Phuket

More of Phuket

The Driver

After the excursion to Phi Phi Islands, we were dropped off at a different pier from where we boarded in the morning. Our driver searched the crowd for his morning passengers, for the evening drive back to their respective hotels. I was the first passenger he escorted to the van. He instructed me to reclaim the same front passenger seat I occupied this morning. I waited in the van while the driver collected the other passengers. He communicated his plan to drop us off  in the opposite order of our morning pick up.  By early evening, he had dropped off his last group of passengers in the Patong Beach area. My hotel was approximately fifteen minutes away, on Kamala Beach.  He was driving me, his last passenger, to my hotel. The driver seemed more relaxed and less formal than he was earlier in the day. He tried to initiated a conversation with me, but the language barrier left large gaps in our light conversation.  The driver asked me, in his broken English, about stopping for a beer. At first, I didn’t understand what he was saying, then I heard the word, Singha.  Ahhh, now I understood.  I asked him, “Is it legal, drinking while driving?  He nodded. I thought, ‘He probably didn’t understand me. It can’t be legal.’  I waited in the van, while he disappeared inside a convenience store and returned with a six pack of Singhas. He offered me a can. I took a sip and put it in the cup holder on the dashboard. I made a note in my iPhone about how weird the beer stop was and snapped a photo of the two beers sitting in the vehicle’s cup holder. With beer in hand, we passed a police checkpoint without notice. When we were within five minutes from my hotel, the driver asked me if I wanted to see another beach. I asked him if he was still on duty and if he was expected to return to work. He nodded and said, “I take you to the beach one hour, maybe two hour and I drive you to your hotel.”  “Okay,” I said.  I’m thinking, ‘Another add-on. The Thai people sure like to add onto a service.’  “Okay, just an hour,” I reluctantly agreed.  We drove past the turnoff to my hotel and continued to a beach five minutes away, called Laem Singh Beach. It looked like a beach frequented by the locals, based on its earthy, relaxed style.  The long stretch of uneven stairs descended down on a very steep decline. The stairs were a patchwork of ill repairs, some steps were four inches high, others were over fifteen inches high. Some parts of the staircase were concrete, some just soil and wood.  I thought, ‘Somebody can get killed out here!‘  We descended about one hundred of those treacherous steps. Gravity pulled me down so fast, my knees buckled slightly from the jarring. Half way down, we passed on older woman trying to make it up the stairs. A few people came to her aid, coaching her up the stairs. I thought, ‘What was she thinking and how did she get down there in the first place?‘  After about a five minute trek, we finally made it down. I thought, ‘Note to self, climbing up the stairs is going to prove challenging.’

 

Driving with Singhas

Once we made it down to the beach, my driver (never got his name) led the way to the left of the beach, walking straight toward a huge formation of boulders, lining the shore of the beach. Without looking back, he scaled the first boulder and continued to leap across the rocks, until he disappeared around a slight curve of the coastline. I had no intention of climbing those dark, ominous looking rocks, so I stayed on the beach. When the driver turned around and noticed I wasn’t behind him, he signaled me to follow him. I told him I didn’t want to the climb rocks. He stepped back across the rocks to where I was standing, and insisted that I follow him. He grabbed my hand and pulled me up onto to the rocks. I took calculated, deliberate steps. He carefully navigated me through a path to an area where the boulders were wide and flat enough for me to comfortably stand.  Again, the driver disappeared around the curve of the rocks. I  figured, ‘He’s probably relieving himself, too much beer.‘  He reappeared and asked me to follow him around the bend to see the view. I walked around and could clearly see my hotel, across the beach. Suddenly, I wished I was back there. He followed me back to the wide, flat area of the rocks and sat down. He invited me to sit down next to him. The idea of that made me feel uncomfortable, so I decided to remain standing. He asked me questions about my camera and insisted that I take a picture of the colorful evening sky. I removed my camera from my backpack. In my haste, a pack of cookies, I purchased at the pier, fell out of my backpack and settle about five feet down, wedged between two boulders. I felt relieved that was the only thing that fell. I took a couple of shots of the evening sunset and put the camera away. I thought for a moment that the driver was after my expensive camera. ‘He was acting a bit strange.’  The driver sat down on the wide, flat area of the rocks, opened another beer and took a sip. I looked back toward beach, trying to visually retrace the path I took to get to where I was standing.  When I return my gaze to my driver, I saw him rolling a joint. I thought, ‘Shit! My driver is getting too comfortable sitting, drinking, and now, smoking. He’s not planning on going anywhere, anytime soon. I must leave.’

 

On the rocks with the evening sun

The sun was setting and it was going to be dark soon. The beach had thinned out to a few people and the restaurants were closing. The last restaurant turned off their lights (or they probably didn’t have any lights), but there were workers still inside, cleaning in the dark, with lights strapped to their foreheads. I felt like a soon-to-be victim in a “B” movie, sensing imminent danger but ignoring the warning signs. I can almost hear the audience shouting, “Girl, you better run!” I stood there contemplating my next move. The driver, still sitting, took another beer from his bag and stretched out his hand to offered it to me. I refused and told him I didn’t finish the first one. The warning light is flashing in my head. ‘This is a trap. You must go!’ I told the driver I wanted to leave before it got dark. Without saying a word, he took a long drag on his joint.

‘Before the sun sets, I must scale these rocks, alone,‘ I thought. I did the math. This man had intentionally placed me in a compromising position. The steep stairs hidden by thick foliage, the unsafe boulders, the closing of this unlit, secluded beach and the imminent setting of the late evening sun. The voice in my head was now screaming,  ‘YOU MUST GET OUT OF HERE, NOW!’  The driver quietly sat, drinking his second beer and smoking his marijuana.  I knew I had to overcome my fear of crossing these rocks on my own. I had little time for delay, because I was losing the light. I told the driver a few more times that I wanted to go, but he made no attempt to move. I was on my own. It was getting dark. I mustered up the courage to jump down onto the first boulder. I took very careful steps, sometimes crawling on all fours to the next boulder, looking for the easiest path to the beach, where I felt safer. I was slowly making progress, gaining more confidence as I got closer to the beach. The driver finally moved from his seated position and “helped” me maneuvered the last  few rocks. I was “safely” back on the beach. By this time the sun has set and it was almost completely dark.  He had hold of my hand and led me to an area on the beach marked, MASSAGE AREA. He mumbled something about  getting or giving a massage, walked toward a row of massage tables, and sat down on one. He asked me to sit with him. I thought, ‘I have to put some distance between us.‘  I walked about one hundred feet down the beach, toward where I thought the opening for the stairs were. The stairs were completely hidden in the dark. The only activity on the beach was the moving headlamps of a  few workers cleaning the darkened restaurant, about two hundred feet away. I turned back toward the driver and yelled in his direction that I wanted to leave. He didn’t answer. It was too dark to see anything but the illumination of his second marijuana cigarette as he took a drag.  I turned and headed in the direction of the stairs. As I blindly approached the opening to the stairs, my driver appeared behind me. The stairs were his first and last trap, the endless, dark vegetation-covered, unconquerable stairs. On the way down, I noted going up would be challenging, but I never would have guessed how difficult it would be. It was my only way out.

I felt the adrenaline pumping through my body. If forced, I was prepared to put up a fight. The driver walked very close behind me. The polite and patient driver that I met earlier had become agitated and very aggressive. We both knew that this was his last opportunity to act on his intentions. As I started to climb the stairs, I looked back toward the driver and I saw movement behind him. A monkey appeared and sat at the bottom of the stairs. ‘I have to fight them both?’ I continued my ascent. The driver’s hands were on me. He grabbed and squeezed my behind as I tried to make it up the stairs. I pushed his hand away and told him not to touch me. ‘Keep calm, Yvette,‘ I told myself. I knew I had to keep calm. I couldn’t risk him getting angry and losing control. “You’re going to have sex with me,” he said. “No, I’m not going to have sex with you,” I calmly replied. I climbed even faster. He started grabbing my breast, pinching  them like they weren’t attached to me. ‘Keep calm. Keep calm,’ I kept telling myself.  He kept repeating that I was going to have sex with him. I told him, again, slowly and emphatically, “We are not going to have sex.”  He continued to grab me, but I  kept a steady pace up the stairs. As I approached the mid-level platform, I felt fatigued and out of breath. He took this opportunity to try to coax me into sitting down, “to rest,” he said. I knew I couldn’t stop. I took a couple of deep breaths and continued on. I was afraid and expected that he would get desperate and violent. My pace slowed down. I had to remain focused on getting to the top of the stairs, where it was safe. He continued to grab and pinch me while insisting on having sex with me.  I saw lights from the street reflecting on the top of the stairs. ‘Yes, I’m almost there!’ I prematurely let out a “Thank God,” when there were still a dozen steps left to climb. I regretted it as soon as I said it, because I felt it could provoke him. I practically sprinted to the top and let out a “Thank you” when I finally cleared the exit.  There were enough people around for me to feel safe. I walked straight to the van and opened the door. I looked on the seat and I saw my  purse on the passenger seat. It was a small pouch that held my credit card and a small amount of cash. It must have slipped out of my backpack.

As my driver drove me back to my hotel, he mentioned a word that sounded like “dnong” and how “Thai girls don’t have big ones.” I realized he was talking about breasts, as he reached for my breast while continually repeating “dnong.”  I got a sinking feeling, ‘He has done this before, many times’  I wondered what made him think that his behavior was acceptable.  I wanted to ask him if the possession of big”dnogs” was considered an invitation to be sexually assaulted. But, I didn’t. He was’t remorseful or apologetic. By setting these traps, his plan was to render me defenseless and to rob me of my ability to decide what happens to my body. ‘How many women has he done this to?‘ I asked myself. He was hoping that I would choose to denial as my coping mechanism and to allow fear paralyze me. But instead, I choose to act and defend myself. ‘He has a problem with women,’ I thought.  If he had a true interest in me and respected me, he would’ve pursued me like a gentleman and not have treated me like a backroom whore that he could  fuck on a public beach without the decency of an introduction. He never told me his name and never asked for mine. He didn’t care about who I was, or what I wanted. He thought he could just take what he wanted. I asked him, “Do you have a girlfriend?”  He frowned and said, “No. I don’t like Thai girls”  I knew then, it wasn’t that he didn’t like Thai girls. He respected Thai girls enough not mistreat them like he was mistreating me. He knew he would have to work hard to get a respectable Thai girl, but he could put absolutely no effort into getting sex from me, some one he had no respect for, a foreigner, a Black foreigner. All I could say to him was, “You should get a Thai girlfriend.” My tone was light and non accusatory. I just wanted to get back to the safety of my hotel and for all of this to end. I turned my attention to the busy street. I tightened my grip on the door handle, prepared to leap out of the slow-moving van, if he made any sudden moves. The driver’s phone rang. It sounded like a young woman’s voice. ‘A Thai girlfriend?’ The phone call changed his whole demeanor. He became nice, polite and business-like again. Moments later, he dropped me off at my hotel.

 

Phi Phi Islands

Several vans pulled up to the carport of my hotel. This was the first activity of our island tour that we purchased, the hotel pick up. Early mornings, the drivers would circle the island, searching for the people that matched the list names on the roster, his passengers for the day. I’m going on an excursion to Phi Phi Islands and my driver is fifteen minutes late. Every time a van pulled in, I stood up, expecting it to be my driver. “No, that’s not him.” I saw a van pull up, and a nice looking man about thirty-five got out. He walked around the hotel out of my view. I thought, ‘It’s not him.’  The doorman called me over a moment later. It was the guy I just saw, my driver. I was his first passenger. ‘Then, why was he so late?’  He couldn’t blame his delay on the tardiness of his passengers because he didn’t have any. The van seats roughly fifteen people. The driver signaled for me to sit in the front passenger seat. It was a high step up and my skirt was narrow, so I didn’t have that much reach in my legs (without hiking up my skirt) to gracefully climb the step. My driver helped me up by pushing on my behind. ‘Did he mean to touch my ass like that?’

The driver showed me his roster and explained to me, in his broken English, that we had to pick up twelve people. I’m thinking, ‘We? When did this become a partnership?’ Maybe, that was his way of saying, ‘Buckle up, I’m about to do some reckless driving!’  His driving became very aggressive, darting in and out of traffic, cutting people off while frantically beeping his horn  at every car, motorbike and tuk tuk and songtheaw before narrowly passing them. He would taunt the driver in front of him by stopping very close to their back bumper and them slowly easing in closer and closer until he was almost touching the car. Why was he exhibiting such risky behavior? Aggressive driving is considered normal for Thai drivers, but his driving was a little extreme. Thai people are not the most courteous when it comes to driving. They don’t yield to pedestrians, cars, babies, cats, dogs, nothing. The other day, while I was walking near my hotel, a van drove right into my walking path and parked right in front of me. He offered no apology. He just thought he was in the right for doing that. I cursed him out, under my breath. Well, he heard me.

A local woman preparing breakfast

The driver parked the van on the street and left the car running. He disappeared inside a hotel to retrieve a passenger. I waited in the van and watched the natives scurry around in the rush hour morning. Families, some with multiple children, all rode on one motorbike, keeping pace with the rest of the traffic. Some early risers gathered around street food carts, for their morning breakfast to go. One Muslim vendor, I gathered, was an excellent cook because people were literally running to his already crowded cart. I wanted to get out of the van to see what this man was selling. I people-watched all the way to the pier. I saw them, the people of Phuket, before they painted on their smiles to serve food in restaurants where they couldn’t afford to eat and to change beds in hotels where they could never afford to sleep. I watched them on their own home turf, when their time still belonged to them. I saw where and how they lived. I started imagined that I was part of their community. Some of us couldn’t possibly comprehend how people living under such dire conditions could be as content as they are. It seemed as if everyone had somewhere to go, in those early morning hours. Work. Everybody got something to sell. I spotted a man walking the streets selling just grilled eggs. How did I know they were grilled? Because he’s carrying a makeshift portable grill with the eggs still on it. I love the entrepreneurial spirit of the Thai people. Even someone with very limited resources can own his own business. We can learn from them. If any of you have a cash flow problem, you can get a couple dozen eggs and a grill and…you know. Hey, I’m just saying.

Popular vendor selling breakfast

Early morning

Morning commute

We made it to the pier, a little after eight. We had to wait while they organized and divided our large group into four boats. One by one, our names were called. Our driver snapped our individual picture as we boarded our assigned boat. Our  itinerary was to visit three or four islands Khai Island, Maya Bay and Phi Phi Ley island. I was confused. You could have told me it was Fantasy Island or Gilligan’s Island, I didn’t care. I came for the fresh air, the boat ride and some snorkeling. We were also scheduled to stop at Monkey Island. The guide wasn’t sure if it was safe enough for us to get off on Monkey Island, because the primates were getting a bit too frisky. I don’t blame them. The tourists were the cause of the problem. They would insist on feeding the monkeys bananas. One or two additional bananas a day shouldn’t have made a difference, but when you have hundreds of tourists a day feeding them bananas. Its monkey mayhem. They became very aggressive and some people were bitten. I don’t blame the monkeys. That’s their turf and they should defend it. Humans, always disrupting the natural flow of things.

After an hour-long speedboat ride, we pulled up to the beach of Maya Bay. We were there for thirty minutes or so with about two hundred other people. I walked around looking for shade and a toilet. We were due back at the boat at 11:30 am. They came looking for me at 11:32 am, because everyone made it back to the boat on time, but me. We went snorkeling afterwards. Nice. I’m glad I splurged and spent the extra 100 baht for the rented fins. Next, we stopped at Tonsai Bay, where there was a buffet lunch waiting for us (included in the trip), but they had only two vegetarian dishes, white rice and wet cabbage. Off to Monkey Island. I was shocked to see so much trash on this remote island. Empty beverage bottles and plastic food wrappings littered the beach. Why can’t we just leave it like we found it? That’s probably why that monkeys are angrily attacking humans. Heeding to the warnings of our tour guide, no one got off the boat. City folks!

Islander cutting mangoes

Tourist trap

Maya Bay

Workers towing the line

Monkey Island

The final island was Khai Island. I know most of you are imagining a tranquil, quiet beach, right? Wrong! The island had the makings of a nice, remote, tranquil island but the only problem was, TOO MANY FUCKING TOURISTS! There were people everywhere. I wonder how long will it take before we ruin what nature have taken billion of years to create? For the price of a cheap meal, you can spend an hour on this beautiful island, but you can’t just sit down. The price for a sitting for a hour, in a beach chair, is an additional 150 baht. I wondered, ‘Who is the wizard of this operation?’ The poorest (and darkest skin) people of the community represent the cheapest labor force. The boat crew was a group of impoverished, barefoot teenagers who put their lives in danger, performing death-defying acts like on riding the outside of the boat while barely holding on and sitting on top of the motor cross-legged (arms crossed, too), while the boat was traveling at full speed. Yes, I watched these workers unnecessarily put their lives at risk, with no enforcement of basic safety procedures, all for meager wages. These front people provided all the physical labor involved in giving us a few hour glimpse into paradise. But I’m curious to know, where is all the money going?

We made it back to the pier by 5 pm. The tide had changed, so we had to disembark on the other side of the pier. Our drivers were lined up, waiting to take us back to our hotels. My driver was helping the girls organize the table full of photos they processed and mounted since our departure. They were selling them for 150 baht. My driver handed me my photo. It wasn’t bad, so I bought it. I waited, back  in the front seat of the van, for the driver to find his passengers from the morning pick up. My hotel was the farthest away, on Kamala Beach, so the driver started to dropped everyone off in the opposite order in which we were picked up. That meant, I was last….

To be continued…

Khai Island

boat crew

boat crew

boat crew

boat crew

Happy Songkran Day (Happy New Year)

Today is Songkran Day, Thailand ‘s New Year. Originally celebrated by sprinkling water on people as a sign of washing away bad energy and bringing good luck. A little sprinkle of water turned into a national water fight. The previous morning, I had all of my all white clothes laundered at the hotel. They did a great job and my whites were indeed, white. Today, it felt like a white day. I put on my white skirt with my brown tank top and finished it off by tying my white sweater around my waist. My plan was to go to Patong today. Patong Beach is the most popular beach here in Phuket. It has everything a tourist beach should have, dive bars, young people, filthy toilets and a crowded beach. After my lackluster breakfast (it’s paid for 🙂 ), I went to the front desk to inquire about a taxi to Patong. The front desk manager screwed his face up and said in his perfect English, “You don’t want to go there. It’s the New Year and it’s just not the right time to go. “Huh, did they pay him to say that?” I didn’t listen to him. What am I supposed to do sit here and pretend that I don’t want to have fun with the locals? I went downstairs to talk to my friends at the taxi stand. We negotiated a price for a driver to take me fifteen minutes down the road. Along the way, I saw crowds of people standing along the side road with high-powered water guns, water hoses, buckets and barrels filled with water, blessing anyone that came their way. I thought it was pretty funny. Everyone was in on the fun. No one could escape the dowsing. No matter if you’re young or old , if you came outside , you’re going to get wet. I came prepared. I found some plastic bags in my room and wrapped my things in them, before putting them into my backpack. What more could you want on a steamy hot day? The driver let me out close to the beach. The traffic was starting to build up, so he dropped me at the circle where he could easily turn around. I walked with my very intimidating looking camera, hoping no one would come for me. At first they were being nice. A sprinkle here and there. “Watch the camera!” Nice. But then, all hell broke loose! They started throwing buckets of water. Everybody was drenched. The people who were thinking ahead just came out in bathing suits. Some people, mindful of my camera, came up very close to me and poured a bucket of water on top of my head. The really evil ones came up to me, hugged me and then poured iced cold water down my back. I should have brought a bucket. Women would approach me and smear talcum powder on my face. Not sure what’s that all about. Let’s talk about my bright white clothes. Well, they’re more like orange now. Somebody got me with a water gun filled with orange Fanta. After I had enough, I hid out on the beach where nobody got wet. I waited until after six to leave the beach, that’s was when the water party officially ended. I took a long walk to the taxi stand and I stumbled upon a bike show. It was more like a bug show.

My, not so white, whites

The sun setting on Patong Beach.

Taste like chicken

Roasted to perfection

Kamala Beach, Phuket

Exiting through the doors of Phuket Airport was unreal. I was bombarded the a slew of taxi drivers competing for my fare. They asked me where I was going and quoted fixed prices from 650 to 900 baht. I must have looked like easy prey because they were circling me like hungry wolves. This is where reading all those internet warnings paid off. I put my hand up and said, “Metered taxi only!” They were still circling. I pushed through them, when I saw a sign in the distance that said, ‘Metered Taxi,’ and walked in that direction. There was an official looking woman at the counter asking people their destinations. She wrote the price on a slip and handed it to the passenger, and told them to give it to the driver. That looks fixed pricing to me. In my New York attitude, I told the woman, “I need a metered taxi, like the sign said.” She asked where I was going, wrote on the slip and  handed it me, 900 baht.   I went over and spoke to the driver because obviously this woman is confused. She must think I wanted a ride back to Bangkok. The driver spoke to her and said she gave me the price to a different location. Yeah, I know. The woman handed me a slip for 650 baht. What a scam. I insisted that the driver turn on his meter. The woman ignored me, but the driver understood. The driver relented and turned on his meter. That was a setup! This woman does the strong handling for the drivers, because the drivers could get into trouble if they refuse to turn on their meters. So if you insist, they have to comply, but if the passenger agrees to the fixed price on the slip, then it’s all gravy. The quoted, fixed price for my fare was 650 baht. The total metered fare was 180 baht. I gave the driver 300 baht and told him to keep the change. We’re both happy. Right?

Pick your shower scent

Refreshing chilled tea on arrival

The doorman collected my luggage from the taxi. He told me to just take my credit card and passport and go up to the lobby, he’ll take care of everything else. Great! I took the elevator up to the lobby and was instantly treated with smiles and instructed where to go. They told me to have a seat on one of the sofas, overlooking a spectacular view of the Andaman Sea. I can’t even describe the view. See picture. A woman came over, took my passport and credit card and checked me in while I sipped on chilled tea that was placed on the table in front of me. Nice. Another lady came over with an assortment of  bath and shower scents for me to select for my shower. Unbelievable. A gentleman escorted me to my room. The room had a clean, minimalist decor and a spectacular view.

View from the open air hotel lobby

 

Kamala beach is a quiet beach. Enough of a distance to be away from the craziness of nearby Patong, but a short enough drive to be near the fun. I took it easy, wrote in my blog and had an uneventful dinner in the hotel.

The next day, Saturday, I sampled the prepaid breakfast at the hotel. Presentation, a ten. Taste, a six. Later I took a walk to Kamala Beach a nice quiet beach with cute stores and nice restaurants. On the way back I stopped at 7 Eleven (that’s right, plenty of them here) to pick up a couple of Singhas. There were a few teenagers “working” there. When one girl saw my camera and she started posing like I was a fashion photographer and she was a supermodel. I snapped a couple of shots of the crew being really cute and silly, and promised to email them the photos. Back at my hotel, I turned in early. Exhausted.

Overnight Train to Bangkok

I had something else in my head when I booked the overnight train to Bangkok. I envisioned a nice quiet trip in a luxury car with white-glove service. I was off, way off. As soon as I entered the train station, It felt like scene in an old, outdated Agatha Christie movie. The trains were ancient, old relics from days gone by.

iPad photo of the intruder (not a good photo).

There were a group of people already in my section, an European couple traveling with the woman’s sister and older Indian fellow. The woman’s sister helped me find my seat. Two compartments away were the loudest and most misbehaved young adults that I’ve ever seen. From their accents, I think they were from Australia. The used every expletive I’ve ever heard. These kids had no respect for others. They were trying to one-up each other on who can be the loudest and most obnoxious. That’s why children should never be allowed to travel without their parents. The European couple and sister ate their dinner and talked amongst themselves. From their accents, I knew they were German. I asked the sister, what city was she from. She didn’t understand English. The husband of her sister answered for her, “East Germany.” I showed them photos, on my iPad, from my recent trip to Germany. They got really excited when they saw the Mosel. Only the top bunk was available, when I bought my ticket. As I’m showing them my photos, I wondered if this seasoned woman (I say, about 60 years old), who’s assigned to bunk underneath me, would consider a swap. The climb up the six rung ladder would be good exercise for her. I’m kidding, it was only four rungs.  The sister across from me opened a can of Singha and placed it the train’s cup holder. I looked over as it started to foam and spill over onto the floor. I got her attention and pointed to the beer as it flowed under my feet. She looked through her purse, found some tissues and wiped it up. About five minutes later,  I see her pointing to what I thought were my shoes. ‘Yeah, I thought she would like these. They have a very European look to them, German possibly.’  But no, it sounded like Cocoa Roche. Hmmm, is she saying cockroach? How do you say, “Get the Raid!” in Thai? I refused to squash that bug with my German-looking shoes. Once she realized I was not the who’s going to end up with bug goo on my soles, she took her sandal off and gave that Cocoa Roche a whack. Dead. Two minutes later, I hear her again, “Cocoa Roche!” And two minutes after that she screams again. I pointed to the beer trail and I mentioned to the lady that these are Thai Cocoa Roches and they like Thai beer. She thought for a moment, grabbed a moistened towelette from her purse and scrubbed the trail of dried Singha until it was no longer visible.

Later, the attendant pulled down the beds to prepare us for sleep. The train got quiet except those annoying kids two compartments down. When they got ridiculously loud, they were instructed, by the attendant, to quiet it down. They got a little quieter, for a moment, and then became louder than before. I think she should’ve been instructed them to SHUT THE HELL UP! Those Thai people are too polite. If they were keeping me awake, like they were with the other passengers, I would have been very annoyed. One passenger spoke up. She politely ask them to keep it down, she explained to them that she was tired and wanted to sleep. It didn’t work. Her approach was wrong, too gentle. Like I said, those kids had no respect. They come to this country and try to spoil the good nature of the Thai people. Later in the night, the obnoxious Australian ingrates started singing Christmas carols. I guessed it was the first time they actually been on their own and was looking for some parenting, like a spanking. I got one for you. Damn kids.

As for the bunk swap. I didn’t want that poor, old woman to break her neck climbing up and down that unsafe ladder. I’m sure she and her Cocoa Roches were more comfortable in the lower bunk.

Much later, I smelled cigarette smoke. These f*cking kids are smoking on this non-smoking train. Damn kids!

It’s morning and Germans are up and ready. They exited the train several stops before me. I tried to snap a picture of them through the glass of the window, but I wasn’t fast enough. See picture. Goodbye old friends! Hualamphong Train Station was just as old and antiquated as the Chiang Mai train station, but with a whole lot more going on. I saw people bathing their kids on the train tracks and homeless people living in trees and boxes along the route. There were people just sitting around in the station with no where to go. My cab driver kept repeating that the airport was “very far away” to justify him charging me 500 baht ($15). Whatever, let’s go! As the driver approached main the highway leading to the airport, it started to look familiar to me. This is the same route of the train I just got off! Damn. As he pulled up to the airport, I realized, this is where the Germans got off. Why didn’t they tell me they were going to the airport?

My German compartment mates leaving the train.

I would’ve been right with them. Those Germans knew where THEY were going. I arrived at the airport hours before my flight. I tried to check my bags, but it was too early. I had to wait a couple of hours. I looked everywhere for a place to charge my equipment (iPhone, iPad, laptop), but there were no outlets anywhere. Finally, upstairs near the observation area, I saw a lonely power outlet. I looked like a homeless African, as I sat on the floor, guarding my territory, in my wrinkled slept-in clothes and matted hair, waiting for my flight to Phuket.

Thai Massage, The Rematch

Reception area

The place where it all happened.

Cool drink

Window seat, tea and reflection

The shortcut to my hotel was through an alley that houses a few stores, including a massage studio. The place I chose to get my massage was at the end of  the alley. I chose it mainly because I had issues with the other places, giving massages within full view of the public and this place seemed really nice. Services cost a little more than the other nearby places, but the point of having a massage is to feel relaxed. This place made me feel relaxed. How could I relax  if I’m sitting in a row Lazy-boys, with a dozen other customers, as an assembly line of masseuses give us half- hearted rubdowns? That was on the menu at the other places. I chose this small, quiet place with a beautiful decor, simple lines and earthy colors. The staff welcomed me in and started my service soon after gathering my basic information. A woman brought me a cold glass of water and gave me a relaxing herbal foot bath. Heaven. Afterwards, my masseuse, Norma (something like that) led me up two flights of stairs. Thai people must have small feet. I couldn’t quite get my entire foot on the stairs. My toes kept banging against the wall of each stair as I climbed them. I had to resort to my tippy-toes. The room was inviting and comfortable. Norma asked me to change into a scrubs-looking outfit. When she returned, she instructed me to lie on my back. I complied (didn’t want to get her angry) and she went to work. You see, I was prepared this time. I had a talk with myself, an intervention, so to speak. I couldn’t let what happen to me in Bangkok happen again. I wasn’t going to get my ass kicked like the first time. This time, I was prepared to surrender. I was prepared to allow her to do her thing, so I could get the most out of this session. I allowed her to work all of the stress and tension out my shoulders, my neck and my back. She worked hard, spending a little extra time on my shoulders and back, as she repeated, “Tight, very tight.” I guess my shoulders still had some fight in them. When she kneaded and crunched (that’s what it felt like) out the last morsel of resistance in my muscles, I felt a sense of  calm. Well done.

Morning

My train back to Bangkok was scheduled to leave at 5 pm. I decided I would start my day with an early morning walk. Before I exited the hotel, I asked the concierge what time did they stop serving the buffet breakfast. When I checked in, I allowed the front desk clerk to talk me into prepaying for three days of breakfast. I missed two. I can make this one, if I’m back in time. I haven’t explored the town of Chiang Mai like a wanted to. I’ve spent two out of three days traveling to areas outside the city, so if I wanted to see more of this town, now is the time. Off I went. I walked to the old part of town through

Morning meditation

Morning walk

the Tha Phae Gate. I visited four Wats (temples), passing many inviting Thai coffee shops where I could sit outside and watch the locals make their way to work. I kept reminding myself that I have the best (prepaid) breakfast waiting for me at my hotel. “The best food” were the words of the front desk clerk. I made it back with fifteen minutes to spare. I was overheated from the walk and wanted to rinse my face. I asked the hostess where was the ladies room. She didn’t understand. Then I asked her for the restroom. She was even more confused. I finally got it right when I asked the hostess, where was the “toilet.” Got to use the app. The food looked great. They had everything most upscale American hotels would have. I made a plate, got some water and sat down to eat my first meal at this hotel. I took a bite of each item on my plate and was thoroughly disappointed. The food was awful. I should’ve stuck to whatever was working for me instead being distracted by the beautiful presentation and the posh surroundings. I was momentarily fooled into thinking that the quality of the hotel food could possibly compete with the food the street vendors poured their hearts into. The food of the people was authentic and pure, and the hotel food looked beautiful but had no substance. Lessened learned. After a very disappointed breakfast, I returned to my room to pack my suitcase. My dilemma was to try to get more items in a bag that was already filled to capacity when I arrived. With great skill, I made it happen. I can’t tell you how I did it. I probably wouldn’t be able to duplicate it, but I packed it all in. With a five hours to spare until my train leaves for Bangkok, I walked to the massage spa.

Breakfast at an upscale hotel.

Chiang Rai, Burma and Laos

White Temple

A women making breakfast at our first stop.

 

Today, I traveled to Chiang Rai, the northernmost city in Thailand, bordering Laos and Burma. It was named after King Mengrai in 1262. King Mengrai also founded the city of Chiang Mai, meaning new city in 1292. The hill tribe people are originally from Tibet, Laos, China and Burma. The Akha tribe and what we call, Karen Long Neck, or Padaung (what they call themselves), mostly live in the mountains of Chiang Rai.

The van picked me up at 7 am. I climbed into the seat behind the driver. It was a group of about ten of us. The last to be picked up were two Arab men. One sat next to me and the other behind me. Our tour guide, Luang (can’t remember her real name), introduced herself and gave us a brief history on the northern area of Thailand. She told us our first stop will be in forty-five minutes. It will be a coffee break and a food, for those who didn’t have breakfast and some shopping (for those who did). My plan for a forty-five minute catnap was interrupted when the man behind me started to cough. He would cough about five seconds, stop coughing for about twenty seconds and have another coughing attack. This went on for the entire forty-five minutes, until we pulled up to the first scheduled stop. I’m sure the tour company gets some type of compensation for bringing customers to these shopping areas. Our tour guide greeted the workers at the outdoor shopping center and they passed her free drinks. The guide told us the hot springs temperature was 80 degrees and warned us not to touch it. I thought, ‘Eighty degrees, that’s not hot.’ Then I remembered, we’re not the US, the center of the world. It’s Celsius! I did the math in my head. I can still touch it.

Leaving Laos

Monk entering Laos

We stayed there long enough for me to drop a few dollars on some gifts. Back in the van, I climbed back in the seat behind the driver. Everyone kept their original seats. I guess they’re our officially assigned seats now. Would it be rude for me to change my seat? He starts again with the coughing. I shift in my seat when I feel a puff on air on the back of my shoulder. That meant he didn’t have the decency to cover his mouth. I pray that I don’t feel anything wet hit my back. I wasn’t sure I’d keep my composure if a got some old man’s mucus sprayed on my back. The coughing continued every thirty to forty seconds apart. Damn, he’s contaminating the whole van! I hope the back of my seat catches all of the phlegm he’s coughing up. I need to wash my hair. Cover your mouth, Shit! The van got very quiet, everyone was probably thinking the exact same thing. ‘THROW HIS ASS OUT OF THE VAN!’ That was my thought. Someone will pick him up and take him back to his hotel. It was like the scene from The Beach (filmed in Thailand), about this Utopian island of hippies. One of the residents, this Swedish guy, had the nerve to survive a shark bite. This man’s suffering disrupted the peace and serenity of the rest of the inhabitants, so they took him to the edge of the property to die alone. I’m not saying the man should die or anything, just let us have some peace and clean air.

Our second stop was the White Temple, with more shopping. I looked around for a hard to find purchase a SD card for my camera. Everyone went to check out this gaudy, white temple covered with sharp pieces of reflective glass. I bought a card and briefly walked around the “work of art” temple. I get the feeling were not eating lunch for awhile, so I got a snack. Before we got back in the van, Luang asked me if I would like to go to the Golden Triangle, a boat ride up the Mekong River bordering Thailand, Laos and Burma. The Golden Triangle area was known as one the largest opium producers in world. Several of the passengers wanted to go. She just had to ask me and a couple more people for the decision to be unanimous. She said it cost and additional 300 baht. I said, “Okay.”

We got back in the van and headed north. I temporarily re-engaged my cellular so I could let someone know where I was and to look at the map to get my bearings. I turned it on long enough to see, yes, we were heading north. When we reached the Golden Triangle, we were herded into a boat. We could see Burma a distance away, but didn’t have the authority to stop there. We crossed the river to Laos for more shopping. Laos is well known for snake whiskey. The bottle of whiskey had a snake, a scorpion and some other small creatures stuffed into it. I didn’t buy any. We stayed there for a half hour and the boat brought us back to the Thailand side. Tourist trap. Luang asked if we wanted to go to the Burma Thai land border, by land. Sure, why not go to Vietnam or China even? We’ll never get to the hill tribe village at this rate. Everyone agreed. She decided we’ll go after lunch. Okay, she’s making sense now. I’m starving. I shouldn’t complain, for the small amount of money that we paid, we covered a lot of territory.

Our lunch was served, buffet style, in a local restaurant. Of course, they all knew Luang. The tour company industry supports a large number of small community businesses, keeping the money circulating amongst the people. I can dig that.

That’s Mr. “Cougher” in the blue shirt facing the camera.

Burmese boy playing on across the Burma border.

Burma/Thai border

Burma /Thai border

Later, at the Burmese Thai border at Mae Sai, there was another opportunity to shop. Luang told me that Burmese were allowed to come to the Thailand border to sell their merchandise, but the Thai border closed at 6 and they had until 6:30 to make it back. That’s when the Burmese border closed. She made a joke about the half hour difference and the Burmese being slow. I detected a little dig. As we were talking, a man approached me and asked, “Where are you from, Africa? I smiled and said, “Yes, something like that.” We synchronized our watches to meet at the 7 Eleven at 3:45 pm, just in case we wanted to shop. Luang told me a little about Burma and how poor the people are and their controlling government. A walked around some and later met the group at the 7 Eleven. 7 Eleven stores a really big in Thailand. You will not walk a block and not see a 7 Eleven. In Bangkok, I was not inconvenienced to have to even walk across the street to get to one. There is usually a 7 Eleven on both sides of the street every other block.

I think the man waits until he gets into the van to cough. He was fine while he sat at and outdoor coffee shop, sipping iced coffee at the border. Now, back in the van, he’s spewing phlegm on the back of my seat. I thought, ‘I should put on my hoodie to protect my hair.’ We finally arrived at the Karen Long Neck Tribe village. The name Long Neck was give to them. They call themselves Padaung. This village looks a little different. You can see that they also live here and not just come here to put in a day’s work The people were very gracious by allowing us to take pictures of them in their normal environment. There were different theories why the women wore such heavy rings around their necks. There was one theory was about tigers going for the jugular and the rings were their protection, and the other was for vanity reasons. The more rings the more beautiful and more status one has. I believe both theories. I can see the necessity of needing to protect the neck from a ferocious tiger. I can also see how people take something useful, like a tool or an item need for survival, a turn it into something that represents a higher level of status and beauty. Things like houses, hats, shoes and clothes, in the beginning, they were crated to protect us from the harsh environment, but now it divides and defines us by status and class.

Akha woman

Akha children

Akha vllage

Akha woman with her ribe

Akha woman

Akha woman

The youngest wearer of the rings was about three, the oldest about sixty five. I always thought the collar was made from separately cut rings that they added one at a time. No, it’s one piece of thick heavy, not so malleable, brass wire that’s bent and wrapped around the neck. The guide said it takes a lot of strength and skill to wrap it around someone’s neck. I say it takes a tremendous amount if skill to wear it. One young lady I spoke to, had apparent damage to her vocal cords. Her broken words hardly made it above a whisper. It was like she couldn’t get enough air. At some point it seemed so wrong. We are there as spectators and not here to help them. These people are destined to remain the poor, unskilled and uneducated non-citizens of this country. These people have an allegiance to the same country that’s exploits them and treats them like caged animals. The tour company did everything in their power to prevent us from spending too much, if any, money in this village. I bought a few things and gave some spare change to the children. I was ready to leave.

The three hour drive back to Chiang Mai felt like we were the ambulance taking the dying patient to a far away hospital. I thought, ‘I hope this guy doesn’t die on us.’ I drifted in and out of sleep. I was the first to be dropped off at my hotel. When I looked to the back of the van to say goodbye, Mr. Cougher looked a picture of health, smiling and cured. I ended my last night in Chiang Mai sipping Singha until a saw the vendors packing it up. That’s a first. It must be late.

 

Youngest girl, age three, with the rings.

Elephants, Akha and Long Necks

Ming, Thae and the assistant (forgot her name)

 

My plan was to visit the hill tribes of the Akha and the Long Neck Karen people here in Chiang Mai. For the price of the ticket, it included a visit to the elephant farm. Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a spectator when it comes to animals, especially animals as big as elephants. Why couldn’t they just take me to see the Hill Tribe people and call it a day? I booked this trip online while I was in Bangkok, the confirmation email said for me to meet the guide in my hotel lobby at 7:50 am. At around 8:00 am, I saw a man and a younger girl sitting in the lobby, patiently waiting. I went up to them and asked if they were waiting for me. His name was, Thae, manager of the traveling agency and she was his trainee. He just came to make sure I was taken care of (more of that Thai hospitality) and bought me a receipt to give to the driver when they arrived. As we waited for the driver, Thae and I exchanged small talk. He told me not many Americans come to Thailand because of the distance. He said he had to learn English when he started his tourist business, in Krabi. I showed him my barely opened Thai app. Thae pointed out the app had the basics, but it was missing the “Ka” and the “Krup” These words are at the end of the statements as a form of politeness, Ka for women and Krup for men.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is something that is very important to the people of Thailand. I find it ironic that the makers of the App didn’t find it necessary to include this important feature. Maybe the thought was it was better to get respect than to give it. Thae taught me to properly pronounce a few Thai words, trying to lose my American accent. “The problem is your American tongue, ” he said. The van came and Ming stepped into the hotel lobby to greet me. Off we went.

Ming asked our group of twelve what other activities did we want to add on. Here we go. Can I vote to subtract some activities?I just want to go to one place, the hill tribe village. I was out voted. The first stop was a raft ride. Damn. Second, a mule ride, Damn. Damn Then, the elephants, a lunch and then maybe when we get around to it the hill tribe village.

After driving for a half hour, we stopped to get coffee, to use the toilet and shop. The raft ride was a calm, relaxing, safe ride down the river. I was a little concerned when I saw a huge sign at the entrance that said, NO CAMERAS OR ANY ELECTRONIC DEVICES. When I got in the raft, I realized my electronics were pretty safe. The river was only two feet deep. The mule ride was simply a quarter mile walk down the rode and back. I felt as if I was at the safari in an amusement park. Next, the elephants. To get to the elephant park, we had to walk across this wobbly wire footbridge expanded high over the two-foot river. I was fine as long as no one rocked the… okay we’re swaying!

I’m ambivalent when it comes to watching trained animals perform. It is against their nature (and not that entertaining) for an animal to do human-like tricks. Who knows what type of inhumane things were done to them in order to break what nature has programmed them to do. I watched as they bathed the elephants. They seemed happy as they splashed in the cool, muddy water and playfully sprayed the crowd with water. The next phase was the elephant staged show. I noticed the stick the trainers were carrying had a sharp spiked metal pick-type tip. Every time an elephant missed a cue or stepped out of line they would jab that sharp curved spike deep into their flesh. One elephant was restrained by chains while the others only had a thin rope as a harness. The chained one, the one I perceived was the rebellious one, still had some fight in him. I kept an eye on the trainer of the chained elephant. I watched him jab, poke and drive that spike into that elephant so many times. At one point that elephant let out a very loud cry. The crowd was stunned. I’m sure they didn’t see the trainer drive that spike deep into the elephant’s flesh, a second before. I knew that he was a cry from the agony and the pain they have to endure if they chose not to obey the commands to perform. I could’t stand watching anymore. On our drive here, the guide kept saying Mozart when she spoke of the elephants. You guessed it, they trained them to paint. If I didn’t witness it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe that these elephants could paint better than most humans. Check out the photos. The last of the elephant phase was the elephant ride. I really wasn’t interested in that. We separated in pairs. My partner was this french girl who smoked about a pack and a half of cigarettes since we started, and it was just after noon. We were escorted to this high platform that looked said it would collapse under the weight of all the people on it. We safely slid on the small seating area and secured with loosely tied rope. The massive elephant took very deliberate, calculated steps, I guess because of his massive weight. A fall would be catastrophic. The elephant maneuvered perfectly and delicately through narrow, steep paths. When he took the really steep steps down, I had to use all of my arm strength to keep from sliding out of the seat. The french girl and I were laughing hysterically as we clung on as if our lives depended on it. I did. After lunch, we walked back to the van. It was time to drive to the Hill Tribe village. I looked back and noticed, far on the other side of the park, a baby elephant tied to a stake in the ground. He didn’t look too happy. He must have been at the beginning of the deprogramming. Isolation and denial of basic animal rights.

On the way, we stopped for a scheduled break at this shopping area designed for this tour. Finally, we drive into the village. The Hill Tribe people of Thailand were natives of Burma, Tibet and Laos and now live in northern Thailand. They are denied citizenship, so they are not legal citizens. They don’t have their papers, so they cannot work, vote or get any services. Their children have no birth certificates, so they cannot go to public school. Their only means of earning money is through menial jobs for men and selling handmade merchandise to tourist, if you are a woman. Sightseeing companies sell tourists trips to their villages. I doubt that the tribes get much, if any, of that money. The agreement is for the companies to bring the tourist to the villages and the tourists will, in turn, purchase the handmade souvenirs from them. Nice try. This could be problematic for the sightseeing companies. If the hill tribe villagers actually made money, let’s say, enough for them to get out of their situation, all bets are off. The companies will have no product (the tour) to sell. It took me a minute to realize why our tour guide stopped several times for us to shop, that wouldn’t have happened if they were sympathetic to the hill tribe’s condition. I bought some items and took some photos. This community is a local community. I felt the people were putting on a little of a show, like they were onstage. That’s why people come here. Right? Ming added another stop, the orchid garden. I’m hot, sweaty and tired. Let’s go! We stayed a half hour and left. The flowers weren’t all that interesting. It look us about and hour to get back. I took a shower and headed to the night market. After eating a couple bites of an unappealing Indian dinner, I walked a bit until it started to drizzle. I headed back to my hotel. As I was a half block from my hotel, I see the doorman running towards me with a very large white canvas umbrella. I’m talking about the large umbrella that attaches to table of five on your deck. I chuckled as he tucked me underneath and escorted me back to the hotel. Like I said, impeccable service.