The last you heard from me I was leaving Cambodia for Thailand to teach medicine to medics in the refugee camp of Noh Poe. In route to the camp, homesick and ready for comforts of home, I made my way to one of the busiest back- packing hubs of the world – Khao San Road. Nestled in the center of Bangkok, it is indeed a sight to behold and a street party that never ends.
Arriving with green army backpack and pillow in hand, picking my way thru the crowd was a slow, intricate dance, moving around food stands of roasted corn cobs, grilled meat, swirled-fried potatoes or fruit, all on sticks like a pop-cycle. Peddlers of clothing, snake bone jewelry, glow in the dark rubber bands you could shoot high into the air, and these really, really great shoes. Ten and fifteen chairs in a row were lined up with people receiving massages and every face looking as if it were magic. Store owners calling for business, colors, bright lights, music and a menagerie of people from every corner of the earth, where nothing is taboo and every has a really good time.
I tried to find the guest house Jackson loved, and we texted about it. In the middle of Thailand, my son in the states and I were texting directions. So, wild.
I found a place, dropped my stuff, then marched straight to Burger King. What? Yuk! But, It tasted like home. I needed home in a big way.