In town again

One could even argue its good to be back here, but that is hard to explain to the average person. The turmoil of Nigerian elections is just around the corner, capped with more Boko Haram violence in the North of the country. Oil prices have plummeted, dampening virtually every aspect of the economy. Companies trim budgets, people wait, and the dysfunctional that has always been here pushes the place forward into another year. That is the state of Nigeria in January 2015.

But there is no question in my mind now that the Lagos supercity of 20 million has an allure in ways I have yet to fully understand myself: something that draws you back, something you miss when you're away, something that you love to hate. It could just be a feeling in the air. Some say it is optimism, or a culture of aspiration. "Africa's first city," the recent National Geographic feature story said. That feeling in the air, that bustling energy, you absorb and it becomes a part of you. You start to enjoy the fight, the chaos, and the toughness that grows up from within. It's the same thing the drew that businessman in a South African bar to say Nigeria is something he must do before he dies. It's that thing that keeps most people away. It's what happens when you tell people not to come because they won't get it, and there just isn't any need for them to. It's all of these things lumped into one.

In the background, you join in on the yelling matches when no one is actually mad and all the incessant car horns begin to sound like birds chirping, everyone just talking to each other. You hate all the stupid and unnecessary problems that arise, but then love the little inconsequential victories you achieve over them. This surprises you, creeps up on you, until the point that you arrive back in the horrendously dysfunctional Murtala Mohammed International Airport after a few months away and seemingly exit your body, separate yourself from former ideas of what's pleasurable and what's deplorable, and it just doesn't feel that bad anymore. We are probably all a little crazy here in the end.

So I'm back now, for who knows how long, and despite all the many layers of that decision that should probably keep me up at night, I've been sleeping well lately, as well as I can remember, and that says something about each passing day. I understand none of that invites you here. It just perhaps explains the nature of things, and why on Earth I'd come here again.

Cruising around Bangkok

By motorcycle taxi was the best way, I found. The many roads of Bangkok tend to grow congested at any hour of the day owing to an array of tightly woven bottlenecks on top of poor planning. One traditional taxi ride was all it took, and then in moving from one place to another I joined the hoard of beeping scooters dodging in and out of cars, forming their own tiny side lanes in a way you don’t think is possible, and yet, it all works again and again.

So that is one way to do it. You would also do well to walk and walk and take in a hefty portion of real Asia until you are tired and don’t want to take it in anymore. At the MPK Centre, for example, you are inundated by fake Calvin Klein underwear next to “I love Bangkok” shirts which is one floor above a million electronic stores built atop one another selling carbon copy Beats Headphones under 10 USDs and shady phone unlocks. Down roads like Silom, tailors call out for you to take a peak in their shop, next to massage parlors where ladies (and ladyboys) request you do the same. Then later at night, a visit to Patpong road, one of the more well known red light districts in the world, brings you face to face with Thailand’s unfortunate sex tourism industry. The oldest business in the world is on display in full bright colors, still going strong. “Every girl on stage is available for your ultimate pleasure,” one sign declared, and there were no doubt more than a few takers behind those seedy blackout curtains.

It was never too much, at least I can’t say Thailand was for me. On the contrary it seemed perfectly balanced, every terrible intersection next to a quiet alley, a go-go bar equaling a quiet cafe on the river. Buddhist thought describes the quest for a state of Nirvana, only achieved through the “middle way,” that moderate place between pain and ecstasy. It is hard not to see how this translates into the overall mindset of a people embedded in the day to day happenings of their lives. It was all peaceful in the chaos, something kind and soft spoken in the air. 15 million tourists will no doubt note similar attributes on their 2015 journeys, go back and tell their friends, ushering in next year's wave. I was lucky to be one of them nestled in for a few perfectly lit days in January under that lovely equatorial sun. 

Yosemite, in retrospect

The renown Ken Burns documentary called it “America’s best idea,” and it would be hard to argue if you’ve ever meandered along the paths of Yosemite or Yellowstone, Glacier or Grand Canyon. The idea was this: private interests and profit motive tend to corrupt and decay our great natural treasures, and so those treasures deserve to be protected for future generations to enjoy. Here was born our system of National Parks now over a hundred years old. If you had any real American childhood at all, indeed to call yourself American, you must have visited one of these with your family some summer long ago.

And so with great pride in my country’s preserved diversity, I found Yosemite one winter afternoon, and will always be grateful I did. How to describe the overwhelming sense of peace in that valley, fed by endless waterfalls, overlooked by the icons of el Capitan, Half Dome, and Glacier Peak? Do you know what complete silence sounds like against the cold on your ears after being inundated by the choir of cities day after day? You will just have to go and see.

Patriotism itself goes many ways, but someone boasting about the real beauty of this country showcases pride at its best. Tell me how big it is, and how different the rainy days of Seattle are from the sunshine of Miami, New York City's bustling from the laid back vibes of Venice Beach. Talk about the little crevices you have seen, those you want to see, and how you could spend your entire life traversing all of our states and not see it all. I devour that conversation.

The world grows smaller and smaller. What once took more than two days from San Francisco by train, horse, and carriage, now takes under three hours by car. Civilization approaches, and yet, the Yosemites few and far between live on.