Avatar in Ashrafieh

Aug'10 - Ashrafieh, view from the terrace of my friend's flat.

2 August 2010 - Beirut, Lebanon.

I landed in Beirut like an avatar in a video game – a crisp animation of myself wandering into the unimaginable next corridor. All I can do is go through the motions until the camel arrives with my karma.[bxA]

Derek picked me up from Rafic Hariri International Airport on a sunshiny Monday morning. He teased me by leaving a red handkerchief from our Sri Lanka trip on the passenger seat of his car to remind me of an inside joke. It appeared in a different dimension of color, a token from another exotic corridor of the video game my life had suddenly become.

Bleary-eyed from the all night flight I wondered about the slew of billboards at the airport featuring a new Arab leader I didn’t recognize. Who’s that? I don’t remember the answer. My memory streamed with never ending images of the much loved King of Thailand.

Dec'09 - Bangkok, Thailand. Streetside shrine to the King.

A giant bucket of KFC hovered above the exit booths. We asked a soldier standing nearby for permission to take a photo. During my lazy days in Siem Reap, Cambodia I read Colonel Sanders’ biography on Wikipedia because KFC has been more ubiquitous than McDonald’s in my travels.

Aug'10 - Beirut, Lebanon. Rafic Hariri International Airport parking lot.

Also, I have that thing about the chickens.

On our way to Hamra we drove through a forest of concrete buildings and the neighborhood farangs often refer to as “Hezbollah Land.” I marveled at all the cars, so few motorbikes. A completely different world.

Aug'09 - Beirut.

Derek and I agreed to only a quick coffee since he needed to work and I needed sleep. We had a decadent breakfast in a cozy upstairs outdoor café just two blocks from the flat where Alyssa and I spent last summer.

Aug'10 - Hamra, upstairs at Cello.

The sign on the table told me Ernest Hemingway’s favorite drink was a Mojito at a bar in Cuba called Bodeguita, but he probably would have loved them here in Beirut. I imagined the Phuket bars with 50 baht beers and the kind pretty faces of young Thai bar girls. I’m not in that corridor anymore, but since I’m an avatar I can always go back.

A little girl’s hair bow was nestled in the tree by our table and Derek told me a wonderfully imaginative story about how it may have gotten there. I don’t remember what he said but for a few moments it lifted me out of the video game and nestled me in a cozy children's storybook.

After a few hours of non-stop talk, we abandoned our plans for sleep and work. Derek asked me if I wanted brains for lunch...


...but instead we opted for one of my favorite London eateries - Nando’s in Hamra. An adorable young waiter named Mohammed was exceptionally sweet about making sure there was no mayonnaise on my sandwich. This was never an easy negotiation in Thailand.

After many hours of comfort with a friend, it was time to settle into my next phase in a new place. An American friend had generously offered me her flat while she goes trekking in the Himalayas. She lives in Ashrafieh, a Christian neighborhood in East Beirut that is pretty foreign to me.

I was glad to spend my first hours in Hamra because the familiarity made my day seem almost real.

Beirut / Phuket

Everything is only almost real when you’re an avatar.

The Space Between

2 August 2010 - In Flight.

I’ve done it enough by now: squirmed in the seat of an airplane for hours on end en route from one distinct culture to another. [bxA] The integration and assimilation begins with the airline, this time Royal Jordanian delivering me from Southeast Asia to the Middle East. The nationalities of the staff, the language translations of the announcements, the food options, entertainment selection – all these details knead my senses gently back and forth between the place I’m going and the place I’ve left.

I tried to be still in my seat, resigned to my aircraft insomnia, accepting refreshments from a pretty Thai flight attendant in a Royal Jordanian uniform and scrolling through the multi-cultural programs on offer from the television affixed to my chair. I watched a recent American comedy film called ‘Blind Date’ and an episode of Friends that made me feel more like an alien than I already did flying through the night skies from Phuket to Beirut.

Phoebe’s surrogate triplets were old enough to walk and talk. Rachel and Joey were dating. Huh? When did all of this happen? Where was I? Where am I now? What else have I missed?

Aug'09 - Palmyra, Syria.

Meanwhile, the camel with my karma trotted slowly across the globe. I always arrive days before him and the satchels he lugs on his back which contain all the things I need to feel gravity pull me into the place where I land.

On the Plane

2 August 2010 – Royal Jordanian flight: Bangkok, Thailand to Amman, Jordan.

I got on the plane and was settling into seat 25C for the low low price of six hundred dollars less than business class when a flight steward asked a woman in the middle row to my right to accompany him to the front of the plane. She was a large woman with long black hair and a long black coat too heavy for Thailand. [bxA]

“Why?” She was already hostile.

“Madam, come to the front of the plane with me, please. We’ll discuss it there.”

“I’m not going with you. I want to see the stewardess who said it to me! Tell her to come here!”

The steward threatened to call the manager. The manager appeared in a grey suit with an Air Jordanian nametag. He threatened to remove her luggage and have her taken from the plane. The woman continued to demand that the stewardess who “started it” be called to the scene. The manager threatened to call the police. She laughed dismissively, “I have done nothing. What will you tell the police? They will laugh at you.”

Just as the manager radioed for someone to get the police, the captain arrived, tall and official in his captain’s uniform. The captain assured her they could remove her from the plane for being disruptive, but the woman wouldn’t budge. Eventually the steward, the manager and the captain marched hastily to the front of the plane. Everyone in the surrounding rows was glued to the scene. The woman shook her head.

A nice looking Jordanian man sitting two seats to her right calmly leaned over and suggested she let him escort her to the front of the plane before things escalated further. The woman went on a tirade again about the stewardess who started it and should be held accountable.

The peacemaker gently said to her, “Let’s go forward. That’s going backward. Let’s move forward.”

After a little more respectful persuasion, she followed the nice man to the front of the plane. Many minutes later they returned, dispute resolved. Ready for the midnight flight to Jordan.

Within an hour nearly everyone was sound asleep and we all moved forward…together.

At the Airport

Aug’10 – Bangkok, Thailand. Suvarnabhumi Airport.

1 August 2010 – Bangkok, Thailand.

I was standing at the Royal Jordanian check-in desk when a great commotion broke out at the airport entrance –high pitched squeals from dozens of females clamoring toward something, camera flashes and everyone else stopping to look. [bxA] After a short discussion in Thai with his colleagues, the guy behind the desk holding my passport informed me and the European backpackers behind me that it was a famous Korean singer.

The female squeals got louder and the tall gorgeous blond backpacker behind me said, “He must be a really good singer, no?”

“He no good,” our Thai desk clerk assured, “he jus’ handsome. Song no good. No good. He jus’ handsome.”

I flashed on all our pretty American talent belting away songs on the top of the charts. I don't even know they're names anymore, but they do seem to have really good hair.

It was closing in on midnight so I pretended like I was someone with a different set of circumstances and asked if it was too late to upgrade to business class. Suddenly a good night's sleep seemed worth a few extra bucks. No, it wasn’t too late and only $600 U.S. dollars. Doh! Only one decimal place away from business class.

Onward to the long zig zag line at Passport Control where an adorable older white man wearing a leather fedora and suspenders meant to look like measuring tape leaned over the red divider ribbon to harass the Asian man behind me.

“Pajamas! You’ve worn your pajamas to the airport.”

The Asian family stared blankly at him, heads slightly tilted in confusion.

“Pa-jaaa-maas,” the tape-measure-suspenders man tried to clarify, “you’re wearing your pajamas.”

Still nothing from the Asians.

The line moved and I was able to inconspicuously glance back to check out the dude’s sleepwear, disappointed to learn he was not wearing pajamas at all. He was comfortably dressed in white draw string pants, a yellow t-shirt …

and wrapped snuggly in a light pink bath towel.

One Night in Bangkok

Aug’10 – Bangkok, Thailand. Convenient Grand Hotel by the airport.

1 August 2010 – Bangkok, Thailand

In an effort to give the camel carrying my karma a bit of a headstart, I spent last night in Bangkok to rest all day before my midnight flight to Beirut tonight. I’m staying in a bare bones room at the Convenient Grand, a cheap hotel near the airport. It feels like a no man’s land.[bxA]

Aug’10 – Bangkok, Thailand. Soi outside the Convenient Grand Hotel.

The seven-story hotel sits down a dusty lazy soi that’s got nothing but a few little houses and scruffy dogs milling about. The backside faces a field and some industrial stuff here and there. I’m sitting in the hotel restaurant staring out the window at two spirit houses across the street. The last bowl of Tom Yum Goong I’ll eat in a while is not the best I’ve had, but I’m savoring the spicy coconut milk flavor and paying careful attention to all the twiggy things that give it flavor but I’m not supposed to eat. The Eagles’ ‘Take it Easy’ is blaring from the speaker over my head.

Aug’10 – Bangkok, Thailand. Soi outside the Convenient Grand Hotel.

A tiny Thai toddler just went running past the spirit houses clutching his plastic yellow electric guitar. His tired young mother ran out to snatch him from the street and now he’s jamming like a rockstar on his toy guitar in the family’s compound.

Aug’10 – Bangkok, Thailand. Entrance to the Convenient Grand Hotel.

I’ve scheduled one last Thai massage for 300 baht available near the hotel lobby and I’m wondering how I’ll ever survive without them. Thailand has gotten under my skin and I don’t want to leave. I imagine the camel with my karma getting up on its lanky legs in reluctant preparation for the long journey to the Middle East. I’m taking the airport shuttle to Bangkok Suvarnabhumi Airport at 10pm. “If I could save time in a bottle” is blaring on the lousy sound system and I’m wondering if we could save time in a bottle…

Jun’10 – Phuket, Thailand. Siam Commercial Bank calendar, my kitchen.

But we can’t. And I don’t like this song.

Farewell Phuket

July 2010 - Phuket, Thailand. My neighbourhood.

31 July 2010 - Phuket, Thailand.

I posted this photo on Facebook - took it on my last walk down to the beach from my house in Fisherman Way. My status update said [bxA] something about being in transition. People have asked me what I’m transitioning to, but that’s the great unknown. And I’m happy to report it actually does feel great, the unknown.

At least most of the time.

A month or two ago I almost panicked – no home, no job, no husband, no babies, no financial certainty, no idea where I will live, what I will do. I almost started contemplating the situation. But then I went swimming or stared at the sky or walked down the beach to the pier where I first set sail on Millennium so many months ago.

2010 - Chalong Pier, Phuket, Thailand. Buddha on the hill.

Chalong Pier always reminds me how great the unknown can be,

if we let it.

Pouring in Paradise

26 Jul'10 - Chalong Bay, Phuket. Photo by S. Kern (Lifted from Facebook).

27 July 2010 - Phuket, Thailand.

It’s been raining and I’ve been packing.

I'm crawling through the sludgy sadness of leaving Phuket, but then [bxA] emails from Beirut get me excited to go there again.

Still, transition is not exactly easy. Alyssa and I call it the slumps. Reminds me of that camel I learned about at the ashram – the one that carries our karma to the next place while we fly too quickly on airplanes. This is another great reason to sail.

19 September 2009 – Lebanon. House where we did 108 sun salutations.

One of the emails from Beirut came from a friend I met at a yoga thing in the mountains doing 108 sun salutations for peace. Her email said, “I have a running mental list of ‘must ask Ali’ questions, which includes everything from the meaning of life to what sort of suitcase is best for world travels.” Oh dear. I was hoping she could tell me.

I suspect the answer is the same for both: travel light.

2 Jun'09 – Jbeil, Lebanon. Alyssa’s and my stuff accumulated at beach flat.

Everyone knows I don’t know how to do this – literally or figuratively.

13 September 2009 – House party in Beirut where I met Sandra.

Thus, I emailed Sandra, another great friend I met in Beirut – the one who rightly told me not to buy the return airplane ticket. We hadn’t connected in ages when I wrote her a couple weeks ago:

“I desperately need some of your mojo! I'm packing up my house in Phuket to head to Beirut for about 3 weeks. I am such a clutter bug, Sandra. It is shocking. I could give you examples but you would think I'm insane. If you can spare a few moments to give me some guidance on packing, moving and the absurdity of saving things, I would be forever grateful.”

The first line of her reply was:

“The only thing worth saving is yourself.”

Hmmm. Okay, sure. It sounds logical. Doable. I only need to save myself…

July 2010 – Phuket Packing.

…and my Sivananda yoga book, book bag and t-shirt …and the Williams windbreaker that kept me warm during night watches for three months on sailboats …and the world map Alyssa & her mum covered in hilarious post-it notes…and my King’s Cup shirt …and the beautiful kurti Dipti gave me in Chandigarh…and the two Phuket magazines I’m in…and the Panto poster someone had the cast sign for me since it was my ‘acting debut’…and a stack of handwritten journals…and…and…and…

Sandra meant I should save myself and all these things, right?

Slaughter Fodder

May 2010 – Sri Lanka. Chicken farm in a tiny village on the outskirts of Colombo.

22 July 2010 - Phuket, Thailand...counting the days:(

I almost never read books. I buy them constantly, start them often, but finish them only on rare occasion. Oddly, two of the few books I’ve read this year included ominous references to one of my most haunting obsessive compulsive thoughts.[bxA]

Bangkok Days (2010) by Graham Greene (atop my pocket map of Bangkok).

I was enjoying the tales of hapless farangs in Bangkok Days until I got to about page 83 when the protagonist’s feckless friend takes him to Roong muu, “the city slaughterhouse, buried inside a mixed Thai-Viet slum: only these impoverished Catholics could kill animals, an act forbidden to the Buddhists who happily ate their flesh...

“The killing of animals is secretive in Bangkok…I noticed now the slaughterhouse workers idled around the low, metal-roofed buildings with the look of men who are stoned and who will be killing pigs with hammers all night long. To get them through it they are said to take drugs...”

At the shrimp warehouse, “McGinnins put a hand to his ear and said, ‘Can you hear them? The shrimp are screaming. Boiled alive, and no one cares. So much for Buddhism.’”

Dec’09 – Bangkok. Schoolgirls praying atop the Golden Mount Buddhist temple.

* * *

Saul Bellow’s Seize the Day begins, “When it came to concealing his troubles, Tommy Wilhem was not less capable than the next fellow. So at least he thought…”

Seize the Day (1957) by Saul Bellow,

On page 84 Tommy was walking through downtown New York to pick-up tickets for a baseball game and, “…on the walls between the advertisements were words in chalk: ‘Sin No More,’ and “Do Not Eat the Pig.’”

A paragraph later, Wilhem was at the stock market gambling to win money to pay his debts.

“The old fellow on the right, Mr. Rappaport, was nearly blind…He was very old…and if you believed Tamkin he had once been the Rockefeller of the chicken business and had retired with a large fortune.

May’10 – Sri Lanka. Inside the chicken house.

“Wilhem had a queer feeling about the chicken industry, that it was sinister. On the road, he frequently passed chicken farms. Those big, rambling, wooden buildings out in the neglected fields; they were like prisons. The lights burned all night in them to cheat the poor hens into laying. Then the slaughter. Pile all the coops of the slaughtered on end, and in one week they’d go higher than Mount Everest or Mount Serenity. The blood filling the Gulf of Mexico. The chicken shit, acid, burning the earth."

Jan’10 – Siem Reap, Cambodia. KFC in the town center.

“And Wilhelm thought this was the way a man who had grown rich by the murder of millions of animals, little chickens, would act. If there was a life to come he might have to answer for the killing of all those chickens. What if they all were waiting? But if there was a life to come, everyone would have to answer. But if there was a life to come, the chickens themselves would be all right.”

* * *

There’s no escaping it on the internet either. I love reading the Fighter Guy’s blog because he captures lots of things about Phuket that I notice too, but then he has all these totally inconceivable observations and experiences I’ve completely missed. Check out his post on cockfighting in Thailand.

* * *

Is there a life to come? Will the chickens be all right?

Why Am I Here?

2010 - Phuket, Thailand. Water buffalo 'mowing' my lawn.

20 July 2010 - Phuket, Thailand.

I was home most of the day sifting through piles of papers in preparation for my Phuket departure in ten days. [bxA]



This is the round-trip ticket from Beirut to New Delhi that Sandra told me not to buy last September. We were eating eggs for breakfast in Hamra and discussing our uncertain futures. She said a return ticket was too limiting, a safety net I didn’t need. I pondered for quite some time that my life had reached a point where my one big fear-based safety net was a plane ticket back to Beirut.

I do love safety nets so I bought the return ticket. Sandra was right, of course. I forfeited the ticket when it expired in March and recently bought a new one-way ticket to Beirut for early August.

2010 - Phuket, Thailand. Sunset at Nai Harn beach.

It’s fun being out in the world with no particular place to go and no particular reason to leave once I get there.

The Fisherman & the Investment Banker

Phuket, Thailand. Fisherpeople crabbing along the beach near my house.

12 July 2010 - Phuket, Thailand.

I’ve spent many long slow lazy hours strolling down the beach watching all the fisherpeople live their lives along the Phuket coast. Lately I’ve also reconnected with my banking friends and heard many stories about life back in the ‘real world.’ It reminds me of [bxA] a parable a friend of mine (NK) shared with me during my banking days in Houston circa 2003:

An investment banker was taking a much-needed vacation in a small coastal village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. The boat had several large, fresh fish in it.

The investment banker was impressed by the quality of the fish and asked the fisherman how long it took to catch them.

The fisherman replied, "Only a little while."

The banker then asked why he didn't stay out longer and catch more fish?

The fisherman replied he had enough to support his family's immediate needs.

The banker then asked "But what do you do with the rest of your time?"

The fisherman replied, "I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siesta with my wife, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my friends: I have a full and busy life, you see."

Dec’08 – London, England. Financial Buildings in Canary Wharf.

The investment banker scoffed, "I am an Ivy League MBA, and I could help you. You could spend more time fishing and with the proceeds buy a bigger boat, and with the proceeds from the bigger boat you could buy several boats until eventually you would have a whole fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to the middleman you could sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You could control the product, processing and distribution."

Then he added, "Of course, you would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to the city where you would run your growing enterprise."

The fisherman asked, "But how long will this all take?"

To which the investment banker replied, "15-20 years."

"But what then?" asked the fisherman.

Dec’08 - Canary Wharf, London. Advertisement for Financial Times.

The investment banker laughed and said, "That's the best part. When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich. You could make millions."

"Millions? Then what?"

July 2010 – Phuket, Thailand. Fishing village a stone’s throw from my house.

To which the investment banker replied, "Then you would retire. You could move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your friends."

Sitting in Singapore

Singapore Riverbank. Sculpture by Aw Tee Hong shows a prominent merchant

Scotsman mediating between a Chinese Trader and a Malay Chief.

10 July 2010 – Singapore.

I’m at the Changi airport waiting for my flight back to Phuket and thinking, man, I should have been blogging these past several weeks. Everything is so different now.[bxA] Job prospects, plane tickets and wedding invitations have got me jumping all over the place. Looks like I’ll be traveling a little bit longer.

Singapore started as a visa run but turned into something entirely unexpected, which makes me think visa runs aren’t so bad after all.

July 2010. Air Asia check-in counter at Phuket International Airport.

Changi airport reminds me of the last time I was in this airport - which was the first time I was in this airport and part of that Stalker Effect story I never finished blogging about. I was on my way from New Delhi to Langkawi to sail to Phuket last November and…well…I got on the plane in India knowing full well that my passport was no good. The airline had even given me a courtesy call to reiterate the “NO FLY” email they’d sent me. A real live human being at the airline warned me not to go.

I went anyway. Made it through the airports in India and Sri Lanka just fine but Singapore said no way and half-heartedly suggested I’d be deported. A really nice guy at the transfer desk who sat next to a really mean girl at the transfer desk offered to call immigration in Langkawi to see if he could get them to make a concession for me. Problem was, it was early morning and Langkawi wasn’t answering the phone. I spent an hour wandering Changi Airport contemplating the existential implications of the imminent question: deported to where?

July 2010. View from the Singapore Flyer (on a clear day you can see Indonesia).

I’d enlisted the positive vibes of the angels, Alyssa, and a super cool psychologist from Michigan who was in India studying the teachings of Sri Sri Paramahansa Yogananda. He advised me to simply not contemplate a Plan B. Sure enough, the airline eventually let me on the plane to Langkawi where I climbed aboard Sirius and sailed to Phuket for what I thought would be two or three weeks. Here I am eight months later flying back to my home in Phuket.

This time I really am leaving Phuket at the end of July (inshallah) and just like this Singapore trip reminded me, there is no telling what will happen next.

Mai Pen Rai

Lawn of a house down the beach from me. Giant Buddha in the distance.

2 June 2010 – Phuket, Thailand.

A lot is going on and I’m a little overwhelmed.

I was going to blog about it, but then I remembered last night walking along the beach I noticed the pretty red spirit houses set against the pink-blue sky. I decided instead of thinking-writing-blogging I’d grab my camera and wander along the beach in hopes the sky would turn pink again.

It did.

Lonely Lego - ยินดียินดี

28 May 2010 - Phuket, Thailand

This morning I was video-skyping with a friend from the theater group (I’m an amateur actress in Phuket community theater these days). My friend is a talented director/writer/ actress and has offered to direct our next production. We were talking about [bxA] the craft of acting (which I know nothing about) and inhibitions that compromise performance (which I know everything about). She explained that many people create shells to conceal their personalities but we just need to chip away a piece of that shell.

I flashed on an animated film of a knife cutting into the head of a gigantic person-shaped wedding cake, carving out an eyeball in a neat rectangular piece of cake, sliding it onto a pie server where it is then delivered to a table at a wedding reception. Thai folk music played in my head.

Huh?

It took a while for me to place it.

May 2010 - Phuket, Thailand. Park Rawai Shopping Center on Chaofa West Rd.

I was up at Black Canyon Coffee yesterday trying to read a book or assess my list of things-to-do or figure out how the wait staff applied the little temporary tattoos of Thai letters and a World Cup ‘soccer’ ball on their cheeks just under their respective left eyes.

Suddenly all my thoughts fell away and nothing mattered but the music video playing on the television across the room. I was transfixed. My senses were awakened and suddenly I could feel all the little cultural nuances about Thailand that I never seem to notice, but will likely discover once I’m gone. And when I am no longer in Thailand, watching this video will take me right back to this point in time, everything happening in my life right here, right now:


(or link to Youtube here)

Don’t ask me why.

Happy Dog

May 2010 - Phuket, Thailand. Dog at Poo's Palm Sauna & Massage, Soi Suksan 1, Rawai.

In my last blog post I said I’d tell you the other emergency room story tomorrow and by ‘tomorrow’ I meant ‘never.’ Sorry about that. I changed my mind.

As they say, you can't teach an old dog new tricks.

Under the Weather

May 2010 – Phuket International Hospital

20 May 2010 – Phuket, Thailand.

I got back to Phuket last week only to discover I had a staph infection from a bug bite I got in Sri Lanka. Well, I didn’t actually discover it, I was completely ignoring it. Luckily the Gods of Common Sense intervened. [bxA]

Last Wednesday sitting in the McDonalds at the Kuala Lumpur airport reminded me of these guys I met on the same KL > Phuket flight last month. I had shared a taxi with them back to Chalong and learned they are MMA fighters training in Thailand. I didn’t stay in touch but one of them said he was starting a blog soon, so I’d been keeping an eye out for it.

KLCC Airport McDonalds (borrowed from this blog without permission).

With a couple hours to kill waiting for my flight, I messaged him on Facebook from the KL airport McDonalds to ask if he started the blog. By the time I got back to my house in Phuket, I had his blog link and was reading it from the beginning when I came across an excerpt he posted about staph infections. It was like reading a checklist of what had been happening to my leg the past few days: got bug bite, scratched it too much, it swelled, it spread, it was kinda gross, etc. Oh dear.

May 2010 – Phuket International Hospital Emergency Room.

The next day I went to the Phuket International Hospital Emergency Room – which isn’t so much of a triage situation as just a nice clean walk-in clinic. The pretty Thai nurses wear white dresses with those proper bow-like nurse hats and feminine white shoes with little white ankle socks.

The doctor took one look at my leg and said, “Aaahh. Staph.” Glunk.

Dicloxacillin 500 MG cap – 4x daily before meals and bedtime. Blech.

I’ve spent the past week ingesting antibiotics four times a day and suffering flu symptoms on and off while trying desperately not to consider the extreme cases of staph. (What if I hadn't read that guys blog!?!)

I’ve returned to the emergency room clinic every other day for the doctor to keep an eye on the situation while the pretty nurses dress my ugly wounds. Today was my fourth and final visit as it appears the infection is contained and healing, inshallah.

The bi-daily trips to the Phuket ER have brought fond and hilarious memories of the time Alyssa and I found ourselves in an Emergency Room during our first week in Beirut…

April 2009 – Downtown Beirut.

…but I’ll tell you about that tomorrow.

Meanwhile, check out the Fighter Guy’s blog – it’s really good and he writes a lot about life in Thailand: www.magicalray.com/blog