Week 17: Thailand Pt. 1 (Bangkok, Koh Samui)
I was surprised by how organized Bangkok was right off the bat. I had no trouble getting a cab with their automated ticketing system and arrived at Khaosan Road 30 minutes later. The street (pictured above) hosts at least a hundred pubs, hostels, and hotels, popularized in the west by a book titled “The Beach” and film adaptation starring Leo Decaprio. Overwhelming fails to describe just how extreme the difference between the attitudes of Varanasi and this street were. Loud, thumping music from the past (and by past I mean 90s and early 2000’s) and present vibrate through your skeleton as you wade through crowds of drunk people drifting from one bar to the next. A man vomited in front of me without breaking stride and continued towards his destination.
I found my hostel near the far end of the street, tucked in a small alleyway far enough away from the commotion that I could get some rest. I wandered around Khao San a bit more after dropping my bags off, getting a feel for the streets and the crowds that roamed them. Food carts whip up pad thai for 1–2 bucks, exotic insects are offered to daring tourists on sticks, workers with signs try frantically to get your attention, hoping to reel you into their establishment.
The hustle and bustle felt similar to some of the busier streets I’d encountered in India, albeit slightly more tainted by the commercial nature of all the commotion. Every once in a while, guys with cardboard signs with “PING PONG” hastily written on them appear, trying to entice travelers into watching an ethically dubious sex performance show involving foreign objects emerging from vaginal canals. Anyway, I hadn’t had a beer in a month, and was trying to decide if I was craving one or just thirsty. I settled on a smoothie and made my way back to the hostel.
I spent my first full day in Bangkok being a proper tourist, wandering the decadent temples inside the Royal Palace and Wat Pho, and marvelling at the intricate glass and stone work covering every inch of their buildings and statues. I saw the long, reclining buddha and received the first of what would become many massages during my stay in Bangkok. I ended the evening with a quick stop at the Dawn Temple before crossing the river by ferry and returning to Khaosan Road. I ran a few traveler’s errands the next day: doing laundry, finding the right power adapter, and getting local passport photos for future border crossings into other countries. One (or two) foot massages were sprinkled in at some point during my multiple quests.
The entirety of my last day in Bangkok was spent enjoying the Museum of Contemporary Art floor by floor, each level more awe-inspiring than the next. I had to stop midway through for my first cup of coffee since 2017 to digest everything I’d already seen before going back upstairs for more artwork. It was nice taking my time, savoring each piece without feeling rushed.
Back at the hostel, I collected my belongings and got one last massage before hopping aboard a double-decker, neon-green overnight bus heading down the southern coast of Thailand. The only sustenance I could scrape together was a can of pringles, a banana, and some barely passable rest-stop noodles. 40 bleary-eyed travelers and I were ejected from our seats and left at a resthouse by a pier around three in the morning. The resthouse’s lobby was filled with repurposed bus seats. Most travelers slept, but the strongest among us had a more important task to tend to: Half of “I am Sam” and M. Night Shamylaln’s “Unbreakable” were playing on TV and they weren’t going to watch themselves. Bruce Willis’ son had just pulled a gun on him when our ferry arrived at 7am.
Koh Samui
The boat ride took approximately six hours. A combination of sleep deprivation and the stormy waters had me feeling a bit nauseous, but the real cause of my sea-sickness was the in-vessel entertainment.“The Warrior”, a movie about two brothers caught up in a UFC tournament, trying to redeem themselves from their respective military desertion and financial woes. It was the only film they had, and I watched it three times in a row. The DVD would skip around at the climax of the film, and by the time it smoothed out, we had entered into the resolution. Classic. We stopped at two islands prior to Koh Samui where tourists got off and on. I spent the last stretch before the island getting some air up front, unable to watch the beginning of Warrior for the fourth time. I hired a motorscooter taxi after making landfall and was taken to my hostel on the other side of the island.
Tiki Tiki Bar, restaurant, and hostel. Beach side with an infinity pool meters away from the shore. I was greeted the owner. a large, hospitable man with graying brown hair named Bart. Bart quickly got me situated in my room, where I immediately passed out from exhaustion. Hours later, well-rested and more socialable, I made my rounds in the lobby, greeting other travelers before finding myself in conversation with two canadians and a woman from michigan. The latter had declared bankruptcy despite working three jobs since her student debt had only grown even though she had already paid off a third of it on time.She left the U.S. after 10 miserable, post-grad years of what was essentially indentured servitude to teach English in China.
The next day was dedicated to full-blown relaxation. I hung out with two Swedish women, Louisa and Friya, on gap year amidst their university careers. We got to know one another over smoothies before winding up on Lamai Beach and playing in the waves for an hour (which were surprisingly punishing, violently knocking you off your feet and onto the rough sand when you weren’t paying attention). Afterwards, we got hour long massages set to the soothing soundtrack of the ocean before munching on some pad thai (one of three vegetarian options offered on the island) and discussing the state of U.S. politics. We had a fun discussion about the U.S.’ current political climate, as well as its relationship with socialism since it’s the norm for them in Sweden. Thoroughly pampered, we walked back to our hostel and wound down the day with a session on journaling on beach chairs as the sun set behind us.
Wednesday turned out to be an unexpected adventure. Friya, Louisa, and I did a bit of yoga in the morning (my first formalish class since training at the ashram) before catching a repurposed red-pickup truck “bus” towards the base of the mountain roads. We had two goals for the day: find the Magic Buddha Garden and Tartain Waterfall. Both destinations were far from the more touristy spots, but I was compelled to find them based on an emphatic testimonial from another traveler claiming they were the only spots worth visiting uphill.l We were on the island’s outer ring and needed to make our way dead center and back before nightfalll.
I sorely underestimated the distance and incline. We walked along a dirt trail for a while, past local homes with water buffalo tied to trees grazing calmly, before deciding to try our hand at hitchhiking with one of the many safari SUV’sthat were blowing past us. I finally managed to wave one down with the help of a 100 baht note in hand. The.three of us hopped inside, covered in a layer of sweat and relieved to be on wheels. The vehicle struggled to climb some of the steepest mountain roads I’d ever been driven on, the driver jiggling its manual transmission whenever the engine revved in complaint. We would have never made it up on foot.
We were dropped off near the Magic Buddha Garden, a small portion of verdant riverbed surrounded by nearly 100 handcarved statues crafted by an old retiree. The driver who had given us a lift warned that Tartain waterfall was still 5 kilometers away, and 2 kilometers from the closest point they could drop us off. Returning in the evening was also unlikely since very few cars frequented that route. Friya and Louisa were understandably spooked about being unable to get back before dark and decided to head back down in another SUV, but I was still fully committed to finding that waterfallI hopped in the driver’s truck and was dropped off a few minutes later at a bend in the road. My driver offered me two cold bottles of water for my journey ahead and wished me good luck. I thanked him with a large tip, placed the bottles in my backpack (along with a sloppy pad thai I’d ordered for the road) and took off jogging, shirtless in mint green swim trunks, towards my destination. The sun would set in three hours.
There were more homes along the road than the guide’s tone implied, and I became more confident that I ‘d be able to return easily the further I went. Plus, I had around around one thousand baht in my wallet and that had to be good for something. As I made my way down a valley and towards the entrance of the waterfall’s guest reception, my mind was occupied by the grating screeches of cicadas, a deafening symphony of shrieks akin to a train braking on rails. Every so often, the “white noise” would be accompanied by the spooky howls of some mammal roaming the dense jungle around me. I took a few deep breaths and continued onwards, too close now to call it quits.
I still had half a kilometer ahead of me from the guest entry. There was a cozy, stone pool overlooking the river that flowed from the waterfall, but I was determined to find the swimming hole I had invested so much sweat in. After a relatively easy ascent upstream, I arrived. There was another couple just ahead of me and a two travelers from my hostel in the process of leaving. I plopped down, and stuffed my face with pad thai while looking at the roaring waterfall before me. A picnic with a view. The couple swam around the hole a bit, but mostly spent their time taking photos of each other. I’m obviously passing judgement here, but I don’t know if they spent any time actually enjoying it. The few moments when they weren’t behind a screen or framing a shot seemed to be in preparation for when they would be. They left less than 15 minutes after arriving.
Alone, hydrated, and no longer hungry, I took off my shoes and waded into the middle of the hole. The cool water purified me, therapeutically removing the thick layer of sweat that had accumulated over my body as I ran over a mile to get here in the humidity. My body temperature decreased and I breathed easier. The water came up to my thigh, allowing me to sit corss-legged with just my neck and head above water. I proceeded to chant and meditate for the next half hour, taking in just how deep into the jungle I truly was and literally screaming “thank you” at the sky because I was so elated to be there.
I arranged a ride downhill with the guest area’s shopkeeper as the evening drew closer. She called her son over walkie talkie, who arrived five mintues later on a neon-green dirtbike. I hopped on behind him for the most windy, white-knuckle ride of my life. He quickly took me up and down the hills I’d ascended earlier, dodging wet patches and expertly navigating the portions of dirt road. The steep and uneven 10km ride took a terrifying 25 minutes to traverse, But my life was in his hands and so I tried my best to relax and enjoy the countryside flying by me. Once safely at the foot of the mountains, I gave my driver a deep bow of gratitude for getting me downhill in one piece before catching a bus back to the hostel, where I reunited and shared my day’s story with Friya and Louisa.
We piled in to a party bus later that evening, along with three other hostemates, and drove 30 minutes out. I hadn’t realized how large the island was until then, as we entered an area densely packed with tourists, resorts, and bungalows. Heavily developed and open for business. Many of the bars just off the main strip seated a row of escorts out front, trying their best to catch the eye of lonely tourists. We visited two loud pubs where Local Thai bands sang covers of famous Western songs in broken English while we made minimal conversation. After a few drinks the Swedes and I caught a bus back.
I rented a moped for my last day on the island and got acquainted with driving on the left side of the road. I got the hang of it pretty quickly, but definitely threw myself in the deep end by immediately driving towards the touristy district I had visited last night. 40 minutes drive on a well-paved road around the island, with a good amount of curves and local traffic to keep me on my toes. I ended up in a ditch on the side of the road while rubbernecking at another idiotic tourist that had wiped out in front of me. Luckily I was going so slow that my accident was more pathetic than dangerous. A kind stranger came and helped me lift my bike out of the gutter and onto the road and I was back on my way towards two giant buddhas. The statues were interesting to look at, but the drive was the real entertainment for the day. Three hours total, going there and back, made for quite the experience. When I was safely back at the hostel in the early afternoon, I decided not to risk my health any more than I needed to.and met the Swedes at their new hostel. We went for a brief walk to a nearby temple made of red stone, had a smoothie and a nice conversation over dinner before saying our farewells.
I’m on a train heading towards Chiang Mai now, after taking a ferry and bus back to Bangkok. I’m surrounded by the countryside’s large, green pastures and rocky, angular hills smothered with wirey trees and shrubs. I’ve heard fantastic things about northern Thailand from friends and travelers alike, and I’m eager to spend more time closer to nature and away from tourists. I can’t believe it’s February already. 2018 just started and I guess I haven’t written it on enough documents to believe it. But time is a construct anyway and I’m spending it doing what I love so who cares. Does this count as a conclusion? I don’t know man.
