POP

The relative peace and organization that is the fluid inside the shell or the bubble that surrounds the beautiful country of Thailand cataclysmically exploded into a million tiny pieces and was strewn everywhere as soon as we stepped inside the Ethiopian Airlines departure lounge a few evenings ago.

Pop.

From single file lines, scrumptious seafood pad thai and glistening coral filled waters we were catapulted headfirst back into the mass mayhem-fried goat, boiled goat, goat on a stick-brown, cholera infested waters of the African experience(which I still enjoy in a strange way) with that one crucial step. I stepped thru the metal detector back into disorganization, energetic chaos, loud animated Arabic orations, flatulence, and body odor half expecting to hear Axl Rose's screeching voice resonate in my ears, screaming 'Welcome to the jungle-Watch it bring you to your knees, knees - I wanna watch you bleed!!!'. I cautiously stopped and waited a moment, readying for a hasty retreat and eliciting a strange look from Elizabeth, until I felt assured there was no 80's sleaze rock coming my way. I proceeded, though carefully.

As the departure hour nears a Thai worker lifts the microphone to announce that boarding will commence shortly and I watch the comedy happen again, in slow motion, as I had the previous two Ethiopian Airlines flights. His right hand grasps the microphone which lays on the podium beside. He glances down and contemplates what could potentially be the last thought he contemplates until he recovers from the upcoming trauma. His muscles tense as the microphone is slowly raised just inches off the aluminum podium. Suddenly it happens. His eyes raise and lips crack, he is evidently intent on announcing the boarding of certain rows of seats aboard the outgoing aircraft, but his eyes grow wide and his mouth forms the shape of a gasp. My mouth forms a tainted smile, slightly crooked from pity and sadism.

An explosion of bodies violently slams against and over the poor, frail Thai gate attendant and a gurgling "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! only.....Rows 25 thru.....WAIT!!........noooo.....aaaaahhhhhhh" can be heard emminating from the drowning man as he feebly attempts to fight the tsunami of brown skin which now engulfs him and is flowing down the jet way with their tickets still in hand. The body grows limp and chaos reigns. Someone will have to come onto the airplane and collect the tickets. The boarding process which should take 25 minutes will take 2 hours and I sit back and reflect on the past weeks' peace, as Axl Rose screeches away.

I flew last week from Abeche to N'djamena to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia to Bangkok, Thailand. On the flight from Addis to Bangkok I was blessed with being assigned a seat next to a broken seat which was unserviceable. HA! Problem was it was also coveted, being near the front of the airplane. It seems in most African societies that there is a strong, strong desire to remain in the front 10 rows of an aircraft, to the point where men will leave 20 plus rearward rows empty and practically sit on each others laps, cuddling in a very unmanly way, in order to have those holy first seats. The 'inoperative' placard was quickly ripped off and in hopped a Nigerian businessman on his way to Guangzhou, China. Greetings were made, my head phone jack was stolen, Bill Clinton's amazing political attributes were reflected upon, and I subtlety tried hinting I'd like to watch the movie.

Fourty minutes after takeoff he went for the bathroom, providing me the opportunity to reclaim my head phone jack and commence viewing Pirates of the Caribbean 2. I got about 15 minutes of movie watching before my headphones were plucked from my left ear. "Do ya dink Meesta Clinton will wrun agan?" I wondered if he noticed my face turning crimson in anger. I took a deep breath and answered curtly 'NO', removed his hand from my ear and finished watching Johnny Depp play a pirate ship captain.

When the movie was over I fielded his political questions for a while before we both had nothing to add. I started reading my book but my eyelids grew heavy and my book fell to my knees where it stayed for only a moment. My seatmate gently removed my hand from the book's binding and picked the paperback from my lap, commencing to read and chuckle at the pages of Getting Stoned with Savages as I giggled silently to myself about the different cultures sitting side by side here. I drifted off. Later I awoke to find myself in a very awkward pose, spooning my Nigerian seatmate as he had invaded my seat by thrusting his ass backwards and was practically curled up in my loving embrace. I shifted and slid toward the window hoping Bangkok was nearby.




In Bangkok I found Elizabeth who had been attending a conference there for the previous week. We were given a room at a luxurious resort hotel where amenities abound and were found everywhere and I basked in the loveliness of the frivolous pampering doing things I never do, like taking a bubble bath, knowing in a weeks time I'd be back in the desert where things like bubble baths do not present themselves on a regular basis. The following day we hopped aboard another airliner for Krabi and then caught a ferry to the heavenly isle of Koh Phi Phi, which my eternally immature mind found hilarious because of the pronunciation (Pee Pee), making me crack a smile every time we were asked if 'you want ticket for Pee Pee?'. I struggled to stifle the ridiculous giggles. It amazes me at times the things I find amusing now, at age 27 are not so different from those I found amusing at age 7.

In Koh Phi Phi we spent 4 days lounging on the beautiful beaches, sampling as many different restaurant’s Pad Thai's, Tom Yum spicy soups, and assorted curries, and exploring the surrounding islands beautiful above and underwater terrain. On more than one occasion I received strange looks from waiters when Elizabeth ordered food for the two of us and being that we both enjoy really spicy food, added "I want you to make me cry." She felt if this tidbit was not added the food would be boringly benign. The waiters would immediately turn to me, as if asking permission to hit her so that she might cry, or maybe looking to me to show they thought it my job to make her cry. I'd shrug my shoulders and sometimes whisper "She's been drinking..." which would bring a smile to their face before sauntering off. Aah, but I digress.




One evening we rented a tandem sea kayak and paddled out in search of our own secluded and clandestine strip of sand untrampled by the hooves of other dirty western tourists like ourselves. We found a beautiful stretch with an incredible coral reef just 100 feet offshore. The icing on the cake for me was that the beach actually had a population of sunbathers already...MONKEYS. "C’mon! We gotta go play with the monkeys, don't worry, I speak Monkeyic" were my choice/intelligent words of encouragement. We paddled the kayak ashore, tossed the paddles on the snowy white sand and I anxiously started down the beach towards the plump little monkeys who looked as though they were patiently waiting to catch an admirable sunset. I tried Monkeyic, the language our monkey in Abeche, Maryann, and I use to communicate, and it was no use. Finally Elizabeth shouted "Hey MONKEY!" and they turned slowly towards us, but seemed to look thru us. "Nice honey, smooth. Real smooth.”

Still the monkeys continued to pay us no attention, looking between our legs at something down the beach before they arose and ambled that way. “Jesse, I think they’ve out smarted us.” came from Betsey’s lips as we both turned in unison and saw a troupe of 12 monkeys or so rummaging thru and pillaging our kayak.

“Damn, I’d be screwed on Planet of the Apes”.

We ran down the beach shouting and waving our arms as all of our things were being chewed, thrown or taken up into the trees by the brown little bandits. As we neared and our paced increased, 3 or 4 monkeys decided the timing was perfect for a counterattack, screeching and chasing right back our direction. We, being the incredibly brave souls we are, chose to screech and run into the ocean for protection, which seemed to work. The avenger monkeys returned to the boat and resumed the pillage, bearing their teeth and running towards us hissing only whenever I emerged into water shin deep or less vehemently cursing them.

So we sat helplessly in the tropical water watching monkeys make off with our water bottles, beer bottles and an item of clothing or two. Whenever I’d shout something at them they’d all pause for a moment or two, staring off into oblivion, then slowly turn towards me and stare uncaringly with cold pirate monkey eyes which seemed to say “keep yelling and this could take all night you ass. We’re in no hurry, are you?” We were late returning the kayak, well after dark.




After Koh Phi Phi we headed north to Phuket, where I was slightly disappointed as anyone would be going from paradise to sub-paradise. Just something about that whole sub thing. The last two days were spent lounging, eating and drinking again, enjoying the simple pleasures that are unavailable in the NLZ (no logic zone, a.k.a. CHAD). On the way home we enjoyed a day in Ethiopia sampling the various toxic, local brews and taking harrowing taxi rides thru crowds. We landed in N'djamena at 4am and were quite suprised to find out that we should have been checking our email all along. No one was there to pick her up. Seems her organization evacuated everyone from the country and if she had read the messages in her Inbox, she'd have found instructions to stay on the beach. Instead she graciously accompanied me back to the war zone for a few days before being whisked away again to return who knows when.