Travels in the Land of Hunger

THAILAND

Sunday, April 11, 2004

I'm in Hat Yai, Thailand and I really don't care for this place-especially after experiencing the beauty of Malaysia's cultural diversity. Hat Yai seems to be a way station. I'm going to Krabi tomorrow; a beach resort town on the Andaman coast about four to five hours north of here by car.

Since I don't feel like "reporting" on this place I thought that I'd let my imagination go and type a story inspired by what I have seen and felt in Hat Yai.

Hat Yai Avi

My name is Avi Lukason. I live here in Hat Yai, Thailand. It's in the south, the way south of the country. On the tip of its tail you could say. It's the biggest city in the south of Thailand, which really is sort of a joke for a guy like me–I'm from New York City for Christ's sake. So, what the hell am I doing here? I knew you probably were thinking that. And it's going to surprise you when I tell you that I've been here for God knows how long–What? Two years now? No, more than that. Let's say two years and a bit–"and a bit"? Who the hell says that? The Aussies say that, Oz for Australia that is.

I came to Southeast Asia to take a break–a deep breath you could say. Simply wanted to get away. "Why?" you ask. Well, to cut to the chase. My wife cheated on me and I wanted to forget her and all that stupid shit in the States. I used to work on Wall Street. I used to make big bucks thinking that it would get me everything: a beautiful wife, a lovely apartment on 5th Avenue, and a Porsche. And it did. I had a beautiful wife, a lovely apartment on 5th Avenue, and a Porsche–a 911 to be exact. And now here I am with nothing.

Actually, I shouldn't really say that. I have tons of cash back home sitting in a few banks. But, I haven't touched that dough for over a year and a half. I live like a pauper here in Hat Yai–this dump of a place. I guess I'm seeking to be like some kind of urban monk hermit. I'm in Southeast Asia for Christ's sake–so I might as well do the old Buddhist thing. That is the problem though for a guy like me and for most backpacking Americans I come across here. We Americans are so fascinated with the exotic. We think practicing the next hip exotic faith or discipline like Buddhism or yoga or tai chi–or whatever–has all the spiritual answers that we have been looking for. That is the problem with us; we go from one exotic fad to the next. And what is up with our obsession with dieting? How many freaking different kinds of diets are advertised in the U.S.? For Christ's sake it's insane, it's a joke! The "Atkins Diet" ... didn't Atkins die of heart failure due to being obese? Some say yes, and some say no–who really knows? Now it seems, from what I've read on the Net, that Americans are into fasting? They are catching on to the Muslim tradition of fasting believing that it will bring them health, and clean out their system, or what have you. It's a joke. Next year it will be something else. Muslims fast for a month every year for Ramadan, but Americans just try it on for a couple of weeks until some other amusement is trending on TV.

Well, I think it's obvious from all this venting that I ain't ready to go back to the States ... I guess I'm still trying to get over the fact that my wife cheated on me and never really loved me. She just married me for the money–and boy did she get a bunch of it when I filed for divorce.

I live at the Cathay Guest House here in Hat Yai. And let me tell you this. It's never overbooked. All the touts at the train and bus stations will tell any-and-all tourists that it's booked, in fact they'll tell you it's booked "straight on for three days". They're all liars–never pay any attention to them. The Cathay Guest House sits on the corner of Thanon Niphat Uthit 2 and Thanon Thamnoovithi. It's only a three-block walk from the train station. I'm in room 356. It's all the way in the back down a dark, old staircase. The guest house is all right. I was a bit disgusted with it when I first arrived though. But I've been living here for so long it's simply home now. The dark corridor where the majority of the rooms are located is wide and seems almost like an old high school hallway. But everything is falling apart. I guess it most looks like the way I'd expect a Cuban prison to be. My room is away from all the noise that the other "guests" can be caught making–if you know what I mean. My room is appropriate. Not big or small. The bathroom is descent by Thai below-the-poverty-line standards. There is a squat toilet that I have mastered and no button to flush it. There is a bucket instead. Simply fill it up and dump it into the toilet and ta-da, a flush toilet. My bed is a very firm mattress on an old bed frame and boy is it full of bed bugs. There ain't a morning that goes by where I don't end up scratching all the bites that I got during the night.