🇹🇭🇻🇳 No Rain

Hello Adventurers, 

After having spent nearly two decades in the marketing industry (where I farted out content and campaigns for big-ass brands), I can tell you one thing; if you’re a creative person that’s inspired — and has half a brain — then coming up with ideas is pretty easy (like, if you genuinely understand your clients’ business needs, understand the nuances of the target market, and design with both in mind).

What is difficult, is producing an idea — as in making it a ‘real thing’ that goes out into the world…and does the job it has to do — which must have fidelity to the concept you originally sold to the client (lest you want to look like a bozo). Oh, and you obvs gotta respect the client’s budget and timeline.

On paper, it seems like a straight forward task…but when you’re collaborating with partners — from fabricators to film directors to beyond — to make a big idea happen…man, there’s lots of curveballs, pivoting, and non-stop problem solving (hence why I’m bald…and look older than my age by about a decade).

Said another way, coming up with the idea of the Marathon Earth Challenge was easy; Guinness World Records rejected my previous submission for being too niche (i.e. ‘most marathons completed in Ontario in a calendar year’), they suggested I attempt to break the world record instead, and they asked that I submit a new application if my other attempt was successful. Simple, right?

Well, no…because I’m of regular intelligence…so producing the Marathon Earth Challenge — which is / was a DIY undertaking on my part — was akin to opening a can of gargantuan worms. And I won’t get into the project’s boring BTS details…but there was booking all the travel and accommodations, getting visas, outreaching to brands for gear, etc. Admittedly, that stuff wasn’t that hard. Rather, it was sequencing this project’s year-long schedule — which had to span different cities and countries and continents (in a manner that gave me the most optimal marathoning conditions) — that was hard AF, and nearly split my brain in two more times than I’d like to admit.

And I’m happy to report that I have generally avoided nemesis-ical snow, ice, cold, and winter…but had to settle for some heat (but luckily not at its peak). However, no matter how much ‘reconfiguration of routing’ I did, I had to accept that I was gonna get walloped by one element when it was at its worst. Like, it’s impossible to avoid because of how weather patterns work across the world as well as over the span of a year. And this week, I got the wallop; monsoon season in Southeast Asia.

Anyhoo, this issue of the newsletter recounts my wet and warm marathons in Bangkok and Ho Chi Minh City…ones that left me soaked, blistered, and sorta zapped. Thankfully, those places rule…even if you’re getting dominated by their seasonally shite weather. So let’s get into it,

- Ben Pobjoy

2023 TREK TRACKER

Where in the world...record am I?

• Countries visited: 66

• Flights taken: 69

• Kilometres flown: 102,323

• Marathons completed: 201

• Kilometres trekked by foot: 9,550.8

• Total kilometres trekked since 2015: 72,642

THE LAST MONTH IN REVIEW

Stats and anecdotes from October 2023

I hit two major milestones in the final days of October 2023; completing 200 marathons in a calendar year (for the first time ever) as well as completing my 800th marathon overall (like, since I started trekking back in January 2015). I don’t mention these things to boast, rather I mention them to make a point; the 21 marathons I did in October 2023 were by far the hardest I’ve ever done…like, out of hundreds and hundreds.

Basically, I came into October sick with a head cold that lasted for 10 days…which meant I was compromised for the first third of the month. And I began the month in Jerez de la Frontera, Spain and finished the month in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam…being places that are 11,235 kilometres apart. So there was lots of travel — to places I’ve never been before — and I had no home court advantage, was out of my depths, and deep in my discomforts.

In October, I visited six countries, took six flights (three of which were red-eyes), and crossed hemispheres / the Prime Meridian / six timezones…and never once broke my daily promise to call my wife. And I dealt with pretty consistent 35°C temperatures throughout — that spanned the sun-scorching to the dry to the muggy — before finding myself in Southeast Asia for monsoon season. And within all of this were language barriers, passport juggling, visa uncertainties, currency conversations in my cranium, a dying laptop, remote trails, one desert, and some really busy cities full of gnarly traffic.

And because of the temperatures as well as my travel schedule, there was always some kind of physical nag; a headache, dehydration, sore internal organs, recurring prickly heat, an infected cut on one hand, and the development of a corn on the top of my right foot’s baby toe (from a pair of shoes I’ll never buy again). And in the last few days of the month, it got up to nearly 40°C in Bangkok proceeded by a day of 92% relative humidity in Ho Chi Minh City (paired with heavy storms)…and such blistered my feet (which no sock / shoe combination can mitigate)…and that’s how I’m entering November, LOL.

TBH, I aspired to finish October with 203 marathons completed, but I could only get to 201…and while I fell short of my goal, I am proud of getting to 201…because my goal setting didn’t account for me having to work around the weather nor extreme temperatures (like, it wasn’t uncommon for me to start a marathon at 5AM one day, and start the next one at 5PM the day after…and just operate in a 24/7 mode where I slept a few hours here and there).

I reject the ’no pain, no gain’ proverb because it celebrates unnecessary trauma / invites injury / is the stuff of macho morons. However, there can’t be flowers without rain. Said another way, this was an ugly month where I saw lots beauty across a good swath of the planet; of place, of people, of plants, of customs, of faith, and beyond. And while I would’ve liked to have had it a different way (i.e. pain-free), it was truly spectacular and represents another golden chapter in this adventure of a lifetime. So, the rain? It does provide and nurture. And…I just want to relay once again that our pale blue dot is worth caring about (even if depressing news headlines routinely give us the blues).

And now…as in, today? Well, I am here…still standing, still marching forward, and still deeply in awe of the earth (and of earthlings). And while I’m not invincible, I am slowly winding down this project at what could very well be the pinnacle of my endurance / navigational skills (like, I dunno if I’ll ever be tested like this again). And while I don’t physically feel at my best (I’m objectively worn), I do know that I’m nevertheless at the top of my game.

And all the field craft? It’s what’ll ultimately carry me to 240 marathons by year’s end…oh, and the flowers too; be they flora or the beautiful moments that put wind in my sails.

RAPID WEEKLY RECAP

A speedy synopsis for time-crunched readers

• The Wildest Thing: Don’t believe the hype! While the ‘salmon run’ traffic is indeed wilder in Ho Chi Minh City than in Bangkok, the talk of it being impenetrable to pedestrians is exaggerated. Yes, I know how to navigate this stuff…but don’t let it dissuade you from visiting these parts if you fear it. Basically, you just gotta respect traffic rules / signals, look for an opening, commit to crossing, never freeze when crossing, and be zen as vehicles weave around you. Sure, the vehicles are often inches away from you — as you’re trying to get through four to five lanes of traffic (zipping across 10 lanes was my personal record in ‘Nam) — but the drivers are accustomed to this delicate dance (and the worry is in your head, not theirs…I promise)😎

• The Biggest Obstacle: It’s pathetic…but sitting on restaurant floors in Bangkok, and stiffly struggling to stay cross-legged. I’ve stupidly let my ‘hip health’ go to hell this year (due to lack of daily stretching), and 2024 is going to be a painfully humbling year (as I put in the work to regain my flexibility)😰

• The Lesson Learned: While travelling, I recently had to replace my nearly eight year-old laptop because it started acting up. And I did so in Thailand ‘cause I knew it would be cheaper there. How so? Well, because I use an ‘Apple Global Price Tracker’, and I wanted to share the resource with you (in case you need to score a tech deal abroad)🤓

FIELD NOTES: BANGKOK, THAILAND

Wai of the prayer hands, way of the punishing limbs

The smiles, the widespread appearance of happiness / contentment, and the warm deference demonstrated by way of the welcoming wai hand greeting…these things are immediately felt when you arrive in Bangkok. Oh, and the humidity…because this is delta country in swamplands…in a city that’s divided by the Chao Phraya river, and scored by countless canals…like an Amsterdam or a Venice. But not, because the skyline here is punctured upwards by golden serpentine finials and punctuated downwards by the sloping tiled roofs of Buddhist wats…in a country that’s 92% Buddhist yet a constitutional monarchy…which is something that’s illegal to criticize…and impossible to ignore since photos of the king are everywhere (even though he lives in Bavaria most of the time).

The cult of personality as well as the rampant homelessness here are hard to wrap one’s head around, but then one’s head — via nose — is drawn to the absorbing scents of the world-class street food, and you lose recollection of your last thought and become a drooling Homer. And while every place everywhere has its WTF-ness and contradictions, I absolutely loved my time in Bangkok; it’s so fun, lively, and interesting. And as other major cities become more alike via globalization, it’s refreshing to go to a place like Bangkok that is completely itself; fully Thai in aesthetics, culture, and how it operates.

Anyhoo, while in Bangkok I stayed in the Old Town — being a central district I’d recommend for its authenticity / proximity to major attractions — and did two marathons from it; one westward to visit some olden canal communities and another eastward to visit the tony part of town. And no matter where I went, I enjoyed how picturesque everything looked at night — especially after the rain — when colourful shop lights reflected off of the puddles as sidewalk’d Thais ate street food across makeshift tables and chairs…it’s real good stuff (and such a vibe)!

I first marathoned westward to the Khlong Lat Mayom floating market, and en route wove myself through the old and modest communities built atop waterways (where the homes stand on wooden stilts or concrete columns like knee deep legs in a body of water). And I’ve never trekked through anything like it before…and it was fascinating since the paths-cum-sidewalks were essentially slim bridges (which I shared with locals on motorbikes making their way to more major roads). Now, I can’t give you exact coordinates — because I freestyle’d my route — but I’d encourage you to visit an area like this in Bangkok…because they’re jungle-y and river-y…and I’ve never known an urbanism like it.

The floating market mirrored the aforementioned communities; being a big, open-air structure — this one full of stalls and vendors — over a waterway, but what gave the market so much charm were the vendors in moored boats; whether selling vegetables or operating approximations of take-away food joints from them (i.e. grilling or deep frying food in the long but shallow boats). The market I visited sold an array of fruits, vegetables and proteins…but the stand-outs were all the food vendors inside; those grilling whole fish, sautéing massive prawns, rotisserie-ing fowl, deep-frying parts of pig…and serving it all ‘as is’ or mincing it up to chuck on top of rice noodles garnished with diced carrots, peanuts, bean sprouts, and Thai basil. It all looked — and smelled — incredible…but obvs wasn’t vegan-friendly (which didn’t bother me ‘cause I was glugging the fresh watermelon juice as well as the clementine juice that I bought there).

In regular life, I’m not superstitious because I know life can be dookie and full of duḥkha. However, when it comes to this project…I’ll half-jokingly / half-seriously entertain anything that professes to offer me protection (because I don’t have time for injury or death at the mo). For instance, when I was in Bolivia earlier this year, I bought a protective bar of body soap from a witch in La Paz…but was then robbed a few weeks later by cops when marathoning Mexico City (so the soap and/or the witchcraft didn’t work). But an Airbnb host in Athens gave me a beaded naẓar bracelet thereafter…and I haven’t had any problems since…so I’m basically back on my BS fucking with talismans…and that’s why I went to the amulet market in Bangkok. 

And honestly, the objects themselves don’t excite me as collectibles…rather, I just like interacting with the half-committal vendors selling these types of things…because they’re always smoking a fag or watching a video on their phone or eating as they’re like, “Yes, 1,000% spiritual protection guaranteed. Very holy, not an imitation.” And then their phone rings, and they answer / become more interested in that convo…and extend their hand for money…and then it’s up to you — or the supernatural powers that be — to either buy or bye.

The one downside to Bangkok is that there are lots of dorky backpackers milling about. And I’m not knocking the youth — because I love the youth — but new age Burning Man-going techno hippies into woo-woo yoni eggs and/or perineum sunning that assume names like 'Amara' or 'Creik'… well, we know they generally suck ass…and ground zero for ‘em in Bangkok is Khao San Road. The strip is corny — I stumbled onto it, and it’s where tourists eat stuff like grilled crocodiles and bugs, get wasted, huff laughing gas, and get massages — but it’s also where all the tuk-tuks congregate, and the tricycles are worth inspecting at night (since they’re decked out in rad lighting, shiny chrome, and booming sound systems).

I didn’t go to that many Buddhist temples in Bangkok (maybe a handful?) — not because of the occasional admission fee — but because the more prestigious ones enforce a strict dress code (and wearing pants when it is nearly 40°C outside is a hard pass for me when marathoning). That said, the wats do warrant a visit because they’re architecturally stunning…and because the Buddhist Thais are pious, and go to the temples in traditional garb that is really beautiful (on both the men and the women). And if you want your mind blown, consider how Buddha was Nepalese but gained enlightenment in India…and how sorta ‘India Indian’ the traditional Thai garb looks with its bangles and near-sari wraps.

TBH, I got more of a kick from the folk art-styled Buddhist shrines in lower-income neighbourhoods (pictured below) as well as the incongruous shrines beside malls and conveniences stores in the ritzy Pathum Wan district (where devotees made offerings after having just shopped at luxury retailers). And whether the shrines were upmarket or downmarket, the Garuda on them — which is Thailand’s freaky deaky national symbol — sorta terrified me. But yo, the Garuda wasn't half as scary as the stone-faced Nak Muays (and more on that if you keep reading, bb).

FIELD NOTES: HO CHI MINH CITY, VIETNAM

Where everyone eats at the kids table

My plane landed safely in Ho Chi Minh City…but I was already crashing at that point…and then I tempted fate…and burned myself out with a single marathon in ‘Nam on the last day of the month. And when someone somewhere flipped their wall calendar page to November, it was as though all my trek-y toiling in October caught up with me…as Mother Nature joined in to corner me into submission (something that was given gravitas by her worrisome tears via monsoon rains, and her hot-blooded temper via harrowing humidity). And me? I didn’t just bow down, I took it lying down…and as a sign; to crawl into bed…and sleep across two days (in hopes of somehow healing and recharging).

I wish my time in Vietnam had played out differently (i.e. I wanted to be more vertical than horizontal), but I was still supremely grateful for what I experienced there while marathoning the streets…because it was fleeting, and that alone is enough to make some things more special than they’d normally be. And Ho Chi Minh City…it just made such a huge impression on me; quirky and youthful and full of ingenuity, friendly people, and overall happening-ness. And 7 million motorbikes…in a city with a population that’s just shy of 9 million people today…but motorbikes not driven shyly; driven wildly in all directions on the roads and in all directions on the sidewalks too.

I haven’t been somewhere that presented as being this socialist since I was in Havana nearly 30 years ago (where I saw Fidel Castro speak in person for hours and hours, LOL). And Ho Chi Minh City, it has the triumphant socialistic statues, the soviet / constructivist-styled billboards (for the state’s messaging), and of course lots of commemorations to Uncle Hồ himself. But when you’re out and about, the aforementioned just feels like performative holiday decorations (that someone couldn’t give a toss to take down)…because the bustle of the city is entrepreneurial, materialistic, and capitalistic IRL. And while some market activities may be centralized / state-controlled, a term like ‘post-socialist’ is prolly more fitting for Ho Chi Minh City.

Anyhoo, not like the model matters…because the streets are where it’s at; killer coffee, teens breakdancing in empty lots, seniors exercising in parks, motorcyclists publicly pissing all over the place, and everyone ‘sidewalk eating’ at low tables / sitting on short chairs…and thus looking like Billy Madison on said film’s movie poster. And for what it’s worth, I’ll wager that Ho Chi Minh City becomes an epicentre of hipness over the next decade…because lots of dope shit is taking root (and because a third of the population are millennials, and the young always chart us new and exciting paths).

Lastly, this project has continually demonstrated to me how loving and curious kids are. Like everywhere ‘round the world…and regardless of race, religion, class, language or whatever else. They’re always the first to engage with me — by saying ‘hello’ or passing me a football (and inviting me to play) or giving me some variation of a high-five or just goofing with me — and it never fails to make me feel warm and fuzzy. This happened in Ho Chi Minh City loads…and it makes me wonder why us adults sour at some point (and become so distrusting / largely closed-off to others as we age)?

It’s fucking cornball and cliché, but I’ve observed how ‘love’ is our natural / original state in youth…and how ‘hate’ is something learned later in life (that poisons the well / wellness of adulthood). And why? Like, what gives? People, let’s fix this!

BEST LOCAL THING-Y

The food in Bangkok is so damn good — and so widely available…like, on every street / corner — that it felt too lazy to highlight. As such, I’ll sidestep that low hanging fruit metaphor…to instead profile literal low-hanging fruit; be it the dragonfruit from cacti — or lychees from bush-y trees — that I ate while in Ho Chi Minh City. Yes, this stuff is somewhat available back home — but it isn’t as fresh / the latter can be canned / all is imported and priced how exotic things tend to be…as in expensive — and basically it was such a gift to eat these things fresh and ripe (and for free…since my Airbnb host left these ‘in season’ fruits for me as a thoughtful ‘welcome gift’).

When it comes to dragonfruit, I’ve only ever had it as sparse garnish in salads — and have only eaten the white flesh variety — but in Vietnam, I ate one that was beetroot-coloured inside. And man, it just gave me total glee; super colourful, perfectly squishy, and where the skin basically fell off of the fruit. And the lychee? I legit thought it was decoration on the fruit plate…because it was brown, on a branch, and the pods were hard to the touch like an eggshell…but then I took a knife to them, and delighted in their sweet and gelatinous insides.

Fruit in this part of the world is Willy Wonka colourful, and eating it will make your eyes and mouth smile (as well as your wallet…because ‘Nam is sooo inexpensive).

POBJOY'S GLOBAL PRICE INDEX

This is an on-going documentation of how much things cost in different places around the world. Here are some of the things I bought in Bangkok and Ho Chi Minh City (all prices converted to USD):

• A small almond milk latte from a café in Bangkok: $3.60

• A 500 millilitre bottle of water, a deep fried tofu appetizer with dipping sauce, and a ginormous salad with like nine ingredients / house-made tempeh / peanut dressing from a restaurant in Bangkok: $6.78

• A 1.5 litre bottle of water, six 320 millilitre cans of Pepsi Max, and six 120 gram packs of instant noodles from a grocery store in Ho Chi Minh City: $6.93

MARATHON MUSINGS

On Thai Boxing*

I didn’t balk at spending 2,500฿ to sit ringside at Bangkok’s Rajadamnern Stadium to watch the fights. That’s because — with conversion — it was only $69 USD, and worth every penny; even if just for the three-ish hours of air conditioning. Like, to escape the steamy sauna that is Thailand, the place once Siam.

And the recently modernized 3,000 seat stadium looked like they all do; the coliseum seating, the digital advertisements on the LED screens (ones flickering from this to that), the massive lighting rig suspended over the ring (to make the action look good and crisp on TV), and the ring…which looks like any other (i.e. squared, roped, cornered). And save for the violence — and the crowd cheering to fuel or fête the violence — that’s where the similarities between Queensbury Boxing and Thai Boxing start and stop.

Had it not been for the nasally ching-y sounds of the Sarama becoming audible like a mystical haze over the loudspeakers, you wouldn’t had known that a fight was about to start…especially since the Nak Muay fighters quietly approach the ring (with no hollering or no dramatics).

When I’m seated close to the ring — and there’s a walkout towards it — I always look into the fighters’ eyes; because such tell you if a fight is over before it has even started. But here, there was nothing…not a sign, not an inch, no posturing, not even a poker face nor a thousand-yard stare. And all eight Muay Thai bouts I observed — the ones with the five rounds that’re each three minutes-long — it was expressionless faces as facsimile over and over again. And that’s the scary shit; when individuals are that sure of the violence they can inflict (or that comfortable with the violence they can take).

In boxing, your corner men tamp down the tensile ring ropes to create an opening for you to bob yourself through to get yourself into the ring…before you go to your corner to wait for the clang-y ring of the bell, and then fight. Not here. All fighters enter in over the ropes, and with the smashed tennis racquet-looking Mongkhon on their heads as well as the glam metal-y Pra Jiad on their arms, the latter being knotted fabric tatters that — historically speaking — were pieces of their Mother’s clothing worn for luck and protection when going into battle. Nowadays, the coloured fabrics are associated with the gyms that own the fighters.

And as the oboe-y music continued to play atop the percussive sounds of the klong khaek drums, the trance-like fighters did the ritualistic Wai khru ram muay; being preparatory counterclockwise circles in the ring where they pray in each corner as salutation to Buddha, Dharma, and the sangha of monks (well, according to Wikipedia)…all while gently dancing and bobbing before the fight.

And with a referee entering the mix at some point in time — as well as the customary touch of the gloves, and the sound of the bell — the time to fight is now. And regardless of weight class, all the fighters were muscle-y yet lean (since unnecessary mass would slow their arsenal of weapons; like fists, elbows, knees, and shins). And as they music played during the rounds, they began — and continued — fighting; until knockout or the final bell rung (being when judges awarded decisions…from ringside wooden boxes in which they sat, shielded from the view of the gamblers looking for any advantage in order to beat the odds).

Standing square and directly in front of one another, the fighters started with the feints; be it a jab thrown to calculate distance or a knee raised (for reasons unknown to me), and first contact was eventually made; by fist to head or body and/or by shin to anything seemingly from the knees up. And there was the homoerotic clinching of the fighters’ interlocked, upright, and glistening bodies — where things get messy and dogfight-y — and it is here where the vicious elbows tend to get thrown or where the ref separates fighters if the hug-ish embracing is greater than the action. And while none of the punching was crispy (like I know it to be in boxing), the ‘everything limb but the kitchen sink’ aspect of Muay Thai makes for good cumulative action…even if the fighting on display was average at best (like, as an average boxer myself…it takes one to generally know one).

But it’s not like we spectators cared for top-tier technique per se ‘cause some of us were here for the first time just trying to decode the sport…while locals in the upper rings of the stadium were here placing bets in real-time as the odds changed per round. And I’m sure there was money to be made; since four of the eight fights ended in knockout, and two motionless fighters had to be carried outta the ring on stretchers. But not Hadish. He was the fourteen year-old pro fighter that opened the first fight on the night’s card, winning by elbow that felled his older, bigger opponent like a tree that went timber bye-bye.

And in winning a fighter would sometimes smile a lil as their coach — whose gyms the fighters tend to live in like indentured servants that must forego a portion of the prizefight purse for room and board — their coach, the coach would be somewhat congratulatory in victory. But in defeat, the coaches would become visibly disappointed and storm off…leaving fighters to exit the ring alone (and wander off deeper into the bowels of the stadium likely feeling like shit). That part, that was the saddest; fighters as rejected chattel. And these fighters, they tend to come from lower socio-economic rungs, and fight to remit money to family who rely on them for help. And a loss? It means way less loot (and compounded sadness).

But us spectators, we’re not here for the feels. We want bang for our buck; and while no one bled on this night, there were all the knockouts…hence much value from much violence. And me? Well, sitting up-close to it all, I regularly got sprayed by the sweat of a fighter tagged in the head by a shin or a fist (as I heard them emit the animalistic groans of pain endured).

And this, a Muay Thai fight night in Bangkok? It may not speak to you or your sensibilities, and that’s totally fine (and understandable). But us primate types? We’re holdover apes, and we relish things primal and primordial…like violence, in all its fabulous forms.

*This essay was inspired by Joyce Carol Oates’ On Boxing, a collection of essays published in 1987.

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