole and spitting me out after chewing me into a cud. I smell like shrimp paste, butt sweat, sunburn, and Tuk Tuk exhaust.
I leave day after tomorrow, for home in San Francisco, by way of Tokyo. I’m pretty sure they are going to confiscate my clothes at Narita and burn them.
This has been quite an adventure, requiring no less than ten airplanes in addition to various forms of transport over sea and land. Who in their right mind would hand me a credit card and Carte Blanche to plan a trip with no supervision?
Who in their right mind would get on an airplane one week after surgery, waking up whimpering for pain killers? I’m so glad I didn’t let common sense get in the way. (I love my surgeon, by the way. If you ever get Achalasia, Dr. Stanley Rogers at UCSF is your man).
I’m not quite ready to give up the liminality of life on the road but the obligations and responsibilities of daily life beckon. I sometimes feel the best part of travel is the in between, the getting to rather than being there.
So, this will be the last post from Asia before taking to the air one more time. Thanks for coming along for the ride.
Rolling, rolling on the river
I feel safer already…
The river Gods are not happy
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger