Barefoot

I’m not fond of “I’ve seen better” types. People who visit the Getty and grumble that it’s no Guggenheim. Folks who visit Malibu’s beaches and lament, “It’s nothing like Maui.”

So it’s with a great deal of sheepishness that I say this: Thailand didn’t knock my socks off.

It’s not that I didn’t like it. What’s not to like when days unfold like this:

0730 GAZE AT OCEAN
0800 READ BOOK
0807 GAZE AT OCEAN
0900 MAKE THREE TRIPS TO ALL-YOU-CAN-EAT BREAKFAST BUFFET (OK, four if you count the hoard-for-later bowl of cashews and banana bread.)
1100 BATHE IN ORCHID-LITTERED WATER
1300 ONE-HOUR FOOT MASSAGE
1500 EAT SMUGGLED NUTS AND BANANA BREAD
1700 MANICURE/PEDICURE

That’s Thailand for tourists. Sure, there were inconveniences. I had to peel the skin off fresh litchis and pinch the feet off shrimp before popping them in my mouth. Sipping herbal tea while having my right arm massaged presented a challenge. I overcame it.

My trouble with Thailand is that it’s too comfortable, too familiar. A lot of Thailand is a little like someplace else. The beaches are a little like Mexico’s. Bangkok’s Patpong, with its go-go bars and sex shows, is a little like Amsterdam’s red-light district. The portly Europeans with their teenage Thai “escorts” remind me of the Dominican Republic. I’m traveling to be jarred. I’m traveling to be awed. Thailand didn’t leave a mark. I fear my memories of the place will fade as quickly as the manicure. “How was Thailand?” the folks back home want to know. I respond the way I do when a friend solicits my impression of his mousy new girlfriend. “She’s nice.”

I’m in India now. It’s Day 3 of my indefinite stay. I came back here because it’s like no other place I’ve been. India overwhelms me. Some days I’m overwhelmed with awe; other days, frustration. Exhaustion, elation and fury have a part, too. It’s a good thing barefoot is de rigueur here because India knocks my socks off.