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 |   ON THE WRITE PATH: travel journal for Around-the-World in 2015, 16, 18. |
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For there are many paths.  A tlog. A travel blog. A keeping-track of my trials, er.. travels. February 26, 2015 until ... June 18,2015. January 12, 2016 until February 15, 2016. November 13 to 30 2018 ... 2019, 2020: Taiwain. I went nowhere in 2021. 2022: Portugal, Thailand. Will include: Hawai'i, Japan, Australia, South Africa, Untied Arab Emirates, Portugal, Norway, Ireland and... (2015) ... Norway and Estonia (2016), México (2018), Taiwan, Balkans, Baltics, Turkey, Costa Rica, Nicaragua. Vi får se.  "Where I have traveled, stayed and visited. Over 181 places."     |
| One must cover one's head entering a synagogue in Sofia or Vilnius, but take off a hat in a church in Santiago de Compostela or a wat in Bangkok. Shoes off or on. Hats off or on. Whatever's the requirement. |
| These dimpled marshlands, hill-dotted, savannah and rice fields, lie under an open sky. But every year skies close with smoke, rain and floods. It had been so since before Khmer lived and worshiped here. What doesn't change? Isan's open hearts. |
| Vast and empty comes to mind as I fly from Iceland to Seattle. Canada's empty when seen from the air. Empty when seen by car. Yet, I have lived there, vouch that it's more than polar bears and hockey sticks. |
| I have never been to a place of eternal ice; but, I once met someone from there and I've flown over it. The whiteness blinds while the clear clean water and air beckon. It's only green along its frigid edges. |
| Entering the ryokan in Toyama, I take my shoes off, put on slippers, take slippers off when crossing tatami mats in a formal wa.shi.tsu, sleep on a futon, must remember to put on plastic sandals to enter the shower room. |
| I tuck a pink napkin into the pocket of my pink shirt. It's Tuesday in Barbieland. Pan eats a soup of rice and pork. He's been sick all evening, lying in bed, holding his stomach and my hand like a whimpering puppy. Now he wants to eat. We go next door and he orders a huge bowl of soup. He looks at me as if to beg. It's too much for him. I'm not hungry but he puts some rice and pork in a small pink bowl and places it before me. I have no choice. Pink bowls. Pink napkins. On a red tablecloth no less. 6 months after Valentine's day. It's been an interesting day. I wanted to go to Chaiyaphum. This means getting up early. We manage to get a ticket for the 9 a.m. mini-van. We aren't the first to get on. It comes from Nong Khai. It's packed. The luggage makes it worse. I find a seat by the door. I like to look out at the countryside. Pan looks at his smart phone. For me the "getting there" is part of any trip. I take photos and videos of a green landscape, a flat green landscape of sugarcane and rice. Large hills loom a darker green. The river bottom-land is fertile. No one lives in the hills. 4 hours on the bus. I've never been through this part of Isan. It's as boring as the parts I've visited... maybe more so. There are no stops long enough to get water or food. We've packed some in our bags and vendors do approach the buses at a couple of sad shabby terminals along the way. People live in these dreary towns strung out like beads on the roads that connect north and south. We leave Udon Thani. We leave Nong Bua Lamphu. We cross Khon Kaen. We enter Chaiyaphum. Another hour to go. 4 hours on the bus is... tiring. The stations are... forgettable. There is no pretense, no money, no sense of pride. In Chaiyaphum, Pan takes a tuk-tuk to Hop Inn. I walk, a "short walk" in the heavy heat, stopping for photos along the way. I arrive soaked. Pan waits for me... impatiently; but, I don't want to waste money on a tuk-tuk that may hurt my back. I've been there, done that. What does the day smell like? Chocolate and donuts, sausages, and pork. The a/c dries the mouth and nostrils. What does the day sound like? Elevators, bus stations, but basically quiet. Thais can be super quiet. Most everyone was quiet today. What does the day taste like? Sweet, sour, salty, umami. I'm too worn out for bitter. Now, I touch the smooth desk. Hop Inn is known for smooth easy-to-clean surfaces. The place is sterile like a hospital. I usually marvel at the character of the places I visit, the characters I meet. Today was devoid of character. I'm looking forward to tomorrow. © Copyright 2023 Kåre Enga [180.96] (15.august.2023) ~ 493 words. |
| In Costa Rica take the freedom to "do as you want". Lie if you must, but always smile. If you happen to hurt someone's feelings, or run over their dog, remember that "disculpe" means "I'm sorry." That should fix it. |
| I saw beauty wrapped in wads of money, tasted potatoes fried into fritters (Gromperekichelcher), and inhaled April festooned with cherry blossoms. Unfortunately, the stone from which it's carved, upon which it stands, isn't as hard as the over-worked worn-out people. |
| A classic Citroën sat in front of the historical wat proud of its maroon paint job ready to be waxed, eager to whisk us away to when the French colonized Lan Xang and baked baguettes, a place lost in time. |
| I feel like I've been here many times before I arrive in Šiauliai. I've driven through golden fields, as flat as a pancake, ripening with promise. So similar to the Kansas of my youth, golden hair blowing in the breeze. |
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