Night has fallen in karachaburi, I'm watching two blonde sisters goof off on the deck near me, one jumps on the other's back and she declares it's not funny! I'm drinking beer on my deck, listening to the river water lapping against the many structures here, the waves coming from deck boats cruising by playing karaoke with lasers, tables full of food, and families/friends cruising the night river.
I just came from a combo of evening beer, climbing wats surrounded by chinese zodiac circles decorating the round tower floors, peering into darkened windows at shrines of metal and glass, repeating wooden doors carved with deer, heron, flower, dragon. I spent the day riding in a minivan (sleeping and sweating) to get here, practiced riding our rented motor bike (B 200 or about $6, the room I'm typing this in costs the same), and walk down the bridge over river kwai. I've eaten a handful of mixed nuts, a veggie and egg omelet, and a handful of really good potato chips I haven't tasted the like of since putting my own potato through a chip factory in Scottsbluff, Nebraska.
Aaron and I watched the sun set over the river, the opposing riverbank made up of huge trees and low-lying mist, beyond it are rough, vegetation-covered hills in the fading layers of light. The salmon colored sun stretches out to us, through huge waterlilies, as two young, and very polite, boys introduce themselves, practicing their English. We practice our Thai in our responses and there's a lot of laughs, confused looks, and repeated phrases.
The afternoon, after crossing the river, was spent wandering through a huge shrine, a Buddah statue mounted on enormous concrete lotus flowers watching serenely over us all, smiling like the Jesus statue on top of a mountain I transversed in Costa Rica. I feel that serenity now as I did then, a blessing in concrete. Golden statues line the path into the gardens around the shrine, pairs of creatures like the Noah and the Ark, two pigs, two dogs, two deer, all frolicking in glittering pairings with red accent parts. The flowers are strong smelling, sweet and unfolding in the strong sun. There's a cool breeze over the river and I find myself in long pants and a long-sleeve shirt tonight to both thwart the mosquitos and keep my acclimatized body warm in 80+ degree weather.
I try to practice my motorbike driving and find myself outside of 7-11, unable to figure out how to turn the key, hold in the clutch, put up the kickstand and start the damn thing. Aaron is waiting for me to turn around so he can climb on the back, instructing me to turn/steer with my hips, how to use the blinkers, reminding me to go on the LEFT side of the street as I dodge trucks, soi cats, skinny/half-feathered chickens, and small children on the road. My helmet looks like I'm a Riot Cop in training, and brandishes the logo, "lucky" and I hope that slogan will somehow rub off on all of us as I'm behind the handlebars. 12-year-old boys pass my slow progress with a practiced flare that speaks to growing up on these scooters. A seventy-year-old passes me too, loaded down with at least four bags of groceries piled in the front basket and clutched in veined hands.
This is my life now. I'm just as happy to be experiencing it as I have been since moving to Portland. But it's on steroids, this falling in love with every moment I'm in, every scene, every trickle of sweat as I walk past wooden wheels half-buried to line a path between farms, the dance of pink lights on the river, the mosquito bites I slap to avoid scratching, the night falling over the river and neon lights blinking on. This is my life and it's as sweet as any Rhoti or Thai tea. This is the condensed milk of experiences and I finish my night showering in a room less than 10x10 and including a bathroom, Aaron energetically running around this small space and charging devices, watching transfers, my beer warming in my lap. The twenty-four geckos I count scattered across the walls count out every hour of my joy here.