what's lost...

24 hours into my stay at Ao Nang, and I've found those missing Asian tourists I had mentioned a couple of days ago.

They're here, in Krabi, and also on Phuket, so I hear.

So why don't they visit Koh Lanta?  Let me first state that I haven't spend every waking minute pondering this issue; it really isn't as important to me as how I'll have my eggs in the morning.  It's just that when I came across a chartered air-conditioned bus full of Chinese tourists last night, I said "A-ha," as if I just discovered a secret to tame my hair in this awful humidity.

I can come up with just one theory regarding their absence on Koh Lanta:  they don't take risks.

Phuket?  That beautiful island that my neighbor's child's second grade teacher's mom went to last year?  Yeah, I've heard of it.  I've been thinking about going too.

Ao Nang?  Don't think I've heard of it.  Oh, right next to Krabi, with lots of tourists?  There's a tour group going next month?  That sounds like fun.

Koh Lanta?  Never heard of it.  You have to take a ferry about your flight lands?  No groups going?  Forget it.

Something like that.  Some people are like that.  Some people want a trip that brings to life images they've seen, and nothing else.

I want a trip that brings me to life, and nothing else.

farewell, mermaid

It's time to move on.

My last four days in Thailand will be spent in Ao Nang, another area in Krabi Province also known for great beaches.  Instead of riding in a minivan, which was the miserable way by which I arrived on Koh Lanta four days ago, I will be going by boat, as advised by Chai, the manager of the guesthouse Lanta Mermaid.

One of the non-people I will miss on Koh Lanta is Buan.  Now, my knowledge of the different species of dogs limits me to identify them by their color, size, how cute they look, and whether they shed.  So I can tell you that Buan is a female black dog, medium size.  But, more importantly, she is gentle and friendly.  According to Chai, Buan was a stray dog who started coming to Lanta Mermaid to follow its staff around four years ago.  She had the habit of accompanying each tourist across the street to the beach, hence the multitude of auto accidents she has suffered as a pedestrian the past few years, the last of which leaving her with a lame leg.

Nowadays, due to her disability, she no longer crosses the street, although I have spotted her numerous times standing at the edge of the curb looking out toward the water.  She does, however, perk up her ebony head at the approach of each tourist then roll onto her back, hinting for a gentle belly rub.  Playing with her reminds me of an old friend.

In the afternoon, on the boat to Ao Nang, I tried my best to hide from the sun.  I know it's counterintuitive that a person visiting the beaches wants to avoid the sun.  The easy answer would simply be that I'm weird.  But alas, no.  I am not that weird.  The reason is that I overtanned the first couple of days on the beach and am now paying a painful and very red price.  For those of you familiar with the great American sitcom "I Love Lucy," you may remember the episode where she and the gang visit Hollywood and that she is about to model a dress for a great designer, only to get so severely sunburned that she can hardly work and no amount of make-up can cover her excessively rosy cheeks. 

Well, that's me now, sans make-up and sans dress to model.  I've attached a photo, but I warn you, it's ugly - look at it at your own risk.  I'll spare you the details and won't tell you what part of the body that is.  Where's my Ricky to take care of me?

me, michel, and maya

But I digress.  Back on the boat, as I dodge the unforgiving rays of the sun, I meet two Fraus from Germany named Michel and Maya.  They are at the very end of the two-week journey in Thailand and are heading back to Bangkok before their flight back to Germany tomorrow.  We have a nice chat about our observations of Thailand, as it is also Michel's first visit.  They're photo shy - I don't blame them for not wanting to be photographed by a strange man who tells them the photo will be displayed on a blog - so I come up with an alternative.  Vielleicht our paths will cross again someday.

If you read my entry from yesterday, you remember that I visited Maya Beach on Phi Phi Ley.  Meeting Maya today reminds me of a third Maya that I know.  This Maya and I are great friends, actually we're more like lovers - how else to explain why she licks my crotch every times we see each other.  Gosh I miss her.  She has beautiful blond hair and remains the only female with whom I have ever cuddled.  Maya, my friends Joe and Lorenzo's beautiful Labradoodle. 

I guess I can recognize one canine specie after all.

poo poo on pee pee

Today I left the island of Koh Lanta... for more islands.

Not just any other island, though - we're talking Phi Phi, and in case you're wondering what's so special about "fee fee" or "fi fi," first of all, it is pronounced pee pee.  It was also featured in the movie "The Beach," which propelled it to Hollywood stardom.  Nothing like sharing a little screen time with Leonardo Dicaprio to make you famous.

Ko Phi Phi is actually an archipelago, Phi Phi Don and Phi Phi Ley being the two most famous islands.  It was on Maya Beach on Phi Phi Ley that "The Beach" was filmed.  It has been called the most beautiful island in the world, and it's easy to understand why.  The rock formation are standing, in a C shape that cradles a beach with the finest, whitest sand I have seen and the purest turquoise water to match.  I couldn't help but dig my toes and feet into the sand to feel Maya's embrace; if Maya were quicksand, I wouldn't have minded sinking into her.

 

There was, however, one serious drawback.  When something is that good and special - Linsanity being the most current and prime example, everyone wants a piece of it.  In this small bay, there were docked no fewer than 20 boats, and you know what came along with these boats.

Our next stop, Phi Phi Don, which, unlike the uninhabited Phi Phi Ley, is full of businesses and people, mostly of the unpleasant type.  Prior to coming here, I was warned that Phi Phi Don is pretty much a party island with tons of tourists and trash everywhere.  I don't know why I ever doubted it:  it's even worse than the picture I was painted.  The area is so small, and too many people wanted to cash in on its popularity that you end up with tiny business fronts, overcrowded spaces, and garbage everywhere.  I will spare you with descriptions of its smell.

What sorts of businesses are on the island, you ask?  Bars, tattoo parlors, restaurants, guesthouses in poor condition, and massage parlors, with a predominance of the former two.  Let's think about this for a second.  You have one of the most beautiful islands in the world, so you decide to come here to party, smoke, and get a tattoo, which you don't remember because you were too drunk and high.  I don't get it.

Sure, the island does still retain majestic views, but only from its highest point after a hearty climb, as the lower half is no longer a beautiful island.  It is a reminder of some of the ugliest qualities of mankind.  You will remember from news resports that Phi Phi Don was devastated by the Indian Ocean tsunami of December 2004.  Having seen the island myself, I would say the tsunami was Mother Nature's way of cleaning up the mess human beings left behind.  Unfortunately, being so "resourceful," we have quickly restored Phi Phi Don to the unattractive, odorous, unhealthy place it once was.  I'm afraid we're giving Mother another good reason to clean up after us.

I was happy to leave Phi Phi Don to return to Koh Lanta, which in comparison is much less developed.  Even though there are also a disproportionately large number of tattoo parlors here for reasons I don't understand, they are spread out enough that I can sort of ignore them.

Peace and quiet - the way Nature intended an island to be.

the four crew members of our boat

something about his face, hair, and beanie begged me to take a photo

timeless

I don't know the date or the day any more, until I write this blog each evening.

If I didn't have an itinerary to keep, time wouldn't matter.  I don't know where my watch is, and of course I don't carry my cell phone (not that I really did before).

Island time is no time.  It could be the most natural sedative, or it could drive you insane.  Your choice.  I am somewhere in between.

secrets of the island

Remember the monks everywhere in Siem Reap and Chiang Mai?  They're still there.

The Buddhist temples and the monks of northern Thailand have transformed into huts and bungalows in southern Thailand, and those bright orange robes of the monks have morphed into purple and gray hijabs on young women.  However, along the stretch of guesthouses and restaurants by the beach, there is no sign of any religion or culture other than the occasional woman wearing a hijab.  Like Siem Reap, everything I see, at least in this area, seems to exist solely for and because of tourists:  restaurants, guesthouses, convenience stores, laundry services, tourist agencies, and tuk tuks.

At dinner tonight, I flipped through a Thai magazine called "Secret."  Even though the writing was like a series of ancient incantations, the photographs were interesting and informative enough to tell me that this was a life magazine for the middle class.  Glancing through the articles, I came across two sentences in English in two separate interviews, the first of a young man on a bicycle, and the second of a middle-aged woman projecting success and confidence.

"Say what you would be, then do what is required," said the young man on the bike.  Simple yet so difficult.  I would be a filmmaker.  I would be a decent cello player.  I would be a speaker of several languages.  I would be a husband and father.  Yes, I am greedy by nature, and I want it all.  So where do I start?  I suppose what he meant was to recognize and know what one wanted to become, then take the necessary steps to reach that goal - without detours, without stopping along the way to check out what existed elsewhere, and, most importantly, without questioning the validity or possibility of one's goal.  I was curious about what he had achieved.

The second sentence in English, spoken by the well-dressed woman, was "You are not all-knowing.  Forgive yourself for not having all the answers."  Suddenly I heard "Hallelujah," saw a white light just ahead of me, felt shivers going up my spine, smelled the flowers of Elysium, and tasted stir-fried egg noodles with prawns in coconut milk.  Anyone else?  All right, perhaps not the egg noodles, but did you have one of those moments where it seemed like a random observation was actually a secret message meant specifically for you?

Well, I did.  Earlier in the day, I had to work on some issues related to the GLTF tennis tournament that I am directing again (I know, glutton for punishment).  I was trying to come up with solutions in anticipation of every possible problem that could arise, and it was not an easy task.  I am not all-knowing.  I will forgive myself for not having all the answers, especially when I am not compensated for this work and am working as a volunteer. 

Earlier in the day, I noticed how perfect everything was at my guesthouse - the room was impeccably clean, breakfast was more than satisfying, and the services were thorough and efficient.  I asked the manager the secret to his success.  The answer was to train the staff:  you either have staff members who share the same vision and goals as you, or you hold the staff to the highest standards and the most minute details then compensate them well for their work.  There you have it - the secret to a successful business.

As for me, I would be a filmmaker, finding people who share my vision and telling stories of people who don't have all the answers.

another cooking class: seafood salad

chicken in red curry

this little guy didn't make it into my dishes

sign of someone who has taken a Thai cooking class: turmeric

chicken with basil

colors of the island wind

Tonight, after a long journey to arrive on Koh Lanta, I rewarded myself with a fantastic dinner.  Since I was on an island, it had to be seafood.

The manager of my guesthouse, Lanta Mermaid, directed me to a packed restaurant called Lanta Seafood.  It was one of those place that display fresh seafood out in the front.  You put your finger out for a little pointing here and there, you do the Hokey Pokey, and that's what it's all about.

I had a big dinner of sauteed clams, stir fried prawns with turmeric, grilled jumbo prawn, fried squid, and stir fried kale.  Have you seen "Last Holiday"?  I felt like Queen Latifah at that five star resort in the Alps, except that my restaurant was built with straws and bamboo.  Besides that, I was a million-dollar black woman with the prefect combination of sass and kindness.

Strangely enough, besides the fresh taste and smell of the sea on my table, I was also enjoying a rhythmic vibration from the floor, which was composed of large planks.  Each time a waiter passed by carrying a plate of deliciousness which I thought I needed to have, the sensation from the movement of the planks provided a intriguing sense of calm and solidity.

As my eyes swept across the room (can it be a room without walls?), I noticed something else surprising.  Every customer in the restaurant was white except me.  Thinking back to my afternoon on the beach, that was also the case.  I seem to be the only Asian tourist on this island.  I don't know why, but this bothered me, maybe something about Europeans always wanting to colonize the rest of the world.  Gasp - what a politically incorrect thing to say!  Based on the languages I've heard around me, I would estimate that the tourists are about 40% French, 20% German, 20% Scandinavian, and 20% others (American, Aussie, Canadian).

view from my room

I wondered why I only saw white tourists, or why I even noticed that.  I think our brains have been taught by society to immediately notice two things about people - skin color and gender.  If you disagree and these two qualities never occur to you when you see random people on the street, good for you.  Me, I'm a different story, particularly as a person of color living in a predominantly white country.  Sure, one can argue that San Francisco is an exception, but your world isn't just the place you live in, it is also the television programs and movies you watch, the news you hear, the advertisements you see.

Back in medical school (my dark ages), we were often taught to carefully interpret statistics about patient populations, as there exists a significant difference between white and black people's body systems.  Okay, but how about Hispanics, Asians, Native Indians, and many others?  We didn't even deserve an honorable mention?

Sure, of course I knew that our numbers nationwide were not large enough to provide statistically sound analyses, but still.  Even when the super duper cookies that you made with love from your deceased great-grandmother's prized secret recipe don't take home the blue ribbon, you would still like to be recognized as having participated.  Wouldn't you?

Whatever the reason, non-white tourists choose not to come to Koh Lanta.  That's fine.

I alone am fabulous enough to add just a little bit of color to the tourist scene.

the hours and the minutes

6:00 am.  I wake up to prepare for what is to be a long day of travel.

7:00 am.  A taxi takes me to Chiang Mai airport.

8:20 am.  My flight takes off.

9:30 am.  The plane lands in Bangkok.

10:30 am.  My second flight takes off.

11:45 am.  I land at Krabi Airport.

12:30 pm.  The minivan driver who is supposed to pick me up enters the airport, asks three random people if they are Alex Lin, then leaves without me.  In the meantime, I search in vain for someone holding my my name card.

12:45 pm.  I contact the guest house, inquiring the whereabouts of the driver.  They tell me he is just delayed.

12:50 pm.  The information desk receptionist comes toward me, who is the only traveler left in the small airport.  "Telephone," she says.  I point at myself, questioning if she has made a mistake, as she certainly doesn't know me.  "Yes, you!"  I answer the phone, and the guest house gives me the above information regarding the minivan driver and rebooks for 1:30 pm.  In desperation due to hunger, I order a chocolate milk shake at Dairy Queen, the only food vendor in the airport.  God forgive me for consuming American food on foreign soil, the most despicable act against the order of nature.

1:35 pm.  A driver enters the airport, hurriedly looking for "Alex."  I dash forward, lest I be left behind again.

1:40 pm.  I enter a minivan with 11 seats, all but one is occupied.  My luggage is stacked on top of several others, and I squeeze into the corner seat in the very back.  Luckily, no one smells bad.  Hopefully, I don't.

2:25 pm.  The minivan enters a line of automobiles waiting for the car ferry.  The German and French passengers exit to have a smoke.  The locals and I sit quietly in the van.  I catch up on some reading, wishing I were anywhere else.

a car and elephant ferry

2:40 pm.  The car ferry arrives, taking us from Krabi to the island of Koh Lanta in 20 minutes.
 
3:10 pm.  We board a second car ferry to cross a bay.

3:30 pm.  We drop off a French couple, who requested to be taken to the center of town in order to rent a motorbike.

3:45 pm.  I arrive at my guest house, nearly nine hours after my first car ride of the day.

3:56 pm.  I relieve myself, enjoying the most satisfying pee in recent memory.

My long day of travel is rewarded with a stunning sunset at a sparsely populated beach lined with huts and bungalows instead of highrises and luxurious resorts.

Life is good.