Continuing Adventures of the Gumshoe (#3)

It was a long night. First they drove me down to the station. Then I waited. Then I was grilled. First by Detective Muldoon (clearly we weren’t on a first name basis anymore), then by her new partner—a younger guy who, if I’m allowed to guess, was really trying to impress his more experienced partner by out-toughing her (which he wasn’t pulling off, but you have to love his eagerness). Then they both grilled me. And then I waited some more. I was actually starting to wonder if they could have something on me and if it would be worth it to call my lawyer when they kicked me out. It was 3:45am and they’d spent all night getting nothing out of me.
This city is not kind at 3:45am. Especially not to someone who’d spent most of the night before singing old Phil Collins songs and trying to forget someone who had left just a bit before. The cops begrudgingly drove me to the Camino, which was just junky enough to fit in with the rest of the neighborhood. The nice officer opened the door and let me out of the back of the car.
“Now, don’t you get mugged” he said as he ducked back into his car and his partner floored it, kicking up some dust at me. Can’t you remember a time when a gentleman would wait till you got in your car before he shoved off? Me neither.
By 5:10, I was home and by 5:11, I was out.
My alarm went off at 7:28 and I drug myself out of bed. My head tilted to the side as I carried it to the bathroom for my shower. The water steamed against my back and I think it got some of the wrinkles out of my cloudy head. I started to piece together everything that had been yelled at me last night.
When the police went in the building, they found no one in the first floor apartment. The tenants (a man and a woman, unmarried) showed up twenty-five minutes after I was sent to the station. They had been out at the movies.
The second floor apartment was the problem. After busting open the door, they found a woman, completely clothed—in jeans and an old REO Speedwagon T-shirt—chained standing up. Her arms were above her head and she slunk down like a rag doll. Her right shoulder had been dislocated and her left was twisting awkwardly. But that isn’t what killed her. Apparently it was one of the five bullet wounds on her chest. They didn’t have pictures of the crime scene yet, so I just had to imagine it as they told me in that accusing way you learn after being on the job for a while. At first I think they were trying to guilt me into confessing, but then I think the guy (whose name turned out to be Detective Clemens) just got so worked up he just had to yell and pound the table. Then Detective Muldoon got him reigned in and they went back to the guilt. If I’d have done it, I might’ve confessed.
The woman was Selma Flettering, and she’d never been married. Which meant that my client was either a stalker or a murderer—maybe both. It also meant the cops weren’t buying my “I have a client” story. It was too hackneyed even if it was true. Oh, and it also meant I was probably going to be followed for a while.
After the shower, I took about 15 minutes to start putting my apartment back together after the cops had executed their search warrant. I tried not to be put out. I was at the scene. I had no alibi. I had a flimsy story about having a client. That’s plenty reason for the cops to mess up your stuff. The rumors about why I left the force probably didn’t help me much either, but I tried not to think about any of it.
The first thing I had to do was find out who the man who walked into my office was. Then I could put his head into something hard. Problem was, I had taken cash. There was no paperwork. No bank account to look at. No credit card account to scrutinize. So what was the best way to get to him. For a normal detective this would be a problem. Lucky for me, I’m not a normal detective. I have Bruce.
Sitting on the couch, I took a small sip of the Old Crow Bruce gave me when I first got there. Bruce was a nice old man who lived across the street from my offices. He had one daughter and two grandkids who never came to see him. They didn’t come for the same reason I did stop by. Bruce was a paranoid man. You name a conspiracy and he’d buy it. Aliens in the White House. Governments fixing elections. Lincoln Assassination. Kennedy Assassination (both). He probably started some of the ‘theories’.
As I was waiting for Bruce to bring me footage from one of the four security cameras he has covering the street between his house and my office, I tried to think about last night. What was it I missed? A man I didn’t know had come to my office, given me a sad story about his wife leaving him and then had sent me to the house where that woman had been brutally murdered. How did he know I wouldn’t go to the other places? Was the woman already murdered and someone was waiting there to frame me? That didn’t seem to make sense. I’d missed something. “Yup.” Bruce’s voice startled me, but that’s sort of the effect he has on people. Bruce is about 50 years old, and though you hear conspiracy theorist and you get a picture in your mind, Bruce is none of that. He’s lithe and lean and doesn’t own a computer--not because he’s worried about anyone hacking him (because he could find a way to make it impenetrable no doubt), but because he doesn’t want all the useless information that people who don’t know what they’re talking about. His words, not mine bloggers. He’s not a technophobe though. That much was clear when he started playing his survellience on the big flatscreen television. “Two cars pull by that late. One goes straight by, I think it’s Mrs. Sabatini’s lover. The other goes around the block twice and parks. I’m betting that’s your guy.”
“Mrs. Sabatini’s got a lover?”
“Oh, yeah. A couple months now, or at least that’s how long I’ve noticed. I think he works for the government or something, so I’ve gotta keep an eye on him. Mr. Sabatini still doesn’t know.”
“Too bad. They seemed like such a strong couple.”
He shook his head, before popping up, “Well, that’s how it works. So. I zoomed in on the license plate and made a call down to a friend at DMV. It’ll take him a bit to go through the information, but he’ll get it to me soon. When he does, I’ll get it to you. So, what’s this about?”
“New case. Looks like my client’s setting me up for something.”
“That murder they caught you at?”
Of course Bruce is gonna know about that. “Yeah. You hear anything else about it?”
“Not yet, but I’ve been keeping an eye on that area for a while. Been a lot of crime there lately.”
“Yeah, it’s a real shithole down there.”
“And the government.” He spoke looking directly at me, earnestly, but without any sort of crazed. “They’ve been conducting experiments down there. I’ve got a source who has some inside knowledge, let’s say. Nothing as bad as they were doing in Des Moines back in the day, but you’ve gotta be careful.”
“Thanks, Bruce.” I said getting up. “You give me a call on my cell when you get something?”
“If you trust those things.”
“I don’t think the government is really all that interested in me.”
“Well, I was more worried about the ear cancer.” He said with a grin. “But, trust me, you’re exactly the kind of guy they’re interested in.”
With that, I headed out. I decided to check out the other two addresses “Simon” had given me. The first was a pizza place (and not a very good one by the looks of things) and the second was a public library. So, that’s how he knew I’d be headed to the right place. Well, at least he’s not a genius. But, I’m making a not never to check whatever’s at the top of a list first ever again.
It was around 2 pm when I got back to the two story that had started my story. I wish the place looked different in the day, but it didn’t, really. To be fair to that beaten down shithole, it was a drab day with clouds hiding all but the faintest idea that the sun was even in the sky. As I stopped the car and turned off the engine, I looked in my rear view.
He’d been on me since the morning. It didn’t matter much when I was cruising past a shitty pizza place or the quiet little library, but this was the scene of a crime. A crime the person following me believed I had committed. So. This was gonna be tricky. I sat for a second weighing my options.
“Hey,” I said as I walked toward his car. Yeah, this was the best plan I could come up with.
At first, he tried to act like I hadn’t called him out, but as I kept coming, he opened the car door, stepped out and looked at me unhappily. It was the same detective who’d grilled me last night and he looked like he’d slept just about as long as I had.
“So, I need to see the crime scene.” I said trying not to sound like a nutbag.
“Yeah?” He said cocking his head a little.
“I know a lot of killers like to return to the scene, or insert themselves into the investigation. I’ve read the books too, but this isn’t like that.”
“Really?” He’d obviously learned a lot about communication during his time with Detective Muldoon.
“Yeah. Look, I could’ve shaken you, but I didn’t want to be that way.” In fact, I probably couldn’t have. First, I’m not a great driver. No accidents, but no guts either. Second, it’s hard to lose someone in a car as loud and noticeably ugly as mine, but hey, maybe he didn’t know that.
His mouth curled into a sideways grin. “In that shitbox? I don’t know that you could shake loose the maggots that probably live in that thing.”
“If that’s what you think, that’s fine.” I’m not a macho guy, but for some reason I didn’t want to give ground on this. “But I didn’t even try. That’s a sign of faith.”
“Sign of something, I suppose. Could be a sign that you didn’t notice me until I stopped here. I came around the corner and you were stopped already—“
“No way. I noticed you back at Bruce’s. And so did Bruce by the way.”
“Sure. Sure.”
“Well, we could sit here all night and argue like two kids over the prom queen or we could go in there.”
“Nah. I’m still hung up on the prom queen. I was prom king, you know.” I could believe it. He had one of those faces that is considered handsome. In that conventional way, which is fine. If you’re into that sort of thing.
“Listen. They’ve done all the finger painting and forensic stuff, so I’m not mucking that up. And you’ll be there to watch me, so there’s nothing funny gonna happen. I just need to get a feel for the scene, see what sort of trouble I’ve been thrown into.”
He was mulling it over. “Yeah, sure. Why don’t we jeopardize my career so you can jump up there and give you a peak at where you shot a defenseless human being. This sounds okay to me.”
“What if you cuff me?”
“Hey, I don’t know what you’ve heard around the way, but that's not my game.”
“That’s cute. But, look, you feel I’m out of the way, I’m already cuffed, you take me back in and you’ve got a chance to look at me, observe me while I’m there. You can testify that you caught me there doing who knows what to myself and I’m as good as gone.”
“Uh huh.” He pulled out the cuffs.
“Be gentle.” I said. This was either really desperate, or a stroke of genius.

Fargo

Fargo came out in theaters in March of 1996, while I was preparing to graduate from highschool and get to college. Between that timing and the fact that I lived in the middle of Iowa (which is noted for many great things, but its attention to independent film is not one of them), I didn't see this movie for a while.
Anyway, I'm not here to give the history of Fargo as much as I'm here to give my history with Fargo. I've seen the movie less than ten times, but it's clearly my favorite movie ever. I can't remember exactly when the first time I saw it was, but I think it was while I was a freshman at Grinnell. In someone's room, perhaps or at the Harris Center? I can't remember for certain. But I do know that at two very important times in my life, I happened to see this movie. The first is when I was still in college. Junior year, I think. I was friends with a woman who went to a different school in Iowa and I was visiting her there. She was an actress and had a performance that night, which she couldn't end up getting me tickets for, so I was hanging at her place, watching her DVD of Fargo.
Being a junior in college, I could see my future almost written out in front of me. I was going to write some short stories that would get noticed by the right people and I'd get a decent book deal. I'd already started my novel, but hadn't gotten very far. But after my short stories were noticed and I got the advance, I'd be able to support myself long enough to finish it up and then the world would take notice. I didn't think what I was writing could be made into a movie, but maybe it could. Either way, the next couple of books would change things and set me up for life. Or it was something like that.
And that's part of the reason I knew I hadn't gone there intending to sweep her off her feet. I'd had a crush on her for a while, but I had my plan and I intended to stick to it. And besides that, I'm just not the guy who sweeps women off their feet. I'm quirky or interesting maybe, but not a sweeper.
Sitting there watching Fargo, I thought critically about my plan for the first time. Like the plans of everone in Fargo, it seemed like it could work out. Sure, I knew I was a little pollyanna about it and it would be hard work, but I wanted to write. I wanted to be noticed. And I wanted to be someone liked by a lot of people. Isn't that enough? No. Not really. No matter if you're just trying to get some easy cash, or save your daughter from kidnappers, or take your partner's share of the money and get away with murder, often times in life, nothing is that easy.
I didn't really think I'd actually sweep her off her feet, but I made my mind up to try. And I did. Somehow. And that was the first time I was in a good relationship. And even though it didn't work out, it really changed how I saw things from then on out. Now, I didn't stop getting into bad relationships (that would've been awesome, but hey), but at least I knew what a good one felt like. And believe it or not that made all the difference.
See, relationships before weren't all that engaging. I mean, I was in them, but not really. I never showed my hand to a woman. I was shy and afraid and I never tried for the women I thought would be great to date.
I think I've only asked out two women in my life. The first was the one I just mentioned. The second is my wife. And while it's nice to have a good average, I think the small sample size is more than a little disheartening. Or it would be if I were still out there. But, that's a little beside the point. In the other relationships, I had a tendency to look for women I had no business dating, really. Personality mismatches or nutty or needy or extremely conservative (which was kind of funny actually. Remind me to tell you some of those stories). And I think I did it because they showed interest in me. And while I think there's something to be said for taking whatever dates come your way, there's probably something to be said for stepping away when you get the feeling that things won't work. Instead, I stayed in there, blamed myself (which was generally an agreed upon factor) and told myself I wasn't going to do better (which was also agreed on). This blew up on me after college. (And I'm not trying to side step my responsibility in the blow up. A lot of that shit is on me.) And I took 3 years off from dating and put myself together better, smarter and a little more confident.
Anyway, that's a bit of a digression. It was Fargo that made me think about how I wanted my plans to really go. And to think about what was important.
----
The second time that Fargo struck me so profoundly was last year. That scene at the end where she can't understand why he did it. The first time I saw Fargo, it was that scene that really made me love the Cohens.
And seeing it again sure helped a lot too.
See, being unemployed (though, I'm currently only underemployed [which I would argue, I was before I was unemployed, but that's beside the point]) gives you a lot of time to think (probably too much time to think). And one of the things I've been chewing on has been what I want to be like when I work.
See, the last couple jobs weren't engaging. They didn't challenge me. And I took that personally. I accepted that things weren't going to get better and that staying in these situations was the best I could do. And it took its toll. I became a little paranoid (justifiably as it turned out, but still) and unhappy. And I just don't want to be that way anymore. Now, I want to be happy and challenged and good at what I do. And I will be.
I'm rocking this semester of classes. I rocked last semester. I even won a scholarship essay contest (which I will put in its own post once Roosevelt puts a link of the announcement up). I have the tools to be good at this. And I'm enjoying it, which is really nice.
But. Last week I had a job interview with a bankruptcy firm that was looking for a "Legal Assistant" (a term used interchangably with "paralegal" in Chicago). They were offering less money and more overtime than I wanted. They also told me that 100% of my job would be "answering the phone" and trying to convince people that bankruptcy was their best option in these tough times. So, this really isn't a Paralegal gig. And to top it off, some of the ways they did business sounded like they'd been taken out of the Legal Ethics textbooks I'd read last semester. And not out of the "this is how it should be done" chapter. So. I wasn't excited about this job. And between that and my questioning them about their legal ethics in the interview (which apparently is not the best move if you want the job [just a tip out there for everyone]), I didn't get the job. In fact, after telling me I'd know by the end of the week, they emailed me 5 hours later. But in that 5 hours, I was conflicted.
I want a job. Sure, I'd like a good job that would be fulfilling, but I'd also like to get the MLB Extra Innings Package this year. So in that 5 hours, I called Dinah and told her how the interview went. And she told me not to take it. I wouldn't have been happy. I may have been uncomfortable with their "ethics". It wouldn't have looked all that great on a resume. And I would've felt bad trying to convince people they should trust lawyers who are going to see them maybe for 20 minutes and tell them to declare bankruptcy. (It's a flat fee thing, so the incentive of the lawyer is get as many bankruptcies through as possible.)
And she was right. I have to put myself in a situation where I can win. And truthfully, we're doing okay. The fact that I'm even considering getting the MLB package is a sign of that (and that I'll be able to work some extra and save up for it so it won't come out of the budget is good too).
(It was also nice to see on Monday this article telling everyone to stay "bold and valiant".)

The Continuing Adventures of the Gumshoe

It's been a while since I started this story, so here's a link to the first entry. So, yeah, I guess I'm serious about doing this. Enjoy.

It’s easy to know when your client is lying. You know the signs, even if you haven’t been in the business for a couple years (which I have). There’s the fidgeting, the sweating, the looking away. The classics. You see, when people come to PI’s they either come because they expect us to be completely without ethics or completely stupid. So they tell you lies and expect you to buy them or not to care. And letting them think one or the other is good business.
So, when Mr. Flettering told me his story, I assumed he was lying. Asking questions afterwards is only so I can figure out which lie he’s telling and if it’s gonna get me in trouble. With Flettering, I figured his lie was either his wife was divorcing him and he wanted information on who she’d left him for (though, given what he’d told me about their relationship this wasn’t likely), or she wasn’t his wife at all and she had dumped him and he wanted to get her back. So, maybe he was a stalker. Which wasn’t good. Either way, this seemed like a find and photograph sort of a thing—the kind of thing that makes PI’s everywhere seem like slimeballs. Slimeballs with bills to pay, sure, but still slimeballs.
So, as I sat in the Camino, I thought about what the best way to do this was. Finding her wouldn’t be hard. Flettering‘d had given me a couple places to check and if his story was as dubious as I thought it was, then he knew she was at one of them. So, all I had to do was figure out if this could wait another night or if I should start tonight. Seemed to me if she was gone, she’d be gone tomorrow too. Of course, as I turned the key and heard my old shitbox spring loudly and suddenly awake, groaning and rasping with strength and weakness all in the same huge rumbles, I changed my mind and slipped the car into gear heading for the first address he’d given me. It wasn’t the first time this car had cost me, but I was gonna have to be lucky to be around for it to cost me again.
But that’s getting ahead of myself.
I arrived at the address around 9:30 pm, which, for those of you not in the know, is prime time for this sort of salacious goings-on. Sitting in the Camino, I looked at the dingy building. A two-story place that was divided into flats. A broken-up sidewalk and the burned-out streetlights. It was easy to see that this was a part of town the city didn’t care about. Of course the chewed-up yard and smashed-out glass of the basement windows made it easy to see the owner didn’t care that much either.
And this is where ICI’s wife was hanging out? Something was definitely wrong. And, being that I’m not a bright enough person to walk away from a situation when it feels this wrong, I decided to get out of my car and investigate.
As soon as I stepped out of the car and slammed the heavy car door behind me I noticed it. The quiet. The stillness that emanates from the scene of something wrong. It’s like the crickets won’t sing around it and the wind knows better than to blow through it, and on some primal level the people nearby know better than to disturb the sour eeriness of something as awful as what must be happening somewhere nearby. Or I’m just a little melodramatic. That’s what I was hoping for anyway.
I walked up the sidewalk and the stoop and tried to peak in the first story windows, but it was too dark to make out anything inside. I was looking at the name on the buzzers, taking note of them, when I heard the sirens. They bled into the silence slowly and I could tell they weren’t far away.
I sat down on the stoop, pulled out a stick of Big Red and started chewing. Didn’t take them long, maybe two minutes (Big Red still had its flavor), but when they got here I could tell they meant business.
Swarms of uniforms jumped out of siren-swinging cars dappling the neighborhood in what had to be a familiar red and blue. The officers had guns drawn and ran straight for the building, screaming. “Hands up.” “Stay where you are.”
I raised my hands coolly, knowing better than to do anything except what they wanted. I learned a long time ago that when the foot soldiers are this wound up, it was better to go along with them and wait for a better moment to make sense of things. They escorted me to the back of one of the cruisers and told me to wait. Which I did. For about 30 minutes or so. But when she got there I wished I’d waited longer.
“[gumshoe], what are you doing here?”
“Client stuff. I’d share if I could, but—“ I shrugged, “you know.”
“Uh-huh.” It was the same noise I’d heard her make to hundreds of criminals. It was her way. She’d stare at you, give you the ‘Uh-huh’ and give you as much rope as it took to wrap around your neck and then she’d pull tight. She was the best and I knew she was the best because I used to be in the box with her working off her bad cop. I was, if you can believe it, her good cop counterpart. But that was a long time ago, and the only thing this meant to me now was that I was smart enough to know this was a moment that required quiet. She stared at me for a couple minutes before, “Tell me what you feel comfortable with and then I’ll decide if I’m running you down town or just having you beaten on the sidewalk here.”
“Edna, I’ve always admired your colorful way of doing things.”
“Uh-huh. Talk.”
“Not much to say. I was talking to a client earlier tonight. Wanted me to find his wife. She’d runoff without leaving a note. You know the story. He gave me this address and I came to check it out. I peaked in the first floor window, but couldn’t see anything. Was looking at the buzzers when I heard the sirens and decided to take a seat and see if you all were going my way.”
“So, you were skulking around looking for a way in?”
“Edna—“
“Detective Muldoon, [gumshoe].”
“First time you’ve pulled that since I was a rookie.” She was quiet. That’s the thing about being someone’s old partner, you know how to quiet them. “Well, Detective Muldoon, I’m astonished by your accusations. Skulking? I’m hardly the type.”
“That cute smart-mouth act of your may still charm those ‘ladies’ you hang out with—“
“It doesn’t.”
“Why am I not surprised? Look, [gumshoe], you know I’ll give you a straight shot if you’re straight with me. And you also know I’ll rip your tits off and shove them down your throat if I think you’re lying to me about anything. So, let’s do this the easy way, huh?”
“Edna—Detective Muldoon, I’m honestly telling you everything except my client’s name and most of the rest of the lie he told me.”
“Uh-huh. Tell me about what you heard and saw when you got here.”
“I didn’t see anything odd. It felt odd though. It was one of those too quiet moments your read about, but never really think you’ll happen across.”
“You’ve happened across those in the past, if I remember.” That’s the thing about someone being your old partner, they know how to quiet you. “So, it was quiet? Anything else?”
“Nothing.”
“You still listening to that crappy soft-rock bullshit?”
“What?” The police-non-sequitor. They get you off-balance, looking at the right hand and then the crush your skull with what’s in the left.
“Phill Collins? Meatloaf? That kind of shit?”
“What? No. I’m all about the new soft-rock bullshit. Coldplay. Nickleback. That kind of shitty bullshit.”
“Uh-huh. And if I get a warrant, check out your apartment and your CD collection?”
“Well, you won’t find any fucking Nickleback, that’s for sure.”
“Uh-huh. So to recap, you just happened to be here skulking around as the police responded to an anonymous call about some screaming and gunshots in this building, but you heard nothing, saw nothing, and didn’t do anything but look in the window?”
“I heard no screaming.” I was hearing it in my mind right now though. Something wasn’t right about all of this.

Friday 13th...

I wasn't sure I was going to see the remake of Friday 13th. In the wake of the Halloween debacle (I'll get into this), I wasn't sure I could trust another remake, but when the chance to see a preview for free came up on Tuesday, I knew I couldn't say no.

Don't get me wrong, I wanted this movie to be good. I saw the trailers and I was excited. It looked scary, it looked fun. It looked like everything I hoped it would be. And then I remembered, Halloween. I drug Dinah to see that at a drive-in theater a little after it came out. (A horror movie at a drive-in? Too good an opportunity to pass up.) I was a fan of the Halloween movies (except number 3, which was, well....an odd choice). I would even watch the later sequels that kept coming out hoping that they would someday regain the brilliance of the first two. So, when I saw Rob Zombie was signing up to do this movie, I was thrilled.

Of course the movie sucked. My high expectations didn't help, but the movie missed the point of Michael Meyers. He went from being pure evil--a killing machine of the highest order--to a whiny, abused, pyscho. This was bad.

It was bad for two reasons. The first was that it took away one of the main themes of the movies. Dr. Loomis was always there in the Haloween legend to inform anyone that Meyers was just evil. There was no explaining it. There was no wondering about it. He was just evil and sometimes that's how it works out. And that was what made Micheal so creepy. From the earliest scenes where you see Michael in a clown mask stalking his older sister, there's just no reason for him to be that way. It looked like he came from a (possibly upper) middle-class household. He seemed to have been given a nice clown outfit and his parents seemed to care about him, but he was evil. There was no real explanation. So we had to invent it ourselves. Which is far creepier than being told outright what made him a killer. To know it was the same social problems and issues facing many households made it an all-too-easy cliche and took away a lot of the Meyers mystique.

The second reason it was bad for the movies was because we all were secretly rooting for Micheal Meyers. That sounds bad, but hey, it's kind of true. We probably didn't want him to get Lori Strode, but we did want him to pick off some of her annoying friends. And we wanted him to do it in brutal and interesting ways. It's part of the cliche of horror movies that they're filled with teenagers who act in the most annoying and cliched ways. They only want to get laid or stoned or drunk and you knew people like this in high school and college and they sucked. And you secretly wanted them to just shut up and go away. Maybe they gave you swirlies or stole your girlfriend, or maybe they just annoyed you from afar, but either way it was cathartic to see them meeting with gory deaths. To turn Meyers into an annoying little punk made him more like the annoying people we had been hoping he'd knock off.

So, it was with this baggage and the low expectations they bring, that I went to see the new Friday the 13th remake. And I gotta tell you, everything Haloween did wrong, Friday the 13th did right. The remake spends about 2 minutes on Jason's backstory and get right to the hacking. It doesn't make Jason understandable or try to explain him, it just let's Jason be Jason.

One thing I wasn't expecting from was Rory's old boyfriend. He was good. And he looks good older and with the slight beard that seems to be everywhere these days.

I won't give away too much, but the movie is a good mix of the cliches we love and expect from horror movies and some good fun action. They didn't re-invent the horror flick, but it's a fun ride. So enjoy it if you get the chance.

Thailand Annotated Stops 6 & 7: Railay and Koh NGai...

We took a boat to get to Railay, because that's the only way to get there. The first thing I notice about the place was that it was gorgeous:
These are views from the front of the resort where we stayed.
The second thing I notice about Railay is that it's full of tourists. We seriously went from seeing almost no westerners to seeing almost only westerners. Not only that, but it was a different type of tourist. People who are seeing sights, struggling to get around in a city or town, trying to communicate and find food and interested in having a somewhat genuine Thai experience, area different (and more interesting breed) than people who flock to resorts and go nowhere else. Not that I am trying to be critical (though I feel a little critical of them), because it's vacation and one should spend that time however they decide.
But, it's fair to say it's a difference. Especially when you go to one of the more famous resorts there. It's easy to see why, the place is gorgeous, but the people, well. They kind of sucked. Not that we got to know anyone very well, but you get where I'm coming from right? (A place of snobish delight, most likely).
We stayed in a duplex bungelow which meant we shared a wall with another couple. The first night we were there, they had Celine Dion's (I don't care if I spelled it right, fuck her) 'I'm Your Lady' turned up really loud and on repeat. Now take a minute and picture the people you think are doing this (don't picture what it is you think they're doing though, that's not good for anyone). You got an image?
I picture an overweight middle-aged man. Probably bald and a little shy. Doesn't know exactly how to woo his wife on what's supposed to be a romantic getaway, so he brought along this CD and hey, give the man props, he's trying. His wife is just so pleased to get the attention (they both work a lot trying to make ends meet and they haven't had a vacation in so long) that she doesn't mind the mindnumbing effects of a repetative song being put on repeat for 4 hours. Ugh.
It was with this picture in mind that I put up with it. Dinah went over to the cottage and saw the windows were dark. She thought maybe they were gone.
Anyhoo. Next day I'm getting out of the sun, because I'm an extremely pale person and I don't want to wither in the sun, and who's just ahead of me? A dude (no more than 25) with a tatoo that, while it appears to be in English, I can't figure out what it means. Oh, did I mention the tatoo is across the back of his shoulders? It was. This dude was screaming for a skateboard, some weed and a Sublime Album. But, he heads into the bungalow next to us. And I'm dumbfounded. Just dumbfounded. I mean, I saw this guy and his wife on the beach. They were moving around. They seemed to be enjoying life. They didn't seem functionally slow or anything. Was he? And I decide the middle-aged guy must've checked out early this morning and these two came or shifted rooms or something. Of course when the Celine came one again that night, I knew. Lame comes in all packages. It was a life-lesson moment. The more you know.

Here I am trying to not be interesting so Dinah won't take pictures of me. Not a great strategy as it turns out.

And here's Dinah after the sun set.

Speaking of sunsets. Here's how it looked...

Now. I enjoyed my time at Railay. It was relaxing, but in a way it felt like college. There were so many people everywhere and a lot of parties and bars and drinking. (I mean it's not like real college. It's like I remember college, always neglecting to remember I did a shit-ton of work there too.)

One of the bars (who had a really schizophrenic soundtrack going on) had mats on the beach with small lanternas so that you can sit outside on the beach and watch the sunset and the stars and enjoy a drink. It was here that I rediscovered my love of Gin and Tonic. If for no other reason, the trip to Thailand was a success because of this.

Here's a picture of me from the second day with my long lost friend G&T and Dinah's Mai Thai (which tasts every much the same in and out of Thailand, despite what I thought.

Can you see my face? So red. So happy. So not yet drunk.

(Note to my college friends, this picture was staged that way on purpose.)

After a couple days here, we moved on to another resort that was on an island a ways away. We had to take a boat out from where we were and get driven from one port to another (a couple hours) and then get another boat onto an island. This resort was the exact opposite of the one we just left. The first was built up and touristy. This place (Coco Cottage) was small and comfortable.
I'm pretty sure this is a picture of new people being boated onto the beach...

This was our view from the front porch. We stayed in a little hut that had a porch and a couple deck chairs. The beach was just over a small stream, but it was up away from the water. You had to take steps down to get into the water. And the sand under the water was very rocky and Dinah and I both got some cuts before we started wearing our sandles in there. For a lot of people that would've been a turn-off, but for me, it was fine. I'd gotten a lot of sun at the last place and I had to stay out of the sun for a while. So most of the time there I sat under the grass thatched umbrellas and read. It is the most boring time to describe, but it really was perfect. And it did wonders for me.

Those toes in the foreground are Dinah's. She's lying in the chair on the deck.









This hut is the massage hut, that I avoided like the plague after my last Thai massage adventure. The women here looked smaller and nicer, but my ego wasn't going to survive another beating at the hands of someone one half my weight.

Wondering how I glam it up on the beach? Well nothing is more in right now in my world than a Captain America T-shirt and a Cardinals hat.

Those are the huts we stayed in. I don't mean huts in a bad, dirty or low-rent sort of way. These were awesome and I loved staying here as much as anywhere. I mean, here's the view through our windows:

And just outside...





Unfortunately, there was trouble on this island. The last day we were there, swimming in the ocean, Dinah felt a sting on her shoulder. We weren't far out, but immediately my mind is thinking shark (cause I'm a cool-headed customer, not to mention very knowledgable of marine life) and panicing a bit. Dinah turns and sees a jellyfish. The only picture that came to my mind was that one of a 6 foot jelly fish and we're quickly hightailing it out of the water. Of course, it turns out to be a bunch of little buggers (maybe 2 inches in diameter). We went to the front desk and they gave us some vineager to put on it, which jogged my memory. Instead of panicing, and looking for help, the best thing I could've been doing was peeing on my wife. Let's just all be glad that bridge was not crossed and that we didn't have to have the discussion.

Anyhoo. We took a picture of the bite:
It looked really painful, but it went away really quickly leaving her with only this picture as a rememberance of her meeting the marine life of the Indian Ocean. It did call our time to a close. We had dinner that night, got banana fritters brought to our room and were gone almost before I realized what was going on.

The next day we flew into Bangkok, went to a hotel room and knocked around there until it was time for our mega-flight back to Chicago (via Seoul). It was a quicker flight this time, but more painful because I knew it was coming.

When we got into Chicago it was cold. We'd just missed the worst part of the winter (knock on wood), but it was still only 10 degrees or so. We got in around 9 am and tried to stay up until 9 pm. I think I made it until 8, but it was touch and go. I was trying to watch football, but I can't remember a thing about what happened.

So. That was Thailand. Or a good portion of it. I hope you enjoyed the pictures...

Thailand Annotated: Stop 5, Karabi

We flew into Karabi and had a cab waiting. We got there early afternoon, got a little lunch and figured out what we wanted to do. There was one last Watt we wanted to visit. Problem was, it's out of town a ways. What were two young rebels to do?



That's right, we got our bikes and race out there like two bats out of a cold, unloving hell. Shit yeah.


Motorbikes (they don't call them scooters, which I appreciated so much when I found myself on one) are one of the biggest ways to get around in Thailand.


The thing about driving in Thailand is that there are rules and they're very much the same as American (except they drive on the left side of the road and they have a U-turn lane in most big roads so you go past where you want to go then u-turn and take a left. They do shit like this in Michigan too.), but the difference is these rules are in no way enforced. The only real rule is you have to watch out for everyone else. And because everyone's nice, or at least confrontation averse, it generally works out well. This, as well as the relative sleepiness of the roads around Karabi town, made us think we could ride the bikes without problem.
So, we set out on our bikes, and I gotta say, these things were super-fun. They gave us a 10 second overview of how to start the bike and you know, start it and stop it, but pretty much we were tossed into the deep end. And Dinah had a rough idea how to get out there. It was farther away than I expected, but we got there without incident.


And the Watt (Watt of the Tiger Budha) was one of my favorites. Possibly not because of the actual Watt itself, but also because the grounds are awesome.


The next couple of pictures are ones Dinah took on our way to the temple. In the first one, if you look at the top of the cliff on the right side you can see a small shiney dot (can you see it?), that's the Chedi. That's also about 1500 stairs (or so) up the side of the mountain there. Long story short, I came thousands of miles to this spot, but 1500 stairs is a deal breaker. Sorry.


BUT. It's not like that's the main part of the Watt or that everything else we saw wasn't cool, because, as I said, this was probably my favorite Watt (though Emerald Budha is right there).


So, we get there and we park our hogs (yeah, I called my scooter a hog, I'm badass that way), and set out looking for the Watt. First, though, we were confronted by monkeys. These were the frist monkeys we'd seen in Thailand, though we'd heard they were around and very good at stealing your food. So, we snapped a picture and moved on. But, we almost missed it because they build a front on it that made it look like a school. See, front the guidebooks we knew this Watt was carved out of a cave, so that's what we expected. After figuring it out and making our way inside we weren't dissappointed.

So, a temple in a cave is just a great idea. They carved it. Anyhoo, so we enter the cave and are immediately waved over to a fold up table a little ways from the entrance. Behind the table is someone who I assumed was a teenage boy monk(Dinah was sure it was a nun of some sort, and there never was a good way to figure this one out). So the monk (or nun) offers Dinah and I a little rope braclet and asked for a donation. The little braclets are for luck, I guess and they're sort of nice.
But then we headed into the cave. Which is sort of misleading. There is a cave and it's cool, but the first area is more of a lobby filled with a lot of Budhas. We came in during a service of some sort, so I asked permission to make sure I could go up the stairs into the cave. There wasn't a lot to the cave, but it was cool climbing up some stone stairs and seeing another Budha. The one they had up there seemed to be a copy of the Emerald Budha.
On the stairs on the way to the cave area were three cat-statues, which I guess is where the Watt gets its name. I mean, I don't want to quibble, but something about "Tiger Budha" gave me a picture that was a little different. I guess I was expecting a Budha on a Tiger or in some sort of Tiger-like position, or something. But, you know statues...okay.
I wasn't dissappointed overall, though largely because the grounds were awesome. While we didn't do the steps to the Chedi (there's a picture of the steps though, so you can sympathize or, because this is the internet, criticize), there was still a lot to see.
Like a 1000 year old tree. The signs of which tree was the 1000 year old tree were in Thai, so we have pictures of Dinah with a lot of old looking trees. I've only included one here, but I think it was the one we were kind of sure was the right one.
And there was another cave that had other altars and such in them. The pictures from this cave didn't turn out as well as we would've liked, because it was dark in the cave, but it was cool.
Pictures:

Inside the cave of outside the Watt:

Here you can see Monks only washrooms and washrooms for "Normal People". Just thought it was kind of a cool look at something.

Dinah with the 1000 year old tree.

Dinah took these pictures on the way back to city. Soon after these were taken, we decided to buzz around on our motor bikes for the rest of the afternoon. It was fun. But as we were about to learn, it was a responsibility, not right. (heh. My dad would be proud.)

So, we're turning a corner, Dinah in front and me following up. We're cruising into the park along the river way and Dinah loses control and does a herky-jerky, foot on the ground, but accelerating thing and nearly crashes into a curb.

She got it all under control really quickly, but it was frightening. We ate some icecream and recovered.



And here I am at the night market. This is where we ate that night. We started just by walking around the (small) town and ran into a market we didn't know about and then moved onto this one. We sat down and ate and had the Thai beer face off. Chang v. Sing Ha. Sing Ha wins hands down. I knew going in that Chang was the underdog and I wanted to give it a fair shot. But yeah.

Of course Sing Ha is still not the best beer we had on the trip. That distinction would belong to Beer Lao. Too bad it doesn't get distributed here yet. Soon, hopefully.

After the beers and the meats and I believe some Banana-crepe, we headed back to our place (which was nothing spectacular, but serviceable) and went to bed. The next day was the last of our planned activities--we were going to take cooking classes.
The lady, "Ya", was awesome. She came to pick us up and we rode in the back of her truck on the way there. It was kind of a long ride.
But we got there and learned how to make us some curries and other dishes. We've already tested out these recipes and it's been pretty good.

Anyway. There's only one post left. And it'll probably be the most boring. There's not a lot of stories to tell about the time we spent bumming on the beach. We did a lot of reading and relaxed. But there are some good pictures and I'll throw them up with some stories, such as they are.

Thailand...Stop 4....Chiang Mai Part III: ZIPLINES!

It has come to my attention that I've numbered the Chiang Mai stop number 3, which you may have noticed was also the number of the Sukhothai stop. Meaning, I can't count. Chiang Mai was stop number 4. I'm not gonna correct it elsewhere, but realize that I know I cannot count.


Also, this expedition happened the day before the elephant excursion. I wanted to do it after because I thought there'd be so many more pictures and videos and it was gonna take me a little more time to get them together and figure out what I wanted to say. And I think this is how Quentin Tarantino would put it together if this were his blog.
Anyhoo. Today was the day we signed up to take ziplines through the canopy of the jungle. Which, if you know me, you probably think is an odd choice, being that I'm afraid of heights and all. But, I told myself that a lot of Thailand is jungle and I want to experience it...and there's no way in hell I'm walking through it. What with Thailand having snakes and me being more afraid of those things than heights, the idea of me zipping above those little buggers sounded just fine to me.


We got up at 6.00am, which felt early to me by this time in the trip, and were outside waiting for the minivan, and they came pretty promptly. We were the first pick-up. It was mostly a quiet ride out to the mountains outside of Chiang Mai. Then we reached the mountains and the curvy roads. By then the sun was up and everyone had shaken off their sleep and were getting excited to do some ziplines.


The people in our van were all really nice. It was Dinah and I, a lady whose husband worked for the State Department (and who lived and loved Bangkok, though she admitted that having the help of her nanny and never having to go anywhere they didn't speak English, and living in a huge apartment where mostly officials from the Indian government worked was pretty nice. Grrr.), a quiet couple who didn't speak enough for us to know if they were Japanese or Chinese, another quiet couple from Ireland, and a very gregarious couple from Manchester.
We ended up splitting up leaving our group to be Dinah and I, the English and the Irish. And it was a fun group. The group is English man (Damien), Me, Dinah, Irish woman, Irish Man (John), English woman (H, I believe), and our two guides. This was taken afterwards when we'd started cracking beers and were pretty comfortable with everyone.

But back to the beginning of the story (see, the Tarantino theme continues), so, you can see from the beginning pictures that they got us in harnesses for safety and it made us take goofy pictures. I think that's natural, but I don't know. What you may be wondering is why are they holding that stick? Well, I'm glad I asked myself for you. The stick is made of bamboo and it was our brake. I knew bamboo was a strong substance (it's wood right, for some reason it doesn't seem right to call it wood), but this was a bit bothersome. And I should mention, the helmets may look cool (uhh) and sturdy (ehhh), but they aren't even as strong as a good batting helmet, so, yeah. My goal quickly became not to fall and not to collide with any trees.
Of course then I got up there. It was a perfect day. It was cooler in the mountains so we were chilly in the beginning, but as we got into it, the chill drifted away. The sun was shining and coming through the trees, it was gorgeous. After the first zip, there was no hesitation anymore and it was just great fun. And it was really easy. Just sit and go. No pushing, minimal or no braking. Just Zip. That morning went by really quickly.
In addition to the ziplines, there were rope bridges (which were kind of fun in an odd way) and repels (where they actually just lowered you straight down, so it wasn't at all dangerous, but still pretty fun cause they'd let you drop for a good while).

And for a couple of the ziplines, you got to partner up. The trip had been going so well that Dinah and I decided to partner with each other. The sign of a good honeymoon, I guess.
After the ziplines (and there are videos at the bottom of the page!), but before lunch (which I was really wanting) we walked up a steep incline and looked at a waterfall. It was beautiful, sure, but it was fucking steep. And the steps, well, they weren't uniform. And while I loved getting to the top, I was so tired and unhappy from the walk, I didn't probably stay long enough to really enjoy it. I'm not usually one to wish nature had escalators, but this is one of the rare occasions where that sentiment seems perfectly natural.

In the truck ride to and from the beginning of the path to the waterfall, we got into a great conversation with our European passenger-friends about America. Remember this was before the Obama inauguration, and everyone was really excited for America. It was odd. I'd heard and believed all the comments about how America had lost it's standing in the eyes of Europe (and you can give a shit about that or not, I guess. But I think it's, you know, kind of important.), but it didn't really strike me that people in Europe were really paying attention. They knew a lot about what was going on (more than I think I did at that point) and they were excited about the new start.

And they weren't the only ones. It seemed everywhere we went, whether we said we were from America or Chicago, people would say "Barack" or "Obama" with a great big smile. It wasn't shocking or anything, but it was cool.
The Videos:
First, let me say this was when we figured out our camera could take videos. Which completely explains the first video. I didn't know this was going to be memorialized in any way. But here you go:
See. I'm kind of an idiot.
The next two:



I like my "documentary" video. Except that you can see my hand for the last half or so. And you may notice that I was not wearing my regular wedding ring. I was so worried about losing it in the ocean (my inlaws can't keep rings on their fingers in bodies of water, it's worrisome) that I didn't take it. Instead Dinah and I both got $15.00 stainless steel bands at Southridge Mall in Des Moines over Christmas.
Anyway, our next stop was Karabe town, which was our first chance to head south to the more touristy locales...and also where Dinah almost killed herself for the first time on the trip.