d u d e r n e t

And that. Is that.

That is a toast to a city that I'll call home for only one more week.

Today, I walked out of the office for the very last time, after finishing my last bit of work a day early.

I leave for London a week from tomorrow, and land back on U.S. soil a week and a half after that, Nov. 29. It will be a sweet, sweet homecoming.

Quite a packing conundrum

So, when I moved here, work paid for 250 pounds of boxed goodness (books, clothes, magazines, etc.) to be shipped from the U.S. It ran about $1,000 (via DHL), and involved a week's worth of hassle once it arrived on Thai soil, from clearing customs to paying duty to, finally, delivery.

Obviously, nobody is paying to ship all that stuff back. And now I've got decisions to make. I could employ an actual moving company, who would box everything up, fill out all the customs paperwork, ship it by air to California, then deliver it to mom's house and unpack everything. For $1,800.

At the other end of the financial spectrum, I could do some further purging, leave most of my books and many clothing items here, and take back just what fits in my two giant pieces of luggage.

The options in between are not much more desirable than those above. I could ship again with DHL (or with UPS; for some reason FedEx is way more expensive than either), but that would involve somehow buying and transporting boxes back to my condo, finding and filling out all sorts of paperwork, and crossing my fingers that everything would arrive in one piece. That'd run about $1,000, give or take. Using ThaiPost (the postal service) wouldn't cost much less and would take about three months, from what I've read.

So: Spend too much money with no hassle, spend a lot of money with plenty of hassle, or chuck what doesn't fit and pocket the savings?

As painful as it would/will be, I'm leaning towards the latter. What say you?

Memorialize this

Drawback about this job: You get screwed out of holidays.

Today, for instance, is King Chulalongkorn Memorial Day.

It is a Tuesday, for the record. The office was full and bustling yesterday, which was Monday.

Today, the taxi rolls into the parking lot, and the only car is that of my boss. The office is deserted, lights are off, save for the magazine's little corner on the third floor.

So, as Americans working in Thailand, we work on the Thai holidays. That's fine. Thing is, we also work on American holidays. A couple months ago, we worked through Labor Day as our colleagues back home savored their long weekend celebrating that last weekend by the pool. Or the beach. Or whatever.

Just saying.

Call off the travel agents ...

... The Thailand Experiment is coming to an end.

Bangkok's not for me, and neither is this job, and both of those things have become painfully clear the last couple of weeks. So, my last day here will be in the middle of next month, and I'll be back in the States by December 1, give or take a few days (depending on how long I extend my London stopover on the way -- yes, I'm taking the long way back).

Before I left, my dear friend Amy told me to think of this as "a year abroad." Turns out, it's more like a quarter.

What am I going to do? I couldn't tell you. I do know I'm not going to work (at least in the traditional sense) for a while. I'm moving back home, to my mom's house in the beautiful Sierra foothills, and will take it easy and work on a few projects I've put off for years. And most importantly, I'll have the entire holiday season to share with family, which hasn't happened in a decade. It only took a miserable trip around the world to make that happen. Ah, well.

So, come December or January, if any of my Bay Area buddies find themselves driving up to Tahoe and want some company (or just a spot of coffee on the way), you'll know who to call.

On independence and codependence ...

... it seems I've got a little of both, and not enough of either.

I've hesitated to blog about this for a while now, mostly because I wasn't sure what I'd think if my new coworkers were reading this blog, or if they were to come upon it a few months from now. But, as nothing I'm saying here is meant as anything but an observation, I'm hoping that if they are reading, nobody will be offended. It's not meant in that spirit.

One of the things about this place I was so unprepared for is the incessant pairing-off of expats and their Thai companions. Every single farang coworker, and every single farang I've come across around town (at least those who don't appear to be tourists; though, really, also many who do), seems to have a Thai lady in his life, whether for ten years or ten hours.

It's something that hadn't even occurred to me, but it's also quite obvious, I suppose: If you're a single guy living somewhere else in the world, and you're given the opportunity to come live in Thailand, and you take it, you probably like Thai women (or men). Or maybe you visited here, fell in love with them, and made every effort to stay because of them.

They are lovely, really, so I can see the reasons behind this phenomenon... but it's also a little jarring to see so few independent people. I've been single for pretty much my entire adult life, and I've always been happy for friends who find that special someone, but I've never been the only single person in a crowd. Or a city. That's an exaggeration, obviously, but that's what it feels like more often than not.

Of course, having a significant other in a place as foreign as this makes life easier, too. It gives you a built-in translator. It gives you someone to go grocery-shopping with, someone to interpret all the signs at the street-food vendors; It gives you someone to come home to after fighting your way through the city all day. 

All that sounds like it's setting up a familiar refrain. But the weird thing is this: I don't want a boyfriend here. This move is much more short-term than long-term, and I've realized (in no uncertain terms) that's how I want it. But I would like a few other single people, peers, to share this experience with, and take it all in - not find a companion for the night or the rest of my life.

I knew I was leaving a lot behind in San Jose (believe me, I knew). But somehow I thought I'd have a similar life in Bangkok, with some new faces making poor substitutes for old and some new surroundings making for a fabulous improvement on familiar.

And it's early yet, I know, but I can plainly see the writing on the wall (even if I can't read it): That just isn't going to happen here. There are the locals, there are the backpackers or the gap-year kids, there are the upscale travelers staying across the river at the Mandarin Oriental, and there are the paired-off farangs, who thank their lucky stars they're here. I don't fit, it seems.

Lighting up, revisited

This may be getting old already for you all, but I still think it's pretty cool to see scenes like these from my bathtub.

Recent observations

YouTube is back.

Pringles are different here. So different, they actually sell "Made in America!" Pringles, which are about twice the price, but also three or four times better.

I ate a mystery meat for lunch on Thursday. My pantomime led me to point at the deep-frier, as that's where the delicious chicken had come from the day before. This time, different meat, different form. But even better. What I'm afraid of now, though, is that in order to get it again, I'll have to point wildly. Again.

Chocolates (like the Kit-Kats I bought at 7-Eleven) have a "keep this in an air-conditioned room" warning.

I think I had a conversation about religion with a taxi driver Wednesday night, but I'm not sure what either of our opinions were.

My medical exam for my work permit consisted of me sitting on a sofa for about five minutes, as the receptionist held out her hand for payment.

Work meetings suck no matter what continent you're on, or what industry you're in.

I'm going to London for Thanksgiving week (England-Croatia qualifier; Arcade Fire), and my mom is coming to visit in December. (Who else?)

There needs to be an online grocery store (Webvan? Thailand? Anyone?).

Marlboro Menthols suck so much I almost want to quit smoking. Almost. ALMOST.

I'm official: I have my work permit.

Since arriving, I have watched (or re-watched):

• Two seasons of "Curb Your Enthusiasm."
• Two seasons of "Sex and the City."
• The entire "Kidnapped" series.
• The entire "30 Rock" series.
• The entire "Undeclared" series.
• "Breach."
• "This is England."
• "The Simpsons Movie."

Turns out, it gets mighty hot in a bathroom that is all windows.

Thai Heineken gives me a worse hangover than American Heineken. (Hmm, or maybe I just drink more of it.)

The best chocolate ice cream I've ever tasted is here.

Also, the worst Mexican food.

I've not paid more than $2 for a cab ride. Anywhere. Anytime.

We went out for a "fancy" dinner the other night at work. A sit-down joint. Had two buckets of freshly steamed mussels, two large orders of pad Thai, some sort of glass noodle-and-prawn concoction, and Pepsis. The bill for each of us was less than $4. Oh, and I smoked my dessert cigarette at the table.

They give you straws with everything here. Can of Coke, bottle of water... at restaurants or mini-marts. Everywhere, everything.

I hate straws.

The honeymoon's over

Phew. It's been a long week, a short weekend, and now I'm mere hours away from returning to the daily grind. It's one thing to be in a completely new place with all the freedom to do whatever you want whenever you want. It's another to be working.

After about a month and a half off, I started work last Monday. It was a fine first week, as they go. Not enough work to keep me occupied, but enough pressure to actually be at the office that it turned a bit mundane by Friday.

There were highs and lows, and I did actually get to start work a few fun projects, but I won't bore you with those for now. Friday night, we left the office a bit earlier than normal, and I got a rapid-fire introduction to Bangkok's gay scene, by way of five or six bars in a few different areas, with some very sporting coworkers and their respective ladyfriends. It was a nice way to end the week, even if a bit too much Heineken was served. I got home around 4 a.m.

I'll leave you, for now, with the words from a sign that makes me chuckle every time I use the loo at the office:

"To save energy, please turn off lights when you finish the business."

I dream of pot roast

There, I said it.

While I was waiting (fruitlessly, as it turned out) for the cable guy to come this morning -- and afternoon -- I napped a bit after reading. And when I woke up, it took me a good 20 minutes or so to recall the vivid dream I'd had.

I had driven from the Mercury News on a slow night (Amy was there, as was Bud), to get dinner. (For those of you not familiar with the work environment, this never happened. Ever. Even on an actual slow night.)

In fact, now that I think about it, I had actually done this: Walked downtown (again, something that would never happen), where I'd hoped to find dinner, but nothing looked good on the way, and I soon found myself at my car. On Santa Clara Street. Why it was there, I haven't the foggiest.

So, I jumped in, and, with little urgency, drove somewhere south. Los Gatos, perhaps, or even Santa Cruz. Where I entered a restaurant that was familiar to me in the dream, but is ostensibly some combination of every slightly fancy and/or hip eatery to which I've ever been. (Some elements of Mustards, Manresa, Zuni Cafe, and L.A.'s The Kitchen.)

I waited forever, with an older gentleman, while they sat patron after patron, and finally this older gentleman pointed out to the hostess that we would like to order some take-out (despite this obviously being the sort of place that doesn't specialize in that).

I had my entire menu picked out: I was having the roasted chicken (Zuni), the pot roast (The Kitchen), various and sundry sides and two desserts. Apparently, I thought, if I came this far, might as well get two meals.

It was at this point, well over an hour into my ventures, and not having yet ordered, I thought I ought to call Amy to tell her I might be running a little late. And then I woke up.

Odd, to say the least. I'm not consciously craving good American food. But there must be some part of me that is.

A little culture

I've been bad, so far, at sharing much of what it's been like getting used to a new language, culture and lifestyle. I'll try to correct that starting now, with a bit on the language.

What's most challenging is, of course, the fact that the Thai alphabet is not based on Roman letters. It's a jumbly mess (to my untrained eyes) of 44 consonants that look like pretty much nothing you've ever seen. Unless you've seen Thai.

There is the obvious problem: It's incredibly hard to learn. But then, less obvious: While most signs for streets and businesses have an "English" translation of the Thai words, there are many different English "spellings" for the same Thai word.

Take, for instance, the name of the big street off which my hotel stands: I've seen it spelled Narihadwas, Naradhiwas, Naradhiwat. While the middle spelling appears most often on maps (and even the hotel's stationary), I've had all sorts of trouble with taxi drivers understanding it. "Naradhiwat" seems to be the way to go there.

Anyway, one of many small challenges. None insurmountable (so far), thankfully.

PS: Huge thunderstorm right now, with some cool lightning.