A Very English Interlude

We were finally ready to see Malaysia outside of Kuala Lumpur. Catching the train from KL Central, we had a very comfortable ride up to a town called Ipoh. Everything we had witnessed so far in Malaysia had been on par with Western society. Facilities were modern and clean. Almost everyone spoke a little English. Perhaps we had gotten spoiled, because when we stepped off the train in Ipoh, we stepped into a different world. Something very much bordering on third world.

Our final destination was the Cameron Highlands, a tea-growing region, with hills green and lush. To get there we had to board a bus in Ipoh (and Ipoh is anything but green and lush). The bus station was dusty and dirty. It wasn't even a bus station as such, rather just some booths set up. We were the only Westerners, and no one was looking at us in a friendly way. Men slept on benches and women fanned flies away. Food vendors sold bulk items, scooping bagfulls of dried goodies out out with their bare hands. If there was a stomach bug to catch on our journey, it very well might have been here. But Chris and I avoided food and stuck to bottled water. I dared a trip to the bathroom, and found the expected hole in the ground with the usual bucket of water. It was obvious that Ipoh bus station was not set up for foreigners. But then again, why should it be? Most tourists go through travel agencies to get from one point to another in Asia. We had decided to do it on our own, so now we were traveling like the locals. As soon as I got used to the guys on the bench next to me, realizing they weren't there to steal my bag, I got more comfortable with the situation.

Our bus was a bit rickety and smelly, but not bad considering. There was one other Westerner on the bus with us, a young blonde girl, and her presence was somewhat comforting, as it implied that indeed we were heading to a tourist-orientated area.

As a side note, I have to point out that I was quite impressed with how many young girls we ran into who were traveling solo. It didn't matter if we were in Europe or Asia—we ran into these independent travelers.  I get a tinge of jealousy when I see them. I didn't have that kind of courage back when I was in my prime. I did do a fair bit of traveling when I was younger, but either I traveled with my sister or with a group. I guess I held the belief that the world was a scary place, a place where men were just looking to take advantage of a young girl. Even if I had displayed the courage, I can assure you that few in my circle would have supported such foolishness.  I missed out on that courage, and I still lack the courage to travel alone, even inside the U.S. The only trips I ever completed on my own were a trip out to California, and a drive around Wisconsin. Both times I fared just fine. But I was lonely. You see, I have a morbid fear of eating in a restaurant by myself, or of looking like a lost idiot with a map. I guess my fears have lessened over time. Anyway, bravo to those people who travel the world on their own. I wish I had their courage, or more like, I wish I had had their courage when I was younger. (End of side note).

The roads leading to the Cameron Highlands were brutal. Motion sickness threatened making an appearance with every sharp curve the bus took. We'd lean to right, then left, then right—there was hardly a break. I usually enjoy bus journeys for effortless sleep I can usually fall into. But there was no sleep on this leg. It took full body effort just to keep upright.

Bright lights appeared as we approached civilization.  Booths were set up alongside the road and people were out in masses. It was the night market in Brinchang. The blonde girl got off but we stayed put; Tanah Rata was our destination. A few miles down the road we came to a bright strip of restaurants and shops. The roadside wasn't as lively as the one in Brinchang, but it was civilization nonetheless. We stepped off the bus, and it was one of the rare times we were happy to be greeted by a hawker. This one was hawking accommodation, and we were grateful for any recommendation. The guy took us from one place to another, finding each place full. Finally we came to a guesthouse that we had seen recommended in Lonely Planet, The Twin Pines. It was a perfect fit for us; not only the price, but the atmostphere. It had a nice terrace to sit out on, and good cheap breakfasts. It was set back a bit from the main road, but not too far. The only drawback was the durien stand we had to walk past to get to town (duriens are the most foul-smelling of all fruits) and the bathrooms.

Here's another side note: bathrooms. I'm not going to whine about squat toilets or weak plumbing or any of that (that'll probably come at another time). This gripe of mine has to do with the moistness of Asian toilets. To get this clear—most Asians don't use toilet paper. Most of them use water to wash their bums, usually with a sprayer or a hose. This may actually be a better method, it's really not for me to judge. What I don't understand is why they have to spray the entire bathroom like it's a carwash. I've done the water-bum method before and I usually manage to spray just the general area I'm aiming for. This doesn't mean water dripping from the rafters. Squashing down on a wet toilet seat is no fun. Twin Pines was worse than most places, for each stall was equipped with a shower. Everything was wet and generally unpleasant. The Cameron Highlands, as one can probably tell from the name, is a region cooler than the rest of Malaysia, being located in the hills. The climate is rainy, just like in Britain. This means that nothing ever dries, and my discomfort grew with every trip to the loo. I griped to Chris about this, but he doesn't understand the bathroom thing. He must have peed in bedpans when he was a kid. I think Britain was still using those in the 70's.

Fancy a Cuppa?

The cafes in Tanah Rata advertized afternoon tea. One of the places we ate at was named Hill Station. It very much felt as if we were in colonial India. There was even an availablity of Indian food. Tea, scones, strawberry jam, curry, naan... it was that mix of Indian and British that felt slightly odd set in the hills of Malaysia. But we loved it. Especially Chris. Perhaps he was pining for the green rolling hills of England. Or maybe the cool climate was a sweet relief after hot fume-filled streets of Kuala Lumpur.

We signed up for a tour. Mainly we wanted to visit to a tea plantation. We had tried to find one ourselves one morning, following the main road north out of Tanah Rata. With lorries rumbling past and snakes in the grass along the shoulder, it seemed silly to carry on.  We found it easier just to book a tour with an agency. This proved to be rewarding, as exploring the region on our own would be nearly impossible without our own transport.  It seemed a good deal, especially since we got our own guide. Well, that was only because the couple that was supposed to come along with us had food poisoning. Too bad for them, but good for us. We had Gavin all to ourselves.

Driving out of Tanah Rata and back towards Brinchang, we turned off onto a side road. A narrow, bumpy road led up upward into the hills. It as a fun ride, bumping along, leaning forward to understand Gavin as he did his whole guide thing. The road was incredibly narrow, but this didn't stop the flow of traffic. When an uncoming car approached, it was always up for speculation who should give way. A lot of horn tooting. All this was very amusing, but the locals seem to have this system down. Gavin explained how they have their own car language, by the way they sound their horn. Brits may flash their lights, Americans may use hand gestures, but Malays use their horns to communicate, and it's not considered rude.

It's to be noted that the Cameron Highlands are the bread basket of Malaysia. Not only tea is grown in the region, but for just about every kind of fruit and vegetable you can imagine. Unemployment is low. The locals seem to enjoy their lot in life; we saw a lot of them alongside the road. Gavin said that they were decendants of those workers that came before them. They lived in this region, accepting their role in the farming industry. It was good to see the abundance in the area, but still upsetting to witness the huge divide between the rich and the poor. There was still a class system in place, probably thanks to the British.

Gavin brought us to Boh Plantation. First he stopped and let us wander out into the hills. We were up high, and we could see the hills as rolled on and on and on. Gavin told us all that we could see belonged to a Scottish family by the name of Russell who founded the plantation. It was hard to imagine that all this land was all owned by one single family (still owned today by one of the decendants), but I suppose this is the nature of colonization. Westerners came and grabbed up what they could wherever they could get it. Meanwhile the locals were hired for backbreaking work. They had to gather so many kilos of tea leaves in a day to make a meagre living, slaving from sun up to sun down, six or seven days a week. Russell housed them on his plantation, in tiny shacks. It reminded me Boone Plantation, or any of the other cotton plantations in the American south, where you can find old slave quarters. On Boh Plantation, the workers still live in these shacks. Fortunately though, technology has played a hand in lessening their work over the years. Now machines are used to pick the tiny leaves. The locals are still hired to manufacture the tea, and we saw them at work in the tea factory.

The smell of the plantation was incredible. I go gaga over loose leaf tea, just by sticking my nose into a canister of the stuff. In the factory, we watched the workers grind up the leaves and package them into bags. These bags were huge, several kilos or so, ready to be shipped to London or other cities. I would have given anything to bury my nose in one of those bags. Tea (especially good tea) is heaven on earth. No wonder the Brits are practically religious about it.

We were left to ourselves for a half hour or so. I had never heard of Boh tea before, which was hard to believe considering we were surrounded by endless acres of the stuff. Chris and I sat down at the cafe near the factory and ordered ourselves a cup of Boh tea and a strawberry tart. It was perfect. Fresh tea—it couldn't get any better. Sitting out on the terrace overlooking the hills, it was one of the more pleasant experiences of my life. I felt just a tinge of pride in my British heritage. Plus it brought back my love of all things English. Nothing beats a good cup of tea. It really does make everything right in the world.

Pandora

After the tea plantation, Gavin continued to drive us futher up into the hills. We came to a tower, the Viewpoint, which looked out over the whole area. Chris and I climbed the tower, but unfortunately a fog had washed over the far hills so we couldn't see much. Gavin then took us for a little hike. He kept saying the name of where we were but it wasn't registering. Something Forest. As we crept into the foilage it finally dawned on me what he was actually saying. The Mossy Forest. We were in the Mossy Forest. It's a funny name, it being the official name, but nobody can say it isn't fitting.

It was a weird hike, so I thought at first. Gavin was encouraging us to touch the moss and make the most out of it. I coudln't understand the appeal of moss. What was so great about it anyway? In the American south, Spanish moss is everywhere, dripping off giant oak treees and killing them. Moss was dripping everywhere as well in this forest. It looked like it had overtaken everything. Gavin touched the moss as if it were a precious resource. “Anticeptic” he told us. “Very good for wounds.” He then pointed out various flowers in the trees and told us their health benefits. I was beginning to realize that Gavin was showing us around a living forest, an ecosystem not much different than a rainforest.

Gavin explained the difference between rainforests and jungles and forests. It mainly had to do with the canopy and how much light was allowed into the undergrowth. Malaysia has all three types of ecosystems. We were in a forest. Down below, near Brinchang, was a rainforest. The Mossy Forest was highly unique. Gavin explained why. First of all, the Mossy Forest is about 200 million years old. It's an incredibly ancient ecosystem, unchanged through the millenia. This area of the globe stayed temperate during global unheavals, unaffected by volcanic activity and temperature shifts. The forests of Malaysia are among the oldest in the world.

I was impressed already, thinking about being surrounded by this primeval forest. What kind of creatures lived here once upon a time? To add to my imagination, Gavin told us to feel the spongy ground. What we thought was ground wasn't actually ground. Below us were trees. The trees had built ontop of one another, canopy growing up out of canopy. The ground, wherever it was, was far far below. We were walking ontop of an ancient forest. We could look at the way the trees were growing, these dripping green things, and understand that the forest was still extending upwards. In another thousand years or so, all we saw would be buried under a newer forest. The forest seemed alive around us, one huge ecosystem extending through the ages. Gavin told us that James Cameron had used the Mossy Forest as his inspiration for Pandora in Avatar (though I looked this up as well and I couldn't find any confirmation of this). Regardless, the Mossy Forest has that otherworldly feel to it. The trees are strangely alive, and you can almost feel their healing effect when you touch them. The Mossy Forest is a great place for the imagination, and I could tell that Gavin really had a fondness for it. He tried to impart its magic to us, and we caught on to it, winding around the trees as we continued on our hike. It was the best part of the tour for me. But then again, I've always been somewhat of a tree-hugger.

Butterflies, Strawberries and Corneal Ulcers

The tour continued and we headed back towards Brinchang. Unfortunately we left the magic of the plantations and the forest behind. We entered society once again, in the form of bus fumes and tourist-orientated activities. Gavin dropped us off at a Butterfly Farm. This was okay, afterall I'm sort of a fan of butterflies. But it was so hot, and incredibly bright. It's to be noted that I had suffered through most of the day. Still fresh out of the Eye Hospital, my eye felt very sensitive and vulnerable. Light, any kind of light, was agonizing. I squinted through most of the day, other than in the Mossy Forest where I had found relief. Wearing my sunglasses ontop of my regular glasses, it was all I could do to try to keep the light out. But it wasn't enough. I squinted, and my eye watered, and I had to apply drops every hour, alternating between two kinds of drops (plus a third one to relax my eye muscles). It wasn't pleasant. I enjoyed being out, but at the same time I wanted to crawl into a dark room and just rest my eyes. I felt that a lot of money was going to be wasted on our travels if I couldn't actually see anything.

After the Butterfly Farm came the Strawberry Farm. This sounded delicious, and I was so ready to go strawberry picking. It reminded me of trips out with my mom and sister when I was kid, and of the taste of freshly picked strawberries. I was an eager tourist, so I handed the money over without thinking, though Chris was somewhere in the background frowning, but hey, you only live once, right? The farm was immense. I was ready to start picking, spotting some juicy numbers dangling nearby. But no, there was always some guy there telling us not to pick there and pointing us in some other direction. After this happened a few times, some guy stepped in and guided us to a place we were allowed to pick from. There were shelves of potted plants, so we didn't have to bend over or anything. The pots were filled with husked coconut shells, a better method than regular soil, or so we were told. The flavour of the strawberries was supposed to be like no other. But we didn't know—we weren't allowed to taste. We spied strawberries, but the guy hanging around would either tell us yes or no (mostly no). A lot of times he pointed out strawberries he saw fit for us to pick, thus taking the fun out of the experience for us. He was a funny guy so he was okay, but it wasn't like we were actually picking strawberries for ourselves, rather we were being directed. This went rather quick and we were out of there in about ten minutes. We had payed £6 for a container of strawberries. It was dawning on me how expensive this actually was, expecially considering most of our meals had been about £2 each. Chris had found a container of strawberries just outside in the shop that were a quarter of the price. We had paid for the fun of picking our own strawberries, but that had been somewhat of a joke. Oh well. Live and learn. Finally we were allowed to taste our strawberries, and yes they were good. But I still think British strawberries are the best in the world. Ain't no comparison.

After the strawberries we were taken to a Buddhist temple in the hills. This was a Chinese temple. It was okay, but not much to write home about. Lots of little golden Buddhas and lots of joss sticks. I still hadn't connected with Buddhism.

We returned from our tour rather worn out. Armed wtih strawberries, I retreated to our damp dark hotel room and planned to stay there for the rest of the day.

The Mossy Forest and all that had been great. I even enjoyed the backwater feel of Tanah Rata and its cute British-inspired cafes. But I was entering a dark period. It could very much have been due to the fact I was reading George Orwell's 1984 which, let's face it, is a real downer. Imagine a boot stamping on a human face—forever. Geez what a thought. I felt a boot of my own, limiting me in every activity. I really thought this trip might be over. I was due to see the doctor again in a few days. There was still the fear hanging over me that the infection might get worse. I tested my eye out every day to see if there was any improvement. It was hard to tell. The pain might have disapated, but the discomfort was very much there. Venturing out of a dark room into sunlight was as unpleasant to me as it would be to a vampire. I’d hold my arms out and scrunch my face in horror. Yes, this was far from ideal. How would I carry on traveling like this? Chris and I continually talked about it, and like 1984, it was a real downer. Was it worth spending all this money if I had to keep my eyes down all the time? Or stay in hotel rooms in the dark? It wasn't looking good, though we decided to keep plugging along. The future was undecided. We'd have to see how my doctor's appointment went. But first we had a few days in Taman Negara, and my 35th birthday to celebrate.

My Little Eye Adventure

I don't fully remember arriving in Malaysia. I remember bits about the airport in Hong Kong, and those mostly had to do with me breaking down. What had started as a mild irritation in my left eye had developed into a full-blown infection. Still believing I had viral conjunctivitis (I had diagnosed myself online, and indeed the symptoms seemed to fit), I figured it was just a matter of time before it would clear up. I was no stranger to conjunctivitis; I had had it years before (the bacterial kind). I remember redness, the runniness, the feeling that something was stuck under my eyelid—all unpleasant things. What I didn't recall was the pain. I was in severe pain.

Chris had to lead me like a blind person. I was completely dependent on him. This was mostly due to the fact that I couldn't open my left eye in bright light. Any light would cause stabbing pain; I’m talking normal daylight, any overhead light, even the light from my Kindle. Walking around with one eye continually shut wasn't much fun. Not being able to make eye contact with anyone, I probably looked like a right grump. I didn't care though. All I could get through my brain was “Please make this pain stop.” I slumped over the table where Chris and I had had our lunch and started crying. “Why does it hurt so bad?” I asked. This didn't seem so much like conjunctivitis anymore.

I broke down a few more times at the airport, as I was helpless to know where we were going. I couldn't follow signs, I couldn't help Chris with anything, I was probably acting like a child. When I couldn't read my book, I threw it in frustration. When we seemed lost in the airport, I just sat down and cried. I wanted to pull myself together, but I had spent the last few days doing that, convincing myself my eye infection was nothing serious. But the pain was now continuous. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't even close my eyes to escape the pain. It was like something was stabbing my eyeball over and over again. Pain like that takes over everything. It takes over your rationale. It takes over your personality. It takes over every normal function of your life.

We must have flown from Hong Kong to Malaysia, but I don't remember it. I think I curled up in my seat with my eyes closed, but didn't sleep. Any conversations with Chris had ceased. I could sense he was unhappy with the situation, but there was nothing to be done short of going to a doctor. We had chosen not to go the doctor route in Hong Kong, probably due to my self-diagnosis. We had visited a pharmacy at the airport. The girl there wasn't able to do anything, she wasn't a doctor. She had sold us alergy medication, which may have helped my runny nose, but did nothing for my runny eye.

I don't remember touching down in Kuala Lumpur or going through customs. The only thing I do remember was the taxi ride, and that was because it was so horrendous.

Late Arrival

Our plane had landed sometime around 1:00 in the morning. We had booked a private room at a guesthouse in Chinatown, Kuala Lumpur. As far as I knew it wasn't going to be a long drive. I was looking forward to a soft bed and laying my head down. Staying upright and somewhat alert was an exhausting process. I wanted nothing more than to totally tune out.

The taxi driver seemed a nice young chap. I thought he spoke enough English to understand our destination. He drove off confidently, so I thought, taking us in the direction of Kuala Lumpur. About an hour later he pulled over in some neighbourhood. We had seen the lights of the Petronas Towers, so at least we knew we were in the right city. However our driver was making phone calls. He didn't know our destination. I distinctly remember telling him “Chinatown” and him going, “Okay okay,” and driving off again.

We drove around in circles, up and down the empty streets of Kuala Lumpur. On maybe a different night this might have been entertaining, but not after the kind of day we had had. Chris was visibly getting pissed off. He kept trying to instruct the guy, but the guy was like “Okay okay,” with nothing getting through to him.

Eventually, after driving around in circles, the driver pulled back onto the tollway. Passing by numerous signs pointing towards the city, we headed out into the darkness. “He's taking us back to the airport,” Chris said, losing more of his patience. Finally he leaned forward and said, “Listen, if you just let me fucking drive this thing, I'll get us there. You don't fucking know where you're going.” I told Chris to back off, but I was getting nervous. This wasn't much fun at all, especially now that we were heading out of Kuala Lumpur. I was fully on guard. Our driver had been driving us around for over two hours. He had been on his phone numerous times, talking in a language we couldn't understand. Now he was paying a toll, taking us out into the darkness of the countryside. At 3:00 in the morning, all kinds of scenarios can go through a Westerner's head. He's taking us somewhere to hold us for ransom, was one of my thoughts. Or, he's going to mug us and then kill us. These seemed perfectly feasible.

“Chinatown,” I nearly shouted at him. “Don't you know where Chinatown is?” Suddenly, instead of the usual “Okay okay” we’d been getting, he went, “Chinatown. I know Chinatown. Back in Kuala Lumpur.” I wanted to clap my hands. Brilliant. Why was he only understanding this for the first time when we had been saying it all along?

He still had to turn around, which wasn't easy on the tollway. We went miles out of the way so he could turn back around, and then he had to pay the toll all over again. He was clearly upset with himself, which, frankly, was a relief to me. At least he wasn't selling us to kidnappers.

We arrived in Chinatown around 4:00 in the morning. We were dead tired and still didn't know where we were going. Our packs were heavy, and I was very near to crying again as we blindly walked the streets. Finally we came upon a group of Chinese eating at a restaurant. One of the men was clearly drunk, but lovingly clapped a hand onto my shoulder. “Please watch bag,” he said. “I only worry for you.” This was even more disconcerting, being lost in the middle of the night. Chinatown did look rough with all its dark alleys, especially at this strange hour. I was afraid someone was going to pop out of the darkness with a knife and slash our bags open.

Thankfully we were pointed in the right direction and in no time located our hostel. We were lucky reception was still open (though we got a reproving look, having arrived three hours later than we had indicated online) and were given a room to ourselves. The room was heaven, with all the comforts I had hoped for. I flung myself on the bed, so exhausted I could have died. It wasn't just the physical exhaustion, it was mental and psychological as well. I thought for sure I would just curl into a blissful sleep right then and there and drop into oblivion. The thing was—I couldn't. My eye hurt even worse when it was closed, scratching and scraping up against my eyelid. It seemed so unfair. I couldn't escape from it. And if it was at all possible, it was actually getting worse.

Desperation

Our room had no windows, so there was no sunlight to indicate the time. This felt unnatural. Having arrived at 4:00 in the morning, we could have slept for two hours or ten. Waking up was a surreal experience. Thankfully it was a reasonable hour, and we could still make breakfast.

Breakfast was on the terrace. I vaguely made out that our hostel was nice, and the terrace had a nice view looking out over the city. But I didn't care. More than that—I couldn't see. I ate my toast in deep numbness. “We're going to find a doctor,” I told Chris, who I'm sure was sick to death of hearing about my eye at this point. He seemed a bit irritable, either with me, or lack of sleep, or the eye thing. He was short with me, even when I told him, “My eyesight's just gone.” I was taking a miserable bite out of my toast, my eyes downcast, when I noticed that a white haze covered over the vision in my left eye. “Everything's gone blurry,” I told him again, turning to him in panic. “It's just pus,” he said. “I can see a blob of it. Here, I'll try to get it out.” And with that he took a napkin to my eye. I cringe now, thinking about it. I cringed then, not wanting anything to touch my eyeball. But whatever he thought was on my eyeball, it wasn't coming off.

Once back in the room I took a good look at my eye. Sure enough there was a blob of something there. I tried moving it around, to see if it was just gook. But it appeared to be stationary. Now I was starting to get scared. What was that thing?

We headed out into the city. Having recieved vague directions to a clinic, we made our way down the street. The heat was intense and we were sweating. The pollution seemed thick, buses and trucks belching fumes around us. I was blind to everything. Chris led me once again, but really it was the blind leading the blind. We didn't know what we were looking for. The bustle of the city was unsettling to me, and the pain in my eye was so bad I was ready to start screaming right there in the middle of the street. “Hail a taxi,” I ordered Chris. “Take me to the ER.”

The taxi driver was my savior. He understood the situation. He took one look at me and said he was taking me to the Eye Hospital. I sat back in the taxi and felt relief for the first time in days. Finally this pain was going to end.

The Hospital

Two steps inside the Tun Hussein Onn Eye Hospital, I received a diagnosis. From the receptionist of all people. “You have very serious eye infection,” she informed me.  Even from a distance she could see that. Having someone acknowledge that was a relief to me, as if I wasn't making this all up on my own. Then she said, “You have a corneal ulcer. I can see it from here.” A corneal what? I thought all along I had a bad case of conjunctivitis, or something similiar. I thought maybe some drops and some firm counsel about contact lenses was in order, but... what?

She took me to the doctor straight away. It didn't take him very long to ascertain that indeed, that cloudy thing on my eye was a corneal ulcer. Having never heard of such a thing before, I didn't realize the seriousness of it. I was still busy being impressed with such a modern and clean hospital. This was my first experience inside a foreign hospital (nothing bad had ever happened to me abroad before). I had thought foreign hospitals were something to fear and avoid at all costs. But this, well, let's just say compared to Tameside Hospital in Greater Manchester, this was a dream. Maybe it had something to do with the fact I was a Westerner. I was attended to quickly, being ushered from one room to another by polite staff. Everyone spoke English. I got the sense that I was in the most expert hands in this place. They knew a thing or two about eyes, which leads to mention the only downside to my hospital visit—the situation with my eye.

The doctor said that it was a very big ulcer (bad), though it was located just off center of my pupil (good). Still optimistic that this was just a matter of taking drops and letting the thing clear up, I refused to hear how serious my condition was. The doctor advised hospitalizing me, and I just kind of laughed it off. I'm a Westerner, I thought. They want to make some money off me by exaggerating my condition. “Just give me the drops,” I said. “We'll take care of it ourselves.”

They performed a corneal scraping on my eye, which sounds worse than it actually was. Numbing drops were about to become my new best friend. I couldn't feel a thing as he scraped my eye. They would send a sample to a lab to determine what had caused the infection. It could either be bacterial or fungal. In any case, whatever was eating away at my eye was powerful and had to be fought with antibiotics. I got loaded up with four different kinds of antibiotics—two drops, one oral, and one ointment. I was to administer the drops each hour. No problem, I thought. Now that I had antibiotics this thing would clear up in no time. The doctor wanted to see me again in two days but told me I could come back sooner if I needed to. Armed with my bag of antibiotics, I left the hospital feeling good that my condition had now been diagnosed, and now my eye could start healing.

We found a monorail station close to the hospital which conveniently took us to our stop in Chinatown. I sat like a blind person in my seat the entire ride, my head down, my eyes unfocused. Chris led me around by the hand, I was completely dependant on him. Normally when I'm out walking, I check streets for traffic before I cross them, or lights at crosswalks, or even assess foot traffic so I don't run into anyone. I could do none of those things. I kept my head down with my sunglasses on, putting all my trust in Chris not to lead me into traffic or into a brick wall.

Stopping for lunch at a booth down the street from our hostel, the noise and bustle were too much for me. I squinted throughout my meal, only keeping my food within my periphery.  I was starting to realize that this wasn't going to be an easy time, eye drops or not. The pain was very much still there; they had given me nothing for that.

The rest of the day was spent checking my watch and administering eye drops. “How long do I have to do this for?” I wondered. The schedule dominated my day. I couldn't imagine traveling like this. By the end of the day, pus had started to form, piling around my eyelashes. I took that as a good sign. Perhaps it was a sign that my eye was responding to the antibiotics. My eye was actually looking worse, but for some reason I didn't worry. I kept dabbing at my eye with tissues. In the morning, after another night of constant pain, I looked at the bedside and saw just how many tissues I had gone through. It was alarmingly a lot.

“I think my eye is better,” I told Chris, squinting at myself in the mirror. What this was based on, I'm not sure, as my eye looked like hell. My eyesight was now completely gone in my left eye. I didn't notice the extent of it until we went to breakfast and I was out in full daylight. A milky substance had completely taken over my vision. I could hold my hand directly in front of my face and not see it. I couldn't see shapes or even colors. It was as if a spider had woven a thick web over my eye in the night. Light was the only think I could see, and maybe some shadowy things in the background. I was now blind in my left eye.

Feeling that perhaps something wasn't right with this total loss of vision, I told Chris we should go back to the eye doctor. We finished our breakfast, switched rooms at the hostel (we hadn't planned on staying in KL very long, so we had to book more nights) and found our way, or I should say Chris found our way, back to the hospital via the monorail. We walked into the clinic but were told that my doctor, Dr. Azher, had left early for Friday prayers. I was willing to see another doctor. Unfortunately, that doctor turned out to be a monstrosity of a woman. After waiting an hour I was ushered into a room where a big middle-aged woman stared me down. “Yes,” she simply said, “what do you want from me?” “I have no vision in my left eye,” I told her. “Well what do you want me to do about it? You saw Dr. Azher yesterday, you must talk with Dr. Azher.” Yeah, thanks a lot you callous cow. I went back to the waiting room and had to wait another hour, then finally I was called into Dr. Azher's office.

The good doctor was evidently still praying. His assistant was on hand to examine me. I was confident that, even despite my vision loss, my condition had improved. The pain had lessened. I was able to open my eye fully now, which I hadn't been able to do in some time. So it was a bit surprising when the assistant doctor looked at me and said, “The infection has grown worse. Your ulcer is bigger in size. I'm very concerned, you can lose your eye. I advise that we admit you.” I was stunned. “For how long?” I asked. He shrugged, “It depends on what's causing the infection. If it's bacterial, maybe a week. If fungal, much longer. Maybe several weeks.” Several weeks? I didn't know what to say? What about our trip?

Chris came into the office and we discussed the situation. We were actually considering going back to Britain, as the NHS would take care of me. Something long term would completely spoil our travels. We were at a crossroads.

I agreed to being admitted. What else was I going to do? I could bloody well lose my eye. The gravity of the situation was really hitting me now. I was already blind in my eye. I could lose it all together.

Somewhat in a daze, we made the roundtrip journey to the hostel to collect my stuff, then, for the first time in my life, I got checked into a hospital room. I hadn't cried up until this point, but I was holding back tears then.

Hospitalization

Chris stayed for awhile with me. My room was actually quite nice as far as hospital rooms go. I had my own bed and my own bathroom. There was even a TV. And of course there was a chair for Chris to sit. Being an Eye Hospital, Tunn Hussein seemed slightly better than a regular hospital in that there weren't sick patients wandering the hallways, or people wringing their hands in worry, or that medicinal/poo smell that permeates most hospitals. No, this was alright. In fact, it was better than some of the places we had stayed in so far on our trip. To me, this was like the Hilton (and ironically costing about the same).

It was getting late and Chris had to leave. It was a sad parting. I didn't want to be alone that night. I found myself alone in the room, anxiously waiting to see what they were going to do to me. They had mentioned something about a shot of antibiotics into the eyeball. I'm a terrible baby when it comes to needles. Shooting something directly into my eyeball sounded about a million times worse than any regular shot I've ever had. I waited nervously for the nurse to come. Eventually she came.

I was ushered into a treatment room where they told me to lay down on a bed. There was a young female doctor I hadn't seen before. She was talking with some of the nurses in a language I couldn't understand. They kept putting drops in my eye; I was told they were numbing drops. I was incredibly nervous, but tried to soothe myself with the thought that numbing drops were miraculous things. I hadn't even felt the corneal scrape. They were taking their time. Out of the corner of my eye I finally saw the needle. I swear it was as long as a knitting needle. “Are you going to stick that in my eye?” I asked the doctor. She looked over at me knowingly. It was as if they had been trying to hide it from me up to that point. “Yes I am,” she said, and with that I tried to put on a brave face as they finished their prep. The nurses suddenly all surrounded me, one of them holding me in some kind of headlock. The doctor informed me that she was going to put my eye in clamp, and believe me, that was a freak show just in itself. I was starting to feel like the victim in a Hostel movie, my eyeball clamped with a needle hovering over it. The doctor then said something that made my blood chill. “This is going to hurt,” she said. “You cannot move your head, no matter what.” I think the fear really showed on my face because she repeated sternly, “Do not move your head.” The nurse held onto my head even tighter. And then there it was—the needle going right into my already tortured eyeball. Let's just say I felt every inch of that needle, and the injection seemed to take bloody ages. I desperately wanted to close my eyes and will myself away to another place, but I couldn't escape what was happening to me. Finally the needle was pulled out, and I felt tears, or blood, streaming down my temple. They covered my eye and left me laying there. I felt slightly traumatized.

The rest of that first night was a real downer for me. My eye, which had been sore before, was now beyond the limits of pain. It was bleeding and throbbing and just a real nasty mess. They packed it up with so many drops and gels I couldn't open it even if I wanted to. I was called into see the doctor one more time, and she pried my eye open. “Have you seen your eye yet?” she asked. “No, I haven't looked at it,” I said. She had a little smile on her face. “You should look.” I think she had appreciation for the whole freak show, and indeed I did too when I got back to my room. My eye was now blood red and squirting all kinds of fluids. I had some kind of weird fascniation with it, I couldn't stop going to the mirror and staring. But then the antibiotics started making me feel sick, and I was feeling low from the whole experience. I went to bed feeling very alone and very despondant. There was still a chance I could lose my eye. Maybe I had left it too late. Maybe the antiobiotics wouldn't work. There was a real chance I could be left permanently blind from this. Not only that, but I was told that even if the ulcer did heal, I would be left with a scar that would impair my eyesight. This was bad stuff. Any cockiness or positivity I had felt up until then disappated. It was a hard night to get through.

My Life as a Patient

I perked up in the morning. For breakfast they brought me hot chocolate, and for some reason this was comforting. The nurses came every hour to put drops in. I hate to stereotype, but they all looked the same, the nurses. Being Muslim, they all wore identical headscarves. They were all short and slightly on the plump side. Their Malay faces were round and cute and makeup-less. Some of the nurses wore little nurse’s hats ontop of their headscarves, a slightly silly look. Regardless of who came to me, they would deliver the same repeated instruction: “Look up,” squeeze in an eyedrop, “Close your eye,” and then wipe it with a swab. This was repeated over and over again by the revolving door of nurses.

I was seen by the doctor. Despite the abomination that my eye had turned into thanks to blood clotting, the doctor delivered the news that the ulcer had grown smaller. My eye was responding to the antibiotics. This was a turning point. I had been at the brink of losing or saving my eye. It now seemed apparent that it was on the saving side, though it was stressed to me that the healing time was very slow. Not having any blood vessels on my cornea, the sore wouldn't heal like a normal fleshwound on the body. It could take up to several months to fully heal. Still I was optimistic about the antibiotics working. It was a real boost. As horrific as that shot to the eyeball had been, it saved my eye.

Chris came to visit, though there wasn't much for me to do to entertain him. He sat in the chair and read for most of the day while I rested. I could read a book for a little while, but with the blurriness it became a chore. There was nothing good on TV, most of the channels were in foreign languages. Every now and again we'd find a gem like Takisha's Castle, a show in which contestants face humiliation in trying to traverse an obstacle course. Watching cute Japanese girls get knocked over by a foam arm into a vat of mud was just the kind of entertainment I needed. We could also onder movies for about $1 each, but the movies were all of Steven Seagal standard. I'm not sure how Million Dollar Baby was put into the mix, but we watched that one afternoon and made the time go by.

I had become fairly sedate. They’d given me some comfy drawstring pajamas, and I practically lived in those. I couldn't do much so I slept a lot of the time. They gave me a menu to choose my meals from, and sometimes the food was very good. My first experience with Nasi Goreng happened in that hospital room, and it was quite tasty. They brought me lots of Milo (a brand of hot chocolate) and even a snack in the afternoon. With doctor visits twice a day, with the doctor telling me all the time I was improving, my spirits were fairly high. I was having a much better stay than Chris was at the hostel, where he had moved into a dorm room.

Chris came to me later than usual on my third day there. He had gotten food poisoning, supposedly from a cafe in Chinatown. He thought it was from eating a beef noodle dish. It was obvious that he wasn't doing so well, leaving his chair several times to noisily puke in my personal bathroom. I encouraged him to try and eat something, offering some of my food (the portions were always too much for me) but he wouldn't attempt even a bite. The journey back and forth from the hospital wasn't an easy one when sick, so I appreciated Chris' effort to come see me.

Because of our situation, there were talks about ending our travels. I was still facing a long road ahead with my eye, even if I was out of danger zone. My sight was still terribly blurred. Each day I tested out my vision by holding fingers infront of my face. The day I could finally make out a letter (albeit a very big letter) on a wrapper was a good day. I felt progress was being made. My eyesight was coming back a little at a time, but I was confined to my hospital quarters. Could I travel like this? It was something to consider.

We had booked flights to Bali. We still had a little less than a month in Malaysia. It became apparant that a lot of time would be spent in the capitol, close to the Eye Hospital. If my condition had greatly improved, maybe we could take a few days trip elsewhere. We didn't know. We still didn't know what type of infection I had. If the results came back with my infection being fungal, I could be hospitalized a lot longer.

By the third day I was starting to get bored. The nurses were nice, but limited in their English. There was only one nurse that gave me a scare, one of the night nurses. She came in late, flipping on the light, not saying a single word to me. Avoiding the usual instruction to look up and then close my eye, she administered the drops one after another without me knowing what she was doing. She also cleaned my eye a bit roughly. Maybe she was having a bad day, or called in to work a shift she didn't want; I don't know what her deal was. But she scared me. For the first time I realized how helpless I was. And at night, when the hospital was eerily quiet, I realized she could come into my room without anyone knowing and stab me in the eyeball. Maybe she didn't like Westerners. Maybe she was a militant Muslim. I slept with one eye open that one night (the good eye).

My eye continued to get better. The doctor had me brought into his office on the fourth day and informed me that the lab results were in. It was a bacterial infection. He showed me the name of the bacteria; some long latin name about twenty letters long that I couldn't make heads or tails of. I just nodded and beamed. This was splendid news. The antibiotics were working and my eye was now stabilizing. He told me I could probably go home the next day. I nearly skipped back to my room.

Then Philomena started visiting. This made me really want to leave. Philomena was some kind of head nurse who was training medical students. She spoke the Queen's English and had a haughty air about her, obviously regarding herself as superior. An older lady, she was intimidating to the nurses-in-training who were now admininstering my eye drops. She'd put them down, right infront of me. She even put down their religion, her being a born-again Christain. She asked if I had found the Lord yet. Trying to hide a smile, I told her I had no religion. “Don't worry,” she said, patting my arm, “You'll find him some day.” Then she went on to tell me how meaningless life is without God, presenting her life story while the meek Muslim girls just stood there. It was very uncomfortable. Being a hostage in my bed, I really just wanted her to go. She would come back to visit me even when the nursing students weren't present. She must have thought we were the best of friends. She identified herself with the English, having grown up under British rule. Having misjudged me as someone who really gave a damn, she informed me of her high-class status and her British standards. I didn't know what I was supposed to say to her. Was I supposed to congratulate her? Thankfully Chris would show up and drive Philomena away.

After four days in the hospital, my eye had improved enough for me to be released. Actually my situation was the best-case scenario. I had stayed the minimum number of days. There had been an Australian girl before me who also had developed a corneal ulcer; she ended up staying two weeks and she had had to fly back to Australia while her friends went on to Thailand. And her ulcer had been smaller than mine. I realize how lucky I was. Sure, it was unfortunate for the infection to happen in the first place, but for me to have it, and to be in Kuala Lumpur at a place that specializes in corneal ulcers, and to have caught it before it spread outside of the cornea—I consider myself incredibly lucky. The outcome could have been much much worse.

And with that, we decided to continue on with our travels.

Kuala Lumpur, From the Sidewalk Up

I had now been in Kuala Lumpur (KL) for six days, and I still hadn't seen it. Still couldn't see much of it, for my eye was still highly sensitive. Riding the monorail I continued to keep my head down and my sunglasses on. It felt strange being outside again. There was so much noise and commotion. Our hostel was on a very busy street, full of growling buses and motorbikes. I felt vulnerable outside of my hotel room. Chris continued to lead me like a blind person. I could only keep track of the bubble of sidewalk around my feet. Every now and then I'd lift my head up, but the light would drive my eyes back down.

I told Chris I wanted out of the pollution. I could feel the germs looming around Chinatown. Chris said he'd take me somewhere modern, somewhere out of the chaos of the Chinatown streets. We boarded the monorail yet again and headed in the opposite direction. We came to KLCC (Kuala Lumpur City Centre). There I found a haven. Chris encouraged me to look up as we stood outside. Yup, there were the Petronas Towers, the twin towers of Asia, once the tallest buildings in the world. They were impressive enough, but I needed to get out of the sun. So we entered into the mall, and there I wanted to stay for the rest of our time in KL. There was every type of restaurant in the food court, even a Chili's. This food court was my home away from home, I felt safe there amongst the tables. I tried something called “cendol” for the first time—a kidney bean type ice cream that I found interesting, but Chris found repulsive.

In the courtyard outside of KLCC were the Dancing Waters. No doubt they were a replica of the Bellagio Dancing Waters in Las Vegas. Having seen both, and being a fan of both, I'd have to say that KL takes the lead as far as sychronized water goes. We watched the fountain perform to Sting's Desert Rose. The sun had gone under and the rainbow lights came switching on. It really was magnificent. Especially with the Petronas Towers sparkling overhead. For the first time in a long time, I took attention off of my eye. I was beginning to see the world again.

My eye continued to get better. The differences were very slight, yet they were perceptible. Little by little I could see letters or numbers more clearly. The extraordinary pain I had felt at the beginning of my eye episode was a distant memory. I still had discomfort and couldn't raise my head in sunlight. My eye still ran through the night. But compared to the agony I had felt before, I felt liberated. You don't really appreciate not being in pain until you've been in pain so terrible that you would do anything, and I mean anything, to make it stop. Almost two months after my infection surfaced, I still don't take this lack of pain for granted. If I ever have pain that even comes near to that level again, I'll be on the next bus, boat, scooter, chopper—you name it—to the nearest hospital.

We went to visit the doctor once again after a three-day interlude. He confirmed that my eye was now stable. He still wanted to see me in another week to continue to check its process. Chris and I were relieved at this. We thought we'd have to check in every other day or so, but the doctor was giving us a full week. We wanted to head out of KL. We wanted somewhere green and lush and pollution-free. The doctor said he couldn't see any reason why we couldn't go. So we packed our bags, and after two weeks in KL, we headed out of the city. We needed a vacation. A vacation within a vacation. The whole eye episode had been rough on both of us. It was time to get this travel thing going again.

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.