Here fishy fishy - 2.3.15

Today the gates of heaven slid opened and let me in for a few hours. I wonder if there is a more beautiful place on earth then Koh Lok. I doubt it.

Early this morning I took a boat from Koh Lanta to Koh Lok for a snorkeling expedition. When I got on the speed boat I took a seat at the front figuring this would afford me the best views. I was right about that part. What I hadn't anticipated was how rough the journey would be. We made our way down the coast, stopping a few times to pick up passengers. Then we set out for the island. We were told it would be a 45 minute journey. We were also told the sea was rough so it might be a bit choppy. As I've said before, Thai's are kings of understatement. A more accurate statement would have been "there's a 50% chance we'll make it safely to the other side but a 100% certainty that if we do, you will be covered in your own vomit." The driver pointed the boat directly towards the island in the distance and opened up the engines full throttle. The waves were coming at us head on, waves of biblical proportion, and the front on our small boat rose up at what seemed 45 degrees then crashed down again, bottoming out hard each time as if landing in rock. We rose and fell with each wave, up in the air out of our seats as we crested each wave then slammed back down when we hit the bottom. My brain rattled in my skull. My organs shook. I feared my kidneys would become dislodged and I'd puke them over the side of the boat. And I had chosen the worst seat, all alone up there in the thick of the tumult. I felt like Noah on an arc of the UN. Behind me, Chinese, French, Brits, Germans, and the Thai mad men running the whole operation seemed like the flock I was shepherding the other side. The only common language between us was fear as we screamed and clutched the side rails for dear life. At one point it got so rough that one if the guides came to reassure us. "Don't worry. This boat new - 30 days old. Have 3 extra motors in case these 2 burn out." This was not reassuring. I wondered how much insurance they carried - surely not enough. I wondered what this boat was made of. Fiberglass? Was it designed to handle this kind of thrashing?  Why did they have a new boat - Did the old one snap in half? I considered biting on my towel to keep my teeth from shattering if we hit a particularly stiff wave.

That was the hell part of the journey. But then we pulled up at the island and entered heaven. It took my breath away. It was the stuff of movies and coffee table books, white sand beaches, a crystal sea undulating between shades of blue the hues of beach glass. It was time for our first snorkel experience. Under us was an expansive coral reef, stretching as far as you could see in every direction. I saw angel fish bigger than my 2 hands, enormous sea urchin partially concealed under coves in the coral, and a bunch of other fish I couldn't identify - a long fish with a nose half the length of his body, a green and pink and blue fish with fluorescent green fins that flapped elegantly as he meandered. Big fish guarded their territory by lunging at little fish who tried to enter. All the fish pecked at the coral looking for food and it all looked like an ancient buried city inhabited by prehistoric creatures. I wondered - why are fish so colorful if survival depends on their ability to conceal themselves from predators? And why do they move around so much? Do they spend all of their waking hours hunting for food? Do fish sleep?

Soon it was time for lunch. We pulled up to a beach with a campsite (this island is completely undeveloped, hence the beauty it retains and the only way to stay here is to camp). We were served a buffet of the best food I've had in Koh Lanta. Simple Thai food, full of flavor. I spent my 90 minutes of free time lying on the beach and sifting the sand between my fingers (it fwas only slightly more coarse than powdered sugar), staring at the sea, desperately trying to capture these colors on film, and floating in the water. When it was time to go I wanted to cry. I did some quick calculations and figured I could cash out all of my assets and live here, pretty much for the rest of my life, camping on the beach, eating Thai food, and maybe selling jewelry made of coral and shells to the tourists who visit. Dennis could just fly over and join me and he could make a living playing music for island visitors. That would be a wonderful life. 

Somehow, I dragged myself onto the boat. I discussed with a young British student, visiting Thailand on a break from school, how I expected the journey to be more pleasant on the way home since the wind would be at our backs. She agreed. Sadly, we both turned out to be wrong and the trip back was even worse. I gripped the handrail so tight that I pulled muscles in my forearm (they’re so strained I’m having trouble typing). I could no longer bear to sit down so I crouched and tried to take the rise and fall in my knees as if surfing the waves (a more pleasant experience than taking it in your back but one hell of a workout). After 45 minutes, we finally made it back to try land.

For my last dinner in Koh Lanta I decided to head into town to a place I’d read and heard about - Time for Lime. They run a pretty popular cooking school, I’d heard they served authentic Thai food, and all of the proceeds from the restaurant go to an animal sanctuary they run. The place was packed so I took a seat at the bar. Over the next two hours I ate a nearly perfect meal. A lemongrass margarita, a few glasses of wine, and a 6-course tasting menu of marinated grilled shrimp, carmelized fish with thai spicy salad, green massaman curry served in a banana leaf cone . . . it was spectacular and it only cost me $20. On the way out I made a donation to the animal charity and made my way out to the street to find a tuk tuk. It was my first and only tuk tuk ride and although every bump in the road was amplified in my sore body, it was a thrilling way to travel. After nearly 2 weeks in this country I’m starting to feel completely at home. Hard to believe it’s almost time to leave. 

Biker chic - 2.2.15

I decided to rent a motorbike today to explore the island. In my youth I probably could have circled this place on my bicycle but these days, I need a motor. The motorbike rental agent met me in the hotel parking lot. He had a sweet bike for me - hot pink and grey . . . I wondered if he rented solely to women. He didn’t ask to see my drivers license or ask if I knew how to ride one of these things. But I told him I was a newbie and needed some instruction. His English was pretty limited but he did what he could. “One” - he held up one finger for step one then sat on the bike and pushed up the kick stand. “Two” - he put the key in the ignition, turned it, and hit the starter button. The engine started to turn. “Three” - he turned the right handle grip towards himself and the bike began to move forward. “Four” - he hit the brakes (which are basically bicycle breaks.” “Careful,” he said. “This one (points to left break) good. This one (points to right brake) not so good.” He watched me as I walked back through the steps and took the bike for a quick spin around the parking lot. I didn’t fall over or hit anyone so I guess I was declared road safe. He left. 

When I pulled out of the parking lot I was a little scared - just a few days I was afraid to ride a motorbike taxi and now I was piloting this thing on the open road. I decided to go only fast enough to keep the bike from tipping over. As soon as I was out on the main road I looked at the fuel gauge - nearly empty. I planned to cover a lot of ground so needed to gas up. I pulled up to one of the many shops displaying a “gasoline - 40 Bhat/liter” sign. This shop sold souvenirs inside but some sell candy, groceries, coffee . . . most business owners in these parts are diversified. The gas sits in empty glass liquor bottles on a rack by the side of the road. I go inside and ask the woman behind the counter to fill ‘er up. She grabs a plastic funnel, opens up the gas tank, and begins emptying bottles into my bike. Three bottles - 120 Bhat - about $4 did the trick. 

I looked at my map one more time - the tourist map I’d picked up at the hotel - and decided I’d be at the southern coast in one hour, just in time for lunch. It was a straight shot so I’d just keep hugging the ocean until I reached my destination. I was headed to see the only five star resort on the island, partially because it’s supposed to be amazing, and partially because I figured they had the best beach. I planned to check out the hotel, check out the town, grab some lunch, and get in some quality beach time. The scenery on the way down the coast was amazing. Every few miles I’d see some picturesque beach or village or clever sign and would pull over to photograph it. But this was eating up valuable beach time so after 5 or 6 stops, I decided to push through to my destination. Halfway through the journey, the scenery changed. The sandy beachside road started climbing and winding through jungle vegetation. The scenery was dotted with roadside stands selling fresh herbs and cattle grazing in small clearings. This wasn’t what I had expected but it was gorgeous. I get too hungry to continue and stop at a restaurant hill on a hilltop overlooking the ocean. Nearly an hour has passes since I set out so I pull out my map again to orient myself. I find this restaurant - cleverly named “The Good View” on the map and to my dismay, I realize I’m no longer on the ocean road. I’ve taken a turn into the interior and and am now crossing to the west side of the island. I finish my curry (good) and decide to continue to Lanta Town since I’m only 5 kilometers away, the only real destination on the west side of the island. The town looks like Southeast Asia’s answer to the wild west. There’s a single dusty road and shop owners sit under awnings, mill about the street waiting for . . . I don’t know what.  A few tourists snap photos and buy trinkets they’ll eventually donate to Good Will, and I decide to circle back to other side. 

Now that I know where I’m going (sort of) it’s a fast ride over the mountain. When I get to the other side I realize where I went wrong. Although on my map it looks like a straight shot down the coast, there’s actually a little turnoff, which I missed the first time around. I should have learned by now not to trust tourist maps. I remember cycling through Mallorca many years ago. We were riding through the mountains and one morning when we woke up out legs were shot. We wanted flat ground. There was a 3D relief map of the region in the lobby of our hotel, no doubt made by a 3rd grader for a school project, and we used that map to decide which route to take. I have never climbed so many mountains in my life. 

Back on the coastal road I pass through a beautiful little town, more Mill Valley than Jersey shore (which is what part of the island resembles) and I make a note to stay here next time I’m in Koh Lanta. There’s a lovely little shop with lots of handmade items (I stop to buy gifts for all of you at home) then finally, blessedly, I arrive at Pimilai. The entrance is a really steep hill so I have to gun it to get this little bike to climb. As soon as I turn it a fleet of security guards with whistles come running after me waving their arms. I stop the bike and as soon as I do it starts to roll backwards down the hill. I brake hard to keep the thing from slipping out from under me. They ask me the purpose of my visit. I consider saying “I came down here to use your facilities for free because I know they’re the best on the island but I can’t afford to stay at your hotel.” Instead I say I am checking into the hotel. They direct me to park my bike in a lot next door.

The resort is everything I thought it would be. An oasis of calm. A series of private villas falls down the mountainside all the way to the ocean where some lucky bastards (who are paying about $1500/night) can step out their front doors onto the sand. There are lounge chairs everywhere and as much I’m dying to lounge in one, I need to stay under the radar. I lay out my towel on the beach and spend a few blissful hours taking it all in. When the sun gets low in the sky I find my way back to my bike and head home. The sun is starting to set and I stop many times on the way back up the coast to capture it on film. Night falls in earnest and I find the headlights on this machine (I was never able, however, to find the turn signals). I’m really comfortable on this bike now and am passing tuk tuks, other bikers, and even a few slow cars. I think for a minute about getting a motorbike to cruise around San Francisco then remember that I’d need to wrap myself in a blanket to do this back home - not quite the same as cutting through this salty air, still warm on my skin at 7pm. 

I’m tired when I get home so grab a quick meal at the hotel restaurant. It sits right on the beach and the ambiance is pleasant but it definitely caters to westerners. I grab my waiter and order a green curry with chicken. I tell him I want them to make the way they would for a Thai person. He asks how spicy I like it and I say “as spicy as you like it.” Sadly, I must have found the only Thai guy in the world who likes bland food. A little disappointed I eat it anyway and tell him it’s good, then head to my room to crash before I fall asleep on the table. It’s 9:30. My new bed time.

Phuket to Koh Lanta - 2.1.15

Today was a little bumpy. I woke up early to pack and have breakfast before my 7am shuttle to the port for my 8am ferry to Koh Lanta. I was sitting in the lobby on the dot of 7 awaiting my pickup. When they didn’t show by 7:15 I got concerned and asked reception to call and ensure they were on their way. They couldn’t reach the car company but assured me they were on their way - probably stuck in traffic. At 7:30 I really started to worry. The hotel is about 30 minutes from the port and the boat was scheduled to leave in 30 minutes. Missing the boat would mean cooling my heels in Phuket for 6 hours and arriving late in Koh Lanta. Again, I was assured not to worry. At 7:45, reception started to worry. They told me the company had called and left a message. Apparently, one of the passengers either had more luggage than anticipated or brought a friend along unscheduled (I couldn’t quite understand). At any rate, there wasn’t enough room in the van for me so they just went to the port without me. Genius. Again I was assured not to worry - the boat would wait for me. While I was relieved to hear this, keeping 300 people waiting on my behalf didn’t seem like a solid plan B. Reception called a driver who showed up just after 8 and shuttled me to the port like a New York taxi driver, weaving in and out of lanes, even crossing into oncoming traffic to overtake cars and motorbikes. We pulled up to the boat at 8:40 I hopped on board. As soon as I’m on they apply a blue sticker to my chest. It feels like the scarlet letter until I realize that every other passenger is wearing one. They’ve branded us, like cattle, for easy sorting when we arrive. Yellow sticker - you’re spending the day on Koh Phi Phi. Yellow with a number on it - you’ve also purchased an excursion. Blue like me - on to Koh Lanta (aka: cool kid). 

I headed straight to the top deck for the best views and photo opps. I sat next to a Chinese couple who were a little put out that I’d asked them to move their camera bag so I could sit down. You know what’s worse than a French tourist? A Chinese tourist. A few minutes into the ride the Chinese guy next to me whips out a portable speaker to entertain his friends. That little thing was powerful and he treated us to such classics as “Take my breath away” and “I’ve had the time of my life.” I wondered if China could be that far behind the times (not out of the question) or if this guy just had terrible taste. When we pulled up to Koh Phi Phi 2 hours later I where I would transfer to another boat to Koh Lanta, I was pretty over the medley. But the views were pretty spectacular. Little fishing boats and big cruisers hummed about little inlets carved out of the rocky island. The water was turquoise. And I started to get excited.

The second boat was smaller and faster. The only outdoor seating was on the narrow decks on either side of the boat. I found a spot between some Germans and a crew of French guys who looked like they’d been drinking since the night before. The deck was narrow and with back against the wall my feet dangled over the side. The sea is blue the way I’d imagined it would be and warm as it douses me over and over again. The water is nearly irresistible. I start feeling the pull to jump in, to just slip under the guard rail and let myself fall of the side. I spot the life life buoy hanging from the rail beside me and think it would be a good opportunity for the crew to practice their “man overboard” drill. I’m guessing their skills have grown kind of rusty. Somehow I managed to stay safely seated on the boat. I deserve a medal. At the front of the boat a small Thai flag flaps in the wind above a makeshift alter of those yellow flowers I see throughout Thailand that bear an uncanny resemblance to dandelions. I’’m sitting outside the captain’s cabin and notice this boat is equipped with side mirrors. Is that in case a speed boat sneaks up on us and we have have to move aside to let him pass? The great mysteries of the universe. As we approach Koh Lanta I’m in a state of utter bliss. It’s breathtaking, all i imagined it would be. A long white beach circles the island and the interior is forested. It’s rough and sparse and I’m in love. I wonder if there’s a Facebook quiz “which Thai island are you?” I am Koh Lanta. 

Bliss is a persistent feeling on this journey. The only thing missing is Dennis. As much as I wish he was here and intend to come back with him, I’m glad I took this trip alone. When bad things happen to me (as they did before this trip) this is my way of healing. Self-reliance has a powerful  curative effect. Having to figure things out, navigate a foreign land, entertain yourself with only your own imagination and instinct is a pretty magical experience. When the shit hits the fan some people go to the mountains or the woods. I go to Southeast Asia. I have been confronted on this trip with the essence of myself and it feels so empowering. 

The hotel is nice but lacks the serenity of Rachamanka. I fear few places will ever measure up. But I rent a bike and set out for Long Beach, which I’ve read is one of the nicest spots on the island. It’s 3:00 by the time I set out so I grab a quick meal at the first place I see (a simple stir fry of chicken, veggies and garlic which is delicious) and continue the journey. Long Beach looked really close on the tourist map I grabbed but as I pedal along in the blazing mid-day sun I remember that tourist maps are not drawn to scale. It’s a good 10 miles away and I need to take a water break. I find a 7-11 (we export only the worst of America), grab my water, and take my place in line. When it’s my turn I’m about to step up to the counter when a woman who’d been looking around in the aisle behind me pushes me aside and steps to the counter. I tell her that there is a line and I had been waiting. She tells me in thick Russian accent “I do not understand.” Her daughter stands beside her. “You’re very ride,” I say. “I do not understand” she replies. Bullshit. Every grown adult knows how to wait in line, whether they like it or not. “You must be from Russia,” I say. I know she understands but she can't blow her cover now. I tell the woman at the register to check her out ahead of me - she’s obviously in a terrible hurry. Then I take it a step too far. I realize that her daughter understands me. Without thinking I tell her “don’t grow up to be like your mother. Aspire to be better than that.” She looks scared. The Russian woman scowls. The register next to her opens up and I check out before she leaves. Back on my bike I wonder if she’s going to mow me down as I pedal slowly up this hill. I’ve been learning about Buddhism and reading a book about it and I feel like I’ve really started to embrace the key principles but this incident makes me realize I still have a lot of work to do to reach a state of true zen. 

After passing some interesting sites, notably a mosque that was broadcasting a call to prayer (this is one of the only places in Thailand that is predominantly Muslim) I finally reach the beach. Although I’d read that lounge chairs were available for rent, there are none in sight. Also, I realize I didn’t pack a towel but I’ve come too far to turn back. I head to sea for a swim. I float for a while, watching the clouds slip slowly through the sky, then make my way out and lay on a makeshift towel of my sweaty tee shirt and shorts. I open my book and start reading and out of the corner of my eye I see movement. I look but there’s nothing there. Then I see it again. And again. I realize there are little holes in the sand everywhere and that ghost crabs live there. Ghost crabs are sand colored and hard to spot but once you notice them you realize they’re everywhere. And they’re terrifying. They look like spiders with shells and they can move. There’s one right next to my hand and after a minor freak out I decide to repent for the Russian incident by making peace with them. I calm myself down and being reading again. When the sun starts dipping in the sky I make my way back to the hotel at a leisurely pace, stopping when something catches my eye. I stop to take a picture of a man walking his cow his cow down the street. I stop to buy postcards. I stop for water in what I realize is the Thai boxing stadium in Koh Lanta. I only realize this because a truck outside is covered in a banner advertising tonight’s match and plays a recorded advertisement over and over in a loop. Interestingly, the recording is in English, Australian English to be precise. Eventually the truck starts making it’s way slowly through the town, announcing to all that the match is taking place tonight and “should not be missed.” I suppose they need to attract the tourists to fill the stadium (although I take a peek and there couldn't be more than 50 seats in there). I consider for a minute going to see the match - I’ve heard from other travelers that it’s a unique cultural experience - but it starts at 9 and that’s just too late for me. One of the things I’ve learned on this trip is that when I’m free from the constraints of work and every other responsibility in my life my natural rhythm is to wake up around six and fall asleep at 9:30 or 10. I’m going to try to keep that up when I get home - we’ll see how it goes. 

Now it’s 8pm and I’m relaxing on my porch with a cold Singha. There is no wine to speak of in this country and when you find it, it’s shockingly expensive. But beer is growing on me as a little end of day celebration. Tomorrow I’ll be exchanging my bike for one with a motor and really touring the island. This is the last leg of the journey before heading back to Bangkok to catch the flight home and that feels right. As amazing as this has been, there is no place like home and I’m really starting to miss my people.