It’s 11 in the morning. Tuesday. We’re three of six so far. Kevin and I met up yesterday six in the morning, both of us too tired to be as enthusiastic as friends should be when they meet up on the other side of the world.

"Nice shirt."
"Is that yours? I found it in my room. Ha."
"Yeah, bastard."

And we went from there. The sky was just starting to turn silver, the sticky air starting to smell of morning. Khao San Road - an amoral and surreal mecca for "I will never work a 9-5 job" backpackers was beginning to empty of its nightly batch of transvestite prostitutes - ladyboys - and still-drunk tourists to make room for the street vendors and another day of business.

We went across the street for an overpriced egg, toast, and coffee while exchanging stories of the past four months. Kevin had been with another high school friend of our - Blake (currently up in Pai with Marissa) - traveling through India, Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam. I had been … well, not doing much. But I think he was content enough to get the rap on all our friends back home.

A side note: I’m in a cafe right now while Kevin and Bobby are looking at the area’s tourist sites that I checked out on a solo trip two days ago. And I’ve realized that I have become a jaded traveler. I used to love talking to other travelers wherever I went. To hear about where they have been, what they do back home, why they left. I never got sick of the death-defying stories of trekkers on their way to Everest base camp or 5 a.m. drug induced enlightenment in SE Asia or 2 week yoga retreats in Rishikesh. This is so sweet, I would think to myself. This is why I left San Diego. Back home my friends were still playing video games, eating burritos, and drinking a 40, their eyes glazed over, chanting, ‘let’s go to the bar’ every five minutes. Here, on the travel circuit, I thought to myself, were people who were really living life.

Now, I just can’t seem to gather the motivation to begin the same carbon copy conversation:

• Where are you from?
• How long have you been here?
• Where else have you been traveling?
  No way! Did you stay at ________? That’s such a crazy place huh?
• So, where are you going next?
• And maybe … "So, what do you do back home?"

Of course you can really get to know people after this 5 minute requisite introduction, but lately I just haven’t had the patience to get through it or to start it at all. Kevin and I were walking through town yesterday and a guy ran up to us out of breath and super excited. "Excuse me, excuse me," he yelled. "Are you from Oregon?" My face blank. "I saw your Portland State shirt."

"Oh, haha, uh no." That’s all I said. He stood there looking devestated not knowing what to say. I stood there with a not-really-so-polite smile - a nope, not me, sorry buddy smile - and surprised myself that I wasn’t offering the poor guy an explanation.

"Asshole," Kevin declared me as we walked away.

That was a lengthy side note. We found a three bed room with bathroom and ceiling fan for 450 baht - about $3.50 each - and then braved the oppressive sun on a long walk to Siam Plaza, Bangkok’s upscale rich kid hang out. From the very improvised city planning or lack thereof surrounding Khao San Road, exiting Bankok’s brand new sky tram into a fully air conditioned four story mall (one of three in the area) filled with minimalist western boutiques can be described using only Star Trek vocabulary. Transported into another dimension of Bangkok’s space-time. I was especially impressed by the Kitsch of the pictured boutique called SO*DA with a grass covered display window.

We grabbed some chicken curry in a mall food court that began to fill up with Bangkok’s business class and then explored the area a little more before making our way back via one of Bangkok’s largest arteries: Rama IV. Before leaving Siam Plaza, it was difficult to resist these pancake wrapped weenies that brought to mind only two words: not circumcised.

After a sweaty afternoon nap, Kevin and I took to Khao San Road where he was intent on drinking and I was equally detirmined to stay awake. Somewhere I read that truly recovering from jet lag takes as many days as hours difference from where you flew in from. Bangkok is 14 hours ahead (or 8 hours behind plus a day) of San Diego which means I still have six more days to become fully adjusted. What I really needed though was to force myself to stay awake until about 1 a.m. so that I wouldn’t wake up at 4 a.m. again.

And I think it worked. We walked up and down Khao San hopping from bar to bar waiting for Bobby to come in around midnight. At 12:30 a.m. Bobby still hadn’t shown up and I just couldn’t hold out anymore. After a gladiator-like effort I resigned to the hotel room and fell into a deep, dreamy sleep.

Kevin stayed out until 1 a.m. but Bobby was still nowhere to be seen so he gave up to. 7 a.m. and three very very loud knocks on the door, bobby bursting in - and I mean bursting - with the salutary "you bastards!" I stirred out of my happy dream. Classic Bobby Olson.

Says he got in at 1:05. Musta just missed Kevin. Tried to get directions to our hostel and … "all these people kept telling me it was in an alley by 7-11 and so I looked around and fuck man, everything is in an alley by a 7-11, there’s like 10 7-11’s out there. So I said fuck it and just stayed at some place called Marco Polo."

There we were, 7 a.m. A Wednesday morning. Me, Bobby, and Kevin. Bangkok. Life is good.

Blake and Marissa are up north. Anne gets in three days from now. The group is almost together.

More new pictures in the photography section.