The bus ride was long, and I split a sangthaew with him and the German girl, Maren, back to Rose Guesthouse. Maren and he thankfully found another place to stay, and I said I'd meet them at 7 to hang out, knowing full well I didn't want to. So, after showering and sending off some emails, I devised a plan to go to the movies either with- or preferably without- them. It's sad because Maren was nice, but triangle-neck square pants would ruin it. I ate a quick dinner, and planned to see the 7:20 showing of “Jaew,” a Thai movie about maids who were secretly spies. Pai warned me there were no English subtitles, but that was half of the fun! I was on schedule to leave but- Goddamnit! I had to take a shit, which proved to be the ten extra minutes I could've used as my getaway. They were downstairs in the lobby, and I immediately went to part 2 of my Plan A:
"I am going to a movie right now- in Thai- wanna come?"
They laughed, thinking I was kidding; obviously, I wasn't. Numbnut ribbit chin couldn't understand why I'd want to do such a thing, and Maren just looked blankly at me with a confused smile on frozen on her face. "I mean," America started, "it'd be fun to sit together and throw popcorn at each other, maybe even make up the dialog"
"Yeah," Maren lamely offered.
They were missing the point, and that wasn't their only problem.
"Well," I began, "I am going now, so..."
Neither of them had eaten, and I feigned disappointment before hopping in a tuk-tuk: it's just another chapter Mr. Triangle Neck's novel will be missing!
The movie was very cute and easy to follow, although the dialog and most jokes went over my head (the audience's laughter clued me in as to when I should laugh). There was enough to keep me entertained, and I loved the experience of seeing a Thai movie. Towards the end, I really wanted to catch a film in English to balance it out; since the price of a ticket wouldn't even buy a small popcorn or even Mike & Ike's back in NY, I felt it was time to splurge.
I figured I'd see “Ocean's Twelve” which might've been OK for $1.25, but there was too long a wait in between, so I settled on “Bridget Jones' Diary 2,” which was just beginning (I missed previews and the salute to the king). The opening scene was Christmas in London, with Bridget going through the snow to have dinner with her family. I immediately thought of home and how far away the holidays felt for me. I thought of families in New York and Chicago being together, and of course I thought of my family- how our Hannukah consisted of a phone call and a single Fed-Ex package containing gelt and a dreidel! It made me warm and really miss home and, for as corny as that movie turned out to be, that opening scene made it worth it. There were other moments as well: Bridget watching her boyfriend as he slept, and when they first said "I love you." I am a sucker for romance, even when it's between a bland-looking English guy and a fat Renee Zellweger.
But now, I am just soaking in the sun at a beautiful hotel pool next to Rose Guesthouse. The weather is perfect and it feels good to do nothing but relax. I'll take another swim, shower and check email, and probably get a massage. I am completely free, and knowing so feels as delicious as this sunshine.
My inbox was flooded with more emails and it made me feel so loved- everyone wants to know I am OK. Even the guy I did the radio spot for in Long Island- Tom [omitted], the CEO of the ad agency- emailed me personally! I finished writing everyone, then Ada, Krista and I went in search of a place to donate blood for the tsunami victims. We were too late but, as we later learned, they were only looking for RH-? I have never even heard of that blood type. I suppose it's like that woman at the motor scooter rental giving me the fake purple plastic helmet: it's the thought that counts. So, once again we had dinner at the food market and watched live Thai music, then navigated over to our favorite foot-massage spot with adjacent laughable entertainment from lip-synching lady-boys. With banana and chocolate waffles for dessert, we stopped at 7-11 where Krista and I bought Beer Chang for the road. If it was cold, I think it wouldn't have tasted so much like liver bile. I honestly don't remember it being so fucking awful before, and I really didn't need a beer.
We went to the guesthouse roof for drinking and good conversation: identity and lying about it (specifically about being American, Austrian, or Jewish), disabilities, death, and travel. Krista is such an interesting woman! Over dinner, I learned she had spent two years traveling all over Africa with forged car and insurance documents, and that she has now made travel her job! She's 46 and lives in the slums of Berlin for around 100 Euros a month (!), and works maybe 8-10 weeks out of the year, leading tours for mentally disabled adults. Other than that, she lives off the government, collecting unemployment, and takes voyages on her own 4-5 months out of the year. She had a boyfriend who couldn't take her being away all the time, so she's basically alone in this life. She goes to India and Thailand on a rotating basis each year, visits the Dalai Lama, and told us crazy stories, like how drinking hash tea in Afghanistan made her collapse from her chair and hit her head on the way to the floor, where she promptly shit herself. That one stuck out- everyone's most embarrassing moment does.
This was harder than I thought it would be. I just made it to Doi Pui summit, and am sitting on a log. The sun is on a downward curve, but nowhere near low enough where I'd get stuck doing that difficult path back down in the dark! There is no signage whatsoever. You're just intuitively following what has been walked a million times and, eventually, you hit dirt staircases with wood railings that let you know you're going the right way. Sort of like deja-vu: there's no map to any of this, and we follow along our own beaten path- the one which makes the most sense- and our soul has little hints along the way, even giving us a hand when the path becomes too hard. My journey in Thailand is a little more than halfway over, and appropriately, on the last day of the year, I've climbed a mountain alone, successfully.
It's time to keep going. There's much more to see, feel, taste, touch, smell, and respond to in the myriad ways we do. I've thought of some resolutions for the new year to come, and most involve things inside of me versus outside. I want to put more trust in others and lose some of the cynicism I have. I want to be less selfish and more thoughtful, more compassionate. I want to have a better relationship with my sister, and continue to have the wonderful one I have with my dad. I also want to continue feeling better each day about my mom being gone in the physical form, and get better at finding her all around me. Because, she is all around me, and I'm crying now but it feels good. The tears burn. I was meant to make this journey to Thailand alone, as nice as it would've been to have Olia join me. So much is changing in the world; so much is changing with me. I am independent, confident, and most importantly, I am in love. My last resolution is to make it work.
Oh snap! Oh damn! Pineapple shake! I fucking love fruit shakes, especially on the first day of the new year, washing down a banana pancake!
I was able to find Rose Guesthouse from my motorcycle last night, but initially wasn't able to find my motorcycle! I had gotten a ride in a pick-up truck after my detour on the Doi Pui roads proved futile, and retraced my steps back down the forest terrain. I cleaned up- which was mandatory by that point- and headed for a foot massage with Ada and Krista at our favorite spot. This guy was the best yet, and I practically floated to the food stand afterward to get hot and sour pork soup for 20 baht! I put a little too much chili powder in there and kept having to blow my nose, except it was already running from my cold anyway.
I had to leave Ada since she still hadn't been served, and rushed to The Hole in The Wall to see a bootleg DVD screening of “Closer,” the new movie with Jude Law, Julia Roberts, and Natalie Portman. I ordered a beer Chang and waited for them to turn off Michael Jackson's 30th Anniversary Special. After seeing “Closer,” I wished they had just left it on. It sucked so fucking badly I don't even know what to say. I kept waiting for one of the actors to break character and say "just kidding" into the camera, or even apologize! Maybe the director would walk on screen, throw down the script, and quit. It was all about cheating, breaking trust, and living a lie, and made it all seem so pathetic. All these issues that I feared in relationships, and of course with Sarah, were all written about so poorly it made it seem relegated to people who are unsure of themselves. And maybe that's what it is: if you aren't confident, or have major issues with yourself (Jude Law's character had trouble dealing with his mother being gone, and the other male lead was a textbook pervert), you will always have the wandering eye and probably be unfaithful. It's because you are looking to fill that void in yourself, and of course no one person can, so you jump from one lust- or what you think is love- to the next. The movie's tag line was "if you believe in love at first sight, you never stop looking." That's utter crap too! If it's real, why keep looking?
And so, I took a tuk-tuk to a nightmare of a party I had seen advertised all over town, and I should've known it would be a farang fest. I took one look around the shithole after paying a 100 baht entrance fee (at least it got me a tequila), swigged another Beer Chang, and walked outside to talk to the girl working the door.
"I want to go where there are Thai people, not farang."
A white girl was nearby, and she spoke Thai! She recommended a spot up the road and, with her accent, I thought she had said "Exxon." No- it was X-Zone, and was absolutely perfect. It was packed with hundreds of young Thais drinking and dancing, bathing in swirling lights and smoke. Everyone I made eye contact with smiled and said hello, raising their glass in a cheers to the new year, or even pouring some Sang Som or 100 Pipers from their own bottle into a fresh glass for me. There was live entertainment, sexy dancers and loud music, and eventually a hilarious lady boy. I was getting phone numbers from Thai girls left and right after their only question "what is name?" or "where come from?"
I got pretty wasted with one table of people whose names I had forgotten within seconds, and made my rounds both down- and upstairs. There was a huge balcony from which you could spy on people, and sometimes that was more fun than being in the thick of things. But, on one trip between floors, I met a girl named Monica with whom I spent some time, sharing a Heineken with 2 straws and then babysitting her when she started feeling sick. It felt good to be a person she could lean on, and I brought her water to help her sober up. It felt like a good thing to do on the new year: be of help to someone.
I made it to bed minutes before six after a long walk home. I awoke late, showered and had breakfast, and boarded a bus to Sukhothai. The air conditioning was on full-blast and it was freezing! I was blowing my nose every five seconds and had to use one of the blankets from the overhead bin to try and keep warm!
It was dark when I arrived, and my saamlaw driver took me to Lotus Village, a beautiful bunch of teak houses raised above a lotus pond on stilts. I nearly had a heart attack when I reached my room: my money belt had fallen out of my back pocket on the road and I didn't realize it until I had rifled frantically through both of my bags, thinking I had been robbed. But no, there- and fully intact- was my belt and all of its contents. Thank fucking God! It was 9:30 or so, and I wanted to explore the town. Walking up the street, I noticed a family sitting outside within their gate, grilling food and singing karaoke. I took a closer look at the song lyrics being highlighted on their television monitor, and they motioned for me to join them!
The man without the microphone said something to his wife, and she stood up to open the gate for me. I was given a seat, poured some whisky, and offered a plate! They spoke very little English, but I was able to communicate well enough and even sang the only song I knew in their system: "Stayin' Alive" by the Bee-Gees. I sucked and it wasn't even funny; they had never heard the song before so my joke made no sense. I just must've seemed like a total freak, drinking their whisky and eating their food as I stumbled through the words in a high falsetto.
I said goodbye and found an internet cafe nearby. Dad had written me an email about a recent encounter with our relatives. It was nothing different than his usual sarcastic remarks, but I was sitting there- the only person in the whole place besides two employees and a guy who had fallen asleep with his cell phone constantly ringing in his back pocket- and laughing out loud!
After trying unsuccessfully to buy cold medicine at 7-11, a guy on the street helped me find a small kiosk that sold four-pill packets of "Tiffy," a potent cold remedy that wound up doing the trick. The problem was, when I turned to go home, I had completely forgotten from which way I came! I walked in the wrong direction over and over again, circling around dark streets flooded with stray dogs without there being a single business still open (with the one exception of a night market nearby), dazed with my map which no one was able to read. I was only two blocks away from where I needed to be, and each time I made the embarrassing rounds past the same angry dogs, it seemed my guesthouse was somehow becoming further and further away. Finally, I decided to try something new: I was going to walk in what I had no doubt was the wrong direction- walk towards the lights and the fruits and vegetables, towards the people who know you have absolutely no idea where you are- and something good is bound to come of it.
What happened was no one understood the name of my guesthouse, couldn't read my map, couldn't even find themselves on the fucking thing, yet still looked at me with the same, genuine smiles on their faces. A woman pointed to an older and very small man kick-starting his scooter- he would take me there. Although he spoke no English whatsoever, he appeared confident, so I hopped on the back with my map. With my arms behind me, I held onto the metal seat handle as we bounced along roads nowhere near Lotus Village and, smelling liquor on his breath, I wondered just what in the hell I had gotten myself into this time. But, just like the other night in Pai riding with Lance, I trusted it.
After he took me to the wrong guest house (ironically the one I am staying in tonight) I knew his heart was in the right place. He couldn't make heads or tails out of my map, pointing with his skinny, dark finger and mumbling intermittently to himself in Thai, but in the glimmer of his yellowing eyes there was an idea. He drove in a direction we hadn't been in yet, and which even to my lost ass was clearly fucking wrong, but there were police there! Hallelujah! After much deliberation, we were on the road together again, this time on the way home...
I woke pretty early the next day and ate a delicious- albeit too expensive- breakfast at my guesthouse of coconut yogurt and muesli, and fresh mango, pineapple, and banana from the Sukhothai market. I got on a public bus that took me to the town's main bus terminal, and it was there I learned that the night bus I had planned on taking to Bangkok was full. Not only that, every fucking bus was booked until Tuesday! Luckily, there were still government-run buses, and I could show up the early the next day to board the first one out of town. I made reservations at another guesthouse- a place called Baan Thai- and took the next bus to the old city to continue my day.
The bus was packed, but not only with passengers seated on wooden benches stretching the length along the sides: huge bags of vegetables took up the entire center row, even infringing on our foot room underneath! I sat with an Italian father of two across from his family, and talked with him for much of our short ride there. His wife remarked something I've noticed again and again here in Thailand: the juxtaposition of modernity with ancient Thai life. In a rickety bus where we are forced to ride with vegetables, someone next to you is chatting away on their cell phone.
I rented a colorful mountain bike for fifty cents, and started pedaling around the ruins of Thailand's first capital: Sukhothai's old city. The weather and scenery were beautiful, with many temples now reduced to orange and reddish-brown stupas and bricks in the grass, surrounded with trees and shimmering waterways dotted with lotus flowers. People picnicked in the shade, their bikes in the grass, and I slowly rode by, smiling ear to ear. I took a route outside bordered by fields, small huts, and mountains in the watercolor distance, stopping only as a large herd of white cattle crossed the road to drink from a pond, kicking up dust clouds as the bells worn around their necks jangled peacefully in the breeze. I continued round a bend, walking up rock staircases to more temples which- though dilapidated- still maintained a sense of magnificence. At one point, a car honked at me as it rode past, and I slowed to a stop. The driver rolled down his window and his wife unloaded small green pears into my open hands! They smiled and drove on, and I shook my head, wondering why everyone in this town was so nice!
A girl wearing a Suicidal Tendencies tee-shirt served me a lunch of fried rice and pork, and I started up the road towards the new city and some of the temples outside of town. I saw nothing but really busted ruins, but kept pedaling until I reached a party with balloons, music, and a circle of men drinking rice whisky. They waved hello, and beckoned me over; of course I went. I parked the bike, removed my shoes, and had a seat on one of the blankets they had set out. I started sipping the whisky, and was given a chaser of water. I munched on chips I'd imagine were made from rice, colored pink, white, and light green. I didn't have much time to spend with them before I had to return the bike, but just enough for some whisky and a musical request of the young Thai girl's record (Nong Mai) which I wound up purchasing later that evening. We wished each other sawadii pi mae (happy new year), and I went to return my bike. A bug flew directly into my eye- the second time this has happened to me- and the woman at the bike rental wiped it from my eyeball with a piece of toilet paper.
Back on the bus, I was proud of myself when I recognized my stop, and hopped off to hear chanting coming from up the street. There was a small temple with cats running around, chasing each other and playing outside while four monks in orange robes led a few women in prayer. I saw a farang seated at the end, so I knew it was safe to take a closer look. I took off my shoes before kneeling in the doorway next to the edge of a woven mat on which the four non-monks sat, following along in their prayer books with hands clasped together underneath their chins. I took cues, bowed when they bowed, and kept my mouth shut. One monk had a microphone and slightly stood out from the others' steady harmony of worship, rising and falling with various vowel sounds. When it stopped, the young monk in the center spoke in broken English. He said what I soon realized was "meditation" and mentioned the tsunami. We closed our eyes, taking his direction to clear our minds. I thought first of a serene beach, then the violent crash of dirty waves and utter madness, then washed everything away, including all my other thoughts. I remembered meditation was not cleansing your mind by trying not to think, but instead a process of observing your thoughts and letting them go, just as you let your breath in and out.
I went to a couple interesting places in that short time which I hadn't been in years: I was at the house on Ridge where Jason lived before meeting Megan- the house opposite 2018 Pratt Court that Jacob, Ryan, and Jacob Brown shared the year prior. I thought of that time- if only briefly before letting it go- and felt warmth. The monk then asked that we imagine our mind sleeping, snoring even. I concentrated on the color of my eyelids, and thought of sleep with my mind's breath sounding as it entered and released. And I remembered the sound of my pulse amplified in my pillow at night, how it sounded like footsteps in a cotton cave.
The session soon ended and everyone left except for the young monk and the other farang: a German boy, also 27 years old, named Florin. We asked few questions, mainly allowing the monk to tell us whatever he wanted. It was obvious he wanted to practice his English. The cats scurried about, pouncing and wrestling each other, then relaxed while being pet by one of us. Kittens tugged and chewed my backpack's straps, knocking over bottles of juice left for Buddha to roll them around with their paws, and the monk continued to speak with the same calmness- completely aware, but appearing oblivious. He only concentrated on his thoughts and did his best to translate them into words Florin and I could understand.
I asked if he missed his family (I had to explain the concept of "missing someone" to him), and he replied yes. He only saw them once a year, and seldom called. He explained there was only one telephone in his hometown of farmers and, when it rang for you, you had to walk to it to have a conversation. He was only 25 years old, but had decided he was ready to be apart from the world and those he loved so as to be closer to Buddha. Or, was this then becoming closer to everything?
I grabbed my stuff at Lotus Village and checked into my new room at Baan Thai, passing what seemed to be everything to do in town along the way: nothing. It was quiet with a few food stalls seating people on small chairs, a market, internet cafes, and one bar next to the 7-11. I ate some soup and wrote, and had no problem indulging in some banana rotii up the street. A woman with very crossed eyes made it for me, and four Thais drinking cheap whisky sat behind her. When I was served, they invited me to join them. I find it painfully ironic that while Sukhothai's people are the most eager to speak to you, they simultaneously know the least amount of English out of any province I've visited! I drank with them for a while, and finally pulled out my Lonely Planet, pointing to phrases in the back so I could hear how they were pronounced. They did offer to take me dancing outside of town, but they seemed too drunk to drive and I had to get up early the next morning anyway. So, I went to 7-11 and got a delicious, buttery lemon-flavored cake, and returned to my guesthouse. An old man in a wool hat was sleeping outside my room. I don't know if he worked there or not, but we nodded goodnight, and returned to our respective slumber.
I gave in and took a tuk-tuk to the bus station (fuck it, it's 75 cents!) and purchased my bus ticket to Bangkok. I got a strawberry yogurt, some purple cookies, and these sesame and seaweed flavored "nuggets" which bordered on inedible; it's a good thing we stopped for lunch, but my lunch was crap, too. Something earlier had given me cramps and gas, and I didn't care enough to hold it in on the bus ride.
Once in Bangkok, I blew past the tuk-tuk drivers, barely making eye contact, and it felt so good- like being at home! The guesthouse in Pak Chong was full (I decided to skip Kanchanaburi and head straight to Khao Yai), so I had some time to kill in Bangkok before leaving the next day. I also had been wearing the same clothes for three days and, not surprisingly, hadn't showered either. A tuk-tuk driver asked "where you going?" I looked him dead in the face and said "to the metered taxis up there."
And why I headed directly to the area I complained about the most- well, asides from Patpong- I don't quite know. Maybe just because it's familiar…
I decided to pamper myself today. I already had my swim trunks on since my laundry situation had reached a state of emergency, so I thought I'd use them! I started walking towards D&D Inn to see if I could use their swimming pool, and ran into Clara and Amy (from my trek) on Khao San Road! They had spent a shitty New Year in their hotel watching “Harry Potter,” and I told them about mine. They recommended I go to their old place which had a spa, so I did. For 200 baht, I swam in a rooftop pool with elephant head statues spitting water at me and, for another 250, steamed and used an amazing sauna at the spa! The massages were too expensive, so I found another cool place after I cleaned up. For 250 baht, I got the best oil massage I've had yet, and I just ate a delicious dinner of coconut soup with pork (Tom Kha) and an orange shake. The two Israeli girls just walked by and we talked for a moment. How does everyone I've met come back into my life in such a huge country? What are the chances? And what are the chances I'd even look up from writing at that precise moment they crossed my path? In this shrinking world, where less and less has been surprising me and irony seems to be an everyday occurrence, I guess those chances are, well, not even "chances" at all: they are promises.
I walked upstairs to Deep bar (right next door to where I had dinner), and was invited to sit with two tables of Thai kids who were partying pretty hard. They had gone through 4 bottles of Dewars and were on their fifth, and also had Bacardi and a pitcher of Asahi. I don't know how I got away with not paying for anything other than the Beer Chang I bought when I came in, but I really can't complain. These kids- mostly nurses- spoke English really well and it was refreshing to have a real conversation! One really drunk guy was a soldier, another was a finance lawyer, and one of the girls was an MC- a presenter for different functions. We drank quite a bit as the band downstairs played cover versions of popular Thai songs, and everyone sang and danced along. There were no other westerners in the spot, and I closed it out before wandering out drunk to people-watch.
One mediocre looking blonde stumbled out of Khao San Center with one of their glasses and was chased down with a plastic cup. She was oblivious to her mistake and, in a thick English accent, pleaded "let me drink it!" They poured it into the plastic cup for her, and she nearly fell over turning around to make her way up the street. I'd say "walking," but that would be too generous. She was mumbling, "I need my boyfriend." "Is he here with you?" I asked. She said he had gone to get food and told her he'd come back. I would've told her the truth- that he was most likely getting sucked off by some lady boy- but I didn't think that would've helped her situation much.
I was accosted by prostitutes as usual, and actually shoved one older, pockmarked bitch pretty hard who tried grabbing my penis as she said "massage, massage, hello." I would've told her to fuck off and leave it at that, but she literally blocked me on the street as if she were playing defense, so a good, healthy push was in order. I could've body-checked her, but perhaps that would've been going a bit overboard.
I got back at three and tried unsuccessfully to get Hotmail working on one of the computers as drunk Israelis watched reruns of "Friends." I am sorry, but that show is such garbage! I gave up 40 minutes later and passed out, waking up this morning forgetting I was in Bangkok, and with a splitting headache and stomach cramps. Now I'm fine- a little hungover, but fine- on my way to Pak Chong, watching a karaoke video that's pumping cute music throughout the bus, and drinking Pepsi that a little stewardess just brought around. I also just ate what was quite possibly the best Dunkin Donuts' donut ever made. It was glazed pink with a white flower, and tasted like strawberry candy. I am going to overdose on sugar. If the Pepsi and donut don't do it, it'll be this music....
I nearly slept through my stop, and easily would have had my neighbor from the next seat over not tapped me on the back. I got on another bus after buying a snack at 7-11, and rode to Green Leaf Guesthouse. I walked past a bunch of people seated out front and was shown my room. It was definitely the nicest yet: a big, comfortable double bed, a washroom, and a separate bathroom with a shower- albeit a cold one I never used.
I ordered lunch and it was totally tasteless. I suppose it's my fault for ordering it "medium spicy," but it was just diluted crap for tourists. There were two women sitting nearby, and I asked about the tours offered through the guesthouse. As my luck would have it, they were 1 and a half-day tours, and the half-day would begin in only twenty minutes! My timing was perfect!
We all loaded up into a sangthaew, and our group immediately got along famously. There was a very-much-in-love Polish couple, Monica and Matt; an older English couple, Peter and Lynne; 2 women from England, Fiona and Faith; and what I thought were a mother and son that turned out to be a couple: a kiwi named Dave and his girlfriend Renee. We first went spelunking in very pretty caves and ate tamarind from the trees outside, seeing bats and Buddha images inside with flashlights and sparse florescent lights illuminating our way. And then, over dusty roads that forced us to cover our faces with whatever we had, we drove to cornfields to see bats flying in perfect waves out of an adjacent cave. We were able to use a telescope to magnify what looked like a black, watery wave exiting the cave's mouth.
The sun began to set, so we soon returned to the guesthouse for dinner. Most of us showered- I didn't- and came to the table complaining about how cold the water was! I just sat drinking, talking to Lynn and her husband Peter. Soon, the rest of our group joined us, and we were finishing our beers and drinking Mekhong and Pepsi courtesy of Matt. I was getting pretty toasty after 2 large beers and whisky, and Fiona had mentioned a couple karaoke spots up the road. I convinced everyone (except Monica and Matt who had since gone to bed) to come out for another drink and some singing. Besides, at the time, it was only a little past nine.
The karaoke bar was small with an elaborate mural on the stage. With the exception of three, all the songs were in Thai, so immediately we realized it would be more of a voyeuristic evening. The problem was that there was really no one else in there! I sang "Black Magic Woman" and brought the house down with a mouth guitar solo. I also improvised another song I had never heard before and don't really remember- something about "sexy, naughty, bitchy" and being a "rebel against monogamy." By this point, there was another table of Thais in addition to the two girls who had joined us and sang the Nong Mai song about carrots per my request! I was drunk and slap-happy, laughing out loud at the table's singing and what sounded like commentary about the songs themselves. At half-past eleven, I was on my way to bed, and fell asleep quite easily.
This morning, I had scrambled eggs, toast with butter and jam, and fresh fruit. Peter was having chest pains, so Lynne and he unfortunately stayed behind. Another ten people were going along on the same tour, and they tried to split our group up for the drive to Khao Yai. We stuck together, even ignoring the people from the other group for the most part. We stopped for too long when our guide spotted parakeets flying about and a snake slithering its way out of a hole in a tree. The other group had binoculars and were equipped for this sort of thing; we clearly weren't. Regardless, the beginning of our day was spent spotting birds and monkeys in the forest and involved very little walking.
We came upon a tree whose roots seemed to extend into the sky and, with the verbal guidance of our guide, I climbed them and then descended from the inside to the forest's floor using the roots and vines! I was scared out of my mind. On the way up, I was grabbing onto very little at times and sticking my gym shoes into crevices suggested by the guide when I couldn't find my own way. I was getting higher and higher from the ground, and it occurred to me- as Matt politely pointed out- that, if I fell, I'd "only die." What was I thinking? In reality, it was quite dangerous, and when I rounded the tree to climb down its insides, I thought for sure I'd fall and break my neck. I had to lean against a branch that reached the floor, using it as support as I went down facing forwards. As much as I enjoyed it and started trusting it more and more, my feet wanted nothing more than to be on the soil rather than half-twisted in shapes created by the tree's gnarled roots! I hit the ground and sighed relief- I couldn't believe I had done it!
Following some more bird-watching and a short hike through a field, we reached a tower where we relaxed for lunch. We were all hungry and tired, having eaten only a snack of sticky rice and coconut custard. I was almost dizzy, and couldn't tell if it was from fatigue, hunger, or leftover fear from my climb! I lay in the dry grass and closed my eyes until being rudely awoken by an ant biting my fucking neck! The bite immediately swelled into a nice red bump, and I exacted swift revenge, crushing the ant into the ground.
We went to a beautiful waterfall next- the one used in "The Beach"- and Matt and I swam in its frigid pool. I accidentally smashed my knee on a rock in my eagerness to dive in, and swam out to be pummeled by the waterfall's cascading drops, letting the cold numb my pain. It didn't stop the blood though, and Fiona gave me a band-aid back at a small cafe where we shared hot chocolate, peanuts, and a disgusting trail mix made with dried fish.
Moving on, we stopped for the sunset and slices of watermelon at a vista point, then attempted a night safari- from within our car! A wild elephant came out onto the road and ran after us, and it soon became a game: we'd scream at the driver, half-scared and half-excited as we drove quickly away from it, then throw the car in reverse to head back for photos which never wound up turning out. We'd all push closely together, or hold our cameras out beyond our view and snap blindly away in the dark. At most, we'd catch his eyes shining from his dark mass of flesh, but generally, it was one of our elbows, hands, heads, or a pole from our bus in the frame; it was hilarious. And, as we drove freezing in the open air, we laughed hysterically at seeing what we joked were the same animals over and over again, walking to their next scheduled location. The stars were bright and drowned the night sky in constellations viewed with our heads upside-down.
I drank hot tea back at the guesthouse, and since its food was such crap, neither I nor anyone else wanted to put up with it again. So, we walked up the road to the German-owned "Garden Lodge" with cars and trucks passing way too quickly on our right. I had beef soup, fries, and a chicken sandwich, and none of it was that bad! Matt and Monica were pissed about their pork and potatoes being cold, but everything else was otherwise fine. The group really gelled, and that's what made this day and a half in Khao Yai so wonderful. Right now, I hear distant karaoke coming in loud and clear, and I have no choice but to let it lull me to sleep.
I am on the road now, sitting behind the seats of Lynn & Peter's pick-up truck and heading to Trat, hoping we'll make it in time for the last ferry to Ko Chang. It's not quite noon yet, but we've already had a little lunch from 7-11: a mass-produced tuna sandwich on white bread which had an almost chemical aftertaste, my favorite nori seaweed-flavored Lays potato chips, some yam and peanut chips, and an orange drink containing floating bits of jelly. When we stopped at a bank, Peter pulled out his iPod and of course I was curious as to what was on it. I was stunned: Queens of the Stone Age, Radiohead, Coldplay, Primus, The Charlatans, The Stone Roses, The Strokes, and fucking Interpol's new record!
I sat for a little while back in the car, looking out at the passing fields, trees, mountains, Thai signage, and the small markets of small towns' lazy days, and started feeling so emotional. Listening to "Narc" and "Not Even Jail", I thought of the wintry home I am halfway around the world from now. I thought of Jamie doing yoga in the morning or cooking kale with some brown rice for herself and Eric, or coming home in her clown outfit with painted rosy cheeks to match her polka dots. And I thought of the people at Gilda's Club, maybe because I had so often listened to that music to and from our Thursday night sessions, but more likely because they are such constant and important characters in my life back home. And as we wove into oncoming traffic to pass the slow open-air vehicles or trucks with no brake lights, of course I thought of the one person whose always been on my mind, and just felt the warmest melancholy: the type of heaviness that stems from longing, but also from the appreciation, gratitude, and love which comes just before tears of joy. Music can make the furthest things away feel so close.
And now the sun is setting over the southern beach of Ko Chang, and I am relaxing in a hammock with a beer Singha, grateful the world is so small and that this journey has been nothing short of magical.