Almost China

Hong Kong was meant to be a jumping off point for China. We didn't think of it much for a destination, only a place to secure our Chinese visas (and we had given up hope for that in Bangkok). So here we had four days in a place that we both knew little about. There was something about a harbor and a ferry, maybe an awesome skyline, but we had no guidebook and were busy plotting out a new course through Southeast Asia. I guess in that sense, Hong Kong came as a wonderful surprise.

It was the closest to China we were going to come. And indeed, it was very much like I would expect Shanghai to be—very modern, very dynamic, very capitalist. The skyline was second to none I've ever seen (and that's including my beloved Chicago skyline), the transportation cutting edge (moving sidewalks which carried pedestrians up the hillside) and the parks world class. Chinese was the spoken language, but English was written on every sign. I guess I could say that English was also widely spoken, but the accent was so heavy it was like another language all together. Being a former British colony, there are pockets of the city that are incredibly British, such as the pubs and shops. There are also many British businessmen hurrying about in business suits, just as you would see in London.

I loved Hong Kong for the unique mix of cultures. Largely Chinese with a colonial British undertone, and strong ethnic pockets of Indians and Nigerians. Along the harbour, down on Hollywood Street, the feel was overwhelmingly American. The grand hotels and malls made it cosmopolitian, while the outerlaying areas were an interesting mix of old and new China. We only had four days, but I would say that we got to see many faces of the city in that short amount of time.

Chungking Mansions

Our first cultural experience hit us right away, just a few steps from where the bus dropped us off in Kowloon. Mindful of our budget in this expensive city, we had booked the cheapest accommodation we could find online. A place called Paris Guesthouse (there was nothing Parisian about it). Instead of finding this place right off the street, it was located, along with a plethora of other guesthouses, in a complex named Chungking Mansions. We knew it was going to be an interesting stay, just from the crowd gathered around the entrance to this place. Almost all of them were Indian, and almost all of them were trying to sell us tailored shirts (or Chris anyway, they ignored me for the most part). Moving through a corridor we could see moneychangers and shops, and further on, food booths. We had arrived in Little India. The smells, the sights, the overwhelming chaos and shabbiness of it all—Indian. We could have been in Delhi.

We came across a number of elevators, though we couldn't find our guesthouse on any of the lists. Chungking Mansions can be quite disorientating to a new arrival. It's a labrynth inside, and you don't know if you're heading anywhere useful or to a place potentially dangerous (and yes, it did have that dangerous edge to it). Someone directed us to the right elevator. Turns out that certain elevators only go up to certain areas. You cannot cross over from one place to another. In trying to figure out Chungking Mansions, I think they're made up of several different buildings. It's hard to tell from the outside. The place is massive.

Our room was actually quite decent, once we settled into it. The room was bright and cheery with a huge window looking out over more buildings. The most important thing was that it was air conditioned, and this was an absolute must in the heavy Hong Kong humidity. The only thing in our room I wasn't liking was our bunk bed. Chris took his usual position at the top, and every time he moved I watched the cheap wooden slabs bow above my head. The safety of the beds were highly questionable. I insisted on switching places. I rested much easier after that.

Outside of our room the facilites were a bit below par. The toilet in the one bathroom flushed, I'll give it that, but there was no sink to wash our hands in. The only sink I could find was one off in the laundry room, and it hardly looked clean to me. There was a soap dispenser, but no soap. There also was no room to put anything. It was very awkward when it came to washing up. There were sheets hanging everywhere, and you had to move laundry aside every time you needed to use the sink. There was also no privacy as there were Indian guys coming and going all the time. There was also no garbage can in the bathroom, so all garbage had to be brought back to the room. Again—awkward, especially seen as how I was having a period. The comfort level was gone, and I guess I missed that in Hong Kong. The cultural experience was interesting though. Looking out the window, brushing my teeth while staying out of the way of laundry, I could see life being lived in the apartment complex across from us. Window upon window upon window—each one framing a different family's life. I especially loved this at night when all the windows were lit up. I was impressed how many people can be crammed into such a place. This is how people live in many cities across the globe. After all, Chungking Mansions is essentially a slum. These are apartments for families. Many have turned rooms into dorms or guestrooms for tourists, such as our place. But even at our guesthouse, we had permanent residents on our floor. Catching a peek inside a room I saw a bedroom; a huge poster of a bearded spiritual leader splayed across a wall. These Indian residents were part of the family, I can only assume. It must have been interesting, them living with young backpackers on their floor (especially young cute ones), watching them come and go to the only bathroom, which was just outside their door.

We were sharing our room with two Scandinavian girls. Yona, a svelte brunette, was Finnish, and the hot young blonde was from Iceland. I appreciated how they spoke almost perfect English. I watched Chris' reaction as they talked to us. Sharing a room with these two beautiful girls—I found it amusing. I trust my husband completely. He didn't even let on how lucky he felt in that situation. I guess I felt lucky myself.

The girls were helpful in showing us the tourist sights. They had a map and handed over a guidebook, which had been passed around the dorm many times over. We were impressed how close we were to the harbor. You can fault Chungking Mansion on many things (which I will do) but you can't fault it on location. It's ideal.

Getting out of the complex can be a bit tricky. We tried catching the elevator.  It took forever, as there are many residents that take it, not just guests. We were on the 6th floor. By the time the elevator had come down from the floors above it was too full to stop and bypassed us. Chris and I had no other option but to go down the stairwell. It was daunting the first time. I can't think of a more perfect place to get mugged or killed in. We kept imagining shady characters emerging from the shadows of a landing, but we never ran into anyone of this type.  The stairwell took us to an unfamiliar floor. From there we had to find another set of stairs down to the main floor, then we had to find our way out to the street, sidestepping all the hawkers. It was a maze.

It bears in mind that Chungking Mansions is somewhat of a fire trap. I read that there was a fire that broke out years ago, and one tourist died in the blaze. That said, there are maps on each floor, by the elevator, displaying the exit routes. This was a great idea, only the one on our floor was covered over by a No Spitting sign. Funny that.

Everything said, Chungking Mansions was quite an experience. We ended up eating there more than once. The food was phenomenal. The samosas being sold at the food stands were superb. Chris was more adventurous with the Indian food. I thought for sure diarrhea would be on the cards for both of us, but no. The food was tasty and cheap, not to mention convenient. By this time in the trip, I had been fully converted to Indian food. I used to hate the stuff, now I rank it as one of my favorites. It hasn't done me wrong one time on this trip. (Now pizza on the other hand...)

Seeing the Sights

As mentioned before, we were ideally located. The harbour was only a five or ten-minute walk away. On the Kowloon side was the Avenue of Stars, a type of Hollywood walk for the Chinese film crowd. We viewed the handprints of Jet Li, Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan, and countless others. Most of the names weren't recognizable to us, but the Chinese tourists were out with their cameras, snapping away at names I'd never heard of before. This was their Hollywood.

The skyline was impressive. Skyscraper upon skyscraper, stacked up along the water. The hills rose behind the buildings and heavy clouds rolled dramatically over green peaks. It's breathtakingly beautiful. During the day the scene is worthy of picture-taking, but at night it really turns it up a gear or two with the lights. Hong Kong is the city of lights. It's like Times Square times a million. The lights are designed for viewing pleasure, as can be evidenced in the nightly Symphony of Lights. Music is played for the masses congregated by the water, and the city comes alive. Green lasers fan out from the top of skyscrapers, lights up and down other buildings blink and snake in patterns, synchronized with the music. It's an unmissable spectacle, especially with the wooden junk boat, with its red square sails, cruising back and forth across the water. Hong Kong at its finest.

Visiting Hong Kong island itself, we took the world-famous Star Ferry. In a city where prices are high (especially compared to the rest of Asia), the Star Ferry is nothing short of a bargain. The crossing costs something around 20 cents. Once over, you can follow any of the covered passages across the city. This really impressed me, that you can get around Hong Kong without stepping on a sidewalk. The passages lead from one mall to another to another, all raised above the city streets. It's pedestrian heaven. Also, if you need to work your way up one of hills, you can take a moving sidewalk, thus saving you sweat and energy (though you do have to take the stairs down).

One of the main attractions is to take the tram up to Victoria Peak. This was a tricky thing to plan, as the peak is nearly always cloud-covered. We took our chances one day when the clouds seemed to thin out some, and were rewarded with a hazy view of the city. By this time my eye was starting to go bad, so everything I viewed was through a squint. There was a heart tree stationed in one corner, where we could write and leave a message. On most hearts were written “I love the Peak,” which I guess was the idea. Me, I wrote “The Peak—eh rainy and cloudy. But I do love Christopher Novell-Lane.” How's that for romantic?

There was a whole complex of shops and restaurants at the top of Victoria Peak, yet impressing upon us that Hong Kong is unashamably capitalist. Wherever you go, money is being made, even ontop of a mountain. Chris and I laid low in Hong Kong, enjoying the air-conditioned interiors of the malls, but purchased nothing. Just food and transport, which I guess shows that Hong Kong can be done fairly cheaply. The parks are all free, and they are great hanging out points around the city.

It was perhaps on the outskirts of the city we found our favourite park: The Walled City of Kowloon Park. It was like stepping into old world China, with the temples and bridges and circular doorways. We were the only tourists about. Locals, mostly older people, were gathered there, socializing or performing Tai Chi. It was hard to believe that this used to be the site of the city's most notorious slums. Gangs and hoodlums used to run the streets here. Poverty was rampant, most of the residents being illiterate. The old photos at the museum on the site depicted how life used to be here. I don't know where all the people were moved to once they cleaned it up (maybe Chungking Mansions) but I've never seen a better, more beautiful park. Entirely enclosed in walls, it created an oasis-like feeling in the middle of mass civilization. One of my top sights in Hong Kong.

Chinese Health

Is it wrong to say that the Chinese are a bit strange when it come to health matters? Then again maybe they know what they're doing. I just don't understand what all the stretching and face-mask wearing is supposed to accomplish. In every park, even in our own dorm room, old people were stretching and waving limbs around, even making weird, supposedly theraputic, throat sounds. We'd be sitting in a park, trying to escape the heat, and come upon a man behind some bushes doing squats or scissoring his arms. We got the sense that these were daily routines for them, though nothing they did seemed overly physical. A lot of times it was just some old man walking around in circles, clearing his throat. I believe in the good effects of physical activity, it was just the manner of seriousness that made me tilt my head in puzzlement. After all, I had never heard so much phlegm being coughed up. Surely a steam bath would be better?

The last two nights we had an older Chinese gentleman staying in our dorm. He had the top bunk across from me. He belched and cleared his throat throughout the night. In the morning he'd start his exercise routine, stretching each limb and belching, totally unconcerned that anyone would be watching him. His whole routine took about an hour. I even caught him out in the hallway when I was on my way to the bathroom. Swinging his arms around, running in place... it was good stuff, just weird, especially because the guy was still in his underwear.

All this stretching and belching, does it really pay off? I can't say for sure. No one looked overly healthy to me. And again the phlegm—what was with the phlegm? While passing through a corridor under a street, I saw little troughs at the side of the pavement. I asked Chris, “Are those for spit?” because many men (never women) were hacking into it. I guess the pollution is quite heavy in Hong Kong. Still I never felt an impulse to spit.

Quite a few people on the street wore face masks. What they were protecting themselves from, I couldn't say. This part of the world has made headlines for some pretty serious stuff in the past—SARS, avian flu... This was contagious disease territory. So I guess it seems fitting that I picked up something in this place.

I thought I had a viral infection. My left eye and nostril started running and wouldn't stop. My eye looked like classic pink eye, and I cursed myself for taking a nap with my contacts in. It was hardly surprising though, bacteria abounded in Chungking Mansions, and the inconvience of the laundry room sink didn't help. Nothing bad had happened on our trip before. I figured whatever I had would clear up.

By the end of Hong Kong I wanted to rip my eyeball out. I was in a terrible mood, due to the pain and my inability to sleep, as my nose and eye ran all throughout the night. Our departure from Hong Kong was a bad one, as Chris had to lead me like I was blind. I was starting to get pissed off with the hawkers, still pressuring us to buy a tailored shirt (like my husband would wear anything remotely similiar to anything they were promoting) and with the Hong Kong people themselves. A pushy bunch. Trying to get on the bus, in the rain, locals rudely pushed past me. One lady shook off her umbrella right onto my leg. I was ready to move on I guess. To where, I didn't care. I was in so much pain.

In Pursuit of China

It was a long haul back up to Bangkok. First a ferry from Koh Phi Phi, then a minibus to Surat Thani, and then nine-hour bus ride back to the capital. We decided not to take the train, I guess because Chris hadn't slept well on the way down. We settled into our coach, a comfy one complete with blankets, and did the best to get some rest. A few hours in, my knees started to ache, yet another sign that I'm getting too old for this kind of travel. When the bus pulled over for a pit stop at 2 a.m., I stumbled out to stretch my legs. At the stop we were provided with really bad bathrooms (for a price), and food that I wouldn't eat unless I wanted to be pooing in an hour or two (and I didn't). The pit stop was crammed with travelers like us, only everyone seemed wide awake and unaware that it was 2 o'clock in the morning. Chris and I climbed back to the top of our double decker bus and tried to find the most comfortable position to sleep in.

We were awoken at 6 in the morning. The sun had barely come up. Dropped on a busy street (yes there was traffic even that early), we were told that Khao San Road was just around the corner. Taxis were available, and I was tempted to take one (“just around the corner” is vastly open to interpretation in these parts). Many from our bus seemed confused and climbed into taxis, but Chris and I walked with our packs, and after about ten minutes we came to familiar territory. We were back in Backpacker's Paradise.

Remembering the cheaper guesthouses away from KSR, we headed to the back alleys. No one was about this time of the morning and it was good to walk without motorbikes zipping past us. We came across a room with air conditioning for a very good price. This was luxury for us, even if we had to climb some very steep steps up to our floor. We remained in our room for a good deal of our stay in Bangkok.

There was a book shop next to our guesthouse. Prices were quite high, at least I thought so, for books. But if we were going to tackle China, we had to get a guidebook. It cost us £10. I decided to make good use of it and spent the rest of that Sunday studying it. With my notepad out, I planned our itinerary. I worked out train times, prices, side trips, dates and where we would be at any certain time. I had given myself a headache from flipping pages and comparing notes. But at least I felt prepared. We were paying the Chinese embassy a visit in the morning.

The Chinese Embassy

We arose early, as we read that we should be to the embassy by 9 a.m. They were only accepting applications between 9 and 11:30 and we weren't taking any chances, lest we miss that window. Our plan was to take the express boat to the train station, and take the Rapid Transit System from there. We allowed ourselves about two hours.

Something was amiss as we walked towards the pier. Nobody was about. Usually hawkers approached us left and right, but the streets seemed eerily quiet. When we got down to the boat dock, nobody was selling tickets and nobody was waiting around. We should have put 2 and 2 together at that point, but we pressed on, anxious to get to the embassy. We found ourselves a taxi, something we really didn't want to do, as we were watching our money. The whole thing made us nervous.

The RTS to our stop was pretty straight forward, but once we got off we didn't know where to go. Chris only had an address, and addresses are incredibly hard to find in Bangkok. We walked down a street in an unfamiliar part of the city. Hardly anyone was about. We passed by a giant mall, but it looked closed. Was the whole city sleeping in today?

It was getting hotter, and both of us were getting more irritable as we checked for street signs. Finally Chris said that he had found the street, but wasn't 100% sure. It seemed to fit, as we weren't supposed to be walking for more than ten minutes. Down the street we found nothing. We were getting a bit frantic as the time was edging closer to 9:00. Chris then announced that we had the wrong street and we had to retrace our steps. Back on the main street, the temperature was climbing and we were gettting more and more confused and panicky. Why did this have to be so goddamn hard?

We came to the next street sign and it bore no resemblence to the one we wanted. Chris then said we'd go back to the street we were on before and have another look. I wanted to kill someone at this point. But Chris had been right the first time. It was the street, and the embassy was right on the corner. We had missed it the first time around. We felt like idiots, but were relieved that we had finally made it to our destination.

However, no signs of life came from the building. I figured that was because it wasn't open yet. I felt encouraged though, nobody was outside waiting. That meant we'd be the first in. Like Clark Griswold in the parking lot of Wallyworld, sometimes I can really be that stupid.

The time was quarter to nine so we decided to get something to eat and drink from a nearby shop. Juice and pound cake for me. We returned to the embassy and met a lady there at the entrance. She was a nice lady, smiling at us and all. If she thought we were stupid she made no mention of it. She just pointed to the building and said, “Closed. Tomorrow open at 9:00.” We had been hearing this across Bangkok from the first day we arrived. I found it impossible that any place would be closed. I pointed at the sign and told her, “It says open Monday through Friday.” “Yes,” she said. “But today public holiday.” I looked at Chris and he looked at me and I just kind of sank onto a step and began to cry. I couldn't speak, I was so frustrated. All that time and effort we had put into, not to mention the money used for transportation. Taking bites of pound cake and taking sips of juice between my tears, I felt so utterly defeated. But considering what was to come, that defeat was nothing.

The Chinese Embassy—Round 2

The next day we returned, and it was a whole different experience. Bangkok was wide awake and alive with its noisy bustle. We took the express boat as planned, and found ourselves traveling with locals on their way to work. Now that we knew where we were going, we made a beeline for the embassy. And this time it was packed. The lady from the day before recognized us and handed us some applications. We sat down on the floor and filled them out. It was like taking an exam. We knew every answer we gave had to be the right one. No we didn't have the required return ticket, and no we didn't necessarily have accommodation (though we had booked several nights in Shanghai at a hostel just to say that we had a place to stay), but we were going to try our best to woo the officials. After all, China was one of our main destinations. There was no way we were missing it.

We sweated profusely while pouring over our application forms. This really wasn't much fun for us, but to get a Chinese visa we were willing to go through this. Finally we joined the line and were led up to the second floor. There it just got harder. We were given a number, something like 950 and they were only in the early 700s. We had plenty of time to wait in another line and have some girl check over our papers. The news wasn't good as we sat down. We didn't have a return ticket. I told her that we had printed out my bank statement showing we had adequate funds to support us within the country. I asked if that was enough and she shook her head. There were other problems as well and she spent a few good minutes with us, slowly dashing our visa hopes as she flipped through our papers. We weren't the only ones though. There was an American in front of us who refused to believe that they weren't issuing him a visa right there and then. He kept coming back asking questions and the girl was getting irritated with him. She said he needed a business letter or something, he'd have to come back the next day. Nobody around us seemed to have what they needed. We felt somewhat hopeful as she said we needed extra copies of our passports and our hotel reservation. We felt there was still a chance. Our number was still far from being called, so we ran out of the embassy and down the street to a copy shop. There were other travelers in there, apparantly having a similiar experience to us. We then went in search of an internet cafe to print out our hotel reservation. This was costlier than it needed to be, as in our panic we printed out something like 20 pages, where we only needed one. The cafe was unforgiving and charged us a high price for using all their paper. We ran back to the embassy, really sweating now, and waited our turn in an overpacked room.

We made the aquaintance of a Scottish gentleman. He told us that he had never seen the embassy like this. He had gone through the process many times before, but he said this time they were making it harder to obtain a visa. Something about elections coming up and the government getting nervous. People around us were getting turned away left and right. One German man was openly yelling at an official, calling him stupid, making everyone in the room even more tense and nervous. I sat down and heard a coversation behind me about how the government, for whatever reason, can turn masses of people away. I think I was recognizing the situation at this point. I didn't think we were going to get in. I was already thinking of a Plan B. “We'll go to Bali,” I told Chris, maybe as a way of feeling better.

Three hours after arriving at the embassy, we were finally allowed to talk to an official. It was an unsmiling young girl. Still, I thought we could charm her. After all we were free-loving backpackers. After silently looking through our applications, she disappeared into the back, probably to ask her superior if we were worthy to enter their blessed country. Coming back she asked us “Why you no apply in home country? You think it easy to get visa here, but it not easy.” This wasn't good reasoning for me, as we had all the information we required. We were only short our return ticket, and I explained to her that we weren't going to book a ticket unless we had a visa first. Also we had been traveling for three months and couldn't apply from our home country. She looked confused and disappeared into the back again. Chris and I looked at each other knowingly. We were being denied. Indeed when the young lady came back she informed us “Sorry but we cannot give you visa.” I took our applications back through the window and told her “Okay, we'll go somewhere else instead,” thus implying that her country wasn't important to us anyway. We then walked stiffly out of the embassy.

I almost immediately deflated, right there on the street. China had been a huge deal to me. I think out of all the countries we had planned on seeing, China was the one I was looking forward to the most. Yeah I knew that it was going to be challanging. We had read that hardly anyone spoke English, and some areas really were not tourist-oriented. But that's what I wanted! After sitting on beaches and stuff I was ready for some real traveling. Hardcore traveling, none of this cushy stuff we were experiencing in Thailand.

Chris and I sat in a KFC and just stared at each other, almost numb over the experience. We were supposed to be heading to the Monkey Temple later that day; a friend of mine now living in Thailand was supposed to meet us there. It wasn't happening. We were so worn out.

We headed back to our hotel and tried to get our minds over the fact that we weren't heading to China. The way I had planned it we were supposed to be there for the next two months. There was a huge hole in our itinerary now. We thought Malaysia and Bali, maybe Australia. We tried to get ethusiastic about a new direction, but I was still heartbroken. China had been my dream. I had already given up Tibet, and now the rest of China as well.

To make things a whole lot worse, Chris came back to the room after an internet session and informed me that Indian visas were no longer being issued in Kuala Lumpur. There went another one of our plans. This was all devestating to me and I think I cried for about a day. I always knew that travel plans could change at any instant, but never actually believed it. I had thought the travel gods were smiling down on us. Who dare deprive me of my dreams? But I was overreacting. After all, we still had all of Asia before us, and some countries were more than happy to have us visit them and take our money.

We went back to the bookstore we had gotten our China guidebook from and exchanged it for Malaysia and Bali. We planned new itineraries and booked tickets. We had accepted our new plan and were moving on. But we still had our tickets to Hong Kong, so we'd still be getting a taste of China, just a teaser, to make us want more of something we couldn't have.

Leaving Bangkok

Bangkok was losing its charm. There's only so much we could take of the backpacker area. We had eaten at just about every cafe up and down the street, we had walked by the t-shirt hawkers a million times, even the cheap booze was losing its appeal. Towards the end of our stay we started eating street food, which proved to be a winning experience. We watched a lady preparing noodles right in front of us, and we wondered why we hadn't been eating like this all along. It was brilliant. Also I tried sticky rice with mango for the first time. It was heaven, and I've been craving it since. But besides our culinary discoveries, the lights of KSR were beginning to lose their sparkle. Even the blind karoake singer (a guy who wandered up and down KSR with a microphone and a tip box) wasn't as entertaining the eighth time around. I was ready to get out of Bangkok, Thailand even, to experience a completely different scene.

We booked tickets to the airport through some lady. She was advertizing the cheapest price around (which should have been an indicatation of the type of service we'd get). She didn't exhibit the usual Thai pleasantness when it came to customer service, instead she snapped at Chris. Whoa lady, I wanted to tell her, don't be a bitch. Maybe she was hungry or something. She was awfully skinny.

Our flight was scheduled to leave at 6:00 in the morning, a very inconvenient time, so we decided to spend the night at the airport instead of rising at an ungodly hour. This meant taking a minibus at 11:00 the night before. I had never slept at an airport before, but I was willing to do it. I had slept worse places on this trip so far.

Chris and I waited at our hotel for the minibus to pick us up. I understand how punctuality is not a priority in Thai culture, and 11:00 has to be considered with a give or take time of about half an hour. But when 11:30 came and went we were getting concerned. The lady hadn't seemed the most professional of characters. Perhaps she had given them the wrong hotel to pick us up at. Thankfully her stand was just down the street so I went down to see her while Chris stayed behind. I was worried that her tourist stand might be closed down for the night, but she was still there, only she was asleep, her mouth hung open with a snore. I thought it odd that she was sleeping on the job, but a shop owner next door woke her up for me. She just stared at me, apparently still half asleep. “Our ride hasn't come,” I told her. Instead of responding, she clumsily dug around in her purse for a few minutes. I wondered if she was drunk, she really seemed out of it. She finally found her phone and made a call. The conversation was in Thai so I had no idea what was going on. For a minute I wondered if she had even forgotten I was there. Then she got up and started walking away, completely ignoring me. “Um excuse me,” I said, feeling the bitch in me starting to emerge, “Can we be expecting our ride any time soon?” She kept walking, but she did turn back to address my question. “They left already,” she said. “He say he didn't see you.” I told her we waited outside our hotel since 11:00 and no one had come, but she didn't really want to hear that. She was getting visibly upset. “Now I find you guy to take taxi, but you have to pay more,” she said. And then the bitch made an appearance as I informed her, “We're not going to give you any more money. We paid to take a minibus, not a taxi.” “You pay toll,” she said, and I then told her that I was going back to the hotel to get Chris and the bags, but we weren't going to give her any more money, as none of this was our fault.

If she had been more apologetic I might have been nicer to her, as it was probably the driver's fault, not hers. Still, she was so unprofessional and acting like this was a burden on her, not on us. By the time Chris and I had come back she was almost hysterical saying that the taxi money was coming out of her pocket. We needed to pay toll, we could at least do that. On principle I couldn't understand why we should be out any money, but she was almost in tears, as this was costing her in more ways than it was costing us. Chris, to his credit, tried to calm her down and engage her. She still hadn't apologized. We came to a main street and she found a taxi. After negotiating he agreed to take us. Still we had to cough up the toll. It only came to a few dollars so it wasn't major. In the end we just paid it. We got in the taxi and the lady just looked at us like we’d killed her dog. We gave her a curt goodbye and took off. At that point I was really glad to be leaving Bangkok.

The good news in all of this is that Bangkok airport is fabulous. We couldn't have picked a better airport to stay overnight at. It was unconditioned and sold the cheap 7-eleven style food we needed to wait out the night. We checked in at around 4:00 and entered through security, coming to the best part of the airport. Bangkok airport is relatively new and completely world class. It's comprised of three levels (I think, maybe there were more) and almost like a mall. It's the biggest airport I think I've ever been in. Chris and I came across a lounge area with massive cushy chairs. People were splayed out and sleeping. It was ideal, as the lights were dimmed low. Chris and I plonked down and tried to get an hour of shut-eye before our flight. It was almost a sleepless night, but not terrible. I think we were anxious to get to Hong Kong. After a month in Thailand, we were ready to check another country off our list, even if that country wasn't necessarilly China.

 

Life After the Tsunami

Another long day of transportation. First we took the ferry from Koh Samui. This one was a lot faster and dirtier than the one we had taken in. I don't know if it was just my body trying to adapt to activity again or what, but I wasn't feeling so well. The journey was about two hours. I tried sleeping for most of it. When we got to land we boarded a bus and we headed to Krabi. This was a long drive, another two hours. We got to ride with a bunch of American frat boys. Listening to them talk was entertainment in itself. I've been away from American life for so long it's quite a novelty to hear an American conversation. One guy was saying, “You've got to check it out, it's totally sick, dude” and the other one was like “Yeah, totally bro, I'll check it out. Thanks man.” It's hard to imagine that at one time I used to slide into a conversation like that with ease, but now I'm more likely to ask “Anyone fancy a cup of tea?” Britain does that to you.

The landscape around Krabi is picturebook perfect. Karsts (limestone formations) line the horizon like toes on a foot. They're whimsical and almost cuddly looking, soft and rolling in green. We stopped just short of them, heading into Krabi proper. We pulled down a dirt lane where the bus dropped us off at what looked like a goat farm. I wasn't sure what this had to do with the boat to Koh Phi Phi, but at least Chris and I got to eat some noodles. There were dirty hippies about. Chris knows the British classes way better than I do. He says the dirtier the backpacker, the richer the parents. These two girls were nasty. Just nasty. Their hair was roped around their heads in filthy dreds and they were walking barefoot everywhere. I don't mean to be judgemental, but these girls were like walking diseases. Not even the locals walk around without shoes; it's a sure way to catch a parasite.  Anyway, Chris said that they were posh girls traveling on their daddys' money. Their dirtiness was their way of getting attention. He could have been right. He probably was. I'll never understand the British class system.

We were transported by mini-buses to the port. Boarding another ferry, it took us another two hours to reach Koh Phi Phi. A long-ass day. I hoped for another bungalow on the beach. I was hoping for another version of paradise, similiar to the one we had experienced on Koh Samui.

Prison on the Beach

The first thing they asked from us upon arrival, just after we stepped off the boat, was to pay a tourist tax. Something about keeping the island clean. Well, we had no option but to pay it. I had heard about the mountains of plastic bottles and such. I guess it seemed fair, as these islands have no landfills. They end up having to burn their trash.

Koh Phi Phi (which rhymes with Go Pee Pee) is made up of two islands. Koh Phi Phi Leh (the smaller of the two) and Koh Phi Phi Don.  Civilization is on the Don, but in the town there are no roads, only pathways. It's quite nice as you don't have to be looking behind you all the time for motorbikes. The pathway right off the boat was mostly lined with agencies promoting tours and accommodation. One guy latched onto us, as it was apparent that we didn't know where to head to. He showed us pictures of some nice places, but they were all outside of our budget. We asked for something within the £8-£10 range, and that was how we ended up at the hellhole on the beach.

This place was dire. First there was the smell. It hit us as soon as we walked in the room. It was musty and moldy. Sure enough, the bathroom was being used as a mold farm. Everything in the bathroom was grotty, even the handle on the faucet. Using the bathroom, I felt dirtier coming out of it than I did going in. The walls to the actual bedroom were stained, as if someone had been slinging around beer, or perhaps projectile vomiting it. Laying on the bed, there were stains even on the ceiling. How the...? We had been asked to take our shoes off at the building's entrance, which is all fine and good, but the floors were slimy. My shoes went back on. I can't stand the thought of walking around in other people's filth.

It was a room with a view. Through the bars we had an excellent view of a trash heap. Empty water bottles, beer bottles, a rusted bike, a broken window pane, and God knows what else. It was good to see our tourist tax money being put to good use. The only consolation is that nobody in their right mind would try to break into our room through the window during the night. Stealth would not be on their side, not with all that crap to wade through.

Tsunami Village

The only upside to our hellhole was its location. It was close to the only decent beach on the island. Chris had been to the island before, back in 2002. He said the beach hadn't been there then. The beach must have been constructed after the 2005 tsunami.

Actually Chris said that much of the island had changed. There must have been an enormous amount of money poured into restoration of the island. It was all the same to me, this was my first time here. There was a vibrant feel to the island, a young throbbing energy. Or maybe that was just the dance music pumping from every club on the beach. We saw no signs of devastation. The only reminder of the tsunami were signs posted around the island; not only the evacuation signs pointing to higher ground, but the signs proclaiming the name of the town itself. Tsunami Village. This no doubt referred to the narrow strip of land in the center of the island which housed most of the population. So many people had died on this thin band of land, either overcome by the water or carried off to sea. It seemed inappropriate to name it Tsunami Village. But maybe it was just the locals’ way of dealing with the tragedy.

You'd never guess that something bad happened on Koh Phi Phi. It's party central. I remembered the frat boys on the bus. This was their world, where booze was sold in buckets and girls went topless on the beach. We actually even encountered a group of drunk guys (what's the British equivalent of a frat boy?) doing a human pyramid on the beach one night. The top guy was trying to show off and they all came tumbling down. Yeah they were funny, but I was really feeling my age. Koh Phi Phi is for the young. It's for hooking up and dancing and drinking into the wee hours of the night.

Chris and I only stayed out late two of the nights we were there. The first was to watch Muay Thai boxing. We were delighted to find Reggae Bar, not far from the hellhole where we were staying. Forget the $30 tickets at Chaweng—there wasn't an entrance fee at the Reggae Bar. The drinks were slightly elevated in price, but we discovered that a bucket of cheap Thai whisky and Coke would last us long enough to watch several of the fights. A giant ring graced the center of the bar. A sign hung there encouraged volunteers to come fight.; they would be rewarded with a free bucket of booze. Well, I wasn't about to. I was really just there to watch. This guy came around asking people. Finally he found a fiesty Asian girl and a hesitant British girl who drunkingly aquiesced. The poor British girl didn't know what she was in for. She was dancing all around in the ring, trying to put on a show for the crowd. Then the Asian girl came and knocked her down. It was great stuff. The next fight was lame, just some more drunk British girls. They were friends and were more interested in doing choreographed dance moves than in fighting one another. The crowd booed at them and started getting restless for some real fighting. Finally some real boxers came on, streamlined with muscles and not an ounce of fat. They looked like they meant business. Finally we got to see some real Muay Thai moves. It wasn't as violent as I imagined it would be. You could tell that real skill was involved. At the end of it all the guys slung their arms around each other and laughed. They had enjoyed it, and for that I enjoyed it too.

Chris and I found ourselves on the beach that night. There were nightclubs lining the beach with fire pits.  On a normal night they usually advertized fire shows, but the weather was threatening and the bars were mostly empty. Chris and I plopped down on some bean bags on the beach and ordered some drinks. Before we knew it, the storm that had been threatening moved in. We ran for cover in the bar and waited out the storm with a few others.

The second night we went out involved watching “The Beach,” a movie that I had seen years before and had lost interest in about three quarters way through. I did remember the beautiful beach scenes, and for this I drawn to Koh Phi Phi (as is just about every other traveler). In the movie, the Beach is nowhere near KPP. Rather it's north of Koh Pga Ngan, over in Koh Samui territory. The actual location where they filmed was on Koh Phi Phi Leh, the smaller uninhabited island. There were boat tours galore advertizing a visit to the Beach. Chris and I had to go check this beach out.

The Beach

We had signed up for a five-hour tour. It included several stops: monkeys, snorkeling, three hours on the Beach (also known as Maya Bay), and a tuna fish sandwich. The board advertizing the tour didn't say tuna fish sandwich, it said it included a whiskey bucket. The man made it clear that that was a printing error. We'd be getting a sandwich instead. Chris and I didn't care, we had tried the Thai whiskey and we weren't really big fans of it. On a side note, we had seen flyers advertizing party cruises with free unlimited booze. These cruises featured swimming and snorkling, and also made a stop to feed monkeys; all perfect things to do while drunk. No safety issues there.

Chris and I were excited about our half-day trip. We got to the agency on time, only to find out that the trip had been cancelled. Something to do with mechanical problems with the boat. We suspected that the guy was going to con us into taking a more expensive cruise, but he surprised us by offering a cheaper one, the same cruise, only shorter. Instead of three hours at Maya Bay, we'd only get one hour. It didn't sound too bad. I asked if the tuna fish sandwich was still included. He laughed but didn't answer the answer (turned out it wasn't). Anyway, we decided it was a good deal, so we got a portion of our money back and made ourselves busy for the next two hours.

We hung out in a restaurant terrace on the beach. This was a different beach than the one we were staying on. With all the rocks, this one wasn't suited for bathers. There were also boats lined up in the water. The only thing it did offer was a view. Yes, there was Koh Phi Phi Leh in the near distance, with all its sharp white limestone cliffs. But that's not what we were looking at. There were three girls sunbathing topless on the beach. This wasn't a huge deal. I've seen my share of tits in my time (and these were incredibly small); the thing that kept our attention (and the attention of everyone else in the restaurant) was the girls posing for one another. For some reason there was a chair on the beach, and they were doing all kinds of poses around it while they took turns taking pictures. Then a tourist boat came in from the mainland, and there those girls were, welcoming them all with naked chests. It was a bit weird. Koh Phi Phi, it should be noted, is mostly a muslim island. It's quite inappropriate to parade around topless, even if the island is known for its party atmosphere. No one interupted the girls in their exhibitionism, but then ordinary, overweight people started appearing on the beach, stepping into the girls' photo shoots. At this the girls retreated back to their towels. Watching the girls had passed the time. We soon returned to the agency where we were led to our long-tail boat.

Two other couples boarded along with us. One couple was French, and the other Indian. We made a stop at a beach just down aways, and picked up four more people, all of them young. Chris and I noticed we were the oldest ones there.

Our first stop was at Monkey Beach; aptly named, for there were myriads of monkeys clambering about. Now I've always always liked monkeys. They are funny-looking creatures. I’d seen some up close in Morocco and also in a Monkey Forest outside of Stoke-on-Trent and at no time had they bothered me. My short experience with monkeys had taught me to trust them. But my trust was soon to be shattered.

We hopped off the boat into shallow water. It wasn't the best beach. The rocks were sharp and hard to walk on. Several other boats were there, all with young tourists laughing at the monkeys. The primates walked among us, not really caring about us. But then Chris touched a monkey.

It was a juvenile monkey; not a baby, but not a full-grown adult. It was just hanging out on a tree branch, at chest level to us. Chris reached out, and for whatever reason, touched the monkey on the back. The reaction was immediate, not from the young monkey, but by the monkey community. The nearest monkey, probably the mama, as quick as lightening hopped down the branch and took a swipe at Chris, delivering a scratch to his arm. She rebuked him in monkey language, showing her sharp teeth. Immediately after the attack, another monkey came at him, and then another. I was standing right by Chris, so I was in the line of fire as well. We kept backing up, and yet more monkeys were coming at us. Scary. Everyone on the beach was laughing at us. If we turned around and saw a monkey there, we'd move swiftly away. Finally we just decided it best to get back on the boat. Chris had brought disgrace upon us. The word was out that Chris was some kind of monkey pedophile, and there was nothing we could do. Even as our boat pulled away, we saw monkeys swimming in the water. We wondered if they were still trying to get to us.

After our monkey experience, we crossed the water seperating the two Koh Phi Phi islands. The waves were epic. We saw them coming at us, bigger than a bus. Many times the waves were over our heads as they came rolling at us. It reminded me of something out of The Perfect Storm. I didn't think our little boat could handle it. Even the engine seemed to be struggling. We all held on for dear life as we made that crossing, but soon enough we passed along the island, and the waters calmed. We cruised past yawning caves and weird limestone formations. Then we entered a lagoon and came to the most idylic waters I’d ever encountered.

Paradise. The water was a perfect shade of blue, so clear and warm, and there were colourful tropical fish swimming about. We jumped out of the boat and swam around in this wonderful setting. There was a rope swing attached to a tree branch coming off the cliff. Chris was the first to swing on it, drawing the attention of numerous swimmers. After that everyone took their turn on it. It was already starting to feel like the Beach. But we weren't there yet. First, a few snorkling stops.

I hate snorkling. I've been snorkling on several occassions and I've never liked it. I had a real harrowing experience off the Florida Keys when I was younger, and I hadn't gotten over it. I decided to give it a go anyway. The water in the lagoon was so calm. As soon as I put my mask on and heard my own breathing in my ears, the fear came back. I don't like masks. I don't like being forced to breathe out of my mouth. In fact, I'm not a fan of being out in open water. I prefer to be on a beach where the ground is directly under my feet. Even then I'm afraid of jellyfish and things moving about. What was I doing out here? I have to say that the fish were outstanding, the few times I stuck my head under the water. They were brilliant, in their tropical yellows and blues. They swam by, not giving a care about our presence. If I tried to touch one, they'd pick up their pace somewhat, but still were within reach. It was a beautiful thing. But my snorkle kept getting water in it and I couldn't enjoy the experience. Soon I was back on the boat and feeding dried anchovies (a treat from 7-eleven) to the schools of fish.

Finally we were all on board and on our way. We entered a different bay, and we thought this was it—the Beach. We looked all around but couldn't find a beach. Instead there were a number of boats just rolling in the rough water. The boats were empty. We couldn't figure out what was going on. Our guide then pointed to a cliff. It seemed so far away, but we could make out a rope ladder. He told us we had to climb the rope ladder, then follow the path to the beach. We all looked at each other incredulously. We were supposed to swim in that choppy water? We could see the waves pounding against the cliff where the ladder was. How were we supposed to do this?  I think all of us were intimidated by this task.

We were given a waterproof bag in which to put our cameras. Then one by one we jumped into the water, and swam with all our might to get to that cliff. It was brutal. The waves were knocking us about. Then we saw a rope coming up from the water, angling up to the ladder. This was good, as we had something to direct us. But the waves were pounding us, and as we got closer to the cliffs we noticed that there were sharp rocks underneath. Several other boats had unloaded their passengers along with us, so there was a surge of swimmers suddenly holding onto the rope. As the waves came in, it was a bombardment of bodies against the rocks. I heard a huge gasp, and then a particularly large wave bashed into us. We all slammed into the rocks. I banged my ankle, but others fared worse. I pulled with all my might and got my body up on that ladder. With shaky arms and legs I climbed up to the platform and tried to recover. Everyone had been shaken up by the experience, even the young strapping guys. The guy that had held our bag full of cameras had cut his foot on the rocks. We wondered how the hell we were going to get back to the boat, fighting those powerful waves. We had an hour before we had to make our way back.

There was another little bay of water. Its serenity was in stark constrast to the force we had just experienced. We could see a path through some trees and followed it. We came into a little forest with signs pointing to the Beach. Tents were set up in a little community. I had heard that some people camp on the beach. The setting was familiar. They had used this forest and pathway in the movie. The path narrowed, and as we walked through the trees we could hear the surf ahead of us. It was like walking in the steps of DiCaprio. The trees opened up and we came to the Beach.

It was magnificent, a bay like no other, almost entirely enclosed. In the movie they superimposed more cliffs to make it look like a lagoon, but this was definitely the setting. There was a feeling of exclusivity being there, even though we were among others. We had worked to get to this place, and we were rewarded with stunning white sand and a view to die for. Everyone there was young and fit. We had entered a very Beach-like community, like the one in the film.

No boats floated in the bay. The sea was very rough, just as it had been on the other side. I stood in the booming surf and felt something big hit my leg. I reached down as it floated by. It was a bowling-ball sized rock. The surf was powerful enough to be throwing this stuff around. Standing in the water hurt, as the sea kept hurling things at me. Chris and I, upon looking around, found there were quite a few people limping around or tending to injuries. The Beach was a rough place. But it was totally worth it.

I didn't know what we were going to do for an hour if we couldn't swim, but luckily we moved down the beach where we found the water to be calmer. The surge of the waves was still incredibly strong. I would try to stand and withstand the force of a wave without falling over. It was powerful stuff. Even sitting on the beach I would be accosted with waves. The beach would be empty, then a huge wave would come crashing in, soaking me up to my ears. But I loved it. This was a beach with personality. And it felt so incredibly private between those cliffs. I could see why they wanted this beach for the movie. The whole feel of it is so fitting.

Soon our hour was up. There was a discussion where the boat was going to be. The majority of us believed we had to go out the way we came in. There was one guy, the Indian guy, whose wife had stayed on the boat. He swore he had been told that the boat was going to come around for us. He made us hopeful, as none of us wanted to face that rope ladder again, but there were no boats in the bay. We took a vote and decided to go back to the rope ladder. When we got to the top of the platform, we saw a row of boats lined up together. Our boat was bobbing there, so one by one we decended the ladder.

Each of us was nervous in our own way. Chris confided to me later that he had never been so scared; his legs had been shaking. I was scared also, looking at those waves coming in, but I knew we had to face them.  In watching some of the others, I told Chris to keep his feet up the entire way and just move with his arms. He went first and I followed. Actually it was a lot easier, as we were moving away from the rocks, not towards them. Soon we let go of the rope and we had to swim to the boats. This was the hardest part for me. The waves were huge and we had to slice right through them. I gave it all I had, and by the time I made it to the boat I was drained. This activity is definitely something designed for the young. I was happy to be back on the boat, and didn't plan to leave it again until we reached land.

Everyone on board seemed to be in a state of recovery. Some were hurt, but most were just exhausted. The guide cut up some pineapple and we ate it as the boat lurched in the waves. I was steadily becoming seasick. I wanted us to shove off, as sitting in a boat in rough seas has never sat well with me. Eventually we did take off and I was relieved, feeling the bite of fresh wind in my face. However, too soon we came to a stop and the guide announced another snorkling stop. I looked around unbelievably. Who the hell wanted to go snorkling after that ordeal? We all looked like we were ready for bed. There were a few guys who decided to go. The rest of us sat on the boat, withstanding the rise and fall of the waves.

Chris and I were sick. I'm not sure if Chris actually puked, but he moved himself to the front of the boat where he could hang off the side. I sat looking out to sea, trying to fix my eyes on something that wouldn't make me dizzy. Soon my legs went numb, then my arms. This has only happened to me once, and that was on that harrowing snorkling trip out in Florida. I must have been green I was so sick. The numbness moved into my chest and I really thought I might die. Of course I knew I wasn't going to die, but it's a terrible moment when you're sick and there's nothing you can do about it. The boat kept bobbing, and I thought for sure something was going to explode in me, from either the top or bottom half of me. I thought of jumping in the water but held off, really hoping the snorklers would be called back. I think the guide took pity on Chris and I and soon gathered everyone. We were moving again, and the fresh air once again helped. I just wanted to get back to the big island. I kept myself focused on the thought of jumping off at the pier and kissing the ground. That or running for a bathroom.

I thought our trip was over. After all, the Beach had been the climax. But halfway across the straight seperating the islands, the guide stopped the boat. He asked if we wanted to see the sunset. We all kind of shrugged and said okay. But then he said we'd have to sit there for half an hour. Another half an hour bobbing around. “I think I'll die,” I told the others. I'm not sure if this swayed them, or if the others were tired and wanted to get back, but we all changed our minds and forewent the sunset.

I can't remember a case of motion sickness as severe as the one I had on that trip. It has put the fear of boats into me now, and even when we got back to Bangkok I had trouble on the express boat up and down the Chao Phraya. I'm glad I did the Beach; it's been one of the main highlights of this trip. I'm glad I did it, and now I never have to do anything like that again.

The Viewpoint

After two nights in our hellhole, we moved to a different hotel. In walking around more of the island, we came across a charming establishment on the outskirts of the town. It was more rural, away from the tourist traps. The price was actually cheaper than at the hellhole. It was clean and homey, and even had artwork on the walls.

Just down the road (pathway) was a real road, one on which motorbikes could travel. There was a sign there pointing to the Viewpoint. Chris said it was the highest point on the island. He hadn't climbed it before, but he wanted to do it this time around.

I didn't think the Viewpoint would be much. The hills didn't look very high. I thought it was just up the road. On our last night, we figured it was now or never. It was time to stop being lazy and hike our asses up to the Viewpoint (after the Beach we had gotten very lazy, napping a lot or hanging out in cafes fattening ourselves up with Western-style fare). We thought we'd take a little jaunt, right before sunset to catch the sun going down.

The walk was brutal. It was steep and unforgiving. We'd go up one steep stretch, thinking the Viewpoint would be right around the corner, and then come to another steep hill, then another and another. It kept going. We passed by village people coming down the hill, probably farm workers done with their day's work. Chris and I were huffing and puffing. They must have found us amusing. What concerned me is that no other Westerners were around. I thought the Viewpoint was a big attraction. Why were we alone in hiking up this road? Was there something we didn't know? Well as we went on it only got worse. The road turned to dirt and we entered deep forest. The sun was going down and I was concerned about walking back in the dark. We kept considering turning back. Then I saw a guy go jogging past us in flip flops and felt like a wuss. We kept going.

The sun was really going down at this point and we didn't know how far ahead the Viewpiont was. We met some Westerners coming our way and asked them how far we had to go. They said it was another ten-minute walk. We knew that ten minutes the sun would be gone and we'd be left in the dark. We decided to turn back, and it killed us being so close to our destination. There was a plot of land with a tent-like structure erected. I didn't think anyone was about so I stopped Chris and said maybe we could wander to get a vantage point of the island. After all we were very near the top. As we stepped around the tent, a figure came out (a Western hippie character) informing us that we were welcome to explore. We asked him about the Viewpoint and he pointed just up the road, “Two minutes away,” he said. We had heard ten, but he shook his head. “It's right there.” Well thank you hippie guy. If it wasn't for him we wouldn't have made it to the Viewpoint.

We continued two minutes up the road, and sure enough we came to the Viewpoint. And it was everything it promised to be. There were a bunch of people sitting around on rocks watching the sunset. It was cloudy, so it wasn't a perfect sunset, but it was a beautiful scene nonetheless. We saw Tsunami Village in all its glory. For the first time we could grasp how vulnerable it was to the sea. The village is located right on a thin strip of land. I could only imagine how much was washed away when the tsunami came roaring through. It really must have been devastating.

Thankfully there was another, easier route back to town. It was mostly steps, which were easy to follow in the gathering dark. We passed by bungalows and nice hotels that blanketed the hillside. We came to a booth at the bottom which charged an entry fee for the Viewpoint. Well at least we had escaped that by taking the back road.

Coming down from the hill, we went in search of dinner. One of the first places we came to, I noticed they had advertized a showing of “The Beach.” I had been wanting to see it, and it only seemed fitting now that we had been there. The restaurant was Mexican. Well that was it for me. I was ready to stay put for the next two hours, a margarita or two in hand.

We were led up a spiral staircase to a terrace overlooking the beach and the village. We were perched in what looked like a treehouse. The food and drinks were expensive, but we did have perfect seats for “The Beach.” The movie was stupid as hell, but as with “The Sound of Music” in Salzburg, it was fun to identify the places we had been. I loved our Beach experience. I feel we had gotten a piece of paradise.

We got pretty drunk, seen as how we had kept ordering drinks while the movie played. Having downed three margaritas, I had difficulty descending those spiral steps. However we were in too good of a mood to end our night. We ended back on the beach and at the nightclub we had visited before, the one with the beanbags. The weather was better this time around and we got a good view of the fireshow. A lot of the nightclubs feature a fireshow, which is basically some guys throwing around flaming batons. I did some baton twirling when I was a kid, so I recognized a lot of moves. When I think about it, I think I'd be pretty good at twirling fire, if the opportunity ever came up. After the batons, they lit a rope and started twirling it. One by one tourists would go up and jump. One girl's crotch caught on fire doing this. Again, jumping through fire drunk? A good idea? Me thinks not.

Chris and I enjoyed our last night in Koh Phi Phi, sitting out under the stars. I knew I'd have a killer hangover in the morning, for the ferry back to the mainland, but that didn't matter. I had loved our time on this ultra-touristy backpackers' island. Koh Phi Phi had its good and bad points, but overall it was an unmissable part of the Thai experience for me. I'm glad we came.

 

Thai Paradise

The overnight train south to Surat Thani took us through some slums on the outskirts of Bangkok. With our window pulled down, we watched as families gathered, bathed and fed themselves. The houses looked makeshift, whole walls missing, leaving them open to our scrutiny. This was shantytown poverty. Children waved from the side of the tracks, while others just looked on without much interest.

We were in a sleeper car. Although a handful of Westerners were on board, by far the majority of our fellow passangers were Thais. Chris and I had top bunks which folded down from the ceiling. Workers came around and prepared our beds, spreading out sheets and fluffing pillows. Chris and I immediately crawled into our bunks, pulling the curtains shut for privacy. I read for awhile, waiting for the lights to go off. It soon became apparent that the lights weren't going to be shut off (perhaps a security measure) so I made the most of it and rolled over on my side. It was quite stuffy, the bottom bunks had the windows and the fresh air. There was an oscilatting fan that brought a breeze around every eight seconds. It wasn't the greatest, but I was far from miserable. I must have dozed off. I opened my eyes to find a man's face inches from my own. I must have gasped. It was suddenly there, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Chris reached out and said, “It's just me.” He was on his way to the bathroom and checking on me. The second time he's frightened me at night on a train—this was becoming a bad habit.

We awoke in jungle. We moved to the bottom bunk where we sat and watched the scenery go by. The heavy foilage reminded me of films I've seen of Vietnam. I'm not surprised, as many Nam movies were filmed in Thailand. I could envision the helicopters and plumes of smoke. I’d never been in a jungle like this before.

We alighted in Surat Thani, where we had breakfast at a cafe while waiting for our bus. We had purchased tickets all the way to Koh Samui. It wasn't too bad of a journey, as tourists were clearly catered to. The bus was air conditioned and the seats comfortable. The journey seemed impossibly long, making stops along the way to let groups on and off. Finally we came to the port where we finished our journey by ferry. We sat in an air-conditioned room and watched a Thai variety show with belly dancing girls and a clown whose pants kept falling down. I've decided that clowns aren't funny in any culture. I've also decided that Thai TV is crap.

After a few hours we finally arrived on the island. We were hoping to be bombarded with people at the port offering accommodation. There was nobody. We climbed aboard a shared taxi (a pickup truck with benches in the back) and headed in the direction of Maenam Beach, an area that Chris was somewhat familiar with. We got dropped off by a road with a lot of signs, and we walked towards the beach, hoping to come across some decent bungalows. The first place we came to we checked in for two nights. We ended up staying ten.

Shady Resort

We immediately fell in love with our bungalow. Our porch overlooked a Buddhist altar (which was attended to each day) and a garden. The restaurant was a five-second walk away, serving up excellent cheap food and beer (Bacardi Breezers for me). “Mama” would attend to us, an older lady with fractured English and an explosive laugh. Short and stout, she walked like a crab. She watched over us, even counselling Chris when she thought he had drunk too much beer. She shooed stray dogs away and took naps in her chair during the day. It was always comforting to have Mama nearby.

The facilities were great, but the real draw of Shady Resort was the beach. The restaurant stepped down to a narrow strip of golden sand. A quick run across the beach (the sand is too hot to walk across) would bring us to gorgeously warm water. The saline level was so high we could easily float on our backs. In fact it seemed impossible to drown in water like this. Even so we stayed relatively close to shore, especially since sharks were known to reside in these waters. But my main concern was the jellyfish. Their sting, though not deadly, could create a whole world of pain. Often a jellyfish would wash up dead in the sand, and even then we had to be careful, as their sting can last even after death. I was always careful where to step, doing a little shuffle everytime I entered the water (even though that only works with stingrays). The water was so dense with salt that we couldn't see what we were sharing our space with. Even in the shallow water we had things brushing up against us, leaving both of us yelping and jumping. Several times I ran out of the water competely.

Our visit was during the low season, so hardly anybody was about. Often we found ourselves the only ones in the restaurant. If we took a little jaunt down the street, we were the only ones patronizing the cafes along there. We ate at a Nepalese restaurant several times in our stay. It was called Babu's and served up excellent food. It was evident by the signs and books in each place that we were among Germans. There was a scattering of them on the beach. They all looked like Olympic atheletes with their tanned and toned bodies. Their children frollicked blonde and naked in the water. There was one middle aged couple there that Chris and I kept our eyes on. They were always doing something weird, so much so that we felt they were competition (Chris and I usually have the monopoly on weirdness wherever we go). We'd look and see the guy in some intense yoga posiition (never a good look in a Speedo) or the woman would be sprawled out with her legs in birth-giving pose. One time when Chris and I were acting particularly weird in the water (something to do with vomiting sand) we looked over to see the guy doing a slow crawl out of the water like an amphibian. And then the woman (wearing a G-string) straddled him. It was weird stuff, and at that point Chris and I had to throw in the towel. We knew we had been outweirded by these muesli-munchers.

Civilization

Several days into our stay on Maenam Beach we figured it was our travelers' duty to see what lay beyond our patch of golden sand. We had seen posters advertising Muay Thai boxing in Chaweng. We thought that sounded awfully cultural, so we boarded a shared taxi to the east side of the island. We were dropped off in backpacker's ville, an unholy strip of shops and massage parlours. I could feel the difference to any place we had been before in Thailand. The sleeze was coming up off the streets. The massage parlors advertized “happy endings” in a lighthearted, but still creepy, kind of way. While we ate lunch, we witnessed the massage girls standing in their slinky outfits, handing out leaflets. One skinny guy (I think he was Russian), white as snow and wearing the shortest shorts I've ever seen, came sashaying up to a girl. I watched their interchange, her touching him, him getting noticably excited. It almost put me off my lunch.

We found the world-famous Chaweng Stadium, the center of Muay Thai. A fight was taking place that night, but the price of tickets were going for $30 a piece. That was way over our budget. We kept walking down the strip, hoping to come across less-expensive tickets, but it wasn't meant to be. We gave up on our Muay Thai ambitions and just walked the strip. But Chaweng felt seedy. We had walked the strip forever and it never seemed to end. It offered the same t-shirts and trinkets, shop after shop after shop. We never did see the beach. Chris wasn't feeling well and longed to get back to our patch of paradise under the coconut trees. We retreated back to Shady Resort where we stayed put for the remainder of our time on Koh Samui.

Civilization came to pay us a visit when Gemma and Alistair, two of Chris' work colleagues, drove up on their rented motorbike. The couple were vacationing on the island as well, though they had splashed on an upscale resort. We sat sipping drinks at Shady, and it was almost surreal to have a whole conversation in unbroken English (and with someone else beside Chris). They had brought Chris an I Love Spreadsheets t-shirt (to add to his already eclectic collection) and filled us on what was happening in the real world. It was a nice visit, but soon they were off to see the Giant Buddha. Chris and I resumed our reclusive ways.

Hardcore Vacationing

We succumbed to complete relaxation. Vacationing (not traveling) was now in effect, which meant we didn't have to go anywhere and we didn't have to do anything except eat and sleep. Mostly we read books on our porch. When I ran out of paperbacks I turned to my Kindle and to the classics. I zipped through Treasure Island in a day and a half. It seemed so fitting with the island setting.

Occassionally, when we got too hot just sitting, we would make our way to the ocean where floated on the gently rolling waves. We usually went for one long soak in the morning, and then a briefer one in the mid-afternoon. We'd go shower and dry off on the porch, hanging our suits and towels out on the clothes line. They'd dry in no time at all. The heat was intense. Around late afternoon the skies would darken and rain would start falling. Sometimes it would storm. We enountered a few storms, some very strong, with torrential rains and fiercely flashing lightening. One time I was cut off from Chris. I was on the porch and Chris was at the restaurant having a beer. We could see each other through the heavy sheets of rain, but we couldn't get to each other. The storm seemed to last forever, the palm trees almost bending in half from the wind. It reminded me of footage from hurricanes. These tropical storms were no joke. We were lucky we weren't caught out in any of them.

The road that led to the Family Mart and civilization was almost always under water. We would have to hop and skip over stones or bricks that had been strategically placed. I slipped one time in my flipflops and sliced open my toe. For the first time I had to pull the First Aid kit out of my bag. After lugging it all this way, I was actually glad to use something in it.

The days started to blend together. I couldn't tell Tuesdsay from Saturday. It didn't seem to matter which day it was. I couldn't even tell you what month it was. Every day was the same, starting off with breakfast with Mama. My favorite breakfast was the pineapple pancake. I usually washed it down with a coconut shake. The fruit was unbelievable. Mangos, pineapples, papayas, coconuts, bananas, watemelon… it was all fresh and plentiful. Our meals consisted mostly of fresh veg in the form of stir-fries, curries or soups. Everything on the menu felt so nourishing, we should have been glowing with health. The only thing that truly disgusted me was a fruit offered to me one day by Mama's husband. He was cutting up some funny porcupine-looking fruit. He put something yellow and slimy into my hand, telling me “Good, good” with convincing eyes. Well it wasn't good. I had never tasted anything like it. Hot garbage is the easiest way to describe its taste, like something that was scraped off the side of a dumpster. Unfortunately for Chris, he was around when this fruit was being handed out. He swallowed his with a blank face but had to walk away. I ended up grabbing a napkin and spat mine out. This was our introduction to the durien, a fruit that tastes and smells like decaying flesh. We've been smelling it in stands all throughout Asia. Funnily enough, it's banned at hotels and at airports. It's really that bad.

Chris had made some friends at Shady Resort. They were two of the resident dogs. One of them he really took a liking to, naming the fella Shindig (his term of endearment for any dog that resembles the labradoodle of his dreams). If Chris saw them around he'd call out “Shindig” and go running towards them. They were nice enough dogs, willing to play with my canine-happy hubby. There were other dogs about which weren't so welcome. Beach dogs (without collars we assumed they were strays). Their smell was horrific. They bathed in the heavy salt water, matting their fur even worse. I could always tell when one of these dogs were nearby as the whole air turned. I could smell the dogs clear across the beach. To make it worse, they were friendly, and would often lay down beside us. God love them though. They were the dirty hippie dogs of Maenam Beach. When it came time to go, Shindig and his partner came up onto our porch to say a quick goodbye. Then they were off again. I think I detected a tear in the corner of Chris' eye. Yes, he needs a dog, bad. Luckily that doesn't require me getting knocked up. I'll allow a Shindig in our home, as long as he doesn't live up to the stupidity of his name.

Koh Samui was paradise, filling us with unabashed laziness. Nothing truly productive happened in the ten days we were there. Eat, swim, read, nap, swim, eat, sleep; sometimes we did it in that order, sometimes not. It didn't matter. Nobody was asking anything of us. I think back to living in Britain and those rainy days and waiting for Northern Rail to take me into Manchester—yes, I've earned it. I've earned this laziness. And Chris has too.

Welcome to Bangkok

We made it to Asia, real Asia. Not some border of Asia, not the Middle-East, not the Near East, or whatever they're calling it... no, Asia. Asia Asia. This was to be the meat of our journey. Europe had just been the appetizer.

And so we alighted from our plane in Bangkok and stood in a long line of tourists to get our passports stamped. Finally we were fitting in. There in line were dirty hippy looking types with dreadlocks and sandals. I wanted to embrace them in all their smelliness. We were among real backpackers at last.

The first shock in Bangkok came with the taxi ride. No, the taxi was fine. It was air conditioned and everything. It was the price. A 45-minute ride only cost us only £2. To give you some perspective, back in the UK, a five-minute taxi ride between Stalybridge and Mossley (meant for those late nights in Manchester) cost £5. If the price of the taxi ride was any indication of our spending capacity, I was going to love Bangkok.

We were dropped on the edge of Khao San Road—Backpackers Paradise. It's a neon strip of cheap hotels, restaurants, bars, tourist shops, 7-elevens, massage palours—anything a backpacker could want. It was lit up and humming with electricity. The hawkers were out and the street was packed with all kinds of dirty hippy backpacking people. For the first time on this journey I didn't want to head to bed. I was ready to jump into KSR.

First we got rid of our bags, our top priority at any destination. Chris had been here before, he knew where to stay. That said, I trusted him. He got us checked into the Chart Guesthouse for a mere £7 a night. We trudged up four flights of stairs (no elevators on Khao San Road) and came to a corridor that looked like something out of a Thai prison. Our room fit the whole prison-theme. We had a double bed and an overhead fan, and that was it. Literally. There may have been some windows, but they were boarded up, and all they were letting in was obnoxious blaring music from the street below. It was dire. The bathroom stalls out in the hallway were on par with the prison-cell rooms. None of the toilets had seats, there was no toilet paper to be found. Oh, and no flush mechanism could be found on any of the toilets, rather there was a bucket of water and a scoop. Thankfully English-speaking backpackers had been come this way before, and they were the ones who left instructions on the door. “Use water in bucket to flush toilet.” This was scrawled in magic marker on the back of the door, and I was very grateful for this advice. Of course this was among other graffiti that was there. In the shower stall next door, the graffiti was written in the form of a conversation between an American and a British person. It was quite a heated debate about George W. Bush and American Imperialism (this must have been from half a decade back), and it made my showering quite enjoyable as I read through it all. Either these guys showered a lot or they made repeat trips to the shower room with their magic markers. The coversation went on and on and on, but my shower felt so good I didn't mind reading it all.

As we walked KSR we were drawn in left and right by hawkers. Chris was the target for tailors (“Look, Sir, nice suit for you”) and those promoting the Ping Pong Show. (If you don't know what the Ping Pong Show is, well, it's probably best to leave it that way). I was the target for the massage girls (legitimate massage, that is). “You want massage?” There, right on the street, were rows of deck chairs, and tourists were laying there getting their feet massaged. It did look tempting. Everyone had such a content look on their face.

Our first meal was at Lucky Beer. Everything was so cheap, and the variety immense, I wondered what kind of paradise I had stumbled into. Thai food rates near the top of my list. The flavors are simple and subtle, but blend so well together. I ordered some noodles, and a Mai Thai to wash it down. For the first time in a long time, probably since my days of hanging out at college bars, I recieved an unnecessarily strong cocktail. The Thais pride themselves in their strong alcoholic drinks (offered to tourists anyway. I'm not sure if the Thais themselves are a drinking people). Cocktails were only £2 each, so for that reason alone, I ordered another one. I had a hard time walking out of Lucky Beer. The neon lights blurred.

After a walk up and down the ungoing hub of KSR, Chris and I retired to our prison cell where we laid on our bed in the dark and sweated the booze out of our system. The fan wasn't enough in the tropical humidity. There was no fresh air coming into our room and the fan blades merely swirled the heavy air around. Chris and I sweated in a fashion I don't think we've ever sweated before. I could actually feel the sweat coming out of my pores, and it kept me awake. I had to strategize the position I was laying in, just to assess maximum air flow; for instance I had to sleep with my head propped up by my pillow in such a way to allow air to move between the back of my neck and the bed. Chris and I were drenched, our sheets were drenched, our pillows were drenched. We both slept naked, and there was nothing sexy about it.

It was hard to tell what time of day or night it was. The music kept pumping into our room. I think in the hour before daybreak (again, hard to tell with boarded-up windows) the music changed and karaoke kicked in. Thai karaoke is not something you particularly want to listen to at 4:00 in the morning (or at all). However, it didn't bother me as much as the heat. I felt the air was squashing me like a sponge and every drop of liquid inside of me was oozing out. This was bad. I knew we'd be roughing it in Asia, in fact the more the better, as this was meant to be a character-building experience—but this was pure punishment. I felt we had signed into the Bangkok Hilton, and I don't mean the five-star establishment on the Chao Praya. Chris had properly broken me into Bangkok.

Everyday's a Holiday

Chris said there were some temples nearby. Wanting to see Bangkok outside of Khao San Road, I let Chris lead me down a noisy congested street. Almost right away we were approached. “Where you go?” Each man who asked this wore a bright smile, so eager to help. We wouldn't tell them, just wave them off with a “Thanks we're fine.” But they'd call after us, “Today holiday. Closed until one o'clock.”

Chris told me not to believe these men, they did this all the time in an effort to draw tourists away, and for the tourist to ask, “Well what do we do now?” The men were mainly tuk-tuk drivers. Chris, having been to Bangkok before, knew their game well. Wherever we went, regardless of the destination, we got men calling after us, “No, today closed. Today special holiday!” What made it especially confusing is that sometimes it was a special holiday. We encountered this a few times in our stay, but we were to find out that in Bangkok, no tourist place really closes. A lot of times the schedules are altered, but very rarely do places close.

That first day out, after a long hot slog under the tropic sun, coincidence of coincidences, we couldn't gain entry to the Royal Palace. Not because it was closed (the sign outside read “Open Every Day”), but because we weren't dressed appropriately. What we had actually wanted to see was the Reclining Buddha, but we had showed up at the wrong location. Too hot to sort the whole situation out, we went in search of drinks. We found some cafe by the Chao Praya, the main waterway through Bangkok. We were offered a boat cruise, but Chris and I weren't very interested. We found ourselves haggling anyway. Usually my way out of something was to offer an unreasonably low price. For this I asked for a two for one deal, or something equally outrageous. As we walked away, the lady chased us down and said “Okay, okay, I take.” Before we knew it, Chris and I found ourselves on a private long-tail boat, chugging up the brown rolling waters of the Chao Praya.

It was thrilling to find ourselves on the river. The Chao Praya is a massive river. Its waves are choppy and rolling with all kind of debris. I saw a few trees churning in the muddy water. The boat's engine roared behind us as we went speeding along. The wind felt good, drying out our sweat-drenched clothes. The boat slowed as it turned off into a canal, and then we began our meanderings through a poor area of the city. Houses in various stages of decay sagged on stills at the canalsides. Children bathed in the dirty river and old men watched us from rotting porches. This was perhaps the first real poverty I had seen so far on this trip. It wasn't shocking poverty, in fact I got the sense that these people were at ease in their environment. Some of them were fishing from their porches, some of them were feeding the fish, and most of them were just going about their lives, not paying any attention to the likes of us.

We had been promised a ride through the Floating Market. I was all excited, remembering pictures I had seen of boats sliding past each other in tiny canals, crammed with all sorts of colourful goods. Our Floating Market consisted of five women in boats sitting under a bridge. Our guide nodded up ahead, and a woman came out from some overhang in her little boat and sided up to us. She had trinkets for sale. When we informed her that we had no need for trinkets, she brought out a fan that turned into a hat. It was cute, but we didnt want that either. Like any good salesperson, she gave us even further choice, opening up a cooler stocked with drinks. Feeling pressured to buy something, Chris haggled with her over the price of a beer. She laughed openly, displaying gaps where her teeth should be. Then she rowed back from the crevice she came from and waited for the next tourist boat. Not quite the floating market I had in mind.

The last part of our ride was a stop at a large temple on the Praya. It was my first time in a Buddhist place of worship. We took our shoes off and went to sit cross-legged in front of a large gold Buddha. No one else was there so we got to sit in silence for awhile. It was impressive, all the decoration, the various gold buddhas that lined the altar, all with gently smiling faces, but it didn't help me to understand what I was supposed to do. How is one even supposed to view the Buddha?

A Word on Religion

There are temples all over Bangkok. Their roofs mainly shine gold in the sun, but they're lined in red and green. Most are complexes with different buildings, and most are very active places with women making flower garlands, old female monks with shaved heads setting up food for their male counterparts, and worshippers purchasing joss sticks and performing various types of worship. Sometimes you can see the saffron-monked robes chanting over people and spraying holy water from a wick. It's an interesting world. They're open to visitors, as long as the tourists are dressed respectively (no shorts or sleeveless shirts) and take their shoes off before entering.

Chris and I finally found our Reclining Buddha at Wat Po. Wat Po is a massive temple complex in the middle of Bangkok. The gardens are dotted with stupas, bell-shape mounds that point up to the heavens. There were several temples there that Chris and I entered. We sat before a few Buddhas, mindful not to point the soles of the feet toward anything holy (the soles are the lowest part of the body and are regarded as dirty). The big Buddha, the one lying on his side, entering Nirvana, was okay, rather touristy to be honest. His feet were cute though, in a Buddhist statue sort of way, each toe about the length of an arm. He was just lying there, propped up by his elbow, smiling away in that secretive little way of his. Some may say that he was smiling because he had reached Nirvana. It's my personal belief that his little secret was the one that I share, that this is all bullshit.

Chris offered to take me to a non-touristy temple, one that he used to frequent back in his earlier backpacker days on Khao San Road (Chris identifies with the religion). And so he did, and I was surprised that the temple was literally just around the corner from where we were staying. There were no Westerners milling about. We were the only observers as we watched the people come in and pray.

It was a peaceful place, it really was. The monks were about so we stayed out of the main area. We sat on benches to the side and just looked over the multitude of gold-plated Buddhas and contemplated nothing. I just took it all in. People came in, sometimes wandering over to a favorite Buddha statue off to the side where we sat. They prostrated themselves, leaving little gifts by the statue. I appreciated all this, it was very interesting to sit and watch how others worship, but I came to a definite conclusion. It was like lightning hit me—a very gentle lightning stroke, but one that went right through me. My revelation—religion is all the same.

It's all the frickin same. The locations may differ, the practices and doctrines and prophets may differ, but the basics are there, that fundamental need in humans to curry favour from someone greater than them. As long as humans feel some situations are out of their hands (their fate, their fertility, the actions of others, the afterlife, etc...) they will beseech something, by whatever name they call it, to influence the course of things. They may truly love that something greater, I have no doubt, but take the possibility of blessings away and say that God is something impersonal and uninterested in human affairs—would religion as we know it exist, or would people just get on with their lives? I'm of the personal belief that there is no one listening to my prayers, rather that prayer is a sort of meditation. Meditation I subscribe to, because it centers you, puts you in a definite moment. That was more or less what I was experiencing in the temple, other than the lighting bolt. I felt a sort of peace come over me, because I strongly felt my own presence, and the power of being alive in that very moment. It had nothing to do with the gold-plated Buddhas. Those are just things. I have nothing to offer or ask or accept from them, as in any other place of worship around the world.

Buddhism, you didn't win my heart. Not like the way it did Chris'. Still I liked the chanting of the monks. The human voice can be an amazing thing.

“You Want Massage?”

We had to switch hotels. Chris and I came across a series of backpacker alleys not far from KSR. The prices of restaurants and guesthouses were cheaper, and the setting was much more peaceful. We checked into a guesthouse there that was the same rate as Chart, but the room was vastly better. We actually could sit in our room and do stuff, like reading, Chris some romance novel, and me, a book I had purchased on my Kindle called “The Crimson Petal and the White.” It's set in Victorian London and is basically a story told through the eyes of a prostitute. It was brilliant, I was so wrapped up in it, it was weird leaving the hotel room to find myself on the streets of Bangkok—a culture shock of sorts.

Chris and I spent a lot of time in that quiet backpacking area, either wandering the alleys, or checking out bookshops, or buying T-shirts, or slurping noodles and sipping Chang beer, taking advantage of the ubiquitiously free wifi. It was a time of relaxation, where no fulfiling of obligations were underway.

One night after dinner, I found myself readily succumbing to a massage, one of those lounge chair ones out on the street. A toothless old woman by the name of Coco gave my weary backpacker feet a rubdown. Her hands were so expert and powerful I had to pay her for another half hour to do my back and shoulders. I was in absoulute heaven. A full hour of massage only cost £4.

The next night I was back for more. This time at a different massage parlor, and Chris came with. They led us inside to an upper room. I got the traditional Thai massage and Chris got a Swedish one. I got another old lady to administer my massage. I had been sweating so bad, I had to apologize to her. She merely placed a towel over me so as to not have to touch my sweat-soaked clothes. About half-way through the massage she started giggling, and I looked over to see Chris getting his rubdown. His shirt was off and he had some guy working him over. My lady whispered to me “King Kong” and laughed, putting a finger to her mouth. I guess in essence she was calling my husband a hairy gorilla.  I guess there aren't many hairy Thais, so Chris may be something of a novelty. In any case, it was time for the lady to crack my back. She had me clasp my hands behind my neck, and then she drove her knees into my midback and lifted me. Holy crap, my back snapped like a Christmas cracker.  She then folded me over and put her full body weight on me—Snap, then the other side—Snap snap. I was grunting like a mule. As severe as that was, I walked out of there looser than I have ever been before (approximately two days later my back was killing me, worse than ever).

Like a Local

I no longer felt green in Bangkok. I was strict with the taxi men. I was even stricter with the tuk tuk drivers. If we had to go somewhere, I would say, “No stops. Straight there.” A lot of them didn't want to take us if we explicitely demanded that we wouldn't stop to look at gems. This is another practice of tuk tuk drivers to look out for. They offer a cheap price, but instead of taking you straight to your destination, they take you to their brother's gem shop, or somewhere else where you're pressured to buy something. Chris and I looked like seasoned backpackers, and I'm proud to say that we didn't get ripped off once in Bangkok.

We also mastered use of the express boat along the Chao Praya. It cost mere pennies to travel up and down the river. Getting on the boat was always fun, the waves were always knocking the boat about. But the men working the rope always pulled it close for us to hop aboard. On the express boat we traveled with the locals. The ticket woman shook her change box as she walked the length of the boat, collecting tickets and money. We watched as we pulled up to each dock. The rope guy gave directions by use of a whistle, and the boat would steer closer, bumping up against the tires that padded the dock. Most of the locals were dressed well, as if they were coming from or going to work. Monks also used this form of transporation, and hung out mostly near the back. It was a great ride, and more convienent than any taxi to get around.

One of our day trips was to Lumphini Park, the Central Park of Bangkok. We sat on a bench and watched giant monitor lizards crawl in and out of a lake. I've never seen such huge reptiles in my life. They looked similar to pictures I've seen of Komodo dragons. They moved slowly and awkwardly on fat legs. They kept clear of us though, disappearing into the water if we came too close.

We decided to read in the shade for a bit. Before we knew it the sprinkler system kicked on and we found ourselved dodging jets of water. We failed a few times and ended up wet, but it was quite refreshing in the humid heat.

We made our way to Chinatown where we got lost in the maze of stalls that took up several blocks. It was interesting, but there was nothing for us to buy, and the alleys were so clogged with people it was hard to concentrate on anything. We broke free and headed back to the relative peace of our backpacker district.

The last few days for us in Bangkok it rained. Hard. Like monsoon rain, coming down in solid sheets and flooding the streets. Chris and I would find refuge in cafes, or one time, in our local temple. The very sound of the rain was astounding. It would last for hours. Unfortunately all the rain brought out the rats. We would see them in the street either dead or alive. I'm not a big fan of rats myself. I was glad they kept their distance.

Bangkok had treated us well. I really loved the city with all its chaotic noise and energy. But it was time to move on. Chris and I headed to the train station to catch on overnight train to Surat Thani for the next segment of our trip. We sat at the station, right behind the section reserved for monks, and watched music videos on a big screen. Our favorite song, one that haunts us to this day, goes something like “Snooky Snooka” and has become something of an anthem for this trip. In the video the girl gets her heart broken by her boyfriend who's shagging a girl in a bathroom stall, and she's in the next stall listening. It was like a whole soap opera, the video went on for ages. I wondered if the monks were enjoying it as much as Chris and me. I've thought of giving us the pet names of Snooky and Snooka. (I'd be Snooka, naturally.)