... While I Play Unfitting Music

Bangkok, Thailand

I was awoken this morning by a call from my wife. She was at the airport this morning saying the first leg of her and the kids first flight on this journey had been delayed 4 hours. Now the butterfly effect has begun: they're laying over in Japan for 19 hours. By the time all is said-and-done, we'll be at least a day late getting to see my sister-in-law, Karen, in Cambodia -- she's arriving there this evening. So, that's an auspicious start for anyone who likes auguries.

Soundtrack Dissonance. Now to go back in time, to before the the flight delay, before the students' departure, to before even the students' arrival, to when I first arrived in Thailand from Malaysia in the first week of the Tip to Tundra tour. I was struck by what the wiki tvtropes.org* would call Scene Dissonance: the peace of the waves, the languid vines hanging from karst outcroppings, shopkeepers keeping their shops and no sign anywhere of an uptick in interest in the news, or concerns about having lost hard-won democratic freedoms. When I went back to my hotel room, I began making the soundtrack for this video blog, mashing up Life During Wartime with What a Wonderful World (the latter of which appears to be a common exemplar of the Soundtrack Dissonance subcategory of Scene Dissonance). I learned I may even have been cleaving to the youtube meme, "... While I Play Unfitting Music".

I've blogged previously about the coup and will not belabor the issue further herein. There is a schedule for new elections in 15 months. Of course democracy is more than elections. I haven't said too much about the beautiful islands in Thailand's south. I will simply point out that visiting them for the merest 24 hours allowed by my schedule was a kind of cruelty. I'd always avoided them before -- I'm not a particularly beach kind of guy. But I must say, I could get over my aversion for a few more days enjoying those turquoise waters.

* If you don't know tvtropes.org, I commend you to it without reservations, as they have undertaken the librarian's role of categorizing and filing the essential essence of story-making. 

Bangkok: All coup, no blood

There has been a hiatus in this blog dating back to two events: the overthrow of the elected government of Thailand and the arrival on that day of 24 American college students, also known as my students (naak rian phom). Without drama, I can assure the reader that it is the latter and not the former condition that has caused this hiatus.

The class is a 3½ week, 3 credit global seminar. So it is a pretty intensive undertaking. I’m writing now from the front sear of a van curling through the hills north of Chiang Mai on what promises to be, hands down, the greatest act of faith of the trip; we are going on an overnight in a village sponsored by Wat Sri Soda to see one of their projects in action. We’ll be eating with the villagers and sleeping on the floor of the temple (wat). I have given over the weekend to our hosts and it is off to a promising start – the roads are getting smaller and smaller, windier and twistier. Up in the clouds, Emily says, “It’s like we’re at the end of the Earth.”

Cooing about the Coup. Although teaching this course may be the primary reason for this blog’s hiatus, this post will be primarily about politics.

Some of my notes about martial law and the coup are based on news that arrives with a predictably filtered flavor through the Bangkok Post. The overall arch suggests that at first the coup seemed like a relief to many as a way of coping with a perceived political stalemate.

Uniformed news anchor who would occasionally interrupt
monotony of the National Council for Peace and Order sigils

I doubt there was in fact a political stalemate. Instead there was a popular (and populist) government elected and reaffirmed by election that was contrary to a former political elite and their allies in the army. There was legislation. Given the majority of the popularly elected Pheu Thai government, passing legislation was not a structural problem. There were protests – first from the right against the prime minister’s policies, which had largely burned out; then from the left when the judiciary ruled against the prime minister and her entire cabinet, causing the party to put in place a caretaker government. As an outside observer mindful of the slogans now bandied about by the ruling junta, it seems that some ideal of political harmony was not being upheld, and that frustrated people enough to be supportive – or at least resigned to – an unconstitutional coup.

Thailand, the land of smiles, simply can’t stand overt hardball politics. It wants its hardball politics closeted.

If there was any doubt as to who are not the democrats in Thailand, here is one description of the initial reaction of the Democrat Party's protest movement called the People's Democratic Reform Committee (PDRC): “PDRC demonstrators greeted the news of the coup with cheers, blowing whistles and waving hand-clappers. Some stood up to wave national flags.”

Since the initial announcement on 20 May of martial law and then on 22 May of the coup, since the initial antipathy toward these developments (see the video blog post Life Under Martial Law), things began to take a more sinister flavor. Arrest warrants, “invitations”, were issued for members of both the left and right parties. Most politicians who responded to these have subsequently been released under various constraints to their speech. Other are still being sought. The National Council for Peace and Order, or NCPO, issues decrees every day that appear more and more dictatorial. One decree suggested the internet needed to be censured. Another decree restricted gatherings to no more than five people and prohibited the “three finger salute,” a wonderful example of life imitating art.

Life Imitating Art. The Hunger Games is a young adult science fiction series in which a detached, indulgent urban elite (read oppressive university professors) lord over genuine, impoverished rural workers. The novels are set in a dystopic, future North America. However some clever leftist wag figured this was a pretty accurate portrayal of Thailand today. So, how do you bring this critique home to roost? You adopt the three-fingered salute of the fictional resistance in Hunger Games. In the second book and movie, protesters who show defiance by raising three fingers are dragged out of the crowd by masked and truncheon-wielding riot police and beaten for their insolence. Following NCPO’s decree against this three-fingered salute (“Even a bystander at a demonstration showing the three-fingered salute will be subject to arrest,” or some such language,) it is hard to imagine such scenes not playing themselves out somewhere around Democracy Monument in Bangkok.

Orwellianity with a Smile. Speaking of the Democracy Monument, the center of the anti-coup demonstrations in the past several weeks, the government had a brilliant idea to thwart the protests: a music concert! So instead of traffic in Bangkok being ground to a halt by political protest at this central hub, traffic was to grind to a halt because of this wonderful recreational opportunity brought to you by your favorite neighborhood Thai Psychological Operation (sic.) branch of the military government. In a wonderful coda to this hearts-and-minds offensive, the Post noted that the concert started 2 hours early because the crowd that had gathered beforehand was so large. I was unable to research the incident further, but it holds a special place in my heart as the only concert in the history of the universe to have started early.

On that first night I was informed about the coup by the hotel clerk when I asked him for a recommendation for a local restaurant that evening at 8:50. He indicated that I could not go out because there was a 9 pm curfew. I had not heard of a curfew and he did not know the word for coup, so it wasn’t until I headed, empty stomached and confused, back to my hotel room that I found on my Facebook feed a description of the day’s events. You can bet that made my evening. When I turned on the television for the latest news coverage, it was all the same channel playing patriotic songs that, from their screechy scratchy quality, must have been dusted off from a previous military take-over.

The beautifully painted murals on the walls of the royal Wat Phra Khaew
remind the observer that politics without gloves is no new thing in Thailand.

At about 11, still not entirely sure I had a class to teach or, if I had one whether they would be allowed to enter Bangkok from the airport, I received a call from a New York Post reporter. This poor reporter was cold calling hotels around Bangkok finagling receptionists to put him through to any Americans they might have staying at the hotel. Our receptionist, no bright bulb, I fear, thought he was part of the University of Minnesota apparatus trying to get ahold of me to answer my existential questions about the class. We spoke for only a few minutes, but it was enough to garner the headline, “Tourists gripe about coup’s inconvenience.” Tourist? Gripe? I felt so minimized. Clearly I have more to learn about public relations.

That night I sent out an inquiry on Facebook asking how best to incorporate these political developments with the themes of the course, Buddhist and addiction. My colleague in the Psychology Department, Rich Lee, bless his heart, did not hold back. He wrote, “Hang in there, Angus! And I hope you are also able to help students appreciate the rich Thai and Buddhist history and genuine life of the Thai people without students accidentially essentializing or completely pathologizing the culture, religion, and people. An interesting perspective is to incorporate the role of American militarism (and its accompanied facilitation of corruption and the drug trade) and American/Western-fueled sex trade of girls and young women as ways in which Whiteness and wealth exploit and corrupt developing countries.”

I think this captures a prominent bias among American academics for the past couple decades (roughly speaking the post-colonial, post-Orientalism, post cold-war era). I worded my response carefully, because I do appreciate Rich diving in with a theoretic position. I responded, “Thanks for your advice, Rich. I actually have a different analysis of the events, such that U.S. foreign and drug indiction policies are really quite peripheral to the current, very Thai, set of issues. In effect, the Thai's are struggling with a fundamental brittleness of democracy wherein a state is cobbled together by regions and classes with distinctly separate interests. In this case, the ruling Pheu Thai party has a sufficiently strong majority that they can, in effect, tyrannize the minority -- although in this case, that tyranny comes in the form of rice subsidies and other unsustainable policies. This has backed the so-called Democrat party into becoming anything but democratic -- they welcomed the coup because it was their only way of getting influence back. All this while parties of all colors repeat their allegiance to the monarch. There is a sex trade here, but to call it Western-fueled is to give the locals and their Asian neighbors short-shrift, while to see it underlying the political instability is a head scratcher.” In short, 65 million Thai's are creative enough to imagine their own political stalemate without the help of anyone else.

Bangkok: From Martial Law to Coup

Bangkok, Thailand

Events are overtaking my capacity to blog about them. Into the gap I've been posting status updates on Facebook. I spent the day reviewing the course itinerary with our redoubtable local organizer, Ms. Chadathip from the appropriately named Noble Truth Travels.

After a break for a nap and to struggle with a manditory transition to gmail at my University, and fiddling with a new song, I went downstairs to have dinner. It was 9:50. The receptionist stopped me and told me I couldn't go out after 10. He pantomimed soldiers with guns in the streets.

New York Times photo. To be clear, I have only seen the inside of
my hotel since this occurred. Out of an abundance of caution, I didn't even
get to grab dinner.

Well, there's one thing a professor in a foreign land likes to hear 2 hours before his students are due to  land, and that's that the city they're landing in has a new curfew and people pantomiming guns. I returned to my room to find Mike Miller had posted a link to a New York Times article on a coup in Thailand, which certainly clicked with the receptionists efforts. I turned on the television to find the The National Peace and Order Maintain Council has a new hit program. It must be popular because it's playing on all channels in Bangkok now. It consists of a flag and the sigils of 5 armed forces, backed by shrill patriotic songs. I’ve been listening for about and hour. A news caster occasionally interrupts to provide updates. I cannot fault him for providing those updates in Thai. It increases my zeal to study the language more while I am here.

I was interrupted there by a reporter from the New York Post. He’d been calling hotels at random for the past hour and half asking receptionists if they could put him through to an Americans staying at the hotel. Talk about your shots in the dark. Not too impressive on the receptionist's mores for confidentiality. Still, I gave the reporter the update -- all quiet in Bangkok. I hope that was the right thing to do.

Here are some headlines from the Bangkok Post website: “Deadlock forces Prayuth to go for coup." Another article is entitled, "Some may call it a coup d'etat. Some may say it’s about time. Some may realise that it’s the only realistic solution to the political impasse." Hm.

According to the Bangkok Post, this is the 12th military coup d'etat in Thailand since the end of absolute monarchy in 1932, which is one per 7 years on average. Almost like an election cycle. Very sad.

Southern Thailand: The Visa Story

Ao Nang Beach, Thailand

Visas mean you'll need pictures. Lots of pictures.

Hard travel. I thought I'd left it behind, but somehow its in my blood. I knew there was a flaw in the plan of the Malay Peninsula. Simply put, there is no Malay train service to Malacca, namesake of the most traveled waterway on earth, the Straits of Malacca, and there is no Thai train service to the beautiful Andaman Coast which is the west coast of Thailand on the Indian Ocean. No train service means dealing with operators in a little concrete shacks with shifty bus tickets. On top of that in some fluke that even the ticket agent in Kuala Lumpur couldn't understand all sleepers tickets on that train had been sold, leaving me in "superior class," which, ironically, is what the lowest class is called to make you feel like you're not the lowest class. This is excellent practice for when the kids arrive.

Anyway, that much training and busing dulls the mind, but did give me enough time to tell one last pre-departure tale that wanted telling. The story of our visas.

Malaysia: Take This Hammer

Road to Malacca, Malaysia


This corner of the world has been tamed. First by Hindus and Buddhists migrating down the west coast of the Malay Peninsula, followed by Chinese traders and Islam. These ideas were in turn followed by Catholicism and mercantilism, brought by the Portuguese, and then the Protestantism and capitalism of the Dutch and then the British. Civilization has accumulated like lacquer, and the resulting infrastructure must be admired.

Like one of Singpore’s throwbacks to its British origins: the disembodied voice in the subway warns you to “mind the gap” as you exit the car. It must be ironic, though. There is about a ½” of space between the door and the platform. You would literally have to aim your stiletto heal to even notice it.
Even the rain has been tamed. This morning it came down outside my Chinatown hotel came from above like a cataract. From one colonial-style balconied side of the road one could race to the other, pass a few more shop fronts and come to the bus stop without getting any wetter. The bus came at the precise minute my map app said it would (I know – backpacking with Google Maps is cheating. A little). My long haul bus to Malacca slid through embarkation and Malay immigration without snagging any of the 30 passengers. The bus continues to glide along smooth asphalt – fresh white lines, guard rails and a median fiery with bougainvillea – that would be the envy of any highway department stateside. The rain has subsided and plantations of palms blur past. These are the edges of the green channel through which we’re passing. Nothing beyond is visible.

One day in Singapore and one cousin-in-law to hunt down after a long separation. I knew something was afoot, though, when I awoke with an old folk tune in my head. I played it a few times in the early 90’s but not for 20 years. It’s about freedom, about moving on. In honesty it evokes the freedom of death, but for me it was the freedom of laying down my burdens, of travel. When I learned how close to the ocean my hotel was, I realized I needed to make the first musical video blog of the journey. With apologies to Leadbelly and with some disconcertingly high notes,

Take this hammer carry it to the captain
Tell him I’m gone.
If he asks you was I running
Tell him I was flying.

Isn't Chinatown in Singapore a little redundant?
"It's even more Chinese," Krissy assured me.

Krissy and I are about to weigh into the Chinatown mayhem.

After getting re-situated, my cousin Krissy and I met up and wandered down the Singapore river, stopping the Museum of Asia Civilizations. Since they didn’t look too friendly to photographers I cannot provide photo-documentation, but at the same time the collection didn’t draw me to ask a guard or sneak a shot. It was nice, though, to learn about the Filipina’s experience in Singapore, relations with native Singaporeans, and general 20-something angst. Anita’s Filipino family is really interesting, and I’m always glad to have a chance to see them and learn the latest.

(Video and photos with iPhone and wide angle lens)

Singapore: Splash down

Singapore, Singapore

A flight from Minneapolis. The silence of a jumbo jet following the sun around the Earth. By quiet consent all shades were down and the lights were off in a barely successful attempt to convince the baby in row 23 that it was well past his bedtime. That baby taught me something. I no longer wonder why airlines do not try to help their passengers anticipate jetlag simply by setting the plane’s schedule to the destination’s time; for some passengers and their parents it is achievement enough to survive for 12 hours in an aluminum tube hurling through the air.

Sundown over a 757. Narita Airport. iPhone with fisheye lens FTW

Behind the lowered shades the sun was blinding, reflecting off the tops of clouds. We passed close to Kamchatka where we will finish the journey in 3 month’s time. I caught a glimpse of Aleutian islands through a gap, but the peninsula remained shrouded. A rainbow welcomed our arrival in Tokyo. Continuing on to Singapore, a gibbous moon rose over the Pacific and glimmered off my wing. I passed through custom’s green channel at 2:30 in the morning less tarnished than I expected.

Video #3: Age of Discovery

24 hours in transit provided enough time (and barely enough battery life) to finish editing the last of the pre-departure interview blogs. 

This video is about the kids' perceptions of the wide world and what is awaiting us.

Video #4: The Road Ahead

A few folks have commented that it's confusing whose going where when and how we're getting from S.E. Asia to N.E. Asia. That is an accurate impression, by the way.

So this video outlines the route in more detail, with the requisite young commentary.

MSP: The First Transport is Away

MSP Airport, MN, USA

There are signs that it's time for the Tip to Tundra tour to begin. But they weren't the portents I was looking for. Would it be too much to have a dream of trekking through the jungled hills of Laos, or to stumble on an article about ponies in Mongolia? How about a break in the clouds with a beam of light shining from the West?

I get the raw, unprocessed portents. My bike got a flat tire on the way home from work yesterday. I was hopeful and in a hurry, so I cycled a further quarter mile. It will stay flat all summer. A sink stopped and in snaking it out I broke the pipes -- in two places. Kind of puts the ha in handyman. But I wasn't defeated -- I went to get the replacement pipes, only to leave them leaky and in need of a real plumber. Closing one of my handy zippy things, the zipper came off in my hand. I had to sit down. Sitting down I remembered all the office things that still needed done. I got 4 hours of sleep last night to help get as tired as possible when I got on the plane this afternoon. I'm clumsy and whiplashed.

It's not like this departure snuck up. Back in April I imagined there would be this clean break between the spring in the U.S. and summer in Asia. Starting today. Looks like life wants me to have mixed drinks, a cocktail of quotidian professor-all stuff intermixed with train reservations and tropical weather.

If that's what I get, I guess that's what I'll take.

A few numbers for posterity:

1: outfit sprayed with ecocide supposedly to repel mosquitos

2: copies of passport besides the original, stored in various bags

2 and 2: shorts and long pants

2.5: total TB storage across various devices and cards

3: lenses for my iPhone camera (yeah, I'm geeking out)
3.5: months on the road

4 and 5: t-shirts and underwear
6: graduate students left to fend for themselves over the summer (chin-up, guys, I know you got this.)

43: pounds of baggage. (Knowing that's just 20 kgs helps a little). It actually rattles in my backpack, but that's because my backpack is too big.

My step-father, Paul, was going to drive me to the airport later. With kisses and hard hugs the kids left for school this morning. Anita shed a tear on her way to work. Departures bring a tangy sentimentality. I miss them all already.

The departure is at hand.