Snapshot from a few minutes before Muse took the stage to open the U2 concert at Cowboys Stadium: for those who want to see the inside of the new stadium, the JumboJerry screen, or the ostentatious stage design known as “The Claw.”

It had long been rumored that on the property of the childhood home of one of my friends stood a nearly life-size replica of the Alamo.  During a road trip while I was in college I had been to the Alamo in San Antonio (another story for another day), but I had never been to this friend’s home since he was someone I met while I was in college.  However, on this fine afternoon, as I had traveled south to DeSoto to hang with a mutual friend, we decided the time was right to head a few paces further south on US-67  to go see how real this historical site dubious spectacle actually was.

Turns out the stories were true.  I wonder if his pops did any drugs in the sixties…

My Bangkok comrade Justin Bratton produced this video by splicing downloaded highlights of the protests into footage we shot of our festivities.  For those of you who have to yet to partake, Song Kran is a three-day celebration of the Thai New Year and is indeed commemorated by drenching everybody else in sight (we are not simply weirdo expats with a fetish for Super Soakers and water balloons).  And in 2009, thousands of “Reds” were simultaneously attempting a Coup d’etat.  Good times.

Door to the stall in the men’s bathroom of an office building where I taught a class on the 36th floor. When I study this picture and think about its suggestive meanings, I realize how difficult it would be to find such a piece of artwork in a similar building in the U.S.

 

I reckon views like these were what Jay-Z had in mind in his line “If we couldn’t see the sun rising off the shore of Thailand” in the “Can I Get a … ” jam. After getting a new 90-day visa in Penang, I crossed back into Thailand* and shot up to Surat Thani en route to Koh Phangan for the Full Moon Party. This pier to the northeast of Surat Thani was where I witnessed an incredible sunrise while awaiting my boat to the island.

I had a backpack full of stuff with me since this was a five-day trip in all, and Full Moon Parties are not conducive to luggage of any kind. I asked the lady with the beautiful smile in the pier’s ticket booth if she would hold my bag while I went and partied my balls off, and of course she was nothing short of happy to help me out. I returned the next day to find my bag safe and nothing missing inside, and it is hospitality like this that is so common in Thailand that makes the following story so difficult to swallow. I guess I would break it down like this: Thai people generally will not steal private property, but many of those who often find themselves doing business with foreigners will change prices on the fly if they think they can fleece a tourist for more money.

*The border crossing was not without drama. A common mode of medium-distance transport in both Thailand and Malaysia is the “mini-bus,” which in actuality is nothing more than a van or minivan. Several other travelers and I loaded into one of these for the short international trek. Upon being readmitted into the kingdom, we were then supposed to load into another mini-bus chauffeured by a Thai national, as the Malay citizen would have to return from whence he came. My American passport and I got through the checkpoint without the slightest hassle, and about fifteen minutes later our initial driver decided that he had waited long enough and communicated (in what could only be described as “worse-than-broken English”) that anyone who hadn’t unloaded their bags yet better do so or else lose them. The only problem was that one member of our newly formed traveling team was held up for some reason at the immigration window. In these situations travelers have to look out for each other so one chick and I chased down the driver as we realized this and unloaded the guy’s bags for him before the driver managed to escape. Anyway, what was the hold up? This guy was Somalian, and the border agent had demanded a bribe in exchange for entry. We were all in the Thai mini-bus at this point as he was relaying what had happened, and at first some of us didn’t really believe his story, but he explained that this is actually not a rare occurrence for him. Although he had all his paperwork in order, his country’s support systems are relatively weak and the immigration agents know this. If, for example, they had pulled this on me and I had reported them, they would have been running the risk of incurring some repercussions because of the pull the U.S. has with the Thai government. If Somalia dials up a complaint? Let’s just say the investigation might leave a little to be desired. Nonetheless, I applaud this guy’s steadfast refusal to cave to the man in the uniform’s demands, and his patience won out in the end.

I hit up Penang, Malyasia for my first “border run” after I had been in Thailand for ninety days and my visa had expired. This island town is full of Indian expats and thus I got to eat some great chicken tandoori. Unlike Bangkok, though, there is no BTS here, so I did a lot of walking to occupy my two days in town while my new visa was being processed. Although my legs were tired at this point, it seemed my prospects of getting a lift from this cycle rickshaw were particularly dim.

Some cool pics of when we were kicking it on July 4th this year. It’s probably a good thing, but no photos exist (to my knowledge) of when the festivities hit the Hancock Golf Course later in the night.

Four of my friends shared a house for a year or two on Willbert Road near I-35 and 41st street. We had some good times there for sure (the front yard is actually the setting for the photos in the “Fire Works” post last July). But suddenly one night some un-Texas-like winter weather hit and it turned out to be quite spectacular.

Yeah I know these are just a bunch of pictures of sand. Sorry. I thought the Sahara was beautiful.

I was traveling by my lonesome through the town of Ouarzazate with designs on making it into the desert when I was approached at a bus station by a most obviously indigenous dude. Admittedly I know how to be a smartass, but this man absolutely would not leave me alone until I divulged my entire travel itinerary to him. I finally (sternly) told him that, “Yes, I am going to the Sahara, but sorry, I will not hire you as a guide until I get there and assess my options.” He deemed this an unsatisfactory gameplan.

Luckily, a group of English gap year kids got on our bus right as it was about to take off, and my man proposed to me (he was sitting next to me on the bus – imagine that) that if I could convince them all to use him as their tour guide that he would take me along free of charge. Honestly I was more enthused by the opportunity to say, “Okay, back off, let me work on them” than I was by the prospect of a free ride, but in the end I got them to come along so everyone was happy.

Once the bus arrived at the last town before the desert, we all loaded into the guide’s van and set sail. One of his friends showed up later at their “campsite” (these guys were Berber nomads) with some camels for us to ride around on, and together they made us dinner and afterwards played traditional Berber songs on their makeshift drums while we gazed up at the pristine sky full of stars. This was especially baller for me as the guide and his friend had privately smoked me out with some Moroccan hash in exchange for scoring them some extra clients, so in return I went ahead and paid them anyway as they dropped me off back in town the following day.