The valley of shouting.

Last night a decision had to be made between the two prime evening attractions Kao Sahn had to offer: more booty-dancing, or the annual FHM Thailand Girl Next Door competition in the bar directly across from my hotel. Of course, choosing was impossible, so I did both.

I stayed about ten minutes at the girlcomp. As I arrived the entrants were just arriving too, all matching in their white cowboy hats, white shirts tied up to reveal pierced navels, tiny white shorts and long white boots. They posed for a little while for photos, and then they went up on stage. One by one they talked to the MC (in Thai), giggled, presumably said incredibly cute and provocative things and then handed on the mic. I chose my vote in about a minute, and left, without voting.

More hiphop. It was friday night and the club was totally packed, even more so than the night before. Sticky and sweating and hard to move. Plus, I wasn't wearing my lucky hat, which is essentially any cap that I can tug on and incorporate into my dance moves, and so didn't feel like I was dancing all that well. Wasn't feelin' it, and kept getting shoved and elbowed by big jock guys with square jaws. Left and ate banana pancake on the kerb, the street all Vegas with its huge coloured lit up signs. Prostitutes in the shadows. I bought a William T Vollmann book second hand, which is an ideal thing to read in this nation, I feel, and then went upstairs and read a while, listening to Cinematic Orchestra under the flourescent glow.

Woke up late (lagged still) to the sound of crazy drumming and hollering and banging - a parade in the street below. Head out to check it out. Hundreds of people flowing through the street, with traps and snares and tiger masks and face paint and trumpets and dancing sticks and fat man masks and gigantic dragons held high by 50 men, cutting and weaving through the crowd.

I've spent two days trying to decide what to do first, Cambodia or beach-livin', and I think I have finally decided to go southwards to the beaches first, and will go Cambodiabound only if and when I go crazy from the relaxed semi-solitude. Also because I need to leave Thailand before the 9th / re-enter after the 9th of December due to visa issues. So rather than an otherwise useless trip to Malaysia, Cambodia around then might be the way to go.


The valley of shouting holds the border between Syria and the Golan Heights, which Israel occupied in 1967 and then formally annexed in 1981, and where I was just a few days ago. The new border split the Syrian Druze town of Madjal Shams and to this day, the divided families sole method of communication is to shout to each other from platforms on either side of the valley, using megaphones to share their joys and sorrows, their news of marriages and births and funerals.

I've been getting all sorts of stories and reports from Palestine, and it's breaking my heart quite a bit. Things have heated up there recently, in Tel Rumeida, in Bel'in, and in Nablus, where I spent most of my time. Yesterday a 14 year old boy was shot dead by Israeli forces while playing with friends in the hills north of Nablus, and ISM folks were there in the search party who found him. Had this been two weeks ago, it would have been me there with them, finding him. I read the report online a few minutes ago and just started crying, quiet tears leaking out. Nothing will happen out of this, this is just a regular occurence in an occupied land. It's a strange and unsettling feeling, this desire to be back there. An uncrossable gulf which has been carved, a border,a valley. It's a combination of feelings of helplessness and indeed hollowness, to the whole being here, in Kao Sahn, instead. Girlcomps, etc. And I guess, a selfish desire to share in the stories, to continue feeling connected to the whole intricate tapestry of pain. There are feelings of relief there, though, as well, that my lack of arrests or significant problems with immigration at the airport (they questioned me for over an hour, but not about Palestine, mostly about Egypt) means that I can return one day. And relief that I am safe and my friends and family are safe. And relief that I am not ever going to forget this struggle, this need for change. Relief at the inspiration the whole experience can afford. And relief, ultimately, at the ability to just keep on shouting.