I’ve moved!

I’ve finally got myself a site of my own

(it’s about time, right?).

Find me here –>

www.thevagablond.com

See you there!!!

Three Reasons it Rocks to be a Monk in Thailand

Wikipedia defines a monk as a person who practices religious asceticism, living either alone or with any number of monks, while always maintaining some degree of physical separation from those not sharing the same purpose. The concept is ancient and can be seen in many religions and in philosophy… I know their lives are devout, and probably very difficult. But there are at least three reasons why being a monk in Thailand would be awesome:

Number 1: Fashion

No need to spend money on clothes, or shoes. No need to worry about fixing hair, because it’s always cut short.

Colourblind? No problem. Everyone’s got the same colour robe. And it looks wonderfully comfortable too, if you ask me.

 

Number 2: Public Transportation

That’s right. Forget the senior citizens and the injured persons. Give your seats up to the monks on the bus!

 

Number 3: Airport Lounges

Every airport in Thailand has its own waiting room specifically for monks. Awesome, right?

 

I think it’s rad. Another one of those things you just don’t see at home, you know? 🙂

 

Glampacking in Bangkok

What is glampacking, you ask? Glampacking is backpacking… with style.

Now don’t get me wrong, this is not something I am at all accustomed to. I’ve not “glampacked” once in my life. In fact, I haven’t showered in days and I haven’t slept in a proper bed in weeks. I hadn’t even heard of the term “glampacking” until we arrived at our hotel in Bangkok and Joanne used the phrase.

“Nice. Nothing like a little glampacking on a mega-budget trip.”

Let me explain something to you. There is something to be said for parents. And there is even more to be said about parents with connections.

A word about my father: he is an amazing, helpful man. He arranged for an old friend of his to take care of us while we were in Bangkok, and take care of us he did. He has an apartment here (a very nice apartment, might I add, with high ceilings and a massive pool and soft leather couches and a bathroom twice as big as my entire apartment in Seoul).

This is how we glampacked around Bangkok, one of the world’s greatest backpacker destinations –

1. Private Driver

There is absolutely nothing in this world better than arriving in a foreign city, dirty and exhausted, after a month of extreme budget backpacking in Southeast Asia and being met by your very own Personal Driver.

That’s right. Hello Bangkok, hello person who shall take us anywhere we want, whenever we want! He brought us these beautiful Thai flower bouquets on arrival, too – and I don’t know what Heaven smells like, but I imagine it’s something like this.

Personal Driver’s first order of business was to take us from the airport to the hotel. Which brings me to #2.

2. Expensive Hotel

We pull up to the hotel, RIGHT up to the hotel – you know those big expensive hotels where they have those drive-arounds for valet service, limousines, and personal drivers? Heck yes, one of those. Personal Driver opens our doors for us (what a nice guy!).

Doormen whisk away our bags before we even have a chance to get near the trunk. We walk through the front doors (I still haven’t touched a door since we left the airport), send our purses through a security scanner (very high-security, this place!), and proceed to the concierge (is that what it’s called? I don’t speak this Language of People with Money). My Dad’s friend, who is responsible for both the Private Driver and the Expensive Hotel, gets us a wicked discount at the hotel. Such a great discount, in fact, that we’re only paying slightly more than we would for a budget backpackers on Kao San Road. And at this point in our travels, we need it.

Oh, and free breakfast was included. Big buffet, hot coffee, scrambled eggs, fresh croissants, as much bacon as you can eat… don’t mind if I do!

3. Air Conditioning & A Frog-less Shower

After weeks of sticky hot sleeping with barely a fan in our midst, this air conditioned oasis was a massive factor of appreciation. No more trying to put on makeup with a sweaty upper-lip. No more showering with cold water and frogs. No more sleeping with random cats that break into your bungalow. No more of any of this! Clean, hot showers! Free shampoo. A real toilet! Cool sleeping under soft duvets and pressed white, Egyptian cotton sheets. And best of all, air con. Heaven must have Thai flower bouquets and air conditioning.

4. A Pool, A Sauna, and A Gym

It has not been long since we ate ourselves into oblivion in Ko Phangan. It HAS been long since we did anything (other than sweating profusely in the humidity) to burn off any of that weight. And a trip to the gym is much better if you can take an elevator there and there’s a sauna and a pool involved. Just saying.

5. Private Longboating on the Chao Phraya River

There are some really cool things to see along the Chao Phraya River, once dubbed the “Venice of the East”. And although it’s polluted and smells kinda funny, it’s still worth a trip. In Bangkok, everything is cheap. And since we were saving money and getting treated like royalty already, we figured we could splurge an extra few baht on a private longboat tour of the canals that run right through the centre of Bangkok (it still cost us less than $10).

Floating markets, a bunch of wats (you know, temples), some museums, a giant golden Buddah, and a number of friendly waving locals. We definitely needed a shower after we finished the hour-long ride, but that certainly wasn’t a problem considering where we were spending the night.

6. Whale Sashimi and Fancy Eats

So at 6pm on one of our night in Bangkok, Private Driver arrives and waits patiently for us in our hotel lobby. When we arrive, he opens the doors for us (I could get used to this!) and we slip into the fresh leather interior of the car. We have no idea where we’re going, but we assume it’s somewhere fancy. Of course it is. We step out of the car and into one of those very fancy Japanese restaurants that nobody can really afford. The waitresses are dressed in kimonos and the chefs are wearing those funny white Japanese hats that I love so much. We each get our own individual cooking “stone” where we can cook and season our slices of meat exactly as we like. We also get some sushi, some tuna and salmon, and something unfamiliar. We dig in.

“What is this one, Dave?”

“Oh, that’s whale. Raw whale sashimi.” As if it were the most normal thing in the world.

And I hate to say it, but whales are delicious.

7. Elevator Abandon

Even glampacking doesn’t come without its own share of risks. On our way up to Dave’s apartment to pick up our laundry, the lights go out and the elevator suddenly lurches to a halt. In blackness in the middle of an elevator in the middle of Bangkok, without a phone and a “help” button that doesn’t seem to be working, Joanne and I freak out for at least 15 solid minutes while we pound ever so gracefully on the door and scream ever so eloquently for someone to please come to our immediate rescue!

In the end, we were saved. And elevator abandon aside, we were spoiled rotten in Bangkok. And we loved every second of it.

And at least one of us didn’t want to leave. 😉

Bangkok: Navigating the Chatuchak Weekend Market

The Chatuchak Weekend Market is the undisputed mammoth of all Bangkok’s markets. Spanning 35 acres with more than 15,000 market stalls, this behemoth of Thai shopping has reached landmark status and is a must-see for visitors to the area. If you can dream it up, you can probably find it here. From vintage levis jeans to cell phone gadgets & electronics, from restaurant signs to different coloured stones for your fish tank. From Moroccan lampshades to Indian pashminas, from flying squirrels to mangy pigeons (because everyone loves a mangy pigeon), you can buy them all here.

Bunnies!

Assorted Kleenex Dispensers?

Flying Squirrels!

The market is pure insanity. It’s humid, sticky, disorienting, and absolutely worthwhile. There are price tags on practically nothing. It’s up to you and your negotiation skills to secure a good deal, though whatever you buy here is probably no longer the best deal you can find. The vendors can be counted on to start you off with a price 150% over the price they would actually hope to get. So brush up on your bargaining skills and, as is always the case with bartering, be prepared to walk away. Chances are good that you’ll be able to find the same stuff at a neighbouring stall anyway, if the vendor you’re walking away from doesn’t offer you a lower price on your way out. 😉

What to find, and Where to find it

It seems like a maze, but this website has simplified things greatly by breaking down what’s for sale and where you can find it:

 

Clothing & Accessories (sections 2-6, 10-26)

Handicrafts (sections 8-11)

Ceramics (sections 11, 13, 15, 17, 19, 25)

Furniture and Home Decoration (sections 1,3,4,7,8)

Food and Beverage (sections 2, 3, 4, 23, 24, 26, 27)

Plants and Gardening tools (sections 3, 4)

Art and Gallery (section 7)

Pets and Pet Accessories (sections 8, 9, 11, 13)

Books (sections 1, 27)

Antiques and Collectibles (sections 1, 26)

Miscellaneous and Used Clothing (sections 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 22, 25, 26)

If the dizzying array of stalls and the masses of people have got your appetite going, sample some interesting Thai cuisine at one of the many hawker stalls. We tried pomegranate juice and a strangely delicious green pancake thing.

When you go (as you should!) make sure to wear light clothing and comfortable walking shoes, bring your best bargaining skills, and don’t forget to slather on the sunscreen.

Owls for sale. 😦

Fresh Juices, yum!

Fishies in Baggies!

Getting to Chatuchak

By skytrain: Take the BTS Skytrain to Mo Chit station, Exit 1. If you follow the crowds, they should lead you to the rows of stalls; keep to the right and you’ll see a small entrance that leads into the market (clothing section).

By subway: Take the MRT Subway to Chatuchak Park station, Exit 1. Follow the crowds until you get to the small entrance leading into the clothing section of the market.

Hours of Operation

The weekend market is open on Saturdays and Sundays, 09:00 – 18:00, and Fridays 18:00 – 24:00. Plant sections are also open on Wednesdays and Thursdays, from 07:00 – 18:00.

Yes, this man is buying a Pigeon.

PS – I’ve decided to join WordPress’ Post A Week Campaign. Hopefully I’ll be updating more than that, but what with traveling so much and not always having internet access, I can’t promise a daily post. But anyway, keep the comments coming and be expecting at least one post every few days for the rest of 2011! Happy New Year, world!

Ding Dong Dunk and Other Reasons I’ll Never Drink Lao Khao Again.

Thailand: They called it “Thai rice whiskey”. They insisted it was a must-try. My first gulp unveiled the cruelty of our new friends. My tongue swelled, my lips puckered and burnt, my nostrils convulsed, my neck kinked, my cheeks filled with spit. I felt a thickness where mouth becomes throat, and I gargled some Chang to wash away the horror. As my sinuses began to drain, I felt her in my belly, a warm, evil puddle.

Lao Khao, a potent rice whiskey made from distilled sahtoh, is the most apocalyptic of liquors. It makes you scream the things that common courtesy locks in the subconscious creases of your brain. It makes you act on the impulses that legal disincentives and social inhibitions usually curb. It is the devil on your shoulder banishing the angel to the harsh light of sobriety. She is an evil, evil mistress. She is the summation of everything that is tasteless, the total of all that is cruel and unkind. She is cheap, she is easy, and she’ll ensure you won’t forget her with the promise of an eyeball-pounding hangover. She’ll pain you to the point of suicide, and she’ll make you wish you were never born.

” Wilai, why is that man over there just standing on the road and not going anywhere?”

” I ask aunt same before. She speak he ding dong (a little crazy) and dunk (drunk). He like dink (drink) Lao Khao too much”. (from thaisabai.org)

Today, cheap Lao Khao is not only sold at virtually every small store in Thailand, it is also the pin on the blue-collar lapel – hawked at bars frequented by the local working man: places where buildings are fashioned from bamboo, roofs from palm fronds, and barstools from trunks of palm trees. The most widely-known and accessible variety is Mekhong. For only 40 Baht, she will accompany you on your travels in a 1-litre glass bottle big enough to get the whole village inebriated.

Some have tried to tame her with Coca Cola or copious amounts of soda water. Another, more interesting technique is to soak special ingredients in the Lao Khao using cheesecloth. After a few days of soaking, the infused liquid is ladled into shot glasses and enjoyed as Lao Yadong. The process is not unlike the one employed in the West to change mediocre hard liquor into expensive liqueurs.

One of these special Lao Yadongs mixes Lao Khao with snake blood, usually a cobra’s. Aficionados believe the blood turns the drink into an aphrodisiac. Mmm, mmm. For those of you who feel your batteries need recharging and just can’t wait to quaff a little cobra blood, it can be found in Bangkok’s Klong Toey Market.

But be warned – if someone offers you a clear shot of the local favourite, make sure you have nothing else planned for the rest of the evening. And good luck to you, my friend.

Jo chasing the Khao with oj.

Vlog: A Jeep Rental & Food for Elephants on Ko Phangan

Ko Phangan? Why not, I say!

Click through the image above or click here for a little glimpse into our ridiculous times on Ko Phangan. Hold the judgement, please. 😉

When Geckos Pee and You Eat Too Much: Ko Phangan

Look at this place. It’s paradise! Sure, it was one hell of a trek to get here, but Great Odin’s Raven, was it ever worth it.

And I don’t care what you say, nothing ruins paradise more perfectly than the words “gecko” and “pee”.

“I got peed on by a gecko.”

Wait, what?

Who gets peed on by a gecko? I mean, come on. How does that even happen? Let’s be serious.

Apparently if your name is Peter and you’re from Switzerland, your chances are higher. Sucker!

He warns us on arrival that we’d do ourselves some good to be aware, because the smell of gecko-urine isn’t exactly sublime. Duly noted, Peter from Switzerland. Duly noted.

Peter's peed on face

I digress. We’ve just finished our long-haul (boat, plus bus, plus broken bus, plus boat) to Ko Phangan from Ko Phi Phi.

We’re exhausted when we get there, not to mention dying of hunger (strangely enough, Peter’s warning has not thrown off our appetite). So when we arrive at the Haad Tian Beach Resort, at the northwest corner of Ko Phangan, it’s to a welcoming committee of the world’s friendliest staff, a bench covered in mysteriously disappearing ants, and a ceiling swarming with said urinating geckos. The place is all but empty; it’s low season in Thailand, which makes us a bigger deal than we normally are, which is to say, a very big deal indeed. 😉

So anyway, the next week (yes, we stayed for almost an entire week in our lovely private beach-side bungalow that we paid the equivalent of $6/night for) we spent doing absolutely nothing but eating and drinking, sleeping and eating, and drinking and eating. We sat on the beach, we walked the 20 feet from bungalow to restaurant, and usually we complained about walking back. We played frisbee in the pool with a frisbee I “acquired” from North Van Rec (don’t ask questions).

We ate and drank ourselves into absolute oblivion and it was exactly as amazing as you might imagine. So much so, in fact, that when Joanne’s birthday arrived, we all had some serious issues zipping up the dresses that, I do swear, actually used to fit at one point in our gluttonous lives. I blame the incredible Daeng and her exceptional problem of being an unacceptably good cook.

We ate ourselves silly, really. Think of the most amount of food you’ve ever eaten. Now multiply that by, oh, 450. Yeah. It’s all we did.

And here I’m going to tell you something that you may have difficulty believing (I mean it’s one of those things you really have to see to believe), but since you, unless I’m otherwise very much mistaken, were not there to witness the event firsthand, you’ll just have to go ahead and take my word for it – and I swear to you it’s  not a word of a lie.

Picture this:

It’s a dark, blustery evening. The three of us girls retreat to our bungalow to get some well-undeserved shut-eye. And we do! Oh, yes. We sleep for a few very solid hours, awoken only by Jo’s crazed sleep-talking blathering nonsense, followed by her immediately sitting bolt-upright and the electric flash of her torch scanning the dark room like a lighthouse searchlight, and then it’s off, and we’re lulled to sleep again by the soothing sound of the pounding monsoonal rain on the tin roof.

We have just enough time to escape to our dreams again, when all of a sudden I’m having some serious trouble breathing.

There’s something… canvas? Yes. In my face.

I roll over. Whatever.

But the canvas becomes insistent and it’s really determined to be in my personal space, and I give in, because, well, the canvas is wet and it’s all sorts of unpleasant, plus it’s bringing a howling wind and a heavy sheet of rain into the bungalow with it, and this I simply do not appreciate.

At this point the obnoxious canvas, which I’ve now identified as hammock (more specifically, the hammock from our front porch) has insisted on waking Melissa as well, and the both of us grumpily (yes, I said grumpily) and drowsily (yep I said that too) reach blindly to shut the heavy wooden shutter which is now completely soaked in a mixture of ocean water and monsoonal rain.

We’d barely managed to close the window and shut out the suffocating killer hammock when – BAM! – there’s a huge crash and an empty space where the door used to be.

All three of us, bolt upright in less than a second. Where the shit has the door gone?

And then our eyes adjust and there it is, six feet across the room, quavering against the metal laundry rack.

To this day, I swear it’s our own fault. We ate ourselves into Three Little Piggies. And then the Big Bad Wolf came and blew the door in.

It flew six feet, clear across the room. And I don’t care who you are: outside of fairy tales, that shit ain’t normal. 😉

Coconut Bowling and Leering Cow: The Flee from Ko Phi Phi

So we’re on Ko Phi Phi and yeah, we’ve about had it up to our eyeballs with creeps, cockroaches, and crazy eyes. We don’t really have an exit strategy in place, except we’d really prefer not to end up in the middle of a human trafficking ring, but that’s just a personal preference.

In lieu of keeping ourselves alive, we make our way – swim-trunks, flippy-floppies, and backpacks  – to the main wharf of Ko Phi Phi.

This excerpt from the pages of my notebook that day:

“I just watched an older Thai woman clad in bright orange shorts sell premade ice-cream cones to the passengers on the top deck of the ferry. Using a 6-foot pole with a bucket on top, she exchanged ice cream for a few Baht. A device hand-crafted solely for this one, entirely absurd purpose, I was blown away by the ingenuity and considered stealing it for myself.”

I suppose I refrained, because I don’t think I have a six-foot pole hiding in the bottom of my backpack, but of course I could be wrong. Anyway, it was time to board the ferry. We hop on a small, and for all intensive purposes, sideways boat which boasts the marvelously absurd claim that it will somehow stay afloat and transport its passengers across an increasingly rough ocean to the coastal climbing town of Krabi. I don’t exactly believe it, but whatever, boat. Let’s do this thing.

Now I’m not sure if personal torture was something we’d decided we’d like to have along for the ride, but it most definitely came along, invited or not. (Unwelcome guest. Nobody likes you!) The nausea and the seasickness. Neither of which had anything to do, of course, with the buckets of vodka-soda we’d consumed the night before.

We should have also, probably, forseen the bus tragedy the moment we set eyes on the honking piece of rusty metal parading itself as a means of people-transport.

Chunks of rusty metal hanging at obscure angles off the dented, paper-thin skeleton frame. A step ladder that was broken, and a door that wouldn’t close. Mottled blue paint and duct-tape covering who-knows-what. And wheels, thin as a pair of Korean socks but a little more rusty and a lot less funny.

I’m actually surprised the threadbare wheels could even support the weight of the frame, let alone actual people. I guess the moral of the story is that they couldn’t…

So two hours of hellish bumpy driving on this liar of a piece of people-transport, and right smack in the middle of nowhere, one tire gives up. Just packs it in. Right there, perfectly conveniently, making the extremely obnoxious decision to be the biggest brat of all time.

The driver is off the bus and not a word is spoken to any of the eighteen sticky, sweaty passengers. For thirty long, stiflingly hot minutes. That’s a lot of slow seconds.

Eventually my bladder, which had grown rather insistent on being the centre of attention, expedited my exit from the bus.

And now just a reminder that we are, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere. Just a place to change a tire, with a dirt road, some palms, a pile of coconuts and some trash. This made me, and my centre-of-attention bladder, quite unhappy.

So what do I do? What can I do? I walk down the dusty path until I’m somewhat certain no one on the bus can see me. Into some green-stuff foliage.

And there I am. Mid bust-a-squat, and I’m taking some time to observe my surroundings. There are a lot of palms, a bit of grass, a bird somewhere in the trees above. I’m looking left and right, and doing my best to ensure I hover high enough to avoid pricking myself with the thorny green plant below.

So imagine my shock when I raise my eyes from the prickly thing under my bum and find myself face-to-face with something no one should ever have to encounter while peeing.

It’s a big-ass bull. One giant man-cow. Just standing there, moo-ing. And staring at me (rather inappropriately, considering what I was doing). Where are your manners, man-cow?

I guess I wasn’t being as discrete as I’d thought. Perv.

Bladder relieved, and now we have a dusty, dry, boring situation. There is absolutely nothing to do back at the bus but wait. And sweat. And I don’t know about you, but waiting and sweating aren’t usually at the top of my list of fun things to do. The stupid tire isn’t fixing itself, and the bus is just too damn hot (milk was a bad choice).

“Let’s play a game.”

“Ok…”

“So there’s this coconunt…”

Fetching bits of trash – old plastic coke bottles, beer cans, empty aerosol cylinders, little glass bottles and a random rusty wheel – we invent and set-up the 8-pin Dirt Road Coconut Bowling Championships. Coconut bowling, I say! (I won.)

The rest of the bus ride was rather uneventful, and the hunk of metal debris behaved much better with a new wheel.

When we finally wobbled our way to the port on the east coast, we caught another ferry and sat back on the deck, watching as little silver-backed fish sprung out of the water and played in the spray of the wake.

The sun sank into the ocean, and the distant lights of Ko Samui lit up as we floated by. And aside from the tropical breeze and the memory of man-cow, we could very well have been on a BC Ferry off the coast of West Vancouver – the lights of Ko Samui reminded us of Horseshoe Bay.

So what happens next is something so preposterous I’m not sure I can do it justice through words.

But while the ferry was still oh, a good 40-feet away from the wharf at Thongsala (the port of arrival on Ko Phangan), we were accosted (accosted!) by competitively screaming, abrasively yelling, fast-talking questioning-crazies. “Taxi! Taxi! Where you go?!” Still 20-feet away, and “Miss! Excuse me! Miss! How many people? Taxi? Bungalow! You come! Miss! Excuse me! Miss!”

They must have learned their manners from man-cow, because it was all sorts of rude insanity. But when we somehow managed to make our escape through the pamphlets and the shouting and the dirty, grappling arms, we navigated ourselves into a tuk tuk taxi and fled across the island to the beach at Haad Tian. And it was well worth it.

Oh, was it ever. 🙂

Ko Phi Phi: Snorkeling Hell meets Creepo with the Bad Shirt

“Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive and then go do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”

~ Howard Thurman

An hour and a half by ferry from Phuket Town is a small island widely known to tourists everywhere. It was all but obliterated in the tsunami of 2004, but has recovered remarkably. There are no cars here – just bikes – and lots of them (I would know; I nearly lost limbs to them on at least 36 seperate occassions).

The cobblestone alleyways wind around shallow shops and the thick scent of Indian dishes spill out of the checked-tablecloth restaurants on either side, plastered with signs in English advertising Western food, spicy curries, and Pad Thai for 70 Baht.

The foreigner outside the pub invites you in with an Australian accent and a 2-for-1 Redbull-and-Vodka Bucket special. Over the deep thrum of island beats, English can be heard everywhere, while the unmistakable stripes of 7-Eleven entice you to even cheaper bottles of Singha under the fluorescent lights.

The nightlife here is one reminiscent of Thailand’s famous full-moon parties, but on a much smaller scale. The bright lights and disco balls of beach-side bars illuminate the otherwise turquoise ocean waters, and party-goers dance the night away on white sand and and a stage under the starry sky. Firedancers enter the bars and throw their burning sticks around much too nonchalantly, and far too close for comfort, thank you very much.And what do you call these hats? They came out of the woodwork with the fire and the crazy man with the gun.

Daybreak, and a Thai leathersmith from a neigbouring island opens shop in a small alleyway outfit. Perusing his goods, we make an offer on a pair of Obnoxious Orange Sunglasses. His first customer of the day, he must make a sale or risk succumbing to the Thai superstition that the rest of the day will turn him no profit. After bartering to the last Baht, he agrees to sell the sunglasses to me for a horribly cheap price. I walk away feeling like I ripped HIM off. I turn back and bring him more Baht. I’m quite happy to spend $3 on these Bright Orange Awful Things, thank you very much, and no, I’m not asking your opinion.

The Leathersmith smiles a big thank you and continues work on one of his many purses, which he creates from scratch… Long story short, Melis and I both bought purses from him, and Joanne bought her boyfriend a couple shirts and a pair of Less Obnoxious But Matching Blue Sunglasses. I guess making the Obnoxious Orange sale paid off for him, after all. 😉

A trip to Ko Phi Phi would not be complete without a Long Boat excursion to Maya Bay, the famous beach from, well, The Beach. So, well, we went. Sitting on the bow of the boat, bouncing around and catching air as the waves hit us from all sides. Jo and I had a great time, but I think Melissa probably wanted to die.

Anyway, Maya Bay and Phi Phi Leh were beautiful. Turquoise waters, burgeoning cliffs and giant limestone stalactites overhanging the white sand. The island is uninhabited, so the jungle is thick, the air is clean, and there were probably monkeys hiding in the shrubbery. There was also an overwhelming amount of garbage in the bay – stop throwing your crap in the water, peoples!

We also did some of the most apalling “snorkeling” of our lives here. It involved jumping off the longboat with a mask, swiming for a bit, and then being the unsuspecting target of Bread Toss from the local longboat drivers…. the result of which was an entire wall of fish amassing around us, a wall so thick that any movement was, come hell or high water (or both!), conclusively impossible without touching four-billion slimy green and yellow gaping-mouth-things with every single part of our exposed flesh. The fish went mental, jumping out of the water and squirming in such a dense mass that we couldn’t even see the ocean for the fish in it. It was terrifying. Terrifying! And we wanted to die.

Speaking of wanting to die, two French men from France (I know, unbelievable right?) invited Melis and I over for a game of pool one night, despite the fact that we were clearly seated and conversing with two other guys. Whatever, pool is more fun than other guys anyway, so we got up to play. Now I don’t know about you, but I’m no French Language Aficionado. Melissa, on the contrary, is. Being Language Dumb seemed to work for me, and I played pool, oblivious to whatever conversation was happening, while Melissa chatted with the Frenchies. Half an hour and zero balls sunk later, and Melissa pulls me aside, “I have a weird feeling about these guys.”

Apparently I’m not only Language Dumb, I’m also Just Plain Dumb,

because over the course of sinking zero balls, I’d somehow communicated to one of the French guys – let’s call him Creepo of Four Years (because he’s lived on Ko Phi Phi for 4 years, who does that, anyway not for me to judge) – exactly (not just remotely, EXACTLY) where we were staying on the island. It was just casual conversation – I never really thought it was a problem – the problem inherently is the Just Plain Dumb part – anyway, we left. And what had creeped Melissa out was the other guy, let’s call him Creepo With the Bad Shirt (because it really was a bad shirt), had started talking to Melis about his work, and how his job enables him 8 months of time off every year, with a beachside home, and tons of travel options, blah blah blah, and when she asked him what kind of work he did, he dodged the question and said “I’m in The Market.” Proding a little further; he wouldn’t give her a response (but rest assured it was something illegal)- “it’s my own thing.” And then, suggestively, “it’s a good deal.” Melis was quiet, and then he said “I’m always doing research. Always looking for female sellers.” Anyway, it was odd. And we spent the rest of the night freaking out about worst-case scenarios, like what if we’re playing pool and then all of a sudden, we’re in a van…. haha. I won’t admit it, but we might have woken up several times in the middle of the night gasping for air and grabbing for each others’ arms in the darkness.

Believe it or not, we survived til morning. And the following evening, we were approached on the street by the server from the restaurant where we’d met Creepo of Four Years and Creepo With the Bad Shirt. She had this odd look in her eyes, “I have to tell you something.” We waited for her to tell us. We waited longer. And then, “I can’t tell you.” What? Is this whole island crazy? And then, “I need to tell you.” Back and forth like this for 3 minutes, and then she took her strange eyes elsewhere, and we never found out what she needed to tell us. Odd though, right?

More thoughts of ending up in a van. Ha! We slept with our door bolted shut.

We contemplated catching a ferry far, far away (maybe Madagascar) the next morning, just to get away from the insanity of the island (and the now Resident Cockroach living under a glass cup in our bathroom), but instead decided to venture to another part of the island, away from Creepos One and Two, Crazy Eyes, and Resident Cockroach. Melis brought her guitar, Joanne and I our books, and we ventured out to find the fabled Long Beach. Thirty minutes and a scenic hike along the shore and through the jungle later,

and we find ourselves at the Beach that is Long. Gorgeous views of Phi Phi Leh, long stretches of white sand, and flower-adorned long boats everywhere. Best of all, no Creepos, Crazies, or Cockroaches. And lots of yummy pineapples on a stick. 🙂

We stayed until the sun went down, and reluctantly walked back into Crazy Town along the shoreline (the tide was out by now). If we go back to Ko Phi Phi, this is where we will stay, without shadow of a doubt. It is where you should stay, too, unless human trafficing is your thing. 😉 Creepy!

Phi Phi was an experience, to say the least. We left the following day with backpacks full of dirty laundry (we’re now 16 days in and haven’t done a load yet… shhh), and, erm… interesting memories. And we DID end up in a van…

A minivan. 😉

Phuket: The Quick and Dirty

“Imagine a place that defines graciousness, tolerance and aesthetic ideals. You’ve just imagined Thailand.”

-Insight Guides Thailand

I need to update these posts more often. I’m sitting in an internet cafe in eastern Siberia, bundled-up to the point that it probably looks as though there might be two of me inside all these clothes, writing about the time (not so long ago) I was wearing flip flops and a bathing suit on the hot, humid beaches of Thailand. It’s a little bizarre.

But I’m finally out of China and into a country that allows freedom of blogging, so I can update. Better late than never, yes?

So let’s get to talking about Thailand. My first taste of Thailand, actually. To that much-revered place that you always hear about.

Everyone has a story about Thailand. Full Moon parties, beautiful scenery, turquoise beaches, cheap food and even cheaper drinks, low-cost beach-side accommodation, a rich heritage, mountain tribes, vast jungles, flora & fauna, and its close proximity to the rest of southeast Asia makes it a prime destination for many travelers. Ever making our way north, the three of us took an Air Asia flight from Kuala Lumpur (delayed ridiculously and perhaps not surprisingly by over an hour) to the Phuket International Airport.

(Airplane sugar high. Anyone for a Reeses?)

We arrived in Phuket late at night and took a minibus from the airport to Kata beach. And here are my first impressions of Thailand.

1. It’s Monsoon Season. Deal with it.

2. Lady Boys. They’re everywhere. Our travel agent has a penis and her name is Kelly. And she is AWEsome.

(This isn’t Kelly. Not sure this Lady Boy’s name, but we found her in Patong (see #7), and she’s hot so obviously I took a picture.)

3. Kata Beach. It’s the only place to be for surfing in Phuket. A surfboard will run you 100 Baht for 1 hour (about $3), so you’re probably at least partially retarded if you don’t give it a try. (I’m awesome at surfing by the way, in case you were wondering).

4. Power Outtages. They happen (see #1). Suggestions to make the most of them: flashlights & duty-free rum & coke. Or, (see #3) – surfing – monsoon style.

5. Pad Thai. Nowhere else in the world are you going to have such a delicious meal for less than $1.

6. Old White Men. They’re here. Oh boy, are they ever. So are young Thai girls. And you’re smart, you can read between the lines.

7. Patong Beach. It’s 15km from Kata Beach, and it’s terrifying. Go here if you want to be afraid. Come back if you’re eager for ping-pong shows. Stay here if you like meeting interesting friends at the strip-club.

8. Garbage. It’s a problem. There’s trash washed up on even the most remote beaches, and you know what? That sucks.

9. Food. Tom kah kai. Subway sandwiches. Street corn. Thai pan cakes. Love.

10. Cheap Internet. 15 Baht/hour (50 cents) . Slow slow slow, though. It’ll take you four hundred days to actually get anything done. (Hence the delay in blogging updates).

11. Take-away Coffee. It comes in cups. With fold-out handles, so you can sip, pinky-up style, like Her Majesty herself.

12. Jenga! Connect 4! Games galore in all the bars. This alone made me one unreasonably happy overgrown child. Nothing goes better with games than beer. And nothing goes better with beer than games. (Melis and Joanne will disagree; for the record they have no idea what they’re talking about). 😉

13. The Roxy. Half way ’round the world, and I’m afraid there’s still no escaping it…Damnit. 😉