Fading lights and revelations

Mr. T poolside

Have I raved enough about how absolutely fucking spectacular this island is? Yes? Good. Then let me just quickly plug the bungalows I’m staying at as well. The Sawasdee Resort is absolutely fantastic. The couple who run it, Fon and Nui, are just the sweetest people you can imagine, and Nui is a goddamn culinary genius to boot. I am systematically going through the entire menu here just because everything is so tasty. And this is not just the munchies talking either ;) The couple had a bit of shitty start for the business, as it had only been open for two weeks when the tsunami hit in 2004, but they seem to have recovered, and now the resort is definitely the nicest on the island. That’s why it really pains me to leave this place, but I’m determined to see the Gulf of Siam islands as well, and I want to do some diving on Koh Tao. Heavy weighs the heart of a traveller, as for every joyful “sawasdee”, a sombre goodbye he must endure.

I had a bit of a jungle-adventure a few nights ago when I was heading back home from the other side of the island. It was a dark, moonless night and the tide had come in thus cutting off my usual route home via the beach. This meant I had to go through the jungle, which, I have come to find, is always a shitty option. The real challenge came when I found that the batteries in my flashlight were as good as dead, and what had previously been a blinding shaft of light was now more like a feeble glow. It was absolutely pitch black and the so-called jungle “path” was basically just regular jungle with about 5% less stuff growing on it, and as such difficult to follow even in daylight. After about ten minutes I was already hopelessly lost and disoriented, with no idea if I was on the pathetic excuse for a path anymore or not. That’s real-life path dependency for you. So there I was, alone, bumbling around in the bloody jungle, not being able to see more than two feet ahead of me and surrounded by all kinds of weird noises (the kind that sound like they will eat you). I have to say, it was pretty surreal for a country-boy far away from home. What really made me jump was when I pointed the pathetic beam of light at a nearby bush and saw... a pair of eyes glowing in the dark! I shit you not. It occurred to me that I was either a teen separated from the pack in a B-rated horror film or a wildebeest on the Discovery Channel, but either way, things weren’t looking too good.. My time had not yet come, however, and after a few tense seconds I heard a reassuring “Miau” from the darkness :) In the end, through trial and error I did find the right way, and after having a stiff drink back at the resort I swore I would not make the same mistake of trying to navigate the jungle in the dark again. Of course I did the very following night with equally disastrous results but anyway, I bet there’s a lesson in there somewhere. Actually the whole escapade reminded me little bit of Monkey Island 2, where you’re lost in the jungle and seemingly every path just takes you back to where you’ve already been. Anybody get that reference?

Ko Chang - Picture perfect

P. S. This is one of the most powerful mood-altering songs known to man. Effects are intensified ten-fold if the sun is shining outside and it’s spring-time.

The Eels – Fresh Feeling

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rjVpkEGAgiw

My little slice of paradise (hey that rhymes)

Longtail boat in the sunset

Friends, I’ve found what I’ve been looking for :) Ko Chang has got to be the chillest place I have ever been, and I’d like to think I’ve been to a few already during the course of my travels. The island sits in the Andaman Sea wedged between Thailand and Myanmar, and is not to be confused with the Ko Chang on the on the other side of Thailand, which, nice though it may be, is targeted by just about every tourist in the hemisphere. The couple of bungalows that can be found here are mostly empty, and if you so wished, you could probably spend the whole day at the beach without bumping into a single soul. The few people you do meet invariably tell the same story: “Came here once ten years ago and have been coming back every year since then.” It's not hard to see why. I actually met a travel agent who has been coming here for seventeen years, but strictly refuses to send any of his customers over for fear of crowding up the place. Good man. Electricity is only available for a few hours at night, and many of the long running visitors pray the island never gets constant power, as this would be the beginning of the end here. Once twenty-four hour electricity is available, swankier bungalows are built, after which come swarms of European holidaymakers and the serene island Shangri-La is ruined forever.

I don’ know why, but this place gives me an unusual feeling of inner peace. For once, I’m perfectly content just laying in a hammock all day navel-gazing, listening to the waves lap and the wind-chimes jingle. No goals, no stress, no schedules, no sense of time passing. Surrounded and consumed by this tranquillity, I realize I bear almost no ill will toward Mr. T anymore. I’m just happy to be here. This makes the whole vendetta seem a bit pointless now, but nevertheless, a promise is a promise, and even crazy plans need to be followed through, right? 

Oh, by the way, I made a slight change to my travel plans and will be heading to Myanmar in a few weeks to get a bit more adventurous on the trip. I’m guessing that after Thailand, travelling there going to be a bit more frustrating, but I just cannot believe it can possibly be any worse than India or Nepal. No way.

P. S. This song and video somehow capture a bit of the beachy ambiance here.

Joe Purdy – Wash away

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cq4Dsv7EdyQ

P. P. S. I hope the link opens, cause for some reason all video sharing sites are down here. Maybe to stop people uploading video of the protests in the capital? Oh wait, I'm not in Myanmar yet.

Island hopping

Fishing village near Phang-Nga

“Jackpot!” was the only word I mouthed when my ride arrived at the Emerald Resort on Koh Lanta a few days back. I’d been approached by a tout on the ferry over, and although usually I tell these people to sod off (based on the logic that only the shittier places need to employ touts), this time the brochure and price seemed brilliant, so I went for it. Kudos to me, since this place kicks ass! The resort sits right on the beach, has a brand new swimming pool and a pretty decent restaurant/bar too. And what about the lodging? Through the course of my travels, I’ve stayed in some bungalows that are good, some that are crap, and some that I can’t even call crap because that would be an insult to crap everywhere. They’re more like what would come if crap could eat, then crap, i.e. crap’s crap.  The bungalows here, however, are top notch: clean with twenty-four hour electricity and a cozy veranda to hang out on. Despite being made from bamboo, they seem to keep most of the mosquitoes out too. Speaking of which, here’s a travel tip free of charge: when it comes to bungalows, try to avoid the quaint, romantic rattan huts that look like the first house from the three little pigs. If at all possible, spring for the ugly, Soviet-style ones made out of concrete and tarmac. Reason: I’ve yet to find a mosquito that can penetrate cement, where as bamboo practically teems with the vicious bloodsuckers.

Anyway, the place is really nice and laid back, since low season is just beginning. That said, I am getting kind of fed up with the staff. Remember when at first I was surprised that people were smoking weed at the climbing beach Ton Sai? Well, I may have jumped the gun slightly on that astonishment, as on the islands, everyone smokes pot everywhere, all the time. At our resort I was initially amused by the fact that the staff is constantly high as a kite, and even their stoned antics, like coming back three times to make sure you wanted sugar in your coffee only to eventually bring you a Fanta, were pretty funny. Now, they’re just starting to piss me off. It’s pretty frustrating to get anything done when every single question or request is met with a vacant, puffy-eyed stare. I’m not saying they need to stop smoking, but maybe just while they’re working or operating heavy machinery?

Speaking of weed, a few nights ago I ended up talking to guy from California, also called Ben, who had a pretty interesting background career-wise. It turns out the other Ben had worked for several years as a manager at a company called Comfort and Caregiving Inc (or something), which had been in the business of procuring, distributing and selling cannabis for medicinal purposes. Apparently, in California it’s relatively easy to get a doctor to diagnose you with some condition that allows the use of medical marijuana, so this company arose as one of the first to provide thousands of sick and not-so-sick people with legal ganja to numb the pain of leukemia/arthritis/Mondays. Eventually the federal government stepped in and shut the entire operation down, but till then, Comfort and Caregiving Inc. was making a roaring trade as explained with great enthusiasm by Ben: ”We had seven retail outlets across the state of California with the largest ones taking in close to 300 000 dollars per week.” He definitely knew his weed too, and explained in great detail the ins and outs of cannabis cultivation and distribution, all the while taking hits off a bong, of course. Apparently one of the biggest perks the trade was that he he had been able to try some of the best weed from all over the world in order to ensure his customers got the best available. I jokingly asked him how he formulated that entry on his resume, and he said it was simply something like “Manager in a healthcare company which has helped thousands of people lead better lives.” I don't think my three-month stint at a telecoms incumbent sounds nearly as good, and it certainly makes for less interesting conversation.

P. S. Weird song, but I love it! Bring on the ukulele!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=12PQYX1r7Bc

Mr. T at the beach from The Beach

Traces of blood in my alcohol stream

It's all about commitment

I awoke today to an absolutely shattering headache and upon pressing my watch to my eyeball was surprised to find it was well past noon. Based on my hazy memories, the pictures in my camera and the stuff people had written in Mr. T, St. Patrick’s Day was a blast!! Great people, great music, great atmosphere and great drinks! They sell something called “buckets” over here, which have to be one of the most fiendish inventions I’ve ever encountered. They basically consist of a little plastic bucket filled with ice, about 3 decilitres of whiskey/vodka/rum/gin, a can of Coke and a splash of Red Bull. You knock back just one of them and you’re already pretty hammered, and two or more will get you absolutely retarded, which seemed to be the case with most people last night. I’m now finding that nursing a hangover in sweltering forty degree heat is excruciatingly painful, although a swim in the Andaman Sea is a pretty good, albeit temporary, cure.

 

I realized again last night that my memory is just incredibly shit. Not to mention my memory. It’s just shit. Strictly speaking, it’s only bad when it comes to remembering important stuff like peoples’ names or what topics have already been covered in conversation. On the other hand, when it comes to useless trivia like Seinfeld or South Park quotes, it’s fucking encyclopaedic. Last night I had a conversation that went something like this:

Ben: “So, what are you studying at Uni?”

Girl: “Teaching, I’m going to be an elementary school teacher.”

Ben: “Oh that’s interesting, my dad is in teacher education, and...” 

This was followed by a long and elaborate discussion about the role that teachers play in society, the challenges of the job, her motivations for studying etc. Then after about thirty seconds:

Ben: “So, what are you studying at Uni?” 

Lucky she thought I was joking.

 

Anyways, the few days before St. Paddy’s I stayed at a tiny, yet picturesque beach called Ao Toh Ko on the Eastern side of Koh Phi Phi. The little hotel plus restaurant plus dingy reggae bar form a resort that’s the only establishment around, and can just about handle twelve guests at a time, so it’s really laid back. Also, the place is practically isolated come high tide or darkness, since the only paths back to the city leave from neighbouring beaches and getting to them is a pretty sketchy enterprise even in daytime. I would definitely recommend it to anyone seeking a respite from the hassle of Ton Sai. The snorkelling there is just phenomenal too, and I continued my interactions with the life aquatic here, when I accidentally stepped on a sea urchin. As a souvenir it kindly deposited about a dozen or so spines in my foot, which kind of blows. I’m soaking them in lemon though, and apparently they should dissolve in a few days time.

I will probably try to get to Koh Lanta tomorrow, but today my only plan is to see if I can climb into that esky full of ice.

 

Exhibit A: The infamous bucket on the right

Mr. T gets tattooed

P. S. I have a vague recollection that this song was played at some stage last night.

Paolo Nutini – Last request

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fZpDn4N_bik

 

Top o' the mornin' to ya lad!!

I’ve never really understood or bothered to learn about the history behind St. Patrick’s Day, nor do I have any cultural connection to Ireland (except for the Celtic thing of course). Nevertheless, I am a big fan of excuses to drink copious amounts of a certain amber beverage, known around the world as “it seemed like a good idea at the time”-juice! Also, I haven’t been out properly in ages, the grade (5) from Mr. T remains as yet totally uncelebrated and it just so happens I’m wearing a green T-shirt, so the only logical course of action is to hit the island’s only Irish pub and get plastered.

Happy St. Paddy’s Day!

Flogging Molly – Drunken Lullabies
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rcEEAjGtAkY

On beauty and fish

After hearing it both praised and scorned, I finally arrived on Phi Phi island yesterday. My verdict: it’s even touristier than Phuket. It’s all whites and no locals. It’s touts everywhere and flyers being thrust into your hands by the dozens. It’s partytown for two-week visitors and a whorehouse for older expats. It’s Disneyland. It’s Costa del Sol. It’s Surfers Paradise. In many ways, it’s precisely what I didn’t come here for.

Nevertheless, it is also mind-bogglingly, jaw-droppingly, knock-the-shit-right-out-of-your-arse beautiful. I mean truly stunning. The sand on the beaches is as fine as powdered sugar and the Andaman Sea sways gently in some colour between azure and sapphire you never even knew existed. The crescent shaped bays are lined with rainforest and limestone cliffs, and huge boulder-like islands rise out of the sea in the horizon. Without a doubt, this is one of the prettiest places I have ever been, and I would be willing to put up with any number of other foreigners just to be here right now. A lot of travellers in Thailand get something called “beach burnout”, where you’ve seen so many heavenly beaches that they all start to look the same, and are passed without so much as a shrug. Koh Phi Phi may bring your beach burnout to a new level altogether, but it will never ever look plain. This is as good as it gets.

Today, I went snorkelling and was again shocked by what the world looks like underwater. I’m guessing everyone enjoys different things about diving and snorkelling, but for me it’s always been the sheer scope of colours that you see. Every time I stick my head underwater, the first thought in my head is: “That’s been PhotoShopped!” The colours are so insanely in-your-face bright that they really do look more like special effects than anything natural. My favourite creature is by far the giant clam, which can be spotted easily because it looks like a pair of jagged lips on the seafloor sporting the most incredible glowing indigo you have ever seen. I could stare at that colour for hours on end, it’s so captivating.

Interestingly, I also got bitten by several fish today. There was a school of blue and yellow ones about the size of a credit cards swimming around me, and all of a sudden they started nipping at me en masse! They probably had a cunning plan to act all innocent until they had me surrounded and then attack. The bites didn’t hurt, but did leave a tiny mark. Later I found out the same thing happened to an English bloke on the same boat, and we surmised that they must have been the kind of fish that clean bigger fish by eating parasites off them. The silly bastards probably just thought I was a whale that needed a cleaning. Doesn’t exactly say much for my level of personal hygiene now does it?

I am moving to a more deserted part of the island tomorrow, so hopefully that will shake at least some of the worst fanny-pack tourists from my heels. By the way, I do realize that I’m a tourist too and I’m pretty sure that despite my feelings of superior entitlement I really don’t have any redeeming quality over everyone else who comes here. Still, sometimes a bit of solitude is nice and the feeling of being at least a little off the beaten track does add a sense of adventure.

Mr. T rockin' it to Thai Elton John

P. S. Thai food is so healthy (or just poor in calories) that despite eating five times a day I’ve lost tons of weight since I got here. In fact, the board shorts I got in Bangkok (Bring-a-bong^TM) hardly stay on anymore, so whenever I wear them, I really “crack people up”, if you get my drift. Should probably get my hands on some of this crack spackle.

The Beach

“Goddamn hippies” –Eric Cartman

“Deep water soloing: Gathering potential energy incrementally until you have enough to make it hurt like a motherfucker when you fall and hit the water” - Bencyclopedia

Put the lime in the coconut

The past few days I've spent in Hat Ton Sai, a little town which straddles both the beach and the jungle, and is known as something of a hippie hideaway. This hearsay is quickly substantiated for travellers when they step off the boat and walk ten feet in any direction, as the sickly-sweet smell of quality home-grown is bound to drift up from somewhere. And here I was thinking that travellers in Thailand would be pretty careful when it comes to drugs, as everyone knows that the prison sentences are insanely long and the conditions appaling. Then again, maybe it’s just me who's too obsessed with these risk/reward calculations. There are also heaps of rock-climbers here, since apparently the limestone cliffs that surround the beach make this one of the top climbing destinations in the world. I have to admit, it is pretty spectacular with stalagatites melting off the face of the cliff so that it looks more like a creepy Gaudi-building than anything natural.

I hadn’t climbed for about eight years, but decided to try my hand at something called deep water soloing anyway. This is basically climbing without ropes, but on cliffs hanging over deep water so that the falls don’t hurt (as much). It’s great fun, and the lack of a harness really does give an extra throb of adrenaline. One little slip can send you plummeting, and hitting the water in a weird position even from under ten meters can feel like a spade to the gut. Mind you, one of the French guys in the group jumped from close to 25 meters and later remarked that he effectively got an undesired enema when he hit the water, so I guess things could always be worse. Actually now that I think about it, I don’t know if an enema can ever be anything else than undesired. Probably not.

P. S. I don’t know what it is about The Killers, but often the weirder a song sounds at first, the more I like it after a few listens. This is probably my fave off the whole album.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LP4Xu6a1F90&feature=related

 

Death of a travelling thesis-person problem.

“There is never enough time to do all the nothing you want” – Bill Watterson

"Except right now" -Ben

Fuck Phuket

Besides crowded beaches and a pumping night scene, there really is not too much to see in Phuket. It’s a bit hotter than your average European beach resort, but otherwise identical to any place you would find on the Canary Islands or in the Mediterranean: Rows upon rows of beach chairs, promenades with non-descript restaurants and sunburnt tourists wandering around with flabby beerguts hanging over their fanny packs. I suppose this kind of environment is fine for a certain type of holiday, just not the one I’m looking for. When middle-aged Finnish tourists start to turn up in droves, it’s time for me to vacate.

I’m actually thinking I might postpone the month or so I have reserved for beachbumming till a bit later. I have heard a few tales about a little slice of paradise further up north, where you can have an entire island practically to yourself.  On first thought at least, this sounds far more like my scene than the tourist-infested hives off the Eastern coast. This has nothing to do with The Beach either, although by some  bizarre coincidence, in Phuket I did find myself staying in the same hotel and the same room that DaffyD, one of my all time favourite literary characters, stayed in the movie. Freaky. 

Looking for that caramel coating

I realise now that the leap south has put me in the heart of sun-worshipping country, where beach-goers seek the transient glory of a solar bronzing. I too do love the beach, but unfortunately my skin and the sun have always been on rather awkward terms. I suppose it’s my partly Celtic heritage which causes me to burn to a crisp even when standing under a moderately bright LCD-screen. Although I do pick up a bit of colour eventually, the first time in the sun is always a bit traumatic. If you think you know what I mean, you don’t. The natural tone of my skin is pretty much the shade of an albino Klu Klux Clan member in a snow storm. When I take off my shirt on a beach, children scream and run to their mothers. Adults shield their eyes and look for a mushroom cloud. Birds fly into windows, cows won’t milk, and all photographs taken within a two mile radius are overexposed. I think once I heard someone exclaim: “My God, it’s full of stars!”

It’s bad, and the only thing keeping melanoma at bay is military-grade sunscreen; I bet you didn’t even know they had SPF lotions of strengths in the format “ten to the power of x”. Under these circumstances successfully negotiating the tightrope of not getting skin cancer and developing anything even remotely resembling a tan is going to be challenging.

Mr. T does SE Asia 

It just occurred to me that despite the lengthy prose already adorning this page, I have alas not yet given any specifics as to the content to come. Let’s rectify that state of affairs post-haste ;)

My mission, should I choose to accept it, is best described as something of a mixture between the plot of Amelié and the scene from Office Space, where give their annoying office-printer a beatdown. Let me explain: My thesis has been the bane of my fucking existence for the past seven months. Writing it was without a doubt one of the most frustrating tasks I’ve ever undertaken, not least because of the ludicrously vague topic and my own never-wavering self-criticism bordering on self-loathing. I can hardly even remember what life was like before I started working on it. Must’ve been great.

Anyway, after so much time spent fretting over pointless research and so many wasted nights shouting at MS Word, I need to do something cleansing, something truly cathartic to get it out of my system. Therefore naturally I am taking my thesis, whom I have named Mr. T. on a tour with me through Southeast Asia. I will take photos of him in various places, have fellow travellers write in him, and really show him around, to make sure he has a good, fulfilling life. Then, when we get to Cambodia, I will take advantage of the large surplus of arms left after the Khmer Rouge regime, and shoot Mr. T with an AK-47. Or a bazooka, I haven’t decided yet. If anything is left of him, I will keep the remains as a souvenir.

Now, I realize going to all this trouble to shoot an inanimate object clearly puts me in the “completely-bat-shit-Tom-Cruise-crazy”-zone. Be that as it may, if you knew how much mental anguish I’ve had to endure thanks to old Mr. T. here, you would understand my desire for retribution, be it rational or not. I’m not sure how I could possibly begin to convey the suffering to you properly, but if you would like to simulate the experience, I’m pretty sure that jamming a Q-tip up your urethra might give you some idea. Then twist it around. For seven months.

Without further ado, here are the first photos of Mr. T living the good life in Thailand. Just like me seven months ago, the poor S.O.B. has no idea what horrors await. 

You never realize how much stuff you have until it's time to move

Didn't feel too bad about leaving this place in the pitch-black morning

Mr. T is always the life of the party

Mr. Scaramanga ain't got shit on Mr. T

That should start the ball rolling. For me, the next few days will most likely be spent rock-climbing around Krabi, hence I will be incommunicado.

P. S.  Quoting Natalie Portman: “Listen to this, it will change your life.”

The Shins – New Slang

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q322n-f3FlU&feature=related

The vagabond has landed.

To paraphrase Alex Garland, Bangkok is like a massive decompression chamber for backpackers arriving or departing Thailand, retaining enough of both the East and the West to allow for a gentle acclimatisation either way. Familiar brands (they even have Tim Tams here, Aussies rejoice!) and a certain degree of comfort keep home-sickness at bay, while some slight nuances like the sweltering heat or the poodle-sized cockroach scurrying across the floor of the café right now remind you that, just like Dorothy, you are definitely not in Kansas anymore. Christ, look at the size of that thing! What the hell does it feed on, kittens?

The myriad of flights I took to reach Bangkok were a thoroughly frazzling ordeal. Although it was a conscious choice to take the long route and save a bit of money, I don’t think I was quite prepared for the effect of not sleeping for 48 hours (Murphy & Nolte, 1982). Wandering aimlessly around town looking like a zombie on downers wasn’t exactly the ideal start for the trip either, but was unfortunately necessary while I waited for my room to become available. Still, a modest 15 hour nap put my punch-drunk internal clock back on track.

Like any major Asian city, the pulse and pace of life here are just invigorating, exhilarating and, at the end of the day, quite exhausting. Every night, the main backpacker street of Khao San Road becomes a circus of flashing nights and blaring techno music, where thousands of what seem like mostly drunken gap-year Brits congregate to live it up. Amidst them the ladyboys, tailors, goods peddlers, con men, tattoo artists and ping pong show touts form an undulating mass vying for your attention. It’s like Blade Runner on steroids. Once you venture outside Khao San Rd, you find the entire city to be scattered with the most incredibly ornate temples and Buddha statues of varying sizes. While these are quite stunning, I must say I have always felt that once you have seen one temple, you pretty much have seen them all, and quite frankly I had my share in Nepal already.

Also, like any Asian city, you have to see the traffic here to believe it. I know the road accident statistics for Bangkok are gruesome, but according to common sense they should be much worse still. I mean looking at the chaos, it seems miraculous that anyone at all makes it to work in the morning without being run over twice. In contrast to this, the river boats and the sky train are relative sanctuaries from the vicious traffic machine and also a great way to move around town.

Tomorrow, I will be flying south to the infamous hellhole of sunburnt tourists known as Phuket. Among recently arriving backpackers, the pronunciation of the name often takes on the rather colloquial form of “fuck it”. This results in some mildly amusing exchanges among backpackers, usually running along the lines of:

-So, where are you heading next, Cambodia?
-Nah, Phuket.
-Why? What’s wrong with Cambodia?
-No, I mean I’m going to Phuket.
-Fuck what?

And so on till hilarity ensues.

Thus for me, this short glimpse into Bangkok will have to suffice for now, although I do plan to return when a mate of mine arrives in about seven weeks. Now, if you’ll excuse me, that charming young lady over there with the unusually large hands and very pronounced Adam’s apple seems to have taken a liking to me. She probably wants one of my Tim Tams.


LIST OF REFERENCES

Murphy, Eddie and Nolte, Nick. 1982. 48 Hours. Paramount Pictures: Hollywood, USA.


P. S. Some people have asked me how psyched I am about this trip. If you listen to the energy level in this song, you might get some idea!!

Mumm-Ra: Out of the Question (song starts around 0:20)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bT-gZ49VDlc