Ko Lanta II

We enjoyed a wonderful stay in Ko Lanta.  The island provided a wonderful place to hone up our motorbike skills, and held enough attractions in between the riding around to keep us busy.  Some of the highlights:

Lunch spots:

I told you we loved to eat.  And this is what you do when you love to eat.  You go to really high places, and eat in treehouses.  You make small talk with the woman working the door, and you thank your God that fast food in Thailand is served in a treehouse and tastes great.  With a view.  You wonder how it could all turn out so perfectly.  It was lunchtime, it was raining, we were hungry, we didn't want to ride our bikes anymore, because come on.  Motorcycling in the rain is overrated.  Or properly rated.  Whatever, it's not that great.  But when you can stop and kick it in a treehouse, you just do it and ask questions later.  And in Thailand, whenever you feel like you are hungry and don't want to ride anymore, a lunch place just materializes.  And it's usually the perfect place.  We had some curry, enjoyed the view, and let it rain for 30 minutes, and then it stopped.  We love this place.

That night, we went to Red Snapper, which plates up French tapas cooked by a Dutch couple, if that makes sense.  We became excited when we saw a cheese platter on the menu.  Cheese tops the list of "please don't think I am a whiny American complaining about anything that's not like it is at home but I really miss it" things.  Cheese proves hard to come by, and expensive.  We inhaled that platter.  After a wonderful meal (and, in true low season form, being the only ones in the place) we went to the bar to sit and chat with the Dutch couple who run the establishment.  We had a few bourbons and found out how difficult it is to get food imported (and then to keep it cold, keep it rotating, and keep it fresh, especially in the low season).  They were very cool, and had been living and cooking on Lanta for about 10 years.  We talked restaurant talk for a bit, and then asked about things we needed to do in the area.  They shared their most recent trip with us, an excursion up to Khao Sok National Park in the central part of the southern strip.  We took their advice, and had a fabulous time.  You know though, another story, another day.       

Alice in jungleland:

That was a crazy place.  As Lonely Planet said, "trees in the houses, houses in the trees, it's like Alice in Jungleland."  It was.  And the best part, it was covered in signs, all making enough sense so that you knew what they were saying, but off enough to laugh.  Things like: "love is splintered many things."  We didn't want to stay there, because there were too many hippies.  But it was super cool.  We saw a treehouse, a boathouse, and a cavehouse.  The tree house was...wait for it...in a tree.  The boathouse was an actual boat that was converted into a two story bungalow, the deck below was a small living area with a couch, the top deck the bed and a little outdoor deck overlooking the water.  The cavehouse, an actual cave in the side of the rock, overlooking the river, dripping with...no, it wasn't really dripping.  But Rebecca did her first "asian woman trying to look sexy pose."  Which was awesome. 








National Park:

We got to see it during the day.  Don't get me wrong, I was still slightly nervous about, oh: running off the road, serial killers, snakes, spiders, monkeys, debris in the road, landslides, and land mines.  Did I mention I worry too much?

We slowly rode through the National Park, winding our way along the coastline road (the Pacific Coast Highway has nothing on this road) checking out the views and trying not to drive off the cliff.  (Cut to Arlo Guthrie, singing the Pickle Song: "luckily, I didn't ride my motorcycle into the mountain.  I drove it over the cliff").  We reached the bottom of the road, and walked out to the lighthouse, idyllic on the point of the beautiful island.  I tried to break into the building and climb to the top, but alas, was thwarted by a rusty but true lock on the door.  Rebecca astutely pointed out that I could probably see just as well at the bottom. 

The Old Town:
Awesome.  Picturesque, quaint, and much more authentic looking than the west coast.  Reba found an awesome skirt, and we met a parrot-type bird that said several things in English.  When I kept taunting him, he got angry and shook water at me.  I have not had the best luck with animals on this trip.

We also found a  hammock store.  While debating how heavy it would be to tote the beautiful hammocks throughout the next several months (and they were lovely) I noticed a funny looking tag on one.  Jumbohammocks.com it said.  I pointed it out to the woman working the counter, and she said "Yes.  You can buy online."

Thank the good Buddha for traveling in the 21st century.



Animals:
We saw our first elephant.  I was driving down the road, just tooling along, stopped to make a right hand turn (speaking of driving, we've been here for a month, driving a lot of motorbikes, and I swear at least once a day I pull out into the right lane.  It's impossible for me to make it through a day without.  Habits are hard to break.  The other hard thing: we rented a car (steering wheel on the right) and not only did I go to the left side every time before I realized my mistake, but try driving in the proper position within the lane when the wheel is on the right.  It's very difficult.  "Michael, you're halfway off the road over here."  "Oh, sorry.")  So I pull out to the end of the road, and look across the road, and right in front of me see a man leading an elephant down the road with a rope.  Right in the road.  We were floored.  We then spent the next 10 minutes watching the trainer wash the enormous mammal, who really seemed to like it.  She would roll over one way for the hose, then the other, then stand up and turn around.  I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say that elephants might be the coolest animal in the world.  And obviously, traveling through a heavily Buddhist country, Thailand agrees.  They sure beat the hell out of monkeys.

Speaking of monkeys, we saw more in the National Park.  Remember when Rebecca and Regan tried to convince me that monkeys would steal bags?  And I didn't believe them?  Yeah, wrong again.  Right before we left the park, we were standing by our motorbikes, preparing to mount up.  A Thai man stopped his bike and, leaving it running, stepped away to check out the beach, relieve himself, or some other relatively quick and benign activity.  As soon as he stepped out of sight, a monkey jumped out of the tree and circled his bike.  He picked up a plastic bag out of the front basket and laughing (I'm almost positive he was laughing), jumped back up into the tree and onto a limb about 7 or 8 feet up.  He started swinging the bag around in a ritual that I am pretty sure was his way of taunting the poor bagless gentleman below.  We watched all of this happen with another couple.  I was dumbfounded.  And, as usual, Rebecca was right.  Again. 

Let me tell you what we didn't like about Ko Lanta.  After some hellacious rains the last day (no big deal, I had another bout with the toilet gods anyway) we decided to make our way across to the gulf.  Our destination: Ko Samui.  Every month on the full moon, Ko Phangan throws a wild party on the beach that goes until the sun replaces the full moon.  Being (old) so mature, we decided this was really not something we needed to do.  So we thought we would make our way to neighboring Ko Samui, hang out for a couple of days, and then head to Ko Phangan once it chilled out a bit.  We took a minivan from Ko Lanta to Surat Thani, the port city on the east side of Southern Thailand.  There we realized, because it was Sunday, there was no overnight boat to Samui.  But there was to Ko Phangan, and we could take a quick ferry there the next morning, or stay for the party.  The party itself didn't worry us, but we heard it was quite difficult to find a place to stay and many places required minimum stays or arriving early.  Nevertheless, we booked a trip to Ko Phangan. 

When the bus arrived at the docks, we (about 8 of us) exited and were directed to a small cargo ship by the dock. Cargo ship may actually blaspheme the lovely, sturdy, well-made cargo ships sailing the world's seas as we speak.  This boat was long, narrow, and low, with two very small floors.  One plush, spacious, comfortable floor for the produce and other food cargo, and a small attic for the person cargo.  Upstairs.  The boat appeared to be made of some sort of clay/adobe/mud material and stuck together with wood sap and spit.  We were tied up, put on a sort of conveyor belt, and tossed upstairs.  The deck hands were careful not to dirty the boat or food with us as they tossed us up to the top.  When we reached the top floor, we had to duck to walk down the tiny corridor between the rows of mats lining the sides of the boat.  Convinced we had walked onto the wrong boat, perhaps an old slave ship, we looked to our companions for guidance.  No one looked nearly as concerned as my wife and I were, and we wondered why nobody was protesting or wailing at all.  We settled in, and thankfully found that our companions were all really cool.  They assured us that we had boarded a normal overnight boat, and were not headed for involuntary servitude in Burma.  We were slightly relieved.  I took a Croatian girl and a German, and we headed for the 7-11, and returned carrying an entire box of Chang.  We (correctly) assumed that the more beer we consumed prior to and on the first part of the journey, the better off we would be.  It really made being chained to the floor more bearable.  I wasted no time drowning 2 large beers.

Thai fast food: note the packets of hot sauce.  Delicious

We actually had quite a pleasant trip.  We had a great time with our fellow travelers, drinking beer, ducking our heads, sweating, and trying to get comfortable on the floor (made out of steel, concrete, hot coals and metal spikes).  I also found out that (as Camden has told me many times) everybody loves the Fukuoka 2001.  Fans of electronica, rock, hip hop.  The boys just lay it down on that one.  Orlando Bloom style.

We had a short, pleasant ride across the Andaman.  We were sad to leave Ko Lanta, but excited about the next leg.  I slipped into sleep with Allison still singing sweetly

I'm coming back to you, one fine daaayyyyy...

Ko Lanta

What's that hum I hear? What is that soothing, comforting, whirring noise telling me everything will be alright? Oh, it's a motorbike. 110 cc's of freedom. 2 wheels that open up our island world.

We arose on Ko Phi Phi, and predictably, had to sprint (not run, sprint) the kilometer to the pier to make it to the boat on time. Dripping with sweat and slightly ahead of Rebecca, I arrived at the gate to the small boat to deliver us to Ko Lanta, and handed the woman two soggy tickets to board. Looking amused and mildly disgusted, she took the tickets and told me the boat leaves right now. As the gentlemen working on the boat told me to hurry, I stood, stalled and waited for Rebecca, and we boarded the small (40 foot?) cruiser that would take an hour and a half to cover the short distance between the islands.

As our Swedish friend had promised, Ko Lanta has a far more laid back and relaxed vibe than it's neighbor to the north. Relatively long and narrow, and running north and south, the island is roughly 15 kilometers long. Good paved roads run along the east and west coasts, with two east-west roads connecting the coasts at the north and south ends of the island. We would dutifully explore all of the roads by motorbike over the next few days. Ko Lanta proves popular with older tourists and families, but like everywhere we have been, life is quiet and slow right now. The high season in Thailand runs from November to April, when crowds swarm the islands for a respite from winters around the world. We find ourselves now in the rainy season, late summer through early fall, but thankfully the weather has cooperated with us. We experienced a rainy day in Ko Lanta and, since arriving up north a few days ago, have seen some afternoon showers. Nothing to keep us inside for long though.

When we arrived on Ko Lanta, a much larger, flatter, road-accessible island, we re-joined the motorbike world, and began our ascent up the motorbike hierarchy to the beauty you see at the top of the page (no, not Rebecca, the other one), which we rode yesterday (don't worry Sue, it's a single cylinder, relatively small engine). Ko Lanta boasts beautiful sandy beaches all the way up and down the west coast (we stayed in the northwest, between Pra Ae and Long Beach). Sitting towards the bottom of the east coast is Lanta Town, the old fishing village and port of the island. The rest of the east coast is, for the most part, rocky and far less hospitable than the west. Ko Lanta is known for cheaper accommodations and food than its neighbors, and in the offseason, especially so. After checking in and settling in at "The Riviera," the wonderful muslim-run resort we stayed in during our time in Ko Lanta (but we would find out, to our disappointment, no liquor or pork), we procured our chopper and headed out to explore the island.

We love motorbikes. We first learned of these wonderful machines in the Greek Isles, where we realized that if we rented a bike with a motor attached we would not have to pedal. Not that there is anything wrong with pedaling. I imagine if you have a leg tic, or have no gasoline, or lived before God made motors these manually powered bicycles would be wonderful. But seeing as how we are none of the three, we like the engines. Thailand tends to be very mountainous as well, so the motorbikes are perfect. We set out in the late afternoon to explore Ko Lanta, and made an enjoyable cursory loop of the island. Being close to sunset, we began looking for a good spot. Our nightly routine in the islands involves a (sometimes over several days) pleasant quest to find the best vantage point to watch the sun go down. This really typifies the stress we deal with day to day. Because, really, nothing in our lives is worse right now than watching the sun set over the Andaman Sea, not sure if the guy in the next town/bar/hillside over has a better view. Not knowing the island well enough yet, we had to settle a bit on our first night. But the sunset was beautiful.

We then set out in search of dinner. I worry sometimes that we rely too much on our trusty Lonely Planet, but so far the book has steered us in the right direction. Between it, Lillie and Amanda's experience, and the word of fellow travelers we meet, we get a pretty good idea of our options. But sometimes, like our first night in Ko Lanta, I follow Lonely Planet's recommendations with a bit too much determination.

Thais love to eat. And this works out well, because we love to eat. And we love to eat Thai food. Food vendors sell their wares everywhere in Thailand: in huge markets, on street corners, in front of stores, in parking lots. And someone always seems to be hanging around the vendors, eating and talking. It really does seem like most Thais eat all day, every day, and the enjoyment of food seems to be a big part of the culture: it is most definitely a social experience. Our favorites are pad thai (which differs a lot depending on the restaurant/vendor), spicy papaya salad, musaman (peanut) curry, and up here in the north we have been enjoying khao soi (a sweet and spicy noodle). I also especially love the noodle soup (pork or chicken) spiced up so you sweat a little. For someone with a lifelong ramen addiction, Thailand is a wonderful place for me.

So after spending the first day driving around singing Ko Lanta to the tune of Allison Krauss' Oh Atlanta, we decided it was time to eat. Lonely Planet suggested "La Laanta," which, to my delight, was at the southernmost tip of the island, allowing for a nice jaunt on the bike. With the sky growing darker by the minute, we headed south. By the time we reached the National Park we realized that

1. We missed the turn for the restaurant, though we had been paying attention.

2. It was completely dark at this point.

3. Scooter lights kind of suck.

4. There are no lights of any kind on the rocky Ko Lanta roads.

So, this set of circumstances leads to three options:

1. Go home without eating because, uh, it's dark. (obviously not)

2. Head back toward civilization, lights, and find a different place to eat because "La Laanta" is literally the farthest thing south on the entire island (other than the national park) and we are on narrow winding gravel roads with a lot of larger rocks strewn throughout. (probably a reasonable option)

3. Keep looking for the restaurant because, well, I'm stubborn.

Guess which option we chose.

So after reaching the national park, we turned around and began driving very slowly north. I then figured it would be a good idea to start turning down each road on our left. Lonely Planet designated the spot on the island where the restaurant was, so we knew it would be slightly west of the main road and in between the national park and another resort. At this point, not only are we on crappy roads with no lights, but I'm starting to worry that chainsaw wielding serial killers MUST be hanging out in the area. Waiting for two lost pharangs charging up the road on their scooter. To kill them. It reminded me of the time Dad and I were hiking out of the Grand Canyon before the sun came up, and not only was I sure that he would be bit by a rattlesnake or killed by crazy axe man (I swear the park ranger said that there was a crazy man with an axe) but I had actually figured out how I would save us. (I would run ahead and try to get help, sadly, but heroically). At some point, I even told Dad I would walk in front so the snake would bite me. That way he could carry me to safety (because I damn sure couldn't carry him).

I probably worry too much.

We got from the national park to the resort north of La Laanta without finding the place. We were about to give up when, standing on the side of the road running along a cliff overlooking the sea, we could see a few lights just south of us. We turned around again. We made our way back to a road we had seen, but had passed by because it seemed impossibly steep, unbelievably rocky, and very unlikely to yield anything at the end (and no signs were posted). We tried it anyway, and were astonished when we reached a resort at the end of the long and winding road. The place was beautiful, and about a dozen tables were set up around a bar, several spilling onto the sandy beach. We found a table, and the (very effeminate and friendly) waiter came up to us confused.

"You are not staying here, are you?" No, we replied. "How did you find this place?"

We laughed, and told him it hadn't been easy. I wondered if maybe business wouldn't pick up a little bit if they put a sign out or something. He then went on (I swear this is true) to advise us not to stop the bike on the way back. I foolishly asked why.

"Someone will pretend their bike is broken, and you will stop to help them. Then they will take your money and hurt you."

Thanks pal. Thanks a hell of a lot. All I need is for you to validate the crazy thoughts I already have running through my head. Suppose I told you about chainsaw man who goes from resort to resort, butchering every maître d' he can find. We already have an hour long ride home on roads that really aren't fit for an ATV, much less a scooter. In the dark. I really need you warning me about crazy people on the side of the road.

I thanked him.

We ordered food, and that meal may still be the best we have had. Wonton soup, musaman curry and spicy papaya salad. All washed down with Singha. They even had Jack Daniels for a reasonable price, and I had my first bourbon of the trip. It was truly a wonderful meal, made even better because of the difficulty finding the place, the seclusion, and the fact that we were eating ON the beach. It was not even compromised by thoughts of dangerous roads, even more dangerous hooligans, and dark scooter rides. It was the perfect end to a great first day on Ko Lanta. We had a very fast, if uneventful ride home.

We even sang a little.
/slipping into my Allison Krauss voice

Ko Lanta, I hear you caaaallllling...

The Pictures

In what we hope will be the first in an ongoing series, we proudly present to you the ladyboy pictures. In Thailand, "ladyboy" culture thrives throughout the country and is widely accepted by all. As Lonely Planet says, parts of Thailand "make San Francisco look like West Texas." Cross-dressers and generally flamboyant men are everywhere, and we can't help but notice.

Consequently, we (Rebecca) have also noticed that (while no doubt photogenic) I also tend to occasionally look very...well...I'll let the pictures speak for themselves. So here you are, in honor of the ladyboys everywhere.

One more thing. In my quest to get Rebecca to post something (which she is very reluctant to do), it occurred to me that an outcry in the comments section could do the trick. So if you want to hear from my wife (who is not responding to me) post a comment below: I think the public sentiment might win her over.

(Ed. note/disclaimer: as far as we can tell from Thais and Lonely planet, the word "ladyboy" is not considered offensive, and is used by most everyone, involved or not)

I am very sorry to say that none of the following pictures were staged.

Sorry dad, it must have been the green tights...

The Islands: III

We're getting old.

Our night with April and Tyler ended wonderfully. We left our spot on the beach (after two more buckets) and went to one of the "point and grill" restaurants we had ambled past several times over the couple of days spent on Phi Phi. You walk up to the restaurant and are met with the sight of a 20 foot long open bin of ice with seafood of every variety laid on top, hours from the water, and some still alive. When your turn comes, you point to your dinner.

"I want that fish, those prawns, and that crab. And that lobster. No, not that one, the one beside...yeah, that''s the one. And go ahead and add one more of those prawns. Please."

It's pretty awesome. Then you go find a table, get some bread and salad and beer, and wait for the pounds of fresh seafood you just ordered to make its way to your table. I wish I had a picture of the spread the four of us had on that table. 2 lobsters, 4 crabs, 6 or 7 prawns, a whole fish (of some kind) and more. It looked gluttonous, overly indulgent and fantastic. I wondered if we had been on the boat with one of those crabs earlier in the day. The waiter brought us bowls of garlic butter, and the four of us would happily grab a crustacean and begin picking it apart with our fingers, slathering every morsel with delicious garlic butter, and washing it all down with cold Singha. It was divine.

At this point in the night, it was getting on 10:00, which was probably later than we had stayed up on the trip thus far, except the first few days adjusting to the time change. On those days, I could have woken my Dad up. 4:30 or so I was up, and astonishingly enough Rebecca would follow shortly after. We would read, go about our day, and nap from late afternoon until we got up for a late dinner. Once we adjusted, however, our bedtimes came early. Really early.

We're getting old.

Thanks to April and Tyler, however, we finally made it past 10:00 and to one of the famous Phi Phi fireshows. These nightly performances send sparks airborne from every resort and encircle the island in a hazy, smoky ring of spinning, twirling fire. We saw our show at the "Hippie Bar." It reminded me of the not so glorious past, when I had long hair, clothing that looked like a tattered quilt, and thought bathing was for yuppies. Nostalgic, yes, but I do enjoy my shower, clean clothing, and private bathrooms now. It's why Lillie can do Thailand for $25 a day and we need at least twice that.

We're close to old.

The fireshow was great, even though my request to the DJ for some hip hop was greeted with Adele. Alas, I will make it my duty to bring real hip hop to the islands. The performers were a rotating cast of locals, some pretty skilled at twirling the burning spheres. The best of them could not have been older than 12, and he would catch the instruments no matter what, unlike some of his older, more sensible colleagues, content to let the fire hit the floor and go out rather than chance suffering burns. Needless to say, after another bucket at the Hippie Bar, I was convinced that I could sling fire with the best of them, and probably would have given it a shot had my wife not intervened. Damn it's good to be married. After a few more minutes, and after probably my 12th time saying that it was past my bedtime, we had a very heartfelt goodbye with April and Tyler, who had to leave on the early boat. Then, mercifully, we strolled back to our little bungalow and turned in. At about 11:30.

We are old.

So I have a confession to make. On day 3 in Ko Phi Phi, we sat by the pool. We were sad April and Tyler were gone (which we verified by going by their room after breakfast). We read magazines (sadly, not an US Weekly to be found, which reminds me: that is definitely my favorite of the "magazines Rebecca reads occasionally that I look down my nose at but secretly enjoy" variety. Tell me you can't get 15 minutes of enjoyment out of US Weekly. Tell me you can't! Other magazines that I will deny flipping through but enjoy from time to time: People (although just admit what you are People, you are a tabloid that runs one article and tries to call itself a magazine), Cosmo (to find out about women) Better Homes and Gardens (don't ask) and any food related magazine (for obvious reasons)). And yes, I just employed the rare double parentheses 4 times in one aside. All of those upper level English classes paying off. So we sat by the pool, we read, we drank beer, we dozed off a little bit, and, just so we wouldn't feel totally useless, we befriended a Canadian family and talked about some of the hiking they had done. We got sweaty and tired just thinking about it.

"Another Singha, please sir!"

The pool was wonderful: three sections, a swim up bar, all tucked away in in the jungle on a hillside overlooking the bay. My only complaint was the mystery chemical the pool was saturated with, presumably because of the swim up bar. I'm a big fan of seeing what's in front of me when swimming in a pool. And I would prefer some vision without the humiliation of wearing goggles. Not only do I feel ridiculous wearing goggles, but I'm always afraid someone will challenge me to race. Which I will most assuredly lose. I assume somewhere in my room at home there is still a box full of yellow ribbons.

"Third place," you say, "hey, not bad."

No. Not third place. That would be more of a gold color. That would mean I finished swimming at a time relatively close to those of the other swimmers. Oh, no. These pale yellow ribbons bear the swimmer's scarlet letter: "exhibition." Meaning, numbers did not go high enough in the late 1980s to account for the place I came in. Meaning, I did not actually count in any scoring, but they let me swim anyway. Meaning, a lifeguard was keeping an extra eye on me just in case. Just think of me as the slightly handicapped Sherwood Shark. I was always put in the far lane, and I'm fairly certain that several heats would be run while I completed my "exhibition race." It was so humiliating. Listening to the other parents dutifully clap for you:

"Oh look, there's the little Elliot boy. Oh goody, he finished this time! So sad, he hasn't figured out how to use his legs to swim yet. Yay Michael!"

I can still feel my father's shame. The same shame he felt when my soccer team mercifully played the last game of a winless season. I think we were 0 and 18 that year. And I came home with a trophy. Dad could barely stifle his laughter:

"They gave you a trophy? For that? Well, you were a model of consistency. Maybe Coach thought you needed your spirits lifted after getting shut out the entire second half of the season."

On a bright note, I'm pretty sure I led the Winston Salem Optimist Soccer Club in red cards that season.

So the swim-up bar. Such an odd concept, with such an obvious flaw. You know, the flaw with the large gut and the straw hat who puts in four hour shifts at the bar, knocking back beers like its his job. The guy that, strangely enough, never needs to leave the bar for anything, despite the liters of beer he is inhaling. Maybe we should be thankful for the extra chemical in the pool, even though I felt as if I'd been pepper sprayed if I dared open my eyes. We had a good day, though, a honeymoon day. We read, we drank beer, Rebecca cried A LOT while finishing The Help (thanks Mary), I listened to sports talk and got very excited about the upcoming NFL season, even though I will miss most of it. And we sat at the swim up bar, right beside "the flaw." And you know I made a point to comment to Rebecca when I was getting out to go use the toilet- its right over there. It was great.

We had lunch at a Mexican restaurant. I know it sounds crazy to get Mexican food in Thailand, but we are certainly not accustomed to going weeks (or even days) without it. Even stranger, we struck up a conversation with the Swedish bartender while murdering a plate of nachos. We knew we would leave the following day, we just hadn't decided what island to do next (rough life, I know; these are the decisions that keep us awake at night). We asked him about our options (Ko Lanta, Railay Beach, or shooting across to the islands off of the east coast). He told us he had just been to Ko Lanta, that it was relaxing and had nice beaches, but got real quiet after about 11:00. It sounded perfect. We wanted quiet after 11:00 anyway because, well, you know. After listening to him bash Swedes for another half hour, we went to meet our Canadian friends at the Monkey Bar to go kayaking.

Jules, Janna, Regan, and Meghan are from Ontario, and we had seen them at the pool and about town. We got along very well, and were excited to do some more kayaking. Regan is Jules and Janna's daughter, and Meghan is Regan's childhood friend. After meeting them (and securing a handful of beers), Regan impressed us all when she got us a great deal on the kayaks and snorkel gear (much better than I had done the day before). While procuring the gear, the Thai man had told us the mask and snorkels would be 50 baht apiece. They needed 4 (I had negotiated mine the day before). After careful consideration, Janna quickly declared that they would, under no circumstances, pay more than 200 baht. Not surprisingly, the Thai man quickly agreed. Regan (majoring in math at the university, and apparently minoring in business as well), quickly interjected that 150 baht seemed like a reasonable amount, and if he didn't like that, we would simply head down the beach and get our gear elsewhere. He agreed.

Looking thoroughly defeated, the man brought out the kayaks and gear and we were off. I believe Regan could have talked that man out of his shirt had she set her mind to it.

I could make that trip everyday, the slow route around the corner, sliding into the water and swimming around. When the mask and snorkel come on, you really do feel like you are in a different world. Even if the many scuba divers around the island most certainly laugh derisively at the "snorkelers." We spent a few minutes watching other kayakers beach their boats on the beach at Monkey Bay. We hadn't seem them the day before, but monkeys were all over the beach. Several kayakers yelled and carried sticks, waving them in the monkeys' direction. Two kayakers rowed by us, shaking their heads. "Watch out for the monkeys, they are mean as hell."

"Yeah, we know." I said. Regan and Rebecca assured me that beaching the boat while we were snorkeling would be a bad idea, as the monkeys would take our stuff and run off with it.

"I'm not saying you're wrong, but I'm...skeptical." I said. I was wrong, again, but that's another story for another day.

We tied our kayaks to a buoy, safely out of reach of any thieving primates.

Being a bit too early for the sunset, after our kayaks were returned we all went by a western-style bar and had a bite to eat. They had Guiness on tap, and I thoroughly enjoyed my first non-yellow beer of the trip. It was fantastic. We had a great time with our Canadian friends, and though we certainly enjoyed Regan and Meghan, we spent the majority of time talking with Jules and Janna, the parents. Who were closer to our age than the kids. Which made us feel very...mature.

We're getting old and we love it (most of the time).

After a brief stop to play with kittens on the way home, we retired by our bedtime, determined to catch the boat for Ko Lanta the next day, excited about the next leg of our journey. We said good night to Ko Phi Phi for the last time, blown away by the beauty of the place.





But it was time to move on...

The Islands: II

"Are we not done hiking yet?"

That's was Rebecca's question to me mid-afternoon as we sauntered through the Tonsai shops, following the signs for the tsunami evacuation route. In 2004, Phi Phi was devastated by the Indian Ocean tsunami (scroll about 2/3 of the way down the page for the brief description), and all over southern Thailand now emergency procedures are explicitly laid out in both Thai and English.

"You know we have a perfectly good pool at the hotel."

The evacuation route coincidentally led to what was referred to only as "the viewpoint," which is the tallest point on the island and one that makes for a logical hike, no? As we came to the end of the myriad shops and restaurants, the path narrowed and ended at a flight of stairs. Now, flight of stairs really does not do justice to what we saw. No gentle winding up the mountain, no little paths weaving through the trees, no meandering amongst the wildlife; we came to a set of concrete steps, straight up the side of the mountain, each two foot step seeming a little higher than the one before. It was the first time I've had to regularly stop and catch my breath while scaling a set of stairs.

"You know, we have a pretty good viewpoint from here."

And then we saw monkeys. Well, first we saw one monkey. Rebecca and I both love animals. And monkeys, from what I believed about a week ago, must be one of the coolest animals around. Furry, cute little things. Smart, trainable, long limbs- kind of goofy looking. Little hands, just like people! This antiquated notion of monkeys had been reinforced the day before by Peter. Peter the monkey skips along the streets of Phi Phi with his owner, and is willing to take a picture with you for 100 baht. That day, as I was haggling over the price of a pair of masks and snorkels at a nearby store, Rebecca happened across Peter. Seeing an easy target, Peter's owner immediately handed off the monkey who, while wearing an "I love hugs" shirt, predictably threw his arms around Rebecca and smiled. Peter was awesome, and we spent the next 10 minutes talking about how both of our dads had monkeys in college and how we just HAVE to get a monkey as soon as we get back.

The monkeys we encountered on the climb to the viewpoint were NOT like Peter. They did not like anyone walking by them, leaving the path, taking pictures, or looking in their direction. And they definitely did not like hugs. They proved amicable enough at first, sizing us up, looking nonchalant. Then I assume that they had a little pow-wow and decided that it was a bad time for us to be visiting. The one out front swatted at Rebecca as she approached.

"Oh look Michael, he wants to play."

He did not want to play. That was his growl. It was like when I visit Rebecca's Aunt Sarah and Uncle Lee and their fierce, 150 pound hellhound of a Rottweiler named Katie.

"No, that's okay Katie, you stay there in the hallway. I'll just exit the front door and walk around the house and come in through the back. That seems like a nice safe way to get to the kitchen."

That tiny little hand swatting in Rebecca's general direction was a warning shot to any poor white unsuspecting tourist who happened by. He did not want to be petted, or scratched, or talked to. Feisty little thing. Thinking she had misread the primate's reaction, Rebecca continued down the path into certain doom.

"Look, they are all gathering in a group, they all want to play!"

I would call that a gang. They know you have the size, but they have the numbers. See the way their angry little brows are furrowed? Those monkeys are plotting your demise right now. It might be a wise idea to stay back. The little one has a banana, and I'm pretty sure that's the crazy uncle coming down the hill right now with a coconut in each hand. As Rebecca approached, however, I stood paralyzed with fear. Speechless, I watched her cross the proverbial line in the sand, and prepared for the worst as the swarm of bloodthirsty monkeys started towards her.

"EEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!"

Rebecca's scream rang up and down the concrete steps like an air raid siren. Piercing through the quiet, echoing off of limestone, and leaving only an eerie silence to settle on the island. She also moved faster than I have ever seen her move, with the possible exception of our annual Merlefest kickball game. With Rebecca safely out of harm's way, I was standing a few feet back, readying the camera, rooted to the ground when they turned to me. Seeing no other alternative, I took a step towards the monkeys menacingly (or as close as I could come to menacing while slightly sunburned, out of breath, and wearing nothing but a bathing suit) and hissed for all I was worth. To my surprise, the gang of monkeys stopped in their tracks and holstered their fruit. I slowly retreated. We took a few snapshots from a distance and continued up the steps towards the viewpoint. When a safe distance away, I turned and made a snide comment about Curious George and evolutionary superiority. Damn monkeys.

A short time later, we reached the viewpoint. Actually, to my surprise, and contrary to any signs we had seen thus far, we had only reached viewpoint 1. Apparently the trail promised two more viewpoints ahead.

"It can't be much different from this view."

We trudged on. A short time later we reached viewpoint 2. The overlook was a large, barren knob, the highest peak we could see. On one end of the knob was a small store (with a very puzzling sign, faded from the constant sunlight advertising hot tea and coffee) and on the other end a rock outcropping overlooking the town below. We found a piece of shade and sat down on a large boulder, gratefully pulling water from the bladder in my backpack. After catching our breath, we struck up a conversation with the couple sitting beside us. April and Tyler hail from Portland, and were spending a week's vacation in Thailand before returning home from a business trip in China. The conversation came easily, and we knew immediately that we would get along well. Before too long, after exchanging pleasantries and remarking on the beauty of our surroundings, Tyler asked quite independently: "Did you all hear a scream a few minutes ago?"

After briefly trembling at the memory, we recounted the tale. The swarm of rabid monkeys, the threat of fruit. The way I heroically saved Rebecca from their wrath. Narrowly escaping by both wit and intimidation. They were less impressed than I would have hoped.

After a rest, we all (read: April and I) decided we should hike up to the final viewpoint (#3!!) and then down the eastern face of the mountain to Rantee Beach. The trail down the east slope, amazingly enough, was an even more difficult trek than the stairs on the far side. The narrow trail snaked down through the jungle at an almost impossibly steep incline. Routinely, we would have to crouch down and hop the four feet from one large tree root to the next one down. Trees, branches, and vines were used to steady and brace ourselves as we lowered ourselves down the precarious slope. Switchback trails have most certainly not made their looping way to southern Thailand yet. After a timely and somewhat anxious discussion on snakes and insects, we found the trail leveling out and we descended into the little outpost on Rantee bay. Little more than one small, rustic resort/restaurant with a modest collection of bungalows, we were delighted at the sandy, quiet beach and the relative seclusion it offered. After a quick swim, and at April and Tyler's recommendation, we enjoyed our first Spicy Papaya Salad, which we have happily dined on daily since. To everyone's relief, we were able to secure a quick and cheap long-tail boat ride around the island, thus avoiding the treacherous climb up and the angry monkeys on the far side.

When we arrived back to Tonsai, early evening was approaching. With April and Tyler leading the way and sunset looming, we (as they had the night before) rented kayaks from an extremely friendly and outgoing young Thai man on the northern side of the Phi Phi isthmus. With real trepidation, Rebecca and I agreed to join our new friends on a paddle to Monkey Bay for some snorkeling and a good view of the sunset. We hoped the bay was named for the shape of the land and not the inhabitants.

As we prepared ourselves to navigate around the point in our tandem kayak, the young Thai man handed Rebecca a paddle. Confused, she turned around and, confirming I already had one, tucked the paddle away for safekeeping. As we set off, I thought longingly of the lovely New River, whisking boaters along with the current, free to be blissfully ignorant of any "oars" or "paddling." Settling into the boat with the beers we had all just purchased from the Monkey Bar (it seemed to be a theme that day) I again wondered how as a society we have managed to go this long without putting a cupholder in a canoe or kayak. It seems even more necessary given how you have to hold a paddle every now and again. Cupholders. Kayaks. Let's make it happen.

The kayak trip was spectacular. I pushed the water just enough as was absolutely necessary to keep the boat moving forward. Confused, I asked April and Tyler what all of this synchronized-paddle looking activity they were doing was. It looked like a hard thing to do while drinking beer, but hey. They beat us to monkey bay by a few minutes, but when we caught up, it was beautiful. We had turned the corner and rounded a ridge that blocked us from the main bay on the isthmus. Feeling like we had left the island behind, we finished our beers, donned our masks and snorkels, and eased out of the kayak into the waiting clear turquoise waters. It was lovely. Fish of all types, colors, and sizes swam all around us. We saw some coral, but we had heard that the long-tail boats had slowly killed all but the most resilient of the living coral. We were all transfixed though, until the sun grew low enough to disturb visibility. As we swam, we would generally be flanked by small, baseball sized yellow and black striped fish, dozens of them staying just out of reach (though I kept trying). Farther down (generally, we swam in water 10-15 feet deep) we would see larger fish, brown ones, sandy ones, colored ones; and one particularly beautiful fish that shimmered an almost neon glow, seeming to change colors depending on the angles of light. We saw angel fish, orange and black with the long black antennae-looking barbs on the top and bottom. The most beautiful coral we saw was a purplish flower looking plant. Upon close inspection (but without touching), it looked like some aquatic cousin of a venus flytrap, a neon purple mouth with lips that slowly opened and closed, as if breathing. It was wonderful, and relaxing, and as Rebecca will tell you, MUCH better than one of our next trips with the mask.

As the sun crept lower in the sky, we climbed back on our kayaks and faced the western horizon. It's hard to rank moments like sunsets, but that was a memorable one. Just the four of us, two in each of the kayaks, bobbing up and down on the small waves. Far enough away from the beach to hear nothing but the water, and watching the sun ease behind the western Andaman sky. It was perfect. The entire sky was aglow in oranges and yellows, pinks and purples, blues, and grays, all stretching outwards from that clear turquoise base: the sky awash in a spectrum of colors. It's enough to make me shut up and enjoy the moment, which is saying something sometimes.










It was perfect, well, almost perfect. As we paddled back up to the beach and the monkey bar, Tyler, grinning, walked up to a table on the beach and set down two buckets. They looked like a child's pail, plastic (half gallon?) buckets with four straws in each one, filled almost to the brim with Coke and Sangsom, the ubiquitous Thai rum. They were delicious. It was like some bizarro lady and the tramp moment, Rebecca and I each leaned over our bucket with a straw in our mouth, still warm and salty from the Andaman, sandy from the beach, drunk from the day and our surroundings. The sky had that look it gets right after the sun goes down: the 5 minutes or so when you can see every color in the palate on the horizon. We all sat there on the beach, drinking our buckets, and loving life in the islands. One of the most beautiful places on earth.

And not a monkey to be seen...