Monday, February 2, 2015

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.






No comments: