Hangover cure?

Morning on the khaosan Rd.

Last morning as it should read...a day spent wandering around Chinatown in a vain search for some trinkets. None found but a fantastic coffee was. All in all a fitting end.

And now sitting listening to the soulless electronica from the bar next door...sadly I recognise most of it now, mundane shit which has been the soundtrack of sorts...although in balance, a hanoi rocks track, lightnin' bar blues, has seemed to be a radio favourite here...I find that I have little in the way of sadness at the leaving of this place.

The khaosan has become a market place, a kind of ghost image of what once was: it's the ongoing thing as tourism takes over...or maybe that's only part of it. Mainstream and uniforms parade ubiquitous upon the dilution of the age...I suppose I'm consistent in my uneasy relationship with this...if you want it you can play the game but I've never really seen much point in that. it's an odd feeling realising you're, at best, an anachronism ;-) But maybe it doesn't help that I travel with ghosts.

It's like everywhere I suppose, turn off the navigation gene, get lost and see what you stumble into...and, yes, too often these months it's been the next disaster.

So now aj and song have made it to arambol and, doctor and bank willing, the jam should resume there before the end of the month. Another place of avoided return; where in a ridiculous moment of zen hippy romance I received my tarot cards; is there a difference between some memories and ghosts?

Odd though sitting here aware that, ignoring time zones, at 2304 tomorrow I should be sitting in my own flat, gnawing icicles for scant nutrition...

These months have also passed quickly though at times the roads seemed static. But I made it to Laos and I think that's going to be enough.
And already I dream of India...

And of wien.

As I always do....