Elaine and I are deeply saddened by the tragic events and loss of lives- and livelihood- in SE Asia due to the devastation reeked by the Tsunami. We dedicate this piece:
To All Our Friends in Thailand
The jungle drums are beating
With the tales from late last night
'cause stories bear repeating
For everyone's delight
You can hear 'em on the coconut telegraph (telegraph)
Can't keep nothin' under their hat
Jimmy Buffett, Coconut Telegraph
Our approach to Thailand was fairly simple: locate a beach hut, at shore level, with nothing to obstruct our view of sand and sea, and drink in the scenery, morning, noon and night. Thailand has developed a booming mini-industry based on the rental of beach huts to farangs, some just little shacks, others splendid palaces. The word from the yellow bible aka SouthEast Asia on the Cheap by Lonely Planet Publications was that almost anyone could find their definition of paradise in Thailand; our plan was simply to expand ours.
Entering southern Thailand from Malaysia, we passed some beggars on the small international bridge, and reached the Thai customs booth. They were extremely cordial, and issued the necessary stamps.
Unfortunately, the officer stamped mine wrong and I had to go back and get the sixty day stamp, instead of the thirty days I'd been issued. We then had a 1 km walk to the train station at Sungai Kolok, where we hoped to catch a train to Phattalung. Things were already a little different in Thailand, especially the language, which was in an undecipherable script; the sight of buddhist monks also reminded us we were entering new territory.
The train was scheduled to leave at 10:30 pm, so we had time to convert some currency into bahts at a local bank. At the rather quiet train station, the beginning or end of the line in Thailand, depending on your point of view, we purchased our tickets. We chatted with some Canadians on their way to the much-publicized Koh Samui, and watched the station come alive as our cars saddled up to the platform.
We decided to travel 3rd class because we'd heard that it was a very comfortable mode on Thai trains if travelling during the day. As if to confirm this, we were assigned seats, our car was (relatively) clean, featured a lavoratory, and a porter who actually swept the aisles. We made a pact to travel by train in Thailand whenever we could.
Food was continually offered for sale -- either from a menu, or by hawkers who walked up and down the cars with huge platters of prepared delicacies, shouting indecipherable sales pitches. Cold drinks were also proffered by these hawkers, carried in enormous woven baskets lined with plastic, ice, and beverages of all sorts, including the notorious Mekong whiskey.
The train ride was very restful, and we ate and drank our fill while gazing at the landscape, which changed from flat lands to spectacular small angular hills. We were crossing the isthmus which separates the South China Sea and the Indian Ocean, beginning at Singapore and forming the Malay Peninsula in the south, and skirting the Burmese border until the land spread out at Bangkok, further to the north.
At Phatthalung, there was some confusion as we tried to find the bus depot (no train crossed to Krabi, our first destination in Thailand). We tried to communicate with locals by employing our rather extensive Bahasa vocabulary we'd learned in Malaysia and Indonesia. Thai has absolutely nothing in common with this language, so it was quite a comical non-conversation.
The keyword turned out to be our destination: Krabi. We were directed to a small brightly coloured pick-up, a little bigger than the average bemo we'd travelled in thus far, and clambered aboard for a quick tour on our way out of town. We passed serene-looking Buddhists temples and young monks called novices in their bright saffron sarongs walking solemnly along the avenue
After a half hour wait, where we spent our time trying to communicate with young Thais eager to speak some English, we boarded a bus for Trang. We passed through a region that had been in control of communist rebels until recently, when an amnesty had been negotiated. We could see roadblocks, which looked like toll-booths, where the military could set up, and stories we'd heard about farangs getting robbed on this route at gunpoint to help finance the revolution seemed all too real.
The bus, which was a second-class model, was a lot of fun. The Thai ticket handlers would walk up and down the aisle with a long metal tube, with a flap that lifted up to show divided sections, for tickets and coins. He'd shake this back and forth, and the coins inside would jingle like cha-cha sticks in a mariachi band. He'd peel off the tickets according to destination, and hand these when paid. This became a very common sight in Thailand, as almost every bus except for first-class had one of these ticket handlers.
The bus station at Trang doubled as a hotel and restaurant, and we stayed here for the night, since buses to Krabi were finished for the day. We dubbed this the no-name hotel, since it didn't have a decipherable sign in front. We had to pass through the restaurant and climb a set of stairs towards the back to look at the rooms. For 60 baht ($3), we were given a very clean room with double bed, working ceiling fan (Third World air-con), attached mandi with soap and towels (a decided luxury!), screens on the windows, and a location at the back of the hotel- very quiet; cold, pure bottled water was also provided at no extra charge.
We decided to dine at the restaurant in the "lobby", since we were rather worn-out from 12 straight hours of travel since waking in Kota Bahru that morning. As in Greece, we were invited into the kitchen to see what was cooking in the pots, which was a good thing, considering we couldn't read the menu. Ample portion of fish, rice, chicken, veggies and hot dip was set in front of us, all for 20bt ($1) each.
For some reason, despite the fact the fish and chicken curries were about a "three-alarm-fire" hot, Elaine said it wasn't spicy enough. Usually, I am the one who finds food too mild (with the exception of Padang beef!), but she kept adding more of the hot sauces set out in small dishes on the table. This she later regretted, as she was up 7 times with the runs and the ring of fire.
Fortunately, this was really the first time Elaine had suffered the effects of the dreaded Asian belly, whereas I'd been down for the count in Bali and Sumatra. She didn't sleep very well at all, and in the morning, said she thought she could handle the bus ride to Krabi; I think she was as anxious as I was to get to the beach.
Don't Get Krabi
For our journey to Krabi, we didn't have far to walk. The bus was waiting for us right outside the hotel, so I ate a quick breakfast (Elaine was nursing her curry-belly), and soon, we were on our way. The journey featured more enchanting Thai villages scenes, and it was only about two hours to Krabi, a fairly easy ride.
We thought the town of Krabi was right on the beach, and were surprised to be deposited next to a river, with no sign of coast in sight.
Rumour had it that the waters hereabouts were a favourite haunt for pirates in days gone by, because of the many island and caves, which provided great hideouts. Today, however, the new industry is tourism, as many farangs fan out from Phuket, the former hip resort in Thailand, now overrun with high-class resorts and fat-cats.
To get to Pai Pong Beach, which we'd read about on a poster at the Swiss Hotel in Penang, we trucked to the Amata House. We were informed a truck would take us to the beach in about a half an hour, which was a good thing, because it gave Elaine a chance to rest a bit; she was fading fast, so I conveniently neglected to tell her there was a boat ride involved in getting to the beach. Better not to get upset by thinking about boat rides when one is nursing a queasy stomach.
The friendly proprietors of Amata house owned the Pai Pong Resort, located in a secluded bay, some 16 km outside of Krabi. The region features an incredible variety of limestone hills and cliffs, some of which have been weathered into beautiful shapes which reminded me of figures common on cheap bamboo Oriental calendars. In fact, we passed on set of hills called the reclining Buddha, since this is what the hillside looks like if you stretch your imagination.
We came over a small hill, and before us lay Phra Nang Bay. The beach here was pristine, the water spectacular. We'd stumbled onto a beach many westerners dream about, and this was only our first stop in Thailand. The beach began at a set of nearby limestone cliffs, and seemed to sweep off to the north forever. The word hadn't got out yet on this area, so there was little in the way of development. There were a few bungalow operations on the main beach, but they were set back from the road, not right on the beach, which we craved. It was just palm trees swaying, blinding white sands and swimming pool blue waters.
To Elaine's dismay, we boarded our first Thai long-tail boat; fortunately, it was just a short trip around the limestone cliffs. This saved us having a fairly steep hike over a small land head, which convinced Elaine to go along for the brief ride. As we rounded the small cape, we spotted the beach at Pai Pong and our jaws dropped: a perfect moon-shaped bay, the jungle running up the cliffs behind the resort to a line with the giant cliffs, forming an impassable bowl, and the most unusual rock outcropping at the southern end of the bay. Frankly speaking, this formation looked like a giant penis!
The restaurant was a giant straw hut without walls, and a small bar was manned by the friendly and eager-to-please staff, who grabbed our bags and carried them to the bar, where we were encouraged to register and stay. Dour looking Germans sat as a contingency in a corner, reading and ignoring our existence. We wanted to check out one of the huts first, however, so the inspection process began.
The bungalow rate was 70 baht ($3.50), and for 30 bt, the staff prepared an all-u-could-eat dinner; this was going to be fun, we thought. Then we were shown our bungalow, a small but comfortable straw hut, right at beach level, with nothing to block our view but a few coconut trees. These primitive huts really serve only two purposes in Thailand: to sleep and stow gear. The rest of the time is devoted to lying on the beach or hanging out at the beach cafe. After throwing our gear down, I decided to hang in the cafe, while Elaine had a nap to ward of the belly ache.
The sand was perfect, no stones whatsoever, the consistency of flour (this was one of our measurements on sand quality: did it look and feel like flour?). The ocean was a combination of emerald green and turquoise blue in the noonday sun, but would change colours depending on the time of day. Sand bottom for quite a distance, and one could walk out for about 40 metres before the drop off. There was excellent snorkeling at the south end of the beach near the giant penis, complete with a coral reef and some small caves.
To my surprise and delight, well-met travellers Lou and Sue (who we'd met in Jakarta and traveled all the way through Sumatra and Malaysia to Singapore) appeared from a hike down the main beach over the small land head. They'd been expecting us for the past few days, as they had recently arrived from the Cameroon Highlands, which they loved (I employed the typical traveller's response when someone tells you a place is great, and you've given it a miss: "I'll see it next time!"). They were raving about how great the dinners were at Pai Pong, so I was already salivating, despite the fact it was only about 1 p.m.
Besides the surly German contingent, there was a host of other travellers staying at Pai Pong, who heard about the place through the coconut telegraph (it wasn't mentioned in any of the guidebooks as yet); in fact, when we arrived, we secured the last available bungalow. A group that arrived after us had to be turned away; obviously, the word was out on this place. And why not? Although the place was without running water or electricity, the resort blended into the environment, with a minimum impact (except, of course, for all the garbage we farangs created).
After a joyous reunion with Lou and Sue, they introduced me to a group of people, all very friendly, from all corners of the planet, as usual. It seemed like the program on the beach featured fun in the sun, relaxation, pigging out, drinking and smoking. Sounded like our kind of place.
That night, we enjoyed our first dinner at Pai Pong. It seemed like the food never stopped: typically spicy Thai salad, squid coconut soup, grilled fish, sweet and sour sauteed shrimp, spicy noodles, all washed down with cold Singha beers, followed by a unique dessert of coconut and pumpkin pudding. I was up to the challenge of eating it all, but Elaine just watched, as she wanted to fast for 24 hours to get the bug out of her system. Our hosts sheepishly mentioned this meal would cost 35 bt instead of 30 bt, because of the added shrimp dish, and extra 25 cents! Oh well, blow the whole wad.
Our first morning was really sensational. I was awakened by the sound of squeaking and the pitter patter of feet on the ceiling. Then, the rat ran right across our mosquito net, which instantly roused both of us out of our deep and peaceful slumber. Then we thought the dirty rat might be in bed with us, so we jumped out like a flash, then realizing it was on the floor, jumped right back into bed. Elaine let out a very impressive shriek, and we sat in the middle of the bed wondering where it was hiding. There was more pitter patter of feet, but no sign of the dirty rat. I think her scream sent it off to another area. It was still early, but as soon as the staff woke up, we demanded a new bungalow. They laughed when we told them a rat had climbed up our mosquito net.
"It's not rats you wally about alound here", said Louie, "it's the giant snakes come down from the jungle behind us. They are velly poisonous." This was a great way to cheer us up, I thought.
Fortunately, the German contingent was leaving that day, so we procured a much better bungalow, with an even more spectacular view of the beach. Comfortably established in our new larger quarters, we didn't have any further unwanted visitors. Later, we figured it was because our first hut was so near the garbage pile by the kitchen, an obvious meeting place for rats, which led to the invasion of our quarters.
At breakfast, the staff asked us if we were interested in touring the caves and nearby islands by private boat. For 50 bt each, seven of us pilled into a long-tail for a four hour tour. First stop was a nearby beach, around the giant phallic outcropping, and Gift Bungalows, a resort reachable only by boat.
We were ostensibly there to visit the caves, which we found quite unremarkable. But the beach here was even better than Pai Pong, a beautiful spit of pink sand, one of the most stunning beaches I'd seen anywhere in all my world travels. Unfortunately, without the cliffs behind the resort as a shelter like at Pai Pong, the wind comes whipping through the open canyon, making it difficult to enjoy the beautiful scenery.
Next, we headed out to some of the many small islands off the Krabi coast. We landed on one island with only a fishing hut and some nets, with cuttle fish drying in the sun. We lounged on this sensual desert island for a couple of hours, swimming in the small lagoon, feeling all the while like Robinson Crusoe. Suddenly, we felt like we'd had too much sun, and then enjoyed a leisurely boat ride back to Pai Pong, feeling like it had been well worth the effort. As it was rather rough, those in the front got a good soaking, with one girl commenting that she'd got wetter from the boat ride than the swim!
The next day, a much-improved Elaine and I joined a group of farangs at the restaurant for a traveller's information exchange session. It's always good to get first-hand information about a destination on the itinerary, keeping in mind the traveller's credo: two travellers, three opinions. Still, those coming from where we were headed often were our best source of current information.
We decided it would be great to have a beach party bonfire that night. I volunteered to go to town for a booze run, since I had to exchange some traveller's cheques. The beach resort kept a running tab of all orders, so we really didn't even money, but it was cheaper to buy booze in town.
It was a cheap ride to town on the back of a pick-up, and I decided to explore the lively market. There were so many varieties of peppers, it was no small wonder the food was so hot! The people here seemed to have more in common with Malays. In fact, we later learned that this was the case, as many of the people of southern Thailand were in fact Muslims, seafarers who had come up the coast from the south hundreds of years ago.
I loaded my day bag with an assortment of fruits and several bottles of the Thai rum, SangSom, which was to become our favourite drink while in Thailand. This drink is true rum, made from sugar cane, which is grown in great quantities in Thailand. Mixed with coke, or even better, lime juice, it makes a refreshingly cool drink in the tropical heat.
After another gorging session at the restaurant that evening, we lit a huge fire on the beach. Lou had supervised the gathering of wood, and the group had amassed a huge pile, and had stacked some of it into a teepee, with enough reserves to stoke the fire for hours if need be. It only took one match to get it going, while we sat on the beach to watch another ten out of ten sunset over the Andaman Sea. Since we faced west while sitting on the beach, and the weather was always clear while we were on this coast, every night was a perfect sunset, or as the Kiwis and Aussies said: "Brilliant, mate!".
The moon was half full, the stars very bright and the white sand looked like snow. I was designated bartender, mixing up Cuba Libras, serving them all around, as joints were being twisted. It was a pretty mellow crowd of farangs on the beach, and we decided to try our luck at singing around the campfire. Of course, we ended up sounding like the Moron Fish & Tackle Choir, but it was great fun.
Around three a.m., feeling well tuned up, we decided to wade into the water. To our amazement, the sea glowed with phosphorescent sparkles, created by planktons that heat up like fireflies; this was pretty psychedelic, given our state of mind. We stayed up until we saw the pink glow of sunrise over the cliffs. We could hear the monkeys roaring in the jungle behind us, and it was all pretty unbelievable.
After a few more days of this incredible scene, we decided to move along before we became a permanent fixture at Pai Pong. Lou and Sue were headed to Koh Phangan, across the isthmus on the South China Sea, but we decided to stay on the Andaman Coast. On my shopping excursion in Krabi, I noticed an ad for a resort called Sea Borya. This looked promising, as the huts were only 40 bt, with full course dinner for 20 bt! Because we'd been partying so much at Pai Pong, we thought it might be a good idea to be on a quiet beach to catch up on our writing.
We were told to be at the restaurant in town at 2 p.m., and after parting company with Lou and Sue and our other beach partiers, we found ourselves sitting in the back of a pick-up, driving for about two hours through back roads to a mangrove swamp. Then, we boarded a small long-tail boat, which meandered a complicated network of passageways deeper into the mangrove swamp, feeling more like New Guinea than Thailand. It was pretty hot, but the scenery was picturesque and quite inspiring. Soon, we came out to the coast, and after following an uninteresting shoreline for a couple of miles, landed at the resort.
We kept hoping the sea and the sand would turn to the colours we'd been spoiled on at Pai Pong. But here, the sand was not so spectacular, and we were already starting to miss our little hut and beach. However, a group of Aussies and Kiwis were hanging out on canvas loungers, and said they'd been there a week already, and just loved it. We realized it was a question of frame of reference, for they hadn't seen the pristine beaches of Krabi, so Sea-Borya seemed pretty spectacular.
The brand new beach bungalow was pretty tiny, set on stilts over the sand. The facilities were a big improvement over Pai Pong, as they had running water and showers; they even had gas-generated electricity. At dinner, the food was absolutely delicious and very plentiful, but we were already pining about leaving Pai Pong. Sunset was gorgeous, since the beach faced also west, as at Pai Pong, and in the distance, several islands glittered in the afterglow. After dinner, the owners demonstrated Thai dancing, and encouraged all the farangs to participate. This was good for a laugh, and we all looked pretty ridiculous trying to mimic the gyrations of our instructor.
Gilligan's Island
No Phone, no lights, no motorcar, not a single luxury,
Like Robinson Crusoe, it's primitive as could be.
The Aussie and Kiwi contingent explained they had chartered a boat to Koh Phi Phi for the next day at 6 am. When we inquired about two more seats (we decided the beach did not live up to our by now high standards, despite the food and sunset), we were informed there was indeed two more spaces.
Once again, we went through the motions of packing and getting off to a very early start. We just had time for a cup of piping hot coffee before we boarded the long-tail boat. We remembered to sit at the back of the boat, after our charter, when the water came crashing over the hull. The sun came up over a grove of coconuts, as we pulled out of Sea-Borya, like a faded rose on the horizon. Red sky in the morn, sailors take warn, went the old saying; we knew it was going to be another scorcher. A sad look was painted on our hostesses' face, since all the farangs were leaving.
After about an hour, Phi Phi began to loom larger on the horizon. Then, we came around the cape into the bay. The picture before us was like a return to paradise: a narrow stretch of white sand for about three kms, the most beautiful we'd seen to date, and some beach huts. The water regained the multi-hued shades of blue and green, and beyond this long beach (which was its name), a series of small bays, fringed by rock outcroppings and the ubiquitous palm trees, were layed out until they met a giant limestone cliff. Blue, red and white fishing boats bobbed in the main harbour, and a gizzillion coconut trees formed the canopy of the island. Across the bay, Phi Phi Le, the uninhabited cousin of this island, sat like a vision of the South Pacific; in fact, we felt like we were in Bora Bora, not Thailand.
Phi Phi Le is famous for its beautiful coral lagoon and its caves, which harbour swallows and their valuable nests. A recent article in National Geographic profiled the agile climbers who harvest these nests and sell them to Chinese, who in turn create the exotic bird's nest soup.
According to Joe Cummings, who wrote Lonely Planet's first guide to Thailand:
"the nests are made of saliva which the birds secrete- the saliva hardens when exposed to the air. When cooked in broth, they soften and separate and look like bean thread. The Chinese value the expensive bird secretions highly, believing them to be a medicinal food that imparts vigour."
We had landed in a paradise that was on the verge of being discovered big time by the west. A fairly primitive beach hut industry had developed on the island, and it took some time to find a resort with vacancies, as the word was out along the coconut telegram among adventurous travellers that Phi Phi was a very unspoiled island.
When we looked at a map of the island, we could see it was shaped like an hourglass, with a very narrow isthmus in the middle, where most of the bungalows and a tiny fishing village were located. At the east end of the hourglass, at long beach, the beach huts suffered from lack of water. Where the isthmus was at its narrowest, it was a stones throw from one side of the sea to the other.
After walking from Long Beach toward the port, with every resort sold out along the way, we came upon the Andaman Sea Resort. Here there were plenty of very roomy huts; we picked one with a double bed and mosquito net, a small table and concrete floor. We were one row off the beach, so weren't 100% satisfied, but were glad to be in such lush surroundings, nonetheless. As it happened, we were able to scoop a hut right on top of the beach the next day, which simply added to the wealth of pleasures offered by this exotic island.
We immediately settled into our bungalow, and I decided to check out the mandi. To my surprise, who did I see coming out but Emily, our old friend from Bali. This was an amazing coincidence considering we said we'd meet again in Thailand! I decided to surprise Brad by sneaking into to his hut. He was lounging about on his bed, and was indeed amazed to see me after over three months! This would make our stay in Phi Phi even more delightful, because these two had Ph.D.'s in "fun in the sun".
Brad and Emily were from Oakland California, and maintained the west coast attitude of keeping an open mind and enjoying life. Brad was about six foot four, sported a great tan from months in the tropical sun, kept a little "rat tail", a braided mini pony tail so much in vogue among travellers, which I also had. He was a born salesman, and made friends with everyone he met, as he had that magical charisma.
Emily had almost stereotypical California looks: blonde hair, blue eyes, great figure, and also had a great tan. She loved to argue about many different subjects, which was alright by us, as we enjoyed a good debate, as long as things stayed friendly. She was also deadly at cards, and I don't think I ever won a game when she was playing, as she was awesome. It was great to see them, as this meant we'd continue to hang with people with similar tastes and interests. And, their knowledge of the region was second to none, as they'd been travelling the region for over three years.
Our holiday on Phi Phi began with a swim in the bay outside our front door. The sand wasn't quite as smooth on the sea bottom as Pai Pong, but still, it was a simple matter of walking out the front door, and crossing a spit of sand before plunging into the water. What a pleasant and sophisticated way to start the day! We had a little table set up right outside our door, so we could sit and write in our diaries. Then, with Brad & Emily and other friends we'd met at the resort, it was off to the fishing village for breakfast (the restaurant in our resort had atrocious service).
The fishing village of Ao Don Sai has been a very peaceful for centuries, reputedly a resting place for sea gypsies who ply these waters. Then, some very adventurous travellers found their way to the island, and the word got out on the coconut telegraph. Normally, when travellers come to a place, development begins at a slow pace. But with the advent of cheap flights from Europe, and the development of nearby Phuket, Phi Phi became a favourite day trip for fat cat tourists. Then, development sped up, and soon it will be declared spoiled by travellers, and the tourists will take over.
I'd seen this scene repeated many times during my travels, and noted how many places I'd been to had gotten icredibly popular with the passing of time: Negril, Jamaica; Isla Mujeres, Mexico; Santorini, Greece; parts of the coast of Turkey, among many others. On Phi Phi, the number of bungalows had quadrapuled from the year before, according to old hands who'd been coming here for years.
Development on Phi Phi was at the "full speed ahead" stage. The stress on the 700 people who have lived by the sea in their little village was apparent to us. They had gained a certain amount of wealth from baht-wielding farangs. We saw televisions and vcr's in some of the stilt houses, despite the incredibly poor conditions of some of the people. The little restaurants run by locals were doing a great business during this, the peak season.
However, like most things in life, there is a price to be paid for the new found wealth. The locals don't seem to have a sense of what to do with the garbage that accumulates when an influx of farangs hits the shore. The small isthmus simply doesn't allow for much development, and the stress on the land is immediately apparent. We noticed huge piles of the dreaded plastic water bottles and bags right in the middle of the village, a mess I'm sure we contributed to. The Third World man simply cannot comprehend that these things will not disintegrate, like their former wrappings of coconut and banana leaves.
More distressing was the boatloads of daytrippers from Phuket, usually about three to five hundred per day, who were totally insensitive to native customs. Since most of the locals are Muslim, they get upset when bikini-clad women walk through the village, (I'm sure some of the men don't mind, however!) liberally taking photos or videos. Worse still, when some of these Euro's find one of the sheltered bays, they usually immediately disrobe to nude sunbathe. This is extremely offensive to all Thais, and on this topic, we heard a very interesting anecdote from one of locals.
It seems a group of Germans (of course) decided to come to Phi Phi to nude sunbathe. Despite frequent warnings from the resort owner and local officials, they persisted in their hedonistic ritual. The local officials arrested them, but instead of putting them in jail or fining them, they shipped them to a nearby deserted island for three days, to give them more of a natural environment!
Still, life seems to go on largely as it has for the past few hundred years for most of the inhabitants. Fishing is the mainstay, and the small port was often a flurry of activity when the brightly painted fishing boats tied up at the small dock. Shrimp, squid and shark, among many other delicacies, were dominate fares on the menu, until the seas became too rough, and the supply dried up. Actually, the restaurant we frequented, which we dubbed "Mama's", didn't even have a menu. You walked out to the back and looked in the cooler and trusted Mama to create a good meal. The price was always negotiable, but it was usually a good idea to bargain before hand, or else costs could double once it was consumed!
At the far end of the isthmus, we frequented the flash bungalows and restaurant under the steep cliffs called La Cabanas. It seemed as though we were in a European cafe, for the restaurant featured tables with canopied umbrellas with such names as Heineken and Perrier. Here it was possible to eat banana splits and other ice creamed delights after a hearty meal at Mama's, which simply added to our tropical paradise.
Naturally, the island, boats and people were extremely photogenic. We were very careful not to offend the locals by indiscriminately snapping photos of them. They usually didn't want us to take their pics, so we'd respect this. They were very interesting people, a mix of Arab, Indonesian, Chinese and who knows what all. It was interesting to think that the primitive islands of Nicobar and Andaman were nearby; they probably had a few chromosomes in these locals, too.
In general, the locals were very friendly, which often reminded us of the Fijians. We did notice how many of the men had taken to drink, contrary to the Muslim tenants. The kids, however, were quite spoiled by the tourists, and would follow us and beg us to take a few shots of them.
At night, we'd sit in front of our bungalow, where the SamSong flowed freely, and the ganga was passed all round. By now, we'd become an international contingency again, and we were especially surprised to have contact with Israelis. It seems Thailand was one of the few countries in 1987 they can travel in without fear of censure. We found them to be a very enjoyable lot, friendly and ready to have a good time, for sure.
This reminds me of a funny anecdote concerning one of the Jews, David, who had a morbid fear of being hit by a falling coconut. This was not unfounded, since the entire isthmus was given over to growing these, and some trees were as high as 100 ft. Over the course of any given day, we'd hear the distinct "thunk" of a coconut crashing to the ground. David would freeze with fear whenever he heard this sound, for he was sure the next one was destined for him.
"I am sure I am going to be killed by a coconut on this island," he moaned.
This paranoia got worse the longer he stayed on the island, and our poor friend was turning into a basket case. It didn't help that he smoked copious quantities of ganga all day, which probably increased his anxiety. One day, while I was in the mandi going about my business, I noticed a giant hole in the ceiling. Obviously, a coconut had come crashing through the straw roof.
When I next saw our friend, I was with Brad, who became a co-conspirator in a little game of mischief. I explained to David that someone had almost been killed while squatting on the resort's mandi.
"Yeah, he was squatting, taking a shit, when this coconut came crashing through the roof and almost pushed him down the mandi hole, " I lied.
"Impossible," said David, his eyes bulging out at the prospect of being killed while doing his daily constitutional.
"It's true," declared Brad, "we saw the guy this morning and he was still in a state of shock."
David almost ran to the mandi and came back white as a ghost; the evidence was pretty convincing.
"I know I'm going to die on this island from a coconut," was all he could say.
Then, we had to try to convince him that we were only joking. Of course, he didn't believe us, so we spent the better part of the day telling him the odds of getting killed were very low, probably only a few tourists every year get hit by one. No matter what we said, it only made it worse.
Poor David, his bad luck wasn't over yet. One night, he got into his bed in his hut, and sat right on some type of bug, which stung him on his unexposed posterior. Despite the fact it was two in the morning, we were awakened by his scream, as his hut was right behind us. I ran out to see what was going on, and there was David in a real state.
"I'm going to be dead in about three hours," he said. "I just got stung on my ass by one of those deadly scorpions. It's all over for me now. Look at it, I'm sure it is one of the deadly ones."
I looked on his bed at the squashed bug, which didn't seem menacing to me, but I wasn't expert on matters of bugs. We tried to placate him, but this latest incident added fuel to his terror. Of course, he didn't die, and the next day, we walked into the small village with him to congratulate him on surviving. However, whenever a coconut fell to the ground, Brad and I would look at each other, and then at David, and say "Boy, that was a close one!"
During the full moon, the island took on a magical white glow at night. It was almost as bright as daylight; the white sand looked almost neon. And looking out at the water, it was easy to distinguish the various hues of blue. Phi Phi Le sat out in the harbour like a ghost, and the effect was very surreal and fantastical.
We managed to do as little as possible, evoking an old saying we'd lived by when I was hanging out on Kauai years before: Nothing to do, and all day to do it. It became difficult to take time to scribble thoughts down in our journal, for we generally started the day with some Thai ganga. This would put us in a proper space for island time, "living in three quarter time," as Jimmy Buffett would say.
We did walk the beaches early or late in the day, as it was simply too hot to be out at any other time; there are two seasons in Thailand: hot and hotter, and we were entering the hotter phase. At low tide, it was fairly easy to walk along the tide pools all the way to Long Beach, a very peaceful way to gaze at the sunset behind the cliffs.
There weren't any roads at all on Phi Phi, just sand paths hugging the shoreline and meandering off into the coconut groves. One morning, we finally managed to drag ourselves out of bed before the big heat of the day and climbed up the east "hourglass" hill, where we were afforded a spectacular vista of the narrow peninsula. The stunning drop of the cliffs into the sea next to La Cabanas, coupled with the unbelievable shades of blue in the sea and fishing boats dashing to and from the harbour, with Phi Phi Le in the distance, was pretty breathtaking. The picture we took from this vantage is definitely one of our favorites of the entire catalogue of over 2,500 photographs on our world tour!
The funny thing about paradise is that after a while, one begins to see the cracks in the image. It wasn't the fault of the weather, as we didn't see a cloud the whole time. The sea was always perfect, even though the water got a little cloudy once in a while and there a couple of stones on the sea bottom (I mean, how fussy do you want to get?). The malaise ran deeper, and has been analyzed to death by many paradise seekers, how westerners bemoan eden found and then lost.
Pico Iyer summed it up rather neatly in an article in Time magazine I'd read just before we left North America: "As soon as a new last paradise has been found, so many people hurry to make claims on it that it becomes, almost instantly, a lost paradise. With crowds of strangers flocking together to escape the crowds, last year's lotus land becomes this year's tourist trap."
True, we weren't thrilled with the hordes of rotund sunburned tourists who invaded the island everyday from Phuket, but couldn't criticize them too loudly, for we were exploiting the locals, as well. And the garbage was becoming hard to ignore, as it was strewn everywhere. Then, our resort totally ran out of water, since the goofy owner overbuilt the site to the tune of 42 bungalows, with more on the way (this was true of the whole island, in fact).
We had to find a well and pour buckets over our head to get the salt off our body if we wanted to become semi-clean. Never mind how disgusting the mandis became with so many farangs using them without water (why some farangs kept shitting in them when it was already so disgusting is beyond us; suffice it to say that travellers in foreign lands will behave in ways unimaginable at home).
And we could ignore the lazy maids, who slept all day and had to be harassed to change the sheets once a week. Like many places I'd been, I felt the island was on the road to ruin, which may simply be a snobbish attitude, or, as Iyer put it: "If it is the first secret conceit of every voyageur to imagine that he alone has found the world's last paradise, it is the second to believe that the door has slammed shut right behind him."
While I'm sure some of this was tugging at our subconscious, but there was another more pressing concern we no longer could ignore: the island's rather tiny restaurant infrastructure started running out of fresh seafood due to rough seas, and the situation was getting tense. Mama's restaurant only had mackerel, not on my list of favourite dishes unless absolutely starving.
Thanks to Brad and Emily, we did discover the green papaya salad, SomTam, which was hotter than a baker in New Orleans in July. Watching the process of making this salad was almost as fun as eating it. The green papaya was shaved from the unripe fruit, put in a mortar, along with dry shrimp paste, a wide range of peppers, garlic, hot chillis, onions, peanuts, spices, and lime juice, and pounded together, absolutely addictive.
One night, while eating another in a series of boring dinners, dulling our tastebuds on copious quantities of SamSom rum and lime juice, Brad regaled us with ganga munchie fantasies, guiding our taste buds with apparitions of all manner of delectable treats unavailable on Phi Phi: chocolate and cheese cakes, lobster tails, steak and any other kind of meat besides chicken, salami and cheese, on and on it went. But I reached my limit when I started to drool over the thought of a cheeseburger. Then, I knew it was time for us to make our getaway, especially when Brad promised every kind of food we'd been recently craving was available at an island of such legendary re-known on the budget circuit, we'd given it a miss: Koh Samui.
CheeseBurger in Paradise
"I like mine with lettuce and tomato, heinz 57, and french fried potatoes,
Big kosher pickle and a cold glass of beer, well good God almighty
Which way do I steer, for my CHEESEBURGER IN PARADISE!
Medium rare, with an onion slice, not too particular, not too nice, just a
CHEESEBURGER IN PARADISE!"
Jimmy Buffett, The Son of a Son of a Sailor
The reason we didn't rush to Samui the moment we arrived in Thailand was precisely because of the thesis expressed above by Iyer: we'd heard so much about Samui, we figured it must be spoiled. Paradise is meant to be a fine and private place, like the proverbial Garden of Eden, Iyer argued, and we concurred: "Every visitor hopes to keep his idyl to himself; he's in heaven, and hell is other people. 'The place is a Utopia,' he's likely to tell his friends, 'but there's no point in your going there. I saw it pristine, but now it's spoiled forever."
Earlier on this journey, in Fiji and Bali, we'd enjoyed a healthy dose of paradise; Samui would provide us with an important lesson on paradise, the art of travelling on the cheap, and being able to enjoy the company of strangers. But first, we had to get there.
A small ferry ran from Phi Phi to Krabi every other day, so we boarded the early morning boat for the two hour journey. As we rounded the point at Long Beach out of the shelter of the bay, with one last look at the remarkable scenery, the sea became increasingly rough. As if to drive home the Gilligan's Island theme song, "the tiny ship was tossed". Those in the front got completely soaked as the boat was slammed on all sides by huge waves, a pretty harrowing ride, until the captain slowed the engines down to almost a crawl.
The two hour ride turned into about three and half, and we were grateful when we finally docked at the little port in Krabi (Elaine was still nervous when boats started rocking, given our near-disaster in Fiji). We discovered all our gear was tghoroughly soaked, which was somewhat upsetting as we still had a long way to go; mold is always a concern in the tropics. While Elaine and I exchanged some money, Brad ran off to the drug store to buy some over-the-counter Valium.
"I hate travelling by bus in Asia", he professed. He and Emily had toured much of Asia for the past three years including China, India, Nepal and Indonesia - all the nightmare rides. "So, I found the best solution is to get on the bus, eat some Valium, and sleep like a baby. When we arrive, I feel like I've had a refreshing nap."
We boarded the bus at a nearby highway for the port at Surathani, where we'd catch a boat to Koh Samui, and Brad swollowed his Valium, and spread himself out across two seats; soon he was sleeping like a baby. I decided to take in the scenery as we crossed the large isthmus leading from the Andaman Sea to the Gulf of Siam. It was extremely hot in the non-air-conditioned bus, and soon I too was dozing off, without the aid of medication.
We arrived too late to catch the last hydrofoil to the island, so we decided to book onto the over night slowboat. As dusk settled on the river port of Ban Don, street stalls instantly appeared alongside the quay. There was a great selection of foods to be had quite cheap, and we dined on bar-b-q'd pork, chicken and seafood on skewers. The activity portside was incredible, as it seemed the whole town of Surathani came to the port to eat. As we hadn't come in contact with the Thai lifestyle thus far, we were just learning that the national pastime in this beautiful country is eating!
We purchased out tickets, which cost 50 baht and included a "sleeping berth". The boat was rather unique, as it was looked like a floating double-decker bus. The top level was definitely the better choice, as it had many more windows and allowed air to pass through the portholes, unlike the darker quarters below; besides, it looked easier to hop out of the top windows if need be. We were assigned specific spaces, but of course these were designed for Thais, and we westerners actually needed a space and a half. We were provided with pillows and sheets, so it seemed like a pretty good way to cross the strait betwen the mainland and the island.
Normally, the trip from BanDon to Samui takes about 2 hours by hydrofoil. But the slow boat is over six hours, and was mostly for the benefit of locals, who couldn't afford the fees on the newer vessels, or a few tourists looking for a little adventure, and those arriving too late to catch the faster boats, like us. The ride became rough at one point, and later, we heard stories of these boats getting stuck on sandbars for several hours at low tide.
On our next trip to Thailand two years later, we read in The Bangkok Post that one of these boat had caught on fire, with many casualties. Fortunately, we made it to Koh Samui in about five and a half hours, arriving at the port of NaThon at the ungodly hour of 4:45 am.
Brad and Emily knew exactly where the action was on Samui, given the scope and variety of beach resorts on the island, which was staggering; this was the sixth trip here for these two, and they had spent this past Christmas and New Year's on the island. Upon disembarking, we were immediately greeted by eager bemo drivers, who controlled the local transportation business. All one had to do was throw backpacks on the convenient roof racks, which were designed with travellers in mind, since we were far and away the majority guests here.
We were the only travellers headed to Chaweng Beach, which Brad claimed was superior to Lamai Beach. Old hands on Samui like Brad and Emily would debate other old hands about the particular merits of the two beaches. Actually, either one would have been terrific vacation spots in any country, but Thailand has such an abundance of dynamite beaches, it encourages such esoteric dialogue.
It wasn't exactly the best time to be taking notes about the island, as it was still quite dark; the only picture we really got from our ride out to the beach was that there certainly were a lot of coconut plantations. This was an understatement, as we soon discovered, for as in Phi Phi, virtually the whole island is given over to coconut and copra production. In fact, in the days before tourism, the beach was considered worthless, with the really valuable property being the hills where large plantations were planted. Samui was a much larger island than Phi Phi, however, so the numbers of coconuts seemed much more spectacular.
We arrived at Chaweng Beach at about 5 a.m. at Brad and Emily's favourite beach hut operation, called, not surpringly, Magic Light Bungalows. Brad claimed we could secure a bungalow at King Star next door for the ridiculously low fee of 30 bt ($1.50). He also said these were right on the beach, while their hut would probably have a limited view of sand and surf, since most of the resorts have only a limited amount of beach frontage. They tend to build their bungalows on an angle, one behind each other, or in rows, from front to back.
The beach was pretty lively, since giant waves were breaking just off shore. The sun came up straight out in front of us, and soon, staff woke up from their sleep on the floor of the restaurant (no sense in wasting space in beach huts on staff, when every available room can be rented to tourists at this, the peak season!). Brad knew the owner, and was able to secure a bungalow at a reduced rate, only three huts off the beach, since some people were leaving that very morning.
In the meantime, we went next door and talked to the management at King Star. As it turned out, they did have a bungalow available right on the beach, with no obstructions whatsover. We looked inside, and realized it really wasn't more than a very basic small shack. But the price was right, and we really only needed a place to stow our gear and sleep, so we decided to get settled right away.
Instead of getting some needed sleep, Brad and I decided to smoke a joint of some wicked weed he'd scored from one of his many contacts on the beach, and reconnoitered the situation. Looking down the beach, we could see why Samui had received so much praise from fellow travellers.
The beach was about 7 km long, pure white sand, the longest on the island. The water was another perfect blend of blue and green, but was a little rough as it was the end of the windy season. Brad decided the best program would be for us to hit the surf, and try our luck body surfing.
This turned out to be a very good move, and we spent the better part of the morning being tossed about by the waves. The surf was ideal for this sport, and all one had to do was walk out to where the waves were breaking, while diving into the waves to avoid being swept backwards toward shore. Then, after a little trial and error to determine which waves provided the best ride, it was easy to hop into the curl and be propelled like a missile into shore.
This activity raised our hunger level, so we decided to try out one of the fabled restaurants on Samui. One of Brad and Emily's favourite spots was called Lucky Mother's, at the north end of the beach. We walked down and grabbed a table at the small cafe, which was situated above the shore on a small breakwall. Menus were presented but there wasn't little doubt about my order.
Emily stated the burgers were made with "buff', shorthand for water buffalo. These placid animals are the cattle of SE Asia, a common fixture in rice paddies, fields and hillsides throughout the region. So, a buff cheeseburger it was. I was very impressed with the breadth and depth of food at Lucky Mothers. The price of a cheeseburger was only 30 bt, about $1.50, and included real western-style french fries. It was served on a homemade bun, with real cheese made locally. There was even ketchup on the table!
But the proof is in the pudding, as the old cliche state. Digging in for my first bite, I tasted the magnificent blend of bun, meat, lettuce, tomato, mustard and cheese. This merger produced a positive reaction in the taste bud region, and in short, was delicious. This was the best burger I'd eaten, bar none, on the entire journey. After countless meals of curry, noodle, rice and fish on Koh Phi Phi, it was a comfort to sample good old fashioned western fare. Call me crazy, but ultimately, we need eat foods we are familiar with if we are to continue to be happy in this life. It reminds us of home, and makes us all the less inclined to head back there!
We were elated to verify that eating was in fact one of the main pasttimes on Samui, and that Brad's food fantasies on Phi Phi were not simply in jest. The food industry had matured since the late seventies, when the first hippies arrived on the island to explore its unspoiled beaches, and had prepared local produce over bonfires. Actually, development on Samui could almost be considered a classic case of how an island progresses from an undiscovered utopia to an over-commercialized tourist nightmare (which it had become, in the eyes of many old island hands and cynical westerners who thought they were so sophisticated, they could spot paradise a mile away).
In the early days, a magical place like Samui is a big secret, and the only way to hear about it is on the coconut telegraph. Soon, westerners on the off-the-beaten-track become disenchanted with former havens, like Phuket, which regressed from hippy beach to Club Med playground in about fifteen years. They seek out new retreats, such as Samui, and low-level backpack ghettos develop, with cheap bungalows and lots of hippy dream-foods, like pizza and cheeseburgers, provided by anxious-to-please locals. Updates to the Lonely Planet guides and its foreign language cousins contributed to the flow of traffic from one place to the next, as we'd learned in our travels.
What we could consider as the second phase of development had begun by the time we arrived on Samui. More upscale bungalow facilities were being built, some with air-conditioning and beautiful gardens. For example, we inspected one flash resort on Chewang Beach called The Pan-Sea, very modern, but set in the coconut trees almost in complete harmony with nature. Here, the bungalows featured tiled bathrooms with hot showers and western toilets (as opposed to the notorious Asian squatter); 24 hour a day electricity; sitting rooms with caned furniture and wide verrandas; triple-thick foam mattresses and hole-free mosquito nets; wind surfing, diving, snorkeling, even water-skiing, among other water activities, and two upscale restaurants.
At Pan Sea, a more sophisticated traveller is sought, one who spends greater sums of money, yet still craves the adventure of a non-packaged holiday. The word gets out rather quickly, especially in Europe, where cheap flights to Thailand can be had. Soon, a higher class of traveller migrates to the islands, what we could describe as "yuppies who one were hippies". In fact, the packaged travel industry was started to wake up to the fact that adventure travel has become a high-growth industry, and it was getting easy to book a bungalow on Samui from Bangkok, but still fairly difficult from Europe or America, given the state of the telecommunication system, which was still very primitive on the beach.
Still in the second phase of development, great restaurants pop up, and for the traveller with discriminating tastes, the beach may be an adventure in culinary delights. At Chewang, we could dine on foods from Thailand, Italy, Germany, America, France, Arabia, China, Japan, and more. Such crowd-pleasing favourites as pizza, steaks, omelettes and other western delights are the norm rather than the exception. Bartenders tune into western drinks, and everything from a margarita to a Mai Tai may be quaffed. Even rare wines begin to appear at more upscale resorts. Prices remain incredibly low, compared to the west, but one begins to hear the inevitable rumble from the old hands of how this is spoiling the island, much like we'd heard on Phi Phi.
These poor souls don't want to admit it is better to have the option of sleeping in more modern facilities than rat-infested bungalows, and to dine in comfortable surroundings, with clean safe food than to risk Bali Belly. No, they want the journey to be as arduous as possible, so they can sit around the dinner table eating their unknown meat dishes, and bitch about how hard it is to be a traveller in the late 1980's. Wherever there are people, their paradise is spoiled.
Of course, the good news was that there will always be many unspoilt islands in Thailand and elsewhere for these folks, such as nearby Koh Phangan, which had become the latest "escape" from the recently "spoiled" Samui. Prices for a beach hut on Samui were still very reasonable by any western standard, from a low of 30 bt for a basic shack like ours to over 2,000 bt for a flash bungalow at Pan Sea (about $1.50 to around $100). The average price for a decent hut, however, was a ridiculous 80 to 100 bt, or $4 to $5.
What all old hands and new travellers secretly fear will happen to their beloved beach is the dreaded third phase of development. Most farangs on the "off-the-beaten-track" consider high-rise hotels amid palm trees, like Waikiki or Acapulco, anathema. Mega-operations such as The Hilton and Holiday Inn tend to draw the type of traveller we saw on Phi Phi, the over fifty-year old daytrippers who want limited contact with the locals. And these folks deserve places where they can feel safe and secure; they should just stay at home and do it, according to the conventional wisdom amongst the travellers. Or go to Pattaya or Phuket, two places considered "ruined" by the backpack set.
Miraculously, despite many predictions grumblings we'd heard on the old beaten trail to the contrary, this third phase had not descended upon Samui. Not one building on its many beaches were taller than the coconuts, which could be considered a benchmark of ruination. The airport remained unbuilt, so everyone on the island boarded a boat to arrive here. This created a certain democracy among travellers, and when we did see what could be considered fat cats on the beach, we had to give them credit for being there. This automatically ruled out the Club Med and short vacation types, because getting to Samui was work.
While the principle reason tour groups stayed away from Samui remained the lack of airport facilities, in conversations with restaurant and resort operators, much speculation was expressed about Samui's current and future expansion. One thing seemed clear: the big resorts at Pattaya and Phuket would continue to receive heavy government promotion abroad, since the government had invested large sums of money on construction projects at these famous beaches.
Samui, on the other hand, was controlled by private interests, and the government had only recently begun to realize the enormous numbers of young westerners who were flocking like so many migrating geese to the region every winter. Publicity would remain low-key, and Samui would maintain its image as a resort for the young and the young at heart.
We viewed this progression as a positive trend. Prices on Samui were relatively low, with modern huts and good food available very cheap. If a resort island like Samui was available in the Caribbean or the Mediterranean, it would soon be overrun with fat cats, who would pave paradise and put up a parking lot. So, whenever we heard a traveller bemoaning paradise lost, we immediately encouraged them to head back home and tell everyone the place was spoiled, as soon as possible.
It didn't take long for Samui to infect us, as we became content, well-fed, suntanned and very relaxed. One truth about travel is no matter which class you move about in, it is hard work, especially in Asia. The rule that states the harder it is to get somewhere, the more you appreciate its beauty, is particularly enlightening, since we had come the round-about way to Samui. Maybe if it would have been our first stop in Thailand, or Asia for that matter, or if we hadn't met Brad and Emily, who steered us to this mesmerizing location, it might not have seemed so magical.
So, in our low budget beach hut, we indulged ourselves in low budget out and indoor activities. The days became a blur of volleyball (a game Brad & I were deadly at, given our height advantage), frisbee, body surfing until the winds finally died and the seas became calm, and long delicious walks on the beach. At the cafes, it was backgammon, more cards with Brad & Emily, chess games and reading long novels.
Much of the day was given over to the pursuit of tropical suntanning (the warnings about skin cancer had only recent begun). We lounged in our Yucatan hammock, happy we'd finally found the perfect spot for it, tied between the two baby coconuts in front of our little hut, after lugging it so far. On the beach, Euro's sunbathed in various stages of undress, with the G-String ala Ipanema being the most popular swimsuit. Nudity was prohibited even on Samui, as it offended the Thais, but many westerners pushed the limit of what could be considered "dressed for the beach".
Dinners were a never-ending quest for variety. Some nights, we'd dine at Mama Montiens on authentic thai dishes, including mussels in anise sauce, seafood coconut curry, featuring squid, shark, shrimp, and crab. My favourite dinner was the b-b-q'd shark steak with a light curry sauce, a boneless one inch thick piece of fish too good to be true. This dinner would always remind me of the famous skindivers joke: "Any sharks in these reefs?" "None." "What's for dinner tonight?" "Fresh shark steak!" On and on it went on Samui: fresh baked breads for breakfast, spaghetti carbonara for lunch, chocolate cake after dinner. For lunch one day, we ate humous, felafel and bab ganoush at the Arabian Restaurant.
One feature of the beach immediately caused us some consternation: the advent of videocassette players. Almost every restaurant advertised the night's screenings, and we initially were quite annoyed at westerners who had travelled all this way to paradise, only to sit at dinner and watch Rambo. We berated them their pleasure, until we realized our snobbery was as equal as those who said Samui was spoiled.
Then, we decided, so what if people want to watch TV halfway around the world from home? After all, we are the first real TV generation, we've been practically weaned on the boob tube, and like my cheeseburger, if it makes the place feel like home, where's the harm. We even took in the occasional flick, such as Fawlty Towers episodes, but we never dined at a restaurant that had videos playing during the dinner hour; it just got in the way of great conversations with our ever-expanding group of diners.
After about a week of this, Brad and Emily suggested we rent some motorcycles and tour the entire island. As I'd never driven a motorbike before, I was a bit ambivalent. We'd seen the many westerners bandaged up after a fall on one of the treacherous island roads. We'd recalled the stories of Australians being crippled or killed on motorbikes in Bali. But Brad was a good teacher, and after a couple of lessons, I felt prepared for our tour.
On a gorgeous morning, we headed north out of town. One of the first stop was to fill up the bikes with gas. The pumps at the gas station were quite primitive, and had to be literally pumped by hand. At BoPut Village, we turned and headed towards the Big Buddha Beach. According to our guidebook, Welcome to Koh Samui and Koh Phangan, a hilarious attempt at English literature:
You will arrive at Big Buddha, it is on Fan Island. You can see it clear in the long way from there. Around this island have many small huts for monks and there are many small shops that sell many things too.
The Big Buddha was a rather interesting temple, and the giant statue of a rather young version of the great prophet lent the name to the holy site. We explored this temple, with its brightly painted 40 feet statue, and guardian demons at the gate. There were some incredible vistas of Koh Phangan in the distance from the top of the temple, which hung right over the water, and the long sweep of undeveloped beach.
Our next stop was the town of NaThon, a sleepy place catering to the throng of travellers rushing on and off boats like so many piranhas at a feeding frenzy. Our first stop was the Bamboo Restaurant, along the quayside, where we ate great buff burgers and drank cold Singhas for $2. From our vantage point, we were very impressed with the numbers of farangs on the island. Yet because of the great length of Chaweng Beach, one never felt the beach was overcrowded.
We walked around town for a while; Brad showed us where the bakery was located, and we stocked up on pastries for late munchie treats. The narrative of our guide book continued to provide some unique insights into the little village, which was rapidly becoming a boom town of westerners:
When you arrive at Koh Samui, at Nathon harbour you will see many cars, you must take them first to bring you to the other place that you want...At NaThon, can communicate the else where every directions
Despite this advice and to our surprise, Brad took us down a little alleyway, where a shop sold Italian and French meat and cheeses. Here, we could eat salami and provolone, back bacon and cheddar, prepared to go on a fresh kaiser or french stick. Newspapers from all over Europe were available, a great treat for news hungry westerners who'd been off-the-beaten-track for so long. It was like an oasis in the middle of the desert for news hungry travellers such as I. Many Euro's who had simply flown into Bangkok and down to Surrathani didn't think it was so special, however.
We continued our Easy Rider Tour around the island, and decided to see what the beach was like along the west coast of the island. We found a rather sandy and bumpy road to the Coco Cabanas Resort, a favoured place for scuba divers. The reefs off this shore were said to be pretty spectacular, but the beach was much different here than at Chaweng, narrow and brown. The nearby ferry jetty served the buses, cars and trucks wishing to access the island.
There were some waterfalls nearby, said to be worth visiting, but as it hadn't rained on Samui in over two months, they were dry. We did try to go up a mountain road to see the view of the entire island, but the road was much too steep for motorcycles, so we abandoned this quest.
We continued on and passed brown rice fields with locals picking the abundant crop. The main road was well paved, but anytime we attempted a side trip, it was very rough going, so we eventually gave this up and simply looped the island toward Lamai Beach. We stopped to visit the famous grandmother and grandfather rocks. Our guidebook was especially vivid on this topic:
You must feel surprised at the odd rock or the strange rock because it looks like the reproductive organ of man and woman. You can see them clear when you arrive there. It's very peculiar place on Samui. Nature makes jokes with our...you know?
At Lamai, the beach was equal in beauty to Chaweng, but wasn't as long. We searched out a resort Big Brother Bill from Bali said he'd be staying at if he was still on Samui. When we asked the staff if they'd seen "Poppa", they knew who he was immediately. Sadly, we'd missed him by about two weeks, as he'd headed up to Bangkok, and from there, who knows where.
Brad decided it was time to smoke a doobie, and we sat by the beach at Lamai for a smoke. This was probably not a good idea for a novice biker like myself, and could explain why there are so many accidents involving injury by westerners (and the cheap liquor).
As we discovered, the beaches between Lamai and Chaweng were separated by huge cliffs, and the bemo drivers had cleverly carved the island into two zones: one going south to Lamai, and the other north to Chaweng. If you wanted to go from one beach to the other, you either had to rent a bike or jeep, or go back through NaThon, all the way around the island. For once, our entertaining guidebook hit the nail on the head:
MaNgan Hill means the dog looks up lift one's eyes. At this place before was very dangerous and it's the fearful road too. It's very difficult for the builder when they build this road because it's composed of many complex hills near the shore.
Being stoned, the road was quite a rush. We stopped at the top of the cliffs at a resort called Coral Cove Plantations, with a great view of Chaweng Beach. There were some beautiful little bungalows set among the rocks along the beach, perfect for the traveller seeking isolation and a place to escape the perceived evils of Chaweng and Lamai.
It was the road down that posed the tricky negotiations for my novice biker skills. Only half the road was paved, and I still wasn't 100% comfortable with driving on the left, as they do in all of SE Asia. Of course, the big trucks behind us didn't help matters, so I decided to take it easy. Meanwhile, Brad & Emily on their giant 750 Honda were long gone. Despite my fear and loathing, we managed to make it to the bottom of the steep hill, and soon, we were back at our little shack, ready for a swim.
Every night, one of the bungalow outfits hosted a beach disco party. Disc jockeys would arrive with cables, speakers, cassette recorders, and piles of tapes. At around ten o'clock, we'd walk down to whatever place was sponsoring the party, bottles of Mekong and SamSong in tow. An interesting facet of bar life was the proprietors didn't care if you brought your own booze with you, as long as you ordered soft drinks and buckets of ice. They didn't gouge you on these either, as might be expected. They also sold the local whiskey and rum by the bottle, so drinking oneself into oblivion was a fairly inexpensive proposition.
The beach discos were a great concept. With four or eight speakers set right up in the sand, we'd dance the night away. Boogying on the beach has to be one of the best exercises, and we were very impressed with the musical knowledge of the dj's: Talking Heads, Grace Slick, Simply Red, Dire Straits, Billy Idol, were especially popular at that time, which was ok by us.
At one beach disco, we sat at bamboo tables set on the sand and watched a perfect full moon rise out of the ocean. We toasted the moon, the drinks, the doobies, the music, the company, and had a sensation as near to perfect bliss as is possible on this planet. As our clever guidebook asked:
What do you think about Samui?...That the cheerful and gay travelling for you or not. What the best that you kept in your mind when you come here?
Koh Phangan: What a Rip Off!
Brad & Emily departed for Bangkok, their import company requiring their undivided attention. We stayed on in Samui for a few days, doing more of the same, then decided to visit nearby Koh Phangan. As noted, Phangan had become somewhat of an alternative to those who felt Samui had become spoiled by development.
Koh Phangan was about the same size as Samui, except perhaps a little smaller and rounder. Development was still at phase 1, meaning the island had many primitive bungalow set-ups, and some restaurants, but little in the way of amenities. We wanted to check out the fishing fleets which were reported to gather on the north end of the island at Chalok Lum.
According to a Welsh couple staying next door to our little shack at King Star, it was possible to see over 200 fishing boats parked in the harbour at night. This would be a welcome addition to my photo-essay on boats of the world, so thought it was worth the effort to check it out.
Tearing ourselves away from King Star was no easy task, as we'd become pretty laid back. But the prospect of visiting another beautiful Thai island wasn't all that terrible, so we hopped on a bemo into NaThon. We grabbed a back bacon and cheese on a bun, and at the port, boarded the vessel to Phangan. The seas were dead calm as we crossed the channel, and many flying fish danced in unison around the vessel.
The boat was jam packed with westerners trying to get away from hordes of westerners on Samui, an irony that wasn't lost on us. The boat was only going about 5 knots despite the flat seas, so it took over an hour and a half to cross, instead of the usual half an hour. This wouldn't have been so bad, except the sun was broiling us and there wasn't any shelter to speak of.
The dock at Phangan wasn't built yet, so we had to pay a small boat to take us into shore. We objected to paying for another boat as a matter of principle, since our ticket said we'd land on the island. Our arguing was to no avail, as usual in these matters, so we hopped on the small long-tail, and soon, we were deposited at the decrepit little town.
It was very obvious development was still primitive on this island. The main town wasn't like NaThon at all, very little services, lots of German hippies hanging around the one bar drinking beer. We caught a bemo to the north shore, as we'd heard from the coconut telegraph that Thai Life bungalows were a pretty good value.
We cut through the middle of the island on a road that was mostly a dirt and sand cow track. The island was lush, but showed little of the wealth of Samui. The villages were very primitive, just bamboo shacks. Our bemo turned out to be a delivery van and we arrived at the little port of Chalok Lum over two hours later, after many stops and drop-offs, which unfortunately reminded us of Indonesia. We then had to walk for about twenty minutes to reach Thai Life Bungalows. So, a trip that should have taken about two hours at most ended up being about 5, all in the broiling sun.
The beach was rather small, not as nice as Chaweng, but still pretty. We were shown to a brand new bungalow, built into the cliffs overlooking the beach, and beyond, the bay of Chalok Lum. We had a bit of a rest, and a refreshing swim in the somewhat rocky waters. I then cleaned the camera gear and prepared for the evening shoot at the port, which promised to be pretty exciting.
About an hour before sunset, we walked down to the port. The town itself was very undeveloped, we didn't see any signs in English at all. The people also seemed a bit reserved, not as friendly as Thais everywhere we'd been (Thailand is known as the land of a million smiles, and everywhere we went, this was true).
The shoot went very well, Elaine assisted me with the gear, and the new lens we'd purchased in Singapore was a delight. A great number of Thai fishing vessels bobbed in the harbour, some unloading their cargo of squid and shrimp. The jetty was a beavy of activity, and in the sweet late afternoon light, I captured many scenes of Thai fishermen and their ships, with a backdrop of mountains and palms.
They seemed pleased to have their pictures taken, and one crew invited me on board to take photos and look around. They were a rugged looking lot, as life on the sea must be pretty brutal in the hot blistering sun.
There were over a hundred vessels in the harbour at sunset, all tied to each other in a long row, very picturesque. Some of the vessels were quite large, while others were tiny. Most were painted in the traditional red, white and blue, colours which were supposed to bring good luck out on the seas.
The squid were unloaded onto the dock, were women began the smelly task of sorting and preparing these to dry. This processing would go on all night, according to one of the fishermen who spoke some English. Then, the squid would be laid out on nets to dry, which accounted for the horrible stench permeating our nostrils.
Well pleased with our session, we found a small restaurant near the port and had a quiet dinner. It started to reek pretty bad, as the squid ink was spilling into the water nearby. We walked back to the bungalows on a dark, moonless night, with the aid of our trusty flashlight, stopped for a coffee at the restaurant, and headed up the small hill to our bungalow.
Before we approached our bungalow, we were greeted by our neighbours, who invited over for conversation. I put the camera bag on our porch, which was about fifteen feet from the neighbours' porch. These two guys, one from Alaska, the other from Toronto, were very friendly, and we talked for over an hour about our travels in Asia. Begging fatigue, we then crossed to our hut for a good night's sleep.
When I picked up the camera bag I'd left on our porch, it seemed a lot lighter.
"You've got the spare camera ?" I asked Elaine.
"No, you checked the equipment in the restaurant, remember?"
I did then recall how I'd looked over the equipment, as I'd been very pleased with our new zoom. I had a terrible sinking feeling as we lit a candle in our hut (no electricity) and opened the bag. To my dismay, I discovered half the equipment was missing. This did not make any sense to me whatsoever; if we'd been ripped off, why wouldn't the they take the whole bag? And how could we have been ripped off, since we were sitting so close, next door? Certainly, we would have heard something.
Granted, it was pitch black dark out, but the thief would've had to come across the back of the hut and snuck around the rail hanging over the cliff. I thought I'd heard a noise, but the jungle is pretty alive, so I'd dismissed it. I went through all my belongings in the camera bag, which doubled as a kind of purse, since we took it almost everywhere we went.
The damage was pretty severe, as our new lens and one of the two camera bodies was missing. Also removed were a 50 mm lens, my watch I received at Christmas, and our trusty calculator. By not taking the entire case, which would've been a simple matter, the thief missed out on over $200 in single US bills we'd kept as emergency money, tucked into a secret pouch. They'd also missed my wedding and grandfather's ring tucked inside a film cannister, and they'd left a camera body and a 24mm lens, flash and mini tripod. The film from the evening's shoot was gone, however.
There's a surreal feeling that takes over when you've been robbed. In my fifteen years of off and on travelling, I'd been robbed in Jamaica, Greece, Turkey and Detroit. Despite warnings, I'd travel to areas considered unsafe and had no problems. I figured it was inevitable travellers on the cheap got robbed sooner or later, as it is pretty difficult to keep a beach hut or tent fully secure. Any thief with an inclination only has to watch you leave, then breaking in is little problem.
This robberry was unreal, because the thief didn't steal the bag. I reported the theft to the owner of the little resort, but he appeared shocked. "We've never had lobbely alound here," he proclaimed. "It not one of the village people, because the chief find out light away. Any camela vely suspicious, because evelyone so poor."
There wasn't much we could do, be he suggested we go to town, where we could talk to the chief's son. There wasn't any police force anywhere on the island, so the theft would have to be reported in Samui. This did not bode well for catching the thief, but we went into town anyway.
After explaining the situation in Thai, my interpreter said he doubted if it was someone from the village, as they'd never had a reported theft on the whole north shore since tourist began visited a couple of years ago. The penalty for thieving in Thailand was quite severe, and village members faced banishment.
I walked back to the hut, despondent at our loss, but decided the best thing to do was to get some sleep. Naturally, in the morning, more than half the people staying at the resort were leaving, and it was impossible to check their bags as they left. I knew one of the tourist had ripped me off, but could only watch as they boarded the small boat into town. And since we didn't have any insurance, the cost of replacing it in Thailand was impossible, due to our meager budget.
The best thing we could do at this point in the campaign was carry on. We decided to get the hell out of that resort, as we felt like we'd been dealt a heavy dose of bad karma. Most of the travellers who stayed behind didn't seem too sympathetic to our bad luck, as if our misfortune might befall them if they hung around us.
On the road back to the port, we were joined by our neighbours, who didn't feel very safe staying at Thai Life Bungalows. The little bemo was quite jammed with farangs and bags of rice, and at one point, our driver must have fallen asleep, for he drove right into a ditch. Luckily, no one was hurt, as it happened at a fairly level part of the road. But it simply accentuated our unease with Koh Phangan. When we got to the port, we couldn't get on a boat fast enough back to Samui, and soon, our wish came true.
In NaThon, we decided to make the big move up to Bangkok, to visit the city of angels. We purchased train tickets in town by government agent, very convenient, including an overnight sleeper. We then got a room along the port in a rather rundown Chinese hotel, met up with a couple we'd partied with at Chewang, bought a quart of SamSom Rum, went down to a cafe, ordered some lime juice, and started drinking heavily. I figured I had a good drunk coming to me, and got completely shitfaced, a fine farewell on our last night on Samui.
Bangkok Bound
The next day, we caught a bus at the port, and drove to the car ferry south of town. We boarded the car ferry, and after a calm sail across the channel, reboarded the bus, which deposited us in plenty of time at the train station. The price of the train ticket included complete service from the port to Bangkok, a painless process.
The second class sleeper, which departed the station at around 6 p.m., was rather comfortable. The two seats faced each other, so we had half of the aisle to ourselves. Dinner was served at fold-down tables right at our seats, and we also had a never-ending parade of hawkers selling drinks and snacks.
Then, the porter came along and pulled down the upper berth, and brought some cushions to create a lower bed. He provided us with bedding and pillows, curtains were drawn, and we could then go to sleep. There was also a shower in the car, which might have been welcome if we hadn't been on the beach for the past three weeks.
Elaine found the journey more painful than I did, as she had trouble sleeping because the lights were left on. This was done to deter thieves from making off with bags, a common occurrence in Asia, but the glare was a bit much for her. It would have been smart to keep a pair of eyeshades provided on jets, to go along with the earplugs we purchased in Singapore.
At around 4:30 a.m., we were rousted from our beds and asked what we wanted for breakfast. The only thing I wanted was more sleep, but Elaine was hungry and ordered up rather bland victuals. As the light of dawn crept over the rice paddies and palm trees, the landscape became more urban. Some of the scenes along the railway lines in Thailand are pretty grim, such as family crammed into tight quarters living beside fetid ponds and streams.
We crossed the great Chao Phrya River, and then, we were surrounded by buses and screaming automobiles stuck at the railway crossing, despite the fact it was only about 6 a.m. Soon, we pulled into the station, and disembarked, feeling very frazzled, as if we'd left our brain behind in Samui.
We purchased a bus map, to help us with directions to the budget travellers section called Koa Sahn Road, at a magazine stand. We learned what bus to take, but in the process, left our yellow bible behind, full of notes about accomodations and reviews of places we'd stayed at throughout our trip from Bali to Bangkok.
For the first time in our trip, we really felt like we'd had enough of the independent travelling program; we'd reached our proverbial Waterloo in the heart of Bangkok. It's funny what a lack of sleep, being robbed, losing a valuable document, and encountering the mad throng of Bangkok will do to one's sensibilities; we were delirious with exhaustion.
Somehow, we made it to Koa Sahn Road, and we couldn't believe the number of farangs hanging out in this travellers' ghetto, despite the early hour of the day. I left Elaine in a restaurant with coffee and gear, and to my dismay, discovered every single budget hotel in this district was booked out, as we'd reached the area during the peak season, and it was too early for proprietors to determine who was leaving. The sight of saffron robed monks with their offering bowls walking through the area contrasted with western hippies and travellers hanging out with their Bangkok Times newspapers, scrambled eggs and coffee.
Down a narrow alleyway, I struck up a conversation with SukSom, a very cheerful Thai, who said he owned a hotel on the outskirts of the Khao Sahn district. If we could wait about an hour, he'd drive us there, and we'd have a guaranteed room for the night. After about an hour's wait, we piled our gear into his car and drove about ten blocks away.
His little hotel was very near the Chao Phrya River, close to the pier where travellers catch the ferry up or down the river. The room was rather basic, but it had a fan and screens, washroom down the hall, and was fairly quiet. Since we couldn't be too fussy given the vacancy rate, we booked it. After a refreshing nap and shower, it was time to meet up with Brad & Emily at The Swan Hotel.
We walked across the very busy and noisy street (as are most major thoroughfares in Bangkok) to the pier. The price of a ticket down to The Swan, which was very near the world-famous Oriental Hotel (still the number one hotel in the world), was about 20 cents. Getting aboard the little wooden ferryboat was lots of fun. The boat pulled up and threw the engines into reverse and came to an abrupt stop. A young crewmember jumped off, and held the boat against the pier with a rope. We had about 10 seconds to jump on board, no time to hesitate. At this pier, it was almost always farangs who were getting on, and often, some would be left behind because they wavered.
As we soon discovered, travelling by water taxi up and down the Chao Phrya was the best way to get around town, if one's destination was anywhere near the river. Traffic is always a mess in Bangkok during the day, since the number of cars far exceeds the street's ability to hold them all. What with buses of every shape and size, trucks, motorcycles, taxis, and Tuk Tuks (golf carts gone berzerk), most of them lacking mufflers, the noise level on some streets was incredible. The belching smoke and mad rush made it seem like some kind of weird set in a movie, but it was all very real. So, whenever possible, we took the express water taxi.
Our express boat darted back and forth from the Thornburi side of the river to the Bangkok side. The traffic on the river was sensational: water taxis of every description, rice barges bringing their cargo down from the north, long-tailed boats draped in flowers, with engines screaming them along ridiculous speeds, tourists boats passing the gold gilded temples and palaces.
Along the shore, the scenery was also like some weird James Bond movie. First we passed gorgeous golden temples, and then came alongside the Royal Palace and Wat Phra Keo. The unique spires of these ornate buildings were unlike anything we'd ever seen. Thai architecture is unique, and the gold and red roofs provided a very foreign setting.
Further along, the Temple of Dawn, Wat Arun, dominated the sky over Thornburi, and our jaws almost dropped at its mysterious spire. The ornate carvings of this 270-odd foot edifice is a mosaic of chinese porcelain, according to the tourist propaganda. Tourists were clambering all over the tower, and the sight from the river was very impressive.
We disembarked near The Oriental Hotel, and were immediately astonished at the number of rich tourists in this area. The laneway beside the hotel was filled with hawkers selling knockoff watches, shirts, bags etc... a thriving business in Bangkok. It was a short walk to The Swan, but Brad & Emily were out on business, so we waited in the lobby. Not 10 minutes later, they appeared, and we had a very happy reunion.
"We expected you to call us from the train station," said Brad.
"Well, we didn't want to wake you up at 6 a.m.," I replied.
"So where are you staying, down at the tourist ghetto?," asked Emily.
"Yeah, and it's completely sold out. It took us over two hours to book a room, and were actually not even in the ghetto."
"Too bad, because we were planning to book a bigger room here, so we could all stay together. Oh, well, we'll worry about it later. What say we go down to the pool and lounge for a while," suggested Brad.
Brad & Emily ran an jewellery import company, and were in the process of having rings, pendants and other items manufactured in Bangkok, a fairly large order, from what we could gather. They had finished a huge shipment in Bali, where we'd met them months earlier, but the Bangkok order was turning into a nightmare, as we discovered later on. They'd found their way to Asia after dropping out of a high-rolling lifestyle in California, where they'd been selling Porches and making lots of money.
As Brad put it, "One day, we just got fed up with the rat race, sold almost everything we owned, and headed to Asia. That was three years ago, and we've been all over SE Asia, China, India, Nepal, you name it. We had one of the first passports to China, but it was very hard traveling in those days. At one point, we got so fed up with eating noodles and rice, we booked a flight to Italy, and spent a month there eating and drinking."
It was no small wonder why we liked to hang around with these guys, because food was always on the agenda. Brad had convinced us the food on Samui was great, and he was absolutely right. And once there, he didn't let up, and delighted us with culinary fables about Bangkok.
"Bangkok has the best food of any city in the world, when it comes to prices and quality," he would rave while we were dining on some spectacular dinner on Samui. "I know places where you can get the best bar-b-q'd honey duck on a bed of spinach for $2, complete with free Thai culture. There's great Indian food, Japanese sushi, vegetarian food, you name it; when you come up, I'll show it to you."
So, Brad began to plan our food agenda in Bangkok. "We're going to be fairly busy during the day, but if guys want to hang around the pool, there's no problem with hotel management. This place is like our second home, and they don't care who we bring, cause we spend a lot of money here every year. At night, we'll get into the food and drinking program, and go hog wild, because we just love Bangkok!"
We wanted to take in some of the sights in Bangkok, but decided to lounge by the pool that first day. We did walk up Silom Road, the commercial centre of Bangkok, to the Canadian Embassy to retrieve a pile of mail. Silom Road was pretty busy and noisy, lots of food stalls and knockoff hawkers everywhere, all trying to entice us to buy some fake goods.We inspected some of these and found the quality to be quite high, so thought we should invest in some new clothes.
That night, we gathered in B & E's room, which had an air-conditioner, an unheard of luxury for the budget traveller. After a few drinks, some friends stopped by, John and Colleen, also jewellery importers. They were extremely friendly, and Brad informed us they were the ones who'd shown them the ropes on import and export; John was from Wales, Colleen from BC.
John was a very interesting character, and he told us he'd been travelling around Asia since the late sixties, over 20 years! For him, the jewellery business was a means to support a lifestyle, as they so enjoyed being in Asia for six months of the year. The rest of the time, they travelled around the west coast of Canada and the USA, selling their wares at fairs and boutiques.
As it turned out, John was an avid photographer, and he pulled out some prints he'd recently taken in Nepal. He had some stunning and quite disturbing images of the ghats, were bodies are cremated in Kathmandu. Since he'd spent so much time in that city, he was able to find areas where photo opportunities were fantastic.
I asked him what kind of equipment he used.
"I use Olympus, I have five bodies and about six lenses," he replied.
"That's what I use, too, or used to before we got ripped off," I said.
I then explained to him about the recent events on Koh Phangan, how this had virtually ruined our photo essay idea.
"I've got this 35-200 zoom lens I could let you use, and you could send it to me when you get back to N. America," he offered.
I was dumbstruck, but certainly wasn't about to pass up such a generous offer. And just like that, we solved our photography dilemna, although we'd have to rotate films, since we wanted to shoot in black and white and colour. This wasn't a big problem, because the option was shooting with a 24mm lens, which is great for landscapes, but lousy at close ups.
Brad was hot to trot to eat some food, so we vacated the premises and walked up Silom Road. The nightlife was in full swing, lots of street stalls selling bootleg audio cassettes, and their speakers would blast our ears off as we walked by. There was plenty of food to be had down the little laneways off Silom Rd., but Brad wanted to take us to the Silom Village.
Silom Village looked inauspicious from the street, just another series of shops and boutiques. We walked inside a very modern complex, and after passing shops selling antiques, silk and many other Thai items, came into the restaurant area.
The walls were lined with fish tanks, which housed many kinds of seafood and fish. Prices per kilo were posted on each tank, and if one wanted a certain specimen, it was simply a matter of picking out the specimen, and soon, it would be served fresh as could be.
The restaurant itself featured an open garden, complete with bamboo trees and palms, designed to represent a Thai Village. At one end, a huge stage was set up where Thai dancers were performing to the rhythms of the huge stage band, whose members were seated, playing exotic reed and percussive instruments. Along one wall, chefs in their high white hats prepared the bar-b-q meats. In the centre court, beautiful Thai women sat at propane stoves rotating satay skewers and various hors d'oeuvres. There were also several private rooms where tour grous could eat together, and the restaurant also featured an authentic teak Bangkok house. It really was like a village inside, only very modern.
The place was very crowded, but as Brad knew it was important to arrive early, we found a table very near the stage. The service was dazzling, as we had about four waiters taking care of every whim. Since labour is so cheap, it is pretty competitive to work in a place like Silom Village, which caters to tourists.
From the looks of our surroundings, it appeared it was going to be very expensive to dine here. Brad had assured us it wasn't expensive at all, but the lush surroundings cause us concern. The menu had about twenty pages of items, and to our delight, almost everything was under 100 bt (less than $5). I decided to try Brad's recommendation of b-b-q honey duck on a bed of spinach, while Elaine ordered the jumbo prawns. We also requested an hors d'oeuvres platter, a mix of Thai treats.
While waiting for our food, we were entertained by the exotic movements of the Thai dancers, dressed in beautiful silk outfits, with the strange peaked headresses. The rhythms of the band were reminiscent of sounds we'd heard in Bali, albeit a bit slower. The classical finger dancing movements performed onstage take years to perfect.
Then, two Thais dressed in traditional warrior outfits came out on stage, holding intricate swords in their hands. They instantly began to swing their swords, and from our vantage point near the stage, it looked like they were really trying to rip each other's head off. Sparks were flying as the aggressors' sword was blocked at the last instant by his opponent. It was a very noisy battle as swords clanged together, and we were almost breathless when it over.
Our food arrived, and of course, it was delicious, and Brad's star kept rising, for he was a man of his word. Despite drinks and other delicacies, the bill for two came to less than 200 bt, which would’ve been the cost for the hors d'oeuvres alone back home.
Well satiated, Brad suggested we walk jump into a Tuk Tuk and pay a visit to Pat Pong Road, the world-famous sex and sin centre of Bangkok. We piled into Tuk Tuks, after negotiating the fee, and it was a short ride straight up the very busy Silom Road, where we were deposited at the edge of Pat Pong.
Pat Pong Road began a famous r&r district for GI's on furloughs during the Vietnam War. An industry based on serving the sexual needs of soldiers developed here and at Pattaya Beach. Our first glimpse of PatPong was a wide street full of neon signs with the oddest names: Pussy Galore, SuperStar, Jugs, The Pink Panther, Pussy Galore II, etc... There was quite a lot of activity, mostly western men, walking up and down the street.
We were almost immediately approached by some Thai hustlers, one of which handed us a card he called a menu. This featured a list of some of the exploits the dancers would perform on stage with her vagina: shooting ping pong ball; swallowing a banana (we heard from some Aussie guys who fought over who got to eat it!); picking food up off a plate with chopsticks; filling a goldfish bowl with goldfish; pulling out 20 razor blades with a string; on and on it went.
As we walked past darkened doorways, we were encouraged to come in by scantily clad Thai girls.
"Come inside, good looking girls, we show you good time," they chanted. "No charge for lookee, cheap drinks, ladies welcome too."
Elaine was pretty disgusted with the whole affair, but Brad said he knew of a bar down the street where things were pretty tame. "We can have cheap drinks, watch the go-go girls dance, no live sex shows, and just have a good time," he claimed.
We walked down a narrow laneway and came to a small bar, where we entered to the delight of the girls. The place was full of scantily clad ladies, but very few westerners; the stereo blared out some rock and roll, and we pulled into a booth and ordered some drinks. We were soon surrounded by Thai girls, who seemed so sweet and innocent, it was hard to imagine their bodies were on sale. They wore numbers, in case you couldn't keep track of the one you wished to have a little hanky panky with.
They were very interested in Elaine and Emily's blond hair, and came and sat by them, touching their locks, for they believed blond hair was good luck. Since a lot of couples come to Thailand to swing with Thai girls, they weren't sure what we were up to. Brad explained we'd come to listen to some music and perhaps do some dancing. They thought this was great and encouraged us to come out on the dance floor, which resembled a 1970's disco, with its mirrored ball and strobe lights.
There were two stages, one on each side of the room, and girls took turns dancing, hanging onto the bar and swinging around. This wasn't a strip club, so there weren't any nude dancers. It was a pick up joint, where westerners could meet Thai girls and take it from there.
We'd seen and met many western guys who had Thai "girlfriends", gorgeous and incredibly naive young girls picked up in Bangkok and transported to the islands, all expenses paid by their new mates. It was every Thai street girls dream to meet her Romeo, who would bring her back to Europe or America, where they'd get married and live happily ever after.
We had a lot of fun with the girls, dancing and drinking, enjoying the loud music. They were especially interested in Brad and I, because we were so tall, but respected the fact we were spoken for and not interested in kinky threesomes. One of the girls slipped on Brad's flip flops, and her tiny frame looked hilarious as she tried to dance with them on her little feet.
We stayed in the Pat Pong area until about 5 am, as we took in a the SuperStar Nightclub. This was an enormous room, all decked out in bright lights, full of westerners. We couldn't believe the number of people frequenting this section of Bangkok, and there were lots of bahts being spent on girls, drinks and food, as there were many restaurants open all night.
As we walked out of the SuperStar disco at about 4 am, we were met by a rush of TukTuk drivers. Most of these are poor peasants who come down from their village to the big smoke to make earn some money to send back home. Travel by Tuk Tuk in Bangkok is very cheap, but not recommended during the day, since one ends up sucking exhaust fumes from the traffic jammed vehicles.
During the day, we either stuck to the boats, or if we had to head to an area in the city, we'd take an air-conditioned bus or taxi, also incredible values. The Tuk Tuk drivers end up piloting their machines all night, and we'd heard stories how most of them are drunk on Mekong, which added to the thrill of the ride.
Four of us piled into the converted golf cart gone berzerk, and headed down Surawonge Road toward The Swan. It was amazing how fast the driver could get his cart to scream down the quiet street, given the size of we four westerners. Riding in a Tuk Tuk was always like taking your life in your hands, but they had a pretty good safety record, despite their mad dashes in between cars, trucks and buses.
Brad and Emily invited us to stay at The Swan, as they had a double room. Since we were pretty lit up and quite exhausted, we thought this would be a good idea. The sound that lingers in my mind as I looked out the window at the glowing morning sky was of roosters crowing, right in the heart of the main tourist section of bangkok. Despite the incredible growth the city undergone in the past twenty years, as more and more village people migrate there, Bangkok remained a village at heart.
Incredibly, Brad got up, still drunk, at about 7:30 am, as he had work to do. We all went down to the pool for a swim, and quite bleary-eyed, figured out the days' agenda. We really wanted to take in some of the sights, but at 8 a.m., it was already incredibly hot, and coupled with the humidity and hangover, left us quite lethargic.
Since they had to work all day, we decidded to catch a boat back to Khao Sahn Road and the tourist ghetto. The ride up the river was very soothing, but somewhat surreal given our state of mind. Back at our room, we spent the rest of the day resting, dropping some laundry off at a very inexpensive service, and hanging around the restaurants on Khao Sahn chatting with fellow travellers.
Back at The Swan for sunset cocktails with Brad and Emily, we decided the best solution was to start drinking heavily. I was very impressed with Brad's stamina, as he'd managed a small nap in the afternoon, but mostly, he'd been on the go all day. He suggested we go up to a district where there was a great night market, so we could dine on duck soup in anise for 10 baht.
John and Colleen joined us, and we piled into two Tuk Tuks, which raced each other up Silom Road. At one point, our driver decided to start popping “wheelies,” pulling the front wheel into the air while rolling down the street at about 40 miles per hour. This really upset Emily, as she didn't trust the TukTuk drivers (lots of experience). She started yelling at him, and I gently hit him on the top of the head to get him to slow down.
Later, Emily said it was fortunate the guy wasn't a total nutcase, because touching a Thai on the head is considered taboo, as this is the sacred spot on the body. "If he had a gun in his glovebox, like a lot of them do, he might have blown you away for hitting him on the head," she said. This was not the most comforting thought on earth.
Many drinks of lime juice and Mekong ensued, and the soup was well worth the effort. We had to make our way to the upper floor of the non-descript restaurant, and I noticed a rat go down a hole in the floor right at our feet (I didn't tell the ladies about this). Then, we walked across the street to the night market, where we munched on all sorts of delicacies.
Brad wanted to check out the other famous travellers' centre and former GI hotels during the Vietnam War, The Malaysian and Boston. This area wasn't as budget oriented as Khao Sahn Road, as prices had risen in the past few years. John had first come to this area many years ago.
"I remember you could stay at The Malaysian for dirt cheap. There were girls and US soldiers everywhere, and some pretty wild times, to be sure," he reflected.
We hung out at a bar for drinks and met some Americans who were on their first trip to Bangkok. They were pretty amazed at the number of hookers in the district, and looked like they were in hog heaven.
"These Thai girls are incredible," said one. "They'll do anything you ask, and have all kinds of suggestions, as well. They really want you to finance their trip to the beach, so they can be your girlfriend. I'm exhausted from screwing my brains out for the past few days."
We continued the pattern of partying all night and resting during the day. We ended up spending three out of four nights at The Swan, as we were too wasted to cross town to Khao Sahn, especially since the express ferry stopped running at sunset. Consequently, we didn't visit one temple or palace during our first stint in Bangkok, which amazed Brad.
After four days, Brad suggested we take a trip down to Koh Samed, an island about four hours east of Bangkok. "Our jewellery order is taking a lot longer than we thought, so we have to spend about another week before our stuff is ready. Bangkok is just too goddamn hot, so what say we head to the island for more fun in the sun."
We went back to our hotel, talked to Suksom, who said he'd stow our gear for us and have a room ready when we got back. We spent the night at The Swan, so we could get out early the next morning. At about 6:30 am, we hopped into a taxi to the Southern Bus Terminal, where we boarded an air-con bus to the port of Ban Phe.
A Place Called Paradise
At Ban Phe, we boarded a small water taxi, along with a few farangs and many locals. Brad tried to convince the pilot to stop at our intended destination, but was told the tide was out, and it would be too shallow to land the vessels. We crossed a small channel, and soon, docked at Samed; more frosting-white sand and stunning blue green water everywhere.
We had to pay a small fee of five baht to enter the island. A huge sign warned of the danger of malaria, but Brad said they'd spent many days on the island, and weren't concerned. Samed is a dry island, so the key was to avoid areas where there might be sloughs where mosquitoes could gather.
After a rather bumpy ride on the back of a pick-up, which provided us with a small tour of some of the beaches, where we saw the island was rather developed, lots of beach huts and restaurants, we came to the end of the road. Brad ran into the restaurant, as he knew the owners, and grabbed a couple of bags of Thai weed. Since there wasn't a road to our destination, we had to walk about 2 kms down a dirt track, in the blazing sun.
We came over a small knoll, and down to Paradise Beach. Many places along the beaten track have names play on farangs search for paradise: nirvana, utopia, heaven, eden, enchanted, etc...For once, this one lived up to its billing: palm trees planted in a straight row rimmed the bowl-shaped bay. Cliffs formed on either side of the blinding-white sand, and several beach hut operations housed farangs and Thais. The water was as beautiful as any we'd seen so far, which was saying quite a lot.
We began to run out of descriptors for these scenes.
To our dismay, we discovered the beach was slightly overrun with Thais, who had come down from Bangkok on holidays, since it is so close to the big smoke. For two days, we had to stay in huts halfway up a very steep cliff but then the Thai students went home, and we were shown a bungalow set in the hills by Nui, overlooking the sand and sea.
Our new home was an attached side-by-side duplex. A huge deck, complete with lounge chairs, ran around the front. Brand-new full thickness foam mattresses, moquito nets and screens on windows to alleviate our fear of malaria-prone mosquitos- and lots of space, for 70 bt. We were set in a tropical garden, lots of palm, banana, and coconut trees
.
We easily settled back into the beach hut routine, for by now we’d become expert at the art of beach lounging, swimming and partying. The beach at Samed was especially delicious, as the sand was very fine. At one end of the beach, a rickety old pier ran 100 feet into the sea. Swimming in the sea was like being in a pool, the water was so clear and pure, and we could walk for about a 500 metres before the drop off. We'd bob around in the sea on gentle waves, the water temperature cool enough to counter the horrid heat, which had descended upon the tropics with a vengeance! The hot hot season had arrived- with a vengeance.
Nui, our congenial Thai host, was a great guy. He enjoyed life on the beach, having escaped the rat race in Bangkok. The food at his little cafe was superb, especially the garlic chili prawns on noodle, which were completely addictive. He specialized in hot Thai cuisine, rich in lemon grass, coconut milk, sweet holy basil, a wide variety of chili peppers, including the deadly "mouse shit" red ones, huge quantities of garlic, and our new favourite, the hot and sour Sri Racha fish and chicken sauce.
At Paradise Beach, bamboo tables and chairs were gently placed on the sand under the palms, anxiously awaiting farangs. Our meals were attended to with great care, and when we needed to escape the sun's wrath, these seats became our refuge. We'd give Nui recipes ideas for his staff to attempt, with mixed results, as he often had a shortage of supplies.
Since there weren't any roads to this beach, everything had to arrive by sea. Every two days, a small supply vessel would drop anchor about 50 feet from shore, since the water was too shallow to allow it to come any closer. Small but rugged Thai boys would unload goods, including ice, food, booze, and anything else we farangs required for our creature comfort. One night, this process began just before sunset, and since we faced west, the scene was dreamlike, with the burnt orange sky silhouetting the men at work, ever smiling, while we farangs enjoyed our cool drinks.
The small bay was a favoured shelter for the local Thai fishermen, and at night, their boats, multi-coloured lights strung across the galley like a Christmas tree, danced in the water. We'd sit under the palms, gazing at the gizzillion stars, candles as our table lights (no electricity), drinking copious quantities of Mekong and SamSong with lime juice, smoking joints, catching a cool breeze, glad to be away from the stifling heat of Bangkok.
The hundreds of Thai students who'd been on the far side of the beach went back to school, so by the end of the holiday week-end, there were only a handful of farangs hanging out. We felt like we were in a mini Club Med, as we had a very gorgeous setting, and Nui's staff waited on us hand and foot. Our week on Samed was the perfect antidote to the frantic pace we'd encountered in Bangkok, and once again, Brad had come through with another brilliant idea.
However, not all his plans were so great. One day, while lounging under our mosquito net in our great little hut, Elaine spied a giant multi-coloured lizard walking across the wall. Brad could hear the excitement from his room next door as we tried to shoo it out, and came over; he thought their bite was poisonous.
The lizard was adamant about staying in the room; he had declared it his territory and this just wouldn't do, especially since Elaine was not happy about the possibility of this 16 inch monster finding its way into her pack and jumping out at her.
Brad and I caucused and decided the best bet would be to kill the thing (admittedly, not the wisest approach). This was easier said than done; we tried hitting it with shoes and a big stick Brad found; the beast was indestructible. But we had injured it, so now, we had to finish it off. It ran under the bungalow, but was in pretty bad shape. We finally killed it with a rock, but then we felt terrible about our nasty deed. Later, Nui told us these lizards are favoured by the locals, who consider them harmless, and helpful in the battle of the mosquito, their main diet. And, he claimed they weren't poisonous, which only made us feel worse.
At The Crossroads
After a week on Samed, Brad and Emily had to get back to the big smoke to check on their order. We decided to head back as well, since we had to arrange our travel itinerary for the next leg of our journey. We still hadn't decided the best route to Europe, as the possibilities seemed endless. One scenario envisioned us landing in Burma, where we'd only have a week to tour, due to visa restrictions. This one week tour was notorious among overlanders, but it was possible to enjoy a free journey, if one entered with enough counterfeit Polo shirts and bottles of whiskey from Bangkok, in great demand by the isolated Burmese.
From Burma, Nepal, India and the subcontinent beckoned. This could be problematic, as we were now in the middle of the hot season, which was already taking its toll on us. The route to Tibet was open, and many adventurous farangs were travelling from there to western China, and down into Pakistan, one of the great Asian journeys along Marco Polos ancient Silk Route. Beyond Asia lay the Mediterranean, which was sounding increasingly appealing as well. So, we had to get to Bangkok, and enter into negotiation for tickets. As usual, our budget would predicate our decisions.
Back on Khao Sahn Road, we'd heard horror stories about some of the travel agents. This area was famous for deep discount travel tickets, but the last thing we wanted to worry about were invalid passages. As we were walking around comparing prices at the many agents, we bumped into our old pals Lou and Sue, who'd just returned from a month in Northern Thailand. This was a happy reunion, and seemed to be turning into a habit.
"We just our plane tickets for Europe," said Lou, his ever-grinning smile extra wide. "It's on Air Nepal, and we'll stop in Burma, Nepal, Delhi, Athens and London. It was incredibly cheap, only $400 US each; I still can't believe it, mate; you must check out this guy out."
Lou marched us over to a very modern agency right on Khao San Road, and negotiations began over routes and ticket prices. We wanted a ticket that could get us all the way to North America, and we were offered the following route: Bangkok-Calcutta-Delhi-Bombay-Rome-Geneva-London-New York on Air India, including a free night at a top hotel in Calcutta, a half day tour of that city, and two meal vouchers, for $425 US; the ticket was completely open for one year, which meant we could mold the route according to our timeframe.
This meant we'd miss Burma, a place we really wanted to see. Other tickets which included Burma were too expensive when New York was added to the equation.
So, we employed the typical travellers' rationale: we'll see Burma next time. We purchased our tickets, and the agent, who was incredibly helpful, said he'd arrange our visas for India and Nepal for a handling fee, plus visa costs, for $10 each. Since these embassies were a long way from Khao Sahn Road, we would esily have spent that amount in taxi fees and wasted at least two half days sweltering in the heat, so this was a great bargain.
That accomplished, we talked Sue and Lou into going over to The Swan to meet up with Brad and Emily. After a few drinks by the pool at sunset, we decided to try an exotic restaurant in the heart of Pat Pong called the Thai Room. Besides such delicacies as pizza, there was a lot of wild game on the menu. I tried the wild boar in curry, which had a very heavy taste but was quite exotic. More dancing at the Go Go Club, until the wee hours of the morning, when we taxied back to Khao Sahn Road.
Lou and Sue departed the next day for Burma, and we agreed we'd meet up in Kathmandu in two weeks' time. We still had two weeks left in Thailand, and wanted to visit the enchanted north. Lou and Sue talked us out of it, for they said it was very hot up north at the moment, with little chance for relief. We were pretty lethargic in the 40 degree Celsius heat with 100% humidity.
We sat at a small cafe on Khao Sahn Road having breakfast when an item in the Bangkok Post caught my eye: “German Tourist Arrested For Stealing.” The article went on to describe how a farang had been arrested for ripping off over 200 beach bungalows on Samui and Phangan, including cameras, watches and clothing. Most of the goods had been recovered, and anyone with a claim could go to the Samui police station in NaThon and make a claim.
On the off chance this was the guy who ripped us off, we booked two train tickets down to Surrathani for the next evening. We then proceeded to The Swan for our last evening with Brad and Emily, as they were pretty sure their order would be finished (they were still waiting!) for a final farewell.
The Case of the Strangled Importer
When we left Canada, our dream was to travel around the world, and seek out incredible deals on locally produced items. We would purchase these at rock bottom prices, ship them back to Canada, and make a tidy profit; this would help offset the money we'd spent, as would a book we would write about our travels with cool photographs.
Not only would this allow us to see the world, we'd have a pile of money after we returned home. But when we saw the hassles Brad and Emily were going through in the jewellery trade (a business we wanted to get into), we had second and third thoughts.
Initially, Brad and Emily set out to travel the world, much like we'd done. They wanted to escape the rat race, and saw importing as a way to support a lifestyle. Six months in Bali and Thailand, organizing jewellery production, and spending the rest of the time exploring exotic beaches and temples, waiting for product to be finished.
Bali is a fairly easy locale to have product manufactured. At the hip beach of Kuta, one is never far from the factories. There's not a lot of traffic to deal with as in Bangkok, government export forms are easy to obtain, but overall, the quality of the jewellery is not as high as Thailand; the Balinese are simply not as interested in making money as the Thais are, since they are more culturally tied to their religion, and turn over most of their profits to the village.
In Thailand, business is business. Bangkok has become the gemstone capital of the world, and sapphires, rubies, aquamarines, garnets and many other stones are quarried and cut to perfection, with an average workers' wage of about $5 per day. To deal with the Thais, however, it is necessary to understand the Asian business mentality, which is quite a lot different than in North America.
Brad and Emily were assured their massive jewellery order would be ready when they returned from their island tour of Phuket, Koh Phi Phi and Samui. However, when they returned to Bangkok, they discovered little of their product was prepared. Their frustration level rises like the thermometer, waiting for work that was not being produced.
"The worst part", explained Brad, "is when you know they've worked on your order, then sold it to someone else who came in with some cash. Unless you're willing to sit in the shop all day, you just can't trust them to be honest."
Promises are made to have product ready, but then, Brad and Emily had to postpone their flight. Then, their ninety-day visa expired, and could not be renewed without leaving the country. The Government forms needed to bring the goods into the US tax-free became difficult to obtain. One solution to this new problem was to mail the packages to the states, also risky and expensive.
It came right down to the wire for Brad and Emily's shipment; they worked until 2:30 a.m. examining their shipment for flaws and rejects, a task that should've been completd over a month before. Then, because they had to postpone their flight, Hawaii became their port-of-entry into the US, instead of San Fransisco, which meant the goods had to be mailed to Frisco instead of travelling with them as personal luggage. After a long and very frustrating last night in Bangkok, they could then look forward to the pleasure of travelling non-stop for at least 32 hours to Frisco.
Our dreams of playing the importing game were given a rude awakening. Once we analyzed the pitfalls, we decided to avoid buying jewellery and gemstones. But we still had two weeks before our flight to India, and had to make a move out of sweltering Bangkok. So, instead of going north, we boarded the overnight train with sleeper down to Surrathani, a very relaxed journey. Soon, we were back at Chaweng Beach, comfortably established in our little shack on the beach, with our unobstructed view of sand and water.
Trouble In Paradise
The first order of business, though, was to head to the police station and check out this thief to see if he had stolen our camera. Even though we hadn't reported our theft to the police (since we didn't have insurance and didn't think it would ever be found), we were treated very cordially by the police.
We were led into a room by an officer, and were amazed at the sight. The room was literally crammed with recovered goods, including backpacks, clothes, calculators, walkmans, and sadly, irreplaceable travel journals.
Unfortunately, our stuff wasn't among the goods. We were then shown the West German who had been apprehended by the police. He was being kept in a very tiny cell, and loked scrawny.
"He is heroin addict," said the young officer. "He steal from farangs so he can buy more drugs. Velly bad man."
"I think you should hang him," I said, performing a mock hanging by chocking my neck and sticking my tongue out; the officer just laughed.
"No, he get to go back home, but never able to come back to Thailand," was the reply. At least some travellers would be able to retrieve their goods, we thought.
Most of the travellers living at King Star Bungalows were still there, including our Israeli friend Geraldo. He weighed about 95 lbs. and would spend his days smoking copious quantities of ganga. He spent every winter in Thailand or the Phillipines, and bought enough jewellery in Bangkok to sell on the streets in West Germany to be able to return the next season.
Geraldo was a study in how to live in “three-quarters time.” He had been through all the islands in Thailand, but preferred Chaweng for its food and lifestyle. In fact, when he arrived some five months before, he went into one of the nearby villages, found someone who grew ganga, and bought a pound at a great discount.
He'd pull out a giant shoebox full of grass, and roll giant bombers for breakfast! Then, he'd lay contentedly in his hammock all day, occasionally mustering up the energy to go swimming or to play frisbee. I always said it looked like he was walking about two feet off the ground, at about 2 miles an hour.
Geraldo was our neighbour, and was happy to see us return to the island. But he had a rather sad look on his face and I asked him what the matter was. He told us the following story:
"When the winds start to calm down on this beach, and the waves die down, there are whirlpools that develop. If you look in front of Liberty Bungalows, you can see the last of the whirlpools." He pointed to an area to the right of our bungalow, and sure enough, the waves broke near the shore, and there was unusual action in the water.
"It looks shallow there, but it is deceiving at high tide. The current is very strong, but no one is ever told of this. These French guys were playing frisbee, and it went into the water near the strong current. The frisbee was carried out, and he chased it. Unfortunately, he was swept away before he knew it, and no one on shore wanted to help, despite his calls. I was just lying in my hammock, and when I saw what was happening, I ran and dove in."
"His "friends" were too scared to come in the water to help, despite the pleas from the now drowning mate. I was a lifeguard in Israel, and knew what to do, how to handle the current. But it was very difficult, because he was getting dragged out farther and farther. After a half an hour, I had to give up, for it was very rough, and I thought I might drown. On the beach, people were getting hysterical, especially his girlfriend, and as the nearest boat was at PanSea about two miles away, no one thought to jump on a motorcycle to get their help."
"He just disappeared, and I felt terrible, like it was my fault he drowned, even though I know I was the only one to try to save him, because there was at least 50 people on the beach watching."
"Last year, it was the same story, only I was able to save the guy by swimming him back to shore. I gave him AR, because he was unconscious, and I thought for sure he's dead. But he came to, and the next day he disappeared without saying thanks. Sometimes, you must wonder..."
There were more development vis. a vis the case of the drowned Frenchman. A few days later, we wandered down to the end of Chaweng, where an isolated beach bungalow resort was under construction, about a half mile away from the last restaurant on the beach. We met a British couple, a sat with them chatting about life in the slow lane; they too were importers, and were very interesting people.
"Did you hear about the Frenchman who drowned near our bungalow?" I asked.
"You can't believe it, but I was the one who found the body," replied the women. "I was walking down to Montiens' for breakfast, when I saw this strange shape being pushed around shore by waves. As I approached, I realized it was a bloated corpse, which was, fortunately, face down.."
"It took over three hours for authorities to come and get the body. In that time, many westerners came to look, and they would go and tell their friends, so it became quite a circus around here. And we wanted to be on this lonely stretch of beach for privacy."
To make things worse for poor Geraldo, he was doing his usual morning jog up the beach when he saw the crowd around the body. He immediately knew what the deal was, and turned around and jogged back to camp. He was pretty upset about the whole affair, as the incident had occurred about a week before our arrival.
The third weird occurrence in this story was the Frenchman's girlfriend, who was apparently on the train-bus-boat from Bangkok with us. In fact, we determined she was in the same car with us on the journey south. We hadn't really noticed her at the time, but had been wakened in the night by her screams, probably brought on by nightmares of the drowning.
Fortunately, the windy season was almost over, and soon the water became completely calm. The shades of blue were reminiscent of a swimming pool, and coupled with the incredible tropical heat, it was all we could do to mill about in the shallow waters in front of our bungalow.
A couple of days later, a Thai man was murdered between our two favourite restaurants, Montien's and Lucky Mother's. He and his wife ran a little gift shop, and one night, he heard the sound of breaking glass; someone was burglarizing his tiny shop. When he came out to see who it was, he was wacked over the head with a chair, struck down dead; the thiefs/murders weren't caught.
While none of the Thai business people would talk about it, the rumour mill amongst travellers whispered connections to the Thai mafia, which controlled most of the bungalow and restaurant operations on the island. Apparently, the break-in was meant as a warning, to get this guy to toe the line (probably by paying some "security" deposit). Unfortunately, the warning turned out to be a deadly one. Later, we heard the price for a "hit" in Thailand, to have someone executed, was about 500 baht, or about $20 US.
Our picture of paradise was somewhat tainted by these incidents, and Elaine was a little paranoid about a murderer being on the loose. I suggested they weren't interested in farangs, and that it was probably and internal dispute. This reassured her, and we proceeded to melt back into Samui time, relaxing on the beach and dining at our favourite restaurants.
Returning to a favoured place is always a tricky proposition, but we managed to have an even better time in Samui on the second vacation. While we did miss Brad's antics and good humour, and Emily's intellect, we made many new friends and our days and nights were indeed full of pleasure in the company of good people.
But the big heat was on in the tropics, and we could only thank our lucky stars we'd decided to come back to the beach. The nights offered little respite from tropical heat, and we slept with our little hut's door wide open, in the hopes of a breeze from the dead clam seas. We were amazed to see construction workers building bungalows next door at midday, wearing woolen hats and long sleeved shirts in the 100 plus degree heat.
If we didn't get up before sunrise, by 8 o'clock, it was too hot to walk a mile down the beach to Montien's or Lucky Mothers for breakfast, our favourite way to start the day. The restaurant at King Star was basic, but since it was so hot, we'd eat our lunches there, although too often, we felt lethargic and didn't have much of an appetite.
One morning, we were sitting at Lucky Mother's enjoying one of the delightful western combination breakfasts (eggs, toast, fruit salad, coffee, newspapers, etc...) when the owner informed us the place had been sold. This was a disappointment, for the owner put a lot of TLC into every meal. She invited us for a special dinner that evening, 45 baht for steak a poivre and special treats.
The restaurant was full when we arrived, but a place was made for us by the ever-smiling owner. The dinner was a French affair, lots of courses painfully prepared, including the steak, which was almost perfect. Drinks were on the house, and we partied late into the night, while the owner kept bringing out snacks. We were feeling quite relaxed as we made our way down the beach at about 3 a.m.
Our other favourite restaurant, Montiens, showed no sign of change. While most of the meals were gargantuan, as we've described before, we were continuously impressed with the fruit salads and stuffed pancakes. The salad featured diced bananas, papayas, mango, pineapples, oranges, and other fruits of the day, heaped into an immense bowl, and topped with coconut pulp, crushed nuts, sweet milk, honey and chocolate powder. The pancake had fruit stuffed inside, with the same topping, but was so big, it was a meal unto itself. Some nights, I'd border on madness by eating a huge shark steak with all the trimmings and then a fruit pancake for dessert. This meant a long wallow down the beach back to the shack.
Ampan, the head mamma, was a real piece of work. Surrounded by her clan, she spent the better part of her day hanging with the farangs, as her English was quite good. We never knew what she'd be up to next; sometimes, she'd yell at her big ugly mutt, whom I called the king of the beach mutts, because he had so many scars from fighting with the other beach pugs, he had to be the king. Whenever another dog showed up looking for scraps, she'd get out the slingshot and shoot them in the rear. Next, she'd come out of the kitchen with a Vick's nose inhaler hanging out of her nose. What a piece of work!
One night, a group of us, including Geraldo, walked down to the Arabian Restaurant for a beach party. We sat out on the beach and watched the full moon rise over the dead calm seas. Geraldo was gluing together some papers, and rolled a joint about a foot and half long. He took the foil out of about ten packs of cigarettes and engineered an enormous handle so the giant stealth bomber could easily be passed around the table. It must have burned for about half an hour, and coupled with the Mekong whiskey and lime juice, everyone got fairly brain-baked that evening.
Then, as if it had all been a dream, we boarded the boat for Surrathani, and as we pulled out of the harbour, had a small tear in our eye, for we didn't know if we'd ever come back to this beautiful gemstone tucked into a corner of the Gulf of Siam. The boat was bursting with farangs, but we decided to take the bus to Bangkok instead of the train, so we could see some of the terrain. Normally, we would shun a bus in favour of train travel, but this was an air-con, first-class affair.
At the bus station, we met a distraught Canadian woman who had been sold a bum ticket on Samui. Fortunately, they let her board the bus anyhow, and we befriended her, for she seemed a bit bewildered. The bus ride was memorable because it lived up to its billing. As we rolled across verdant fields and through small towns, we were served on by an onboard stewardess, including two meals and cool drinks. Despite the boiling heat, we sat in air-conditioned splendour, and enjoyed our best bus ride yet of the campaign.
At sunset, the bus broke down some 50 kilometeres outside Bangkok, apparently due to an overheated engine. After about an hour's wait, we proceeded into the hyper-charged atmosphere of Bangkok, this time across the river from Khao Sahn Road in Thornburi. We shared a taxi with Marion, our newfound fellow traveler to the backpacker's district, and after securing a room for her near Suksom's hotel, we checked in. We had stowed most of our gear with Suksom, instead of lugging it south, and we'd informed Suksom of the date of our return.
Unfortunately, he didn't have his act together enough to reserve a room for us, and as it was peak season for travellers in Bangkok, we had to share a single for the first night.
Our last three days in Bangkok were spent on our usual pursuit of dining, drinking and sightseeing, despite the incredible heat. We paid a visit to John and Colleen at The Swan, who were on their way back to N. America after six months in Nepal and Thailand. John suggested we keep the lens he'd lent us for our island tour, and ship it to him when we returned to N. America. This saved us considerable grief, and we felt overwhelmed with his offer.
We had given further consideration to purchasing some gemstones, and Colleen encouraged us to buy some stones. "You can make upwards of 500% profit when you return to Canada," she explained. "And if you buy the stones in Bangkok, and have them set in Kathmandu, you'll get an incredible value."
We were still wary about getting ripped off. John was raving about a new gemstone dealer he'd found in an obscure area of town, and we asked him if he's pass the dealers' name to us. He was reluctant to share a contact, because they'd spent over twenty years developing their business. But Colleen prodded him to tell us the district and name of the dealer, and eventually, John gave us a business card. We were on our own to locate the shop, but didn't think this would be a problem.
The next day, we caught a taxi down to an area near Chinatown, actually a huge city onto itself. After walking down a couple of narrow laneways, we came to an area of gemstone dealers. Shop after shop featured glass cases filled with brightly coloured stones on small plates. We located our dealer, Mr. Backer, a small Indian man who spoke broken English.
We were shown to some stools in the tiny shop, and he asked us what type of stones we were interested in. I had absolutely no knowledge about gemstones, but Elaine's father had owned a jewellery store, and she knew her stuff. We spent a couple of hours in the extreme heat, cooled only by a small fan, examining garnets, sapphires, aquamarines, rubies, lapis lazuli, agates, and many others.
Incredibly, the stones were pulled out of small ziplock plastic bags and spread out on paper plates. Backer was not a flash operation like the designer SuperMarket of Gems, which suited our budget perfectly.
At one point, Backer decided was called to lunch by one of his assistants. He left us with several huge bags of stones, and went into the backroom to eat. The code of honour among dealers was in force, and we were expected to follow suit. After some negotiations, we settled on a variety of stones, all at incredible prices. The cuts were splendid, since Bangkok has some of the top gemstone cutters in the world.
We didn't want to bring cash into the district, so we returned the next day to pay Backer. We looked at many of his expensive stones, some beautiful sapphires with a wholesale price of over $2,000 US, an incredible sum of money. This stone was probably worth around $10,000 in N. America, as the quality and colour were superb. At one point, he dropped some stones on the floor, and when we stooped over to help him pick them up, we found a wide variety of stones under his desk.
"I have over $1,000 of stones on the floor," he proclaimed with a grin.
On the surface, Bangkok is a sweaty, steamy, polluted, filthy place. The noise from traffic is deafening, the heat is relentless, and there are people everywhere.
But for us, it was one of the great places on our trip. The food was the best we'd eaten anywhere, the people so sincere in their friendliness, and the sights (despite the fact we didn't visit many of them) so exotic, we knew we'd return in the future.
Thailand and Bangkok were definitely our kind of place.
