The Wandering Begins

The third of five postings from my recent trip to Thailand

Last night was spent walking around the relatively quiet city of Petchaburi to get a feel for this somewhat out-of-the way place. My walk included a great visit to an outdoor night market for dinner where I exchanged many smiles with Thais and even had one vendor offer me a free hunk of coconut custard. It proved to be possible, but not that easy, to sleep in my crappy hotel room next to a major bridge. There were mosquitoes to contend with throughout the night hours and plenty of loud street noises beginning at around 5 or 6am. Nevertheless, I managed to wake up rested and ready to explore the nearby national park of Kaeng Krachan.

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At breakfast, I ask about renting a motorcycle. The owner, a charismatic women in her 50s or 60s dressed entirely in black, begins to discourage me from going to the park today (saying that it would be crowded with Thais on holiday) and warns me of the dangers of driving a motorcycle in the midst of New Year's traffic. A European man sitting at the next table echoes her concerns and remarks that he personally knows several tourists who had been hit by trucks during their motorcycle escapades. Although it had been my plan to zip down to the park on a bike, their pleas move me to reconsider.

So I trudge out of the guesthouse with my pack and head towards the area of town where one can find public transport to the park. After asking around, I find the right "bus" to my destination. In fact, this "bus" is a Chinese truck with a roof mounted over the bed and fitted with benches running down either side. I have ridden in such vehicles on previous trips to Asia, and often they are packed full of locals and cargo. Luckily, this time there are only a half-dozen passengers and no serious cargo. Across from me are two middle-class young Thais off on a trip to the park, one of whom is a professional translator (Japanese to Thai) who also happens to speak decent English. So we chat for awhile during the trip, and she translates anything of note uttered by the driver.

Our ride to the park takes awhile, primarily because there are many stops en route and a few extended periods of waiting for other passengers to show up. During these stops, I get out to stretch and walk around. Locals take note and I get plenty of great double-takes and stares. We finally arrive at the park entrance almost 1.5 hours later. I am ready to explore this jewel of the national park system, but am surprised to learn from a ranger that there are no hiking trails nearby, that the next ranger station (which supposedly provided access to hiking trails) was 20km distant, and that the only sensible way to see the park is with a private vehicle. I feel a challenge coming on and wish that I had rented that motorcycle rather than being scared off by the hotel proprietor. The ranger agrees to hold my backpack at the headquarters and, after helping me fill out the obligatory form (including a $5 entrance fee), tells me to make friends and find someone who could drive me into the park.

It has been many years since my last hitchiking experience. But necessity drives me to desperation as I stand by the edge of the parking lot and try to wave down vehicles headed in the right direction. The first few stop, and I try to request a ride, but in each case no one in the car speaks English and the driver is absolutely stumped by my pitch. Despite pointing to the map and showing my desired destination, I am unsuccessful at getting any traction or agreement. Driver after driver looks at the map, scrutinizes the symbols, says aloud the name of my destination, discusses with other members of their group, and then finally just gives up. I thank each one and then proceed to flag down the next target.

Finally I find a pickup truck with willing drivers. They are dressed in military fatigues and are headed to the special forces training camp located near the park entrance. This ride lasts only a few minutes, at which point they drop me at an intersection, apologize for not being able to drive me all the way to my destination, then take off. I will have to be persistent.

I ask several locals hanging out at the intersection which direction to take to get to the ranger station. They point to the left, and so I begin walking in that direction, knowing that another ride would be needed to get me there. About ten minutes into my walk, a truck passes and stops at my hail. This driver is also confused by my request, but tells me to get into the cab with him, his wife, their dog, and a load of freshly picked bak choy. We speed off in air conditioned bliss for awhile, then he pulls into a driveway, apologizes to me, and begins to speak with the residents of the house, all of whom are sitting outside hanging out. It quickly becomes apparent that he is asking these people about my desired destination, getting advice from them about directions. The advice is given, and the driver reaches into the back and hands over several bak choy to the man as thanks. Then we resume our journey. While his wife toys with her cell phone, the driver asks me a few questions in halting English. Our conversation is labored, but he manages to convey the fact that he is a farmer and lives in this area. About 10 minutes later, we come to a stop at a roadside stand. The driver again asks locals for assistance on my behalf. He cannot take me any further, and begins to draw a map for me as his wife puts together a bag of snacks for me. As I prepare to tackle the next leg, which he insists is 20-30km, he reconsiders and negotiates with a young boy to drive me the remaining distance on a motorcycle. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out money to pay the boy. This is too much, so I insist that he should not be paying for my transportation. I am absolutely stunned by the sense of responsibility this man has assumed for my well-being. I thank him with a big bow and he gets back into the truck and drives away.

The boy starts up his motorcycle and I mount the back, balancing carefully as we cruise down the road, which soon turns to dirt, and then ultimately back to paved before reaching the park entrance. The ride is liberating, especially since neither of us are wearing helmets, and I feel so blessed to have been lucky so far on this day. We arrive at the ranger station that has been my avowed destination, I pay the boy 60 baht ($1.50) for the ride, and I approach the uniformed park rangers standing behind a gate. They check my ticket, stamp it, and motion for me to enter. I ask about the nature trail that the first ranger had described. These rangers, none of whom appears to speak any English, all shrug and indicate that no such trail exists. They point to a place on the map that is 15km distant, and let me know that I can walk on the road but won't find any trails until that point. The news is disturbing, since I felt close to victory in this quest, but I am determined to succeed and begin walking.

A few minutes later, I flag down another passing pickup truck. This truck, occupied by a family obviously intending on a weekend of camping, agrees to take me to the campsite and makes room in the pickup bed for me. I jump in and the journey continues. We drive for about 20 minutes through lush forests and take in views of dramatic hills and cliffs. Then we come upon a broken truck on the side of the road and pull over to offer help. The driver of this other truck has the hood open and is inspecting the engine for clues to its failure. All the men in my truck gather around the hood and try to diagnose the problem. They all decide that the key is more water in the radiator, and one man gently removes the cover causing steam to release and spray everwhere. They grab some of their own water and start pouring it into the overheated radiator, which results in more hot steam being created and spewing out with great force. I have two bottles of water and am loath to part with either, but given the generosity that has been shown thus far, I hand over one bottle and the fluid promptly disappears into the radiator. But more liquid is needed. A passing truck is flagged down and more water appears from strangers eager to help. It goes into the radiator and steam continues to vent. A giant bottle is summoned from one car and finally the radiator is filled to the satisfaction of the assembled. The driver gets into the front seat and turns the ignition, but the truck will not start. Our efforts have failed. The assembled men appear unfazed, give up, return to their vehicles and we continue towards the campsite.

I am thrown around in the back of the truck but hold on long enough to survive until getting to the campsite, where I dismount and thank them for their help. Now I have finally arrived. But where? The campsite is packed with Thais who have set up tents, unloaded vast amounts of food, and are getting ready to party. I cruise the scene, get some pretty interesting stares, and then find the "nature trail". It is 3pm and I give myself an hour to hike before trying to find my way back to the park headquarters. The nature trail winds through dense jungle and I manage to see several cool primates, possibly gibbons, in the trees above munching on leaves. But the trail dumps me into a riverbed that quickly leads back to the camping area, and I realize that further exploration will be difficult. It is closing in on 4pm, so I return to the road and begin to walk back towards the entrance, which is 15km distant, hoping to hitch another ride.

The walk is serene but marked by some trepidation. I realize that I am unprotected in a wild area, have a very long walk in front of me, and may find it impossible to catch a ride of any sort. I pass by a sign that reads "Leopard habitat" and get the chills. I imagine myself confronting a hungry leopard in this remote stretch of road, and try to understand what would be the appropriate response. I find a walking stick and plan to use it as a weapon in case of emergency. The walk continues and the sun starts to sink lower. I pass a sign that reads "wild animal salt lick" but see nothing of interest. Several beautiful and strange birds float overhead. I have walked 6km (with 9km remaining) when a noise from behind me catches my attention. It is a vehicle. I wave my arms as it approaches. The car stops, and it contains two westerners -- a woman and her teen-aged son. They first agree to drive me to the park gate but we soon discover that they are drivng down the coast and will pass my desired stopping point for the evening, the coastal town of Chaam. They are Russians from Moscow on vacation in Thailand, and we manage to have a good conversation in English. They offer to take me all the way to Chaam, and I realize that my luck is indeed good. En route we discuss traveling, life in Russia, and the son's love for reggae music. I score points by immediately identifying the reggae CD he puts in the stereo (Burning Spear). Both of them are drinking beers and the driver also smokes constantly. After some time, I get the impression that she is actually drunk, but this fact doesn't really concern me. Close to Chaam, I feel something warm beneath my butt and realize that she has accidentally tossed a lighted cigarette into the back seat and it became lodged under my butt. I move the cigarette, put it out, and note the burn mark on the back of my pants. It is a small price to pay for this miraculous ride.

They drop me off on the beach, and within minutes I have found a cheap, clean, and comfortable hotel room at the guest house run by a Dutch man and his Thai wife. We talk about the tsunami and then I take the shower that has been on my mind all day.

Now I'm off to check out New Year's Eve festivities. Tomorrow I will catch a morning train to Khao Sok, a national park further south and within proximity to the devastated areas. Reports on the internet indicate that the park is completely safe and not effected by the tragedy. Then I will head to the islands of Ko Pha Ngan and Ko Tao.

Every day is an adventure.

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A travel report from Thailand that offers no perspective on the tsunami

The second of five postings from my recent trip to Thailand

I have now been in Thailand for a mere 96 hours, but it feels like a lot longer. This place is familiar to me despite the fact that my only previous trip occurred five years ago. My life is much different this time around, and the introduction of a major global disaster certainly changes the atmosphere. But you may be surprised to hear that life in Thailand, outside of the areas directly hit by the tsunami, goes on without much evidence of the tragedy. Flags are flying at half mast and televisions show endless shots of the waves thrashing buildings. In Bangkok, Thai students congregated in the backpacker ghetto (Kao San Road) to sing songs, burn candles, and collect monetary donations. And televisions everywhere show endless loops of the video clips from Phuket and other places hit by the waves. But apart from these indicators, the impact on daily life seems relatively modest. At least in the areas I've been traveling through.

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So my first-hand exposure to the disaster and its horrors is practically non-existent. I have yet to meet any backpackers returning from that zone of the country. But that may change in the next few days as I go south towards the epicenter of the tragedy. Don't worry, I am not planning on visiting the actual locations of the devastation.

Today I left Bangkok after several days of intense urban adventures. My time in Bangkok involved visits to many beautiful and glittering Buddhist temples, wandering the labrynth of tangled streets on foot, trying out the brand new subway system (very clean and fast), cruising through markets, getting therapeutic massages (including one from the famous Wat Pho massage school and another Swedish/Thai variant from a high-end spa), and eating everything being cooked up on the streetcorners that looked (and smelled) appealing. I also spent one day with Natalie (the ex-wife of my current Berkeley landlord) who took me out for lunch -- and introduced me to the delicacy of pork tendon -- then to her family home where I presented them with gifts (a bottle of Johnny Walker Black for the grandmother and a kilo of Toblerone chocolate for the rest of them) while we watched the latest news of the tragedy on CNN. That evening, Natalie and her boyfriend Gon drove me to a city one hour south of Bangkok for a seafood feast (lobster, prawns, calamari, oysters and other fish) that left me stuffed, grateful and exhausted.

Despite the abundance of opportunities to explore Bangkok, I felt the need to leave the city and head out towards new destinations in the south, an area I barely explored during my last visit. So this morning I woke up at 6:30am and caught a taxi to the train station just in time to grab a cappuccino and a fried corn cake before boarding a train towards the south. Almost three hours later, I arrived in the city of Petchaburi. This is not a typical tourist destination. As evidence of this fact, I offer the following anecdote -- when purchasing my ticket two days ago at the train station, a middle-aged Thai woman approached and offered help (which was totally unnecessary), asking if I was trying to get to Chiang Mai (a major tourist destination in the north). After I told her my intention to visit Petchaburi, her polite smile turned into a quizzical frown and she slowly backed away in utter confusion. Her _expression was truly priceless and made me feel good about going somewhere slightly off the beaten path.

The train ride was comfortable and easy. I was the only farang (foreigner) on the train, but noone really paid much attention to me. Our train car had three attendants who punched tickets, served food (sweet cakes) and beverages (tea), and distributed little golden bells to everyone while wishing us a happy new year. I started working on a song about the need to cease craving in order to end suffering -- it's intended to be a buddhism-inspired piece and could develop into something quite interesting. But I have crafted many inspired but partially-written songs, so my expectations for this one remain limited.

After getting off the train, I marched into the center of town toting my backpack and navigating using the map in the Lonely Planet guidebook. My sense of direction turned out to be "spot on" as the British say, and within minuted I had landed at the hotel marked in my guidebook as the best amongst a small number of options. The hotel is a wooden structure abutting the river and a very busy bridge in the center of town. My room is extremely sparse -- just a hard bed and a rack for hanging clothes. The price is tough to beat (140 baht or ~$3.50) but I expect to have difficulty getting a good night's sleep due to noise and mosquitoes. At least that's what the German couple I met in the attached restaurant explained. This couple, Uwe and Bianca, have been cruising through Thailand in a rented car, were originally planning to visit islands in the south that were thrashed by the tsunami, and are currently headed towards some remote areas on the Thai-Myanmar border just for kicks. We had a nice chat in the restaurant that broke into dead silence when I wryly remarked that George Bush has identified the evildoing tsunami, will be bombing it into submission, and will no longer allow freedom-loving nations to be terrorized by these heinous natural forces. My humor tends to be a bit dry, so they paused and asked with much trepidation if I am a fan of George Bush. I let a few beats pass before responding with an extended tirade about the 51% of Americans who are complete fucking morons and then offered a mea culpa about the election. They were very gratified and thanked me profusely for being opposed to Bush.

After settling into my tiny room, I rented a bicycle from the hotel owner and set out to explore the city and its Wats (temple complexes). The first Wats were almost completely deserted, so I had some quality private time with giant shining Buddhas housed in ornate and shining teak temples. The atmosphere was serene and uplifting, and I did my best to enter a semi-meditative state.

While biking to the next temple, I pass by a schoolyard and hear Thai dance music blaring from the speakers while young children swirl around in a central open space, dancing and jumping to the beats. I stop and stand by the fence to observe. As the kids notice me, a few start waving just to see my reaction. I wave back. They smile, and I return the smile. Soon others are trying their luck with getting me to respond to their gestures. I oblige each time and they are obviously thrilled and titilated by the experience. Then the teachers call them to sit in a group in front of a stage that is covered with wrapped presents. These are probably New Year's gifts that will soon be handed out. Even while seated, several little children start waving to me and yelling "hello". I continue waving, broadcasting a big and open smile, and then decide it's time to move along. The experience fills me with contentment.

At the third wat, which I enter by accident, there is a strange noise eminating from the main structure so I peddle closer, get off my bike, and approach the building. A small crowd has gathered outside and I can hear the sounds of chanting from within. I peek in through the doors and see about 20 monks clothed in saffron robes chanting in unison while seated in front of a giant Buddha. The people outside, who looked like typical Thais, urge me to take a photo of the event, but I feel uncomfortable snapping away during what is obviously a religious ceremony. Instead, I remove my shoes and enter the temple. Sitting at the back with my legs folded behind me and my feet pointing towards the wall (pointing one's feet at the Buddha is the ultimate faux pas), I press my palms together just like the old women to my left and allow myself to feel the chanting penetrate my body. The rhythm is consistent and the melody doesn't change much for about 10 minutes. Then suddenly it ends and I see one monk take a sip from a bottle of 7-up, a sign that the formal portion of the ceremony is over.

The old women sitting on the floor approach me and offer a flower and some sticks of incense. I accept, knowing that these were donations that I am expected to pass along to the monks. We exit the building and wait on line to place the flowers and incense in a pouch held by a young monk. When my turn arrives, I carefully offer my tokens and do a quick wai (bow) to show respect. As I walk away a young boy comes over, grabs my hand, and leads me to two old women seated by the temple entrance. One of them takes my hand and both smile broadly, exposing near-toothless mouths. I return the smile. They start peppering me with questions in Thai, but the language gap leaves us in a difficult position. A few younger women in our vicinity step up and ask about my nationality. This was apparently the question posed by the old women. After telling her of my origins, I ask what else the old women were saying. The young woman says that the old woman likes me. I feel affirmed that my personal energy and manner has engendered such a response.

Then the young woman asks if I will be going to Phuket. I assume this is a joke, given the tsunami, so I answer no and the assembled locals all laugh. The young woman tells me that she and her friends are going to Phuket in the next few days, which sounds like a continuation of the joke. I press her on it, and she explains that one of them has a place to stay and that everything is fine there now, so she really will be headed to Phuket for vacation. She punctuates the explanation with a nervous giggle. I am stunned given the news reports about the lack of basic infrastructure, sanitation, and water. But she's completely serious.

We move on to other topics and I ask her to tell the old women that I am an American Buddhist. This concept proves too difficult for me to communicate, so I drop it and we move to the photo session, which involves pictures of me with the jovial old women and then me with the unsmiling monk. Then the group disperses, I head to my bike, and begin to peddle out of the complex. As I pass, one of the old women shouts to me and points at another younger woman nearby. I suspect that she is telling me that this woman is single and offering to serve as a matchmaker. I just smile, wave, and ride away into the city.

After visiting another gourgeous temple housing a magnificent golden Buddha, I ride to the base of some nearby hills, the tops of which hold a series of temples, spires and impressive structures. This is a tourist destination, and there is a cable car that takes visitors to the top of the hill. As I get into the cable car, the attendant points to my can of coca cola and says the word "monkey" to indicate that I've got to be careful not to lose my drink to an aggressive non-human primate. I immediately notice that the area is swarming with Macaque monkeys, one of which sits only feet away from me and rides the cable car for awhile before jumping into the forest. The temples at the top are quite magical and offer views of the surrounding countryside which is quite flat. I sit in a small temple at the highest point, look up at a Buddha statute, and ask for spiritual and life guidance. Before the Buddha can answer, a French tourist pokes his head into the temple, breaking the tranquility and stymying my quest for enlightenment. For now.

It's 6pm and I may cruise the night markets to see what looks tasty before walking the streets and seeing what random interactions transpire. Tomorrow I plan to rent a motorcycle, drive to a national park, hike for several hours, return to Petchaburi, drop off the motorcyle, and then catch transport to the coastal city of Chaam for New Year's. After the dawn of 2005, I intend to go deeper into the south and spend two nights at the Khao Sok national park, which is relatively near the coastal areas that were hit by the tsunami. I've already checked with the tourist authorities, and they say everything is fine at the park. So it isn't dangerous to visit, but I may finally encounter some people who witnessed the disaster. Then I still intend to visit Ko Pha Ngan and Ko Tao, islands off the Eastern Coast that were untouched by the waves. Tourists are now re-routing their trips to avoid the East and may end up on these islands as a substitute. It's hard to tell what's really going on from this vantage point.

I hope it isn't weird to hear of my exploits in the midst of tragedy. But sometimes the best thing to do is carry on. Everyone around me is just going about their normal routines, and so my traveling plans will continue. There isn't much I can do apart from avoiding the hard-hit areas, donating both money and blood, and spending my money with local businesses to keep the tourist-dependant economy alive. I will make a blood donation in the next day or two and will continue to give money at each opportunity.

That's the story from my view of this part of the world. It may not jibe with the news on CNN which paints a portrait of tourists fleeing Thailand in droves. The travel scene in Thailand continues, and it will take more than this earthquake to stop people from making the pilgrimage to this special place.

More as it develops...

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I was nowhere near the tsunami

The first of five postings from my recent trip to Thailand

I hadn't expected to find so many anxious email messages when logging into my account today, but news of the tsunami appears to have freaked out those who love me. No need to worry. After 36 hours of transit, I arrived in Bangkok last night and spent the remainder of the evening enjoying some green curry and a walk through the backpacker ghetto. Today I meandered through the Grand Palace and Wat Pho -- two tremendously inspirational temple complexes. Between meditating amongst the endless Buddhas and my first body-twisting massage with hot steaming herbs, I have already settled into the travelling mentality.

Based on what I've read, the tsunami did serious damage to the islands off the Western coast of Thailand. It had always been my plan to visit the Islands off the Eastern coast, although the American traveler I met during my 8 hour layover in Guangzhou airport kept urging me to go stay in a bungalow on Ko Phi Phi, which turns out to be one of the worst hit places. Am I being sent some sort of sign?

I have plenty to relate about the marathon journey, and my initial experiences in Bangkok, but those can wait for another time.

Direct your prayers towards those who need the help.

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