Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Sunday, May 20, 2007
May 11 - Krabi, Thailand
A small, ocean-front town with friendly people, Krabi is idyllic. Time is slow here but passes before you know it.
Our guest house is toothbrush-clean and positively luxurious with a balcony, private bathroom with outdoor shower and sea-side cottage decor. We wander around town and hang out at the dock. Play a pick-up game of badminton in the street. Do laundry. Pity and avoid the mangy dog on the corner who has understandable bouts of viciousness. Take longboats out to Railay Beach, where we swim in the ocean, play in the sand, and lie in the sun. Johnny gets his sports fix watching old boxing and soccer matches on TV. We shop and pretend we live here.
To see the islands off the coast of Southern Thailand we are told that the best, or rather least expensive way is by organized boat tour. We know that we’ll be giving up certain freedoms with our time for on these tours nothing is left to whim, but we write it off as a part of the travel experience. The tour guide blows one long whistle to disembark the boat and two short, shrill ones to return. “If you are not here when I blow the whistle, we leave you.”
There is an interesting collection of people on our tour, including an enthusiastic Canadian woman who’s just finished an intense Thai boxing course and her Brazilian manfriend whom she met scuba diving a week ago; a quiet and intense German who looks like a Cold War spy, brings his own expensive snorkel gear and snorkels too long at each stop, holding up the boat’s departure time (it is to him that our guide’s words of warning are directed); and a young Canadian man and his Thai fiancee.
We learn over lunch that the Canadian-Thai couple met on-line a few months ago and have finally met in person. After one week he proposed. Over the course of our one-day island tour, the relationship passes through several phases: as the tour starts, she sits on his lap, facing him, and they kiss and cuddle. Later, when he snorkles, she feels neglected and hurt but they passionately make up. Still later, they write their names in the sand, an equation equalling “TLA”. Their dynamic resembles those on MTV’s “The Real World” and we can tell there will be more drama in their future.
I wonder how Johnny, Willa and I would be described.
We visit some of the beautiful islands Thailand is famous for: Ko Phi Phi Don, Chicken Island, Bamboo Island. And the ones Hollywood has made Thailand famous for: Ko Phi Phi Le (The Beach) and “James Bond Island” (The Man With the Golden Gun.) Even in low season, the boat-loads of tourists are intense and the experience deflating. But the islands themselves are stunning.
There are islands everywhere, most of them small (one could walk around some in 5 minutes, others in a day) and many of them uninhabited. The water changes in color - jade, emerald, aquamarine, blue, black, and all of it clear. Limestone cliffs reach up to the sky and beaches are lined with white sand and palm trees, pine trees, giant boulders, slab rock and coral.
In Krabi, we sample restaurants and street carts. Walk around the city market and eat mangoes & sticky rice, sketchy fish cakes, and curries so hot our noses and eyes run. Boom Donuts has warm, sweet donuts filled with creamed corn, Dairy Queen (yes) the best sundaes and Muslim Restaurant the best roti and curry.
In Muslim Restaurant, men gather in the front corner of the room, talking and drinking tea, while the women prepare and serve the food. The men wear worn loafers, dress pants and button-up shirts hang loosely over their protruding stomachs. Willa wanders over and they laugh at her audacity in reaching for their cups of tea and she laughs at them laughing.
In the evenings we walk down the street to the Night Market, which serves up grilled whole snapper rubbed with salt; salads of spicy onions and string beans; curried crab; Thai ‘boudin’ sausage stuffed with ginger, pork, glass noodles and spices; and fresh fruit smoothies made with stunning amounts of sugar and condensed milk.
We meet and make friends with a young Canadian woman who moved to Krabi last year. She is a fantastic city guide and knows where to get the best tea, the best yellow rice & chicken, the best pharmacy, etc. She gives us new music from her itunes and we are grateful.
Willa and I walk down along the water for a final visit to the fish park. Circling two fountain pools are 3-feet statues of sea life: a sea lion, a mollusk, a crab, a sand dollar, and so on. Willa walks up to each one, studying and touching, moving on to the next.
A group of young boys run by, laughing and shouting. Willa laughs, too, and toddles after them. They ignore her and climb up onto the dolphin fountains, snouts between their legs, and pretend the water shooting out is their pee. I’m crushed for Willa, but she’s moved on and is hugging the shrimp, pressing her face against where its neck would be.
Our guest house is toothbrush-clean and positively luxurious with a balcony, private bathroom with outdoor shower and sea-side cottage decor. We wander around town and hang out at the dock. Play a pick-up game of badminton in the street. Do laundry. Pity and avoid the mangy dog on the corner who has understandable bouts of viciousness. Take longboats out to Railay Beach, where we swim in the ocean, play in the sand, and lie in the sun. Johnny gets his sports fix watching old boxing and soccer matches on TV. We shop and pretend we live here.
To see the islands off the coast of Southern Thailand we are told that the best, or rather least expensive way is by organized boat tour. We know that we’ll be giving up certain freedoms with our time for on these tours nothing is left to whim, but we write it off as a part of the travel experience. The tour guide blows one long whistle to disembark the boat and two short, shrill ones to return. “If you are not here when I blow the whistle, we leave you.”
There is an interesting collection of people on our tour, including an enthusiastic Canadian woman who’s just finished an intense Thai boxing course and her Brazilian manfriend whom she met scuba diving a week ago; a quiet and intense German who looks like a Cold War spy, brings his own expensive snorkel gear and snorkels too long at each stop, holding up the boat’s departure time (it is to him that our guide’s words of warning are directed); and a young Canadian man and his Thai fiancee.
We learn over lunch that the Canadian-Thai couple met on-line a few months ago and have finally met in person. After one week he proposed. Over the course of our one-day island tour, the relationship passes through several phases: as the tour starts, she sits on his lap, facing him, and they kiss and cuddle. Later, when he snorkles, she feels neglected and hurt but they passionately make up. Still later, they write their names in the sand, an equation equalling “TLA”. Their dynamic resembles those on MTV’s “The Real World” and we can tell there will be more drama in their future.
I wonder how Johnny, Willa and I would be described.
We visit some of the beautiful islands Thailand is famous for: Ko Phi Phi Don, Chicken Island, Bamboo Island. And the ones Hollywood has made Thailand famous for: Ko Phi Phi Le (The Beach) and “James Bond Island” (The Man With the Golden Gun.) Even in low season, the boat-loads of tourists are intense and the experience deflating. But the islands themselves are stunning.
There are islands everywhere, most of them small (one could walk around some in 5 minutes, others in a day) and many of them uninhabited. The water changes in color - jade, emerald, aquamarine, blue, black, and all of it clear. Limestone cliffs reach up to the sky and beaches are lined with white sand and palm trees, pine trees, giant boulders, slab rock and coral.
In Krabi, we sample restaurants and street carts. Walk around the city market and eat mangoes & sticky rice, sketchy fish cakes, and curries so hot our noses and eyes run. Boom Donuts has warm, sweet donuts filled with creamed corn, Dairy Queen (yes) the best sundaes and Muslim Restaurant the best roti and curry.
In Muslim Restaurant, men gather in the front corner of the room, talking and drinking tea, while the women prepare and serve the food. The men wear worn loafers, dress pants and button-up shirts hang loosely over their protruding stomachs. Willa wanders over and they laugh at her audacity in reaching for their cups of tea and she laughs at them laughing.
In the evenings we walk down the street to the Night Market, which serves up grilled whole snapper rubbed with salt; salads of spicy onions and string beans; curried crab; Thai ‘boudin’ sausage stuffed with ginger, pork, glass noodles and spices; and fresh fruit smoothies made with stunning amounts of sugar and condensed milk.
We meet and make friends with a young Canadian woman who moved to Krabi last year. She is a fantastic city guide and knows where to get the best tea, the best yellow rice & chicken, the best pharmacy, etc. She gives us new music from her itunes and we are grateful.
Willa and I walk down along the water for a final visit to the fish park. Circling two fountain pools are 3-feet statues of sea life: a sea lion, a mollusk, a crab, a sand dollar, and so on. Willa walks up to each one, studying and touching, moving on to the next.
A group of young boys run by, laughing and shouting. Willa laughs, too, and toddles after them. They ignore her and climb up onto the dolphin fountains, snouts between their legs, and pretend the water shooting out is their pee. I’m crushed for Willa, but she’s moved on and is hugging the shrimp, pressing her face against where its neck would be.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
May 6 - Koh Tao and Khao Sok, Thailand
It’s the rainy season in Thailand. All of our clothes are damp and most of them dirty, soaked through with brine, blood, or vomit. The insect repellant we slather on is quickly washed away by sweat and mosquitoes bite us, leaving giant, red welts. We are uncomfortable and tired. We are also visiting some of the most beautiful places we have ever been.
We fled the heat of Bangkok for Koh Tao, a small island in the Gulf of Thailand.
Fresh off the boat, we head to the Lonely Planet-recommended beach of Hat Sairee, where the sand is so white and the water so emerald and clear, we can easily spot each beer bottle and plastic bag from yards away. It’s full of dive shops and resorts, Irish and reggae-ish bars, and, of course, tourists. Johnny quickly dubs it “Prom Island”: a place of long-anticipated, un-met expectations where everything costs an arm and a leg.
We rent a motorcycle and squeeze Willa in between us. She stands with her hands on Johnny’s shoulders, her face in the wind. Between the motorcycle, riding in the back of pick-ups and open-air minivans, I don’t know how we’ll ever get her into a baby carseat again.
Riding around the island on the roads our bike can handle and walking the ones it can’t (most of the dirt roads are cratered or even washed out from the heavy rains), we find the Koh Tao from postcard pictures. Small and secluded coral coves. Long, rickety, wooden planks over green-blue waves. Clouds of mist giving glimpses of nearby islands and mountains, covered with dense forests and palm beaches.
We ride into Chalok Ban Kao, a small, quiet town where only a couple of single flip flops and pieces of dead coral litter the beach, the water’s clear and colorful long-boats park along the shore. And there’s the Koppee cafe, serving strong, freshly-brewed coffee (there’s been only instant so far) and fantastic dessert pastries baked by the owner. The caramel bars are so outrageously delicious, we take turns entertaining Willa, so the other can enjoy eating without distraction. We move to a room in Chalok Ban Kao the next morning.
It rains every day of our stay and we welcome it. We read books and e-mail our families. Snorkel through warm and cold pockets of water, looking at coral, fish, sea cucumbers, and anemones. Climb up visually and physically breathtaking mountain paths. Hold Willa’s hands and walk down the beach and out to the long sandbar, swinging her up over boat ropes and large waves. We toss her back and forth in the ocean and she begs for more. She picks up seashells, studies them and tosses them into the ocean. Willa is a beach girl.
The weather forecast calls for another 10 days of rain. We give up trying to wash our clothes in the sink that can barely contain our hands and, anyway, the humidity and rain refuse to let our clothes dry.
The people in the cities and towns we’ve visited up until now have promoted and prided themselves on being good hosts to visitors and we’ve been spoiled. On Koh Tao, relaxing as our stay is, we get the feeling that we are not altogether welcome. It’s a strange dynamic with our dollars wanted, but not our presence.
There is a storm the morning we leave and the wind and waves slam our boat against the ocean. The piles of luggage at the front of the boat collapse and backpacks slide against the walls and knock against our legs. Almost everyone on board suffers from motion sickness, including our small group. Willa rallies and keeps up appearances, waving and smiling at people who greet her. When they pass she collapses her little sick self against me, again listless and sad. Dramamine tablets are passed around 15 minutes before we dock.
We arrive in Khao Sok National Park at night. Through the speeding car window and against the dark sky, we catch shapes of giant mountains, cliffs, and forest. The moon’s light can just barely be made out through the clouds and fireflies flash their lights through the jungle.
We stay in a rustic, wooden cabin, reminding me of Opequon Summer Camp. It’s right on the river, rushing and high, and our windows open out to tall trees, on whose branches monkeys, squirrels and chipmunks swing and run. A giant toad shares our cabin, sitting in an alcove above our beds, and we hear his (her?) deep croaks at night. I lie awake at night, waiting for it to jump on my face, but it never does.
We walk through the park, thick with vines, trees and bamboo forest. The rains bring the larger animals down from the mountains and we look for tigers, wild elephant and boar, hoping to see them without them seeing us. The closest we come, to our knowledge, are the piles of elephant dung on the path and the clusters of bent and broken bamboo trees.
When we return to the room, I remove my shoes and my socks are soaked with blood. I take off my pants and there are rivulets of thick blood coursing down my legs and from my feet. Johnny empties my shoes and finds two large leeches, the size of slugs. He shakes out our clothes and checks our bodies, entertains and changes Willa while I shower, disinfects and bandages my seven bites, washes my pants and hangs them up to dry, feeds me peanut M&Ms and gives me perspective, telling me that these slugs will be able to live for 6 months off of the relatively small amount of blood they sucked out of me. This is the man you want with you when traveling.
We hike again in the park, up steep paths that can just fit our bodies, across a swinging suspension bridge with a rusty wire to hold for balance, and through more bamboo forest before the swarms of leeches - resembling the aliens from War of the Worlds - chase us back to our cabin.
We take a canoe trip down the river and are rendered speechless by the beautiful mountains, limestone cliffs and caves. This is the setting for King Kong and dinosaurs.
Johnny and Willa swim in the cold, rock-bottom river and Willa watches with delight as other children play and swing on the rope swing. We are all three looking forward to the day when she can truly play with other children.
It rains every day. Nothing will dry, not even the clothes we hang directly on the fan. Our frequent showers can no longer combat the funk of our clothes and we are leaving the beautiful jungle for the city of Krabi, in search of the luxuries of a washing machine, a dryer and aircon.
We fled the heat of Bangkok for Koh Tao, a small island in the Gulf of Thailand.
Fresh off the boat, we head to the Lonely Planet-recommended beach of Hat Sairee, where the sand is so white and the water so emerald and clear, we can easily spot each beer bottle and plastic bag from yards away. It’s full of dive shops and resorts, Irish and reggae-ish bars, and, of course, tourists. Johnny quickly dubs it “Prom Island”: a place of long-anticipated, un-met expectations where everything costs an arm and a leg.
We rent a motorcycle and squeeze Willa in between us. She stands with her hands on Johnny’s shoulders, her face in the wind. Between the motorcycle, riding in the back of pick-ups and open-air minivans, I don’t know how we’ll ever get her into a baby carseat again.
Riding around the island on the roads our bike can handle and walking the ones it can’t (most of the dirt roads are cratered or even washed out from the heavy rains), we find the Koh Tao from postcard pictures. Small and secluded coral coves. Long, rickety, wooden planks over green-blue waves. Clouds of mist giving glimpses of nearby islands and mountains, covered with dense forests and palm beaches.
We ride into Chalok Ban Kao, a small, quiet town where only a couple of single flip flops and pieces of dead coral litter the beach, the water’s clear and colorful long-boats park along the shore. And there’s the Koppee cafe, serving strong, freshly-brewed coffee (there’s been only instant so far) and fantastic dessert pastries baked by the owner. The caramel bars are so outrageously delicious, we take turns entertaining Willa, so the other can enjoy eating without distraction. We move to a room in Chalok Ban Kao the next morning.
It rains every day of our stay and we welcome it. We read books and e-mail our families. Snorkel through warm and cold pockets of water, looking at coral, fish, sea cucumbers, and anemones. Climb up visually and physically breathtaking mountain paths. Hold Willa’s hands and walk down the beach and out to the long sandbar, swinging her up over boat ropes and large waves. We toss her back and forth in the ocean and she begs for more. She picks up seashells, studies them and tosses them into the ocean. Willa is a beach girl.
The weather forecast calls for another 10 days of rain. We give up trying to wash our clothes in the sink that can barely contain our hands and, anyway, the humidity and rain refuse to let our clothes dry.
The people in the cities and towns we’ve visited up until now have promoted and prided themselves on being good hosts to visitors and we’ve been spoiled. On Koh Tao, relaxing as our stay is, we get the feeling that we are not altogether welcome. It’s a strange dynamic with our dollars wanted, but not our presence.
There is a storm the morning we leave and the wind and waves slam our boat against the ocean. The piles of luggage at the front of the boat collapse and backpacks slide against the walls and knock against our legs. Almost everyone on board suffers from motion sickness, including our small group. Willa rallies and keeps up appearances, waving and smiling at people who greet her. When they pass she collapses her little sick self against me, again listless and sad. Dramamine tablets are passed around 15 minutes before we dock.
We arrive in Khao Sok National Park at night. Through the speeding car window and against the dark sky, we catch shapes of giant mountains, cliffs, and forest. The moon’s light can just barely be made out through the clouds and fireflies flash their lights through the jungle.
We stay in a rustic, wooden cabin, reminding me of Opequon Summer Camp. It’s right on the river, rushing and high, and our windows open out to tall trees, on whose branches monkeys, squirrels and chipmunks swing and run. A giant toad shares our cabin, sitting in an alcove above our beds, and we hear his (her?) deep croaks at night. I lie awake at night, waiting for it to jump on my face, but it never does.
We walk through the park, thick with vines, trees and bamboo forest. The rains bring the larger animals down from the mountains and we look for tigers, wild elephant and boar, hoping to see them without them seeing us. The closest we come, to our knowledge, are the piles of elephant dung on the path and the clusters of bent and broken bamboo trees.
When we return to the room, I remove my shoes and my socks are soaked with blood. I take off my pants and there are rivulets of thick blood coursing down my legs and from my feet. Johnny empties my shoes and finds two large leeches, the size of slugs. He shakes out our clothes and checks our bodies, entertains and changes Willa while I shower, disinfects and bandages my seven bites, washes my pants and hangs them up to dry, feeds me peanut M&Ms and gives me perspective, telling me that these slugs will be able to live for 6 months off of the relatively small amount of blood they sucked out of me. This is the man you want with you when traveling.
We hike again in the park, up steep paths that can just fit our bodies, across a swinging suspension bridge with a rusty wire to hold for balance, and through more bamboo forest before the swarms of leeches - resembling the aliens from War of the Worlds - chase us back to our cabin.
We take a canoe trip down the river and are rendered speechless by the beautiful mountains, limestone cliffs and caves. This is the setting for King Kong and dinosaurs.
Johnny and Willa swim in the cold, rock-bottom river and Willa watches with delight as other children play and swing on the rope swing. We are all three looking forward to the day when she can truly play with other children.
It rains every day. Nothing will dry, not even the clothes we hang directly on the fan. Our frequent showers can no longer combat the funk of our clothes and we are leaving the beautiful jungle for the city of Krabi, in search of the luxuries of a washing machine, a dryer and aircon.
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