The prospect of returning to my country as it struggles with the greatest financial crisis the world has ever seen is strangely appealing. Somehow I feel that I want to be there to go through it with my fellow Americans. The thought that I might return to a country in the midst of a transition between President George Bush to President Barack Obama makes me even more enthusiastic.

Yes, I've decided to return to California. My main reasons for leaving Phuket are that my employment here has not turned out the way I hoped. I settled down here with intention of staying for at least a couple of years -- at least enough time to leave a definitive mark on Phuket Post. But a number of things have led me to conclude that I won't be able to do what I want to do, and I won't bother my few faithful readers with the gory details.

Today is as good as any to make this announcement. I purchased my return ticket this morning, and I'll depart Bangkok in the early evening of Nov. 6 and land 20 minutes later in San Francisco. Thanks to crossing the International Date Line, I'll get back the full day that I lost in mid-January when I came here. If only the flight were 20 minutes long. Total travel time will be along the lines of 16 hours. Ugh. I don't think there's a longer possible flight in the world than Bangkok to San Francisco.

Once back in California, I won't stay long. During a whirlwind week, I'll spend a few days in Santa Cruz to get my saxophones tuned up, and to visit friends. Then off to Auburn to visit with my family for a few more days before flying to London and joining the mv Queen Victoria on Nov. 17. The gig this time is alto in the dance band until Jan. 10, 2009, when I'll switch to tenor in the theater orchestra. The Queen Victoria has a fantastic itinerary during my contract. The first four weeks are in the Mediterranean, then the holidays in the Caribbean, followed by an around-the-world cruise through mid-April 2009. I can't wait.

So what's the plan for Duk? Same thing, for the most part. Since we've been in Phuket, he's longed to return to working on ships, where he can make much more money than in Thailand. So he'll join a ship, and hopefully sometime in the next few months I'll follow him. We plan to work on ships for a few years until we can stash enough money to return to Phuket and buy a house. Who knows? If the US finally allows gay marriage, we just might head back to California to settle down when we're ready.

On a gloomy, overcast morning, I stood outside for an hour beginning at 6:30am. I read RSS newsfeeds on my iPhone while I waited for the minibus to pick me up and take me to Ranong, Burma so I could get a new 90-day entry stamp on my visa.

But the minivan never showed. I called the company that arranged the visa run at 7:30am only to learn that the driver of the minivan thought I had cancelled and never stopped at the pickup location. So no visa run for me today. I hopped on my motorbike and drove back to the apartment feeling totally frustrated.

The morning set off a bout of culture shock, and for much of the rest of the day I just slept at the apartment, listening to jazz and reading news of the presidential campaign back home.

That's the way culture shock usually gets me. When something happens that I don't understand, or when there's a mis-communication, I feel an intense sense of frustration and bewilderment. As it turns out, that's pretty normal, according to Dr. Lalervo Oberg:

Culture shock is precipitated by the anxiety that results from losing all familiar signs and symbols of social intercourse. These signs are the thousand and one ways in which we orient ourselves to the situations of daily life: when to shake hands and what to say when we meet people, when and how to give tips, how to give orders to servants, how to make purchases, when to accept and when to refuse invitations, when to take statements seriously and when not.

These cues, which may be words, gestures, facial expressions, customs, or norms are acquired by all of us in the course of growing up and are as much a part of our culture as the language we speak or the beliefs we accept. All of us depend for our peace of mind and our efficiency on hundreds of these cues, most of which are unconsciously learned.

When an individual enters a strange culture, all or most of these familiar cues are removed. He or she is like a fish out of water. No matter how broad-minded or full of good will he may be, a series of props have been knocked from under him. This is followed by a feeling of frustration and anxiety. People react to the frustration in much the same way. First they reject the environment which causes the discomfort: "the ways of the host country are bad because they make us feel bad."

 The way I have come to think of cultural shock is that people around the world are pretty much the same, and the differences are only in the details. However, the problem is that there're a lot of details.

Somewhere North of Fremont it hit me. I was driving along Highway 680 to Auburn to visit my Mom and sister Cathee. It was a warm, clear morning on Jan. 16, 2008, and I had left Santa Cruz without feeling a twinge of emotion. I was headed away from the city I called home for more than 18 years, and a few days later I would leave from San Francisco International Airport on a flight to Thailand, where I hoped to live and work indefinitely. Forty minutes into the drive, I started to cry.

I managed to pull off the highway at the next exit to let all the feelings out. So many things had changed during the past year. My husband in all but legal documents was not my husband anymore. My home on Market Street in Santa Cruz was not my home any more. My cozy if mostly unrewarding business no longer operated. But the feeling wasn’t one of overwhelming sadness. Yes, I felt sad that I couldn’t say when I might see my friends and loved ones again. But the emotion had a lot of relief in it, as if I had changed for the better, as if I had taken off a leaden coat and could move freely wherever I wished. As with most tearful purges, the flood of emotion ebbed after 10 or 15 minutes. I composed myself to drive the rest of the stretch to my mother’s home in Auburn and a moment later returned to the highway feeling peaceful and alive.

As always, I had taken time to decide. I spent two sessions with my therapist going over the idea of leaving Santa Cruz to work on cruise ships. Stuart and I talked at length about the idea. And, as usual, I swung quickly into action when I made up my mind. I did the paperwork for the cruise line contract, got a passport and a certificate of good health from a local doctor, closed down my internet consulting business and said my goodbyes to family and friends.

Something changed in me on the very day I flew out of San Jose International Airport for Galveston, Tex., where I would join the Grand Princess. Of course, I felt sad to leave, and I felt a great deal of excitement at beginning an adventure. But I also felt a sense of peace, a sense that I didn’t have to keep up with life, to anticipate the many things that would be required of me as I encountered new situations. Instead I felt that I could let life unfold on its own. I noted in a journal entry I wrote while waiting for a connecting flight in Dallas-Forth Worth International Airport that I felt I had few things left to worry about.