Monday, August 15, 2005

Sex Ed.


taps pointer on board.

"Do you know what this is?"

taps pointer on giant cardboard something.

"Safe Sex in a box."

The Boyfriend went into a Mama Shop (sundry shop manned by entrepreneurial Indian men usually located in corners, selling Chandrika soap and expired Johnson's Baby Powder) to buy a tabloid. tabloids sold out. since he is in the queue anyway, decides it is less humilating to actually buy something.

so he buys form-fitted for perfect sensation ROMANTIC Deluxe Condoms 003 more pleasure! instead.

Sunday, August 14, 2005

how to make the perfect roti john.

you know it's Sunday when you feel like ... roti john!
so i get up, turn over, look at The Boyfriend, harass him repeatedly WWE style, then roll over and ask "roti john?" to which eager yes-s were spat.

so, this is how you make roti john. john's bread. ha ha. ha. er. ok.


1) get up, shower, and tell yourself, "you must get your ass to Cold Storage and get bread. must get bread. no roti john without bread."

then end up not buying bread. there are five slices left, it'll be enough.

2) run to the kitchen with wet hair, grab the onions from the fridge and start chopping them up. chop them up finely so that anal Boyfriend can never guess there are actually onions in f o o d .

3) heat oil in pan, throw finely chopped onions into pan with curry powder and chilli powder.

then add minced chicken and mix.

4) smash four eggs on side of mixing bowl then drop them into bowl with minute pieces of shell. curse and swear that you really do not need extra protein, then remove microscopic shell from bowl with bigger shells. then beat eggs up with white pepper, garam masala, salt and black pepper.

5) then you should get the bright idea to get fresh, crisp baguette from Delifrance across the street. throw curried minced chicken into beaten egg, slip into bright orange shirt and jeans and run across the street before gloomy clouds spill.

6) gloomy clouds spill.

7) curse and swear that you knew you really should have gotten the bright idea to buy bread before you start chopping up onions for Boyfriend.

8) go to baguette basket and wonder where all the baguette went to. look behind at oven and see uncooked pale baguette-s in neat lines being baked. ask blur Delifrance staff anyway where all the baguette is. blur Delifrance staff will tell you exactly what you already know, "come back in ten minutes, ah."

9) go to Cold Storage above and buy hotdog buns for which you have no use. and 7 other useless items. then back down to get baguette.

10) walk 50 steps back home and wonder why the rain stops so quickly.

11) drop bags filled with useless supermarket items on dining table and slice baguette-s lengthwise and widthwise into fours. dip quartered baguette-s into egged minced chicken.

12) grease pan, balance heavy raw roti johns in hand, then flip over onto greased heated pan. brown egg/chicken side of baguette. then turn over and heat other side for added crispness.

13) serve with chilli sauce, mayonnaise, whatever condiment you wish.

14) sit on couch smugly at perfect Domestic Wifeness inherent in self.

Saturday, August 13, 2005

hazy times

there is a man-induced haze in Malaysia. i feel really sorry for friends and family in Kuala Lumpur. at first i thought it was just as it was in Singapore several years ago. looked slightly foggy, every building looked less colourful than before, the sky was "noisy" and pixelated. back then, i would not have been affected by the haze, the cats at The 'Rents had not gotten to my lungs yet. but i was wrong! the haze in Kuala Lumpur got so bad in the past week that a state of emergency was declared.

it is just not right that the Malaysian economy has to suffer at the hands of Indonesian (and perhaps Malaysian?) plantations burning forests just to clear land. so backward, so thoughtless, so lazy, so i-don't-give-a-fuck. firstly, the thought of clearing land pains me (but is a necessity), secondly, BURNING?! poor animals, not a chance in hell do they get to run. poor kids who have to breathe in toxic fumes. poor elderly coughing their lungs out. Singapore is lucky this time, wind directions have bypassed Singapore, also, the culprit plantations are far away (by perspective).

(picture on right: "don't burn the forests, or you'd be the Devil: warning from the nation of Malaysia." in Malay, it rhymes. er, alright.

AND, i am absolutely elated that smoking will be banned in public places. i am excited. just as smokers have their right to smoke, non-smokers have their right to breathe clean air. Japan has fantastic smoking etiquette. in Singapore, forget about it. 8 out of 10 of my friends and acquaintances smoke.

i have never understood the logic of smoking.

but then again, the logic is similar to overeating. what i really hate though, is when friends suggest to sit outside when it is humid and at least 33 degrees Celsius. it is insane. no normal person would enjoy that. it is simply uncomfortable. why can't we sit indoors and when one really needs to smoke, one inconveniences oneself and goes outdoors to smoke? never quite made a big deal out of it, but on bad days, i'd think "why the hell do we non-smokers always have to accommodate the smokers?" al fresco "dining/cafeineteining" in Singapore can sometimes be a joke.

haven't you heard? 2nd hand smoking is toxic. if they don't care about their own lives, they fucking hell should care about others'. but then again, if you don't quite care for yourself, why would you care about others?

5 out of 10 of my smoking friends are absolute daaaarlings and fantastically considerate. we do not even have to ask, we sit indoors and when they need to smoke, they go outdoors - although the smokers usually make up the majority of those at the table. to these darlings, i absolutely adore you! continue killing yourself :)

most of my friends really want to quit. but they find it so tough. we usually chide them, tease them and tell them how it's all about mind over matter.

but then again, try telling me to quit chocolate! but then again, moderate chocolate ingestion is not harmful to health - but rather, extremely beneficial. if it's the dark, non-sweet variety.

which i do not take.

but anyway, to my (considerate) smoking friends, erhmm, i love you, and good luck on quitting. we know you want to.

problem is, do you really want to? :)

over-and-out, it's a Saturday night and i would like to enjoy my weekend before the crazy working week starts. i love working with Canadians, Americans and Latinos. nothing quite like 'em.

Friday, August 12, 2005

to zafar.


i really do not mean to stay away for such long periods of time from
you. i love you, very dearly. but mostly, i feel empty. i feel lost,
like on a makeshift raft that's about to give way just floating on
quiet seas, moving through the fog, blind without an island in view or
another man in sight.

i have been reading Prozac Nation and i absolutely hate it. i
absolutely abhor it. i am only at page 120 and it's the 50th time i've
told myself i need to stop reading. but i keep reading and reading,
perhaps hopeful that maybe the depressed, self-indulgent
protagonist, Ellie, will get out of her spell. i hate it, because it
is like reading every line on your face, rediscovering every freckle
across your cheeks that you've long forgotten.

rv keeps me sane, or at least allows me to see a more acceptable
reflection of myself. that i am living some sort of normal life. that
if i keep toiling at a 9-6 job, that i can, one day, convince myself,
that i am, indeed, a normal person perfectly capable of happiness.

but i am only capable of sheer brokenness and ecstatic bursts of madness.

why do i not know moderation, zafar? why do i not?

some days, i even manage to convince myself that i am happy. but it
never lasts. it never lasts beyond a faked smile to rv or a shrill
laughter amplified to shroud the bleeding sadness?

and why? what the hell am i so bloody fucking depressed about? ever
since i can remember, ever since consciousness took over mischievous
innocence, i have been responsible. responsible for my father's rage,
responsible for my mother's happiness, responsible for my brother's
punishments, responsible for my grandparents' satiation, responsible,
responsible, responsible. since i was at least 4.

i'd lock myself up in my own bedroom (i had the privilege of privacy
as a child) and talk to myself endlessly. the possibilities of
wonderful fiction, the possibilities of life was so exquisite! till
mama came home, then we had dinner. till i watched TV up to nine, then
grudgingly walked into my room for bedtime. then in my sleep, papa
would come home and sometimes i can feel his lips on my face.

and then the next day would come. and once again, i would have
breakfast, tiptoe to look at the kids screaming at the playground
through the window then lock myself in my room again. i'd pick up one
of the Childcraft Encyclopaedia series and read it. again. for at
least the 20th time. till i could spell chlorophyll when i was only 7
and understood its existence.

it is not much different now.

i still lock myself away. but in a bigger room, in an entire house.
sometimes i'd call friends and we'd talk, but really, i'd rather just
disappear. i'd rather cocoon myself away at home, not even watching
TV. not even reading. not even cooking. not even surfing the Internet.
not even singing or dancing. i just vegetate. for some years now, i
try not to go out, not to venture further than 5km away from home. if
i could walk home in 10 minutes, even better. closer i am to home, the
better i feel. and the most cruel of friends would translate this only
into laziness.

but at the same time, i am terrified. i will lose all my friends. all
of them. then truly, i will have no one but rv. but we all have an
expiry date. and the way rv's eating habits are, i hope his
insurance payout is enough to isolate myself for years. and decades to

i'd rather be at home, or far, far away. but i suppose one cannot keep
running. one could implode from running from one's self.

my obsessive dependency on rv keeps me alive. and at the same time,
dead. but oh, do i love him. i love him even more on days he keeps a
smile on his face when i throw my keys at him because he pushed my
button. he'd even offer his mobile phone to me to break (i've broken
my mobile phone after a fight with my mom over dowry) - although a
joke during a rage blackout is never good.

but i am OK, zafar. that's just it. i will always be OK. i will always
be floating. floating along like an undisturbed lotus. that really is,
rotting inside. it's chaotic, and thank god for rv, the one who sees it
in my eyes. even when i am smiling.

he sees, that i cannot even say it.

he sees, that there is so much on my mind, so much in my heart, that
if i would say anything, i'd go mad, i'd go quite mad.

i've always been the outsider on the inside. the first time i was
called weird, i was 11. then "weird" came repeatedly, but i know that
they felt threatened. there was nothing to be threatened about at all,
silly children. and now, i'm so used to it, it's an inside joke.
something you share with someone closest to you, and farthest from


i love you, tell me how you've been.

life has been kind, not too excruciating. it is only my fault.


Saturday, August 06, 2005

socks in a fruit.

i used to run out of my room when i smelt durians. i'd get really excited and would start jumping around my dad, urging him to crack open the durians "faster, faster, faster!"

eating durians is an entirely different experience altogether.

first, the smell hits you hard. caucasians usually find the smell offensive, someone once said it smells like socks in a locker room. not that i found that comment offensive, but i found it extremely insulting to the fruit. if you love durians, you know what i mean. you practically welcome the smell. the smell, sweet and creamy, lingers around, encouraging you to "come, eat me."

then your heart will beat faster, in eager anticipation for a taste of the King of Fruits. dad will slowly remove the heavy durians carefully by the stalks from the paper bags and onto the kitchen floor. by now, the entire family would have gathered round. i would not offer my precious hands to help dad. my hands would be half the circumference of a durian and a heavy spiked fruit could easily tear me apart. i only eat.

part of why the smell is so strong is because dad would have already asked the fruit sellers to cut through the thorny thick shell enough for him to pry open later, but not enough for the fruits to go bad.

dad will then remove the thin rubber bands wrapped around the durians and rest the base of his palms just below the thumbs on opposite sides of the split durians and apply pressure downwards and outwards to split them open.

the immediate increase of strength in smell would always be heavenly and welcome one.

i would always be tempted to immediately grab the first piece but remind myself not to because dad would get really angry. after all, after the first split, you can always split one half into two quarters to get more meat, then split the quarters into eighths and get even more meat! it was always a sweet surprise to keep splitting the durian into smaller fractions just to find more sweet meat! it was like opening a treasure box over and over again!

it was always a family affair. we'd sit around the durians just savouring the soft yellow flesh of the fruit, licking the seed clean. it was almost always so enjoyable, we'd be eating durians in silence. i always went for the bittersweet flesh, creamy variety. those are my favourite. the ones that were too creamy, slimy and sweet were too boring, somewhat bland. the bitter, hard ones were just not worth the excitement. the ones in between, with just the right texture, the right blend of bitterness and sweet creaminess if always worth getting your fingers pricked by the thorns.

once done, we'd wash one of the durian shell eighths, drink water from the hollow shell. must be an asian old wives' tale, that drinking water from the shell will help cool down the 'heatiness' that comes from eating durians. a fight-fire-with-fire approach to durians.

you'd usually sleep very well after that.

we have not had this ritual for years now. dad's gotten too busy to do it. i thought i could continue this ritual with my kids. then i find out that rv hates durians. he hates even walking by durians.

we'd walk past packed durians (air-tight) and i'd stand there giving him an absolutely pathetic look that falls on blind eyes. "no", says the eyes.

i'd walk away dejected.

no way my kids will ever enjoy watching their dad splitting open thorny durians and taking in the smell that even monkeys welcome.

but tonight, finally, tonight, i get to eat durian once more. albeit without rv. we went over to Geylang, famous for its durians (and prostitutes). we chose our durian, found ourselves a table, and once again, enjoyed durian in silence.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

Tasty Thursday

it's Tasty Thursday again!

personal note to edsie.

look who can't wait for your hands to get on his grubby little bon-bon! (do i hear you panting like a dog?)

Monday, August 01, 2005

and then there were the other days

am bad blogger. bad, bad blogger (spank me, please). here comes my long belated update.

Day Two.
i got up constantly through the night, worried that the next day would pass me by like a mirage. windowless rooms do this to you. never should one ever check one's self into a windowless room on a holiday. it's human nature, you can tell the time by the amount of light outside the window. during my sleep, i heard doors banging, feet shuffling, a woman shouting and another door banging.

"is it morning already? are these people leaving for breakfast?"

i could only ask myself weakly as my body knew better and fell back into very disturbed sleep. the alarm finally rang and we got up, dazed to find ourselves in a windowless room.

"where are we? aah, of course."

hot shower worked wonderfully and we set out for a hopefully thai breakfast (at least i did as rv kept looking for his bloody fish and chips). breakfast was depressing but i stuffed meself while rv registered disappointment on his usually unexpressionless face.

when we walked out of the hotel, i felt invincible and just brushed off all the touts.

while walking towards the Grand Palace, a few hundred pigeons stopped us in our tracks. was just too beautiful to go on. and then i remembered that pigeon shit was extremely potent, as good as swallowing cyanide. somehow i visualise pigeon shit melting through skin, seeping through flesh and decalcifying bone. but then again, i can be ravin' mad.

it was cloudy, it was always cloudy. i was always perspiring, my clothes were always damp with sweat. i didn't quite care about how i smelt cos every other backpacker around me stank twice as bad. by the time we got to the Grand Palace, my mind-over-heat-humidity-and-fucking-annoying-touts was about to collapse. the moment we were through the turnstiles, my heart sank.

half the Grand Palace was shrouded in scaffolding! nice. what's with me and monuments i visit on holidays? like the Taj Mahal. but that's another story.

lots of gold in the Grand Palace. lots of gold and gems i can put around my neck, fingers, ankles and endowed belly. it's supposed to be a Buddhist temple but i felt a much stronger Hindu influence. the Emerald Buddha and Grand Palace guarded by Hindu demons? and then there were these pot-bellied Chinese figurines in flowy robes that were completely out of place. i was, to say the least, appalled.

in all that gold and glory, no one noticed this poor bird.

when we got to the Emerald Buddha, i tried so hard to steal a picture from outside, but all the reflection off the gold, limited 3x optical zoom and shaky hands, the best i got was this. a blurry portrait of smudged gold. pardon me, i have not the time to crop or edit any of these shots.

in the temple itself, i felt foolish. did i really think i could see the Emerald Buddha from down here? it was placed at least 1.5 storeys up, amid a lot more gold, under dim lights. i felt like i was at the National Stadium watching Michael Jackson through binoculars a few thousand heads away. it didnt help that the Emerald Buddha's dark green. i diverted my attention to the intricate murals caricatured onto the flaking walls. some murals had been restored, and the others were, no doubt, also part of the constant restoration the palace needs in a hot and humid climate like this.

does this look buddhist to you?

the epic of Ramayana was painted into the wall that made up the perimeter of the temple (was it the temple?). rv's impatience was registering into frowns and sceptical looks, i really could not spend any more time than i did admiring them.

now, this is what i mean, what's she doing here? at the side of an administration building like a sore thumb? she, like her fellow chinese figurine counterparts, did not fit. you cannot add an additional piece of furniture that disturbs the overall harmony of a room into a corner just because you think it is empty.

of the entire time i was at the Grand Palace, i liked the dead bird and this lotus the best. i can only prefer nature over man's arrogance.

we then made our way to Wat Pho, the Reclining Buddha, dodging slimy tuk-tuk drivers along the way. a whole line of them was perched by the corner, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting tourists.

how many mother of pearl toes, huh?

ravi walking by row of pots that locals dropped coins in as they passed, every single one. for luck?

then we made our way to the pier to take the ferry across the river to Wat Arun, one of my favourites. it's absolutely shambolic and delicious. like cheese, some buildings are more beautiful way past its expiry date. the Wat Arun is far more enchanting and magical in its decadence than the glory of the Grand Palace. the steep steps were a killer for an obese, arthritic, unfit acrophobic like me.

we sat on the perimeter of Wat Arun and wondered, "what's next?" we decided to go to Chinatown. that was a mistake. my nose started itching from traces of blood trickling down. the pollution was so bad, you could see the specks in the air in front of you. we walked, and walked, and walked, and bloody hell walked till we got to Royal India for dinner. it got rave reviews, but we were disappointed, we've had better indian food before. the toilet at Royal India was far from OK, but then again, it was not known for its toilets. we spent the evening walking back from Chinatown to Khao San Road.

ask anyone who's been to Bangkok, they'd think we were mad. but we're tourists, so we walked and walked.

by the time we got back to Khao San, i was ready to collapse into myself, and believe it or not, our concrete bed.

Day Three.
we were so pooped that we woke up waaaaaay past breakfast. we decided quietly that it was going to be a slow day, we were going to take it easy-peasy. we had to, rv and i were getting on each other's nerves. we proceeded to Chart Restaurant, a very decent establishment, quite nice looking and clean. rv had his bloody fish and chips and i had my pad thai. rv did not want to touch strange looking thai food so the shrimp wonton went to waste.

we found ourselves at a cybercafe. rv could not breathe another breath without checking his mails, hehe. thereafter, we went over to D'rus to chill out. we had nothing planned for the day. had an urge to pee, so went back to the hotel which was just opposite D'rus. before i knew it, i found myself half naked and passed out on the bed. seeing his gf in a vegetative state, rv decided to go for a haircut. when he returned with an extremely sexy GI Joe haircut (i dig this shit), he too, being my life partner, fell asleep.

we are two pigs in love *oink*

woke up at 1830pm and felt we just had to go out now, now, now. we took a leisurely walk around Khao San, window shopping, laughing at funny t-shirts and then we heard a familiar sound. is that ... is that a TABLA? yes, it was.

we then found ourselves at Tom Yum Kung, a restaurant eds recommended. in an attempt to salvage our relationship (ha ha ha), rv finally said yes to thai food. who the hell goes to thailand and not eat thai food?! we had

-steamed, fragrant white rice
-savoury seafood tom yum soup with coconut
-sweet and sour stir-fried chicken with cashew nuts
-fresh fried mixed vegetables

we figured the pictures were too stimulating, and decided to post a flat, 2-dimensional description of dinner. and oh! we should not forget the power lime juice we had!

we left Tom Yum Kung stuffed like hell.

Day Four.
felt so guilty about being such pigs the day before, i (yes, i) decided we had to go out of our way to truly enjoy bangkok.

Ayutthaya baby, here we come!

anxiously waiting for our train, that's our train!

we were running for the train.

i just had to stop and grab this shot, this guy was having a haircut next to the tracks.

within 20 minutes, i passed out again. at least till that bloody kid started wailing his head off. when we finally got to Ayutthaya 70 minutes later, i felt we had just stepped out into a kampung. everything was slow. the cars, trucks, tuk-tuks, people and dogs. everything was slow. ayutthaya is actually an 'island' and we had to take a cross river ferry to ayutthaya. the pier was simply a wooden appendage sticking out of land into air over water. it was unbelievably hot.

we walked at least 1km to Wat Mahathat. when we entered, we could not see a single preserved structure within the temple. there were scores of headless Buddhas. heads stolen by tomb thieves trying to make a quick buck off private collectors or ravaged by the Burmese when they invaded Ayutthaya. Wat Mahathat is said to have housed the remains of Buddha himself, but this is apparently a story conjured by King Ramesuan whose accuracy was not his highpoint. a gold casket housed the 'remains' and was enshrined in a 38 metre hight prang which also housed other treasures. the head of a stone Buddha is comfortably resting in the roots of a bodhi tree.

we then walked across to Wat Ratburana, cannot say there was much of a different sight there. spot the differences. Wat Ratburana was built in 1424 by King Boromraja II to commemorate the death of his elder brothers Ay and Yi leaving the path to succession clear for Boromraja II. Ay and Yi killed each other in an elephant-back duel over the throne. ironic, if you ask me.

we walked another scorching kilometre, passing by Wat Phra Ram to Wat Phra Si Sanphet which i kept mispronouncing as Wat Phri San Pepet. my version of course, is extremely vulgar somehow. this temple used to house the biggest standing metal image of Buddha in 1503. it was 16m high and made of 173kg of gold. when the Burmese came and ravaged Ayutthaya, this Buddha was not spared and smashed into fragments of gold, some of which were saved by King Rama I and placed inside Wat Pho. Wat Phra Si Sanphet also houses three huge stupas, each with ashes of three different kings (sorry, failed to write this crucial info down).

after walking through magical history, you can hardly feel awe when at the Viharn Phra Mongkol Bopit. here sits one of the largest bronze Buddhas in Thailand, complete with mother-of-pearl eyes.

rv: now we know where all the heads went to.

asking for blessings outside Bopit.

leaf crickets anyone? please?

one of my favourite animals, exploited once again.

we took an expensive tuk-tuk ride to a makeshift bus stop and got on a bus back to Bangkok. we got off at Mochit (bus driver took 10 minutes explaining 'Moy Cheet' to us), then took public bus 77 to Chatuchak Park subway. rv really wanted to bring me to his favourite hangout in Bangkok, Gulliver's Traveller's Tavern. "100-150 metres away only", he said.

my ass.

walking up, down and back up the wrong sois turned it into an 800m walk. with UTI, it felt like 1,000miles and my blood pressure was rising. it was worth the walk and pain, it was a nice place with good food. fantastic ambience with a car hanging in the middle of nowhere. we could have shopped around in Sukhumvit but the pain was killing me, so we made our way back to Khao San where i had fantastic durian ice-cream, with real durian pieces! after surfing the net (and rv feverishly replying to office mails), we retired to get ready for an early fifth day.

Day Five.
woke up at an insane 0615am in order to catch the trip to Damnoen Saduak Floating Market. we did not want to be late, we skipped breakfast, we waited at the lobby as i fussed over my wet hair seeping through my t-shirt. firstly, our tour guide was late. then, she took a look at our receipt and left without her charges i.e. US. then 15 minutes later, she came back in and asked to see our receipt again, "oh, sorry! it is yuuu!" the circus has begun.

Pailin, our guide, is a sprightly, petite and energetic Thai lady. "Pailin = blue sapphire", she says. note to self: aren't all sapphire-s blue? it was a messy beginning. 20 tourists, 3 buses, 3 drivers, tens of receipts and one confused guide. and one hungry, annoyed dali. she got it all sorted out though, and before we knew it, we were crammed into a dusty mini-van with undisposed drink cups still holding last week's cappucino.

after a hairy ride up and down thai roads without the security and comfort of seat belts, we found ourselves at at extremely commercialised coconut sugar making factory. it was a piece of land no bigger than a basketball court with what seemed like a 24 hour demonstration of coconut sugar production. a ruse, if you ask me. everyone needs to make their cent.

liquid flows out of the coconut flower, into a container.

the liquid is gathered and boiled.

boiled liquid is then spun, stirred and shaken till it solidifies.

and moulded into shapes.

and we're off again! to Damnoen Saduak. on our way there, i pray we won't get stuck in another tourist trap. would prefer to go to the local Tha Ka market but could not find out if it was on that weekend, it took place only 6x a month, depending on tides, lunar cycles, etc etc. i ain't no astrologer.

wheezing through man-made klongs.

floating by riverside homes.

rack of paddle boats.

enter, the floating market.

flutes? flutes? lambutan four yu, miiiss?

dumplings, anyone?

where do they get their water supply to make these pancakes from?

frooots anyone?

hard peddling.

alternative selling.

rolek anyone?

hat?? hundred peeptee baht.


got beezness. finally!

when we found ourselves back at Khao San, we were sticky and extremely uncomfortable. rv was bored and i was disappointed at the touristfare of the floating market. seemed like everyone was wearing uniform and peddling the same goods, only on different boats.

we sat at Havana Club on Khao San Road, just chilling out.

seriously contemplated corn-braiding hair.

hair-raising choice of colours.

our kids will so go to Bangkok on their own.

roadside banana pancake. yum-myyy.

20 baht pad thai i did not get to try.

Day Six.
we wake up to a lazy day, there's a sense of relief that we are going home, our home! yay! we packed, checked out (and almost got into a fight with the hotel staff over alleged towel stealing when actually they had lost our towels (they could not understand their own scribbled Engrish on the laundry receipts. "lost towel" = we lost customers' towels, not customer lost our towels), sped off to deposit our bags at the airport and rushed off to Chatuchak Weekend Market a.k.a. JJ to do some last minute shopping. got some t-shirt bargains and fell in love with lit up paper balls. saw fantastic moo-moo cow paintings for a bargain at 3,000baht but we did not have enough baht left on us. grabbed some alluring silk scarves, one for me, several others for friends. within an hour, rv got sick of Bangkok and got annoyed again. the crowd, the smells, the wetness, the waiting - i suppose it gets to one after some time.

made our way back to the airport, had a peaceful last meal (which gave me gas?!) before we boarded our Jet Star Asia flight back home.

a moth was at our door to greet us welcome.

we are home.