Last week, my co-workers invited me to play badminton with them on Friday. Since I was headed off to Koh Phangan on Thursday evening, I had to decline, but told that that I would love to go the Friday of the following week. So this morning, I packed up my gym clothes and by 2:50 in the afternoon we were off to the badminton court.
They play at a place called My House, which is this huge, old, ornate white house turned fitness center. The main floor is a huge court with about 8 smaller badminton courts on each side. I’ve never played badminton before and wanted to watch first, but I soon got the hang of it. For those who, like me, had no clue what badminton is, It is very much like tennis, except that it is played with a birdie (a small rubber ball with a cone of feathers (or plastic) on one side) which makes it more like tennis in slow motion. Some shots straight across the net are quick, but most of the others are so slow that you can pretty much take your time deciding what shot you are going to make. It was a lot of fun and I felt like I was really participating in "Thai life," although modern, because I was the only farang there.
Friday, April 29, 2005
My First Birthday
Thursday morning, Sua asked me if I had anything to do that evening, and if not, if I would like to come to dinner at his mother and father-in-law’s home for his son’s fifth birthday dinner. I couldn’t turn down such an offer and we agreed that I would meet him there at 8:30 that evening. I had been to their home before, but wanted to be sure I knew where it was, so I drew a very basic map and had him write the name of the street and of the square at the end of Issarapab where I made the left turn (and then another left) to get to their street.
At 7:45, I made my way out of the house, quite intimidated with my mission and really wishing I could just curl up with a good book in the safety of my own home. I hadn’t thought to pick anything up eelier and wanted to bring flowers for Sua’s wife and mother-in-law, as well as a present for his son. Being as late as it was and not having a decent night market near the house, I didn’t think that I would find anything and even if I did, I had no clue how I was going to get to Sua’s mother and father-in-law’s home - I didn’t have the address to tell a taxi driver, nor did I know what bus, if any, ran that route. Had I been anyone other than me, I would have planned ahead, bought everything in the afternoon and asked someone at the house which bus to take, but being me, I found myself in this pickle, no one’s fault but my own.
Having no other choice, but to do what I could, I caught the bus down the street to the market, hoping that someone would have flowers and a toy of some sort. If I mentioned in an earlier post that this market smells revolting, my addendum here is that it is indescribably more revolting when the sidewalks are caked with blood and the meat from the morning is still sitting out in the heat. I had to roll up my pants to keep from looking like I’d just walked through a homicide investigation and made my way down to where the carts were still in business. Two small shops looked promising and I stopped in to be sure there were toys there before continuing on to catch whatever flower venders hadn’t left for the evening. A few minutes later, I came up a cart with bunches flowers in a bucket on top, but it was all dark and there was no one around. Thinking that these may be my only option, I got the attention of woman sitting at her cart nearer to the street and motioned to the flowers saying “suur” (buy) in my caveman Thai. She nodded and as she came over, I picked an enormous bunch of flowers out of the bucket and asked how much they were. She said one-hundred and fifty bhat, which I thought was a lot, but had never bought flowers before so I didn’t know if that was a good price. I got her down to 100 bhat and walked away with the biggest bunch of flowers I’ve ever had, wondering if the woman who really ran the flower stand was going to come back and wonder what happened to one of her enormous bunches of flowers, while the other woman chuckled at her luck to score 100 bhat from the dumb foreigner for a 30 bhat bushel of flowers.
After purchasing the flowers, I made my way back to the shops with the toys and picked out a coloring book and crayons for 30 bhat, which, through a mixture of pantomime and pointing, I had wrapped in this neat gold paper with butterflies on it, for another 15 bhat.
Now armed with my gifts, I turned to the problem of actually getting to where I was going. I decided against a taxi because my destination was so close, and a bus, because it might turn before I knew it and I’d be on the other side of town. I settled on a tuk tuk where I could watch where we were going and direct the driver to my destination. I flagged down the next one and tried to explain to the driver, with my makeshift map, where I wanted to go. He didn’t have a clue what I was saying or where any of the places on my map were, but seemed accommodating enough to let me direct him, so, without negotiating a price, a got in and just asked him to go straight. I knew that Sua’s mother and father-in-law’s home was only on the next road after two left turns at the end of Issarapab, but given my sad history of navigation, I doubted that I would ever make it there and I looked down sadly at my gigantic bouquet and fancily wrapped present wondering who I would give them to when I dejectedly made my way back to the house. As I looked down, I noticed that they flowers were wrapped in a clear plastic with butterflies on it, just as the wrapping paper I had picked at random. Noting the odd coincidence, but telling myself it was a sign, I stared straight ahead and willed the familiar intersection at the end of Issarapab to come into view. Soon after, we came to the intersection, where I asked the driver to turn left. We drove until the next intersection, made another left and I began to grin like a fool, knowing that I had successfully completed everything I set out to do.
I walked across the board over the canal with my bushel of flowers and was greeted by Sua’s smiling face. He took the flowers to his wife and I handed, Pume, his son, his present and received a reluctant wai and a kob khun, krap, before he ran off, ripped it open and began coloring. Success! We then had delicious dinner of papaya salad, chicken tom yum, chicken, fish and barbequed beef. After dinner we sang ‘Happy Birthday’ in English (although Sua is the only member of the family who actually speaks English) and Pume blew out his candles.
Although, it seems like quite an every day event to make such big deal of, I left quite proud of myself for making it all work and felt very lucky to have been invited to share the occasion.
Thai Faux Paus
At lunch the other day, as I was eating my delicious HAT lunch of chicken and chilies with rice and sauce, Sua motioned to the lunch I had brought from CCS asking me, nonverbally, if he could have some. I thought I would utilize my newly learned Thai words and said, “Ow dai” or “can have” (or so I thought). He seemed to understand what I said and I turned to Usana and asked if that was what I would say if I wanted to say, “Yes, you can have some/it.” She began talking in Thai to the others and then explained to me that while “ow” does work, it also has a meaning that is not very polite, translating roughly into “have sex” and that what I should say is “gin dai” or “can eat.” So instead of telling Sua that he could have my lunch, I basically told him he could have me. Good to know for future reference. I will not be saying “ow” again!
On the Road with HAT
Tuesday and Wednesday, I went with Vikram, Moo and Champ, to another province to meet with their consumer safety community volunteers. They are working with six groups of volunteers in low income communities who they have trained on issues of consumer safety, who are now going out and talking to people who run the food stalls on the side of the road in their communities, of which there are hundreds. For the most part, I had to guess what was going on.
Moo was the main speaker; Champ took pictures; and Vikram mostly sat and listened, but got up to put in his two cents once in a while. They passed out forms for the volunteers to fill out whenever they talked to a group - to record the place, the topics covered and the number of people reached. Moo talked a lot and then they handed out informational pamphlets and test boxes that test for borax, and two other chemicals that I can’t remember, in food. She also handed out lavender polo shirts with the project logo on them for the volunteers to wear in the community. Although I did not understand the words that were said, it was good to see HAT staff in action and to see not only what good relationships they seem to have with the volunteers and the community organizations, but also to see how organized and professional they are. I had become quite impressed with the organization from reading all the materials and the real life interactions only served to impress me further.
I spent both Tuesday and Wednesday on the road, but when they asked me if I wanted to come out again on Thursday, I had to decline. For each hour long meeting, there was a three hour drive (or rather, sit) in deadlocked traffic, each way. I knew there was work waiting for me at the office and that my time would be more productively spent at the office.
Moo was the main speaker; Champ took pictures; and Vikram mostly sat and listened, but got up to put in his two cents once in a while. They passed out forms for the volunteers to fill out whenever they talked to a group - to record the place, the topics covered and the number of people reached. Moo talked a lot and then they handed out informational pamphlets and test boxes that test for borax, and two other chemicals that I can’t remember, in food. She also handed out lavender polo shirts with the project logo on them for the volunteers to wear in the community. Although I did not understand the words that were said, it was good to see HAT staff in action and to see not only what good relationships they seem to have with the volunteers and the community organizations, but also to see how organized and professional they are. I had become quite impressed with the organization from reading all the materials and the real life interactions only served to impress me further.
I spent both Tuesday and Wednesday on the road, but when they asked me if I wanted to come out again on Thursday, I had to decline. For each hour long meeting, there was a three hour drive (or rather, sit) in deadlocked traffic, each way. I knew there was work waiting for me at the office and that my time would be more productively spent at the office.
Not for the faint of heart
Yesterday we left work early to spend the afternoon at the Sirirat Forensic Museum where we’d heard you could see the preserved body of Thailand’s first serial killer. Who wouldn’t want to go?
We got a tuk tuk from the house to Sirirat Hospital and followed the signs to the museum. After numerous twists and turns (and helpful Thai’s pointing the way) we made it to the museum and paid our 40 bhat entrance fee.
The first room was filled with ancient medical equipment and pictures of Thai men, none of which we could learn anything about because all of the descriptions were in Thai. I was beginning to think we wasted an afternoon, when we turned into the second room and were faced with a sight I hope never to see again. The room was large and open with observation cases along the bottom of the walls with explanations in Thai (I presume) above each case. Other free standing cases filled the room making short rows in the middle so that you could walk up one and down the next for the length of the room. Sitting atop each end of the freestanding cases were what looked like Thai dolls in fluid filled jars. Upon closer examination, we found that these were not dolls at all, but unborn Thai babies and stillbirths with various deformities and physical complications. I thought I was going to be sick. All along the first wall, these babies were displayed, some with descriptions in English as to their condition. Of those without English descriptions, some had obvious conditions such as one who had been born without the top of her skull and others who either had conditions we could not identify or who looked completely normal. We walked around from baby to baby not knowing whether to stay and look or to run screaming. Unfortunately the worst was yet to come.
On the next wall from the babies, there were human hands and feet and legs, in similar states of preservation, with various ailments. It was horrific. You could still see the hair on the legs and the bones protruding from the skin where they were broken from the rest of the body. In one jar, there was a human head, or at least half of one, with the cross section cut facing the glass so you could see the entire brain. I would have found it interesting if it weren’t for the other side, a real human face, staring out at nothing. The cases in the center and along the back wall contained more babies, some still in a detached womb, as well as assorted human organs showing signs of numerous cancers and other diseases. The organs were easier on my stomach.
On the back wall, there were displays of ectopic pregnancies, little tiny human beings stuck inside fallopian tubes. I had to keep repeating to myself that these things I was seeing were real.
Not being able to take much more, we headed to the next room for what we hoped would be reprieve only to be greeted with rows and rows of bones and skulls and pictures of people who had died in a myriad of ways: a man who had a gun shot wound to the head, a gun shot wound to the chest, multiple stab wounds, a man with tire tracks over his body, a man decapitated in a car accident, a child with a scar from a mazel tov cocktail, another child, rendered unidentifiable, from a bomb blast. Hurrying quickly past, we came upon the body of Thailand’s first serial killer, who had killed children because “he liked eating their organs.” He looked evil.
The rest of this room consisted of human body parts with wounds from murders, suicides or accidents. Another human head, cut in two down the middle and turned around so the insides were facing out, had a bullet wound to the brain and you could see the hole in the face and the bath of the bullet through the brain. There were crushed hands, crushed feet, some unidentifiable pieces and more human organs. Feeling really sick, we all headed towards the exit, only to find ourselves in yet another part of the museum.
The fourth section was dedicated to parasites and other nasty things that you could get from food, water or insects. The displays were in Thai and English, so you could read all about the horrible things that could happen to you right outside your door. Afterward, I wanted to hole up in my room and never leave. The one that sticks out in my mind the most is Elephantitus, where through some mode of transmission – oh, shoot – I’ve forgotten! – parts of your body, usually the legs or the scrotum in men, become enormous. There was a picture of a man with one normal leg one leg that was like the leg of a 500 pound person. Then there was a man, who appeared to be sitting on a boulder about the size of your average microwave oven (but round). Unfortunately, the ‘boulder’ were his testicles and the actual testicles were in a display case behind the picture. It made me thankful that I live in the time of modern medicine and in a country and socio-economic situation where advanced healthcare is available; and sad, thinking that the ailments that we saw were probably only as bad as they were because they affected someone in a poor rural village somewhere, and some that are most likely still affecting people today.
We left the museum not quite sure if we were glad that we came.
We got a tuk tuk from the house to Sirirat Hospital and followed the signs to the museum. After numerous twists and turns (and helpful Thai’s pointing the way) we made it to the museum and paid our 40 bhat entrance fee.
The first room was filled with ancient medical equipment and pictures of Thai men, none of which we could learn anything about because all of the descriptions were in Thai. I was beginning to think we wasted an afternoon, when we turned into the second room and were faced with a sight I hope never to see again. The room was large and open with observation cases along the bottom of the walls with explanations in Thai (I presume) above each case. Other free standing cases filled the room making short rows in the middle so that you could walk up one and down the next for the length of the room. Sitting atop each end of the freestanding cases were what looked like Thai dolls in fluid filled jars. Upon closer examination, we found that these were not dolls at all, but unborn Thai babies and stillbirths with various deformities and physical complications. I thought I was going to be sick. All along the first wall, these babies were displayed, some with descriptions in English as to their condition. Of those without English descriptions, some had obvious conditions such as one who had been born without the top of her skull and others who either had conditions we could not identify or who looked completely normal. We walked around from baby to baby not knowing whether to stay and look or to run screaming. Unfortunately the worst was yet to come.
On the next wall from the babies, there were human hands and feet and legs, in similar states of preservation, with various ailments. It was horrific. You could still see the hair on the legs and the bones protruding from the skin where they were broken from the rest of the body. In one jar, there was a human head, or at least half of one, with the cross section cut facing the glass so you could see the entire brain. I would have found it interesting if it weren’t for the other side, a real human face, staring out at nothing. The cases in the center and along the back wall contained more babies, some still in a detached womb, as well as assorted human organs showing signs of numerous cancers and other diseases. The organs were easier on my stomach.
On the back wall, there were displays of ectopic pregnancies, little tiny human beings stuck inside fallopian tubes. I had to keep repeating to myself that these things I was seeing were real.
Not being able to take much more, we headed to the next room for what we hoped would be reprieve only to be greeted with rows and rows of bones and skulls and pictures of people who had died in a myriad of ways: a man who had a gun shot wound to the head, a gun shot wound to the chest, multiple stab wounds, a man with tire tracks over his body, a man decapitated in a car accident, a child with a scar from a mazel tov cocktail, another child, rendered unidentifiable, from a bomb blast. Hurrying quickly past, we came upon the body of Thailand’s first serial killer, who had killed children because “he liked eating their organs.” He looked evil.
The rest of this room consisted of human body parts with wounds from murders, suicides or accidents. Another human head, cut in two down the middle and turned around so the insides were facing out, had a bullet wound to the brain and you could see the hole in the face and the bath of the bullet through the brain. There were crushed hands, crushed feet, some unidentifiable pieces and more human organs. Feeling really sick, we all headed towards the exit, only to find ourselves in yet another part of the museum.
The fourth section was dedicated to parasites and other nasty things that you could get from food, water or insects. The displays were in Thai and English, so you could read all about the horrible things that could happen to you right outside your door. Afterward, I wanted to hole up in my room and never leave. The one that sticks out in my mind the most is Elephantitus, where through some mode of transmission – oh, shoot – I’ve forgotten! – parts of your body, usually the legs or the scrotum in men, become enormous. There was a picture of a man with one normal leg one leg that was like the leg of a 500 pound person. Then there was a man, who appeared to be sitting on a boulder about the size of your average microwave oven (but round). Unfortunately, the ‘boulder’ were his testicles and the actual testicles were in a display case behind the picture. It made me thankful that I live in the time of modern medicine and in a country and socio-economic situation where advanced healthcare is available; and sad, thinking that the ailments that we saw were probably only as bad as they were because they affected someone in a poor rural village somewhere, and some that are most likely still affecting people today.
We left the museum not quite sure if we were glad that we came.
Weekend 2 in Koh Phangan
Not having had enough of the beach in the first nine days, we headed back to Koh Phangan the following weekend. This time, being a little more travel savvy, we took the second class sleeper train instead of the bus. I am now a big fan of sleeper cars in overnight trains.
The train didn’t look all that comfortable at first sight. Each side of the car had pairs of wide leather seats facing each other separated by a storage closet. Luggage racks stood on alternating sides of the isle in front of the storage closets and there were removable table tops to place between the seats, tucked underneath. We spent the first few hours playing cards and reveling in the fact that we weren’t on the bus. Around nine o’clock, men came by to set up our beds (the bottom two seats formed the bottom bunk and the top bunk pulled out of the ceiling). Each bunk had a mattress as long as I am tall and a curtain to separate your cozy little bunk from the rest of the train.
When I woke up in the morning, I walked out to where you could sit on the steps and watch the world go by through nothing but the crisp morning air. The countryside was dotted with farms with upper-class Thai houses and fields blanketed in morning mist. We had the last car on the train and I could also sit at the very back and watch the tracks following behind us for miles in the distance.
Our ferry ride to Koh Phangan was made much more pleasant by our choice seats in the bow of the boat with our backs up against the pile of backpacks and our journey to our air-conditioned room, a mere five minute walk off the pier due to our foresight the weekend before in booking the closest room to the pier.
We had made friends with, Odd, who worked at the Sea Mew, the weekend before and he welcomed us back and gave us our key. Having had a great night’s sleep on the train, we set right out to do everything we had planned to do the last week, but never got around to.
On Friday morning we rented scooters and tooled around the island, enjoying the view, the breeze and the freedom of not having to pay the taxi fare to get around. Saturday morning, Lucy and I went for Thai boxing lessons and learned how to punch, elbow, knee and kick with style. I thoroughly enjoyed myself and may have to price punching bags if/when I ever get my own house. Although my future boxing space would pale in comparison to Koh Phangan without the babies and dogs walking in and out of the ring, not to mention a muscle bound Thai instructor.
That afternoon, we went up to Mae Had and rented kayaks and explored around the small island off of the beach. The water was so clear that you could see right down to the bottom and the water around Mae Had is filled with coral reef. We found a cave on the outer coast of the island and went in as far as we could, with crabs scurrying up the walls around us and bats squeaking from the ceiling. We made our way back and headed back to our air-conditioned room, very pleased with all that we had accomplished in such a short time.
Leaving the second time was harder because we knew we wouldn't be back. We said good-bye to our new family at the Sea Mew and made our way to our fourth ferry ride. Remembering the misery of the heat on the last trip, I made a bee-line for the VIP cabin and happily forked over my 40 bhat for the comfortable seats and air-condition of the top floor. They even showed 'I, Robot' making my journey even shorter and more pleasant.
The train ride back was just as nice, although I wasn't able to sleep very well and arrived in Bangkok exhausted at 6:30 on Tuesday morning with just enough time to shower, change and head to work. I spent the day dreaming of my bed and hammocks on the beach.
The train didn’t look all that comfortable at first sight. Each side of the car had pairs of wide leather seats facing each other separated by a storage closet. Luggage racks stood on alternating sides of the isle in front of the storage closets and there were removable table tops to place between the seats, tucked underneath. We spent the first few hours playing cards and reveling in the fact that we weren’t on the bus. Around nine o’clock, men came by to set up our beds (the bottom two seats formed the bottom bunk and the top bunk pulled out of the ceiling). Each bunk had a mattress as long as I am tall and a curtain to separate your cozy little bunk from the rest of the train.
When I woke up in the morning, I walked out to where you could sit on the steps and watch the world go by through nothing but the crisp morning air. The countryside was dotted with farms with upper-class Thai houses and fields blanketed in morning mist. We had the last car on the train and I could also sit at the very back and watch the tracks following behind us for miles in the distance.
Our ferry ride to Koh Phangan was made much more pleasant by our choice seats in the bow of the boat with our backs up against the pile of backpacks and our journey to our air-conditioned room, a mere five minute walk off the pier due to our foresight the weekend before in booking the closest room to the pier.
We had made friends with, Odd, who worked at the Sea Mew, the weekend before and he welcomed us back and gave us our key. Having had a great night’s sleep on the train, we set right out to do everything we had planned to do the last week, but never got around to.
On Friday morning we rented scooters and tooled around the island, enjoying the view, the breeze and the freedom of not having to pay the taxi fare to get around. Saturday morning, Lucy and I went for Thai boxing lessons and learned how to punch, elbow, knee and kick with style. I thoroughly enjoyed myself and may have to price punching bags if/when I ever get my own house. Although my future boxing space would pale in comparison to Koh Phangan without the babies and dogs walking in and out of the ring, not to mention a muscle bound Thai instructor.
That afternoon, we went up to Mae Had and rented kayaks and explored around the small island off of the beach. The water was so clear that you could see right down to the bottom and the water around Mae Had is filled with coral reef. We found a cave on the outer coast of the island and went in as far as we could, with crabs scurrying up the walls around us and bats squeaking from the ceiling. We made our way back and headed back to our air-conditioned room, very pleased with all that we had accomplished in such a short time.
Leaving the second time was harder because we knew we wouldn't be back. We said good-bye to our new family at the Sea Mew and made our way to our fourth ferry ride. Remembering the misery of the heat on the last trip, I made a bee-line for the VIP cabin and happily forked over my 40 bhat for the comfortable seats and air-condition of the top floor. They even showed 'I, Robot' making my journey even shorter and more pleasant.
The train ride back was just as nice, although I wasn't able to sleep very well and arrived in Bangkok exhausted at 6:30 on Tuesday morning with just enough time to shower, change and head to work. I spent the day dreaming of my bed and hammocks on the beach.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
No Time
Things have been crazy here, from back to back trips to the beach, to a houseful of new people, and lots of work at the office, I've barely had time to sit and collect my thoughts. Hopefully I'll get a post in this weekend, but I just wanted to let everyone know I am alive and well. I hope you are all as well!
Thursday, April 21, 2005
Another Day in Bangkok
This morning began as usual, with my daily trip to the gym. Today, to my delight, the bed of police truck parked the sidewalk was home to a tiny little pug puppy. He was probably about 8 weeks old and his wrinkly little face, wrinkled up even more when I put a hand on each side of his little head, scratching his ears to say hello. He rolled over and tried to chew up my hand as any puppy would and I noticed as I played, that no one was around to claim the puppy or shoo me away, so I enjoyed a few more minutes with my new little friend.
After a 45 minute workout, I headed back home, received my morning salute from the guards at the gate (they know that a house full of farangs is in the neighborhood and give us a smile, a salute and a “khap” every time we walk by. I do enjoy my friendly salutes).
At work, I couldn’t do too much because the computer is in the shop and I needed to type up a letter and look up brochure designs, so I re-wrote all of the Thai I have learned up to this point, putting it in an order that makes sense (giving directions to taxi drivers, questions words, verbs, adjectives, etc.). Then I wrote out a bunch of sentences in English and translated them into Thai to give to Phanutat to correct for me. It’s exciting to be able to form complete sentences.
Then I got out my map and looked up the Tourism Authority of Thailand where I was going in the afternoon to get brochures for design ideas and looked up and circled a few other places I want to go in Bangkok – a wat that holds mediation session in English, the forensic museum that has the preserved body of Thailand’s first serial killer on display, the highest open air restaurant in the world (which the tourism guide notes is the one place in the world where you can go for both a romantic dinner and a suicide attempt). I then worked on the brochure and another project for Vikram for the rest of the morning, feeling quite useful and productive.
Lunch was delicious as usual. June, Air or Noo always pack us a lunch at the house, but the ladies at HAT make meals that are so much better, served family style, so I just always eat what they have and put whatever I bring in the middle for everyone to share. It often goes untouched, so I asked the other day if I should stop bringing my lunch, but I was assured that someone will always eat it. As Vikram said, “Some people do not like to eat just three meals; some eat four, five, six…. “
After lunch, I checked my mail quickly to see if any of the organizations I had emailed about brochure samples had written me back and turned to see everyone waiting for me go to upstairs and teach the English lesson. I was glad to see that they were looking forward to the lesson. I even gained two new students, Champ and the Director (who just sat in to observe)!
Pong had said that she wanted to learn how to answer the phone and have a conversation in English, so I had written up a lesson the night before. Having had numerous Spanish lessons is really helping me teach English, remembering that it isn’t enough just to have the vocabulary, but that you need to be able to read it, speak it and understand it when spoken. For my lesson, I typed up three different dialogues: 1) Telephone for Moo, 2) Computer Salesman, and 3) Call for the Director. I looked up the Thai words for listen (fung), read (Ahn) and write (Kei-En) and wrote them on the board: 1) Fung, 2) Fung & Ahn and 3) Fung & Kei-En. The first time I asked them just to listen as I read the dialogue. Then I handed out the written dialogue and asked them to read along as I read. Then I asked them to turn over the paper (“Mai Ahn” – “No Read”) and handed out the dialogue again, but this time with words missing that they would have to listen for and write in the blank in as I read. After all of this we went around and each person read the dialogue out loud. I knew that this lesson wouldn’t be as fun as the shopping lesson, but I thought it would be a good technique to have them practice their listening comprehension as well as learning the topic they wanted to learn. Since I knew it wouldn’t be that fun, I fashioned telephone receivers out of pipe cleaners and connected them with strings of pipe cleaners twisted to look like a telephone cord. My idea worked and they got a kick out of my role playing the dialogue going back and forth between “phones” and seemed to enjoy using them across the table as they role played with each other. It felt great to see everyone enjoying themselves and able to understand the lesson.
After the lesson, I headed out to catch bus 123 to the Bangkok Tourism Authority. The buses are a great way to get around because they are cheap and they allow you to really take in your surroundings. I was delighted to learn that once we crossed the Phra Pin Klao Bridge to my stop, I was right in the middle of familiar territory between Koh San Road and the Grand Palace. Familiar orientation is a wonderful thing.
After picking out my brochures, I walked back out to the street and was just taking out my map to see where the library (my next destination) was, when I heard a “Hey lady. Hey you. Where you going?” Looking up, I saw a very feminine, very plump, Thai tuk-tuk driver heading my way. As, he began his spiel about taking me around the city, I stopped him saying that I lived in Bangkok, was just walking few blocks and that he did not need to render his services. He seemed surprised by the fact that I said I lived there, but continued to tell me that he would take me to see the lucky Buddha and the Grand Palace. I, good naturedly (because he was really pleasant and friendly looking) told him that I had been to the Grand Palace and did not want to see the lucky Buddha because I was on my way to the library. He gave me a look that said I was missing out by turning him down and said that today was a very special day and that he would take me all around the city for just 10 bhat (about 30 cents). I responded “Sweetheart, if you are only charging people 10 bhat for tour around the city, YOU are getting ripped off.” I don’t know if it was my candor or the fact that I called him sweetheart, but I got a big laugh and a smile and he said, “Ok, ok, friend. Thank you. Good luck to you,” and let me on my way.
I made my way down the block to Thammasat University where you can enjoy the air-conditioned luxury of the student library for just 20 bhat a day. I had read about it in a magazine and had wanted to go, but had no idea how close it was. I spent a few hours wandering around sampling anything that caught my fancy: an account of how social status directly relates to life expectancy (really?...); a novel about an American who returns to Thailand after a brief stay as an exchange student, in which the author used the word ‘undulating’ twice on the first page; a great TIME article about how we can end all world poverty (Kev, can you save that one for me?), and an Australian Christian Magazine with articles on topics on how to raise children in the cyber age and how to maintain a strong marriage. The latter article had some really good advice, but my favorite part was the heading quote; “Marriage is where two people come together so they can mutually solve problems that they wouldn’t have had if they didn’t get together in the first place.”
After leaving the library, I walked down the street to where I hoped I would find Wat Mahadhatu, where they offer daily meditation practice in English. It isn’t a main street, although the traffic would suggest otherwise, it is simply a two lane street that connects two piers on the Chao Praya. The sidewalk on the right hand side of the street is jam packed with food vendors selling an amazing variety of foods, all either deep fried, on sticks, or a combination of the two: deep fried bananas, fish, crab, fish balls; skewers of grilled chicken, grilled squid, corn and pineapple; gelatinous patties filled with morning glory (spinach-esque), mini-tacos, and countless other treats I couldn’t identify. I was so tempted to sample a bit of everything, but knew that in an hour they would be serving dinner at the house, so I resisted, vowing to come back soon and treat myself to a smorgasbord. Further on, I came up on, what I think is the amulet market, with people selling various amulets and Buddha images out of cases and on blankets on the sidewalk. As I walked, a blind woman passed me with a speaker in a box around her neck, singing Thai songs into a microphone for money.
I found Wat Mahadhtu and talked with the monk, helping myself to some literature about meditation practice, and Buddha’s teachings or darma (damma in Thailand – they call Nirvana – Nibbana, as well, as they don’t pronounces ‘v’s”. I wonder which side of the world has it wrong). Promising to come back next week for the evening session: meditation from 6 to 8 and a damma talk at 9.
I walked to the pier and paid my 2 bhat for a ferry across the river. Feeling quite like local, I boarded the ferry and took a seat next to a professionally dressed Thai man. I said hello to him in Thai and he responded by asking where I was going (in Thai and I actually understood!) and I responded that I was going home (“Bpai baan, ka). I feeling quite proud of our little exchange when he launched into another round of questioning and I had to stop him with a with a “mai khao jai, ka (I don’t understand)” with an accompanying apologetic facial expression. He nodded, smiled and launched into conversation in halting English asking me where I was from; how long I’d been in Thailand; how it was that I spoke Thai (and remarking how well I spoke it!). I asked him where he worked and he said he worked in a court. I asked if he was an attorney, to which he responded that he was the judge. He said he used to be a policeman, but had to travel all over the country investigating cases and liked that his new job was a bit more stable. We talked a little more about the difference between being a policeman and being a judge and then parted ways at the opposite pier.
Back in Thonburi, I hopped in a local saengthaw and made my way home for a dinner of Thai green chili and fried won-tons.
Since there are now only three of us, and Lucy and Eleanor left for the internet café, I had the house to myself. Knowing that soon, the house would be full of 10 new volunteers, I relished my time alone, popped in a few of my cds and set to work on the house computer, typing up some letters for work and working on the volunteer travel log which I’ve volunteered to “organize.” I love that I can spend a day wandering around the city, taking in all of the new sights, sounds and smells, but still return “home” where I can unwind with friends in familiar surroundings. It is a nice balance.
After a 45 minute workout, I headed back home, received my morning salute from the guards at the gate (they know that a house full of farangs is in the neighborhood and give us a smile, a salute and a “khap” every time we walk by. I do enjoy my friendly salutes).
At work, I couldn’t do too much because the computer is in the shop and I needed to type up a letter and look up brochure designs, so I re-wrote all of the Thai I have learned up to this point, putting it in an order that makes sense (giving directions to taxi drivers, questions words, verbs, adjectives, etc.). Then I wrote out a bunch of sentences in English and translated them into Thai to give to Phanutat to correct for me. It’s exciting to be able to form complete sentences.
Then I got out my map and looked up the Tourism Authority of Thailand where I was going in the afternoon to get brochures for design ideas and looked up and circled a few other places I want to go in Bangkok – a wat that holds mediation session in English, the forensic museum that has the preserved body of Thailand’s first serial killer on display, the highest open air restaurant in the world (which the tourism guide notes is the one place in the world where you can go for both a romantic dinner and a suicide attempt). I then worked on the brochure and another project for Vikram for the rest of the morning, feeling quite useful and productive.
Lunch was delicious as usual. June, Air or Noo always pack us a lunch at the house, but the ladies at HAT make meals that are so much better, served family style, so I just always eat what they have and put whatever I bring in the middle for everyone to share. It often goes untouched, so I asked the other day if I should stop bringing my lunch, but I was assured that someone will always eat it. As Vikram said, “Some people do not like to eat just three meals; some eat four, five, six…. “
After lunch, I checked my mail quickly to see if any of the organizations I had emailed about brochure samples had written me back and turned to see everyone waiting for me go to upstairs and teach the English lesson. I was glad to see that they were looking forward to the lesson. I even gained two new students, Champ and the Director (who just sat in to observe)!
Pong had said that she wanted to learn how to answer the phone and have a conversation in English, so I had written up a lesson the night before. Having had numerous Spanish lessons is really helping me teach English, remembering that it isn’t enough just to have the vocabulary, but that you need to be able to read it, speak it and understand it when spoken. For my lesson, I typed up three different dialogues: 1) Telephone for Moo, 2) Computer Salesman, and 3) Call for the Director. I looked up the Thai words for listen (fung), read (Ahn) and write (Kei-En) and wrote them on the board: 1) Fung, 2) Fung & Ahn and 3) Fung & Kei-En. The first time I asked them just to listen as I read the dialogue. Then I handed out the written dialogue and asked them to read along as I read. Then I asked them to turn over the paper (“Mai Ahn” – “No Read”) and handed out the dialogue again, but this time with words missing that they would have to listen for and write in the blank in as I read. After all of this we went around and each person read the dialogue out loud. I knew that this lesson wouldn’t be as fun as the shopping lesson, but I thought it would be a good technique to have them practice their listening comprehension as well as learning the topic they wanted to learn. Since I knew it wouldn’t be that fun, I fashioned telephone receivers out of pipe cleaners and connected them with strings of pipe cleaners twisted to look like a telephone cord. My idea worked and they got a kick out of my role playing the dialogue going back and forth between “phones” and seemed to enjoy using them across the table as they role played with each other. It felt great to see everyone enjoying themselves and able to understand the lesson.
After the lesson, I headed out to catch bus 123 to the Bangkok Tourism Authority. The buses are a great way to get around because they are cheap and they allow you to really take in your surroundings. I was delighted to learn that once we crossed the Phra Pin Klao Bridge to my stop, I was right in the middle of familiar territory between Koh San Road and the Grand Palace. Familiar orientation is a wonderful thing.
After picking out my brochures, I walked back out to the street and was just taking out my map to see where the library (my next destination) was, when I heard a “Hey lady. Hey you. Where you going?” Looking up, I saw a very feminine, very plump, Thai tuk-tuk driver heading my way. As, he began his spiel about taking me around the city, I stopped him saying that I lived in Bangkok, was just walking few blocks and that he did not need to render his services. He seemed surprised by the fact that I said I lived there, but continued to tell me that he would take me to see the lucky Buddha and the Grand Palace. I, good naturedly (because he was really pleasant and friendly looking) told him that I had been to the Grand Palace and did not want to see the lucky Buddha because I was on my way to the library. He gave me a look that said I was missing out by turning him down and said that today was a very special day and that he would take me all around the city for just 10 bhat (about 30 cents). I responded “Sweetheart, if you are only charging people 10 bhat for tour around the city, YOU are getting ripped off.” I don’t know if it was my candor or the fact that I called him sweetheart, but I got a big laugh and a smile and he said, “Ok, ok, friend. Thank you. Good luck to you,” and let me on my way.
I made my way down the block to Thammasat University where you can enjoy the air-conditioned luxury of the student library for just 20 bhat a day. I had read about it in a magazine and had wanted to go, but had no idea how close it was. I spent a few hours wandering around sampling anything that caught my fancy: an account of how social status directly relates to life expectancy (really?...); a novel about an American who returns to Thailand after a brief stay as an exchange student, in which the author used the word ‘undulating’ twice on the first page; a great TIME article about how we can end all world poverty (Kev, can you save that one for me?), and an Australian Christian Magazine with articles on topics on how to raise children in the cyber age and how to maintain a strong marriage. The latter article had some really good advice, but my favorite part was the heading quote; “Marriage is where two people come together so they can mutually solve problems that they wouldn’t have had if they didn’t get together in the first place.”
After leaving the library, I walked down the street to where I hoped I would find Wat Mahadhatu, where they offer daily meditation practice in English. It isn’t a main street, although the traffic would suggest otherwise, it is simply a two lane street that connects two piers on the Chao Praya. The sidewalk on the right hand side of the street is jam packed with food vendors selling an amazing variety of foods, all either deep fried, on sticks, or a combination of the two: deep fried bananas, fish, crab, fish balls; skewers of grilled chicken, grilled squid, corn and pineapple; gelatinous patties filled with morning glory (spinach-esque), mini-tacos, and countless other treats I couldn’t identify. I was so tempted to sample a bit of everything, but knew that in an hour they would be serving dinner at the house, so I resisted, vowing to come back soon and treat myself to a smorgasbord. Further on, I came up on, what I think is the amulet market, with people selling various amulets and Buddha images out of cases and on blankets on the sidewalk. As I walked, a blind woman passed me with a speaker in a box around her neck, singing Thai songs into a microphone for money.
I found Wat Mahadhtu and talked with the monk, helping myself to some literature about meditation practice, and Buddha’s teachings or darma (damma in Thailand – they call Nirvana – Nibbana, as well, as they don’t pronounces ‘v’s”. I wonder which side of the world has it wrong). Promising to come back next week for the evening session: meditation from 6 to 8 and a damma talk at 9.
I walked to the pier and paid my 2 bhat for a ferry across the river. Feeling quite like local, I boarded the ferry and took a seat next to a professionally dressed Thai man. I said hello to him in Thai and he responded by asking where I was going (in Thai and I actually understood!) and I responded that I was going home (“Bpai baan, ka). I feeling quite proud of our little exchange when he launched into another round of questioning and I had to stop him with a with a “mai khao jai, ka (I don’t understand)” with an accompanying apologetic facial expression. He nodded, smiled and launched into conversation in halting English asking me where I was from; how long I’d been in Thailand; how it was that I spoke Thai (and remarking how well I spoke it!). I asked him where he worked and he said he worked in a court. I asked if he was an attorney, to which he responded that he was the judge. He said he used to be a policeman, but had to travel all over the country investigating cases and liked that his new job was a bit more stable. We talked a little more about the difference between being a policeman and being a judge and then parted ways at the opposite pier.
Back in Thonburi, I hopped in a local saengthaw and made my way home for a dinner of Thai green chili and fried won-tons.
Since there are now only three of us, and Lucy and Eleanor left for the internet café, I had the house to myself. Knowing that soon, the house would be full of 10 new volunteers, I relished my time alone, popped in a few of my cds and set to work on the house computer, typing up some letters for work and working on the volunteer travel log which I’ve volunteered to “organize.” I love that I can spend a day wandering around the city, taking in all of the new sights, sounds and smells, but still return “home” where I can unwind with friends in familiar surroundings. It is a nice balance.
My Morning Routine
(My apologies to you for writing such a long post about something so trivial, but I am practicing writing detailed descriptions to get the feel for a place and figured that I would start with something easy. For those who read on, I appreciate your humoring me!).
I woke up this morning at 7:00 a.m. and made my daily trip to the gym, always the perfect start to my day. I’ve been trying to walk “mindfully” to the gym, staying in the present moment and really being aware of my surroundings, preparing for my meditation retreat and, hey, after all, this is Thailand, what better place to practice walking meditation? I’ve noticed that, unless you are consciously hearing, you can often walk along a busy street without hearing a thing. But if you pay attention, on my street, at 7:15 in the morning, the sound you hear most is of the traffic rushing by. The large blue 5 bhat buses are the loudest. You can hear them coming before you see them barreling down the road trailing clouds of black exhaust. The smaller green bhat buses are the next loudest. Next come the tuk-tuks, so named for the raucous sound they make. Then the motorcycles, whirring by, followed by the less imposing family sedans. In the morning, Thannon (Road) Issarapab is devoid of the chatter of Thai’s; the few who are out, setting up their shops or rushing to catch a bus to work keep to themselves, busy with the task at hand.
The sidewalk I walk down is made up of individual concrete blocks, each a little less than a square foot. Here and there, the blocks show signs of age in the form of grease stains and stains of other unknown substances, but overall it is in one piece and reveals little about the hundreds of feet and wheels that it hosts each day.
Each side of the street is lined with stores. In the morning, their identity is kept secret from me by identical metal doors and indecipherable Thai writing. The first open store I encounter appears to be something of a convenience store, although I’ve never been inside. The same sour faced old man is arranging newspapers on a table outside his shop every morning as I walk by.
Past the newspaper stand is a Shell gas (petrol) station, on the far side of which, sits a group of about 5 motorcycle taxi drivers who have taken to warning me when there is traffic coming down the side road beyond the Shell station. Now that I’ve realized there is a road there, I make sure to stop and look before crossing, smiling at the motorcycle drivers who all smile and laugh. On my left is the elevated cross walk to the 7-11 on the other side of the street.
After the Shell station, the stores continue; one, a pet store, revealed by the colored shapes of cats and dogs on the windows. Across the street are the internet cafes and the post office, both of which I recognize. On my right, the high fence of the grounds of a wat begins and the colorful roof of the wat peeks through the trees.
Young Thai women walk down the sidewalk or run to catch buses looking smart in pencil thin skirts and fitted blouses. Young Thai men amble along with hip shaggy hairstyles, tight fitting jeans and plastic flip flops. The traffic continues almost unceasingly as I try to cross.
The full glass windows of the gym reveal rows of treadmills, bikes and stair masters. When I enter, the teenaged boy who works the front desk is asleep with his head on the counter (a common occurrence). I quietly sign in and pick a towel off of the counter, wondering if he left them there for me, knowing that I don’t wake him for my locker key when I find him in that state. I bring my bag with me into the gym and take my place on the treadmill where I can watch Thai morning life go by and try to ignore the curious Thai’s who stare out of bus windows to watch the strange foreign woman under glass.
I woke up this morning at 7:00 a.m. and made my daily trip to the gym, always the perfect start to my day. I’ve been trying to walk “mindfully” to the gym, staying in the present moment and really being aware of my surroundings, preparing for my meditation retreat and, hey, after all, this is Thailand, what better place to practice walking meditation? I’ve noticed that, unless you are consciously hearing, you can often walk along a busy street without hearing a thing. But if you pay attention, on my street, at 7:15 in the morning, the sound you hear most is of the traffic rushing by. The large blue 5 bhat buses are the loudest. You can hear them coming before you see them barreling down the road trailing clouds of black exhaust. The smaller green bhat buses are the next loudest. Next come the tuk-tuks, so named for the raucous sound they make. Then the motorcycles, whirring by, followed by the less imposing family sedans. In the morning, Thannon (Road) Issarapab is devoid of the chatter of Thai’s; the few who are out, setting up their shops or rushing to catch a bus to work keep to themselves, busy with the task at hand.
The sidewalk I walk down is made up of individual concrete blocks, each a little less than a square foot. Here and there, the blocks show signs of age in the form of grease stains and stains of other unknown substances, but overall it is in one piece and reveals little about the hundreds of feet and wheels that it hosts each day.
Each side of the street is lined with stores. In the morning, their identity is kept secret from me by identical metal doors and indecipherable Thai writing. The first open store I encounter appears to be something of a convenience store, although I’ve never been inside. The same sour faced old man is arranging newspapers on a table outside his shop every morning as I walk by.
Past the newspaper stand is a Shell gas (petrol) station, on the far side of which, sits a group of about 5 motorcycle taxi drivers who have taken to warning me when there is traffic coming down the side road beyond the Shell station. Now that I’ve realized there is a road there, I make sure to stop and look before crossing, smiling at the motorcycle drivers who all smile and laugh. On my left is the elevated cross walk to the 7-11 on the other side of the street.
After the Shell station, the stores continue; one, a pet store, revealed by the colored shapes of cats and dogs on the windows. Across the street are the internet cafes and the post office, both of which I recognize. On my right, the high fence of the grounds of a wat begins and the colorful roof of the wat peeks through the trees.
Young Thai women walk down the sidewalk or run to catch buses looking smart in pencil thin skirts and fitted blouses. Young Thai men amble along with hip shaggy hairstyles, tight fitting jeans and plastic flip flops. The traffic continues almost unceasingly as I try to cross.
The full glass windows of the gym reveal rows of treadmills, bikes and stair masters. When I enter, the teenaged boy who works the front desk is asleep with his head on the counter (a common occurrence). I quietly sign in and pick a towel off of the counter, wondering if he left them there for me, knowing that I don’t wake him for my locker key when I find him in that state. I bring my bag with me into the gym and take my place on the treadmill where I can watch Thai morning life go by and try to ignore the curious Thai’s who stare out of bus windows to watch the strange foreign woman under glass.
Lessons in Thai
The other day, Sua told me that he was ready for the English lesson and I said that I would be right there and asked if he would ask if anyone else would like to join us (still tentative about my abilities as a teacher and not wanting anyone to feel pressured if I asked them). I figured Sua would go around and ask everyone if they would like to join us, but as I turned to go up the stairs, I heard him bellow, “STUDENTS! STUDENTS! THE TEACHER IS READY. ENGLSH. UPSTAIRS. NOW!”
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Shopping in English
Today was my third English lesson. One of the topics my co-workers asked to learn about was phrases used when shopping. For the lesson, I created four piles of fake bhat (bills and paper coins) and brought in English flash cards. The first thing I did was write English phrases on the board:
Good Morning. May I help you?
Yes, hello. Do you have any _________?
Yes, we do.
Thank you. Can you tell me how much it/they cost(s)?
Yes, it/they cost(s) _________ bhat.
Oh, that is very expenisve. Would you take _______ bhat?
No, but I would take _________ bhat.
OK, thank you.
Thank you. Please come again.
We practiced reading each sentence and I made sure that they knew what everything meant (using the shopping section in my handy Thai phrase book). I then handed them each a pile of fake money and three English flash cards with various products one them, explaining that they would each buy one product and sell one product using the conversation above (or a variation thereof).
I asked Sua to start because he would be a good example for the rest. He bought a pair of socks from Fawn (whose English is also quite good) and she drove a hard bargain. We all had a good laugh over the price of her socks.
Next Pong bought jeans from Moo (both of them reading directly from the board, but really enjoying the bargaining part). Fawn offered to buy the jeans from Pong at 210 bhat and Pong was having nothing of it. She wanted 500 bhat. Fawn got her down to 300 bhat, but when she went to hand her the money, she only handed her 210 bhat. That got a rise out of Pong and we all had a good laugh.
Next it was Sua's turn to run the shop and he had a coat for Pong. When Pong asked how much it would be, Sua said, "Oooh, very expensive. This is imported from the U.S.A. We don't have in Thailand. Very nice. Not cheap." He didn't even crack a smile. As we all tried to control our laughter at his portrayal of a stingy salesman, Pong tried futiley to get him to lower his price. Finally (after he consulted his imaginary wife) he said, "Ok, since you are my first customer, I will give you a deal. But you cannot tell anyone else how much I gave you this for. This is a very expensive coat." Pong agreed and they settled for 300 bhat.
I was extremly pleased with the lesson as everyone seemed to really get into it and enjoy themselves. Hopefully they learned something, too!
Tomorrow we are learning telephone conversations (geared towards businesses). I've got to figure out a way to make that fun. That seems to be the key!
Good Morning. May I help you?
Yes, hello. Do you have any _________?
Yes, we do.
Thank you. Can you tell me how much it/they cost(s)?
Yes, it/they cost(s) _________ bhat.
Oh, that is very expenisve. Would you take _______ bhat?
No, but I would take _________ bhat.
OK, thank you.
Thank you. Please come again.
We practiced reading each sentence and I made sure that they knew what everything meant (using the shopping section in my handy Thai phrase book). I then handed them each a pile of fake money and three English flash cards with various products one them, explaining that they would each buy one product and sell one product using the conversation above (or a variation thereof).
I asked Sua to start because he would be a good example for the rest. He bought a pair of socks from Fawn (whose English is also quite good) and she drove a hard bargain. We all had a good laugh over the price of her socks.
Next Pong bought jeans from Moo (both of them reading directly from the board, but really enjoying the bargaining part). Fawn offered to buy the jeans from Pong at 210 bhat and Pong was having nothing of it. She wanted 500 bhat. Fawn got her down to 300 bhat, but when she went to hand her the money, she only handed her 210 bhat. That got a rise out of Pong and we all had a good laugh.
Next it was Sua's turn to run the shop and he had a coat for Pong. When Pong asked how much it would be, Sua said, "Oooh, very expensive. This is imported from the U.S.A. We don't have in Thailand. Very nice. Not cheap." He didn't even crack a smile. As we all tried to control our laughter at his portrayal of a stingy salesman, Pong tried futiley to get him to lower his price. Finally (after he consulted his imaginary wife) he said, "Ok, since you are my first customer, I will give you a deal. But you cannot tell anyone else how much I gave you this for. This is a very expensive coat." Pong agreed and they settled for 300 bhat.
I was extremly pleased with the lesson as everyone seemed to really get into it and enjoy themselves. Hopefully they learned something, too!
Tomorrow we are learning telephone conversations (geared towards businesses). I've got to figure out a way to make that fun. That seems to be the key!
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Never Book Through a Travel Agent
I consider myself a rather savvy traveler; wary of anyone who wants me to pay anything for anything. But when you travel with a group there are things you have to compromise on, and in my case, that is paying more than I would like to travel.
Koh San Road is like a traveler fly-trap. There are millions of travel agents offering flights, buses, trains all over the world. Many of them are scams; all of them are more expensive than simply going to the bus depot/ train station/airport yourself. According to all of the advertisements that you read, you can get a VIP bus to and from Koh Phangan for 7oo bhat (350 each way), but through the agency we used, it was 1200 bhat. We were promised a VIP bus, tickets for the ferry, both ways. No problem. And there weren't any, until we got to the last stop to board the bus back.
Now I am not a luxury traveler in any sense of the word. If I can stay in a room with air conditioning and a feather mattress for 1000 bhat or a room with a rock covered in sheets and half a roof for the wind to blow in for 100, I will choose the latter, but if I pay for the a/c feather mattress, I expect to get a/c and a feather mattress. Same goes for a VIP bus.
The VIP bus we took down was very nice, as I described in an earlier post. But regardless, again, for an 11 hour journey, nothing is very comfortable unless you have a/c and a feather mattress. The bus we took back was more like the rock with sheets.
Instead of a double decker VIP bus, it was a local bus. This means, no bathroom, but instead, 15 minute stops every few hours adding hours to the journey. This means broken seats that move with every jolt of the bus, which are numerous, as there are absolutely no shocks. This means a hole somewhere in the back of the bus the pumps exhaust fumes back into the bus. This means that for 13 hours, you will be in complete misery, wishing you were anywhere, but where you are. And for this we paid 800 bhat.
Because there were few seats left when we bored, I had to sit in the very back, where the seats don't recline. Lucy sat in front of me in a seat that was not connected, to anything, it seemed. Eleanor had the seat across the isle from Lucy, which was the only normal seat between the three of us. Being the wonderfully considerate people they are, each time the bus stopped, we all swapped seats, so that at all times, at least one of us was in a decent chair. Next to me, were a 40 something German couple, who were furious and not at all happy that they had paid for first class accommodations and were stuck with the dregs of Thai buses. The man sat with a cloth over his face the whole time to keep from being axfixiated by the fumes, apart from when he needed to speak to rant about the awful conditions of the bus. Poor Lucy (and all of us in her chair) had to deal with an almost back breaking bounce every time the bus hit a rock, which was at least once every few minutes. To top it all off, for me, I had a minorly sunburnt rear from the beach the day before, causing the mere act of sitting to be excruciating, and no batteries in my cd player to take me away to another world where this bus did not exist.
After the first stop, I got off to use the toilets - toilets in Thailand need their own separate entry - and when I returned, Eleanor was in my seat and as soon as I took my place in Lucy's chair, she handed me two batteries and a bottle of water. I wanted to kiss her.
At the next stop, we switched again and I was finally in the good seat and able to catch some sleep. At 7:30 in the morning we arrived in Bangkok, got a cab and dragged our tired, dirty, miserable bodies home, only to find the house locked tight. I borrowed the neighbor's cell phone and contacted Phanutat who sent Air over to unlock the house and let us in.
Once we had a few hours of sleep under our belts, we headed over to the travel agency to get our money back. Unfortunately, the girl at the agency could not get the bus company to return our money (of course) but offered to give us each 200 baht for our troubles and was supremely nice and apologetic about everything. So in the end we only paid 1000 bhat, 300 more than we would have otherwise and we have some extremely amusing memories (after the fact) which kept us laughing for a good half hour over dinner.
Koh San Road is like a traveler fly-trap. There are millions of travel agents offering flights, buses, trains all over the world. Many of them are scams; all of them are more expensive than simply going to the bus depot/ train station/airport yourself. According to all of the advertisements that you read, you can get a VIP bus to and from Koh Phangan for 7oo bhat (350 each way), but through the agency we used, it was 1200 bhat. We were promised a VIP bus, tickets for the ferry, both ways. No problem. And there weren't any, until we got to the last stop to board the bus back.
Now I am not a luxury traveler in any sense of the word. If I can stay in a room with air conditioning and a feather mattress for 1000 bhat or a room with a rock covered in sheets and half a roof for the wind to blow in for 100, I will choose the latter, but if I pay for the a/c feather mattress, I expect to get a/c and a feather mattress. Same goes for a VIP bus.
The VIP bus we took down was very nice, as I described in an earlier post. But regardless, again, for an 11 hour journey, nothing is very comfortable unless you have a/c and a feather mattress. The bus we took back was more like the rock with sheets.
Instead of a double decker VIP bus, it was a local bus. This means, no bathroom, but instead, 15 minute stops every few hours adding hours to the journey. This means broken seats that move with every jolt of the bus, which are numerous, as there are absolutely no shocks. This means a hole somewhere in the back of the bus the pumps exhaust fumes back into the bus. This means that for 13 hours, you will be in complete misery, wishing you were anywhere, but where you are. And for this we paid 800 bhat.
Because there were few seats left when we bored, I had to sit in the very back, where the seats don't recline. Lucy sat in front of me in a seat that was not connected, to anything, it seemed. Eleanor had the seat across the isle from Lucy, which was the only normal seat between the three of us. Being the wonderfully considerate people they are, each time the bus stopped, we all swapped seats, so that at all times, at least one of us was in a decent chair. Next to me, were a 40 something German couple, who were furious and not at all happy that they had paid for first class accommodations and were stuck with the dregs of Thai buses. The man sat with a cloth over his face the whole time to keep from being axfixiated by the fumes, apart from when he needed to speak to rant about the awful conditions of the bus. Poor Lucy (and all of us in her chair) had to deal with an almost back breaking bounce every time the bus hit a rock, which was at least once every few minutes. To top it all off, for me, I had a minorly sunburnt rear from the beach the day before, causing the mere act of sitting to be excruciating, and no batteries in my cd player to take me away to another world where this bus did not exist.
After the first stop, I got off to use the toilets - toilets in Thailand need their own separate entry - and when I returned, Eleanor was in my seat and as soon as I took my place in Lucy's chair, she handed me two batteries and a bottle of water. I wanted to kiss her.
At the next stop, we switched again and I was finally in the good seat and able to catch some sleep. At 7:30 in the morning we arrived in Bangkok, got a cab and dragged our tired, dirty, miserable bodies home, only to find the house locked tight. I borrowed the neighbor's cell phone and contacted Phanutat who sent Air over to unlock the house and let us in.
Once we had a few hours of sleep under our belts, we headed over to the travel agency to get our money back. Unfortunately, the girl at the agency could not get the bus company to return our money (of course) but offered to give us each 200 baht for our troubles and was supremely nice and apologetic about everything. So in the end we only paid 1000 bhat, 300 more than we would have otherwise and we have some extremely amusing memories (after the fact) which kept us laughing for a good half hour over dinner.
Remembering Why I Love to Travel
After a few bouts of homesickness on the island, I had one of those moments that makes me remember why I love to travel. Upon boarding the ferry back to Surat Thani from Kho Phangan, we made a beeline for the VIP section on the top of the boat where, on the previous journey, travelers could pay 15 bhat to sit in air-conditioned comfort. Unfortunately, for this trip, no one remembered to turn on the a/c (or more likely it simply wasn’t functioning), but since the seats were demonstratively more comfortable, we stayed put. Or more realistically, I stayed put. My UK companions headed up on the deck after about 5 minutes. Having sat in the sun a bit too long the day before, I remained below.
After about 15 minutes, I was joined by Nick, an English bloke (practicing my British) who turned out to be an extremely enjoyable travel companion. For the next five hours (yes five hours), Nick and I wandered from our upper deck sauna, to the refreshing breeze and unrelenting sun of the top deck, down to the oppressive cave that was the lower deck cabin, talking about travel, books, religion, just how much hotter the boat could possibly get, and life in general. Near the end of the journey, we were joined by Adam, an American from Wisconsin living in China and we all did our best to forget the oppressive heat and enjoy the rest of the journey.
When we finally reached the pier, we parted ways, exchanging email addresses and a kiss on the cheek (ah, European men…) and headed to our respective buses. Nick and Adam were heading to the bus terminal and I, along with Lucy and Elenor, were headed back to Kho San Road (or so we thought). While everyone else could simply board a bus from the Pier, the three of us were told that we had to wait for a ride to the established departure point for the tour company we had booked through. Because there were only three of us, it was determined that it would not be worth commissioning another sangtheaw and we were ushered over to a truck filled to the seems with backpackers. The Thai drivers set about separating the backpackers from their backpacks, which went up on the roof (to many quizzical murmurings of “they are going to tie those on there, aren’t they?), which made enough room for Lucy and Elenor, leaving me and one other, left to stand on the back of the truck and hang on to the back. Since sangtheaws are simply basically miniature pick-up trucks (with two benches facing each other on each side and a metal covering) the step we shared was only about three inches from the ground. I commented to my fellow travelers, not to worry, that I could probably walk along side the truck at the speed it would take him to go in order to keep the 8+ bags, that now covered the roof, from falling off into the mud. It turns out that I underestimated Thai drivers and as well as the physics needed to keep all those packs on the roof.
As I hung on to my perch on the back of the truck, taking in the scenery of Thai back country, keeping an eye on the precariously placed luggage, I smiled to myself, thinking “this is why I travel. For the opportunity to make instant friends of strangers and to experience the sometimes seemingly boundless ingenuity of people in other countries from my envious spot on the back of a jam packed sangtheaw."
After about 15 minutes, I was joined by Nick, an English bloke (practicing my British) who turned out to be an extremely enjoyable travel companion. For the next five hours (yes five hours), Nick and I wandered from our upper deck sauna, to the refreshing breeze and unrelenting sun of the top deck, down to the oppressive cave that was the lower deck cabin, talking about travel, books, religion, just how much hotter the boat could possibly get, and life in general. Near the end of the journey, we were joined by Adam, an American from Wisconsin living in China and we all did our best to forget the oppressive heat and enjoy the rest of the journey.
When we finally reached the pier, we parted ways, exchanging email addresses and a kiss on the cheek (ah, European men…) and headed to our respective buses. Nick and Adam were heading to the bus terminal and I, along with Lucy and Elenor, were headed back to Kho San Road (or so we thought). While everyone else could simply board a bus from the Pier, the three of us were told that we had to wait for a ride to the established departure point for the tour company we had booked through. Because there were only three of us, it was determined that it would not be worth commissioning another sangtheaw and we were ushered over to a truck filled to the seems with backpackers. The Thai drivers set about separating the backpackers from their backpacks, which went up on the roof (to many quizzical murmurings of “they are going to tie those on there, aren’t they?), which made enough room for Lucy and Elenor, leaving me and one other, left to stand on the back of the truck and hang on to the back. Since sangtheaws are simply basically miniature pick-up trucks (with two benches facing each other on each side and a metal covering) the step we shared was only about three inches from the ground. I commented to my fellow travelers, not to worry, that I could probably walk along side the truck at the speed it would take him to go in order to keep the 8+ bags, that now covered the roof, from falling off into the mud. It turns out that I underestimated Thai drivers and as well as the physics needed to keep all those packs on the roof.
As I hung on to my perch on the back of the truck, taking in the scenery of Thai back country, keeping an eye on the precariously placed luggage, I smiled to myself, thinking “this is why I travel. For the opportunity to make instant friends of strangers and to experience the sometimes seemingly boundless ingenuity of people in other countries from my envious spot on the back of a jam packed sangtheaw."
Songkran
Wednesday was Songkran, the Thai New Year. We woke up and packed our bags for our move to the next beach down. At breakfast, we were greeted with leis of orchids and face make up made of a mix of water and powder. We then made our way to Thong Naai Paan. The journey was just as enjoyable, and the new beach as beautiful as the last, just a little bigger. Thong Naai Paan is separated into Thong Naai Paan Noi and Thong Naai Paan Yai by a rocky outcropping. We were unable to find a room on Thong Naai Pann Noi and not wanting to bring our bags into Thong Sala for the Water Festival we went in search of a taxi to Thong Naai Paan Yai.
We found ourselves in a restaurant, full of really wet Thai’s. The younger girls were dressed in Traditional Thai dresses with full face make up and were walking around touting water bazookas half their size. The waitresses and other staff were chasing each other around with glasses and bowls of water, while the other guests (properly dressed for the occasion) joined in with glasses of water and water guns of their own. Fully dressed and saddled with our packs, Lucy, Eleanor and I, found a table in the corner where we could watch from afar.
When I walked up to the counter to inquire about a taxi, I looked down and saw an announcement typed and taped to the counter.
It read: Attention Guests: Thailand is currently in the middle of a severe water shortage! It is very important that you help us to conserve water and use as little as possible! Thank you for your cooperation.
As I turned around to watch the spectacle behind me, a bowl of water was dumped on my head, I couldn’t help but wish I had a waterproof camera to take in the irony.
Because it was Songkran, the taxi we took to the next beach was quite like any other I’d ever take, or thought I would ever take again (ah, but how I was mistaken). It was a pick-up, like all the others, but in the back sat four children, a grown woman and a barrel filled with water and bowls. Lucy, Eleanor, with our bags, climbed into the front, and I hoisted myself into the back having no idea what I was getting myself into.
We drove along normally enough for the first 100 yards, but we soon encountered another truck like our own and I found just what the bucket of water was for. As we passed the truck, water came pouring down on us from buckets and guns and bottles. My fellow Thai passengers responded in kind, dousing the other truck with water. After that, not a soul who we passed on the road was safe from the deluge.
We arrived at the next beach and quickly booked into a room (with just one double bed – we’d stopped being picky), put on our bathing suits, put our money and cameras into plastic bags and caught the next truck (full of water and Thai’s) into Thong Sala.
Everyone I have spoken to who was there for Songkran in Kho Phangan, has expressed the sentiment that I express now: I don’t think that I have ever had as much fun in my entire life, than I had that day. It was an experience to experience and cherish (and if lucky, return to again another year).
As soon as our truck hit the road it was an all out water war. Outside the shops and restaurants, crowds of Thais stood with industrial size buckets and water hoses. We were drenched in a matter of minutes. A new crowd every 40 feet, posed a new threat and offered new targets. Trucks, pedestrians, motorcycle drivers – no one was safe or to be trusted.
When the truck stopped, we got out and paid the driver, noticing only once he had driven away, that we had only gone as far as Ban Thai and would now need yet another ride into Thong Sala. I stopped the first truck of revelers I saw and asked if we could join them to Thong Sala. The driver agreed and we joined a foursome of little Thai kids accosting the passers-by.
We knew that the ride into town was only the beginning, but we had no idea just what we were in for. Upon rounding the bend to the main street in Thong Sala, we were greeted by hoards of people with hoses and buckets and water guns. Trucks lined the streets filled with revelers. We found ourselves out of the truck, on our own, defenseless - the first order of business to arm ourselves. We went in search of buckets, but found you could only buy buckets if you purchased their contents as well – a bottle of rum, a bottle of red bull, and a can of coke, all of which, mixed together with ice had to be consumed in order to use the bucket. So of course we go right to the business of emptying our bucket!
As we watched and drank, we were accosted by Thais with baby powdered covered hands, giving you a friendly happy new year as the smeared your face with white paste. We soon had our bucket emptied and headed off in search of more weapons. I had my heart set on water bazooka because you could fill it and head off, not forced, after each dousing, to find a water barrel to refill. I found one for 300 bhat and it was the best 9 dollars I’ve ever spent. Now armed with a weapon, I could take on the armies of Thai children with similar artillery.
We ran into our neighbors from Bottle Beach and canvassed the street, never drying in the scorching heat before the next bucket was dumped on your head. It was an experience I hope never to forget, but one that I cannot go on describing because I have written too much already. Needless to say, it was amazing, unlike anything I’ve experience before – a whole town full of strangers coming together and forming relationships for split seconds of comradery, only to part just as quickly and join up with the next.
We spent hours and hours in Thong Sala, finishing up only as the sun went down, three of about 50 people left on the street.
The next few days of sand and beaches were a blur of beaches and naps and noodles as we came down from our Songkran high. We did not look forward to the 22 hour journey back, but we will never be sorry that we made it.
We found ourselves in a restaurant, full of really wet Thai’s. The younger girls were dressed in Traditional Thai dresses with full face make up and were walking around touting water bazookas half their size. The waitresses and other staff were chasing each other around with glasses and bowls of water, while the other guests (properly dressed for the occasion) joined in with glasses of water and water guns of their own. Fully dressed and saddled with our packs, Lucy, Eleanor and I, found a table in the corner where we could watch from afar.
When I walked up to the counter to inquire about a taxi, I looked down and saw an announcement typed and taped to the counter.
It read: Attention Guests: Thailand is currently in the middle of a severe water shortage! It is very important that you help us to conserve water and use as little as possible! Thank you for your cooperation.
As I turned around to watch the spectacle behind me, a bowl of water was dumped on my head, I couldn’t help but wish I had a waterproof camera to take in the irony.
Because it was Songkran, the taxi we took to the next beach was quite like any other I’d ever take, or thought I would ever take again (ah, but how I was mistaken). It was a pick-up, like all the others, but in the back sat four children, a grown woman and a barrel filled with water and bowls. Lucy, Eleanor, with our bags, climbed into the front, and I hoisted myself into the back having no idea what I was getting myself into.
We drove along normally enough for the first 100 yards, but we soon encountered another truck like our own and I found just what the bucket of water was for. As we passed the truck, water came pouring down on us from buckets and guns and bottles. My fellow Thai passengers responded in kind, dousing the other truck with water. After that, not a soul who we passed on the road was safe from the deluge.
We arrived at the next beach and quickly booked into a room (with just one double bed – we’d stopped being picky), put on our bathing suits, put our money and cameras into plastic bags and caught the next truck (full of water and Thai’s) into Thong Sala.
Everyone I have spoken to who was there for Songkran in Kho Phangan, has expressed the sentiment that I express now: I don’t think that I have ever had as much fun in my entire life, than I had that day. It was an experience to experience and cherish (and if lucky, return to again another year).
As soon as our truck hit the road it was an all out water war. Outside the shops and restaurants, crowds of Thais stood with industrial size buckets and water hoses. We were drenched in a matter of minutes. A new crowd every 40 feet, posed a new threat and offered new targets. Trucks, pedestrians, motorcycle drivers – no one was safe or to be trusted.
When the truck stopped, we got out and paid the driver, noticing only once he had driven away, that we had only gone as far as Ban Thai and would now need yet another ride into Thong Sala. I stopped the first truck of revelers I saw and asked if we could join them to Thong Sala. The driver agreed and we joined a foursome of little Thai kids accosting the passers-by.
We knew that the ride into town was only the beginning, but we had no idea just what we were in for. Upon rounding the bend to the main street in Thong Sala, we were greeted by hoards of people with hoses and buckets and water guns. Trucks lined the streets filled with revelers. We found ourselves out of the truck, on our own, defenseless - the first order of business to arm ourselves. We went in search of buckets, but found you could only buy buckets if you purchased their contents as well – a bottle of rum, a bottle of red bull, and a can of coke, all of which, mixed together with ice had to be consumed in order to use the bucket. So of course we go right to the business of emptying our bucket!
As we watched and drank, we were accosted by Thais with baby powdered covered hands, giving you a friendly happy new year as the smeared your face with white paste. We soon had our bucket emptied and headed off in search of more weapons. I had my heart set on water bazooka because you could fill it and head off, not forced, after each dousing, to find a water barrel to refill. I found one for 300 bhat and it was the best 9 dollars I’ve ever spent. Now armed with a weapon, I could take on the armies of Thai children with similar artillery.
We ran into our neighbors from Bottle Beach and canvassed the street, never drying in the scorching heat before the next bucket was dumped on your head. It was an experience I hope never to forget, but one that I cannot go on describing because I have written too much already. Needless to say, it was amazing, unlike anything I’ve experience before – a whole town full of strangers coming together and forming relationships for split seconds of comradery, only to part just as quickly and join up with the next.
We spent hours and hours in Thong Sala, finishing up only as the sun went down, three of about 50 people left on the street.
The next few days of sand and beaches were a blur of beaches and naps and noodles as we came down from our Songkran high. We did not look forward to the 22 hour journey back, but we will never be sorry that we made it.
Kho Phangan – Day Two and beyond
Friday night was spent at the beach at the Black Moon Party which went on until well in the morning so Saturday was a wash and we lazed around the beach all day, moving from bed to beach to hammock to bed just sleeping.
Sunday we moved up to the northeast coast, to Chaclclom Bay, were we got a really nice room for 500 bhat. Unfortunately the room was the only nice thing about the beach because you couldn’t swim as the water in the Bay was only two feet deep and boiling hot. We decided to walk into town and found a really quaint little fishing village with wooden homes and shops and racks full of squid drying in the street. In the middle of all this, very out of place, stood a gleaming white, trendy looking restaurant with a bar and a patio in the back with beds surrounding low tables where you could sit and enjoy a drink or a meal. It was all very trendy with black tables, white mattresses, and very tastefully placed art. We decided to come back that evening, which we did after another lazy afternoon on the beach. Since I don’t think I’ve mentioned it before, Lucy and Eleanor were great traveling companions and I really enjoyed their company throughout the whole adventure.
The next day we moved on to Haat Kuat (or Bottle Beach) which the guide book had said was the best beach on the island. It was accessible only by boat, so we headed for the taxi boat stand.
The taxi boats on Kho Phangan are like wide canoes with a very rudimentary engine (a propeller blade on the end of a metal pole that they lift to stop, drop in to go and steer to maneuver from place to place). We all waded into kneed deep water and climbed a metal ladder into to boat. Along with the three of us, were the driver and two other women and all of our packs loaded on to the bow. As he started up the engine to turn the boat out of the harbor, I could see all of our bags dumping overboard never to be seen again, but amazingly enough they made the journey without mishap. We left the bay and headed around rocky outcropping of large boulders and little caves between the rocks. The beach the appeared around the corner was absolutely beautiful – white sand beaches, small bungalows and beach side restaurants tucked under the tree, every surrounded by a backdrop of lush green mountains. When we let off at the beach, we split up to find a bungalow and settled on a cute little hut, right on the beach, next to a restaurant and another raised wooden platform with triangular Thai mattresses. I could have stayed on Bottle Beach forever.
We spent the days reading, sunbathing and visiting at the various beach side restaurants. One day Lucy and I went for a hike we had heard about from our neighbor, Matt. We walked along a wide sandy road that led us up into the mountains and out to an outcropping that overlooked the whole of Bottle Beach. While most of the journey was easy, the last few yards required you to climb up on a boulder, shimmy along the edge, crouch down into an opening in the rock, out the other side and up on yet another boulder to get to the vantage point to see the whole view. Unfortunately, Lucy was not much for heights and I was the only one able to see this absolutely beautiful spot. I could have stayed there for hours, but couldn’t leave Lucy alone, so we headed back down. Upon making our way back, we found that we had taken the long way around, and although our circuitous route took us to where we were headed, there was a much more direct route straight from the beach – and straight up the mountain. Needless to say, going down was a bit steep, but thanks to my new favorite footwear – Columbia Hiking sandals – and Lucy’s walking stick (that someone generously left on the path) we made it down without a scratch.
That night we went back to our favorite restaurant and were challenged to a game of connect four by one of the waiters. We agreed, saying that if we won, he’d have to buy us a round of Singha’s and if we won, we’d treat him (which I now realize is quite unfair, but we wouldn’t have really kept him to it). Because it had been a while since I’d played, I declared the first game practice. To his astonishment, I won, but it was only beginners luck. He won the next game and we bought him his beer. From there we were joined by two other Thai waiters (the first 25, then 22 and 15) and spent the next few hours talking and laughing over our connect-four tournament. That was probably my favorite day on the beach.
Sunday we moved up to the northeast coast, to Chaclclom Bay, were we got a really nice room for 500 bhat. Unfortunately the room was the only nice thing about the beach because you couldn’t swim as the water in the Bay was only two feet deep and boiling hot. We decided to walk into town and found a really quaint little fishing village with wooden homes and shops and racks full of squid drying in the street. In the middle of all this, very out of place, stood a gleaming white, trendy looking restaurant with a bar and a patio in the back with beds surrounding low tables where you could sit and enjoy a drink or a meal. It was all very trendy with black tables, white mattresses, and very tastefully placed art. We decided to come back that evening, which we did after another lazy afternoon on the beach. Since I don’t think I’ve mentioned it before, Lucy and Eleanor were great traveling companions and I really enjoyed their company throughout the whole adventure.
The next day we moved on to Haat Kuat (or Bottle Beach) which the guide book had said was the best beach on the island. It was accessible only by boat, so we headed for the taxi boat stand.
The taxi boats on Kho Phangan are like wide canoes with a very rudimentary engine (a propeller blade on the end of a metal pole that they lift to stop, drop in to go and steer to maneuver from place to place). We all waded into kneed deep water and climbed a metal ladder into to boat. Along with the three of us, were the driver and two other women and all of our packs loaded on to the bow. As he started up the engine to turn the boat out of the harbor, I could see all of our bags dumping overboard never to be seen again, but amazingly enough they made the journey without mishap. We left the bay and headed around rocky outcropping of large boulders and little caves between the rocks. The beach the appeared around the corner was absolutely beautiful – white sand beaches, small bungalows and beach side restaurants tucked under the tree, every surrounded by a backdrop of lush green mountains. When we let off at the beach, we split up to find a bungalow and settled on a cute little hut, right on the beach, next to a restaurant and another raised wooden platform with triangular Thai mattresses. I could have stayed on Bottle Beach forever.
We spent the days reading, sunbathing and visiting at the various beach side restaurants. One day Lucy and I went for a hike we had heard about from our neighbor, Matt. We walked along a wide sandy road that led us up into the mountains and out to an outcropping that overlooked the whole of Bottle Beach. While most of the journey was easy, the last few yards required you to climb up on a boulder, shimmy along the edge, crouch down into an opening in the rock, out the other side and up on yet another boulder to get to the vantage point to see the whole view. Unfortunately, Lucy was not much for heights and I was the only one able to see this absolutely beautiful spot. I could have stayed there for hours, but couldn’t leave Lucy alone, so we headed back down. Upon making our way back, we found that we had taken the long way around, and although our circuitous route took us to where we were headed, there was a much more direct route straight from the beach – and straight up the mountain. Needless to say, going down was a bit steep, but thanks to my new favorite footwear – Columbia Hiking sandals – and Lucy’s walking stick (that someone generously left on the path) we made it down without a scratch.
That night we went back to our favorite restaurant and were challenged to a game of connect four by one of the waiters. We agreed, saying that if we won, he’d have to buy us a round of Singha’s and if we won, we’d treat him (which I now realize is quite unfair, but we wouldn’t have really kept him to it). Because it had been a while since I’d played, I declared the first game practice. To his astonishment, I won, but it was only beginners luck. He won the next game and we bought him his beer. From there we were joined by two other Thai waiters (the first 25, then 22 and 15) and spent the next few hours talking and laughing over our connect-four tournament. That was probably my favorite day on the beach.
Kho Phangan – Day One
Lucy, Elenor and I left for Kho Phangan at five o’clock on Thursday afternoon (to catch our bus departing from Kho San Road at 6:00). In Bangkok rush hour traffic, journey that should have taken about 10 minutes, was going on 50 minutes, before we asked the driver to stop where he was (not a difficult request to acquiesce to seeing as we had been stopped in the same spot for the past 10 minutes) and got our luggage out in the middle of a log jam of traffic, making our way through the mass of cars to the sidewalk with our packs. Walking through Kho San Road, the “Backpacker Haven” of Bangkok, I really felt like part of the whole backpacker community.
We made our way to the agency and were led to a grassy spot where about 30 other people were waiting with their packs and sat to wait for the bus. Over the next 30 minutes, our numbers swelled to over a hundred and double-decker “VIP” buses began lining up at the curb. Having been warned to sit on the top (because “the bottom smells like the toilet”), I was a bit antsy to be sure I was one of the first on the bus, but kept reminding myself that I was in Thailand and I should be calm and serene and patient – a reminder that worked for about five minutes after which it was repeated in cycles of apprehension and conscious efforts at remaining calm. Finally we were told that our bus had arrived and we joined the mass of people and packs making their way on the bus.
The bus itself was quite luxurious with two floors, a spiral staircase, high-backed, padded chairs; pillows and blankets, a television, and air-condition. Unfortunately 11 hours in any vehicle where you are confined to a chair, no matter how luxurious, is going to be painful – and it was. The air-condition, which we had paid extra for, turned the bus into a mobile arctic and the stench of the toilet that we were assured remained below, crept it’s way up into our compartment after just two hours and filled the whole bus with a putrid fog. Eleven hours later, at 5:00 a.m., we were deposited at a food stand in the middle of nowhere to wait for another bus that would bring us to the pier in two hours time. Although, elated to be out of the bus, our sleep and food deprived bodies did not relish the two hour wait and we tried our best to keep ourselves occupied with books and conversation punctuated by attempts at sleep with our heads on our folded arms on the concrete table. The food stall consisted of a what appeared to be a storage/living area, a covered “dining area” (plastic chairs and tables on dirt floor) and a small store selling drinks, potato chips (seaweed, lobster and barbeque) and packs of Oreos). There were two or three Thai men, a Thai woman, a small Thai girl about 10, a boy about 6 and a kitten, who provided moments of amusement chasing insects, its tail and various other invisible targets. A little after seven, a bus pulled up and we loaded on for the ten minute journey to the pier.
The ferry to the island was a boat with a lower compartment filled with rows of rounded plastic chairs facing a large television, an upper air-conditioned VIP deck (which we did not discover until the end of the journey), and an outer deck where you could sit, holding on to the rails and hang your feet over the side. We were herded into the lower deck and settled into three adjoining plastic seats.
After about 15 minutes, unable to find a comfortable position, uninterested in “Cat Woman” and desperately needing to rest, I made my way out onto the deck where I settled into a spot on the side, my feet over the edge, my arms wrapped through the life preserver hanging of the railing in front of me, my head on the rails and tried to sleep.
The four hour ferry ride took us first to Kho Samuei and then on to Kho Phangan. The blue of the water reflecting the blue of the sky made for a view so intense it was hard to take in. Here and there, the scene was dotted with distant hazy blue islands with nothing else as far as you could see. Three hours into the journey, the ferry docked on Kho Samuei and as seventy percent of the boat’s passengers scrambled to get their packs and disembark, Eleanor and I made our way to the bow to watch to as Kho Phangnan appeared on the horizon.
We had planned to book a room ahead of time, choosing one of the islands many secluded beaches as our primary destination, but had not been able to reach anyone at the number in the Lonely Planet. As fate will sometimes do, she appeared as a Thai man, one of the many bungalow touts, with a card for the same one we had tried to reach days earlier and an offer of a free taxi ride to the bunglows. As we navigated the mad rush to the pile of packs on the bow and got off the bus, I was relieved to have a guide and an established place to say. The pier was crawling with Thai men asking, “where you stay?” trying to find guests for their respective bungalows. We doggedly followed our guide to the back of a waiting pick up and climbed aboard for the long journey up to the north western coast of the island.
The pier is located in Thong Sala, the main town on Kho Phangan. From what I could tell, Thong Sala is made up of one main road filled with shops and restaurants and various smaller arteries running off to the side, offering more opportunities to eat, drink and shop your day away. The majority of the stores sell clothing and shoes, along with a few rows of local nick-knacks and toiletries. Brightly colored sarongs hang from ropes along the outer store fronts and the insides are filled with rows of tops, shorts, dresses, skirts, bathing suits and anything else you could need to outfit yourself for you island holiday. The resaurnts and bars are also open to the street offering “authentic Thai food” (which I found amusing because what else would Thai food be in Thailand if not authentic), fresh seafood and cold drinks.
From Thong Sala, we made our way (Lucy, Elenor, myself and one other traveler, from whom we later learned his name and country of origin, but I can’t remember either!) with our packs in the back of the pick up over dirt roads, though little villages, past signs and flyers tacked on poles announcing a Thai boxing match on Saturday, a Black Moon Party on Friday and various bars restaurants and bungalows. As we rounded a corner into what was to be our home for the next two days and we found ourselves looking into a dreary looking forested lake, my immediate thought was “weren’t we supposed to be staying on the beach?” We all exchanged questioning looks until the truck pulled around another corner and a beautiful little stretch of beach came into view.
The bungalows on the beach went for 300 bhat with one double bed and a fan, while those farther back went for 200 bhat with the same amenities. We decided to take two of the 200 bhat rooms and split the difference three ways, with me able to have a room all to myself for a fraction of the price. Finally settling into our new rooms after an 18 hour journey, we promptly made our way – me to the beach, Lucy to the hammock and Eleanor to the room – to sleep.
We made our way to the agency and were led to a grassy spot where about 30 other people were waiting with their packs and sat to wait for the bus. Over the next 30 minutes, our numbers swelled to over a hundred and double-decker “VIP” buses began lining up at the curb. Having been warned to sit on the top (because “the bottom smells like the toilet”), I was a bit antsy to be sure I was one of the first on the bus, but kept reminding myself that I was in Thailand and I should be calm and serene and patient – a reminder that worked for about five minutes after which it was repeated in cycles of apprehension and conscious efforts at remaining calm. Finally we were told that our bus had arrived and we joined the mass of people and packs making their way on the bus.
The bus itself was quite luxurious with two floors, a spiral staircase, high-backed, padded chairs; pillows and blankets, a television, and air-condition. Unfortunately 11 hours in any vehicle where you are confined to a chair, no matter how luxurious, is going to be painful – and it was. The air-condition, which we had paid extra for, turned the bus into a mobile arctic and the stench of the toilet that we were assured remained below, crept it’s way up into our compartment after just two hours and filled the whole bus with a putrid fog. Eleven hours later, at 5:00 a.m., we were deposited at a food stand in the middle of nowhere to wait for another bus that would bring us to the pier in two hours time. Although, elated to be out of the bus, our sleep and food deprived bodies did not relish the two hour wait and we tried our best to keep ourselves occupied with books and conversation punctuated by attempts at sleep with our heads on our folded arms on the concrete table. The food stall consisted of a what appeared to be a storage/living area, a covered “dining area” (plastic chairs and tables on dirt floor) and a small store selling drinks, potato chips (seaweed, lobster and barbeque) and packs of Oreos). There were two or three Thai men, a Thai woman, a small Thai girl about 10, a boy about 6 and a kitten, who provided moments of amusement chasing insects, its tail and various other invisible targets. A little after seven, a bus pulled up and we loaded on for the ten minute journey to the pier.
The ferry to the island was a boat with a lower compartment filled with rows of rounded plastic chairs facing a large television, an upper air-conditioned VIP deck (which we did not discover until the end of the journey), and an outer deck where you could sit, holding on to the rails and hang your feet over the side. We were herded into the lower deck and settled into three adjoining plastic seats.
After about 15 minutes, unable to find a comfortable position, uninterested in “Cat Woman” and desperately needing to rest, I made my way out onto the deck where I settled into a spot on the side, my feet over the edge, my arms wrapped through the life preserver hanging of the railing in front of me, my head on the rails and tried to sleep.
The four hour ferry ride took us first to Kho Samuei and then on to Kho Phangan. The blue of the water reflecting the blue of the sky made for a view so intense it was hard to take in. Here and there, the scene was dotted with distant hazy blue islands with nothing else as far as you could see. Three hours into the journey, the ferry docked on Kho Samuei and as seventy percent of the boat’s passengers scrambled to get their packs and disembark, Eleanor and I made our way to the bow to watch to as Kho Phangnan appeared on the horizon.
We had planned to book a room ahead of time, choosing one of the islands many secluded beaches as our primary destination, but had not been able to reach anyone at the number in the Lonely Planet. As fate will sometimes do, she appeared as a Thai man, one of the many bungalow touts, with a card for the same one we had tried to reach days earlier and an offer of a free taxi ride to the bunglows. As we navigated the mad rush to the pile of packs on the bow and got off the bus, I was relieved to have a guide and an established place to say. The pier was crawling with Thai men asking, “where you stay?” trying to find guests for their respective bungalows. We doggedly followed our guide to the back of a waiting pick up and climbed aboard for the long journey up to the north western coast of the island.
The pier is located in Thong Sala, the main town on Kho Phangan. From what I could tell, Thong Sala is made up of one main road filled with shops and restaurants and various smaller arteries running off to the side, offering more opportunities to eat, drink and shop your day away. The majority of the stores sell clothing and shoes, along with a few rows of local nick-knacks and toiletries. Brightly colored sarongs hang from ropes along the outer store fronts and the insides are filled with rows of tops, shorts, dresses, skirts, bathing suits and anything else you could need to outfit yourself for you island holiday. The resaurnts and bars are also open to the street offering “authentic Thai food” (which I found amusing because what else would Thai food be in Thailand if not authentic), fresh seafood and cold drinks.
From Thong Sala, we made our way (Lucy, Elenor, myself and one other traveler, from whom we later learned his name and country of origin, but I can’t remember either!) with our packs in the back of the pick up over dirt roads, though little villages, past signs and flyers tacked on poles announcing a Thai boxing match on Saturday, a Black Moon Party on Friday and various bars restaurants and bungalows. As we rounded a corner into what was to be our home for the next two days and we found ourselves looking into a dreary looking forested lake, my immediate thought was “weren’t we supposed to be staying on the beach?” We all exchanged questioning looks until the truck pulled around another corner and a beautiful little stretch of beach came into view.
The bungalows on the beach went for 300 bhat with one double bed and a fan, while those farther back went for 200 bhat with the same amenities. We decided to take two of the 200 bhat rooms and split the difference three ways, with me able to have a room all to myself for a fraction of the price. Finally settling into our new rooms after an 18 hour journey, we promptly made our way – me to the beach, Lucy to the hammock and Eleanor to the room – to sleep.
MIA
I apologize for the lack of posts in the past 10 days or so. Last week was Songkran, the Thai New Year, and two other volunteers and I headed to Kho Phangan for the week. Internet access was available, but ridiculously expensive. (5 bhat a minute, compared with 20 bhat an hour in Bangkok). While I was able to check my mail to be sure that there wasn’t any pressing news from home, posting anything would have broken the bank! (But I've tried to make up for it today!)
A Workday in the Life…
Thursday, I was to go with Sua to a meeting with the director of a community (I still need to figure out his exact position and responsibilities) in which HAT is launching a project to train elderly volunteers to be peer educators in the area of basic hygiene and health care in old age. As we left HAT at 10:30, I asked Sua if we would be back in time for me to be at the house at 5:00 to catch my bus to the beach and he assured me we would; mentioning that the meeting was at 1:00 and the trip would only take “one or two hours.” Knowing that he had just been to the office at our destination just last week, I couldn’t figure out how he didn’t know whether it would take one hour or two, but after about five minutes, I remembered that we were in Bangkok, where an hour trip can easily take two hours if you are on the wrong side of the traffic rush.
During the ride, Sua explains to me that he is going to briefly present the project to the director and then he would like me to talk about my experience with elderly people. Wondering what he had been told, or presumed about my experience with elderly people, I explained that, at the time, my experience was limited to serving tsimis and borsche to the elderly Jewish residents of an assisted living facility. It took a while to convey this and by his response, it seemed that he had assumed my experience to be more in the area of care and education. Where he got this idea, I have no clue, but the conversation put an end to his requests that I speak with the director about my “experience.”
Two hours later, we arrive in the community where we were to meet with the director, we stopped for lunch and then headed to a large, white official looking building in a neighborhood surrounded by large, obviously expensive, homes. Since my Thai conversational skills about houses are limited to pointing and saying “Baan jai! (Big House!)” to Sua’s affirmative nod, I never got around to asking why this building was in the midst of all of these houses when the population we are serving is elderly people living in poverty.
We made our way into the building and Sua led me up to an office where a woman, apparently the director’s assistant, bade us sit and brought us glasses of ice water (something I’ve almost come to expect when visiting anywhere in Thailand). After a lengthy conversation between Sua and the woman in Thai (of which I understood one word, “farang” (the catch-all Thai word for white foreigner) in reference to me) it became clear that the director was not there and the meeting would not be taking place. Apparently the woman had lost the letter with the date and time of the meeting and the director was away at a conference. Sua and I were led upstairs, where we waited for another gentleman to reschedule the meeting. All the time Sua, displaying nothing but patience and understanding, saying to me, “I love coming here because I get to talk to all of these wonderful people.”
Back on the road at 1:30, Sua asked me if I would like to meet his father-in-law and mother-in-law who live near CCS, before he took me home. I said that I would love to and we made our way back through two more hours of traffic to Thonburi.
During the journey, Sua plied me with questions. “What is the difference between a ‘mansion,’ a ‘condo,’ and an ‘apartment’?” “What is the difference between ‘died’ and ‘dead’?” “What is the difference between ‘hotel,’ ‘motel,’ and ‘inn’?” I responded in kind, learning the words for store - “ran-kah,” restaurant - “ran-ahan” (or fancy restaurant - “patra-khan), big - “jai,” and small - “lek.” I have really come to enjoy these conversations, because it not only shows how interested Sua is in learning English and gives me chance to teach him, but it also allows me to think more about our language and to find ways to explain so many things, the knowledge of which I just take for granted.
Sua 44 (Tiger) is married to Meow 30 (Cat) and his father-in-law is 48, just 4 years older than him, something he relayed to me with great amusement. Meow’s parents live in a low-income area just one street over and a few blocks down from CCS, where they run a food stand outside of their home.
Thai’s with money live in neighborhoods like the one where CCS is housed, but another group of entrepreneurial working-class Thais, live in spaces that we would most likely associate with two-car garage, their business either held in the front portion of the living space or right outside. The living space often housing a couch, television, bookshelves and various other possessions is downstairs, while the bedrooms and cooking area are upstairs (or so I presume because I have never been upstairs in this type of home). The downstairs opens up into the street just as a storefront would, with a large metal roll up door behind a pull over metal gate. When this door is open, their living quarters are made available to the public eye from the front street. There is no other front door (at least from the street) and when the roll door is shut, I have no idea how they get out (without, obviously, reopening this door).
Meow’s parents live in just such a home and run a food stand across the narrow alleyway across from the front of their home. To get to their home, we walked from the street, across a piece of plywood over a canal, through a mass of food stalls in the grass adjacent to their front “door.” Sua’s father-in-law was napping in a canvas cot when we arrived; his mother-in-law was chatting with a friend on the couch in front of the television. As our visit had not been announced in advance, I felt a little uncomfortable barging in on their lives, but Sua didn’t act like anything was out of the ordinary and his mother-in-law woke his father-in-law and we were all introduced. His mother-in-law’s friend spoke a little English and asked me where I was from and how long I would be in Thailand (the two most commonly asked questions in Thailand along with “do you speak Thai?”). I asked his mother how she was in Thai and she responded and smiled, asking “Do you speak Thai?” To which I responded, “Poot Thai di nit noi. (“I speak a little Thai” although though I do not yet know how to follow that up with, “But I don’t understand word of it!”). Sua brought me a coke and asked if I wanted to have a snack (which I really didn’t having been stuffed since lunch, but not wanting to appear impolite). Sua’s father-in-law whipped us up a spicy Thai salad and we shared it over a coke.
After our snack, we said our good-byes and made our way back over the canal to the truck, where I promptly walked over to the driver’s side and tried to get in. Sua, still opening my door on the passenger side, looked at me strangely until I relied what I had done. I walked over to him and explained that I had forgotten I was in Thailand for moment and was getting in to what would be the passenger side back in the States. We had a good laugh over that one and it was a nice way to end an enjoyable afternoon.
During the ride, Sua explains to me that he is going to briefly present the project to the director and then he would like me to talk about my experience with elderly people. Wondering what he had been told, or presumed about my experience with elderly people, I explained that, at the time, my experience was limited to serving tsimis and borsche to the elderly Jewish residents of an assisted living facility. It took a while to convey this and by his response, it seemed that he had assumed my experience to be more in the area of care and education. Where he got this idea, I have no clue, but the conversation put an end to his requests that I speak with the director about my “experience.”
Two hours later, we arrive in the community where we were to meet with the director, we stopped for lunch and then headed to a large, white official looking building in a neighborhood surrounded by large, obviously expensive, homes. Since my Thai conversational skills about houses are limited to pointing and saying “Baan jai! (Big House!)” to Sua’s affirmative nod, I never got around to asking why this building was in the midst of all of these houses when the population we are serving is elderly people living in poverty.
We made our way into the building and Sua led me up to an office where a woman, apparently the director’s assistant, bade us sit and brought us glasses of ice water (something I’ve almost come to expect when visiting anywhere in Thailand). After a lengthy conversation between Sua and the woman in Thai (of which I understood one word, “farang” (the catch-all Thai word for white foreigner) in reference to me) it became clear that the director was not there and the meeting would not be taking place. Apparently the woman had lost the letter with the date and time of the meeting and the director was away at a conference. Sua and I were led upstairs, where we waited for another gentleman to reschedule the meeting. All the time Sua, displaying nothing but patience and understanding, saying to me, “I love coming here because I get to talk to all of these wonderful people.”
Back on the road at 1:30, Sua asked me if I would like to meet his father-in-law and mother-in-law who live near CCS, before he took me home. I said that I would love to and we made our way back through two more hours of traffic to Thonburi.
During the journey, Sua plied me with questions. “What is the difference between a ‘mansion,’ a ‘condo,’ and an ‘apartment’?” “What is the difference between ‘died’ and ‘dead’?” “What is the difference between ‘hotel,’ ‘motel,’ and ‘inn’?” I responded in kind, learning the words for store - “ran-kah,” restaurant - “ran-ahan” (or fancy restaurant - “patra-khan), big - “jai,” and small - “lek.” I have really come to enjoy these conversations, because it not only shows how interested Sua is in learning English and gives me chance to teach him, but it also allows me to think more about our language and to find ways to explain so many things, the knowledge of which I just take for granted.
Sua 44 (Tiger) is married to Meow 30 (Cat) and his father-in-law is 48, just 4 years older than him, something he relayed to me with great amusement. Meow’s parents live in a low-income area just one street over and a few blocks down from CCS, where they run a food stand outside of their home.
Thai’s with money live in neighborhoods like the one where CCS is housed, but another group of entrepreneurial working-class Thais, live in spaces that we would most likely associate with two-car garage, their business either held in the front portion of the living space or right outside. The living space often housing a couch, television, bookshelves and various other possessions is downstairs, while the bedrooms and cooking area are upstairs (or so I presume because I have never been upstairs in this type of home). The downstairs opens up into the street just as a storefront would, with a large metal roll up door behind a pull over metal gate. When this door is open, their living quarters are made available to the public eye from the front street. There is no other front door (at least from the street) and when the roll door is shut, I have no idea how they get out (without, obviously, reopening this door).
Meow’s parents live in just such a home and run a food stand across the narrow alleyway across from the front of their home. To get to their home, we walked from the street, across a piece of plywood over a canal, through a mass of food stalls in the grass adjacent to their front “door.” Sua’s father-in-law was napping in a canvas cot when we arrived; his mother-in-law was chatting with a friend on the couch in front of the television. As our visit had not been announced in advance, I felt a little uncomfortable barging in on their lives, but Sua didn’t act like anything was out of the ordinary and his mother-in-law woke his father-in-law and we were all introduced. His mother-in-law’s friend spoke a little English and asked me where I was from and how long I would be in Thailand (the two most commonly asked questions in Thailand along with “do you speak Thai?”). I asked his mother how she was in Thai and she responded and smiled, asking “Do you speak Thai?” To which I responded, “Poot Thai di nit noi. (“I speak a little Thai” although though I do not yet know how to follow that up with, “But I don’t understand word of it!”). Sua brought me a coke and asked if I wanted to have a snack (which I really didn’t having been stuffed since lunch, but not wanting to appear impolite). Sua’s father-in-law whipped us up a spicy Thai salad and we shared it over a coke.
After our snack, we said our good-byes and made our way back over the canal to the truck, where I promptly walked over to the driver’s side and tried to get in. Sua, still opening my door on the passenger side, looked at me strangely until I relied what I had done. I walked over to him and explained that I had forgotten I was in Thailand for moment and was getting in to what would be the passenger side back in the States. We had a good laugh over that one and it was a nice way to end an enjoyable afternoon.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
Public Transportation
I am covered in grime and probably have black lung, but I have mastered Bangkok transportation. Today is a Thai Holiday, Chakri Day (the anniversary of the founding of the Chakri Dynasty, of which the present ruling monarch King Bhumipol is the ninth king)so we had the day off from work. Since I (will) have been here for a month (on Fridy) and the next group of volunteers is due in a week or so, I decided that it was time I figured out my way around without taking a taxi everywhere and use public transporation like the rest of the locals.
We took the local bus to Khao San Road to get tickets for our trip to Ko Phangan (http://www.thailand.com/travel/beach/beach_surat_phangan.htm). Halfway through the ride, as my face was accosted by layers of thick, smelly air, the phrase "there are some advantages to travelling by taxi" began circling through my head. But it was only 5 bhat, whereas a taxi would have been 53 bhat. Quite a bargain.
Next it was off to the River Taxi. I had planned to take the taxi to Ta Satorn, where you would catch the sky train, but since there isn't anything to see at that stop - and I figured that once I had figured out how the system worked, I could get to Ta Satorn when I needed to go there - I decided to head to Chinatown.
The Chao Praya River Taxi's run three different boats, local, express and something else (long express?). Express flies a blue flag and only stops at certain piers; local flies a Thai flag and stops at all of the local route piers. The system seems to work something like this: because it is scorching under the sun on the river, everyone waits under the awnings at the pier until a local boat is spotted and then everyone herds down to the floating portion of the pier until the boat docks. Then, the mass of people who migrated to the back of the boat to disembark crowd off and you follow the crowd on to the boat and are corralled up to the front. Then when your stop is next, you squeeze your way back to the back and repeat the steps in the opposite direction. It is actually a lot of fun and much cooler than on the streets. If you are lucky enough to get a seat, you can relax and take in the houses and shops along the river.
In Chinatown, I wandered around the shopping area, through alleys about six feet across, filled with bodies packed together trying to move in both directions, but not getting very far. Along with the people trying to get through the alleys there were motorcycles, people with huge carts of wares and as the alley got a little wider, tuk-tuks and cars! The one car I saw trying to get through was literally knocking things off shelves with its side view mirrors.
I made my way to the Golden Buddha, the world's largest solid gold Buddha (the one that had been covered in cement to protect it from invaders, but broke when they were moving it and revealed that it was made of solid gold). It was interesting to see, since I'd heard the story so many times, but I was actually disappointed not to see the solid gold fat smiling "Buddha" I had pictured for so long (I have yet to get used to this thin, feminine looking Buddha image, even though you'd think I would with Buddha shops every other block!) I got a very touristy picture of myself and the Buddha image and decided to head home.
After getting the river taxi back, I hoped on a local sangtheaw and headed home very pleased at having figured out Bangkok's public transportation and releasing myself from the mercy of the taxi drivers.
We took the local bus to Khao San Road to get tickets for our trip to Ko Phangan (http://www.thailand.com/travel/beach/beach_surat_phangan.htm). Halfway through the ride, as my face was accosted by layers of thick, smelly air, the phrase "there are some advantages to travelling by taxi" began circling through my head. But it was only 5 bhat, whereas a taxi would have been 53 bhat. Quite a bargain.
Next it was off to the River Taxi. I had planned to take the taxi to Ta Satorn, where you would catch the sky train, but since there isn't anything to see at that stop - and I figured that once I had figured out how the system worked, I could get to Ta Satorn when I needed to go there - I decided to head to Chinatown.
The Chao Praya River Taxi's run three different boats, local, express and something else (long express?). Express flies a blue flag and only stops at certain piers; local flies a Thai flag and stops at all of the local route piers. The system seems to work something like this: because it is scorching under the sun on the river, everyone waits under the awnings at the pier until a local boat is spotted and then everyone herds down to the floating portion of the pier until the boat docks. Then, the mass of people who migrated to the back of the boat to disembark crowd off and you follow the crowd on to the boat and are corralled up to the front. Then when your stop is next, you squeeze your way back to the back and repeat the steps in the opposite direction. It is actually a lot of fun and much cooler than on the streets. If you are lucky enough to get a seat, you can relax and take in the houses and shops along the river.
In Chinatown, I wandered around the shopping area, through alleys about six feet across, filled with bodies packed together trying to move in both directions, but not getting very far. Along with the people trying to get through the alleys there were motorcycles, people with huge carts of wares and as the alley got a little wider, tuk-tuks and cars! The one car I saw trying to get through was literally knocking things off shelves with its side view mirrors.
I made my way to the Golden Buddha, the world's largest solid gold Buddha (the one that had been covered in cement to protect it from invaders, but broke when they were moving it and revealed that it was made of solid gold). It was interesting to see, since I'd heard the story so many times, but I was actually disappointed not to see the solid gold fat smiling "Buddha" I had pictured for so long (I have yet to get used to this thin, feminine looking Buddha image, even though you'd think I would with Buddha shops every other block!) I got a very touristy picture of myself and the Buddha image and decided to head home.
After getting the river taxi back, I hoped on a local sangtheaw and headed home very pleased at having figured out Bangkok's public transportation and releasing myself from the mercy of the taxi drivers.
Monday, April 04, 2005
A Hint of What’s to Come
I woke up last night to the pounding of rain on the roof and watch as it continues out side my window at 11:00 in the morning. The streets of our little neighborhood were flooded and our departing van was greeting by the slight of Foon sloshing up the street, his feet buried up to his ankles in rushing water. I began to question my timing for a June – July trek, but was relieved a bit as I read in various places on line this morning that “the rainy season is a good time to travel in Southeast Asia” because the rains “usually only last an hour or two in the afternoons” and “there are less tourists” and “the accommodations are more affordable”. I hope this is not just the tourism bureau’s way of getting tourists out to spend their money in a time when the locals are all safely, dryly, tucked away in their homes.
Thai Massage – I Stand Corrected
I take back every negative word I said about Thai Massage. If I had the money and was more of the self-indulgent persuasion, I would devote the rest of my life to Thai Massage, to receipt of, that is.
When the girls made it back on Sunday, I asked if anyone wanted to join me for a Thai Massage at Healthland (not that I deserved on after my weekend of sloth). Alexandra, who had been raving about Healthland since we arrived (she’s been here since January) willingly accepted my offer and off we went. Since neither of us know the translation for “Healthland” in Thai, we directed the cab driver towards Central Pin Klao which is just past Healthland on the other side of the Pin Klao Expressway. When we neared our stop, Alexandra reached in the front of the cab to point over to the right where we wanted to get off and the driver playfully pretended to bite her arm. Laughing, she tried again,”Yut ti nun, ka” and again had her arm assaulted. Luckily the driver knew what she meant and pulled over to let us out, laughing, leaving us with another memory of Bangkok’s colorful cabbies.
Healthland looks like the White House from the outside and a very austere, sparsely, yet tastefully decorated, lobby inside. The focal point, at the back wall, was a waterfall down a stone wall carving of elephants. We walked up to the counter and asked for two Thai Massages (no private room).
After a few minutes, a woman motioned for us to follow her and led us to a bench in a small hallway where we removed our shoes and were given woven grass house slippers to wear. We then followed two women up two flights of stairs, past white walls and shaded windows (private rooms), down a hall with curtain partitions on either side divided up into about six separate sections. We were led into adjoining sections, separated by a curtain, and the woman motioned to the folded clothes on the bed. After a few moments of fumbling, Alexandra, a veteran of Healthland, had to come to my assistance.
The pants are what Alexandra calls “fisherman” pants and are the epitome of “one-size-fits-all.” I stepped into the pants, asking Alexandra, as I did, if she cared to join me (which she could have quite comfortably) and she laughted as she took the excess fabric in the front and folded one side over the other to fit securly around my waist. She then handed me the strings at the back and I pulled them around to the front, tying them together, holding everything in place. The shirt was more self-explanatory; you simply slipped it on and tied four ties in the front to keep it closed. Once I was dressed, my masseuse came in and asked me to lie on my back, after which I was treated to two of the most relaxing hours of my life thus far.
Since this was my first professional massage of any kind, much of this may not be new to some of you, but it was all new to me. In this particular massage, they start with your feet and move their way up your legs, using fingers, hands, forearms, knees and feet. You are bent into positions you could probably never manage on your own and the stretching feels wonderful.
During the massage, you are covered in a felt blanket and each time she is finished with an appendage, she lovingly tucks it back under the blanket keeping you warm and cozy. When she was finished with my legs she came up an worked on my arms, putting me in an incomparable state of bliss. I’ve always been a huge fan of hand massages and this time was no exception. From there it was on to my stomach, where my legs were again treated and then my back and my arms, shoulders and neck. It’s a good thing that these women are little, because at times they are kneeling on the back of your thighs, their hands pressing into your back as you bear all of their weight. At one point, she stood on the back of my thighs, pulling my feet into yet another stretch.
Finally, it seemed she was finished. She covered me all up, tucked me in and asked me to wait “a moment.” Lying on my back, all tucked in, listening to the soft music in the background, I could have waited for hours.
When she returned, she moved around to the top of the bed, where she lifted me up and placed my head on a pillow in her lap. I was in for a treat. Loving head and face massages even more than hand massages, I was just slightly disappointed (I know, how spoiled am I?) to not receive one, and was elated to find that the best was still to come. From her new position, she worked on my face, my scalp, my neck and my shoulders. She then, got me in a cross-legged seated position, with my arms behind my back, palms facing out. She sat behind me and put her arms through the spaces formed by my arms and twisted my back to each side until it cracked. She then, rolled me over her, somehow, so that I was lying on my back with her underneath me, held up only by her feet. It was surreal. She walked around on my back to and let me stretch for a few moments and then rolled me back to a seated position. I had to wonder how she manages that with people who weigh much more than I do!
Then, she stood up abruptly, smiled, and asked me to change back into my clothes, leaving me feeling just the slightest bit cheap as I hurriedly dressed in the empty room.
Once dressed, we were returned to the bench where we’d left our shoes. We changed our shoes, tipped our ladies 50 bhat and made our way back home, smiling at the memory and guiltless pleasure for a mere 10 US dollars (and needing to remind myself that I came here to volunteer...).
When the girls made it back on Sunday, I asked if anyone wanted to join me for a Thai Massage at Healthland (not that I deserved on after my weekend of sloth). Alexandra, who had been raving about Healthland since we arrived (she’s been here since January) willingly accepted my offer and off we went. Since neither of us know the translation for “Healthland” in Thai, we directed the cab driver towards Central Pin Klao which is just past Healthland on the other side of the Pin Klao Expressway. When we neared our stop, Alexandra reached in the front of the cab to point over to the right where we wanted to get off and the driver playfully pretended to bite her arm. Laughing, she tried again,”Yut ti nun, ka” and again had her arm assaulted. Luckily the driver knew what she meant and pulled over to let us out, laughing, leaving us with another memory of Bangkok’s colorful cabbies.
Healthland looks like the White House from the outside and a very austere, sparsely, yet tastefully decorated, lobby inside. The focal point, at the back wall, was a waterfall down a stone wall carving of elephants. We walked up to the counter and asked for two Thai Massages (no private room).
After a few minutes, a woman motioned for us to follow her and led us to a bench in a small hallway where we removed our shoes and were given woven grass house slippers to wear. We then followed two women up two flights of stairs, past white walls and shaded windows (private rooms), down a hall with curtain partitions on either side divided up into about six separate sections. We were led into adjoining sections, separated by a curtain, and the woman motioned to the folded clothes on the bed. After a few moments of fumbling, Alexandra, a veteran of Healthland, had to come to my assistance.
The pants are what Alexandra calls “fisherman” pants and are the epitome of “one-size-fits-all.” I stepped into the pants, asking Alexandra, as I did, if she cared to join me (which she could have quite comfortably) and she laughted as she took the excess fabric in the front and folded one side over the other to fit securly around my waist. She then handed me the strings at the back and I pulled them around to the front, tying them together, holding everything in place. The shirt was more self-explanatory; you simply slipped it on and tied four ties in the front to keep it closed. Once I was dressed, my masseuse came in and asked me to lie on my back, after which I was treated to two of the most relaxing hours of my life thus far.
Since this was my first professional massage of any kind, much of this may not be new to some of you, but it was all new to me. In this particular massage, they start with your feet and move their way up your legs, using fingers, hands, forearms, knees and feet. You are bent into positions you could probably never manage on your own and the stretching feels wonderful.
During the massage, you are covered in a felt blanket and each time she is finished with an appendage, she lovingly tucks it back under the blanket keeping you warm and cozy. When she was finished with my legs she came up an worked on my arms, putting me in an incomparable state of bliss. I’ve always been a huge fan of hand massages and this time was no exception. From there it was on to my stomach, where my legs were again treated and then my back and my arms, shoulders and neck. It’s a good thing that these women are little, because at times they are kneeling on the back of your thighs, their hands pressing into your back as you bear all of their weight. At one point, she stood on the back of my thighs, pulling my feet into yet another stretch.
Finally, it seemed she was finished. She covered me all up, tucked me in and asked me to wait “a moment.” Lying on my back, all tucked in, listening to the soft music in the background, I could have waited for hours.
When she returned, she moved around to the top of the bed, where she lifted me up and placed my head on a pillow in her lap. I was in for a treat. Loving head and face massages even more than hand massages, I was just slightly disappointed (I know, how spoiled am I?) to not receive one, and was elated to find that the best was still to come. From her new position, she worked on my face, my scalp, my neck and my shoulders. She then, got me in a cross-legged seated position, with my arms behind my back, palms facing out. She sat behind me and put her arms through the spaces formed by my arms and twisted my back to each side until it cracked. She then, rolled me over her, somehow, so that I was lying on my back with her underneath me, held up only by her feet. It was surreal. She walked around on my back to and let me stretch for a few moments and then rolled me back to a seated position. I had to wonder how she manages that with people who weigh much more than I do!
Then, she stood up abruptly, smiled, and asked me to change back into my clothes, leaving me feeling just the slightest bit cheap as I hurriedly dressed in the empty room.
Once dressed, we were returned to the bench where we’d left our shoes. We changed our shoes, tipped our ladies 50 bhat and made our way back home, smiling at the memory and guiltless pleasure for a mere 10 US dollars (and needing to remind myself that I came here to volunteer...).
The House to Myself
After Tony left, I had the house to myself for the weekend, which was nice for all of about five minutes, when I began to perk at the sound of leaves rustling, mistaking it for a screen door or the sound of voices that had filed the house just 24 hours before. I spent the weekend trying to convince myself that I had come all the way to Bangkok and the least I could do was leave the house, but the a/c was so inviting, the books so plentiful, the food fairy so punctual (Noo brought both my lunch and dinner while I was upstairs and so it seemed a plate of delicious food simply materialized when I came downstairs) and my options for entertainment, all a walk, boat, and cab/sky train ride away. I made it to the gym and to the store to drop off my film to be developed and even to the mall on Saturday night to check out to local English title bookstore, but overall spent the weekend reading and working on my paper for work. Once the house refilled with laughter, voices and slamming doors, I’d wished I’d had some more interesting weekend tales, but just found myself content to listen to their tales, looking forward to future trips of my own and simply happy to be among friends once more.
Farewells
Our first group is already down by two. I can’t imagine leaving already. There is definitely a different rhythm to life when you have a limited time in one place. For them, the goal was to see all they could see for the short time they were here, while I have the luxury of settling in and enjoying the natural rhythm of life (the down side of which, sometimes the natural rhythm of life can be boring!)
This was a week for farewells: Wednesday night was the last night we could all go out since two of the girls were leaving for the weekend on Thursday morning; Thursday night we were down to four, and Friday just myself and one other volunteer.
Wednesday after the massage class, we headed down to one of the many local bars. Three of us had yet to ride in a tuk-tuk and since we weren’t going far, and the other two were leaving this weekend, we opted for this, slightly more adventurous, mode of transportation. The cab came for the rest and left us standing on the corner. After about 20 cabs and no tuk-tuks, we were ready to give up (ok, I wasn’t, I had my heart set on a tuk-tuk, but acknowledged that we could get one on the way back…). Luckily for me, the next vehicle to pass was a tuk-tuk. Now I haven’t ridden in the back of many golf-carts, but I would venture to guess that riding a tuk-tuk is somewhat like riding in the back of a golf-cart, but with a supped-up engine - in a video game.
While the basic rules of the road, i.e. green means go, red means stop and drive on the left, seem to apply in Bangkok, their application seems to be varied based on the situation, except, of course, for green means go, which always applies. Due to this, as a passenger on the roads of Bangkok, you literally put yourself at the mercy, not only of your driver, but of the millions of tuk-tuks, taxis, motorcycles, songthaews (small pick up trucks with two benches in the back), cars, buses, mini-buses, pedestrians and stray dogs that happen to meander across five lanes of traffic. Our ride to the bar was no exception.
We climbed in, three to the seat, and headed off over the bridge accelerating to what I hope was the tuk-tuk’s top speed, only to lurch forward as the driver came to a screeching halt behind a large truck at the first red light. As we turned the corner, we dodged a few motorcycles and pedestrians, only to be confronted by a tuk-tuk speeding down the wrong side of the road. Our driver expertly avoided the on coming tuk-tuk and kept on at the same pace right past our friends standing on the corner waving madly and seemingly oblivious to our shouts of “Yu ti ni, ka! Yu ti ni! (Stop here!)” He pulled over about half a block from the bar and we deliriously exited the tuk-tuk, happy to be on solid ground, but knowing that probably wouldn’t be our last tuk-tuk ride.
Thursday, down to four, we decided to go out in style with a drink at the Bamboo Bar in the Oriental Hotel (one of the world’s top 10 hotels). We all dressed up in our fanciest attire (which for me was a stretch since I packed, not for drinks at the oriental, but slogging through muddy streets during the rainy season in Vietnam) and caught a cab to the Oriental.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed. The place is massive and extremely tastefully decorated. The lobby is quite large, made even more so by its high ceilings and is furnished with couches and chairs, temporary roosts for impeccably dressed guests waiting on taxis or watching the crowds flow by. The two sets of doors to the inner courtyard were glass from floor to ceiling and parted automatically as you walked through. The courtyard contained a large pool surrounded by tables and lounge chairs and was bordered by separate buildings on all three sides, the fourth giving way to a beautifully constructed skyscraper that lit up the sky.
On top of the Bamboo Bar, on the ground floor on the right after the “Casa de Habana” for all your cuban cigar and brandy needs, was a restaurant with an entire wall (I couldn’t see either end) of florescent lit fish tank filled with brightly colored fish. The Bamboo Bar itself is straight out of a movie and I half expected to see Richard Gear sitting at the bar with an empty glass and a wistful look on his face. At the front, sit a pianist and sax player, filling the bar with soft jazz as the smartly dressed waitresses bring you your fruity beverage of choice complete with an artistically twisted straw wrapper. We spent a relaxing hour or so sipping our drinks and enjoying the temporary break from our usual routine.
On Friday, I joined Tony at his last rounds at the hospital and luckily for me there was nothing going on (my stomach lurched just at the words “mass casualty” above the emergency room door!”). We also spent a few hours at one of the local community clinics where the doctor goes once a week to hear patient ailments and prescribe treatments. One after the other, middle aged to old aged Thai’s came in and pointed out maladies (a heat rash, a swollen ankle, a sore that wouldn’t heal, a muscle strain). We were told that the most common ailments among the people in this community are due to the nature of their work as farmers, although apparently one woman’s legs had atrophied because she sat around all day and did nothing. One thing that was common among almost all of the patients was high blood pressure, high cholesterol and diabetes, possibly (?) due to diets high in sugar and coconut oil.
Friday evening, everyone had left but Tony and I, so we decided to head out to Sit at Side for one last time. After a few beers, we decided to check out the dance club scene in Thailand and asked our new friends at the bar for a recommendation on a good dance spot. Surprisingly, they pointed us towards Kho San Road, which seems to be the strip in Bangkok, not only popular among young tourists, but also among young Thais.
When we arrived at the club, Sabai, it was empty and we were just about to turn around when a young Thai girl grabbed our arms and pointed upstairs, where we were greeted by pumping dance music and a room packed full of young Thais. The music was mostly familiar to both Tony and I, although we were the only foreigners there (Unfortunately the Thai music that I’ve heard is more suited to elevators than dance clubs) and we joined a group dancing near the door and made about 10 new friends. Leaving the club around 1 a.m., we found ourselves back out on a street filled with people and lured by the tempting aromas, sat on the curb people watching and enjoying some street pad Thai.
I saw Tony off to his cab at 4 in the morning and headed to bed until about noon the following day.
This was a week for farewells: Wednesday night was the last night we could all go out since two of the girls were leaving for the weekend on Thursday morning; Thursday night we were down to four, and Friday just myself and one other volunteer.
Wednesday after the massage class, we headed down to one of the many local bars. Three of us had yet to ride in a tuk-tuk and since we weren’t going far, and the other two were leaving this weekend, we opted for this, slightly more adventurous, mode of transportation. The cab came for the rest and left us standing on the corner. After about 20 cabs and no tuk-tuks, we were ready to give up (ok, I wasn’t, I had my heart set on a tuk-tuk, but acknowledged that we could get one on the way back…). Luckily for me, the next vehicle to pass was a tuk-tuk. Now I haven’t ridden in the back of many golf-carts, but I would venture to guess that riding a tuk-tuk is somewhat like riding in the back of a golf-cart, but with a supped-up engine - in a video game.
While the basic rules of the road, i.e. green means go, red means stop and drive on the left, seem to apply in Bangkok, their application seems to be varied based on the situation, except, of course, for green means go, which always applies. Due to this, as a passenger on the roads of Bangkok, you literally put yourself at the mercy, not only of your driver, but of the millions of tuk-tuks, taxis, motorcycles, songthaews (small pick up trucks with two benches in the back), cars, buses, mini-buses, pedestrians and stray dogs that happen to meander across five lanes of traffic. Our ride to the bar was no exception.
We climbed in, three to the seat, and headed off over the bridge accelerating to what I hope was the tuk-tuk’s top speed, only to lurch forward as the driver came to a screeching halt behind a large truck at the first red light. As we turned the corner, we dodged a few motorcycles and pedestrians, only to be confronted by a tuk-tuk speeding down the wrong side of the road. Our driver expertly avoided the on coming tuk-tuk and kept on at the same pace right past our friends standing on the corner waving madly and seemingly oblivious to our shouts of “Yu ti ni, ka! Yu ti ni! (Stop here!)” He pulled over about half a block from the bar and we deliriously exited the tuk-tuk, happy to be on solid ground, but knowing that probably wouldn’t be our last tuk-tuk ride.
Thursday, down to four, we decided to go out in style with a drink at the Bamboo Bar in the Oriental Hotel (one of the world’s top 10 hotels). We all dressed up in our fanciest attire (which for me was a stretch since I packed, not for drinks at the oriental, but slogging through muddy streets during the rainy season in Vietnam) and caught a cab to the Oriental.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed. The place is massive and extremely tastefully decorated. The lobby is quite large, made even more so by its high ceilings and is furnished with couches and chairs, temporary roosts for impeccably dressed guests waiting on taxis or watching the crowds flow by. The two sets of doors to the inner courtyard were glass from floor to ceiling and parted automatically as you walked through. The courtyard contained a large pool surrounded by tables and lounge chairs and was bordered by separate buildings on all three sides, the fourth giving way to a beautifully constructed skyscraper that lit up the sky.
On top of the Bamboo Bar, on the ground floor on the right after the “Casa de Habana” for all your cuban cigar and brandy needs, was a restaurant with an entire wall (I couldn’t see either end) of florescent lit fish tank filled with brightly colored fish. The Bamboo Bar itself is straight out of a movie and I half expected to see Richard Gear sitting at the bar with an empty glass and a wistful look on his face. At the front, sit a pianist and sax player, filling the bar with soft jazz as the smartly dressed waitresses bring you your fruity beverage of choice complete with an artistically twisted straw wrapper. We spent a relaxing hour or so sipping our drinks and enjoying the temporary break from our usual routine.
On Friday, I joined Tony at his last rounds at the hospital and luckily for me there was nothing going on (my stomach lurched just at the words “mass casualty” above the emergency room door!”). We also spent a few hours at one of the local community clinics where the doctor goes once a week to hear patient ailments and prescribe treatments. One after the other, middle aged to old aged Thai’s came in and pointed out maladies (a heat rash, a swollen ankle, a sore that wouldn’t heal, a muscle strain). We were told that the most common ailments among the people in this community are due to the nature of their work as farmers, although apparently one woman’s legs had atrophied because she sat around all day and did nothing. One thing that was common among almost all of the patients was high blood pressure, high cholesterol and diabetes, possibly (?) due to diets high in sugar and coconut oil.
Friday evening, everyone had left but Tony and I, so we decided to head out to Sit at Side for one last time. After a few beers, we decided to check out the dance club scene in Thailand and asked our new friends at the bar for a recommendation on a good dance spot. Surprisingly, they pointed us towards Kho San Road, which seems to be the strip in Bangkok, not only popular among young tourists, but also among young Thais.
When we arrived at the club, Sabai, it was empty and we were just about to turn around when a young Thai girl grabbed our arms and pointed upstairs, where we were greeted by pumping dance music and a room packed full of young Thais. The music was mostly familiar to both Tony and I, although we were the only foreigners there (Unfortunately the Thai music that I’ve heard is more suited to elevators than dance clubs) and we joined a group dancing near the door and made about 10 new friends. Leaving the club around 1 a.m., we found ourselves back out on a street filled with people and lured by the tempting aromas, sat on the curb people watching and enjoying some street pad Thai.
I saw Tony off to his cab at 4 in the morning and headed to bed until about noon the following day.
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