A Headless Ostrich - 2007

Frolicking on a

Headless Ostrich

(Click on the pictures to see them at their original

size and to save them to your computer.)

A Beginning

Armed with an itinerary the length of a tall man’s forearm, and three splendidly long weeks in which to cover it, I arrived in downtown Bangkok at something after midnight. Leanne was waiting for me just off Kaoh San Road – (more about that place later) -- and had booked my hotel room, eradicating any initial frustration of having to find a bed. A former roommate and my twin (we share a birthday to the year), she was there for only a couple of days before heading to South Africa to visit her family.

So good was the entire holiday – and I am going to bore you with the specifics – that I forget if it was on the first or second day that we visited the Grand Palace, one of the residences of the much-revered king, though he doesn't live there, and home to a number of government offices.

A digression is necessary at this point to point out the love the Thais have for their king. This man of 80 years has sat on the throne for 60 years. Bhumibol Adulyadej the Great, or Rama IX to westerners,

“is one of the wealthiest people in the world and uses his great wealth to fund numerous development projects, particularly in rural areas. He is immensely popular in Thailand, and is revered as a semi-divine figure by many Thais. Born in the United States, he was educated primarily in Switzerland. Bhumibol is also an accomplished jazz musician, composer, artist, and sailor.

 He has received many honors, among them an honorary membership of the Vienna Institute of Music and Arts, awarded to him at the age of 32. He used to play jazz music on air on the Or Sor radio station. In his travels, he has played with such jazz legends as Benny Goodman, Jack Teagarden, Lionel Hampton and Maynard Ferguson. His songs can often be heard at social gatherings and are performed in concerts.

Bhumibol is also a painter, photographer, author and translator. His book Phra Mahachanok is based on a traditional Jataka story of Buddhist scripture. The Story of Thong Daeng is the story of his dog of the same name.” (Wikipedia)

The country was transformed, by a predecessor, from an absolute to a constitutional monarchy in 1932, and a monument in downtown Bangkok commemorates this shift. The king’s role is therefore mostly symbolic. Nevertheless, the Thais adore him. There are billboard-sized pictures, as well as smaller ones, across the vast nation, of him (and often enough the queen), chronicling his life and rule. The auspicious occasion of his 60^th anniversary as monarch was celebrated in June 2006, and in honor of this event, yellow T-shirts are still voluntarily worn by many of the citizens, perhaps as many as 80% on Mondays.

The wealth and splendor of the Grand Palace is truly awe-inspiring. It contains stately official rooms, temples, and even a miniature reproduction of Angkor Wat of Cambodia. The entire complex is enclosed by a fortified wall. Within, a smaller section is again walled, and on the inner face of this latter barrier, an intricate mural, resplendent with shimmering gold-leaf features, boxes and polishes the regal tone. Tickets are around 300 baht (less than US$10). Thais enter for free.

Apart from the palace, Leanne and I spent two very lazy days, not venturing too far from our hotel, except for a recon visit to a hotel in another part of Bangkok where I had hoped to stay. The Atlanta was in a beautiful setting, down a peaceful Soi (Lane or Alley), home (according to the Lonely Planet) of the first hotel swimming pool in Bangkok. Unfortunately, I never got to stay there. Most of the budget places won’t commit to a booking (unless made long in advance), since the guests come and go, giving not much notice, changing their minds at the last minute, which is exactly what I did on a number of occasions. On another visit, perhaps……

We shopped and people-watched, and while moving from one stationary position to another, I gathered information about two excursions I had in mind. The first was an organized tour to Kanchanaburi, a town about 3 hours north-west of Bangkok, home to the famed Bridge over the River Kwae where, during the Second World War, the Japanese used prisoners of war to construct a railroad between Thailand and Burma. The second was the anticipated trip to Ko Chang, an island in eastern Thailand, near the Cambodian border, where I planned to spend the last week of my visit.

(click)

Leanne left on the night of my second day. Jen, an American I befriended in Taiwan, who currently lives in China, was arriving a day later. I pounced on the opportunity to do more recon regarding my entirely cultural safari. Off I buzzed to the theaters and museums I intended to visit, to acquire schedules and prices. I added today's information to what I already had. By the time Jen arrived, I had a plan, and a partner-in-crime, willing (she had said in an email) to follow my lead.

I also intended to get off Kaoh San Road. Before this most recent visit, I had been to Thailand twice. I had passed through Bangkok five times, as swiftly as humanly possible, stopping on Kaoh San simply to rest ahead of the next leg of the trip. It is a trippy place. Backpackers’ paradise. Loud music from the myriad pubs, super cheap massages (the authentic kind), souvenir shopping, and a measure of sleaze. An ideal place to celebrate the beginning of a vacation or to lament its end. Unfortunately, also a bit of a cesspool, and somewhat smelly.

This stay in Bangkok was intended to vindicate the city, and how overwhelmed I was by the extent of said vindication.

The Theater

Jen and I stayed on Kaoh San just long enough to enjoy the arts in the neighborhood. On Friday evening we attended a performance of Thai traditional dance (Khon) at the Chalermkrung Royal Theater. The premise of the show, which was running for the entire year to celebrate – you guessed it – the king’s diamond jubilee, was a folklore tale assimilated centuries ago from India.

“In Hindu myth, Rama is the seventh incarnation (or avatar) of Vishnu (the supreme god to some followers of Hinduism). He is the hero of the Indian Epic "Ramayana" (the story of Rama). Born as the prince of Ayodhya, he faces many tribulations, chief among which is being banished to the forest, due to the machinations of his stepmother. During his exile, his wife Sita is abducted by Ravana, a demon king.”

Rama entrusts her safe return to his monkey soldiers. The lead warrior, Hanuman, reaches the consort, but she thinks it improper for a woman to be taken by a demon-giant, only to be returned on the palm of a monkey. What ensue are intrigues and battles that culminate in the destruction of the giant’s power and the end of his life.

The scenes are markedly stylized. Movements are typically fast, with extended pauses between. A spear, for example, is aimed and held in place for long seconds, after which the monkey fighter climbs up his demon counterpart, beginning on his thigh, reaching his shoulders. In the past, every member of the troupe wore a mask, and this necessitated the use of narrators to take care of the vocal drama. 

(In more recent art history, only the soldiers of the opposing quarters retain their masks, but the narrators also remain.)

The speech, too, is stylized. Though I could not understand a word, it was clear that the inflections were not vernacular, the pauses long. It was a dreamy sing-song dialogue. (A program summary was available for English speakers on the LCD above the stage, so that when one was not too transfixed by the physical, one could catch up on the story.)

(click)

Having forgotten my camera in Taiwan, I looked about to see who of the patrons was taking forbidden pictures. I had an aisle seat, and as luck would have it, the woman across the aisle was one of the guilty. After the final curtain, I approached her to request an email with pictures attached. She kindly agreed. She turned to speak to her accomplice, and their language was Chinese. Immediately, Jen (whose Chinese is flawless) and I (whose Chinese needs a lifetime of work) switched to their tongue and conversed jubilantly. Leaving the theater, we saw them pouring over a map, trying, would you believe, to find their way back to Kaoh San Road. The four of us then took to the streets together, further assuring me of receipt of the illustrated email.

(At this point I feel it prudent that I note my acquisition of more than 200 pictures, some of which you see here. Some were sent to me by people I met along the way.  Others come from pamphlets and programs I bought. The remainder I found on the internet, and though they are not mine – and indeed, in some there are strangers mid-pose – I did see these things first-hand. My apologies to anyone who might see this and be offended. I am not selling this presentation – it is put together purely for the enjoyment of my friends and family, with absolutely no intention of commercial benefit.)

Our next adventure was to the Patravadi Theatre, just 

across the Chao Praya River from Kaoh San Road.

It is named after its founder, a former Thai actress. The complex is quite large and mostly outdoors. At the entrance there is a garden with tables, and a slightly raised platform to one side, where performers (some in their early teens) can exhibit their talents. Behind this area is an amphitheatre. Here, on the day I had first popped by (the day before Jen arrived), a performance was being rehearsed. Tables had been set up on the steps, candles lit. To my later dismay, that performance had been held on the very same night, and would not be repeated during my stay. Never mind. Across the tiny road, and overlooking the Chao Praya, is the newly opened Studio 9 Dinner Theatre, part of the same complex, and subscribing to the same philosophy of performance.

Patravadi’s organization offers scholarships to promising young performing talent, and at Studio 9, which was having its grand opening on the night of our visit, guests can enjoy the show for the (downright give-away) price of delicious Thai cuisine – the entertainment is absolutely free. A standard band opened the act. I say standard, but that is not entirely true. While for the most part it could have been a band in any hotel of repute in any location, the lead singer was a very talented man. It was later divulged that he had been a Thai classical singer before opting for a more relaxed niche. It did not surprise me – the textures and timbres 

that emanated from his vocal chords were both diverse and rich. And he played an array of instruments, even introducing the audience to the ‘klung’, a simple, and simply delightful-sounding Thai flute.

Still, the real stuff for me came after the intro. We were treated to the beats of an ensemble of four young drummers, tribal, raw, riveting. Then a dancer-turned-acrobat took to the stage with “One Man on a Table”, during 

which he weaved over and under a rectangular dinner table, putting said table on its various sides, intertwining his corpus through, and putting it atop and beneath the legs, at times in slow methodical movements, at times swift as a bird. There are no words…… This was followed by the return of the drum quartet, this time including the use of tubular bells. Next, a Thai ensemble of classical instruments and dancers began an austere rendition, into which the band later entered with a superbly blended cover of “My Girl”. To crown the evening, a Thai master dancer stole the show to 

the beats of the same savage drummers. Between performances, the show was punctuated by the recitation of Thai poetry.

Jen and I were so moved by the clarity and cleanliness of what we had seen that we decided to return the next Saturday to take it all in again.

(click)

On Sunday it was time to leave the madness behind and rest our bones in a less maniacal district. In the same neighborhood as the Atlanta was another hotel graced with a swimming pool, called the Golden Palace. There we did find rooms, though they were double the price we had thus far been paying. After the first night, we realized that we could comfortably share a room, since they were huge and each had 2 beds, and our expense was once again within the range I wanted to afford.

The Golden Palace is located 2 minutes walk from Bumrungrad Hospital, whose reputation draws foreigners from far afield in need of good surgeons at an affordable price. (The West really doesn’t understand the need for cost-effective medical care!) Some of the patients stayed at our hotel, among them an American, an Israeli, and a Mongolian whom we met. I, too, had to unexpectedly make use of the service when I developed a small problem with my ear and needed it cleaned.

An Excursion

Next on our agenda was a visit to the Ancient City. It is located on a piece of land south-east of Bangkok, which is shaped to roughly reflect the actual outline of Thailand (or the Headless Ostrich, as I like to call it). On the premises, many of the most important monuments from across the kingdom are replicated on a smaller scale. One can, for example, see some of the buildings from the Grand Palace. The replicas are large enough to enter and wander through, but the ceilings and doorways are lower than the originals, and the material of construction different. The gold-leaf of the Grand Palace is represented by (very well done) golden paint.

Tickets cost 300 baht, which also paid for the rental of a bicycle. Jen and I lazily pedaled the afternoon away after beginning with a tasty yet cheap lunch on the grounds. For me the most aesthetically pleasing were the roofs and the statues.

(click)

Art

… and

The Fringe…

Between all these activities, I took time to visit a few art exhibitions. I was lucky when still on Kaoh San Road to pick up a newsletter, in which were listed the current exhibitions and their venues. I had initially planned to visit more of them than I eventually attended, but I realized that my vacation should also include lazy days around the pool, ensconced in the intrigues of the Robert Ludlum novel I had picked up in Taiwan. (I love Robert Ludlum, when I read, which I hate to admit is not often.)

Some of the exhibitions were average, boring or downright ugly. There were three that stood out. The first was not an exhibition in the strict sense, but rather a collection of antiques stores in a purpose-built center on the banks of the Chao Praya River, downstream from the Patravadi Theater. For sale at River City were some of the most beautiful pieces of art imaginable. One that grabbed my attention was a 19^th century Burmese temple ceiling carved out of teak. It was displayed as a hanging instead of a canopy. The desire to have it was great, and it was a steal at a trifling half a million Thai baht (US$ 15000 +) ……!!

The first of the exhibitions-proper was entitled “He’s the Most Beautiful Lady.” Inspired by the ladyboy subculture in Thailand, artist Chakaphan Ratanachan created a series of roughly 30 oil paintings and pastel drawings, reflecting at times the fabulousness of the Go-Go scene, at times its toll on the human soul. Once again, a couple of thousand US dollars to burn would have been an excellent gift from Santa last Christmas.

The remaining remarkable offering, entitled “A Dialogue in Brush Strokes,” was a collaboration of a Belgian visual artist, Ingrid Van Heyden, and a Japanese master calligrapher, Wakako Yamamoto. This showing was situated in an architectural/design living studio, called Budji Living. The exact coordinates were off the maps published in the Lonely Planet, and having misjudged its position, I had to walk a long way in what had become a very hot Bangkok. I was also the first visitor, since the exhibition opened that day. As before, the price tags were beyond my means. (The pictures that follow were all I could thieve from the studio’s website, and are mere snippets of the works on display.)

......with all this spectacular art on the market in

Bangkok,

I could

Bang-My-Kopf

for not choosing a more remunerative career.....

(click)

Also during our 5-night stay at the Golden Palace Hotel, I overcame my long-standing hesitation to visit Patpong, the infamous nucleus of the sex industry in Bangkok. My intention was not commercial – not that I have an issue with those whose are. I just wanted to catch a glimpse of what so many people speak of. Again Jen agreed to accompany me, to my relief, since I was uncertain of what I might find, and anxious about having to ward off solicitors. Well, an eye-opener it certainly was. We ventured to the section for men in search of men, and the smorgasbord was bewildering.

We entered one of the many venues where sordid shows were given at the reasonable cost of a very expensive beer. So up-close-and-impersonal was a little too much for my sober temperament, and I tired of it quickly. Sometimes I envy the sexually liberated, but on the other hand, my visit drove home my fuddy-duddy psyche. What was unexpected was that the vast majority of the men on the slab were heterosexual. This was proclaimed by the unguarded fascination they displayed for the pair of breasts that entered with me. (Many apologies, Jen!) With the tolerance that permeates Thai culture, these men viewed their careers as nothing more than that. “It’s my job!” was the disbelieving response to “Why?”

Again in the Auditorium

The last of our adventures in Bangkok was cultural but not Thai. The same newsletter that informed me about the art exhibitions also announced the arrival in Bangkok, for two nights only, of the Stuttgart Ballet. I have never really been interested in this form of dance, and the tickets were the priciest of all, but having seen so much novelty, I decided that this, too, was worth a viewing. As it happened, the first of the two performances was to take place on the eve of our trip to Kanchanaburi.

During the days preceding, Jen and I had taken the newly opened MRT (underground train) to its station at the Thailand Cultural Center. Exiting said station, the center was nowhere to be found, nor even a single signpost pointing to it. We crossed the road and inquired in the lobby of a tall building. No one spoke English. On the sidewalk, someone directed us in unintelligible English, but he pointed in both directions. Completely befuddled, we returned to the station to ask the guard. (Shortly before our holiday, Bangkok had been rocked by a series of bombs, and as a result, all MRT stations had security personnel checking passengers’ bags.) He, too, was not conversant in our tongue. As luck would have it – and this happens frequently in Asia – a random man walked by who could help us with a translation. It turned out the center was behind the MRT station. We had to round a city block, which we could do by turning right, right and right, or left, left and left. I regretted my obvious incredulity at the guy who tried to guide us earlier.

Back to the night of the performance. Upon arriving in the theater lobby, we bumped into none other than the acrobat from the Patravadi Theater, Lang, to whom we had introduced ourselves after the show the previous Saturday. Our seats, though costly compared with our earlier performances, were the cheapest in this house, and so they were on the uppermost of three galleries, farthest from the stage. It took me a while to settle down, since I have a completely unfounded and ridiculous fear of ledges, balconies, escalators and especially, glass-bottomed catwalks connecting upper floors of shopping malls, suspended high in the atrium.

After the first piece there was an intermission, and Jen and I stepped out. We agreed that it had been uninspiring, ugly even. Spirits dampened, we decided to sit through one more of the four dances, and if we had the same feeling, we would count our losses and leave. Fortunately the rest of the performance was elegant, riveting, and even quite humorous, though we felt a bit silly as we were the only ones laughing at what was obviously intended to induce a cackle. The entire program was commissioned by and choreographed for this troupe, but only the fourth one followed what I would imagine was classical form. The second was set to the simulated sound of a typewriter, and was intended, I think, to portray the banality of modern office life. Anyway, that’s what I read into it. Once again, Jen and I returned to our hotel happy and fulfilled.

Hitting

the Road

The next morning, we woke destructively early to get a taxi back to Kaoh San Road, from where our day-trip to Kanchanaburi would depart. Our hotel concierge had told us the ride to our pick-up point would take an hour, but that estimate included an allowance for the traffic. -- (Bangkok’s traffic is notorious. The lanes are narrow and mobbed. Here, as in other parts of East and Southeast Asia, getting ahead requires an aggressive approach, and nerves of steel. Pushing in is the only way to ensure that you reach your destination. When crossing as a pedestrian, raise your hand, eyes front, and say a short but heart-felt prayer.) -- Our ride, as it was before dawn, took only ten minutes!!

The trip included a stop at the famed floating market, where fruit vendors take to the canals to conduct their business. This might once have been an exotic experience, but it has been commercialized to the point that there are more foreign faces than locals. The markets have been extended to include a vast assortment of souvenir stalls. Having seen many pictures in travel brochures, there was nothing truly new about it, but I did get to buy a couple of wooden masks to add to my wall, flanking the Indonesian mask that had until now been companionless in my bedroom.

The next stop was at a museum, a reminder of Japanese atrocities during the construction of the ‘Death Railway’. Neither Jen nor I enjoyed this at all. I do understand the need to remember the barbarity of which man has too often been guilty, and in the right frame of mind, I might have found it both grotesque and fascinating. But having experienced so much positive beauty, this reality check was more than we could stomach.

I learned, nevertheless, how Thailand came to act as host to the warmongers. -- A quick foreword is necessary to point out that, to the best of my knowledge (I think I read it in the History section of the Lonely Planet, which is a reputed travel guide), Thailand is the only country in Southeast Asia that has never been colonized by either Western powers or their equally brutal Asian counterparts. -- During the war, the Thai government at first resisted the Japanese. It later became clear that neither would they obtain victory, nor would the Japanese accept their neutrality, and so they surrendered and were compelled to declare war on the Allied Forces. In reality, the nation did not support this declaration, but it was in a pickle.

Enough about that. The final attraction of the day was a visit to the so-called Tiger Temple. In May of 1999, some villagers in or near Kanchanaburi stumbled upon a tiger cub that was injured and barely alive. It had been orphaned when its parents became victims of poaching.

The villagers “went from place to place seeking help. No one dared to take the little creature in. They eventually took him to a forest monastery, where the Abbot Pra Acharn Phoosit welcomed the little orphan out of compassion, and saved him from certain death. Since then, many more orphaned tigers found refuge under the abbot’s loving care. The tigers grew up (and produced) offspring.”

There are (at the time of writing)17 tigers at the monastery.

Once again, the viewing of these tigers has become too commercialized. Bus loads of visitors arrive daily in the afternoon – when the tigers are brought out – and stand in long queues to have their pictures taken, touching each of the tigers in turn. For every tiger, there is a handler, for every visitor, a chaperone. I might have been one of the masses if I had remembered my camera, but for the first time on my trip, I did not regret not having it. 

I took a seat in front of the cordoned off area where the tigers were, sadly, collared and chained to pins in the ground – there had previously been unfortunate incidents of mauling – tried as hard as I could to ignore the two-legged beasts with their digitals, and watched the tigers for about an hour. They were beautiful, but having been domesticated, not majestic.

After the tigers were returned to their quarters, a feeding frenzy began. It turned out the temple not only takes care of the tigers. Random wild animals, which roam free during the day, converge on the temple in the morning and evening, to feast on potatoes and yams, thrown from the back of a moving pick-up. The variety was beyond imagination. Peacocks, wild boar, donkeys, wild cattle and more. I enjoyed that more than the tigers, perhaps because I had not expected it, perhaps because the animals were emancipated. There is, of course, the question of whether or not such a practice is ecologically sound, but in an age when so many species are endangered or extinct, I was content to kick back and lavish the spectacle.

As prearranged with the tour operator, Jen and I did not return to Bangkok with the minibus. We were instead dropped off in Kanchanaburi town, where we relished yet another Thai dinner – Thai has long been my favorite cuisine – on a deck on the banks of the river, before spending the night in anticipation of a day of hiking.

The following morning, very very early, we arose, gulped down an American breakfast, and rushed to the bus terminal to find our transport to Erawan National Park, whose terrain includes the Seven Steps Falls. The trip took a little longer than expected, but once there, it was clear why it is listed as a place to visit. Again there were many tourists, local and foreign, but in this vast natural setting, that did not concern me. We met a young Australian of Chinese parentage, whom we invited to join us on our trek.

The walk was wonderful, as were the surroundings. A dense forest encompassed the emerald-green brook, which was highlighted by the limestone rocks over which it coursed and tumbled. There were numerous pools in which one could cool during and after the cardiovascular exertion. Our companion proved to be a man of character, and the conversation was pleasant and flowing. We stopped to loiter in the pool at the seventh and last tier, but we did not have enough time to thoroughly enjoy it. Jen and I were dead-set on returning to Bangkok that same afternoon for our planned revisit to the Patravadi Theater. Nevertheless, the beauty took control, and we did forget the time.

When we realized that the bus to Kanchanaburi would be leaving in 30 minutes, we basically ran down the hill, but alas, we were too late. To add to the frustration, the next bus wasn’t leaving for another 2 hours! For the duration of the wait, I wondered if we were being daft to try and fit two activities, in different parts of the country, into the same day, but since we had already descended the mountain, there was no point going back up. Instead, we indulged in the local snacks on sale, and continued to enjoy the company of our new friend.

In the end, we made it back to the wee town, arranged a free shower at the hotel where we had already checked out, and got a bus to Bangkok. Arriving in the capital, we jumped in a taxi, and with the help of a map and my hopeless Thai pronunciation, managed to direct the taxi driver to the Patravadi on time. The show was a repetition of the previous Saturday’s, so there is nothing new to tell here. Nevertheless, I enjoyed it almost as much as the first time.

The Beach –

an Idyllic End

We spent Saturday and Sunday nights in Bangkok, returning to the Golden Palace Hotel to enjoy its comforts. On Sunday, Jen went on a shopping excursion to the Weekend Market. This is one of the largest markets I have ever visited, and it’s an absolute must-do for any tourist. On sale is anything you can dream of, including but not limited to kitchenware, plants, clothing, bags, shoes, ornaments, carvings, paintings, and and and. Excluded are items like motorized vehicles, computer wares …… and homes.

I remained at the hotel and Ludlum-ed by the pool – I lacked both the energy for the crowds and the desire to spend money.

In the early hours of that Sunday morning, two more companions arrived in Bangkok, and checked into a Kaoh San Road hotel.

Joanne and Anuschka, close friends of mine in Taiwan, had arranged to meet us at sunrise on Monday to get the bus and ferry to Ko Chang. Our bus was late, but once on, we took four of the five seats at the back. At the next stop, the remaining 

seat was taken by a young man called Ira. He and I got chatting, launching an interaction that was to last the entire six days of my stay on the island. Ira is a rock climber, and he was just beginning a four-month stint in Southeast Asia to pursue this sport. At age 20, he was both good looking and a decent man, and conversation was flowing and pleasant.

A second man, light-hearted and humorous, joined our group for the first two days. Peter, a Dutchman from just outside Amsterdam, was returning home, via Hong Kong and Ko Chang, after a four-month tour of Australia. On the first night, Jen, our new friends and I followed the coastal road south to its end, depositing Joanne and Anuschka at a beach town half-way down. 

We returned the next day. Accommodation was not easy to find, it being high season, and we were compelled to take rooms quite a distance from the waves. Jen took a room at St. Tropez, while the guys and I took rooms at La Villa. Joanne and Anuschka had headed directly for the bungalows on the seashore. On the third day, we all moved to the beach, with the exception of Peter, who had to return to the Netherlands.

My itinerary essentially complete, the days on the beach followed no structure, and things took place spontaneously. Most of the time was spent chatting or reading, swimming or sunbathing.  There was a day when we hired scooters to ride to the next beach town for lunch and some shopping. We stopped off at an elephant camp, from which one could take a ride on the hefty beasts. We didn’t.

On another occasion, while Ira and I lazed in the water and at the restaurant, the ladies were walking to ‘town’ when a coconut dropped from the palm canopy. It narrowly missed them. They proceeded to drink its milk, and then pose as if killed by the rogue fruit.

My last few days were spent at Porn Bungalows. The word “porn” in Thailand does not mean what it does in English. I had, on a visit four years ago, stayed on another island, at Mae Haad Beach Resort. At that establishment, the proprietor’s wife was named Porn, and her daughter Gaye. This coincidence was, I’m sure, not aimed at me.

The only thing I felt missing at my present place of rest was a presence of monkeys. -- The beach sand and palm trees took me back to my trip through Africa, specifically to a night spent outside Mombasa, Kenya, where I had had an entire campsite on the beach to myself. In the morning, I had woken to the chatter of a multitude of monkeys in the tree canopy. -- I wailed to my present companions, “I want to see monkeys!”

On my very last day, Ira, Jen and I took a snorkeling trip on a speedboat, which was to take in 5 stops at reefs in the archipelago of which Ko Chang is a part. As always with such trips, relaxation and beauty are a given. The tranquility of the underwater world has long calmed me. What I had not expected, though, was that, as we returned to Ko Chang for my final night in paradise, we stopped at one of the tiny islands, where monkeys waited on the rocks for the fruit peels they are accustomed to have thrown from the passing boats. Again, this practice is ecologically disastrous, but I was honestly delighted to see the primates. It was a perfect close.

(click)

In Conclusion

After all I’ve said, I still have a few bits and pieces to offer. First off, this was the shortest of my Thai sojourns, the other two having been 6 weeks and 4 weeks respectively. The first time was overwhelming because it was my first visit to Asia, in the days when London was my domicile. After moving to Taiwan, I preferred to vacation in other countries in the East. I visited Japan, Malaysia, the Philippines, Hong Kong and many spots in Taiwan. Some of these trips were good, but on the whole, I was either not entirely blown away, or I was entirely disappointed. I won’t go into that now.

This shortest visit was also the best. By the end of my two weeks in Bangkok, I confided to Jen that I could happily have returned to Taiwan without visiting the beach, so soulful had been the experience. Not only that, but it also rates as one of my most memorable holidays ever.

I was also really taken by the acquaintance made with Ira. People are generally good the world over. However, it is not often that one meets someone who stands out as especially honorable. Furthermore, it was my first vacation abroad with Joanne, who has been one of my dearest friends for almost as long as I’ve lived in the Far East. The additional company of her partner, Anuschka, who is both intelligent and extremely funny, added to the enjoyment.

Finally, I was overjoyed at the opportunity to get closer with Miss Jen Barclay. She lived in Taiwan for 5 years, and I often enjoyed her company during that time. Yet, we had somehow never been in each other’s exclusive company, and only when that happens is one able to develop a keen interpersonal understanding. The lady crept deep into my heart. Jen, to you!

It was with a heavy heart that I got on the truck to the ferry. Back in Bangkok, I experienced a void in a place that had been filled to the brim.

Visit Thailand!!!