Marie Javins's Blog, page 49

Eulogy for a Friend

Daniel Johnston smiled into his own personal hell so many times his friends and family had all lost count by the mid-nineties, long before his personal myth outgrew his aspirations. He never just threw his last dime in the wishing well—he launched himself straight in with a chirpy greeting to the abyss below, immersing himself in whatever caught his fancy. The Beatles. Jack Kirby. King Kong. Captain America. The undertaker’s daughter, his muse. Kathy. Me.

The last two hung around, successfully navigating from crushes to genuine friendships. Even Daniel seemed mystified when he’d explain me to people later. “At first I wanted her to be my girlfriend but now we’re really good friends.”

I chalked up my skill at navigating Daniel’s childlike crushing to my ability to hold my own on a topic dear to Daniel’s heart. Comic books. I originally used a cassette recorder to keep him at a distance, asking him questions for my college radio show. This evolved into a video camera, and I have all that footage, not yet turned into a project. Eventually, I got my first job at Marvel and Daniel was ever-after my proudest friend, delighted at my success. So delighted, I had to get Caller ID and turn off my landline ringer at night. At this stage in his life, he’d forget he’d already called. He’d forget what he’d said and say it all over again. His meds were still being tweaked, his diagnosis evolving. He was genuinely embarrassed when he later saw some of the video footage I took of him during this era.

“It’s okay, Danny,” he told his video self at the screening a few years back in LA. His video self had been worried about Satan and the upcoming year 2000. “2000 came and went and the world didn’t end.”

The sold-out crowd giggled. Daniel had himself an audience, and he kept narrating along with the video. I’m pretty sure he wanted to talk over it so no one could hear his past paranoia. He was lucid that night, really lucid. When he was engaged and something novel was occurring, he’d manage the crowd like an expert. Otherwise, he just went through the motions, like the last times I saw him perform on-stage. He had an adoring global audience. Fans who loved him, flaws and all. He was the rock star he’d always wanted to be. But the playing seemed so arduous. He wasn’t having fun, though the fans raptly drank up every missed chord, every word he’d sing. At the end, he treated performing the way most people treat their jobs, and he’d only come to life after escaping the fans backstage, running outside to smoke while he tried to lure me back to his room to eat pizza and watch old movies, until his brother would come over to intervene. Talking about Jack Kirby stopped working years ago.

Daniel’s meds probably were never quite right. He was always a step ahead of them, evolving just when they’d catch up. But under it all, he was still funny, if you could just come up with your own personal cocktail of humor, art, music, and forthrightness. Treat him as a normal person rather than a patient or a rock star, and sometimes he’d come sharply into focus, and be his old self, cracking jokes and talking about movies and memories.

Over the years, I’d see Daniel at home in West Virginia before his family moved to the Houston area, in Austin, or on the road when he’d be in New York or Los Angeles. The details are all interesting, but there’s a lot more than a Facebook post in that. I’m instead here to say that the life of Daniel Johnston was both profound tragedy and miraculous success. The peppy imp who used to pass out tapes to anyone who'd take them still peeked out occasionally, though for years, he’d moved with medication-induced slowness.

Daniel asked me to come see him so many times over the last few years, but I'd never made the time. I’ve regretted that recently, regretted not getting back to shoot video of him watching his old videos and commenting on them, like Mystery Science Theater, the Daniel Edition.

I meant to go see him in Texas. I wanted to take a video camera and get one last interview, but his condition had been deteriorating and I let my job distract me, and now Daniel is dead. If I’m honest, he was in bad shape the last time I saw him. He’d space out longer than usual. His short-term memory was shot. But he’d been in bad shape for years—I’d expected to get the news I got last week for a long time.

Even so, the news of Daniel’s death caught me completely by surprise. He’d always bounced back, so many times. His ups and downs had been a constant in my life for 33 years. He’d survived countless illnesses, a plane crash, his worst impulses. But not this time. Daniel Johnston is gone, the artist grew old but not old enough. But he left us the most incredible body of work, both music and drawings, some of it throwaway stuff he just scribbled out and some of it brilliant, the work of a complex and flawed genius.

If I had my own way, you’d be here with me today, Danny. With all of us. But your career was a triumph, your unlikely musical and artistic genius recognized by millions. You didn’t know your dreams were absurdly impossible, and so you followed them. We’re all the richer for you not having known any better.

I’m proud of your success, the same way you were proud of mine.

Luck

Number 4 is the 13 of several Asian cultures. Or 13 is the 4 of America.

Third and Final Taipei Day

Tuesday morning. I awoke too tired to get real involved in touristing. But it was the third day of my three days in Taipei, so I'd have to go out and do something.

My hotel had free washers and dryers in the basement, so I let my clothes wash while I ran out and got my morning coffee. The one negative of my CityInn Plus Hotel Ximen is it has no breakfast.

Once my laundry was done, I finally convinced myself to head out. I walked across Peace Park to the National Cultural and Creative Gift Center, then took the metro to Taipei 1010. That's a super-tall highrise, the tallest building in the world for a while, until Dubai took the title.

After my trip up to the observation floor, I moved on to Hua Shan 1914 Creative Park. It's an old winery converted into a place with a bunch of independent shops and cafes. I enjoyed it, bought a few shirts from an independent designer with a rack in a corner, then headed back to the hotel until dinner.

Dinner was soup dumplings in a dumpy storefront. They were a grand total of $2.26, and they didn't make me sick like the fancy place had in Bangkok.

I went for one last dose of street mango, then called it a day and said bye to Taipei. In the morning, I had an airport taxi picking me up super-early, and would fly from Taipei to Narita, where I'd switch back into business traveler mode, stop by the lounge, and get onto my business class seat back to LA. I made a mental note to not dress like a backpacker.

I hope you've enjoyed this small break from our regularly scheduled program of working bunches.

Jiufen Morning and Datong Afternoon

My plan was to head to the picturesque mountain town of Jiufen, a former gold mining village. I'd read about it online, and I'd looked at various day tours initially.

But day tours do what they say on the tin, so to speak, which is to take up your whole day. I don't have the patience for that, so I'd gone to the tourist information desk in Ximen station and asked about how to take public transport to Jiufen.

They'd marked the #965 bus stop on a map and sent me on my way. When I'd asked at the hotel front desk, the clerk confirmed the info and gave me even more explicit instructions to go to the bus stop in front of the Armed Forces Cultural Center. The buses came by frequently, but I'd downloaded the bus app ahead of time so I could see how long I'd have to wait.

The journey took about an hour and a half, and since everyone was going to the same place, there was little danger of me getting lost. I found my way to Jiufen, wandered the covered bazaar section, snapped a few photos of the nearby bay and winding roads, then used my bus app to find the right time to wait for the return bus to Taipei.

I disembarked at the Taipei main railway station, once again. I sat there and enjoyed a soy latte for a bit, contemplating my inner conflicts between typical employment and my comfort with the challenges of being on the road, then caught the metro to a bus to the National Palace Museum.

The great historic antiquities of China are stored at the museum. I was exhausted already by the time I arrived, but I powered through. The most iconic piece at the museum is a jadeite cabbage. Lots of souvenirs of the jadeite cabbage! I didn't buy any, but I was amused.

From the museum, I caught a bus back to the metro (all this is made easy by a smart phone and navigation apps) to Dalongdong Baoan Temple, a marvelously restored, UNESCO-lauded shrine with intricate detail. When I'd finished looking around the temple grounds, I was still an hour too early for the nearby night market, so I caught a bus to a place with a lantern store.

The lantern store was a bit disappointing, but the surrounding area, Dihua Street in the Datong District, was not. It was full of craftsy shops, tea shops, and the Taipei fabric store district. I even picked up two handmade shirts at a store called in Blooom. 

My metro card was out of money, so I had to walk to a subway stop rather than get on a bus. I looked at my phone's map—the nearest metro was close to a night market, which would be open by the time I arrived. I headed on over to the Ningxia Night Market to check out all the snacks.

By the time I got back to my hotel, my Fitbit registered I'd walked 9.5 miles today. My feet hurt.

I promised myself to take it a bit easier in the morning.

From Bangkok to Taipei

The airport lines were nuts at Bangkok's big airport today. I didn't remember that being the case from my past trips. Maybe it was a freak thing? Or maybe I'd left so many times from the old airport, I just hadn't been in a position to notice.

After passport control, I had just enough time to grab a dollop of Duty Free Shop sampler moisturizer (I'd run out yesterday), buy a soy milk latte and croissant (I'm in the middle of not eating wheat, corn, or dairy for reasons to complicated to explain, but basically I'm fighting off gut bacteria with a month of antimicrobials and orders to not eat what I was about to eat and this was my first bread in four weeks), and only just got on the plane before the doors shut. I quickly purchased the Lonely Planet digital guide to Taipei and downloaded it before takeoff. This was my reading material for the flight.

Travel=glamour, I thought with a touch of irony. Next stop: Taipei. All-out tourism stop for three days. "Why would you want to do that to yourself," Mr. Fixit had asked when I said I planned to get out of bed at four in the morning. I stared at him blankly. Obviously, I wanted to get as much time in Taipei as I could in the next few days.

He was right, as it turned out. On landing, I was able to find the train from the airport to the central train station, and once there, I was eventually able to locate the metro in the labyrinth shopping center attached to the station. It was only one stop to the hotel at Ximen metro, which I'd have walked if I weren't dragging luggage. But I became dizzy and nearly passed out as I headed to the escalator out of the metro. Dehydration from last night's food poisoning, I thought, but that's just a guess. Dr. Marie is actually no expert on these things.

The staff at CityInn Hotel Plus was delightful, and stashed my bag so I could head off to be a tourist until check-in time. Ximen has a pedestrianized zone which is full of young people (and tourists too but mostly young tourists), so I wove through them and found an all-day breakfast place I'd spotted online. I wanted to gently ease my innards back to the notion of eating after the previous night's drama.

I skillfully managed to order two breakfasts when I only meant to get one. Ha. Well done, self, I thought as I picked at both. I thought back to my Cantonese class in the early nineties. The teacher had been from Taiwan and had taught me and Renee a few differences between Cantonese and Taiwanese. Unfortunately, learning how to say "how are you," "fine," and "thank you" had not prepared me for properly ordering eggs.

After second breakfast, I raced over to the Sunday craft market at the Red House. (See? Reading the guidebook teaches you stuff.) I enjoyed it though I didn't see anything especially unique, and afterwards, I headed back to my hotel to check in and nap for a few hours. I awoke to the sound of rain in the bathroom. This was a problem with the A/C unit, which was raining through the ceiling. The desk clerks switched my room, which was a bummer as the raining room had a nice view of the outside world, and the new room had only one window, a frosted window in the bathroom.  Ah, well, it's important to not have interior rain.

I headed back out at twilight to investigate the pedestrian zone and search for food. And then I ran into this.

A Marvel store. A store completely dedicated to Marvel. My, how the world has changed.

I walk around until I became completely disoriented. I was reluctant to stop at the restaurants I saw due to my tender belly. In the end, I purchased and ate a scallion pancake made by a one-armed man with a street cart. I followed this up with a street mango.

Good thing I’m going home soon, I thought. I was no longer able to feed myself properly.

Leaving Bangkok

Last night, after dinner with Mr. Fixit, I'd caught a taxi back to Banglamphu. I'd had a Thai massage earlier in the day, walked around the Khao San area one last time, and then gone for dinner.

I'd awoken at 11 pm with food poisoning. That was no fun, but by morning, I was ready to go.

At 4:30 a.m., I dragged my bag down to the reception area, where the clerk was waiting for me in her pajamas and flip-flops. She walked me down the alley to meet the taxi she'd booked, and I was off to the airport.

Here is my photo album of this trip to Bangkok.

Next stop: Taipei.

Pilgrimage

I jumped up and pulled the call cord on the ratty old bus from Chatuchak to Banglamphu. I'd just spotted my stop.

The driver looked quizzically at me, probably wondering if I'd made a mistake.

I hadn't. I was here to see the zebra shrine.

I went over in my zebra t-shirt to pay my respects. An old woman was at the shrine—I couldn't tell if she was homeless and slept nearby or if she was the caretaker. Maybe both. She looked at me in my zebra shirt taking photos of the zebra shrine and she howled with laughter. She called two men over, men who wear lazily sitting by a canal.

She pointed at my shirt and laughed and pointed at the zebras. I laughed too. Then she kissed my hand and kissed it again.

I thought this was all quite hilariou, but nevertheless, I was glad when she stopped.

The Hunt for Zebras Continues

I'd been near the Giant Swing yesterday, asking around for places that might sell ceramic zebras. As you may recall, I've been on a hunt for ceramic Thai zebras since 2011, since I first noticed them at spirit houses.

The receptionist at my guesthouse had sent me to the stores by the Giant Swing. All I found there were huge golden Buddhas, but a guy told me I could find my zebras at Bang Bua Thong. I looked this up and found I could get there by a combination of metro and bus or taxi, and I'd do even better if I left from Chatuchak Market after my regular pilgrimage.

I didn't make it. I made it to JJ Market on Saturday morning, sure. I managed to buy an ugly ceramic zebra, but didn't find the source of all things zebra, and I didn't have the energy to go to Bang Bua Thong and start asking random strangers "Have you seen these?" Plus I had to meet Mr. Fixit later in the early evening. Remember my colleague from Kuwait? We used to communicate daily for 7-8 years. It's weird when circumstances change and you suddenly have less interaction with someone. It trickles and then nearly dries up completely.

At Chatuchak, I bought a few tiny pieces to put in my spirit house back in Jersey City, browsed the market, then headed to the bus. I may not be buying the right zebras, but I knew where to find all the other zebras. I'd even added it to Google Maps. 

Canalside

Villa Mungkala is near a canal in residential old Bangkok, a few blocks south of Banglamphu and close to Democracy Monument.

I'm interested in staying in this area again, to see more of it, though I might try different lodging to get an idea of what's out there. I loved being able to easily walk over to all the services of Khao San--Boots, the supermarket, street food, coffee shops, laundry, and best of all, endless inexpensive Thai massages--but being out of the loud fray was fantastic. When I first went to Bangkok in 2000 and stayed at the Viengtai, Rambuttri was so much more off the beaten path. Now it's pretty chaotic, nearly as much so as its neighbor, Khao San, and my 2011 home-away-from-home, Sakul House, is no more. Still, it's hard for me to leave the area for the glossier downtown, since I like the old character of the neighborhood as well as the conveniences.

I followed my Bangkok routine this morning, dropping off laundry, mailing a box from the post office, then heading downtown by canal boat to hunt for the Naturalizer platform sandals I like (they're not available in the US, and I'm pretty hard on shoes so I've been through a lot of them), and then end my day at MBK, the big Thai mall with local character, as opposed to all the high-end malls that could be anywhere in the world.

Exhausting day, but you know I love Bangkok...

Old Bangkok

Morning in a Bangkok neighborhood.