tatToos

I spelt Tattoos wrong in the last post - before someone corrects me, I would like to correct myself. Thats how I do, pre-emptive attacks.

I came as close to getting a tattoos as I ever will. It is a buddhist custom to be tattooed by monks. Many people here are covered in these trademark tattoos, they are beautiful and simple and are believed to give luck or magic to those who get them. My traveling buddy Renee has wanted one for a long time, did her research and found her place. Infact our tour leader, AJ, was surprised and almost upset that she was able to find it, as though she just learned the masonic handshake. The temple was 50 km out of Bangkok, unlike Chaing Mai where the temples are interspersed throughout the city, this was in a small rural village. Two of my favorite girls, Sommer, and Michelle, both from Toronto with accents to suit them, joined us for the adventure. We were driven by a wonderful Thai man named Tony, who may have been wonderful because our ride probably paid for this months rent. (It turned out Tony was wonderful, and took very good care of Renee - he was compassionate, and paternal). After a touch of getting lost we managed to find the temple. We met with a monk who blessed us and rubbed gold foil on our foreheads....he also rubbed it on the girls tongues, but not mine. Dirty, dirty monk. We went to another building to find the tattoo parlor. Lets just say the sanitation levels in the Thai temple are not quite the standards we see in American parlors. There are no rubber gloves, disposable needles, or antiseptics there is only a monk seated on the floor, slightly higher than those sitting below him, a long needle and ink. The room was musty and dim, on the floor sat fifty or so people waiting their turns. The tattoos were quick, and those getting them showed little expression. After some waiting Renee's turn came. While it is tradition to allow the monks to choose the tattoo Renee decided on a specific one. A large tiger. The monk giggled a bit and prepared Renee. As it would turn out the reason the tattoos took so quick was they were small letters, the one she chose would take over an hour of the monk slowly stabbing her with this needle. She was strong, but did not lack expression on her face. She was hunched over a pillow, sitting indian style clenching her teeth, her eyes, and the pillow with all of her strength. At one point she held my hand and my my mind began to run with "if she squeezes any harder I will never be a surgeon...family practice, family practice, family practice." The piece came out amazing, better than the picture she chose from, it was elegant, perfectly sized, and fit her so well it looked as though she may have been born with it. We returned to Bangkok, joined up with some more people, and got some lunch. I left the group and walked through Bangkok alone, which is a much different experience, one I suspect I may be privvy to for the next few days as I change groups and find my place in the new one.

I am worried about changing groups, while I haven't spoke much of my traveling companions in my writing but they are a wonderful group. We are each so different, from so many countries, but there is no ego between any of us. A rare thing when in a large group. I know I may never see most of them again, but they have been wonderful to travel with.

Mom and Dad this is where you stop reading.....

Bangkok is not only famous for temples and spirituality, it is impossible to ignore the glare of the red light as you walk around every part of this city. From cab drivers asking me if I "would like massage later" with a wink, to large storefronts with women sitting outside as though they are produce. My father said "don't spend your money on souvenirs, walk past the 'stuff' but don't miss out on an experience". Well I am always...ALWAYS...one to take my fathers advice. No I didn't sleep, or even touch, one but along with a group of five people I went to what is commonly referred to as the "ping-pong" show. One does require a great amount of creativity to imagine where the ping-pong ball goes - but lets just say getting it out took a lot of skill, and with such distance and grace. After being completely traumatized, especially once realizing that one of the girls didn't start out as one, we headed to Kauson Rd. which is party central to meet our Irish friends at an Irish bar called Shamrock. I found some falafel...which sucked, even for drunk food. I took one of our friends home and called it a night. I have made the decision to miss out on some experiences.