Tourschedule de Thailand

The original plan was 'there is no plan'. I just booked a returnticket to Bangkok after not to carefull consideration and that was it. So I guess the only plan was to go home after 28 days.
But other people's enthousiasm is contagious and slowly but surely small options ("yeah, I'll think about it...") become e-tickets and booked excursions via obscure and not-so-obsure websites. Because if you see this "เพราะ นรก ผู้ รู้ สิ่ง นี้ หมาย ถึง หรือ ไม่", in your inbox, who knows if it says 'thank you for your interest in the KOC-concert' or 'thank you for your creditcard information, we will now empty your bankaccount'. I don't care how charming those frisky looking letters are!
When people ask me where I'm going, I tell them that I 'start in the middle (by that I mean Bangkok), go up, stay there, go back down to Bangkok and then even more southwards to the islands on the right. And then back to the middle.
Yeah. Geographically challenged, remember? That's why I drew this helpfull map!
Things on my to-do list are a bicycle-tour through Bangkok (the famous Co van Kessels classic), Kings of Convenience concert (23th of march in the Moon Star Studios), exploring markets, admiring buddha's, realizing when you've seen one, you've seen them all, cooking lessons in Chiang Mai, finding Poi (or was it Pai?), sharing a hammock with Jason Mraz (mp3), climbing a Treehouse on Ko Chang and regaining some poise, peace and playfulness.
Or as my Outlook unavailability wizzard explains my absence:
I'm eating fish, collecting seashells and decorating Australian backpackers.
(I can't write 'versieren', my parents read this blog! Oh wait...)
Anyway, it's almost T-time!

Bare essentials

If preparation is half the fun and sharing double the pleasure, I should use this equasion to write this blog and share my preparation on my 'tour de Thailand'. I'm not gone yet, my leaving date isn't even close, but I have started packing. Or rather; I'm making piles of stuff I should not forget.
I've asked around at more experienced travellers what I should do, don't and bring on this holiday, but all I get are hazy stares and mumbled words like 'jealous', 'ah Bangkok' or 'can I go with you'. But occasionaly I get a practical advise or a referral to a website. I found www.khaosanroad.com/firstfewdays (thank you Janou) and www.travelfish.org very helpfull. Also, the Trotter-travelguide I'm bringing has been to Thailand more than it's actual owner, so thank you Leyla, for lending me an experienced guide. (referral to 'Are you experienced?', geddit? Oh, nevermind)
I frowned when my friend Roxan suggested to buy a pair of shorts, because last time I wore a pair of shorts I was 19, size 10 and worked at Camp Summit, New Jersey. But apparently they prove practical when travelling or just sitting without showing too much. So I bought my first pair of shorts in 12 years. And once again, they will only we worn in another continent.
Should I bring a towel? Yes. Do i need a coat? Of course not! But bring a vest (thanks Jelle). Do I need a sleepingbag? No, but take this travelsheet (thanks again Roxan). Do I need a third bikini? No, my friend said. Ha! Luckily I have the final say in that one! From what I've heard the only size 14 goods made in Asia, end up in an H&M in Europe anyway. Another usefull advise: 'stop worrying, you can buy everything you need there, Apie' (thanks Vithya). And buy tie-rips to close your bag and duct-tape for unforseen repairs (thanks Mariska). Tie-rips I could see happen, but duct-tape? I felt like preparing for a robbery, not a holiday. Because everyone knows that tie-rips, ducttape, next to a balaclava and a black nylon sports-rucsac are the bare essentials for a robbery, so that just felt wrong. Plus... what Vithya said.
Of course my final preparation revolves around music; what MP3's to install on my phone. Ha! Didn't see that one coming, did you? But music is important to me, and this (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_zLOnDnFpw) will be my 'calm down song'. Knowing me, I probably need it.

the (temporary) extinction of the tiger

The ten days of IFFR go so fast, just a few more blinks of the eye of the tiger and another brilliant week will be over. The tigers are walking on their last (rear) legs. Exhaustion, booze, stolen kisses, awkward customers and lunch-bags (what happened to the treats, people?) are taking their toll, pushing the brave tigers over the edge.
As always, now is a time for reflection, but since I have no intention of turning this blog into an evaluation, I'll share some older memories with you first.

I mentioned it before, I used to work in the Pathe cinema during my studies. This means that I've spent 5 years making and selling popcorn, pouring liters of coke, cleaning chairs, disposing garbage, cleaning white doors, washing puke out of a guy's hair, sweeping floors and selling tickets.
Once a year the building, my building, was taken over by IFFR-people. And I hated it. They were arrogant snobs, looking down on us 'commercial guys', prohibiting people to take their coffee into the cinema, sticking posters on the walls (leaving tape-marks that I would have to clean up afterwards) and they did not have to wear a uniform, like us, in a time the girls still had to wear a skirt, yellow shirts and a scarf tied around the neck. Throwing down the IFFR banners was a ritual that I looked forward to most, especially at the end of the Volkskrant-dag.
So what happened?
The parties, getting to know the people (I made sure the location-manager knew my name and where to find me), a sense of unfullfillment in regular day-job causing a longing for a trip down Pathe-lane; just selling tickets.
(picture was taken 2 years ago, btw)
During my Pathe-years I bonded with Tanja over an IFFR-incident. As some of you might know, IFFR people take their refreshments very serious. That is, coffee and espresso, not so much the popcorn or sweets, which, contrary to what happens in the box-office, practically remains untouched for ten days. And those who do not bring their own flask of herbal tea, are condemned to queue. I also had a woman who refused to pay 1,80 for her hot water, because 'she had brought her own tea bags'... A few years ago Pathe only had one (1) coffee-machine. For over one-thousand (1000) customers. Can you imagine that? Now picture the same machine breaking down due to heavy usage. So I had to climb on top of the counter and shout to an angry mob that there was no more coffee, and that yes, this also meant no more capuccino (or tea or espresso). Well, that culturally responsible, environmentally and otherwise appropriate left wing crowd turned terribly sour and was ready to lynch me. I survived but sharing this with Tanja left us with similar scars and a fear of Volkskrant-readers.

The films aren't really the highlight for me. I was watching a documentary about the very serious problem of soil-polution and illegal garbage dumps in Italy. I guess I wanted to see something responsible, but kept dozing off untill a text-message from Tanja saved me. Of course having chips with her at Schippers-chips is much more important than watching this, well, garbage.
Or yesterday, queueing for one hour and then falling asleep in a film about loud, drinking French college-students. Or watching ecoline-stains change colour, for an hour and a half. Falling asleep is casual damage or a welcome powernap, depending on how tired you are. Over the years I also learned to get up and walk out, a skill proving to be very helpfull in the rest of my life.

Of course IFFR is also the perfect place to rebound and creating new memories that you might like to forget as soon as the festival is over. Now these war-stories about single and not-so-single men are not suitable for a public blog, and should only be shared in a one-2-one dialogue. Even then they contain a kiss-and-don't-tell-clause. You can always ask, but I don't guarantee a satisfying answer.
For now, this tiger is going to bed and gain some sleep before the grand finale of the End-party, the Volkskrantdag and the volunteers-party.

Pathe-tic

Once a year I'm back where I belong, where I'm truly happy. Who cares about a masters degree in Criminology if you can sell tickets at a festival without being paid for it?
Because that's exactly what I'm doing right now at Iffr. Where other volunteers ask me if I don't find the box office in Pathe claustrofobic or boring, I have to say 'no'. And I really don't, its my favourite location, for the simple reason that it's a place where I've worked for 5,5 years during my studies and I've always been very happy there. So nothing brings me more joy than telling people that a film is sold out, or in very rare (and usually Korean) occasion available, than from my chair behind bulletproof glass in a cubicle also known as 'the aquarium'. And who wouldn't love a dialogue like this:
- You could also go see 'Vapor Trail'?
- What? that film is over 260 minutes!
- really? Wow, I've had relationships that didn't even last 260 minutes...

At the Pathe Cinema's there's also the extra perk of 'common crowd', youngsters seemingly unablivious to the fact that the Tiger (symbol of iffr) has taken over the city. They point to the bulletinboard above the ticket-box and ask if we don't have any movies this evening. This is the moment when I smile apologetically and say that we have over 300 films and if they are interested in a black and white Japanese film on gangs in Tokyo or a familydrama from the Philipenes that they are more than welcome to buy a ticket. But if they want to see Avatar or A serious man, they have to go to the south-end of Rotterdam. Usually they turn at their feet when they hear 'black and white'. Honestly, I can't blame them on that part. Most sought after film after 'a single man' and 'Dial M for murder', at Pathe yesterday was Avatar...
The funny thing is, besides spotting the confused youth from a mile away, that the Tiger is absolutely everywhere. It's virtually impossible to miss it; it's on posters on the streets throughout the city, it's in newspapers, I found a notification on my bike and even on some money. The postman-bag in various colours is the must-have accesoiry this filmseason.
Sadly, unless you're a seventeen year old yob on a first date, monday the 8th of February, everything is back to normal and fashion and life in Rotterdam no longer includes tigers.

I ffr, U ffr, We all ffr

There's something magical about that first day of the International Film Festival of Rotterdam (iffr). It's full of promise, you are not yet intimidated by long queues of people while you are parking your bike (that comes when you turn round the corner and find out that the first guy has been there since 4 in the morning). You don't know yet that the film you want to see most will be sold out (both online and at the box-office). Armed with your 'Volkskrant-bijlage', you walk towards a volunteer who smiles at you welcomly, helping you to get your seats, you hope.

But if you're that volunteer it's different kind off tension. My mother is trained not to call me unless it's to have lunch at the Doelen. Even my colleagues know not to expect to much from me this week. I'm otherwise engaged. My friends invitation to go see 'have you heard about the Morgans?' is replied with a somewhat annoyed 'I can't, its Iffr (duh), so neither can you, not unless you go to the Kuip' (as if). Iffr to me means holiday in my own city, a city I'm still proud off, even when I'm angry with my country (it happens). A holiday filled with old & new friends (and ex-lovers), parties, crap movies where you can catch up on your sleep and great films that you will talk about in years to come.
So as I walk into the main building (Doelen), and greet the people I see once a year, the knot in my stomach finally unties. I collect my bag, my t-shirt and my drinking-ticket, and we're back.

That is, untill my supervisors place me at the end of the line (few customers, so really boring), near the exit (cold!). There's no coffee and the first customer doesn't even ask what he want's, he just starts screaming his complaints and after the second customer my computer deletes half of the tickets. I forgot, Iffr sucks, sometimes.

But, with some excitement I open up my first 'lunch package' for dinner and thank God for rolls with normal cheese and chicken (instead of that creamy fruit salad they gave us two years ago). The supposed apple square is greeted with less enthousiasm, but proves to be bonding material with other volunteers ("what do you think it is?", "I'm not sure" "Hi, I'm Therese etc.". And, it's Iffr, so when I make some people happy with tickets that were sold out online and nobody complains about the 1€ transaction fee implemented this year, I'm happy and I remember why I'm here (the free movie-vouchers help).

Technically it's not really the first day since I've already had box-office training, e-mail conversations about the rubbish reservation system with my best friend, planned my work-life around my Iffr-life, walked out on my first film (Kamui, sorry, I draw a line at Japanese Ninja's with a visible blue screen), drank away my first tokens and got re-aquainted with the 'bouwploeg' at last saturday's livingroom party.

Twelve more days, and I'm looking forward to every single one of them, (accept for that last sunday of course).

Ice ice baby

Meanwhile back home I'm freezing my ass off. Facebook is full of charming holiday pictures of friends abroad (the whole reason why I started this blog in the first place). Friends in the sea (with and without turtles or other water-creatures), friends on a beach somewhere, local children with bright but incomplete teeth and beautifull blue skies oddly interrupted by green mountains. All smiles, shorts and surfboards.
My reality at the moment revolves around snow, ice and frostbites. I'm not complaining, because I'm leaving for Thailand in two months time, and the warm blogs and
cozy pictures count as 'research'. But since it's my blog, I can write about whatever I want.
For now my bedroom is so cold I can no longer sleep there, not without NASA-approved hypothermal underwear, and apparently it's sold out everywhere. I have ice-flowers on the inside of my kitchendoor-window, the orangejuice in my fridge has iced up (yes, that's in my fridge, not freezer) and I'm using kitchen towels to cover the floor so that my feet aren't so cold. Bribing myself with coffee and a shower just to get out of bed no longer works. Bare rent really is bare with PWS in Rotterdam. I also realise I just killed any chance I had to promote or sublet my house for the month I'll be gone...
All this caused my semi-permanent move into the living room where my life now looks like the IKEA-add where a student lives around her four-poster bed. With me it's more like a trashed sofa-bed surrounded by all the knit-wear I could find. But, I'm warm, I have some feeling back in my toes, so I'm happy.
This also has something to do with my new best friend.
So what if he's a cheap (12€), extremely loud bastard who waits for me in the kitchen and follows me into the shower. He's dependable and keeps me warm, although he was intimidated by his competition at first.... but at the moment, I'm glad to have both!

The roast of 2009

I have to be honest, 2009 really wasn't that bad for me. It was pretty average, I've loved some, and I've lost some. I saw a reasonable amount of good films (Bronson, 500 days of summer) and some crappy ones (attempted David Lynch's Lost Highway again). Discovered new musicians, some of which aren't that old (Jason Mraz, Elbow, Kyteman, the Smiths). Saw old friends (Anastasia) and met new friends (buurman Sander).
But, this wouldn't be a proper blog if I didn't have something to bitch about.

So here are the things I decided to leave behind in 2009. I burned them.
Literally.
Number one is bad behaviour from guys towards me. That means: lying to me (about age, other girlfriends...) or not wanting to get to know me better (that didn't get him very far). Although, I could miss their nonsense, they do make good stories, but none of them are appropriate to share on a public blog.
Next on that list is overmeddling ex-girlfriends. Well, one in particular. If you're not sleeping with him, you have no business telling him what to do and who with... Of course the spineless dude attached to this fine example of a she-devil also stays behind in 2009 (see the first point on this list).
Number 3 is catalogue store Wehkamp. It's been four months and I'm still waiting for my special edition Fight Club dvd. They have sent me the alternative I suggested, unfortunately they also billed me for it. Apparently the concept of customer-service is too much to take in. So, forget them, they lost me for a client.
Then, four, on a more personal notice; I from now on refuse to feel guilty for not calling my grandmother as often as she would like. She ruined that when she gave me a box of chocolates way past it's expiration date and already opened saltine crackers for Christmas.
5. The compulsory finishing of books. You know the feeling, you're reading it, but are slightly dissapointed. You know it's a 'must read', but you feel like the 400 pages in front of you are not only wasting your time, but also keeping you from reading a book that is worth the effort. If it sucks, it sucks. So put the book down, it will not get any better, so who cares how it ends?
Another thing that gets left behind in 2009 is crappy volunteerjobs. I really don't mind volunteering. As a matter of fact I think it's a good (cheap) way to attend festivals, what's more, be a part of it. But, being stuck in a mouldy tent on a rainy campsite, or breaking down 80 army-beds from a dormitory and stuffing disgusting duvets in a binbag is not my idea of having fun. Neither is welcoming other volunteers with a large wooden sign on an island with wind power 8 nor scanning paper tickets in the pouring rain. In those cases, it's just not worth it.
(looking forward to volunteering at IFFR though!)

Now the last one (bare with me, I'm almost done) isn't really for me, but for my friend. I dedicate a bloody bonfire to the roast of B. He needs to get his beardy behind out of my superhero-best-friends head. There is no need for him to join us in 2010, he's not worthy of her awesomeness. That's all I'm saying.