MBabroad

At 3am on New Year’s Eve a fifty-something year old man dressed as a Wizard danced recklessly with a twenty-something girl from the Midwest wearing nothing but red body paint and Devil horns. Back home the man is probably an accountant. But here, in Thailand, he is a psychedelic drug munching Wizard. People come to Thailand thinking they can do whatever they want, and in certain places they can. But, outside of those places where Thailand is itself life is familiar. If you were to walk down the streets of Surat Thani you would recognize life. You would see children being picked up from school, families gathering at restaurants and people exiting convenience stores with minor essentials. Imagine coming home and finding your living room rearranged and painted in colors you’ve never seen. At first you ... read more

When you are traveling today is the only unit of time that matters. Too much is happening, changing, moving, the days need walls to keep experiences separate and unique. As you move from day-to-day you don’t concern yourself with months. Like decades in the real world months are far off things that you only notice when you’ve crossed into the next and turned back to reflect on where you have been. I am no longer traveling. I am traveled. My clothes are in drawers. My backpack has disappeared beneath my bed. I have a bed. A few days ago I was stacking chairs at Joy Bilingual School with Keith, a transplant from Ohio, he turned to me and casually said, “Crazy that we’ve been here almost a month huh?” I looked at him like he had ... read more

Mr. Hong gingerly flexes his arthritic fingers. He has his mother’s fingers. His mother was Cambodian his father Chinese. His father used to make his mother tea from roots and herbs and the ancient magic of Chinese medicine. But, his mother always refused to drink. She said she had field fingers. She said her hands were bent from a lifetime of bending and no foul tasting tea was going to cure that. Mr. Hong does not have his mother’s stubbornness. His fingers are his livelihood. He takes Western pills and drinks Eastern teas and hopes that one will untangle his betraying hands. Mr. Hong fixes things. When he was a young man it was watches and cyclos, today it is electronics that become smaller and smaller as if they are trying to disappear all together. The ... read more

This blog has moved to MB Abroad Thailand is a land of escapism. It is beaches of heartbreaking beauty, mist shrouded mountains, spicy food, cocktails served in sandcastle buckets and hedonism in all its forms. In the most visited areas of Thailand, Bangkok in particular it is possible to obtain anything in this world. I have a friend who once bought a baby flying squirrel no bigger than your pinkie from a Bangkok street vendor. He named it Mowgli. He fed Mowgli milk from a soda bottle cap and let him ride in warmth and comfort in his pockets. If he wasn’t in the mood to play he would gently toss Mowgli into the air and watch him slow float to safety. He was always careful to check any room for open windows and walls with ... read more

I am 32 years old. If I were Cambodian I would have been born into the horrors of the Khmer Rouge. In all likelihood I would not be alive today. “Then Ma hears the slush of mud as a soldier moves his position. Her heart pounds as if it will rip through her chest. One soldier slings his rifle across his back and walks toward the group. Ma feels the ground beneath her become warm and wet. Glancing to her side, she sees that the man next to her has wet his pants. A soldier approaches the group. He walks straight toward her. Ma’s eyes widen with hope. Her heart palpitates with fear. The soldier reaches down and grabs Geak’s shoulders. The two of them scream a loud shrill scream that echoes through the air. But ... read more

This blog has moved to MB Abroad View Full Entry for web link. Sovann is 14 years old. He lives in Sihanoukville, Cambodia a small beach town along the southern coast. He dreams of one day visiting the far away lands of his country’s visitors. He memorizes the capital cities and population counts of their homes. He believes their promises to “help him out when he is ready.” He does not know where he will go first, maybe Australia, maybe America. He will never leave Cambodia. Sovann is a seller. Some days it is water, some days it is postcards, some days it is books with titles like “First They Killed My Father,” “The Khmer Rouge,” and “Pol Pot.” The visitors are fascinated by the scars of his country’s past so he sells them scars. Today ... read more