ChrisCordry.com

So, it’s strange to think that I haven’t posted anything on this blog since Chiang Mai.  Those of you who are among my Facebook friends have continued to follow my adventures.  Those of you who are not are probably out of the Chris-loop.  I extend my apologies to those few stalwarts among you who were actually reading my blog.  I hope that my travel stories provided you with some amusement.

I’m not going to go into the reasons why I failed to keep up a regular posting schedule… I was still writing, though only in my own notebooks.  Mostly it’s that I got really backlogged–there was too much to write about, and I was too busy actually traveling to spend hours at a time in internet cafes with unreliable connections, typing out lengthy blog posts.  Professional travel writers do it all the time of course–and next time I go vagabonding, I’m definitely going to bring a laptop with me so that I can write and revise in my room, then just go to the internet cafes to upload finished blog posts (let that be a tip for any of who are about to go traveling).

The other thing I realized was that writing about the external events of my travels was actually boring to me.  All the places and adventures are meaningless to me without their corresponding inner experiences… and there was something in me, while I was over there, that was just too resistant to putting the depths of my own inner experience on the internet for all the world to read.  Maybe with time, I’ll gain enough distance to write about what it was really like for me.  I still have my notebooks, and I am planning to post some reflections on my travel experiences on this blog in the future.

I’m back in California now.  I’ve been back since April 26th.  It’s strange to think it’s been almost a month already… and yet, Asia seems like a past life.  I’m happy to be home, and yet I miss the other places, especially Thailand… and given the current situation in Bangkok, there’s a part of me that wishes I were still there to write about it.

But life goes on.  As I write this I’m up in Arcata, northern California, spending time with my daughter, Tara, after a long time away.  I’m in the midst of applying to graduate school.  This summer is another transition period for me: what I’m going to be doing, where I’m going to be living, etc. are all being decided.  And yet, after my travels, I don’t have the same sense of angst that I did before about these questions.  I feel as if I’m once again in harmony with the Tao, so to speak.  My focus is on setting a course for the next few years of my life, a course that is ultimately fulfilling and aligned with my sense of purpose.

As for this blog, I’m planning to continue using it as an outlet for my creative expression and for contributing value to other people and the world, as much as I possibly can.  The emphasis of my writing will be shifting from travel (i.e. where I was at two months ago) to other areas of interest (i.e. where I’m at now).

Thanks for continuing to read what I write.

Please forgive the radio silence… for the last five days I’ve been in the city of Chiang Mai, in northern Thailand.  I’ve been keeping relatively busy–hey, I’ve even managed to do a little bit of sightseeing.

Khae and I took a “VIP” air-conditioned bus here from Bangkok’s northern bus terminal (where we also enjoyed a hearty breakfast of KFC and Pepsi)–the trip took about nine hours.  The service, however, was quite exceptional: comfortable seats, movies, snacks, the whole works. We arrived in Chiang Mai after dark and took a tuk-tuk (does that qualify as a pun?) to a guesthouse that one of Khae’s friends had recommended.

The next day, we woke up and found ourselves on a quiet soi in a district made up mostly of Buddhist temples, English-language bookstores, massage parlours, and guesthouses.  A foreigners’ district, to be sure, but nothing like Khao San Road in Bangkok.  Whereas Bangkok is notable for its crazy nightclubs, go-go bars, and other similarly wild places, Chiang Mai is all temples, bookstores, and coffeeshops–in other words, I’m in heaven!  I only wish I had more time here to hang out, take courses, drink coffee, and read…

Our first full day in Chiang Mai, we rented a motorbike–a Yamaha Fino, to be exact–and proceeded to spend most of the day riding around and getting lost, until I gradually acquired enough of a sense of the city’s geography to navigate our way back home (by now, I’ve gotten pretty comfortable riding on the back of a motorbike).  That night, we walked to the Night Bazaar, which is supposed to be Chiang Mai’s major tourist attraction–but which was actually pretty lame, at least after having been in Thailand for over two weeks, and already having seen the same stuff in every other market.

The next day, we attempted to go sightseeing, but got lost again (and hot, and frustrated) and then spent the rest of the day cooling off by getting massages, reading, and sipping iced coffee.  We also hit up the Good View restaurant, on the riverside, which had a nice live band with a great singer.  That was actually the single best Thai meal of my life, and with the amount of Singha I consumed, it’s probably a good thing Khae was the one piloting the motorbike on the way home.

On our third day, Khae was feeling a little bit under the weather, so I proceeded to set about some serious sightseeing.  I packed my Swiss Army man-purse with my camera and other necessary equiment, and caught a songthaew (like a pickup-truck-taxi with two benches in the back) to Wat Jet Yod, a 16th century temple that is well-known for being the site of the 8th revision of the Buddhist canon.  The Wat was very peaceful, with few other visitors present, and I was able to spend a good long time walking around, enjoying the calm, meditative atmosphere, and taking pictures of the beautiful Lanna (northern Thai) architecture and antique Buddha images.

Afterwards, I walked along the side of the highway to the National Museum.  The museum doesn’t allow photography, but it’s well worth a visit.  I learned quite a bit about the history and culture of northern Thailand, especially the rise and fall of the Lanna kingdom.

The next day, Khae was feeling a little better, and after my morning routine of internet use and T’ai Chi practice in the park by Tha Pae gate, we set out on our journey up the mountain to the legendary temple of Doi Suthep… which I’ll have to save for my next blog post, because that’s a whole story in itself.

Until then, thanks for reading… and for those of you concerned about my health, don’t worry: I’m quite alright now

Being in Bangkok for Chinese New Year, I figured the best way to ring in the Year of the Tiger was to head to the Big Mango’s very own Chinatown.

Khae and I took a taxi down the road from Banglamphu, and despite heavy traffic, we soon found ourselves in the midst of the festivities. Revelers clad in red lined the streets, celebrating the mixed Thai-Chinese heritage that gives Bangkok its unique cultural identity.  Soon, we came to a building elaborately decorated with red paper lanterns.  People were waiting outside along the sidewalks, as if for a parade.  Khae overheard someone say that the King’s daughter, Her Royal Highness Princess Maha Chakri Sirindhorn, would soon be arriving to preside at the opening ceremony, and everyone was waiting to catch a glimpse of the beloved royal.

Khae and I joined the throng, and I felt like a bona fide paparazzo as I snapped pictures of the crowd and the growing throng of policemen–and wondered whether I’d be able cop my first royal photo.  Unfortunately, a police officer told me to put my camera away.  Khae informed me that up until recently, Thais weren’t even supposed to look members of the royal family in the eyes or face.

Finally, Her Royal Highness arrived by motorcade, and I managed to observe her august visage for approximately one and a half seconds as she walked from her car into the building, surrounded by what appeared to be high-ranking police or military officers.

After everyone cleared the scene, Khae and I turned to the wilder festivities down the street: what we found was an open-air street fair, boasting all kinds of food and other, more random, stuff for sale in booths and on tarps spread out on the ground.  I decided to forgo the tiny (real) pet rabbits in fancy dress, as well as the ubiquitous Chinese dragon toys, but ended up buying a knock-off Led Zeppelin t-shirt for 100 Baht (about $3 US).  There was also a lion dance, and a number of other street performers were likewise on the scene.

Soon, we got hungry.  I had already eaten dinner earlier, so I contented myself with a dish of chopped up…. um, what appeared to be an assortment of various kinds of hot dogs, drizzled with ketchup; while Khae sat down to a bowl of Chinese noodle soup with mushrooms.  In addition to the expected selection of Chinese delicacies, the whole street seemed to be stuffed with big bags of dried fruit and candies.  There were also a number of little booths selling dishes of fresh chopped strawberries with sugar, which Khae seemed to enjoy.

Finally, exhausted from pushing our way through the crowds, we caught a taxi back to Banglamphu.  I’m sure the revelry continued well on into the night, but sometimes a traveler can only handle so much of Bangkok’s raucous nightlife.  In any case, I believe I got what I’d wanted: an authentic taste of Chinese New Year in Bangkok.

At this point, I have a backlog of posts to write about my adventures in Pattaya and Ko Larn.  But at the moment, I’m laid up in my familiar guesthouse in Bangkok, recovering from what appears to be some form of viral gastroenteritis, which I managed to contract whilst in Pattaya (curse you, raw papaya salad!).  Whatever it is I have, it’s manifested as diarrhea and an on-and-off fever.  Fortunately, the fever is gone by now, but I’m still not shitting solid.  On the other hand, I’ve felt quite a bit better the last two days and have been able to eat pretty well–whereas the first couple of days that I was sick, I could barely manage a few bites of toast.

Please don’t be alarmed: this kind of thing is fairly normal when you’re traveling in developing nations, especially in Asia.  I got sick like this at least twice while I was in India, and those times were much worse than this.  At least this time I went to a doctor right away.  Less fortunately, I may have been misdiagnosed and shot up unnecessarily with antibiotics (I’m attempting to compensate by eating yogurt).  Oh well, c’est la vie… I had a lot of fun my first two weeks in Thailand, and this is the flipside… traveling in places like this, you get higher highs and lower lows.  I find myself nostalgic for those first two weeks as if they were the Garden of Eden before the Fall.  But I also know I’ll likely be fine in a day or two, and then I’ll be able to move on: catch up with my writing, pack up, and move on to the next place.  I don’t know where that next place will be, as of yet; I want to go up north to Chiang Mai, but might end up heading south to Phuket first on an epic Thai road trip.  We’ll see.

For now, I want to offer a few words of advice to my fellow travelers.  After all, between my experiences in India and now this, I’m somewhat of an expert on this subject.  So here are my four rules (actually five, if you count Rule Zero) for what to do when you get sick in Asia.

Rule Zero is prevention.  You’ve heard it a million times: get your immunizations, take your meds, supplements, herbs, and what have you.  Drink enough water and wash your hands all the time.  Don’t drink bad water or eat bad food.  Do all you can to stay healthy.  All of this is sound advice.  But the truth is, when you’re in traveling  in Asia, that even if you do everything possible to stay healthy, there’s still a good chance you’ll get sick.  And when you do, you need to know how to take care of yourself on the road.  With that said, on to my four rules:

1.  Don’t panic. Even if you think you’re going to die, you probably won’t.  In fact, if you can find a sense of humor about what you’re going through, it will be a lot better for everyone.  Also, when you think about it, the fact that you’re hallucinating and shitting all over the place is kind of funny.

2.  Get medical attention as soon as possible. Get the best care you can: find the best doctor around, even if you have to go to a hospital instead of a clinic.  Make sure your doctor conducts appropriate tests to find out exactly what you have before they prescribe you any medication.  Some doctors in Asia make most of their money from the pharmacies, and they’ll shoot you up with whatever they’ve got without conducting any tests.  This is a bad thing.  For example, if you go to the doctor complaining of diarrhea, you might very well get an injection of antibiotics when what you really have is not a bacterial infection, but a virus.  This is probably what happened to me a few days ago.  What the doctor should have done is taken a stool sample first to determine the cause of my illness.

3.  Find somewhere comfortable to rest up and get well. Even if you have to pay a little extra money for a guesthouse or hotel with clean bathrooms, fans, A/C or heat, and clean, healthy food, it’s well worth the money.  When I was sick in Darjeeling (in February 2005), I would have killed for a room with a heater and a hot shower.  You don’t want to take cold showers when you’ve got a fever and it’s snowing outside.

4.  Don’t go home early unless you absolutely have to. You’ll be disappointed later.  Being ill will make you homesick like nothing else, but unless you get some kind of life-threatening disease, take my word for it and stick it out.  Rest up until you feel better, remember your original reasons for taking the trip you’re on, and then plot a course for your next destination.

Well, I promised I’d provide more details about my fish massage experience.  Some of you may in fact be wondering just what a “fish massage” entails.  Well, to make a long story short, you put your feet in a tank full of water and hundreds of tiny fish, and the fish eat the dead skin cells off of your feet.  It tickles.  A lot.  It’s also supposed to be an effective treatment for a variety of skin conditions.  I don’t know whether that’s actually true, but I can see how it might help.

These fish massage places seem to be all over the place here in Thailand, especially in the tourist areas.  I tried a half-hour fish massage at the Night Market near Lumphini Park in Bangkok.  At first I was a bit hesitant, but Khae dared me–and I take dares pretty seriously.  After all, I always say I’ll try anything once–why should fish massage be an exception?

All I can really say about my massage was that it was… interesting.  Like I said, it tickles.  Not unpleasant, but not particularly pleasurable, either.  It may end up being a once in a lifetime experience for me, if you know what I mean.  Unless I get some kind of skin condition affecting my feet, in which case I may have to get a fish massage every day.  I guess I could deal with that.  Worse things have happened, and it’s not really that expensive.  But for my money, I’d rather have a full-body traditional Thai massage any day.  The four French tourists in the shop, on the other hand, had tried their first fish massage the day before and were already back for seconds.  Different strokes, I guess.

Since my arrival in the Big Mango, I seem to have been afflicted by a curious tropical malady that I’ve decided to term “sightseeing amotivation syndrome.”  The primary symptom of this disorder is a chronic disinterest in visiting tourist attractions of any kind.

Normally, I like going to museums and temples and other places of historical interest.  I’m a humanities geek,  and Thailand’s culture is as fascinating as any.  But the truth is, I’ve been so swept up by that culture since I’ve been here that I just haven’t found the time to go to the Grand Palace, Wat Phra Kaew, or even the National Museum (and believe me, I like museums: I once spent three days straight exploring the British Museum in London).

Instead, I’ve basically just been hanging out with all my newfound friends–eating, drinking, dancing, shopping, and generally having an amazing time.  I’m learning to speak a little bit of Thai, and probably spending more time with Thai people than with other farang, with the exception of my new buddy Rob, a fellow American who I met at a vipassana meditation class at Wat Mahadhatu.  After our class, we hit the famous Amulet Market, where I bought a tiny Buddha-image pendant which has the mysterious ability to make me irresistibly attractive to women (…just kidding!).

I’ve also been to MBK (probably Bangkok’s hippest mall) twice now.  Normally I don’t like spending a lot of time in shopping malls, but at MBK I’m like a kid in a candy store.  Actually, my first full day in Bangkok I went there to buy a Thai cell phone–which I am now rather attached to.  I even downloaded a ringtone from the Thai rock band Bodyslam.

Actually, come to think of it, I’ve hit several of Bangkok’s major attractions just by accident, including Wat Mahadhatu, the Amulet Market, and MBK; as well as Lumphini Park, the National Gallery (it was closed, but I picked up some postcard prints by local artists at the Weekend Art Market), and of course Khao San Road.  I’ve also been practicing T’ai Chi in a historic park by the Chao Phraya river, just a short walk from my guesthouse.

I still want to go see the Grand Palace, the other famous Wats, and the National Museum at some point, so I may have to extend my stay in Bangkok a little bit.  Anyway, I like this city.  In fact, it’s quickly becoming my favorite.  Why?  Mostly because it’s just so much fun.  In fact, sanook, or fun, is one of Thailand’s most important cultural values.  Don’t believe me?  Next time you’re in Bangkok, check out a ska show at Brick Bar off of Khao San Road and dance the night away with a club full of Thai college students.  I think you’ll see what I mean.  And maybe you’ll realize what I’ve realized: that in the end, it’s all about the people.

Wondering where I’ve been since my last post?  Yeah, me too.  The short version is that I’ve made it safely from San Diego to Bangkok, that I’ve been enjoying myself immensely, and that there’s way too much to write about and way to little time to write.  Not to mention that the terminals in the internet cafes here eat Baht like candy.  As for my narrative, I’m going to take a sudden hairpin turn from past to present and save the rest of the tsunami story for later (sorry!).

In any case, I’ve been in Bangkok for three days now.  To say that I’ve been too crazy busy to get on the computer and write anything would be a bit of an understatement.

As I write this, I’m sitting in the patio lounge area of my guest house, the Wild Orchid Villa, on Soi Sana Chongkram.  It’s just a short walk from Khao San Road, the legendary backpacker Mecca and “gateway to Southeast Asia” (known to foreigners primarily from the scene in The Beach where Leonardo DiCaprio drinks snake blood).  But the Wild Orchid is down a quiet side street, a little closer to the Chao Phraya river that serves as the main artery of Bangkok’s ancient and labyrinthine system of canals.  I haven’t done the full boat tour yet, but I did get an inkling of why Bangkok is called “the Venice of the East” the other day when I took a river boat taxi with my new friend Khae.

Ah, perhaps that’s where I should begin… at the beginning.  On Tuesday I took the Surfliner train and the FlyAway bus from San Diego to LAX.  As soon as I stepped into the terminal, I felt like I had entered another world.  I was flying China Airlines, out of Taiwan, and my terminal at LAX was dominated by Asian airlines and filled with Asian people.  From the PA system came announcements in Mandarin, Japanese, Tagalog, and Thai.  It was like I had already arrived on another continent.

On my flight from LA to Taipei, Taiwan (my stopover before heading to Bangkok), I was seated next to a lovely Thai woman named Khae, who was on her way to visit her family in Thailand.  Since that flight, she has become my insider guide to Bangkok and Thai culture.  It’s been really fantastic for me, especially as a writer, because in the three days I’ve been here I’ve already experienced more of an insider’s view of Thailand than most tourists would ever get.  Even though I’m staying at a popular guesthouse near Khao San Road, I already have more Thai friends than farang (foreigner) friends, and spend more time talking to Thai people than to other travelers.

So far, I’ve hung out on Khao San Road,  bought a cell phone (and a lot of other stuff) at MBK  (Bangkok’s most awesome super-mall), ridden in tuk-tuks piloted by seemingly clinically insane drivers, gotten my hair cut by one of Khae’s friends (I now have long, sharply pointed sideburns, which I find somewhat questionable but which are apparently hot stuff in Bangkok at the moment), gone out to dinner with Khae’s sister and brother, and gone dancing until 5 in the morning with Khae and three of her gorgeous friends.  I’ve also eaten a lot of great Thai food, enjoyed an amazing quantity of Thai beer, walked around the beautiful Lumpini park, and tried a fish massage (yes, a fish massage–I’ll explain later) at the famous night market.  I’ll give you all the details later, I promise–but for now, I’m running out of change for the computer and need to go take my laundry next door to the wash service.  For now, sawatdee krap, and I’ll try to get some more writing done tomorrow.

At this point, no one around us had any idea that what we were seeing was the result of a tsunami.  All we knew was that the water level was rising rapidly, and the village was beginning to flood.

The Amritananda Mayi Math ashram and the surrounding community of Amritapuri is situated on a piece of land just across the backwaters from the village of Vallikavu.  On the other side, the western side, is the Arabian sea.  Amritapuri and Vallikavu lie in the Kollam district of the state of Kerala, along the Malabar Coast–that is, the southwest coast of India.

The primary force of the tsunami struck the southeast coast, hitting cities like Chennai, Madras, and Pondicherry particularly hard.  Later, I would remember that just as the wave was crashing on Chennai, Jason and I had been tracing a route on our maps that would have put us on the beach in that city, probably enjoying a beer under a coconut palm… and therefore dead.  The only difference was a few days of travel.  If we had left Amritapuri only a few days earlier, we would have been directly in the path of the wave that killed 230,000.

As it was, however, we were in Vallikavu, and surrounded by a scene of sheer chaos.  Our first instinct was to get back across the water to Amritapuri so that we could find out what was going on.  Jason’s father was over there, as was everyone else we knew.  No one on our side of the water spoke more than a few words of English.

When we got to the ferry, however, we were told that we could not go back across.  All the boats were being used to get everyone out of Amritapuri and over to Vallikavu.  Even a quick dash to get our things out of the ashram was out of the question.  Even the smallest boats were being used to rescue drowning fishermen from the swollen waters.

Gradually, some of the ashram residents began to appear on our side of the ferry.  We were told that everyone was being evacuated.  We were all to walk about three miles inland to the site of a new university, currently under construction, which would serve as a refugee camp of sorts.  As we waited by the ferry, I was fingering my mala and desperately reciting every mantra I had learned.  A chill came over me as I remembered where I had been that morning before dawn: prostrate in the Kali temple, praying for the dark goddess to strip away from my life everything that was not real.  “Be careful what you wish for,” something inside me said.

When everyone from the ashram was evacuated, we began our long walk out to the university campus.  Some of the monks and nuns stayed behind to help with rescue efforts.  As we walked away, I remember looking back and seeing Amma up to her waist in water, shouting orders and making sure that people got on boats.

When we arrived at the university campus, we found it was nothing more than a bare concrete structure: floors, walls, ceiling.  There were no amenities.  The monks and nuns from the ashram had managed to bring enough rice and drinking water to sustain us, at least for the time being.  We spread our things out on the floor.  When the flooding began, Jason and I were the only two ashram residents who were not actually in Amritapuri, but in Vallikavu–therefore we were also the only two who weren’t able to get our things from the ashram before hiking inland to make camp.  Woefully I thought of all my possessions left behind in our 14th-floor room at the ashram, and considered the few small things I had with me in my monk’s bag: my Lonely Planet guide, my journal, a travel alarm clock, pens, maybe a copy of the Sri Lalitha Sahasranam–the thousand names of the Goddess, which I had been rising at four each morning to chant.  My Keats, my vitamins and supplements, my toothbrush, and everything else was still in the ashram, and I had no idea whether I would ever see any of it again.

That night was one of the strangest of my life.

There was no bedding, and I was fully prepared to sleep on the hard, cold concrete with nothing but my monk’s bag for a pillow.  And then I was told that downstairs, there was a stash of thin (literally a few millimeters) sleeping mats, and that a couple of monks were handing them out.  I went downstairs and joined the throng that had gathered around the monks.  There were not enough mats for everyone.  I remember reaching in and trying to grab a mat from the stack, only to have it ripped from my hands by a middle-aged Indian man.  I remember shouting at him in anger and desperate frustration.  He just looked at me.  Finally I managed to get a mat.  As I walked back upstairs to the patch of concrete that Jason, his father, and I had staked out, I realized just what circumstances like this could do to people–could do to me.  At the ashram it was all serene smiles and “Om Namah Shivaya,” hugs and chai tea at sunrise.  It was as near to a real spiritual paradise as I had ever encountered.  But here, in the camp, I saw the dark and hungry animal that lurks inside each of us, and emerges from the shadows in desperate circumstances to do what must be done.

That night I didn’t sleep.  I lay on my thin mat on the cold concrete, my head resting on a bag full of books.  Every few minutes the sheer discomfort was such that I had to turn over on my other side.  And there were sounds: I could hear the Indian people, the ones who had to sleep on the roof because there was no more room inside, and the women were wailing.  A few of the village fishermen, I was told, who had been out at sea, were caught in the powerful currents and drowned.  A rumor spread in the night that a second wave might be coming, that Amma had said so.  For the people of Amritapuri and Vallikav, it was as though the world was ending.

I said I’d relaunch this blog today, so I am.  Despite the fact that it’s already quarter after nine in the evening as I begin to write this post.  And that I’ve unintentionally spent most of the day at the mall with the millions of other people who found some reason or another to buy things, or trade things for other things, on this holiday that’s not even supposed to exist in America.

But that’s beside the point.  I wanted to relaunch this blog today, Boxing Day 2009, because five years ago today I was witness to one of the most tragic events of the last decade: the Southeast Asian tsunami that killed nearly 230,000 people in 11 different countries.  Also, in exactly one month from today I’ll be making my own return pilgrimage to Asia, this time flying from LAX to Bangkok on a one-way ticket with China Air. From there, my intention is to spend about three months vagabonding around Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam.  I’ll be chronicling my adventures on this blog.

***

When the tsunami hit, I was in a village in southern Kerala state, India.  I was in a tea shop with Jason, an old friend of mine.  We’d been staying at the Amritanandamayi Math ashram for about two weeks, and had celebrated Christmas there the previous day.  I was 20, and it had been my first Christmas away from home.  On this particular day, we had decided to take a break from the rigid schedule of the ashram.  We crossed over the backwaters to the neighboring village on a small ferry.

We were sitting at the tea shop, our Lonely Planet guides spread out on the table, cups of chai and half-eaten unidentifiable chaat arrayed in front of us.  We were focused intently on a map of southern India, planning our escape from the ashram and out into the wider world.  We imagined a journey that would take us through temples and holy places all around the south of India.  Flies buzzed lazily around the cool, shady room, and the locals chatted in Malayalam and mostly ignored us.

Just then we heard people shouting outside the shop.  “What’s going on?” I wondered out loud.  The shouting continued, so we stood up and poked our heads out the door to investigate.  Outside, we could see a couple dozen villagers running down the dirt road toward the water, waving their arms and shouting excitedly.  Of course, neither Jason nor I could understand a word of Malayalam, so we had no idea what they were shouting about.  “Maybe they’re trying to catch the bus,” I speculated.  I had noticed that the people here could get pretty excited about that kind of thing.

But then we noticed something: the water in the stream that ran through the village was going the wrong direction.  And then we noticed something else: it was rising rapidly.  “Oh, shit,” said Jason.

***

I know, I know, that barely even qualifies as a teaser.  But after all the festivities of the past three days, I’m totally exhausted and need to call it an early night.  Stay tuned for the rest of the story, and for more musings about my upcoming travels and other subjects of potential interest. Cheers.