Thailand!: In which I re-learn how to smile, meet up with an old friend, and experience the inestimable beauty of a tourist-infested island

Thailand! Yay!

I arrived in the (former) land of Siam on a beautiful sunny morning. Then I stepped out of the air-conditioned terminal and started sweating. A lot. The morning was still beautiful and sunny, I just hadn't counted on the humidity being in the range of improbability.

Still, the shuttle bus to Khao San road went smoothly. I was particularly pleased to note that we were traveling on roads that were (heavens!) paved, and where people generally stayed in their (gracious!) own lanes and, on a bus that (egads!) had the same number of seats as they would allow people to ride. Small favors really, but of utmost import given my recent travails.

Sitting at a table outside of a bar, reading a book, drinking a beer, look up, take picture of elephant, go back to book.




Khao San road (Thanon Khao San in Thai), my destination, is kind of like the slop bucket at a farm. All the animals end up there when they need to eat or drink, everyone gets dirty and there is a lot of grunting and staring. It is set up to cater to the backpacker element, and, to be frank, being around this many "white" people gave me a case of massive culture shock. Up until that point, I had been mostly around people native to an area, in India, Zimbabwe, Zambia etc. Nearly everywhere, the dominant group were the locals. But not here. It was disconcerting to say the least.

A short, humble diatribe, if I may be permitted, on being a foreigner in a foreign land:

1. Dreadlocks. Why? I mean honest to God...why? If you are not a 6 foot Jamaican then you have no business with them. If you are an overweight, pale, Irish guy with Chinese tattoo's running down both arms and a "wanker" t-shirt on, then you really shouldn't be getting these things. Also a note to parents: DO NOT ALLOW YOUR CHILDREN TO GET THEIR HAIR PUT INTO DREADLOCKS. It is not cute. It looks stupid. This will reflect badly on your parenting abilities. I will personally call social services on you.

2. Talking to people whose first language is not English. TALKING LOUDER does not make what you are saying any more clear. Neither does repeating yourself over and over, loosing spittle and angst at the poor street vendor who just wanted to cook you some pad thai. Try talking slooooower...maybe point at their conveniently hand lettered sign to indicate your desires. You'll be awkwardly fumbling with your chopsticks in no time

3. Sex workers. I know that I try to keep this space squeaky clean, but it is just ridiculous here. Let this serve as a warning that from here on out, if I am in Bangkok and you are a 50 year old, fat, balding man in a Hawaiian shirt, sweatily groping a 15 year old Thai-girl I will do everything in my power to throw you into oncoming traffic. You are a plague upon humanity and deserve whatever fate the Goodyear company can wreak upon you.

Yuck.

Diatribe aside, I was immediately and, in all probability, permanently affected by my first few hours in Thailand. After getting myself settled, I decided to dive right into to the local grub. At this point in my travels, I feel like my immune system has been throught the equivalent of Navy SEAL survival school and can handle anything that I can throw at it...

"An orange juice please, with ice."

Suicide in some countries. Utter deliciousness here. Setting off in a random direction, I soon found myself pleasantly lost, perambulating around wide open squares, brightly colored signage and sidewalks so clean you could ummm (come on Norm, think of something to write besides 'eat off of it'...)...change a babies diaper on it! Yes!

I hadn't been walking for more than 10 minutes when I was stopped with a loud "Hello!" Being an expert now in deflecting unwanted advances by people desirous of my mythologically full wallet, I ignored the call and kept walking. Then the 5 foot 5 inch tall Thai man planted himself in front of me and offered his hand.

"Hello! Where you from?"

The look on his face was pure joy at talking to me. Furthemore, I couldn't see a taxi that he could lure me to, a rack of necklaces hanging from his hand or a shady back alley where he could try to get me to exchange some currency. "Oh well," I thought, "I guess that I'll try to just have a conversation."

The ensuing conversation took an hour. During that time, he told me about the history of Thailand, his daughters, his wife (who he was out on a walk avoiding), where in Thailand was good to go, how to say hello (sawatdee-klap), and thank you (korp-kun-klap), and
which foods I should eat. This was only to be my first brush with the overwhelming, nearly oppressive form of hospitality that the Thai practice, and it very nearly caused me to burst out crying at how nice this man was being. Of course, since I'm the rough, tough, world-travelin' hardass that I am...I gave him a hug instead. Then, this near-saint wrote down a list of places to go in Bangkok, hailed a tuk-tuk (motorized rickshaw) and haggled the driver down to 40 baht to drive me around for 3 hours. 40 baht is about one dollar. This guy then pressed his hands together and inclined his head (known as a wai), turned on his heel and walked away. He hadn't wanted anything more than to have a conversation during which he could practice his English, and I could see that he actually took pleasure it helping me get around the city.

This was right around the time that I regained my smile.

In India, Yeah Yeah and I had often talked about how we had forgotten how to smile. This is not to say that we had lost the ability to form our faces into an expression redolent of happiness. Rather, we had lost the reflex ability to grin quickly at people, the kind that you offer to someone as they pass, as it is an ability that is largely useless in India. When I first arrived, I would flash someone a grin and it would be met with a blank stare. Even more difficult for my ego to bear, was that when I would smile towards a woman, she would not only refuse to return the smile, but would cast her eyes down and hurry away from me like I had just told her that her sari made her butt look big. Thus did my "snap-smile" atrophy to the point where attempting it off-hand could have caused a full face sprain.

In Thailand, if you aren't frowning, then people are smiling at you. Big, enormous, gargantuan tooth filled smiles that take up the whole face and sometimes even shake the body. Sometimes I will just walk around for an hour or two and see how many people I can get to respond to my smile. With minimal exception, everyone offers me a worthwhile expression in return.

But enough jibba-jabba. On to the sites!


Here we have "Standing Buddha" Apparently the African Naming commission has been at work in Thailand as well










This thing is really, really big





My first advised stop was the magnificent "Standing Buddha." The Thai people love gold, so anything that is of remote importance is, at the very least, of a goldish hue. Bangkok has over 300 temples, each with something unique to recommend it to a visitor. I was able to make it to another 2 of these before being shuttled off to the Grand Palace, which, as you can imagine was... Super.



Man do they like gold!









Side of one temple at the Grand Palace. I have nothing clever to say about this picture










The Thai people also revere the sacred "Hugging eagle", who, though terrifying to behold, is quite cuddly.





I spent the day wandering around the Grand Palace, following a Mural that is roughly 2 miles in length and depicts an epic story that, since I couldn't afford a tour guide, I can only guess at.
It seemed pretty interesting right up until the Buddha looking guy sat down for a while and then nothing much seemed to happen from then on.

I don't think that I was supposed to be taking pictures in the temple. Don't tell anyone.





It was at about this time that I found out that an old comrade-in-arms was doing some SCUBA diving on the Southern Island of Ko Tao. Though I was greatly enjoying Bangkok, I had been longing for the salty smell of the ocean and the annoying grittiness of sand in my britches for some time. Khao San road is, among other things, one of the best places in Bangkok to book travel from, provided that you don't end up as one of the cautionary tales that are told about disreputable travel agents. Since I had already heard a number of these stories, and, determined as I was not be "taken in", I visited no less than 14 different booths, shops, internet joints, restaurants and travel agencies, each of which had more or less the exact same deal to offer me. It is remotely possible that I looked, sounded and acted like a crazy paranoid man as I went place to place demanding to speak to whoever was "in charge" and eventually becoming so well versed in the particulars of the trip that I was correcting the agents on their pronunciation. I was offered three jobs before I finally found someone who possessed the proper smorgasboard of characteristics that would allow me to buy from them. It is possible that I was bribed with cookies. I'm not saying that I was, but I'm also not saying that I wasn't...

Exhausted, but with a ticket in hand, I slept in my room that looked right out onto the madness of Khao San, which meant that sleep was not something that would occur for any great length of time nor be sufficient to provide me with the rest that I somewhat desperately needed. The next day, I got onto my Air-conditioned, individually assigned seat, movie-playing, blanket-giving, non-stop, non-breakdowning super bus and rode all the way to a city called Chumphon, arriving at 4AM. Apparently, this is a route that is run often, as I discovered that while waiting the three hours for the boat to the island, the waiting area had tatami mats (not terribly comfortable, but covered the floor), firm pillows and would serve you breakfast if you wanted. I slept, I woke up, I ate, I got on a boat.

View from the boat, not of the boat






I love riding on boats, I love being out on the ocean. Somehow or another, these two passions seem to work well in tandem. Go figure.

I arrived on the island...









And found Jon...









Eating noodles. Jon loves noodles.

To give a quick background: Mr. Jonathon Guidroz Esq. and I both attended the George Washington University at the same time, him being a year ahead of me despite being several months younger. We also had similar social affiliations (cough...fraternity...cough) and for the past year in DC, had worked at the same company (Corporate Executive Board) and had lived less than a block away from each other. So of course, I knew that Jon was in Thailand and we had planned on meeting up.

Except...not.

Jon has been on the road for nearly a year now. In that time he has been to South America, back to his storm-ravaged home of New Orleans, then to Europe, Africa and now Asia. I had absolutely no idea that we were in the same place until a fortuitous series of e-mails placed us in touch.

Long explanation aside, it was great to see yet another long lost, far flung friend and we spent several nights on magnificent Ko Tao, soaking up ultra-violet radiation during the day, and terrible Thai whiskey at night.











The island of Ko Tao has become justifiably world renowned as one of the best places to SCUBA dive. Moreover, due to the weakness of the Thai baht to nearly every other currency, coupled with weather systems that only prevent diving in event of tsunami, the price to get any sort of diving certification is next to nothing when compared with most other places. What does all this superfluity mean?

Hazy mountains. Tranquil ocean. Big ol'rocks






It means tourists. And tourists mean money. And money means banana pancakes (which we'll get to in a second).

Stepping off of the boat onto the island, about 85% of the people are quickly shepherded to the dive resorts that they have prebooked, eyes a-quiver and loud bah-ing evident. For those few unfortunates who hadn't already made arrangements, the friendly looking people holding the signs with the guest-house names on them seemed honest enough... One of the benefits of being very tall (relative to the average Thai, or Indian person for that matter) is that their loud entreaties for, whatever they're trying to get you to do, largely pass below your ears, allowing you to at least appear blissfully ignorant. Thus did I set off at great speed across the island finding myself awash in signs for internet, "Western Food!" and book stores. I have come to learn that a good measure of exactly how "touristy" a place is, is by how many used book stores there are, and how well stocked those stores are. If you're in a place and they have a well thumbed second edition of Donald Trump's autobiography next to 72 copies of "On The Road"...run. There is nothing but pain for you here.

Which brings me to another point that I would like to make about traveling in general...

...There will always be people who will tell you how much better things "used to be." Crusty old travel veterans right on up to someone 3 years your junior with a shiny new passport, if someone has been somewhere even once, it has since "gotten commercial "or "sold out" or "gone backpacker." This is almost the most infuriating thing about traveling (right next to dreadlocks and Bob Marley. No knock on Bob, but if I see one more stoned kid bobbing his head to "Get up, stand up" with his eyes closed really "understanding" Bob's struggle I'm going to light his dreads on fire). Nostalgia is so prevalent I'm thinking of starting a worldwide business called "Wasn't that great?" in which you can show up at a place and then one day later you can pay someone to listen to how much better it was the day before. I'd make a mint.

So we were forced to listen to people, on an idyllic beach, with a lazy tide foaming in, and nary a cloud overhead whine and complain that it was too commercial. When asked, in all innocence "well then why don't you go somewhere else?" I was met with hostile glares and a curt end to further conversation.

Allow me, if you will, to explain why it is that you didn't go anywhere else: Because that would involve independent thinking on your part. When you came 5 years ago, it was not while running the Jolly Roger or the Union Jack up your mast. Arrrr! You didn't "discover" Ko Tao, you came for the same reason that I did; someone told you that it was good. Whether or not more resorts have been built in that time does not make your previous visit inherently more "authentic." When you arrive, in your home-made, dugout canoe, with a waterskein made from the flesh of an animal you killed, skinned and cured, paddling onto the shores of an island onto which no other person has ever set foot, then you can talk about how commercial it has gotten 10 years later when you've clear cut the forests and built casinos. Until then, enjoy your time on the crowded dive boats, eat your pizza and hamburgers, and pass me my overpriced beer, because for my money, this beach ain't half bad.










Next: A moral lesson in Bangkok, the supernatural hospitality of a friend, and a festival not to be missed.