Travel.To.Be

My first night on the island of Ko Mook off the Andaman coast was by no means pleasant. I had arrived on a small long tail boat excited to be off the main tourist trail, but unfortunately timed my landing along with a seemingly endless amount of Chinese tourists. Despite racing ahead of the packs, much to my chagrin, they had advance booked every guesthouse along the beach. Ko Mook was known as one of the first popular islands in the far southern coast of Thailand, and I hadn’t expected a mob of tourists like you would see at popular islands in the north such as Ko Samui or Phuket. Undeterred I ventured away from the beach following a windy dirt path inland. After a few minutes I came upon a clearing and a half dozen rustic cabins set along the jungles edge. I seemed to be the only one around, and after wandering in and out of the main building a few times hoping someone would see me I popped into the kitchen and surprised a tiny old Thai woman cooking her family’s dinner. After the initial shock of finding a six foot farang in her kitchen she greeted me a smile and led me to a sign in book and a key to one of the small cabins. The cabins were cute enough with a basic attached bathroom and queen bed draped with mosquito netting. It was getting late, and my stomach led me to believe I would be up much of the night, so I decided to get to sleep early and have a productive first morning on the island. I had not however, planned on the relentless artillery barrage that would make sleep on this given night oh so elusive.

I’m talking of course about the monkeys. My cute wood cabin also sported a sheet metal roof, and I’m not sure how long it took the monkeys to realize what a coconut could do to a tin metal roof, but they sure were aware by now. Every five or ten minutes, just enough time for someone to start to fall asleep, a coconut would come crashing down onto my roof from the trees above. This massive explosion would be followed by what my untrained ears took for laughter amongst the plethora of monkeys scattered in the tree tops above. For hours on end this barrage continued, and sleep was by no means an accessible goal. Later in the night, as the parade of coconuts began to wane, I was blessed with the sound of a scurry along the wood floor. Everyone knows the sound of a mouse or rat running along a floor, and I was by no means comfortable with the prospect of jungle rodents invading my space. Every couple of minutes, an unmistakable little shuffle of feet. My lack of sleep was really kicking in, and I told myself that the mosquito netting surrounding me would at least keep whatever rodent this was from running onto my limbs during the night. That bit of self comfort, however unrealistic, was all I needed as I quickly passed out.

I awoke to a pleasant morning with the sun’s rays diving through the cracks of the cabin walls until I realized that there was indeed some sort of animal running around my bed the night before. I tensed up, and crawling to the end of my bed I checked around the floor for any sign of the pesky critter. All clear. I then army crawled back up to my pillow and leaned across the bed to check the side floor and the the rest of the main cabin area. All clear again. I relaxed, the mouse or rat must have headed back into the jungle with daybreak. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, glanced down to push myself up and had the most frightening experience of my life. Staring up at me from the side of the mattress next to my left leg were two bright red eyes. Oh man did I jump high. I just about fell off the bed, but caught myself, and as you would now expect I was standing on the far corner of the bed with a slight twitch, not daring to take my eyes off that spot on the mattress. I peered across for a closer look and found, a little to my dismay, that this was not a terrifying jungle monster, but instead, a mammoth spotted gecko. Who, after winning the staring contest with me for the next thirty seconds, leaped off the mattress and galloped into the connecting bathroom. I say galloped because I had only seen geckos a few inches long in my lifetime. This guy was over a foot. I gave chase, desperate not to lose the image of this great beast that caused me so much fear, and luckily snapped a quick shot just before he breached the top of the bathroom wall. It took me a good hour to finally get my heart rate back to normal. Now I’m not sure there’s any moral to this story of mine, but should you ever find yourself in the jungle and hear a scurry, don’t just assume it’s an ill tempered rodent. It may just be your friendly neighborhood giant gecko bodyguard taking care of the nasty insects looking to do you harm.

I could live in Bangkok.  The nightlife, the market culture, the people, the variety.  Oh, and it’s dirt cheap.  My girlfriend Jamie and I got a nice average-priced room for $9US.  We ate in the street food markets for 50 cents a dish.  Fake Birkenstocks are $5.  Fresh pineapple and Mango goes for about 20 cents.  Beer is expensive, unfortunately.  $1.50 for a 22 oz.

Khao San road, the backpackers center in Bangkok, is staggering.  I have never seen anything like it.  Thousands of people, thousands of signs, music and beer overflowing everywhere, vendors selling everything from fresh orange juice to fake designer jeans.

We headed then to Sukhothai, the first capitol of Thailand, which had some impressive ruins, and then moved on to Umphang, a jungle outpost of some 1000 buildings and jumping-off point to the largest waterfall in Asia.  Most of those living in and around it are “hill-tribes.”  The hill-tribes, or mountain people, are indigenous farmers who are made nomadic by way of their affinity for slash-and-burn farming.  They generally move without respect for borders, but many of the Karen tribe have been forced out of nearby Burma and relocated near Umphang.

The waterfall was astounding.  It seems as if the entire mountain is dripping with water.  The second tier was also great for jumping, an attraction in itself.

Jamie was fortunate enough to experience an insect transformation.  That is to say a large moth larvae (we’re talking Silence of the Lambs size) fell on her head, wetting most of her body with clear, sticky, foul-smelling liquid.  Gross? Yes.  Necessitated an immediate shower? Yes.  Did I laugh for half an hour? Absolutely.

Jamie is convinced that using a system of elaborate hand-motions and a sophisticated series of of finger pointing, she can communicate not only simple messages, but complex thoughts and inquiries.  In Umphang, she broke out “please remove the hand with which you just cleaned up your son’s vomit from my leg,” and my personal favorite to date: “Is the filling in this sticky bun the same as the filling in that sticky bun, or that one?”  Judging by the results–two hands on the leg and three sticky buns in a bag–I remain skeptical.  She’ll prove me wrong one of these days.

Women have a kinship in Umphang, they share a sort of fundamental understanding.  Like when the fully-clothed grandmother lept into the pool at the base of the waterfall to hand her three terrified, screaming grandchildren to Jamie. Or like when a middle-aged Karen woman curled up on Jamie’s feet and buried her head in Jamie’s lap for an hour’s nap on the Songthaew (more on this below).

The road between Umphang and its only access point, Mae Sot, has been aptly dubbed the “Sky Highway.” The road turns some 1200 times through the mountains, rarely straightening enough to reach 30 mph.  The only public transportation between the two towns is a songthaew.  A songthaew is a clapped-out compact pickup truck outfitted with a steel cage roof and two facing wooden benches.  Filling them to capacity is standard and capacity is exceeded only when the wheel wells prevent the tires from turning.

We managed a seat inside each time as the men are content to sit on the roof or hang off the back.  12 people can physically sit on the two benches.  We shared the first ride with 16 people, 4 car rims, 1 motorcycle (not a misprint), 2 rolls of industrial aluminum, a few 80 lb bags of rice and everyone’s luggage.  On the way back to Mae Sot there were 24 people and 2 chickens.  Although the trip is only 164 km over paved road, it takes over 4 hours.  Our guide book warned us lightly to take pills if we were prone to motion sickness.  It did not warn us of the all afternoon puke-athon we encountered.

I would happily be cliche and tell of the superhuman intestinal fortitude shown by the mountain people, if only it were true.  I would love to write the familiar story of physics defying indigenous children, but they were leading this cult of vomit.  In fact, the mountain people were leading the event in all three categories: Man, Woman and Child.  It was really the style points that put them ahead of the pack.  One child, who insisted on sitting well into the truck, would periodically turn and crawl toward the back of the truck, showing only a hint of urgency as he spewed his lunch throughout, reaching the back just in time to wipe his mouth and walk back into the truck, rinse and repeat.  An older woman took to vomiting in her hand and throwing it like a baseball, past several expressionless passengers, out the back of the truck.

Jamie and I were fine on the way to Umphang, but the ride back was a puke of a different color, so to speak.  We ran into another American couple the night before (Americans 1 + 2 on the trip so far)  and stayed up late, drinking heavily.  I literally directed Jamie from bed to the already packed 8:30 AM songthaew that had come to pick us up.  While we both felt nauseated and occasionally considered joining the stomach-clearing calisthenics competition, we made it all the way to Mae Sot without redirecting traffic on Esophagus Road.  Oddly, only after coming to a complete stop did Jamie decide to show off her American spirit. With a half dozen super-sized heaves, Jamie brought the competition to its knees with sheer volume and force.  The sound and fury alone brought the event to a close.  I turned to the other passengers with a wry smile on my face, beaming national pride.

We wake early, the light slowly creeping through the bamboo hut.  We walk down the beach, all of 50 feet, and rent a two-person kayak from the neighboring resort.  We paddle for 20 minutes into the ocean, around the headland from the beach, until we reach the fabled Emerald Cave.  Its far more choppy than we had anticipated, and the entrance, a low opening visible between the white-caps, looks treacherous.

Once at the mouth we realize the water is very high (we left early to avoid the crowds and catch the day’s first low-tide), and in order to pass we must skirt along a series of stalactites, navigating the now massive waves, with a foot to spare between two walls of barnacle encrusted rock, before reaching the wider and calmer innards.  I tell Jamie to rack her paddle, and pull out the pen flashlight.

We make it inside the darkened cavern, with some worry and sweat, and immediately notice the noise.  Its deafening, beyond frightening.  It was somewhere between a ride at Disneyland, the hum of a 747, a monster roaring, and the most frightening thing I have ever heard.  The smell then flooded our senses.  Damp and rotten.  The smell of death I think as I try to hold it together and paddle.  One quick turn and we are plunged into darkness, the penlight is not worth its weight.   Jamie disappears in front of me and my mental compass begins to spin.

“Which way is it, Jamie?”

“I think there’s a light over there” she shakily responds.

I can see no light, but am fairly certain she is still ahead of me.

“Over there ahead of us”

“You mean to the left?” I ask, shakier still.

“Yeah”

I resume paddling, the boat shaking violently, and I struggle to keep us off the walls.  I can’t see, but I think there is a light to the left, away in the distance.

“Is that the right way?” I ask, aware that there are unchartered wrong turns in the darkness.

“Yeah, I think so” Jamie adds, so I push us forward toward the light.  Another ten yards–that felt like 100 and looked like 500–and we both realize she is correct.  We turn one more harrowing corner and find ourselves at the beach.  We are in a cavern open at the top, hundreds of feet up, covered with lush vegetation.  Not quite the Hollywood version we had imagined, and approximately the same as the princess lagoon (see above), but magical nonetheless.

On the way out, 2 minutes later, we see the tide has risen further, and our passage of escape has shrunken more.  We navigate it nimbly, but with nerves on edge (“we’re gonna hit the wall!”, “Jamie put your paddle down!”), pouring sweat.

We make our way to the beach and return the kayak.  We have a delicious breakfast, grab fruit shakes, and lounge for a while on our porch, taking in the karsts on the horizon, the beach, the water.  We never notice the 10 people with whom we share the sight.  Lunch, hammock, read, swim, repeat–for 4 days.

Throughout Thailand my girlfriend and I thought about visiting the Similan Islands, which are 40 miles into the Andaman sea and supposedly one the most beautiful above and below water sites in the world, but we were afraid they would be either damaged by the tsunami or overrun by tourists.  When someone on our tour said it was quite the opposite on both accounts, we made some calls and found ourselves on a 24 person 40-foot yacht for a 2 day live-aboard snorkeling trip.  We were passengers 1 of 2 and 2 of 2.  Crew of 6.  The Similan islands–there are 9–have the most amazing underwater life I have ever seen, or imagined.  The water is so clear you can see for nearly 100 feet.  We saw dozens of species of coral, eels, poisonous sea snakes, gigantic sea turtles and more exotic, unimaginable tropical fish than I thought possible.  Alas, no sharks, though our crew loved to yell “shark!, very big shark!” the instant we jumped into the water.  The beaches were the finest I have ever seen, real life, movies, commercials included.  The sand was so white and fine I am certain we could have waged a snowball fight and not known the difference.  You didn’t feel like throwing anything, however, just sitting, and gazing at the aquamarine water.  We each requested to be pinched more than once.  Paradise, if you will.

My girlfriend Jamie and I settled down in a wonderful guesthouse–Apple’s–in Kanchanaburi.  The first night we went swimming with elephants.  I can’t remember the last time I went swimming with some elephants, you?, but it sure brought back memories.  Like the time I rode a whale from New Zealand to Australia.  In short, it was really, really cool.  Trying to hold onto the neck of a 12 ft tall elephant as he runs into a river to try and shake you off is really, really cool.  Enough said.

The next day we took a Thai cooking class, and let me be the first to say, Jamie cooks a mean Tom Yam Kai.  It’s spicy enough to singe eyebrows and char knuckles, at least thats what the doctor told me.

That night we rented a motorcycle.  OK, it was a motorbike.  Fine, it was a blender tied to a bicycle.  In any event, it went fast enough to make Jamie scream, which was just fast enough.

We rode out to a very famous and unimpressive waterfall the following day.  After 120 km, a long hike, and plenty of loud and obnoxious Germans in hot pants, we said: “wow, that sucked.  And my ass hurts.”

That night we took an overnight train bound for Surat Thani, first class, which had nothing whatsoever to do with this being the third overnight train in 7 days.  First class affords you no food, nor any drink, but does provide an off switch for the light–well worth the extra baht.

That morning we found ourselves in Khao Sok National Park.  Many sources prepared us for “treehouses, off the beaten path” and “hooting gibbons among the mist-clad limestone outcrops, not an experience easily forgotten.”  There were plenty of tourists, no gibbons or limestone, the treehouses were on taller than average stilts, and we left as soon as we arrived to ensure the experience was easily forgotten.  Just for the record, the “flat, relatively easy” 14km hike to a waterfall is really a 18km rock-scrambling slog to a more tumultuous portion of the river you were following from the beginning.  Leeches, god what leeches!

It was my fourth night in Chiang Mai, Thailand, and my friend and I were getting a little tired of the sparse bars late at night. We saw loads of fellow travelers during the day, but at night, bars would average half dozen people. We know that drinking and partying goes hand in hand with budget travel, but each night we wandered the city in vain, searching of a fun bar filled with the travelers we knew were around.

I was excited for this night to be different as I had gotten a tip about four supposedly exciting bars all next to each other from an English expat. That night we reached the corner with four bars and to our dismay, there was another very small showing of backpackers. As eleven approached and the bar started closing down, I asked the owner where we could go to keep our night alive. “I believe Spicy is the late night place to be” said the British owner. So with a rough idea of the location, we set off to “Club Spicy”. The club turned out to be a small bar and dance-floor with a DJ blasting American hip hop and house while an equal mix of western travelers and Thais danced and mingled. After easily getting in, we were placed at a private table overlooking the dance floor with a waiter taking all of our drink orders. Needless to say, I was thrilled. That is until I went to the bathroom.

“Club Spicy” took the concept of a bathroom attendant to a level I had never imagined. After using the urinal and heading to wash my hands, I was approached by two attendants who very nicely gave me soap, a towel, and a mint. So far, so good. As I started washing my hands though, two hands landed on my shoulders from behind and I began to get massaged. Strange, but hey, when in Rome…why not? So I went along with it. Then another attendant grabbed my right arm and started massaging and stretching it. At this point, I was done washing my hands, and I was just standing in front of the bathroom sink as two well dressed Thai bathroom attendants were stretching and massaging me. It was an odd experience and probably an even odder sight. Then, without warning, the attendant behind me grabbed my neck and wham! He threw my neck to the left to the tune of a horrific cracking sound. Then crack! one more time to the right. While it felt amazing, I knew it was my cue to leave before anyone started trying more elaborate chiropractic moves. I politely gave them a tip and went on my way. I couldn’t decide what to make of the encounter other than being amused at just having had the strangest bathroom trip of my life. Unfortunately, my second trip was less amusing and much more uncomfortable.

As the night went on, the men of the club smartened up and avoided washing their hands, thereby avoiding the massage team and not feeling obligated to tip. So, not to be outmaneuvered, and with apparently no shame, the massage team began their attack the moment you stepped into the bathroom.

As you start using the urinal, the absolute last thing you expect or want is a neck massage. But that is exactly what they attempted, and in some cases succeeded at doing. This, however, I was not going along with. As I noticed one of the attendants approaching stealthily from behind, I shot him dirty look and my strong “no!” sent him fleeing back to the sink area. I got out without any trouble, but the attendants had succeeded in turning a rather strange but fun experience into a creepy one.

I still highly recommend Club Spicy if you’re looking for a more exciting night out in Chiang Mai, but be on your guard with over eager bathroom attendants .

I really thought I might have died today. I had left a massage place near Siam Square in Bangkok, called Bann Phuan, which, by the way, is the best place for a massage in Thailand as far as I’m concerned. Eight dollars for an hour long foot massage, which, while expensive for Bangkok, is definitely worth every penny, but I digress. After walking a block I negotiated a fare with the first of a group of motorbike taxi guys lurking at the corner and then off I went. Now let me explain what a motorbike taxi is: Essentially it is exactly as it sounds, a guy who schleps people around on the back of his motorbike. You tell him where you’re going, bargain a bit with him on the price, then hop on the back of the bike and hang on. What I apparently didn’t know was that this particular driver was in the possession of a very very fast bike and the driver had, for lack of a better description, a NEED FOR SPEED. Before I knew it, or had held on properly to the little plastic grip on the back of the seat, he was tearing through the streets. Now Bangkok is not exactly a quiet or calm place, and that holds especially true for the traffic in the streets. Traffic is heavy at all hours of the day, and it didn’t help my situation that I had chosen to head back to my hotel just before 5pm when workers are stampeding out in force to return home.
This driver, and very quickly I might add, was hitting 70 km/h tearing through the packed city streets. Is that a long line of cars almost a block long waiting at a stop light? No problem!, we’ll just race through the middle of them along the white line. I had to clench my knees and throw back my elbows to miss the side mirrors of the cars we were weaving through. Well, I thought, at least they aren’t moving, so if we hit one of them it wont be too bad. Unfortunately, after about four lights of this game we hit a block where the cars were actually moving. To my severe discomfort, this new situation had little effect on my driver as he gunned his bike and we hit the white line between lanes and rocketed past cars around 50 km/h. For those who can’t quite get the appropriate image, picture yourself on the back of a motorcycle, and then have the driver of said motorcycle get on the highway and instead of following normal traffic rules, he or she just races down the white line between lanes of cars. I was completely clenched in together for fear that if I didn’t keep my elbows or knees folded in, we’d smack one of the cars on either side of us. It was that close.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve done my fair share of motorbike taxis. It has been three months already in Southeast Asia and everyday for the last 5 weeks in Vietnam I’d hop on the back of a bike to get around. But this was sheer madness. His bike was also not the standard 110cc bikes in most of SE Asia, but was at least a 150cc. I’ve never in all my time on a bike had to lean forward and back so heavily to stop from tipping over. If I hadn’t kept my death grip on that tiny little handle on the back, I would have toppled backwards at least a few times during our race through the city. By the time we got to Khao San Rd. where I was staying, I couldn’t rotate my wrist without massive shooting pain down my arm because I had been gripping the awkward little handle so hard, and for so long. I figured it was a small price to pay for making the trip back alive.

I just arrived to Bangkok on my first trip into Asia and wow, this city is a crazy place. For some reason I had images in my head of not being able to get by, every conversation being really difficult, and even the possibility of some third world airport with a weedy runway. Why I thought this I have no idea. It’s just the thought of entering a terrifically different place for the first time that my mind wanders. I know Thailand and especially the city of Bangkok is not nearly third world, but in many ways more modern than cities in the USA. For example, my first experience of Thailand was the new international airport and it is by far the most modern airport I’ve been to. Once I finally had the opportunity to look around a bit, I found that the city is enormous and incredibly diverse. From Khao San Road (Thai Mardi Gras for tourists 24/7) to a section of the city called Sukhumvit, where finding a sky train (monorail with AC) during rush hour can be a fight for your life, the city keeps you on your toes. The first thing that hit me on my first morning was the heat and humidity. I had to accept early on that there was no way I could go anywhere and not be a sweaty mess. I suppose you just accept the wetness and move on. The second thing you notice is the Bangkok stereotype blossoming on every corner (no pun intended). The first old western man with a young thai girl was funny, the second was still funny but a little sad. After over a dozen within the first hour in the city you start to hate the mass quantities of creepy men who come here for one reason. Aside from that, great massages are everywhere (I had the best hour-long foot massage of my life for 9 dollars), bottled water is 20 cents, a full meal costs around 2 dollars, and a large bottled beer is a dollar. Therefore, I’m off to enjoy this some more.

After flying into Phuket with my friend Dan, we only spent one night, because its very touristy and we wanted to get to the prettier beaches. So the next day we took a ferry to the island of Ko Phi Phi. Sadly, it was one of hardest hit areas in Thailand after the 2004 tsunami. There were about 11,000 people on the island when the tsunami struck and 2,500 or so were killed (5,000 total in Thailand). It was easy to forget the islands history as I walked through the streets crowded with beach shops, but then I’d turn a corner and there were would be a huge empty lot with just a single palm tree left. Dan and I climbed to the top lookout point and admired the skinny stretch of beach below. Photos were hung at the lookout of Phi Phi before and right after the tsunami. The most noticeable difference was the now lack of green vegetation and palm trees. I spoke to an English woman who had returned to Phi Phi for the first time since the disaster in which her brother almost died. He was supposed to meet a friend there but got hung up in Bangkok and arrived a day late. His friend didn’t make it. What struck me the most about the people though is their resiliency. They’ve rebuilt much of the island over the last five years and they have such a positive spirit.

Next to the main island of Ko Phi Phi Don is Ko Phi Phi Lee. This is where Leonardo DiCaprio’s movie “The Beach” was filmed. There is one Aussie who has permission by the National Park Service to take groups to the island to spend the night. Dan and I lucked out because there were less then 20 people in our group the evening we went. The tour started by snorkeling in the large bay then they took us to the shore. The Aussie kicked the remaining tourists off the beach and our group had the whole island to ourselves. It was one of the most beautiful places I’ve been. The cliffs and mountains surround you, and its almost entirely closed off from the outside except for a small gap in the mountains on the far side of the lagoon. That evening we had a barbecue, the requisite “bucket”, and chatted with other travelers while we sat around on the beach. Later we literally slept out on the beach in sleeping bags, but I awoke all through the night completely frozen from the wind. I finally realized I could stay on the beach and freeze or go up to campsite and shelter of the bushes and brave the large scampering black rats. I chose the rats and Dan was nice enough to come along. I saw them scurry by but luckily they stayed away from our sleeping bags.