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Post 2005
- 7 years and 8 days since I started this blog -
- 7 years and 8 days since I started this blog -
One of the surprises on this trip happened at the outset. On a fifteen hour flight that lasted sixteen hours, China Southern Air served four meals plus snacks, and the food was surprisingly good (and entertaining - at one meal, when I opted for hamburger, I unwrapped what turned out to be a hot dumpling filled with meat in a sweet and sour tomato sauce - weirdly delicious, and a reminder to check your expectations at the door).
Until today, every bite of food that I've eaten has been, at a minimum, good. But breakfast today was another story, as a local coffee shop gave me food that was both overcooked (rubber shrimp, anyone?) and cold. Oh, well, there was some protein, and it did me no harm.
On one side of the entrance to the Riverside Condo where I'm staying is the Holiday Inn Chiang Mai. On the other is a row of stores on the corner of which, facing the condo entrance, is a massage shop, with floor to ceiling windows looking out at the driveway on one side, the street on the other. I pass it every time I go in or out.
A few days ago, I thought I'd try a foot massage, but punked out. My feet are gnarly, with broken and thick toenails, and very sensitive, along with some diabetic nerve pain, and I couldn't face an hour of someone's manipulating them. Then yesterday I had a very pleasant full-body Thai massage in the Old City that began with putting a washcloth on my feet, and it tickled, not in a good way - I spasmed involuntarily. The masseuse and I laughed it off, but only because she stopped.
Today I decided to give this ultra-convenient place at my doorstep a try for another Thai massage, and all I can say is, "Wow!". After being led upstairs (the windowed first floor being all chairs for foot massages) to a very large room filled with about a dozen massage beds (Thai massages apparently all take place on the floor), I was given the loose-fitting, lightweight shirt and pants to change into, and a two-bed area was curtained off for me to change in.
My masseuse was brought in: She was older than the last one, and more muscular, and that turned out to be an advantage as she proceeded to give me the best massage I have ever had. For seven bucks. Thirty yards from my apartment.
As my friend John (channeling Jed Clampett) says, "Wee, doggies!". I made an appointment for tomorrow.
I went back to my apartment to relax for a bit, and set a course for the rest of the day. Instead, I fell asleep.
I've been up at 4am every day, and, along with the excitement of events and a twelve-hour time difference, my sleep cycle is just trashed. I'm not going to fight it. I am water.
Once I woke up, I decided to go to Boy Blues Bar. Boy is the owner, guitarist and performer extraordinaire, and the club is one of the most popular music venues in Chiang Mai. I also found out that the name is misleading in that it is more rock-oriented than blues, although everything is fair game. That last is completely unimportant. My thought? Musicians. Musicians will be there. Being among musicians is like being home for me.
None of my looking around revealed a start time, but the bar opened at 5, and closed at Midnight (that's a thing in Chiang Mai - all the bars are supposed to close then, and most do). Assuming the open mic ended then, I figured if I got there at 7, or before, I would have plenty of time to sign up and see if I could borrow a bass or guitar.
The bar is located in the Kalare Night Market, the center of the sprawling Night Market I had been to the night before. It is on the roof of a building, open to the high roof above the bazaar. I went early because a number of comments indicated it wasn't especially easy to find (one said, just follow the music).
My massage experience had left me feeling optimistic, and I dialed up an Uber to take me to the Market and got my second pleasant surprise of the day: Uber was now accepting my credit card. A nod from the friendly (lucky) Universe: One last little obstacle in the rear-view.
The Uber delivered me to the Kahane Night Market at around 7pm, and I spotted a sign with an arrow pointing to the club. I found it quickly, but as I was checking out the blackboard at the entrance, announcing an opening band, 'Moonlight' at 8:15 and the Open Mic at 9:45, a couple of young guys dressed in black asked me if I was interested, to come back then. I asked if they were in the band, they said no, they worked at the club, I should come back at 8 to make sure I got a sit. I said, perfect, I have time to catch some dinner.
Which is when I found a whole, huge section of the Night Market, possibly the central one, that I had missed the night before. And this was much better, with more food(!), more curiosities, live music on a stage surrounded by food stalls, and a number of previously-mentioned food stalls.
I decided on a dinner combo of sweet and sour shrimp soup, which looked to have lots of vegetables, and an omelet over sticky rice, from a Halal food stall. A total win. I was served a huge (and I know huge) bowl of soup, and the complexity of the taste only added depth to the goodness. The omelet was more subtle, finely chopped vegetables and herbs in the scramble - it went well with the soup, all for about $4.50, including live music and a view of farang women (at least, right at this time) having their tootsies nibbled by small fish. Still shaking my head that that's a thing.
At 8, I went up the stairs to find a small club open on all sides, with a small stage ringed with tiny, child-size chairs and tables (the better not to block the view of the stage. I also noticed that except for four people at the small bar, the place was completely empty. One woman at the bar, whose function I couldn't determine, was studiously putting on makeup. I asked one of the guys I'd spoken to earlier who to talk with about playing in the open mic, he just said, "Him," and pointed to Boy's face on a T-shirt ($10, and yes, I'm going to get one).
But Boy wasn't there yet. Customers were starting to come in, and the band's personnel dribbled in one at a time: bass player first, then guitarist, then lead singer, then keyboard player, and finally, the drummer. A steady stream of customers, started arriving, and by the time the band started their set, with a good, well-played (and interesting) version of 'Little Wing', the place was busy. An hour-and-a-half later, when they finished and all the open mic people and their friends were in the audience, it was packed.
The open mic didn't have a sign-up sheet, you spoke with Boy, he told you approximately where in the order you'd be, who you'd be playing after, and everybody jammed, as in, no solo performers. The house band, a quartet with two guitarists, was very good. I got an early spot.
The house bass player showed no reticence at all in letting me use his bass, which earned him a drink on me. My set went over very well; I picked songs everybody in Syracuse has heard me perform a thousand times before, but were fresh to this audience, who were very receptive. My backing, by the house band, was spot on. Everybody seemed to have a good time, and. I was asked to play another song. It is not boasting to say my set was good and enjoyed by everybody, and got an enthusiastic response, if it's true.
The musicians warmed up to me and I started getting introduced around. Although the regulars were too cautious to risk their set on an unknown quantity (there were three bass players beside myself, all of whom were regulars). All the bass players asked me to go up and play again), and I felt welcome.
I was told about other places that had open mics, and one of the bass players, Paul, got me to commit to going to an open mic he's house bass at, promising me plenty of playing time.
It was a really good night. In the course of which, thanks to politeness as much as anything else, this non-beer drinker discovered that Singha beer goes down easy.
The adventure rolls on. So grateful.
Until today, every bite of food that I've eaten has been, at a minimum, good. But breakfast today was another story, as a local coffee shop gave me food that was both overcooked (rubber shrimp, anyone?) and cold. Oh, well, there was some protein, and it did me no harm.
On one side of the entrance to the Riverside Condo where I'm staying is the Holiday Inn Chiang Mai. On the other is a row of stores on the corner of which, facing the condo entrance, is a massage shop, with floor to ceiling windows looking out at the driveway on one side, the street on the other. I pass it every time I go in or out.
A few days ago, I thought I'd try a foot massage, but punked out. My feet are gnarly, with broken and thick toenails, and very sensitive, along with some diabetic nerve pain, and I couldn't face an hour of someone's manipulating them. Then yesterday I had a very pleasant full-body Thai massage in the Old City that began with putting a washcloth on my feet, and it tickled, not in a good way - I spasmed involuntarily. The masseuse and I laughed it off, but only because she stopped.
Today I decided to give this ultra-convenient place at my doorstep a try for another Thai massage, and all I can say is, "Wow!". After being led upstairs (the windowed first floor being all chairs for foot massages) to a very large room filled with about a dozen massage beds (Thai massages apparently all take place on the floor), I was given the loose-fitting, lightweight shirt and pants to change into, and a two-bed area was curtained off for me to change in.
My masseuse was brought in: She was older than the last one, and more muscular, and that turned out to be an advantage as she proceeded to give me the best massage I have ever had. For seven bucks. Thirty yards from my apartment.
As my friend John (channeling Jed Clampett) says, "Wee, doggies!". I made an appointment for tomorrow.
I went back to my apartment to relax for a bit, and set a course for the rest of the day. Instead, I fell asleep.
I've been up at 4am every day, and, along with the excitement of events and a twelve-hour time difference, my sleep cycle is just trashed. I'm not going to fight it. I am water.
Once I woke up, I decided to go to Boy Blues Bar. Boy is the owner, guitarist and performer extraordinaire, and the club is one of the most popular music venues in Chiang Mai. I also found out that the name is misleading in that it is more rock-oriented than blues, although everything is fair game. That last is completely unimportant. My thought? Musicians. Musicians will be there. Being among musicians is like being home for me.
None of my looking around revealed a start time, but the bar opened at 5, and closed at Midnight (that's a thing in Chiang Mai - all the bars are supposed to close then, and most do). Assuming the open mic ended then, I figured if I got there at 7, or before, I would have plenty of time to sign up and see if I could borrow a bass or guitar.
The bar is located in the Kalare Night Market, the center of the sprawling Night Market I had been to the night before. It is on the roof of a building, open to the high roof above the bazaar. I went early because a number of comments indicated it wasn't especially easy to find (one said, just follow the music).
My massage experience had left me feeling optimistic, and I dialed up an Uber to take me to the Market and got my second pleasant surprise of the day: Uber was now accepting my credit card. A nod from the friendly (lucky) Universe: One last little obstacle in the rear-view.
The Uber delivered me to the Kahane Night Market at around 7pm, and I spotted a sign with an arrow pointing to the club. I found it quickly, but as I was checking out the blackboard at the entrance, announcing an opening band, 'Moonlight' at 8:15 and the Open Mic at 9:45, a couple of young guys dressed in black asked me if I was interested, to come back then. I asked if they were in the band, they said no, they worked at the club, I should come back at 8 to make sure I got a sit. I said, perfect, I have time to catch some dinner.
Which is when I found a whole, huge section of the Night Market, possibly the central one, that I had missed the night before. And this was much better, with more food(!), more curiosities, live music on a stage surrounded by food stalls, and a number of previously-mentioned food stalls.
I decided on a dinner combo of sweet and sour shrimp soup, which looked to have lots of vegetables, and an omelet over sticky rice, from a Halal food stall. A total win. I was served a huge (and I know huge) bowl of soup, and the complexity of the taste only added depth to the goodness. The omelet was more subtle, finely chopped vegetables and herbs in the scramble - it went well with the soup, all for about $4.50, including live music and a view of farang women (at least, right at this time) having their tootsies nibbled by small fish. Still shaking my head that that's a thing.
At 8, I went up the stairs to find a small club open on all sides, with a small stage ringed with tiny, child-size chairs and tables (the better not to block the view of the stage. I also noticed that except for four people at the small bar, the place was completely empty. One woman at the bar, whose function I couldn't determine, was studiously putting on makeup. I asked one of the guys I'd spoken to earlier who to talk with about playing in the open mic, he just said, "Him," and pointed to Boy's face on a T-shirt ($10, and yes, I'm going to get one).
But Boy wasn't there yet. Customers were starting to come in, and the band's personnel dribbled in one at a time: bass player first, then guitarist, then lead singer, then keyboard player, and finally, the drummer. A steady stream of customers, started arriving, and by the time the band started their set, with a good, well-played (and interesting) version of 'Little Wing', the place was busy. An hour-and-a-half later, when they finished and all the open mic people and their friends were in the audience, it was packed.
The open mic didn't have a sign-up sheet, you spoke with Boy, he told you approximately where in the order you'd be, who you'd be playing after, and everybody jammed, as in, no solo performers. The house band, a quartet with two guitarists, was very good. I got an early spot.
The house bass player showed no reticence at all in letting me use his bass, which earned him a drink on me. My set went over very well; I picked songs everybody in Syracuse has heard me perform a thousand times before, but were fresh to this audience, who were very receptive. My backing, by the house band, was spot on. Everybody seemed to have a good time, and. I was asked to play another song. It is not boasting to say my set was good and enjoyed by everybody, and got an enthusiastic response, if it's true.
The musicians warmed up to me and I started getting introduced around. Although the regulars were too cautious to risk their set on an unknown quantity (there were three bass players beside myself, all of whom were regulars). All the bass players asked me to go up and play again), and I felt welcome.
I was told about other places that had open mics, and one of the bass players, Paul, got me to commit to going to an open mic he's house bass at, promising me plenty of playing time.
It was a really good night. In the course of which, thanks to politeness as much as anything else, this non-beer drinker discovered that Singha beer goes down easy.
The adventure rolls on. So grateful.
Please leave a comment when you visit my blog. Thank you!
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