Unplugged

Since age eight, I have been plugged in.  Mix tapes on my Sony Walkman for family road trips.  Compact Discs skipping on bumpy bus rides to high school. iPod play lists for my subway commutes to work in Manhattan.  Think about the lessons lost on road trips or the friendships and conversations that could have been on all of my commutes.  What a shame.  Talking to a stranger has truly become a lost art.  Most of us avoid eye contact with our neighbors and don’t even know their names.  I enjoy talking to people, so I changed my approach to world interaction.  I backpacked for three months, and left my iPod at home.

For three months I was by myself, but never alone.  I made friends with strangers, eavesdropped, broke the language barrier, and plugged myself into reality, instead of a magical 30 gigabyte rectangle (Which I still do love dearly).  When I wasn’t making nice with the locals, I was creating the soundtrack to my journey.

The music selection in foreign countries is far too comedic to regret leaving your tunes behind.  Open your ears.  How could I forget hearing “My Heart Will Go On” on two separate boat rides.  Or repeatedly hearing “My Humps” and “Milkshake” in both Thailand and Indonesia.  Why those two songs?  Also, why do so many live musicians in Thailand finish the night with “Zombie” by the Cranberries?  Could it be a tribute to the Zombie lady boys I come across in Bangkok lurking in the night, thirsty for tourist flesh?

Speaking of zombies, remember in Charlie Brown’s Christmas Pageant when no one wanted to rehearse the play, so Schroeder hit the keys and every kid danced like a freak on acid.  My friends, this is what it looks like when 50 intoxicated tourists from different countries share one dance floor.

I admit blazing the dance floor to many house hits, but sometimes I found it way more amusing watching people dance, while I drank a Sangsom and Red Bull.  Aside from outdated American music  I learned not a day goes by in Asia without a little Karaoke

I was one of three westerners on a six hour bus ride from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap, Cambodia.  Step into my shoes for a second and imagine watching and listening to Asian pop for six hours straight.

If you yearn for this experience, follow these steps:

• Lock yourself in humid, decrepit, bug filled bus for six hours
• Listen to this song on repeat
• Have an old man smile at you, while feeling your arms and knees

For me, each song was hard to differentiate from the next because they have similar beats and guitar rifts.  The locals love it.  On the bus, people just followed along and occasionally let out an over exaggerated burst of laughter.  I’m just thankful there was no group participation.

Beaches were very touristy and laid back, so the listening menu always included Bob Marley, Jack Johnson, Hotel California, and many times Simon and Garfunkel (which surprised me).  Also, Celine Dion could never be forgotten.

As an American, I applaud my country for exporting all music overseas.  Three of us guys, five girls, and two surfboards packed into a cab like the Coolio video, “Fantastic Voyage.” However, this ride had a different tune. After 15 minutes of silence, the Balinese cabbie popped in his favorite cassette, 2 Live Crew:  Sports Weekend, As Nasty as They Want to be, Pt. 2.  Hits like “Me So Horny” and “Hoochie Mama” really paint the perfect picture of American life for foreigners. If only the cabbie could understand the lyrics, he’d understand our uncomfortable, irresistible bursts of laughter.  I’m so proud.

Leaving my music behind was a proud accomplishment of mine, which I could do again, but wouldn’t.   At times I wanted to share music with new friends, fall asleep to a mix, or become invisible on a 14 hour plane or bus ride. Next time I’m on a bus of crazed Karaeoke-ites, it’d be nice to plug into my iPod, even if I had to listen to “My Heart Will Go On.”