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.

(the story continues on the next page....)

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.