The rain seems relentless as we stand just inside the protective shelter of the outdoor train station. The only sound that indicated the presence of vehicles is the sound their tires make as they splash through muddy lakes that have formed on the uneven streets.
Finally our bus arrives, and we pile on to it, heaving dripping wet backpacks through the aisle. Within minutes we are meandering along the roads outside of the city of Chumphon, heading towards the Lompraya Catamaran Ferry Pier.
From where I stand, the pier looks to jut out into the sea around 150 metres. The rain and wind have become even more aggressive, but this doesn’t detour groups of tourists from walking four people across, effectively blocking the passage of anyone who is not moving at a tortoise’s pace. One guy even lights up a cigarette for good measure, sending clouds of choking smoke back into our faces. Finally, we spot a chance to dash through, and looking like a pair of West Vancouver mothers, we power walk our way down the rest of the dock.
Stepping into the boat is a shock, as the air conditioning has been turned up so high that I’m shocked I don’t see icicles forming when I speak. Normally this is the moment where one breathes a hearty sigh of relief after escaping from the strangling heat, but as someone who is soaking wet, it’s not quite as pleasant.
We find a couple of seats by the window, peeling off layers and wet clothes, and settle in for what we think will be an adventurous and exciting ride. It does indeed turn out to be adventurous, but more so in the way that would be enjoyable if you were a salty old pirate who has two wooden limbs and thrives on seas that resemble torturous gales. A sea dog such as this would be smiling and laughing at us through broken teeth, because we resemble anything but sailors on this sea voyage. With every wave, the boat pitches up and down, and within 20 minutes I am hanging on to the ledge beside me, fighting the urge to relive breakfast. Behind me, a young woman does exactly that, and clutching a small pink bag full of what could be scrambled eggs and toast, she clumsily makes her way to the stern of the boat.
Eventually we sail into calmer seas, and the island of Koh Tao makes an appearance. We marvel at the beauty of the island, and soon find ourselves clamoring to reach terra nova. The island is a bustling place, showcasing colourful markets, yammering salespeople, and aimlessly wandering tourists. We wave off several offers of a taxi, and make our way along a steep and overgrown trail before finally reaching our destination for the night. The “resort” is situated on a beautiful beach, but the bungalow we are shown leaves much to be desired. Daylight seeps in through cracks in the bungalow, and a filmy mosquito net sits draped over a questionable bed in the middle of the room. However, we are exhausted from a day of travelling, and after smiling at the woman who waits in the doorway, we tell her that we will pay for a night. We follow her back down to the reception area, fork over the cash and then head up to our room, excited for some serious lazing about. Jordan then opens the door to the bathroom that is attached to our bungalow, and almost immediately slams it. He turns to me with a smile that’s a little too forced for my liking.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Don’t go in there.” He replies.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
He is adamant when he says, “Just please for once listen to me. Don’t go in there yet.”
I shrug with what I hope looks like nonchalance, and amble outside to take a look at our balcony. A table and chairs sits overlooking the path down to the ocean, while a hammock swings lazily from the beams. If I were to just stay outside on this patio, I could almost forget about the interior. As if fate is determined to remind me of the horrors that lay within, Jordan comes back out of the bathroom, wielding a broom and declaring the war zone safe to enter.
He explains that the bathroom floor was littered with hundreds of ants, termites and their shedding wings. He swept them up, both dead and alive, and ushered them down the drain using the shower hose. I definitely owe him one.
The frogs that night are unbelievable. They come out during rainy periods, and tune in to a chorus of what can only be, “Let’s Make Like a Lawnmower.” Crossing a bridge over their inhabited stream, Jordan and I can barely hear each other speak. It is truly unlike anything we have ever heard. Earplugs are positioned within easy reach as we settle into bed for the night.
The next morning, I step out of the shower and fling my towel over my head. As I do so, I catch a glimpse of two shadows on the wall. A shriek of surprise escapes my lips as I realize the shadows belong to two huge lizards. They turn out to be Tokay Geckos, and are known to bark, bite and jump when threatened. I keep my distance while Jordan exclaims over how neat they are, venturing in for close-up photos. One gecko tolerates the paparazzi, but keeps one yellowed eye trained on the photographer. The other scaly creature slips a little further into one of the many cracks in the aging wood.
I love the great outdoors. I don’t mind roughing it. I can hike in the backcountry for a week with only a tent to shelter myself. But I don’t have to share my accommodation with lizards that can bark and bite – probably more ferociously than my darling little dog, Teka, could have.
The decision is made, and we are both eager to say goodbye to Sai Thong “Resort.”
We traipse back into the village, and after spending some time at an internet café, we hop in a taxi, (which turns out to be the bed of a pickup truck) which takes us to another little village on the island. We check into a little resort that offers beautiful apartment style rooms, and set out to explore the area.
The next day begins early, as a haggard sounding rooster decides that dawn comes not when the sun rises, but instead in the several hours before the light of day. He continues his cries of “cock-a-doodle-do” for hours, sounding not like well-fed fowl from Farmer Joe’s Petting Zoo, but instead like a bird who has lived a life dependant on whiskey and cigarettes.
Jordan gashes his foot on some coral, but ignores it as we continue to swim through the wonderland that is the ocean floor. Schools of fish swim in a dizzying pattern, and one would swear they had been through intense choreography to achieve such perfection as a unit. Other fish glide along unaccompanied, lazily enforcing their first rights to a piece of coral through a sudden show of their size. I continue to drift through the water, and find myself in a slightly less inhabited area of the bay. Peering ahead of me into the sapphire tinted water, I catch a glimpse of what looks to be long eel-like creatures. I beckon Jordan towards me, and cautiously swim closer. As I approach, I see that they are in fact not eels, but an elongated fish that closely matches the colour of the water around it. Swimming closer yet, I find myself staring at a mouth that is more like that of a certain long-snouted reptile. It trains its eyes on me, and warningly opens its mouth a fraction, revealing a saw-like oral cavity. I back pedal some, looking back at Jordan to see him shaking his head underwater and moving his hands in a “Don’t go there,” indication. I don’t need to be told twice. We later find out that this fish is known as the “Alligator Needlenose” fish, which is fitting considering the shape of its mouth.
Continuing on, I find myself swimming into the shallows, where I suddenly convince myself that I see something that resembles a shark fin. It turns out I don’t need too much convincing, as the shark suddenly swims fully into my view. It’s about fifteen feet away, and I immediately recognize it as a Black Tipped Reef shark. He seems indifferent to my presence, and acknowledging me with those unmistakable eyes, he continues in his search for smaller prey. I follow him for a short while, marveling at how much he looks like a smaller, and therefore somehow cuter version of those sharks you see in the bloody discovery channel documentaries.
Out on the sand, Jordan’s foot has now decided to ooze out a steady flow of blood, and I dash to a small restaurant in hopes of securing some bandages. I come back with a handful of tissue, and after digging sand out of it, we discover a deep, but decidedly clean gash. We head back to the hotel, where Jordan devotes some more time to cleaning his battle wound before covering it with a real bandage and some moleskin.
We wake around 4:00am, when the group of Irish people who occupy the three of the four rooms on our floor return from the bar. They seem to think that blaring music and yelling back and forth amongst their balconies is acceptable conduct at these hours. An hour later, Jordan finally steps out on to the balcony and asks them to turn down the noise, as it’s now past 5:00am and we’ve been kept awake since their return. One of the girls turns to him, her heavily painted face registering genuine surprise at his statement of being unable to sleep. “Really?” She asks.
Yes really. Shocking, I know.
Thankfully, they agree to quiet down, and we have just managed to fall back asleep when the rooster from the black lagoon calls for more cigarettes and whiskey. At this point, I just start laughing.
Braking intermittently, we inch our way down a steep slope. From around the corner, we hear a scooter approaching from the base of the hill below. We pull off to the shoulder to exchange a few words with each other as the scooter comes into view. The couple has opted to double on the scooter instead of riding separately, and on hills such as these, the weight of two bodies can greatly reduce the vehicle’s ability to climb. The scooter begins to slow, and fearing that they won’t make it up the hill, the young driver slams on the brakes, failing to take into consideration that because he has a passenger, the heavy machine will immediately want to roll backwards down the hill. As we watch, he tries to recover and in a panic, guns the throttle. This causes the bike to rear up on its back tire, sending his girlfriend falling off the bike. Her sandal catches on the vehicle, and it’s a futile struggle as she tries to break her fall while still somewhat attached to the machine. She lands on the mottled cement road, while he fights to keep the bike upright, which tries to fall over, first to the right and then to the left. Finally he gains control, and looks over to where his girlfriend is now sitting in the middle of the road. We park our bikes, and offer what little help we can, but in the end all we can do is recommend a clinic we’ve seen. Initially she resists, because she doesn’t have medical insurance, but eventually her torn foot proves to be too agonizing, and they remount the scooter. As they drive away, we shake our heads at the mindset of the human race, and how we’re all guilty in our lack of respect for these machines, especially when we have no former knowledge of operating them.
The next day we board a ferry destined for the island of Koh Phangan. The journey there is laden with sunshine, and perched upon a bench that lines the upper deck, we enjoy the wind as it tosses our unruly manes. The feel of this boat ride is much different than the previous, as passengers are enjoying a beer and loitering about the three decks. A good number of the commuters are inebriated by the time we dock, and as luck would have it, one of those inebriates ends up squeezed next to us in an already severely cramped shuttle. The drive to Thong Sala Village proves to be quite entertaining, as our new French seat-mate drunkenly yells out advice and tips about the island and the Full Moon Party – all the while carefully ensuring that no precious beer sloshes out of his open can.
We finally arrive at Cocohut Beach Resort and Spa, and with huge smiles, we approach the reception. We’ve been waiting for this moment for several months before leaving New Zealand. Within moments we are checked into our beautiful hillside bungalow. We spend the next several days swimming, exploring the village, and just generally relaxing. Coconut shakes are deemed our new favorite refreshment, and we can’t seem to get enough of the amazing pad thai and curries. Groundskeepers return our smiles at each approach, and the Cocohut cleaning crew impresses us at every turn.
A cocktail party is put on in honor of the full moon, and we enter the restaurant to find that it has been completely transformed. Brightly shining ropes of light line the pillars, and an enormous variety of food graces strategically placed silver platters. A make-shift cocktail bar has been decorated with black-light paint, and the servers behind it are frantically mixing drinks for the thirsty crowd. A DJ booth has been assembled, and the speakers vibrate with melodies designed to evoke dancing. Dressed in our neon attire, we converse with other travellers while dipping into small tins of glow-in-the-dark body paint. Once our arms and legs are decorated with brightly coloured flowers and intertwining jungle vines, we make our way down to Haad Rin beach, and ultimately to the Full Moon Party.
The beach is alive with activity, and every grain of sand seems to jump in time to the heavily throbbing music. It’s almost too much for one person to take in, as the neon colours and rings of fire are an assault to the senses. Elevated platforms host crowds of dancing bodies. The throng of people moves as one, except for the occasional arm or headband that can be seen above the mass. Fire dancers twirl flaming batons, their bare and shining bodies dangerously exposed to the cracking orange element that swirls so close to them. They spin with ease, catching the flame-ridden stick as though it is effortless. With each higher toss, tentative and nervous giggles resound from the surrounding mob. At the far end of the beach, a huge sign pulses with light, flames spelling out, “Welcome to Thailand. 2012.”
Eventually we make our back to Cocohut, and in our hillside bungalow, we drift to sleep, blissfully sheltered from the roar and commotion of the beach that hosts the world renowned Full Moon Party.
On our last night on the island of Phangan, we decide to indulge in a coconut oil massage. The spa is a work of art, with twisting cobblestone paths that lead up different sets of stairs and through wooded areas to different treatment huts. After washing and massaging our feet in orchid-infused water, our masseuses lead us up to a softly lit stone room that overlooks the ocean. Sprawled on wide massage tables, we revel in the feelings of relaxation, thoroughly appreciating every press of their hand, and every fresh waft of scented oil.
Our ferry is at 7:00am the next morning, and we are to catch our taxi from the hotel at 6:00am. Unfortunately, this means that we miss our complimentary buffet breakfast that occurs each morning at 8:00am. We aren’t too worried about this, but apparently the staff member in charge of our departure is, for he brings us each a toasted cheese sandwich and a bottle of water for the ride. What a guy.
From here it’s a bit of a journey towards the island of Koh Phi Phi, a destination that has made Thailand famous for both its natural beauty and its role in the Leonardo Dicaprio film, “The Beach.”
More to come from this glorious destination.
Thailand Fact of the Day #1: Thai people seem to LOVE the television series, “Friends” even though it’s been over for a decade. Many cafes and restaurants play the series on repeat, and I’ve even noticed coffee shops that are named in reference to the show.
(My sister reprimanded me about skipping this part in my last blog. Therefore, I’ve been guilted into posting two facts for this entry!)
Thailand Fact of the Day #2: Although many of the toilets in the tourist regions of Thailand are “westernized,” (seated toilets as opposed to squatting toilets that are prevalent in China) they still lack some of the luxuries that we are accustomed to; the ability to accept toilet paper for example. Most guesthouses don’t even provide paper. Instead, there is a hose attached to the wall beside the toilet, and you use this in lieu of tissue. It’s a process, and one that takes getting used to.
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