That's a saying in India for when you part from your friends instead of saying "see ya later" because the Indians know that life is strange and you can never tell what's going to happen or when or if you will ever meet up again. I've found that saying to be pretty true too. There's people I thought I would see again and never do, and people I thought I would never see again and do, sometimes over and over again, sometimes just once more but half a world away. Sometimes it's not a big deal either, like if you're traveling in Thailand and you happen to see someone on your plane then again in the street in Bangkok, then again in Chiang Mai or Sukothai in a restaurant, then again on Ko Samui or Pukhet on the beach. You might even catch the same mini bus to Penang or Kuala Lumpur and see them again in Singapore. They’re all on the tourist trail so running into the same folks over and over again is pretty normal even though there are thousands of tourist in Thailand at any given time. Or it might happen over a shorter more intense length of time.
The last time we were in Manali we were up in the mountains in a tiny little town called Juri that is famous for it's extremely high quality hash. They make lots of it right up the hill in Malana, a totally weird place. We saw a couple of Aussies that we'd met in Agra a couple weeks earlier. We both said to each other, "Hi, how ya doin’, blah, blab, blab..." then parted.
A week later we were both on the same bus back to New Delhi. The next day we saw them in our hotel lobby, the next day in a restaurant, the next at the Post Office, the next in an incense shop and the next at a chemist, then we never saw them again. Or it can happen the other way around, you might spend months hanging around with some folks really getting to know them and becoming good friends, exchange addresses, promise to meet up again at some specific place and then never hear from them or see them again. Life is strange. The strangest though is when you meet people that you never expected to see years later in far off and out of the way places.
The first time that it happened to me was when I was hitching in Oregon and some freeks stopped and asked if I needed a place to crash since it was getting late. They had a small house in the woods right outside of this little town up in the mountains.
I said "Thanx" and hopped in.
They took me to their home and made me dinner. Just as it was getting dark a pick up pulled up and out jumped Rooster and his banjo. I had met Rooster only one other time before. Three years ago in another small house outside a little town up in the mountains about a thousand miles away in California. I was at some freeks house who were having a party where Rooster came and played his banjo all day. And why had Rooster shown up here now? Why to invite them to a party at some friends of theirs tomorrow.
I saw him come in the door and said, "Hey, remember me?"
After a moment he did and we talked of what had happened in our lives for the last three years. He'd been living place to place, I’d been hitching around. He said that since we were old friends, I mise as well come to the party too which I did. The following morning after the party I left and never saw Rooster again.
The second time it happened started when, having nothing better to do one day, I was hitching the Pacific Coast Highway just for fun. I was in Laguna Beach standing on the PCH heading north when this hot little red sports car with an even hotter looking babe stopped. Since this wasn't my usual type of ride I just stood there and thought maybe she had stopped for some other reason but after a few seconds she waved at me. I ran over to the car and smiled. When she ask where I was going I gave my usual "Anywhere you are" routine.
She told me she was on her way to Venice Beach and that I was welcome to accompany her. I threw my pack in the back and got in telling her that she sure wasn't the kind of person who usually stops for me. She just laughed then said, "Well, maybe I'm not your usual girl"
As she drove we chatted. She told me her name was Chandler. I asked if she would like to partake in a little herb. She said sure so I whipped one out, fired it up, took a toke then passed it to her. She took a hit and passed it back. When the J got about half way down I took out my green onyx dube tube, put the roach in it then passed it back to her. Chandler took one look at the stone and said, "Where'd you get that?"
I told her I had just come up from traveling in Mexico and had bought it down there.
She took it then said, "There's someone in Newport I want you to meet if that's okay with you?" I told her, no problem.
A few miles later she pulled into a gated community with a guard who took our names then called the guy we were to visit. We were allowed to proceed to the house. Chandler parked, we got out, went up to the door and were greeted by an older hippie looking dude. He hugged Chandler then she introduced him to me. His name was Captain FarOut. We went into the living room where, after we were seated, Chandler told Captain FarOut she wanted to show him something. Then she said, "Go ahead Tai, show him your dube tube."
I got it out and tossed it over to him.
He too looked at it then said, "Where'd you get this?"
I told him the story.
He then called out, "Hey honey, wanna see a rip-off?" and a tall thin babe appeared out of the bedroom.
She looked at the stone and asked Captain FarOut where it came from.
He told her the tale. She just laughed then went back into the bedroom. Captain FarOut followed her. When he came back out he had a box in his hands which he passed to me then said, "I invented these last year. I call them toke stones and I even have the patent for them. So what you have, my friend, is a counterfeit."
I looked inside the box, which was full of white porcelain toke stone with different designs on them.
Captain FarOut said, "I'd like to give yours to my lawyer, although I doubt it will do any good, so would you trade me yours for a few of mine?"
I told him sure and picked out a half dozen.
We then chatted while smoking a doobie until Chandler said she had to get going. As we were leaving Captain FarOut gave me some potleaf stickers saying he made and sold these too and thanking me again for trading stones with him. Chandler drove to Venice Beach where we parted company.
Four years later I was hitching on the Kona Coast on the Big island of Hawaii when this beat up old Toyota with potleaf stickers pasted all over it pulled over and stooped. I went up to the window, looked in then said, "How's it hangin' Captain?"
He looked at me and said, "Do I know you?"
When I told him about the toke stone incident he remembered. I got in and he asked where I was going.
When I gave him my "Anywhere you are." routine he said, "Me and a bunch of other stoners are living free on Spencer's Beach until they kick us out at the end of the month. Wanna come?"
I told him it sounded good to me then said, "Last time we met you were living in Newport Colony like a rich dude, so what happened?"
Captain FarOut laughed and said, "Man, that was a long time ago and it's an even longer story. And I hate to dwell in the past so let's just forget it and smoke some of this ultra fine Puna Butter I got."
I happily agreed as he reached into his pocket, got out a joint, stuck it in one of his toke stones, fired it up, took a hit then passed it to me.
The next happenstance was between Thailand and California. Kelly and I were staying in Krabi before it got popular. There were only four bungalow places with about 20 bungalows each, some of which were real rat shacks with no bathrooms and when it rained which it did a lot, they leaked badly but they were very cheap. We met a real interesting guy there too. He was an escapee form LA who had been traveling in Thailand and had seen a Thai girl singing and was hit with The Thunderbolt. Even though he spoke no Thai and she spoke no English, he courted and married her, and they have been living in Krabi ever since some 15 years. Even he can't believe it. Anyway, after our having been there for two weeks we decided to leave. We were told that every morning at 7 a.m. a mini bus came by the bungalows and would take you to the nearest big town three hours away where you could catch a big bus to anywhere in Thailand.
Next morning we got up a 6 a.m. to catch the mini bus. Our bungalows were first in line so we got our choice of seats. By the time we got to the last set of bungalows there were only two seats left. The manager told the driver to wait he had three people to go. We waited five minutes, the ten, when it got to be fifteen. I said to Kelly that I would bet her a buck that the tourist’s we were waiting on are Frogs.
Kelly said no way she'd take that bet. Because of course, they were. When you travel a lot you find that certain nationalities have certain traits. The French and Spanish are always late. Israelis are always rude to everyone. Germans are always nice to each other but are always rude to the native population. The English though outwardly friendly are really condescending and reserve. The Irish and Scots love to get drunk and bash the Limeys. The Americans and Australians are always the loudest but with different accents. The Canadians always have a maple leaf some where on them. The Scandinavians love to party but only with each other. The Italians love to argue with each other. The Dutch and the New Zealanders are the nicest white people on earth. The Dutch because they're friendly and don't care what you do as long as you don't do it in their faces, and the Kiwis simply because they really are friendliest white folks I've ever met in or out of their country. If you meet Germans who are really nice, they're usually either Austrians or Suisse-Deutsch. The exception to this is dopers. It does not matter what country they're from, they're there to party and they don't care with who.
Anyway, when the Frogs finally did grace us with their present’s twenty minutes later. The three of them, two guys and a girl, saw that there were only two seats left. They pouted in only the way the French can then asked just what were they suppose to do. The driver said that either they could share the two seats or wait until tomorrow. They did not like this one bit so they talked it over for another five minute then decided to take the two seats, the girl sitting on the two guys laps then whining and complaining in English for ze whole trip, which they absolutely hate to speak.
When we got to town it was raining. The driver jumped out, opened the back and the set everyone's bags on the road. When the Frenchy’s saw this they had a shit fit. How dare he (the driver) treat them like this, did he think they wanted a wet pack with wet clothes in them, blab, blah, blah... Kelly and I grabbed our packs and got out of there before we had to hear anymore. We saw them four months later in Yogakarta walking down the street, no biggie, it was on the tourist route. We didn't say anything to them and they didn't even notice us.
Two years later. Kelly and I are camping outside of a medium size town up in the Sierras. We needed some supplies so we went into town which was big enough to support a couple of supermarkets. We always went to the older one even though it was more expensive because it had the friendliest staff of any market we have ever been in, plus they had free coffee for you while shopping. Just as we were walking out the door I saw them, Le Manage Trois checking out. I say to Kelly, "Hey look, it's Le Froggays from Krabi."
Kelly looks and says, "Yeah, so what? I'm getting one more cup of coffee."
However, I go up to them and say, "Hey, remember me? We took a bus from Krabi together two years ago."
They think and pout for a moment then their eyes light up. Oui, they remember. What a horrible ride that was.
I ask them what they are doing here. It's not a major road and there are no tourist attractions within a hundred miles.
They say that someone in Fresno told them that this was a short cut to Death Valley.
Well, in miles it is but in time it's not, plus it's July and Death Valley this time of year has a daytime air temp of 120+ with a ground temp of 140+. At night it might cool down to 100, but I certainly do not want to spoil their vacation so I don't tell them about the temps. Instead I say, "It's a real nice place, beautiful and stark. You'll like it a lot."
They ask me the best way to get there from here.
Got a map?
They do.
Then let's have a look. I tell them that once they get over the mountain there are three ways down into the Valley then point them out to them on the map. I talk real fast so I won't waste their valuable time.
They ask what is the best way.
I give them the pro's and con's of each way. When I see that they are totally confused, I tell them happy traveling, nice to see them again then walk away, leaving them scratching their heads and discussing the routes in French. I never saw them again but I do hope they had a nice journey.
The last tale I have to tell about unusual meetings is not only the best but the most synchronistic of all. It started out when Kelly and I decided that we wanted to spend the winter in the Yucatan. We'd already traveled extensively in Mexico, our favorite country, but had never made it to the Yucatan. Mainly because it was 3000 miles from San Diego and there was so much in between to catch our fancy. Why, you could spend a lifetime on the west coast alone and never see it all, then there were the mountains and deserts but I digress. We were going to Merida then onto the East Coast of the Yucatan, home of the Maya.
We left San Diego and just eight short fun filled days of trains and busses later but at a cost of less than $50 each, were standing on the white sands of Isla Mujere's. It’s an international low end hippie version of Cancun which was just a few miles to the south. We found a place, Coco's Loco's, right on the beach that you could pitch your tent for one dollar a day which included toilets, showers and a small kitchen you could use. If you didn't have a tent then for another dollar a day they would rent you a hammock which you could hang in a shed they had built for that purpose. Since it was mostly heads and freeks, almost everyone there was friendly.
The long time stays, which we became part of, included: A young German couple who’re buyers for an import shop in Germany, a Canadian-Japanese couple, two young punker girls from Boston, a cripple footed English girl, who ran the concession stand for the Mexican manager. A construction worker from Minnesota, a couple French-Canadians and their arch enemies, a group of French from France. Then there was a space case American, who dressed like he was in India and thought of himself as a Yogi. and the young Mexican guy who ran the place. Other's came and went but the rest of us stayed all winter. We may sound like an odd mix but except for the French faction, we all got along really well because we all loved tequila ($2 a litre), beer ($2 a case), and mota (dirt cheep). We partied together every night. We'd start in the morning with beer and grass, in the afternoon we'd gamble with cards or dice and who ever lost had to buy that nights supply of booze which was both fair and fun. Even though Kelly and me partied with all the long stays we soon settled down to a core group of Herman and Astrid, the Germans, Pat, the construction worker, Colleen and Mary Beth, the punkers and sometimes Lynn, the English girl.
Every day was pretty much the same: Up at sunrise for a swim in those clear warm gulf waters. A breakfast of huevos rancheros, tortillas and refries. Hang out on the beach until noon. Then a lunch of carne, tortillas and refries (our favorite restaurant was "Los Manos De Dios where the owner, a woman, would come out and while you were sitting there, spray insecticide all over your table to show you that there were no bugs in her place.) Then go back to the beach and swim again. In the afternoon we’d gamble. Then Pat, Herman and I would go to the Fishery to check out the days catch. We usually bought a two-kilo bag of shrimp tails ($4), some big silver fish ($2 or $3) and sometimes lobster tails ($2 each). On our way back to Coco's Locos we'd stop at the Mercado and pick up a shitload of fresh fruit and vegi's. After watching the sunset and fighting off the evening mosquitoes, we'd make dinner in the kitchen and feed any there who wanted to eat then clean up the dishes and get ready to PARTY! We would all sit around until midnight, drinking and gambling. (the peso at that time was only worth 4 cents but they were the size of a silver dollar so betting a peso at a time you couldn't lose too much but they sure made a satisfying clink as you tossed them into the pot.) About the only excitement we had was harassing the Texas Sadhu.
Once when he was giving us his holier than thou rap about being so pure; no meat, no dope, no booze, no sex. Which to us = No Fun! Pat tossed him a habenaro, the hottest chili pepper in the world. A pepper so hot that even Mexican males who eat a tremendous amount of hot peppers treat with respect, eating only the tiniest bits at a time. He told the Texas Sadhu if he was so pure then he should be able to eat it transforming its firey heat into pure cosmic energy.
The Texas Sadhu didn’t even hesitate, he popped that hell fire right into his mouth and chewed. But not for long before he turned bright red, started sweating profusely and then promptly fainted.
We all laughed like hell thinking it was really funny but Lynn gave us hell, for some reason she liked him.
The only problem we had was watching out for the cops who liked to spy on us in the dark and try to catch us smoking mota so they could collect the morbida from us but if you were careful, it was cool. Only the Texas Sadhu ever got caught and then the dumb shit refused to pay off the cops so they took him straight to jail where he spent three weeks.
At Christmas we had a big party that included everyone there. Instead of cooking ourselves we all decided to go to a nice restaurant. About 20 of us took over a good portion of the place and ate and drank for the next three hours. Just as desert came, the Canuk with the Jap wife who was talking at the time said, "Excuse me." He leaned back, turned his head then puked up his entire Christmas dinner all over the floor.
His wife was embarrassed, appalled and highly pissed off while the rest of us were highly amused.
We all laughed and hooted.
The manager came over and told us to get out NOW!
We paid the bill and left with the manager telling us never to come back again. We had a lot of really fun times in that tropical paradise and were sorry when the winter was over and it was time to leave.
That year Kelly and I traveled back to the US of A then Kelly got an apartment in San Diego while I bicycled Europe for three months. She joined me in France where we lived in a campground in Amions for a month, then on to Vlagenbos campground in Amsterdam for the rest of the summer. There Kelly sold jewelry she made on the Dam until we had enough money to buy plane tickets to Karachi via Terahan during the hostage crises where we weren’t allowed off the plane during refueling because we were told, we might not be allowed back on and be taken prisoner.
From Karachi we took the train up to Lahore where we smoked our brains out on some of the bestest cheapest hashish in the world. From there we went to Amitsar and hung out with the Silks at the Golden Temple before Indira had it machined-gunned. Then onto New Delhi, Pokhara, Kathmandu, Varanasi, Calcutta and Madras all by 2nd or 3rd class Indian train or bus. From Madras we went by train to Mysore then bus via Combatore to Trivandrum where we spent a couple months. Then onto Kanya Kamurie, India's southern most point.
From there to Ramaswara for the ferry to Colombo, Sri Lanka. We took a mini bus down the coast to Hikkidua for Christmas. Hikkidua was the same kind of place as was Isla Mujeres, an international low end hip beach resort town. It was so beautiful it was exquisite. Close your eyes, now picture the most perfect lush tropical paradise your imagination can conjure up, that's Sri Lanka. And cheap? It was cheaper than India, cheaper than Nepal or Pakistan. It was one of the most exotic places that I have ever been. It was majick before the pinheads ruined it with their stupid war over religion, may they all rot in hell for destroying that paradise.
Anyway, here we are at Christmas having lunch in one of the many tourist restaurants and who is this walking into the place exactly one year later and exactly half a world away? Why it's Herman The German. “Hey, hey, how ya doin’?” Neither of us can hardly believe it. The Indians are right. Life is strange and the World is round.