Departing from ants and foam beds, walking from backpacker neighborhoods and deeper into the city, tentatively crossing through traffic and carefully avoiding girls in heavy make-up and hot pants who hang out in front of barber shops. Trying new eateries, testing an alley or two, politely declining tourist goods and services and watching my every step.
And watching my head. Awnings, pipes, gutters, wires, ledges, lights, a variety of blunt objects like to randomly jut from places and love to take a chunk or leave a lump or make a cut somewhere on my body. Watching the holes and strange piles of refuse or murky puddles, loosely broken sidewalks and slippery decorative bricks.
I’ll soon be home to Oregon where sidewalks are wide and largely free of danger and debris, where intersections are quiet and car horns are rarely used, and during all this relative safety and serenity I’ll secretly be wishing to be once again deep inside the adventure and din of Southeast Asia.