Thailand – Nervous and Nomadic

Eyes Wide Open — A Reflection from Southeast Asia

Hi everyone, John and I been traveling now for about 3 months, which means we are halfway done. I can’t believe it – it feels like so much has happened, and no time has passed at all. This feels like a good time to share some of the darker things we’ve been seeing on our travels, to clear the air before the next half. It has hit differently seeing some of the darker sides of humanity with my own eyes and not on a screen or in a news article. In Vietnam, the trash was everywhere; it was quite a culture shock. Streets and rivers were littered with discarded plastic containers and refuse. In downtown Hanoi, locals would sweep trash into a bag, only to leave the full bag in a random place. In Bali we saw locals burning trash to get rid of it, even though that’s hazardous to their health. In Thailand, there was also scattered trash about in Bangkok and Phuket but it wasn’t as bad as Vietnam. The rapid urbanization of SEA countries has in large part caused the trash issue because the necessary waste management systems to support such advances weren’t implemented. According to a 2017 report by Ocean Conservancy, five of the top contributors to ocean plastic are SEA nations: the Philippines, Indonesia, Vietnam, Thailand, and China. Zooming out globally, according to the UN, more than 400 million tons of plastic are produced every year, and at least 14 million tons end up in the ocean annually. The Great Pacific Garbage Patch has grown to twice the size of Texas. Plastic has entered our food chains, our bloodstreams, our oceans — it’s a pervasive problem. A study published in Nature Medicine earlier this year found that microplastics were 7–30 times higher in the brain than in the liver or kidneys in 52 deceased individuals. Not only that, but the same between 2016 and 2024, the amount of microplastics in the brain tissue rose about 50% indicating an increasing trend. Maybe we will all eventually turn into plastic people. The plastic refuse isn’t just affecting humans, as we saw in various cases across SEA, but also animals. At Padang Padang Beach in Bali there were a few monkeys sitting in a circle eating out of a torn plastic bag. I wanted to take the plastic bag away from the monkey, but John discouraged that. Just a few feet away sat a burn pile full of trash collected from the beach, and he pointed out they could just go get more from there. I did manage to get a plastic container away from a monkey in Ubud’s Monkey Forest, but a few minutes later I saw a monkey biting a plastic water bottle. Visitors aren’t supposed to enter the forest with food or drinks to prevent littering, but some do anyways. Even here, in a sacred and supposedly protected forest, visitors could pay to have their pictures taken with the monkeys. On a positive note though, the monkeys weren’t picked up or physically forced onto the tourists. Instead, forest staff would place food on the visitors, prompting the monkeys to jump up and grab it. But regardless, being in such constant proximity to humans has increased anxiety and aggression in these monkey species, especially as they’ve come to associate tourists with food. I guess this venue felt a little better on the surface because the monkeys were free roaming? I don’t know. Honestly though, it was really amazing seeing naturally roaming monkeys like the ones at Padang Padang beach or around our homestay. They were one of the animals I really loved learning about as a kid. But on the flip side, monkeys are one of those animals that are commonly used to entertain tourists or attract their attention. This is detrimental to their wellbeing as they are highly intelligent social creatures who have complex psychological and physical needs that can’t be met in the entertainment industry. We saw this first hand while we were walking through a night market in Vietnam. In the middle of the pedestrian street, a tiny monkey was chained to a stack of plastic stools while the “owner” sat lazily by in a plastic chair. It was clear that this animal was on display to attract customers to his stall. The monkey was so small and its eyes were so big. The poor thing kept shifting uncomfortably, trying to get down, clearly distressed — but its leash didn’t let it. It was the first time I’d seen anything like that, and it made me feel so mad. I wanted to grab that monkey and run — take it to a wildlife rescue so that it could be safe. But my boyfriend reminded me I could be arrested in Vietnam, and the jails there are not nice places to be. And he’s right. But it felt so wrong to just leave it there. And though this isn’t directly related to animal tourism, it’s still worth mentioning – in Padang Padang we watched monkeys navigate construction sites due to deforestation and power lines strung through trees — which are one of the leading causes of electrocution and orphaning among urban primates. In Phuket, Thailand, John and I saw a goat tethered outside a shop in Old Town, dressed in a onesie and diaper to draw in customers — a gimmick, likely born out of economic necessity rather than cruelty. Interestingly, Thailand introduced a law in 2015 making animal cruelty illegal, but the wording is exceptionally vague — still allowing tiger shows and orangutan boxing matches like the ones we saw advertised in downtown Bangkok to continue. This practice continues in Bali, notably through the Mason Elephant Park, which markets itself as a Sumatran Elephant sanctuary but offers elephant rides and bathing experiences. These are practices that World Animal Protection says contribute to the harm of over 75% of all captive elephants. Lady Freethinker conducted an investigation into the

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A Collection of Short Memories

1 Comment / Japan, Thailand, Vietnam / winter

This blog post will grow alongside our travels—a little collection of memorable moments that don’t have homes anywhere else. Think of it as a scrapbook of odds and ends. Enjoy! Japan Stories: We were traveling on a Shinkansen from Narita Airport to Osaka, where we’d be spending our first week in Japan. Unbeknownst to us, we accidentally sat in the reserved section. The seats were wider, quieter, and topped with white cloth bibs to keep them clean—an unexpected luxury we enjoyed for four or five stops. Eventually, a conductor came through to check tickets. When he reached us, he simply said, “Ticket?” We proudly handed him our beautifully printed Shinkansen passes—thicker and more elegant than the flimsy train tickets we were used to in the U.S. He glanced at them, then at us, and politely said we were on the wrong train car and needed to move to Car 3. We were in Car 8. So we gathered our backpacks from the seats beside us and pulled our stowed luggage down from the overhead racks. Hobbling after him through the speeding train felt surreal—slightly disorienting, almost like walking through a dream. We stumbled past passengers, trying not to bump into anyone, feeling a little embarrassed as we made our way through the cars. When we finally reached Car 3, it was noticeably more crowded—clearly the unreserved section. We found two open seats across the aisle from a kind-looking Japanese man. Not long after settling in, Mt. Fuji came into view. I glanced across the aisle to see it through his window. He noticed me looking, smiled, and immediately stood up so I could take his seat and snap a picture. He even took out his phone and joined in, capturing photos of the view himself. I don’t know where he is now, but I wish him well. His small act of kindness made a disorienting moment feel warm and memorable. It was the kind of gesture that sticks with you. ************** During our stay in Osaka, we planned a day trip to Nara Park to see the famous deer that roam freely through its temple grounds. On our way there, we boarded the metro—and just after we found our spot, a little girl, probably around six or eight years old, stepped onto the train. She had a sleek black bob and wore a bright red randoseru backpack that looked almost half her size. Despite her small frame, she moved with quiet confidence, walking straight over to a clean metro seat like she’d done it a hundred times before. She sat down, leaned back until her head rested on the top of her backpack, and promptly fell asleep. Every few stops, she’d stir just slightly—shifting her weight or adjusting her posture—then doze off again, undisturbed by the motion of the train or the murmurs of passengers around her. It was as if the metro was an extension of her world, safe and familiar. About thirty minutes later, right on cue, she suddenly sat upright, stretched a bit, and walked off the train like it was the most normal thing in the world. No hesitation, no looking back. I’d never seen someone so young ride public transit alone, let alone nap on it so peacefully. In a city that felt so new to us, watching her navigate it so effortlessly was both surprising and oddly comforting. Thailand Stories: John and I were out for a walk one night in Bangkok, drawn by the cool air and the calm that settled over the city after the shops had closed. The temple housing the reclining Buddha shimmered under the streetlights, its ornate rooftops catching the glow and sparkling in the quiet. As we wandered, we passed a gate leading into a small shed-like area. There, on the sidewalk, a woman sat gently filling bowls with cat food, sliding them through the bars for the two cats that lived inside. It was so kind – the perfect example of how locals treated the stray cats around Ralph Bangkok, the hostel where we were staying. I love cats, so it was sweet seeing someone go out of their way to make sure these two were fed. Bali Stories: We landed at Ngurah Rai Airport in Bali at 1am on March 24th, bleary-eyed and sleep deprived. As we taxied on the tarmac, the flight attendant announced over the loudspeaker, “please be aware that bringing heavy narcotics into Bali is a crime punishable by death. Also, please remember to fill out your health declaration and customs forms. Welcome to Bali.” John and I looked at each other thinking, way to just slip that information in there lady. We quickly got out our phones to fill out the necessary forms to make it out of the airport smoothly. Then once it was safe to do so, we collected our bags from the overhead compartments and exited the plane. *************** John was driving Scoopy, our black-and-silver scooter rental, through the Amora Huts area with me riding on the back as his trusty passenger princess. His phone was clipped to the handlebars, guiding us to Secret Beach — a tucked-away gem on Nusa Ceningan. We passed little roadside shops selling everything from snacks to beachwear, and locals perched on stools outside either stared, nodded, or ignored us entirely. We reached a bumpy stretch of road near a makeshift wooden garage where scooters were parked. I pointed and said, “We could just park here,” as John rolled up beside it. The engine was still softly humming as we debated our next move when a man on a white scooter appeared out of nowhere. He pulled up beside us and asked, “Where are you going?” “Secret Beach,” John replied. “Come, I’ll show you.” I had already hopped off the scooter, and the man patted the

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Laundry Bags to Tough Thai Massage Ladies – March 21st

2 Comments / Thailand / winter

Hello, friends new and old, Our room at the Good 9 At Home B&B in Phuket, Thailand is absolutely charming. We have a king bed, walls painted in soft and deep blues, and cute wood-like furniture with plenty of storage for our things. Off to the side, there’s a private bathroom with a waterfall shower—though the glass barrier isn’t quite wide enough to prevent water from splashing onto the bathroom floor. Still, the water temperature and pressure are perfect—exactly what you want for a relaxing shower. Unlike our tiny shoebox of a room in Bangkok, this one has a window! It’s a two-pane sliding window that offers a small but lovely view: a two-foot slice of sky and the top of a banana tree swaying behind the hotel. John hasn’t been feeling well and wanted a low-key day in the room, so I decided to fill my day with little adventures while he rested. Dressed in my funky pink-and-blue mandala pants from Bangkok, a tan workout top, and many rings, I set out early to find a laundromat. Just up the street, I found Ps@Washaway, a self-serve, open-style laundromat accessible from both the front and side. It had 3 washers, 3 dryers, and a sign politely requesting that customers remove their shoes before stepping onto the platform with the machines. With my Cotopaxi laundry bag packed to the brim, I wandered around, trying to get my bearings. The sun was relentless today, so stepping under the laundromat’s shaded roof was a nice change of pace. As I scouted the area, I spotted the coin exchange machine—my nemesis. No matter where I go—whether in the U.S., Tokyo, or here—these machines seem to have it out for me. I fished a 100-baht bill from my blue purse and smoothed it out with my fingers before feeding it into the slot, King Vajiralongkorn’s face first. The bill slid in aaaaaand immediately spat back out. I flipped it. Nope. Reversed it. Nope. Again. No luck. My attempts turned into a ridiculous montage as the machine rejected the bill faster and faster each time. Glancing around for help, I caught the attention of a sweet Thai woman waiting for her own laundry. With a sheepish smile, I explained my struggle. She took the bill, smoothed out the edge just a little more, and—bam!—got it on the first try. I said wow and told her she was magic. She laughed and walked back over to her chair. I thanked her with a small bow, pressing my hands together in gratitude. She returned the gesture with a warm smile. Now armed with 10 coins, I headed over to the washing machines, feeling victorious—until I realized I had forgotten one crucial thing: laundry detergent. So, with my oversized laundry sack in hand, once again I made my way back toward the detergent vending machine. For 10 Baht you could choose between Thai jasmine scented, clean laundry scented, or mixed floral scented detergent packets. I popped my 10 baht coin through the coin slot, clicked the button with the hand icon next to the mixed floral scent, and watched the metal ring turn to drop the packet into the delivery slot. It was squishy and warm, toasted by the hot air sitting inside the machine. Feeling confident, I took a barefoot step back onto the wooden platform ready to do some laundry. ***** About three minutes down the street, I sat inside the Rise & Grind, sipping a minty chocolate iced drink through a straw. It was 85 degrees outside and very humid, so instead of waiting for my laundry to finish at the open-air laundromat, I decided to pass the time in this cool, air-conditioned café. At the entrance of Rise&Grind, a mat read, “Please remove your shoes.” It was the first business I’d ever visited where the vibe was no shirt, shoes, no service. My chair faced a large window overlooking an empty development lot across the street, a selection of local houses, and beautiful tall palm trees. Behind the counter, the shop owner tinkered with something—surrounded by a giant red espresso machine, fresh fruit, and various other tools on the counter. I had ordered a ciabatta breakfast sandwich and was waiting for it to arrive. Two French men sat chatting at a table in the middle of the café. One of them nodded to me; I nodded back, then returned to listening to my new favorite podcast: Random Number Generator Horror Podcast No. 9. It’s made by Night Vale Presents—the same folks behind Welcome to Night Vale—and each episode reviews a different horror movie. I’m easily startled, can’t stomach gore, but I love a good jump scare. Listening to Cecil Baldwin and Jeffrey Cranor talk through the plot, start to finish, is the perfect way to experience the more gross films without having to actually watch them. The eerie commentary added a spooky edge to an otherwise hot, tropical day in Phuket. When my sandwich arrived, I remembered I wasn’t supposed to eat gluten—it hurts my stomach—so I picked around the bread. Halfway through breakfast, my laundry timer went off, reminding me it was time to head back and switch loads. I quickly finished up, paid, and went outside to grab my shoes. Stepping into the heat immediately felt like walking into a pool—but in this case, the water was the air itself, thick and hot and all-encompassing. I looked left and right for any passing scooters before crossing the lightly paved road to a safer walking path. At each tight corner along the way, convex mirrors were installed—so drivers could see who was coming and avoid a crash. Whether you were on a scooter or just walking, these mirrors play a small but essential part of survival here. I passed a large, factory-like building with a few broken windows. It was hard to tell whether it was still in use. Either way, the area around it was

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Inside Rajadamnern: A Night at Thailand’s Most Iconic Muay Thai Stadium – March 16th

Thailand / John Eliot Williams

Muay Thai, pronounced “moo-ey, Thai” in Thailand, is a martial art that evolved from Muay Boran, an ancient Thai fighting style dating back to the 13th–15th century. Originally practiced by both soldiers and civilians, Muay Boran served as both a self-defense system and a form of combat training. The modern sport of Muay Thai began to take shape in the 1920s–1930s, incorporating rules, gloves, and timed rounds. Rajadamnern Stadium, established in 1945, became one of the key venues for its development and remains one of the most prestigious places for martial artists to showcase their skills. The fighters who compete in the Rajadamnern World Series (RWS) are true professionals. For them, Muay Thai isn’t a hobby—it’s a livelihood. Many begin training as early as age 6 or 7, dedicating their lives to the sport. Unlike Western combat sports, where fighters typically compete 2-6 fights a year, Muay Thai athletes in the RWS regularly battle 12-20 times annually– some stepping into the ring every other week. As a result, it is common for athletes in their 20’s can have 100+ fights under their belt, while a Western fighter might only have accumulated a few dozen across their entire career. Only the most disciplined and skilled fighters make it to the RWS, and those who do are widely regarded as some of the best Muay Thai practitioners in the world. On March 16th, we scored front-row tickets to one of the daily fight nights—a four-hour event featuring seven different bouts. Each fight lasted up to five rounds, ending by knockout or technical knockout when a fighter could no longer continue. This was the kind of stage where young fighters come to make a name for themselves. The youngest fighter we saw that night was just 15, and the oldest was 28. Seats like these in the West would cost tens of thousands of dollars or more—so by comparison, this was an absolute steal. The only mistake we made was not realizing our seats were just feet from the fight bell. Ding, ding, ding—our ears were literally ringing every time it sounded. Even before the fights started, the front row seats were already paying off. The announcer locked eyes with me and, in front of the whole crowd, asked, “Do you want a free shirt?” Caught off guard, I could only nod before he tossed it my way. Before each fight, the competitors performed a ceremony called Wai Khru Ram Muay (ไหว้ครูรำมวย). “Wai Khru” means “paying respect to the teacher,” and it’s done to honor one’s coaches, family, and the art of Muay Thai itself. “Ram Muay” means “boxing dance,” and this part is more personal—each fighter moves around the ring in a dance-like pattern unique to them. No two fighters perform it the same; their movements can reflect their region, training camp, or even individual style and preference. Wai Khru Ram Muay is both a spiritual and cultural ritual, meant to clear the mind and prepare for battle. It is accompanied by live traditional music such as the reed flute and drums. Ironically, the main event—the fourth fight—was the least competitive. By the final round, both fighters were just circling each other and trading taunts, barely throwing any strikes. The crowd let them hear it, booing loudly in disappointment. In contrast, the first three fights were intense and evenly matched. The second bout was especially brutal: one fighter continued with blood smeared across his face and body, only to eventually fall to a vicious head kick that ended the fight in a dramatic knockout. An interesting fact about Thailand is that gambling is illegal in almost all forms, with few exceptions. However, Muay Thai stadiums like Rajadamnern are one of the rare legal avenues where locals can place bets. And they do—enthusiastically. While tourists come for the spectacle, it’s mostly locals who fill the seats, shouting odds and making hand signals to place wagers mid-fight. The energy in the crowd isn’t just about supporting a favorite fighter—it’s about the thrill of risking real money, legally, in a country where that’s rarely allowed. Attending Rajadamnern was a true cultural experience. Sitting front row—right next to the constant, ear-piercing dings of the fight bell—made it unforgettable. It’s something we’ll always remember, and without a doubt, something we’d do again.

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