Drowning in Chicken Fat
For health reasons I've been on a 2.5 day fast, subsisting on nothing but a slow-cooked broth of chicken fat, skin and bone, with a few vegetables thrown in for extra vitamins before being strained out and turned into a product even the cat refuses to eat. Today is the last day.
The dreams began well before dawn on day one, perhaps motivated by fear of fasting. Food and coffee and candy, impossibly technicolor. Like Godzilla vomiting up an all you can eat neon buffet. I expect things will only get weirder. I did a five day fast once upon a time, at a hose and bucket spa in Thailand not too far from where the backpackers exchange date rape drugs under the full moon, but that was a long time ago. I remember that by the third day I'd achieved a certain peace with the process, but the first two were difficult. This time it was easier, though there was a small bit of cheating on my part.
Cheating during fasts is not unheard of. I came across an egregious case of it a few years back when a BBC-Lonely Planet assignment brought me to Malaysia during Ramadan to research a top-ten story. A travel company had been hired to drive my photographer and I (though the photographer was a straight up pro with way more experience than myself, so in the grand scheme of things I suppose I was his writer) on a fairly grueling whistle stop trek across the Peninsula.
There were two drivers, both Muslims, and I was concerned because they told me they'd be fasting for Ramadan. "But don't worry," one of the drivers, a pretty rotund guy called Aziz, told me. "We always work during the holy month. We wake before dawn and eat a massive meal, which gives us energy throughout the day."
The men took turns driving, and on the second day I was relieved to note that both were cheating, nibbling from a box of fried chicken they'd kept out of sight underneath the driver's seat.
"We are traveling." Aziz told me. "So it is permitted."
I could use some fried chicken myself right about now. Perhaps an Arby's $10 meat mountain?
Four more hours!
Clearly getting loopy here. Best to end this post with some imagery, perhaps a collage of some sort featuring photos from the trip. The trio walking is the photographer, one of the drivers and our guide. The flowers are called the Rafflesia, quite large as you can see. The hills, a tea plantation in the Cameron Highland section of Malaysia. The tea plantation workers were pretty cool. Note the dude with the EXPLOITED sweatshirt.
Apologies for lack of blogging lately. It's been a busy summer. The work proceeds on the upcoming title, How Not to Avoid Jet Lag & Other Tales of Travel Madness. The book is done, and the illustrations are 3/4 done, with a few left to go. Minor setbacks, but nothing unusual, and my ETA is still Halloween for the book - 19 tales of travel madness, batshit lunacy and a few serious and culturally edifying stories from China, Taiwan, Singapore, America and Belize (and one from Malaysia - mustn't forget about Malaysia) - to be available for download on E-readers around the globe.
We now return to our scheduled fast.
JSB
The dreams began well before dawn on day one, perhaps motivated by fear of fasting. Food and coffee and candy, impossibly technicolor. Like Godzilla vomiting up an all you can eat neon buffet. I expect things will only get weirder. I did a five day fast once upon a time, at a hose and bucket spa in Thailand not too far from where the backpackers exchange date rape drugs under the full moon, but that was a long time ago. I remember that by the third day I'd achieved a certain peace with the process, but the first two were difficult. This time it was easier, though there was a small bit of cheating on my part.
Cheating during fasts is not unheard of. I came across an egregious case of it a few years back when a BBC-Lonely Planet assignment brought me to Malaysia during Ramadan to research a top-ten story. A travel company had been hired to drive my photographer and I (though the photographer was a straight up pro with way more experience than myself, so in the grand scheme of things I suppose I was his writer) on a fairly grueling whistle stop trek across the Peninsula.
There were two drivers, both Muslims, and I was concerned because they told me they'd be fasting for Ramadan. "But don't worry," one of the drivers, a pretty rotund guy called Aziz, told me. "We always work during the holy month. We wake before dawn and eat a massive meal, which gives us energy throughout the day."
The men took turns driving, and on the second day I was relieved to note that both were cheating, nibbling from a box of fried chicken they'd kept out of sight underneath the driver's seat.
"We are traveling." Aziz told me. "So it is permitted."
I could use some fried chicken myself right about now. Perhaps an Arby's $10 meat mountain?
Four more hours!
Clearly getting loopy here. Best to end this post with some imagery, perhaps a collage of some sort featuring photos from the trip. The trio walking is the photographer, one of the drivers and our guide. The flowers are called the Rafflesia, quite large as you can see. The hills, a tea plantation in the Cameron Highland section of Malaysia. The tea plantation workers were pretty cool. Note the dude with the EXPLOITED sweatshirt.
Apologies for lack of blogging lately. It's been a busy summer. The work proceeds on the upcoming title, How Not to Avoid Jet Lag & Other Tales of Travel Madness. The book is done, and the illustrations are 3/4 done, with a few left to go. Minor setbacks, but nothing unusual, and my ETA is still Halloween for the book - 19 tales of travel madness, batshit lunacy and a few serious and culturally edifying stories from China, Taiwan, Singapore, America and Belize (and one from Malaysia - mustn't forget about Malaysia) - to be available for download on E-readers around the globe.
We now return to our scheduled fast.
JSB
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