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Life insurance? Of course. But it pays to have yourself covered in the case of say, unexpected self-esteem issues.
With Muang Thai, everything is going to be alright.
Photography by contributing retorter Amanda Maddock
The red shirts were out in force… this can only mean one thing here in Thailand – Christmas has arrived! An Xmas parade took place outside my hotel yesterday and it was lovely to kick the festive season off here in Bangkok.
I’m surprised how many people fitted into that one bus.
With only a 0.5% Christian population in the country; they must have all been here celebrating. Impressive too, that they’d co-ordinated themselves to wear red shirts. Sooo Christmassy!
On a serious note however, there seemed to be an element of politics weaved through the yule tide proceedings. I’m no expert in the Thai language, but from what I could gather; those wearing ‘red shirts’ represented Santa’s elves wanting to be freed from the shackles of their oppressive master. A noble cause…
The photo below I think might be Mrs. Claus. She clearly has a military presence and I can only assume uses her combat training to control the elf population.
Also possibly Santa in his pre-beard years.
Some jumped right into the festivities, donning neckerchiefs and coming in fancy dress.
The fancy dress shop only had time to finish 3 riot shields. Also, it was meant to say “SAILOR.”
I had a lovely afternoon getting into the spirit of things and returned to the hotel humming, “Oh Come All Ye Faithful” and “Rudolf the Red Shirt Reindeer.”
When I arrived back however, my Christmas mood was slightly shaken as I received this letter under my door:
“Dear guest. With regards to the Red Shirt’s happening in the nearby area… the situation remains paramount in our minds… please avoid going near the gathering points for your own safety… please rest assured of our intention neither to downplay nor to overstate the matters in the situation and that we take safety of our guests and staff very seriously…”
Wow! What a coincidence that there were two parades on the same afternoon, in the very same area! I’m just so relieved I didn’t come across this other “Red Shirt” gathering… (http://tinyurl.com/282tyvk) My safety might have been breached! I guess you could call it a Christmas miracle. I don’t feel comfortable getting involved in matters of international politics. Never have. Oh no, I’ll stay right out of them and just stick to the things that matter to me most: like, as of today, the plight of the elves…
Merry Christmas everyone. x
Eating whilst walking is one of my greatest skills. I can eat almost anything on the move. Sandwiches, chicken nuggests, bisque, unshucked oysters – whatever.
But in Japan, my skills are useless. It is considered rude to eat in public and just down right weird to be walking whilst doing it. Talking loudly on public transport, public hugging and using mismatched chopsticks are also big faux pas at which I excel.
I was prepared and aware. Ready to unleash the polite and socially appropriate Japanese man from deep within myself, undetected into Japanese life.
However, one afternoon something happened that I could not have prepared for. An extremely unusual and rarely occurring phenomenon of etiquette.
Here’s how it went down.
I was hungry and far from the hotel in Fukuoka (a great little city in the west of Japan – visit it for Japan’s best Ramen noodles if nothing else). I needed an afternoon snack and the 7/11’s in Japan are legendary, filled with a magnificent array of food stuffs unimaginable to the westerner’s mind.
I picked myself up a classic tuna sushi roll. Knowing the golden rule “it is rude to eat on the street” I walked out of the shop roll in hand, but wanting it to be in roll in mouth. I crouched with an uncertain awkwardness behind the potted bushes as seen to the back of this google street view:
Nibbling away, protected from judgmental eyes by Japanese shrubbery I watched the business men, school girls and well presented ladies in kimonos. A short man trundled past pushing some kind of cart, perhaps aged in his late 50s. I’m fairly sure he was a worker, but I didn’t get a good look. Then, I noticed… Something had silently and accidentally fallen off his cart landing on the wet road. It looked like…
…a small towel! My instincts were to leap forward. “Excuse me! You’ve dropped your small towel!” It was probably his favourite towel! He probably used it to dab his face, or knee backs in the sweltering Japanese heat.
I had to reassess my urges. I had to hold back. I was still mid snack! I couldn’t be seen like this, not here. But I had to act. I stuck the roll in the pocket of my skinny jeans and frantically wiped my mouth and face, hoping to dislodge any remaining pieces of rice or tuna. Stepping out onto the street merging with the pedestrians I was agitated with indecision the towel was now trodden on and squelchy.
What of my fellow pedestrians? There must have been at least 31 other witnesses. Why didn’t they respond? Is there any etiquette for this situation? (I have since googled “how to act if a japanese man drops his towel” and it seems there is not.*) I made eye contact with strangers, looking for help. They dropped their gaze and scurried onwards.
The man whom had dropped his towel was now out of sight. Returning his towel would involve me running through the streets holding a sodden towel, flicking dirty street water onto business men, school girls and well presented ladies in kimonos.
I had missed my chance to do a good deed… I picked a bit of rice from my beard and chewed things over in my mind and mouth.
Later that day, I returned to see if perhaps the man had retraced his steps and been reunited with his beloved towel. But alas:
Now, weeks after the event I’ve come to a forgive myself. The whole matter was the complicated result of over analysis, mixed with cultural confusion. Far too complex for my little Australian mind. I come from a place where we have no etiquette, where you wouldn’t be out of place walking down the streets of Sydney in lycra underpants.**
For all I know, towel accidents might cause awkwardness all over the world and it might not be just a Japanese no no, but a global no no, in any city, in any country of the world. I would urge you to think about this as a global issue, and prepare yourself.
If a man drops his towel, or his anything for that matter… what would you do? What ever it is, don’t eat whilst crouched in the shrubs to avoid weirdness. It’s weird.
*In a delightful turn of events, if you now google “how to act if a japanese man drops his towel” this article comes up.
**some call them, speedos.
In my recent Japanese travels I came across 3 memorable characters, all of whom live vividly in my memories.
Japan is sitting on a personality goldmine and should make use of one of these figures as their ambassador to the world, like Paul Hogan to Australia, or Kylie Minogue to Britain. I will propose this to the Japanese government shortly,* but in the meantime I’d appreciate your opinion. Who should become the face of Japan?
Entry 1: Captain Ashtray Dancer
Baring his chest to the world, he proudly dances with his ashtray castanets on the helm of the Japanese mothership.
His boat is crewed by men in pink spandex gimp outfits with religious overtones, all of whom would be ready to welcome any lucky visitor into the country.
He is also an exquisite role model to the youth. As I’ve always said, “you can’t smoke if your hands are full of ashtrays.”
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Entry 2: Mr. Moustache
From gimps to pimps**, Mr. Moustache specialises in poodles and doodles. This mascot was discovered in the backstreets of Shinjuku in the famed “Golden Gai” area, surrounded by Love Hotels. ***
Like Entry 1, he comes with the support of his 9 sons, all available for rent.
**To be fair, this might actually be a hair salon.
***I was just looking for a hairdresser.
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Entry 3: Sento-Kun, the Boy Buddah
Already a powerful mascot in Japan, Sento-Kun represents Nara – Japan’s first capital, which rivals Kyoto for its spectacular temples and depiction of old school Japan.
This great shot from the Julie In Japan blog. http://tiny.cc/nlcoo
Sento-Kun is a fairly controversial figure already in Japan (you can read about that issue here), however he does clearly convert well to human form as you can see below.
Come to think of it, he does look like a young version of Captain Ashtray Dancer, with antlers.
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So choose wisely!
Captain Ashtray Dancer
Mr Moustache
or
The Boy Buddah
I shall take the results to the Japanese Minister for Tourism.*
*I won’t.
…is the hotel I’m staying in for the next 10 nights. Hold me?
Night 1 – The writing is on the wall
This hotel has Taiwan’s only entry in the wiki “List of reportedly haunted locations” in which it says, “The Hyatt hotel in downtown Taipei is allegedly haunted. The lobby has Chinese calligraphy that is supposed to ward off ghosts.”
The protective calligraphy is not just in the lobby. It’s here in my room too. The writing IS on the wall, it would seem.
This is one of several mentions on Trip Advisor.
And if you need further proof, my Macbook charger has vanished into thin air. It looks like ghosts have adapted to find ways to terrify modern humans. I will keep you updated, if I make it through the night…
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Night 2 – A taste of the nether regions
Apart from an eerie whistling of Beethoven’s ‘Fur Elise’ around 3am out in the corridor, I have very little to report from last night. Actually it might have been Beyonce’s ‘Single Ladies.’ I was tired and had ear plugs in.
I can handle this! No problems. And hey, it could be so much worse, I could be staying in the most haunted hotel in Taiwan during the infamous, ‘Ghost Month.’ When:
Within this terrifying period, “the Chinese believe that the gates of Hell are thrown open for spirits to roam the earth.” “Many Taiwanese will not engage in a number of activities, afraid of bringing misfortune on themselves.” “It is also important that addresses are not revealed to the ghosts.” (Quotes taken from this interesting article on the subject.)
Forget the eerie whistling, the poor fools staying here at the Hyatt during this month probably get ghosts giving it the full ‘Single Ladies’ film clip dance on their beds. Well not to worry, because according to our trusted friends at the wiki organisation, ghosts only haunt the island of Taiwan for the entire of the seventh lunar month. What is that? July? Great, missed it by more than a month. I’ll just double check… oh yeah this year it’s August 10 and September 7. No worries. Phew, that’s a relie… Wait. What!!!??? Oh no. Sweet mercy, no. The rotten Chinese calendar! So that means:
I am in the most haunted hotel in Taiwan, DURING FUCKING GHOST MONTH!? Oh dear… There’s a good chance I’ll be getting a taste of the nether regions tonight, with a ghost dancing Beyonce style on my bed.
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Night 3 – Using my noodle
Many work mates are reporting ‘strange things and happenings.’ For example, subtle touches on the soft part of the inner arms, the occasional ear lobe tug, and mild drape rustling.
Personally, I had a sharp temperature rise, followed soon after by an extreme cooling. I was drenched, and then soon after I was dry. I couldn’t believe the sensations I was feeling.
I must say, these sensations did coincide EXACTLY with me getting in and out of the bath. It may or may not have been a coincidence.
As we have established, it is ‘Ghost Month.’ I did some further research to see how I could appease the ghosts. “Activities during the month would include preparing ritualistic food offerings, burning incense and burning joss paper, a papier-mache form of material items such as clothes, gold and other fine goods for the visiting spirits of the ancestors.” (wiki)
I didn’t fancy crafting bars of gold bullion from papier-mache, but I did have some instant noodles and a drink that I had bought from the 7/11… so:
Here goes… Let’s see how tonight unfolds.
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Night 4 – Things come to a head
It seems I am not alone. Like an inappropriate workplace hug, terror has wrapped its arms around me in an uncomfortable embrace. Read on, at your own risk.
Last night, when I took this photo of my 7/11 instant noodle offering (above) for ‘Hungry Ghost Month,’ I noticed something as the flash went off. Could it be? Had I seen.. surely not.
I looked at the offering. Why would I encourage hungry ghosts with food?! What had I done? Why would I do such a thing!?? Now, all the starving ghosts in the hotel, rummaging through the hallways, looking under those silver plate covers, hoping to find a bit of uneaten BLT had heard me shout, “All ghosts! Come and get it! Dinner is on! Please come to feast on my noodles, and my flesh as soon as you can!”
I also started to wonder if dry instant noodles might be a bit of a let down. Would they were able to break through the excessive styrofoam packaging? How would they add the water? I boiled the jug in anticipation.
It was a chilling moment.
Back on the camera, I checked the preview screen, nervously zooming into the area where I thought I saw something, and then… to my absolute shock… I slammed my eyes shut with disbelief and fear. Surely it couldn’t be…
I had to wait until the daylight hours for the courage to look again.
Please be warned. The images you are about to see, are disturbing.
Look carefully at this photo:
Can you see the shocking image? Trust your instincts. Here it is, again.
This picture gives me the willies.
It’s a public toilet style ghost penis. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I studied the image carefully, wondering what this meant. Was it graffiti done by a ghost? Or was it actually a ghost’s penis, hovering about the room. Floating down corridors and terrorising hotel staff late at night.
I’m not sure noodles were going to cut it for this hungry ghost. So I ate the noodles.
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Night 5 – Whom am I going to phone?
This guy:
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And it’ll be an email.
It was suggested to me (via @CherryBear on twitter) that I contact Derek Acorah, a renowned UK medium.
M by profession, XL by reputation.
I hope for a swift response.
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In the mean time, I’ve been studying this list on how to get rid of a ghost. Interestingly, among the possible deterrents are rice and salt. Being a hungry ghost during ‘Hungry Ghost Month’ in Asia must be a drag with these 2 popular ingredients off the menu. Pretty much rules out “food.”
I ordered some room service. “Can someone bring me up some salt please?”
“Just some salt Mr. Frost?”
“Yes. Oh and a BLT.”
Night 6 – A greasy poletergiest
Sweet relief… ‘HUNGRY GHOST MONTH’ ENDS!
A period that is so superstitious – no one will get married, buy property or go swimming for the entire month. Even the pool here at the hotel has been drained for ‘renovation’ and just now been filled again ready for action. This month is taken very seriously by the Taiwanese, so how would they celebrate the end of this terrifying time?
A final feast? A solemn parade down the haunted streets? Perhaps an age old ceremony granting the spectres safe passage back to the nether world?
No.
They have a greasy pole climbing competition of course.
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Night 7 and 8 – Giving up the ghost
For the last two nights; nothing.
With all the ghosts engorged on food offerings from terrified Taiwanese people, I felt it was finally safe to leave the hotel. After the smorgasbord of ‘Hungry Ghost Month,’ they’d all be back in their ghost homes with indigestion and a meat sweat.
Now it was my turn.
I visited one of Taipei’s famous night markets and quickly exceeded my daily dumpling limit. I dabbed the sweat from my forehead. It was a hot night.
When I returned back to the hotel; not only was my bed perfectly made, but I had new towels and my tiny shampoos were mysteriously full again.
I began hyperventilating, unsure as to how much more of this terrorisation I could handle.
But then, I had a thought…
Maybe there was an explanation as to these mysteries? Maybe life is more like Scooby-Doo than I realised? Maybe it’s just the doings of an evil greasy pole climber, eager to fulfil his unquenchable need for greasy pole climbing?
Maybe it’s Derek Acorah himself, hiding in the closet? (He hasn’t responded btw.)
And as for the haunting image of a ghost penis I snapped off on night 4, perhaps it was just my own reflection.
These might be famous last words but, maybe this hotel ISN’T haunted? With only 2 nights left, I have a feeling I’m going to find out.
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Night 9 – A long night, A head
I looked back over the last 8 nights. I was so silly to buy into the madness of haunted hotels and ‘Ghost Month.’ Who was I fooling? I’m not Taiwanese! Even if a human ghost did visit me, what would we talk about? “Get out!” doesn’t have the same chilling impact if it’s whispered in a language you don’t understand. “Pardon? Sorry do you speak english?” It’s just not the banter of a good haunting.
Oh well. I took another look at the ghost penis and chuckled. Oh how we laughed.
But then, something caught my eye. Something that wasn’t penis shaped.
I knew at the time of taking the photo I had seen something. I had another look at the original.
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I knew it! I knew there was something there. Now, if you study this area you will see something quite chilling.
Here it is again. Is that really what it sort of looks like? To the top left of the door handle?
A human head! Floating just near the door handle!!! All this time I had been staring at that other ghoulish image, when all I had to do was look past the cock to see the head.
I sprinkled some salt about the room, and fell into a restless sleep.
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Night 10 – Expensively, Dearly Departed
“I’d like to check out please.” I said, rubbing my eyes.
“Thank you Mr. Frost. I hope you had a pleasant stay.
“Oh I did. It raised my spirits no end.” I said winking.
“There’s a bill here for some room service? $675 Taiwanese dollars. 1 BLT and… some salt.”
“There’s no need to rub it in.”
And with that, I vanished.
I was in a tiny plane above China’s Yunnan province and I looked out over the massive Tibetan plateau searching for monks, yaks or enlightenment. My plan was to trek Tiger Leaping George, a spectacular mountainous natural wonder, and I couldn’t wait. As our bumpy descent began I took a nervous sip of my bottled water and spilt some on my chin and shoulder sending several droplets onto the thigh of the Chinese guy sitting next to me. It was my first genuinely awkward moment in China and he looked like a young version of Confucius with a long thin beard and now, a wet thigh. I pointed at this wet patch and wondered if it was worth speaking. He stroked his hairy chin and I figured it probably wasn’t. I recoiled my finger slowly and stroked my chin too; but in an unwise way. The way that removes lingering water droplets.
Picking up my backpack from the Lijiang airport carousel I headed out into the thin mountain air. I inhaled deeply, as my unkempt head rustled in the breeze. With no plans and nowhere to stay, I approached a local hotelier holding a sign, which boldly stated Guest Inn. I wanted to be both.
“Hello! Can I stay at the Guest Inn?” I questioned.
Silence. I tried again.
“Ah… do you have any rooms?”
He looked confused then spoke a barrage of a language. He awaited my response.
“Hmm, ah…”
It’s usually at about this point you realise that the universal language isn’t English. Or love. It’s the simple noble art of mime. Rarely used for pleasure, or profession, now it becomes a routine of life or death.
I prepared for the complicated mime scenario of ‘me going with him to his hotel and getting a bed for the night.’ My eyes widened and my fingers began to take the form of human legs walking, and then…
“Are you alright man?” said a deep American accent. Then the voice said, “Something in Chinese (but actually something).” It was the cool guy with the wet thigh from the plane! He was bi-lingual. Tri-lingual maybe! Who knows how many languages he might speak – maybe all of them? I was about to find out…
Just the 2 it ends up. Together, Jiu and I walked the cobbled streets of Lijang. We ate all the local delicacies. Stinky tofu, dumplings, meats on sticks and lovely moist bread things with stuff inside, served fresh from a big wok. As nice sauces dripped down my hand, I watched the town oozing with liveliness, lit in a dull red by thousands of beautiful lanterns. It was another world and I was overwhelmed by things that my eyeballs saw. We swilled beers and laughed and I asked Jiu if he was interested in climbing Tiger Leaping Gorge.
“Why else do you think I’ve come?” He wisely said whilst touching his Confucius beard. I hiccuped and burped simultaneously in a way that only a drunk man full of dumplings can.
Early the next morning we were on a bus bound for Qiáotóu where we would begin our ascent. But it was raining… a lot. The bus pulled up at the edge of the mighty gorge and then, we were alone in the rain. Something wasn’t right. It was eerie and uncomfortably wet.
“You guys want to go into the gorge? I can take you! I have a jeep.” A man said darting out from behind a jeep.
In the distance, some officials were standing next to a bit of A4 paper stuck to a little blackboard with sticky tape:
“The gorge closed to tourist due to dangerous conditions. Chinese Government.”
Well that was that. We weren’t doing it.“I’m doing it.” Jiu announced.
“But the sign! The danger!” I squealed.
We turned around to see the man and his jeep lurking. His eyebrows rose twice, then after a small pause; once more.
“Man, we’ve come all this way.” Somehow Jiu didn’t seem so wise anymore as his Confucius beard flapped awkwardly in the rain. The man’s brows were still raised from the last time (he had held them up there for effect) and Jiu wasn’t going to stand there forever…
“Well? Are you coming?”
I had many hours to contemplate my choice as I made my way back to Lijang alone. I wandered back through the town, noticing the cobbled stones under my well-supported feet and ankles. Trekking boots indeed. I would have dropped my head with a sigh if I hadn’t already been looking down. So I just sighed, and looked back up if anything, noticing some familiar sights. Ah, the pastries place! I bought another one of those lovely moist bread things with stuff inside, served fresh from a big wok. But this time, it came served cold in a plastic bag. I headed back to the room, nibbling at the dry flaky pastry.
I had a little drink to quench my dry, Chinese pastry mouth. I swilled it around like mouthwash, and thought about my shortcomings as an adventure-shy adult. I thought about Jiu up in the mountains, maybe leaping from one tiger to the next, playing Frisbee between the gorge with the local villagers, calling out affections to one another. I swilled. It was a dry cold pastry.
I tried to justify my decision as that of an experienced traveller. I had trusted my instincts. I had fallen back on my backpacking heritage! All those times I’d rolled my pants into balls, every time I packed a roll of toilet paper just in case, and every day when I brushed my teeth with bottled water. GULP. The second my Adams apple made its first, irreversible move I realised…. I had just swallowed… Rural. Chinese. Tap. Water.
Fuck! I went rigid. Shit! My eyeballs widened and my stomach dropped as if it was recoiling from the impending poisonous flush of pungent bacteria filled fluid. Shit!! It was in me. I began to feel my body caving in on itself. My mind began to expand and contract at the same time. I looked at myself in the mirror. Perhaps the reflection of my little bearded face would point to a solution!? It did not. All it did was show my true self; a silly fool with a blank expression and some Chinese tap water in his innards.
I ran outside looking for help. Someone who could allay my deep panic and tell me that it was alright to drink the pungent waters. I saw the hotelier from the airport.
“What happens if you drink the tap water!?” I lunged maniacally.
I knew from experience that I wasn’t going to get far with this line of questioning. I began to sweat.
“Cholera? Botulism? Dysentery? Typhoid fever?! WELL WHAT!!?” Was I really going to mime dysentery! I had to try…
“Are you alright man?” a familiar voice interrupted.
“What are you doing here Jiu!?” I exclaimed.
“It was too dangerous up there. You did the right thing dude… it was horrendous.”
“Horrendous?”
“Yeah, it was stupid to even try. The officials caught me and I had a tussle. I had to bribe my way out of there!”
His little Confusious beard had a chunk of mud stuck on it, and it was rustled – I assumed from the tussle. Maybe I wasn’t so stupid after all. Maybe all my years of experience and gauging dangerous situations had finally paid off and now Jui had swallowed his pride, and I had swallowed some harmless local unprocessed tap water. I looked smugly at the hotelier.
“You’ll probably get quite sick.” He concluded in relatively good English.
The Frost Retort 