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.
