I never quite adjusted to the time zone. One of the reasons is that we were all sharing a hotel room, so I tended to go to bed the same time as Rebecca and Courtney. As a result, I awoke about 4:00a every morning, sometimes earlier. Not wanting to turn on lights in the room, I would usually go for a wee-hour walk before returning to the lobby to read.
There's something captivating about the Asian streets at these hours. Before 5:00 a.m. there are usually small groups of men hanging onto the night before--drinking, talking and waiting for the morning light to roll them into bed. But more interesting are the people (usually women) setting up their stalls, carts and tarps on the street, preparing for the day's commerce. Often these are family affairs, with young children helping to haul out the goods to be sold or set up the food carts. Wood fires are lit, so coals will be ready to grill the chicken, which is spread out for viewing like some sort of poultry morgue (refrigeration and sanitation being less important to street food than effective merchandising).
I suppose that early birds have the same advantage over Cambodian, Thai or Malaysian worms. As I walked the darkened streets I admired their industry. And as the morning arrived, I worked up an appetite that was routinely satisfied with exotic fresh fruit or a cart food breakfast.
Walking was always more fun away from tourist areas. Many times I stumbled upon local markets, with all manner of meats and produce spread out on the ground. Sometimes I would head down narrow residential alleys, only to eventually find myself at a dead end, standing in somebody's open living space More than once I laughed with old ladies who tried to point to the way out. And always I'd be stared at, more out of curiosity than concern, because I never saw other white people in these residential labyrinths.
More than once I found myself reciting one of my favorite Robert Frost poems, Acquainted with the Night:
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
