Although the name Koh Tao means Turtle Island, they might as well rename it to "Diving Island". The cheapest place to do your dives (2500 yen a dive as opposed to Japan's 15000 yen), the shore is lined with one diving school after the other. Naturally, the commercialising of the sport here probably makes it a bit more impersonal, but if you want to get your qualification from people who have over 4000 dives under their weight belts, this is the place to go.
I arrived on Koh Tao early in the afternoon, and zombied my way to Crystal Diving resort, where I had a bed to sleep in. Not having slept for 2 days, my general vocabulary dropped to the retarded phase, and I booked myself in saying: "Uhh, I think I'm here for scuba. Or summin'."
The guy at the counter gave me one look and said: "You just came from Koh Pan Gnan, right?"
I didn't have the energy to be funny, so I took my room key and made my way to my home for the next 4 days. Too tired to sleep, I missioned off in search of an internet cafe, and to my surprise I ran into Chris on the beach. I wanted to have with her and the other Okayamans on Koh Tao for dinner, so we set a time to meet, and I slept right through it. What a good sleep though.
Somewhere during my first day on the Turtle Island, I fell in love with it. I lost count of how many times since leaving Koh Tao I said: "I want to go back to Koh Tao". It could be because I met some amazing people there who became instant friends. It could be because it's where I had my first taste of breathing underwater for 40 minutes. It could be because I found myself lazing about on a deserted white beach, shaded from the sun by huge overhanging palm trees (okay, it was only deserted for an hour just because I got there early). Ag, I don't know. I just lost my heart there. And I need to return to pick it up. It's without the raven crowds of Koh Pan Gang. Everyone just leaves you be. Nice and quiet. I would have breakfast in restaurants reading my book and now and again having a bite of food, while looking out at the wooden, hand-painted taxi boats anchored on the shore, or watching a sun-bleached CocaCola umbrella lazily move in the breeze. Koh Tao is my idea of paradise.
Through my diving class of seven people, I met Monika and Diana, two amazing girls from Mexico and Brazil currently on a 4 month journey of the planet. Even though our roads only briefly crossed, I feel that they taught me something (thank you). Then Lee aka Hege, a beautiful Korean girl who grew up in Norway.. Actually, every conversation seemed like the beginning of an international joke: "A Brit, a South African, 2 Danish dudes, some Dutch people, a Norwegian couple, some Australians, a Japanese, an Austrian boy, a Mexican and a Brasilian were sitting on this island one January evening...". I'm serious. That was our dinner group. Now, THAT is what I call internationalisation. Thank you, JET Program, for making moments like that possible with your misdirected financing. So, the kids will never be able to speak English, but one out of three isn't bad.
I loved the last part of my holiday (note: not journey but holiday. I was still a tourist. Which is not good enough) so much that I decided to skip meeting J&D in Bangkok, and got a room for one more night with Paula, the English girl, at Mr. J's. Mr. J is a funny man who puts random posters up all over town advertising things like "Hand Made Condoms - Buy 10 get 1 free". He also has graphs of nationalities up all over town, saying what percentage of his guests are from which countries. South Africans were supposedly 4% of the bunch, but not having met any other Saffers, I had my doubts. Each nationality had a one-word description next to them, and SA'cans were labeled as "handsome". Shot, Mr. J! Anyways, Paula kicked ass because she had Christmas lights and big paper stars in her backpack, so the room looked like home.
Our days were spent getting into the finer details of diving (plus 4 getting down to the ocean bottom dives), and the nights were spent kuiering in bars that spilled over onto the beach. Every night, new star systems were created by orange paper lanterns that were floated into the sky to hang in orange constellations that never existed before and will never exist again. People talked about the world under the sea and the differences in languages and compared motorcycle accident wounds. Conversations mingled with misunderstanding due to heavy accents and English not being anyone's mother tongue. We watched toned, tattooed Thai guys play fire as if they were brushing their teeth (perfection, precision, but with no passion), and walked up and down the beach with our feet in warm water.
And, as if KT didn't give me enough by just existing, it also gave me free food the one night.
Some of the crew went to an Italian restaurant, and I missioned off with Paula and the Dutch dude to find Thai food. We got to a cosy restaurant and walked in to check out the menu.
"Oh, everything is free tonight." the girl at the counter replied.
We "but..but.." gulped air like fish on dry land, trying to understand what exactly she meant by that.
One of the waiters saw us fumbling around in confusion, and explained that it was the owner's birthday and to celebrate, he had a massive table filled with creamy oysters, spicy meat, mountains of pasta and big bowls of punch, all on the house. We filled our plates, giggling like kids in a candy store. It was a feast, and to top it all off, a girl came around dishing out pieces of chocolate cake. Indeed, my idea of paradise.
Monday, January 22, 2007
An environmental note
Having an island to party on does not come without a price. Long before the yearly countdown to midnight began, the beach looked more like a garbage dump than a flyer for paradise. The ocean licked its way through bottles and buckets, and puddles of water were filled with straws and cigarette butts. On the plus side, the beach was cleared up so efficiently the next morning that you could literally see the mess disappearing bit-by-bit like stop-frame photography. It's clear to see that the guys from KP are used to foreigners coming to their beaches to make a horrid mess, bringing money and destruction. It's the perfect situation to prove that tourism is another horseman of the apocalypse. It's a vicious cycle, and it will continue. Just like global warming. So, 10 out of 10 for the guys with the plastic bags the morning after, but
it doesn't end there.
When I did my first dive a few days after, I was trying to establish buoyancy in the fantasy environment of the underwater world. I was completely enamored by the utter alienness of it.. until I spotted a nice, fat green beer bottle 12 meters under the surface. Thank you, human race. No worries- that bottle is sure to disappear in, let's see, about 5000 years or so. No harm done.
it doesn't end there.
When I did my first dive a few days after, I was trying to establish buoyancy in the fantasy environment of the underwater world. I was completely enamored by the utter alienness of it.. until I spotted a nice, fat green beer bottle 12 meters under the surface. Thank you, human race. No worries- that bottle is sure to disappear in, let's see, about 5000 years or so. No harm done.
Koh Pan Gnan
Against all odds, at the last minute, and once again after chasing down a bus on a motorbike, I caught the last ferry to Koh Pa Ngan on the 30th of December. I was ecstatic to run into Dimple, Jen, Rich and Faye. A nice Okayama crew on a party boat going to a party island. We swopped sordid stories and titilating tales of our holidays thus far, and docked with a bunch of other young party-seekers around 10 in the evening. We phoned for our "complimentary taxi" to come pick us up, but the ringing phone mysteriously turned into an answering machine and none of the taxi drivers knew where our booked bungalow was. A travel agent lady helped us out, and we sat around for about half an hour, listening to people stressing out because they came to the island without pre-booking a place to sleep, waiting for a taxi. Taxis on Koh Pa Ngan means bush-beating trucks with narrow benches built into the back. We got to our accomodation, skipped dinner because the closest open restaurant was miles away, and promptly passed out.
The next day we had pancakes for breakfast, and headed through to Hat Rin, the main party beach in the early morning. There we hung around, eating, drinking, sunning ourselves in bikinis and swimming in the motionless turquoise ocean until night fell. New Year's eve was a mad mass of people, buckets, milkshakes, dancing, getting lost, getting found, true talks on the beach, playing fire (oh how my fingers itched to play again). Dodgy Thai guys that moved in packs, wading into the ocean with my camera (nice one), Tigerbalm Tommy and the plumber, taking photos of some dude's back with a flag painted on it, the Scottish-Nigerian dude who spilled our bucket (promplty getting a punch from me for that one), an SA dude with a tongue ring sitting on a rock, a zillion dudes pissing into the sea, Jen doing eyeliner for me in a nice bathroom, bumguns and memoryloss. Jen and I spent a great deal of the evening looking for Dimple, who we lost at about ten in the evening. We found her the next day around 11am, sitting under a palm tree with some guy who looked after her for the last part of the evening. It was mad, it was brilliant. The sun was high into the sky, and I was still dancing my heart out on top of a speaker with a mad grin on my face, fueled by Thai Red Bull and a lust for life.
We returned to our bungalow with torn clothes and dirty bodies at 11:30 on the first day of 2007, really looking forward to a good sleep. Upon our arrival, we were informed of the 12:00 checkout time, so we managed to squeeze in a shower, packed in a rushed flurry, and went back to nani-nani port for a breakfast, exhausted but smiling. I caught the next ferry to Koh Tao, and Jen and Dimple waited a few hours more to head to Koh Samui.
The next day we had pancakes for breakfast, and headed through to Hat Rin, the main party beach in the early morning. There we hung around, eating, drinking, sunning ourselves in bikinis and swimming in the motionless turquoise ocean until night fell. New Year's eve was a mad mass of people, buckets, milkshakes, dancing, getting lost, getting found, true talks on the beach, playing fire (oh how my fingers itched to play again). Dodgy Thai guys that moved in packs, wading into the ocean with my camera (nice one), Tigerbalm Tommy and the plumber, taking photos of some dude's back with a flag painted on it, the Scottish-Nigerian dude who spilled our bucket (promplty getting a punch from me for that one), an SA dude with a tongue ring sitting on a rock, a zillion dudes pissing into the sea, Jen doing eyeliner for me in a nice bathroom, bumguns and memoryloss. Jen and I spent a great deal of the evening looking for Dimple, who we lost at about ten in the evening. We found her the next day around 11am, sitting under a palm tree with some guy who looked after her for the last part of the evening. It was mad, it was brilliant. The sun was high into the sky, and I was still dancing my heart out on top of a speaker with a mad grin on my face, fueled by Thai Red Bull and a lust for life.
We returned to our bungalow with torn clothes and dirty bodies at 11:30 on the first day of 2007, really looking forward to a good sleep. Upon our arrival, we were informed of the 12:00 checkout time, so we managed to squeeze in a shower, packed in a rushed flurry, and went back to nani-nani port for a breakfast, exhausted but smiling. I caught the next ferry to Koh Tao, and Jen and Dimple waited a few hours more to head to Koh Samui.
Kuala Lumpur
My mental image of KL is "Islam meets the future". Home of the still-standing Twin Towers, the Petronas Towers. It used to be the tallest building on earth, until Taiwan went and built a higher one. The quest for Babel. 
As with Singapore, the thing that fascinated me was the diversity of people. Coming from a completely homogenous Japan, it was a breath of fresh air to see a mix of cultures. And by this I mean local cultures, not the crazy global mix of foreigners that prevailed in Thailand. The major races represented in both Singapore and KL are Malays, Chinese and Indians. It's like South Africa, except that there are no whites, blacks (should I be writing these with capitals?) or coloureds. Same same but different.
From the Lonely Planet, I copied down some addresses of cheap backpackers in Chinatown. After a very uncomfortable 11 hour overnight journey on a train (I'm too cheap to take the sleepers), I walked around drenched in sweat, my discomfort enhanced by the stench of drains and durians. I couldn't find any of the backpackers in my notebook, so booked my exhausted ass into one above a Rasta bar. I took a cold shower in the shared bathrooms, and headed down to the rasta bar for a beer and lunch that I bought from the street. As delicious as the food looked, it also looked like a carrier for food poisoning, but I took my chances and I ended up having 2 huge plates of unidentifiable meatstuffs for next to nothing. The bartender invited himself to my table, showed me videos on his cellphone of all the girls he's slept with (he was without his shirt in all of them) and asked where I'm from. Turns out he lived in both Japan and SA at some time in his life, and then mentioned that he partied in Cape Town with the guys from African Dope, my ichiban favourite record label from the Fairest Cape. He didn't have any African Dope to play over the sound system, but he owned more Lucky Dube (ancient South African reggae) than I knew existed. So there I was in Chinatown of an Islamic Futuristic city, listening to Lucky Dube at a bar which sported the exact same tablecloths as Cool Runnings Cafe in South Africa. How bizarre.
A great part of my time there was spent trying to organise transport to Koh Pan Gnan in time to use the accomodation I'd already payed for. Turns out that, over New Years, there is some huge Muslim festival, and KL being the mosque of a city that it is, all the busses and trains to anywhere were fully booked until after New Years. All the travel agents told me "sorry ne." I was about to give up hope and crawl into a readily-available gutter, when a strange Indian guy with a smudge of Hindu worship paint on his forehead invited me for a drink. We went to a place filled with old men, and sat on plastic chairs by a sticky table, talking about gemstones and drinking Coke. I told him of my dilemma, and he told me where the locals buy their bus tickets. We finished our drinks, and he took me to this incredibly noisy, dirty madhouse of transportation bookings. It's basically a room with one ticket booth after the other, with hundreds of locals pushing and kicking to get to the front. I went from window to window, and at the 14th booth, I found a bus company with an open seat to Hat Yai. I payed for the ticket that would lead me to The Dodgiest Busride Ever, made a breakfast date with my outta-the-blue saviour, and continued ambling my way through the city.
The next morning I met up with my 1-day friend, Murugon. He was sitting on the steps in front of the temple near the backpackers, this time sans the worship paint on his forehead. Instead, he was looking a bit pale for an Indian guy. I enquired about it, and he said that he bought something from the street the night before that didn't agree with his chemical composition. Food poisoning: You win some, you lose some. He didn't feel up to facing food, but still wanted to take me to his friend's restaurant. So we boarded the train and made our way to KL Sentral. With an S.
Throughout the 7 minute journey, he was hanging onto the pole, face pressed against the cold windows like a Japanese School kid that had too much to drink in the city. A mere 20 seconds before the train came to a halt, he started coughing, and then proceeded to paint the carriage floor yellow with last night's dodgy dinner. The doors opened and people flooded out, gasping for fresh air. I guided him to the nearest bin, where he did a few more heaves while I patted him on the back. There, there. Get it all out. He wiped his mouth, and with bits of carrot still clinging to his face he grinned at me and said: "Good, I can eat breakfast now."
Never in my life had I met anyone so nonchalant about public puking. His attitude was both refreshing and disturbing.
In the end, I ditched him after the roti & watermelon juice breakfast (that he payed for) because he wanted to feed me my breakfast. What!? I told him that I knew how to use a fork (you should see me use chopsticks! haha!) and when he sneaked his hand onto my knee, I considered using the fork to skewer more than just my roti. Gochisoooo sama deshita, sayonara!
I walked around the city like a madwoman, trying to see as much as I could in my final hours. At sunset, I went up the KL Tower, Menara Kuala Lumpur (at 421m, it's 4th highest in the world) and watched the city flicker into yet another night with a breathtaking 360 degree view of the surroundings. As I stood there watching a sea of lights, I came to the conclusion that the more you see, the more you realise that you ain't seen nothing yet. One life just is not enough. But we make do with what we have.
My bus left at 23h00 that evening, and I wasn't sure how I'd kill the final 3 hours. With all my belongings on my back, I didn't feel like taking any trains or walking excessive distances. As I walked through the vibrant nightmarket in Chinatown, I heard someone call my name, and there sat yet another random stranger that I had met earlier that day. An Arabic guy named Ebrahim who runs a guesthouse in Langkawi, one of the Malyasian islands, with his Japanese wife. I had met him earlier that day while buying a refreshing coconut beverage from a vendor, and for some arb reason I knew I was going to run into him again. He was having dinner with a Japanese girl who was not his wife, and they asked me to join them. He told me amazing tales from India, though I could only understand 40% of what he was saying (the story of my holiday), while his Japanese uhm friend kept refilling my glass with Tiger beer and putting food in my plate. Just before 23h00 I had to stop him mid-story, and bade them farewell. I made my way to the bus depot, an underground room filled with Thais, Malays, busses and carbon monoxide, and found my bus after being showed to the wrong one about 4 times. I showed my ticket to the busdriver, who looked at me blankly, then to 4 passengers who looked at me blankly. Silently I took an empty seat, hoped for the best, and passed out as soon as the bus started moving.
After the bus nearly popped a tire driving through a pothole/off the road, I woke up to find another hand on my knee that I did not remember putting there. And on the same trip, the bus driver disappeared with my passport somewhere between Malay and Thai No Man's Land, but those are different stories for a different day. All was well and therefore all ended well. Hakuna matata.
As with Singapore, the thing that fascinated me was the diversity of people. Coming from a completely homogenous Japan, it was a breath of fresh air to see a mix of cultures. And by this I mean local cultures, not the crazy global mix of foreigners that prevailed in Thailand. The major races represented in both Singapore and KL are Malays, Chinese and Indians. It's like South Africa, except that there are no whites, blacks (should I be writing these with capitals?) or coloureds. Same same but different.
From the Lonely Planet, I copied down some addresses of cheap backpackers in Chinatown. After a very uncomfortable 11 hour overnight journey on a train (I'm too cheap to take the sleepers), I walked around drenched in sweat, my discomfort enhanced by the stench of drains and durians. I couldn't find any of the backpackers in my notebook, so booked my exhausted ass into one above a Rasta bar. I took a cold shower in the shared bathrooms, and headed down to the rasta bar for a beer and lunch that I bought from the street. As delicious as the food looked, it also looked like a carrier for food poisoning, but I took my chances and I ended up having 2 huge plates of unidentifiable meatstuffs for next to nothing. The bartender invited himself to my table, showed me videos on his cellphone of all the girls he's slept with (he was without his shirt in all of them) and asked where I'm from. Turns out he lived in both Japan and SA at some time in his life, and then mentioned that he partied in Cape Town with the guys from African Dope, my ichiban favourite record label from the Fairest Cape. He didn't have any African Dope to play over the sound system, but he owned more Lucky Dube (ancient South African reggae) than I knew existed. So there I was in Chinatown of an Islamic Futuristic city, listening to Lucky Dube at a bar which sported the exact same tablecloths as Cool Runnings Cafe in South Africa. How bizarre.
A great part of my time there was spent trying to organise transport to Koh Pan Gnan in time to use the accomodation I'd already payed for. Turns out that, over New Years, there is some huge Muslim festival, and KL being the mosque of a city that it is, all the busses and trains to anywhere were fully booked until after New Years. All the travel agents told me "sorry ne." I was about to give up hope and crawl into a readily-available gutter, when a strange Indian guy with a smudge of Hindu worship paint on his forehead invited me for a drink. We went to a place filled with old men, and sat on plastic chairs by a sticky table, talking about gemstones and drinking Coke. I told him of my dilemma, and he told me where the locals buy their bus tickets. We finished our drinks, and he took me to this incredibly noisy, dirty madhouse of transportation bookings. It's basically a room with one ticket booth after the other, with hundreds of locals pushing and kicking to get to the front. I went from window to window, and at the 14th booth, I found a bus company with an open seat to Hat Yai. I payed for the ticket that would lead me to The Dodgiest Busride Ever, made a breakfast date with my outta-the-blue saviour, and continued ambling my way through the city.
The next morning I met up with my 1-day friend, Murugon. He was sitting on the steps in front of the temple near the backpackers, this time sans the worship paint on his forehead. Instead, he was looking a bit pale for an Indian guy. I enquired about it, and he said that he bought something from the street the night before that didn't agree with his chemical composition. Food poisoning: You win some, you lose some. He didn't feel up to facing food, but still wanted to take me to his friend's restaurant. So we boarded the train and made our way to KL Sentral. With an S.
Throughout the 7 minute journey, he was hanging onto the pole, face pressed against the cold windows like a Japanese School kid that had too much to drink in the city. A mere 20 seconds before the train came to a halt, he started coughing, and then proceeded to paint the carriage floor yellow with last night's dodgy dinner. The doors opened and people flooded out, gasping for fresh air. I guided him to the nearest bin, where he did a few more heaves while I patted him on the back. There, there. Get it all out. He wiped his mouth, and with bits of carrot still clinging to his face he grinned at me and said: "Good, I can eat breakfast now."
Never in my life had I met anyone so nonchalant about public puking. His attitude was both refreshing and disturbing.
In the end, I ditched him after the roti & watermelon juice breakfast (that he payed for) because he wanted to feed me my breakfast. What!? I told him that I knew how to use a fork (you should see me use chopsticks! haha!) and when he sneaked his hand onto my knee, I considered using the fork to skewer more than just my roti. Gochisoooo sama deshita, sayonara!
I walked around the city like a madwoman, trying to see as much as I could in my final hours. At sunset, I went up the KL Tower, Menara Kuala Lumpur (at 421m, it's 4th highest in the world) and watched the city flicker into yet another night with a breathtaking 360 degree view of the surroundings. As I stood there watching a sea of lights, I came to the conclusion that the more you see, the more you realise that you ain't seen nothing yet. One life just is not enough. But we make do with what we have.
My bus left at 23h00 that evening, and I wasn't sure how I'd kill the final 3 hours. With all my belongings on my back, I didn't feel like taking any trains or walking excessive distances. As I walked through the vibrant nightmarket in Chinatown, I heard someone call my name, and there sat yet another random stranger that I had met earlier that day. An Arabic guy named Ebrahim who runs a guesthouse in Langkawi, one of the Malyasian islands, with his Japanese wife. I had met him earlier that day while buying a refreshing coconut beverage from a vendor, and for some arb reason I knew I was going to run into him again. He was having dinner with a Japanese girl who was not his wife, and they asked me to join them. He told me amazing tales from India, though I could only understand 40% of what he was saying (the story of my holiday), while his Japanese uhm friend kept refilling my glass with Tiger beer and putting food in my plate. Just before 23h00 I had to stop him mid-story, and bade them farewell. I made my way to the bus depot, an underground room filled with Thais, Malays, busses and carbon monoxide, and found my bus after being showed to the wrong one about 4 times. I showed my ticket to the busdriver, who looked at me blankly, then to 4 passengers who looked at me blankly. Silently I took an empty seat, hoped for the best, and passed out as soon as the bus started moving.
After the bus nearly popped a tire driving through a pothole/off the road, I woke up to find another hand on my knee that I did not remember putting there. And on the same trip, the bus driver disappeared with my passport somewhere between Malay and Thai No Man's Land, but those are different stories for a different day. All was well and therefore all ended well. Hakuna matata.
Losgatgeid (a moment of dread)
After a 5 hour journey from who-knows-where to Hat Yai in a tiny minibus, the funny Osaka-jin and I are dropped off at yet another busstop to catch our next connecting vehicles. We wave our 12 Thai fellow passengers goodbye, and my new 5-hour friend heads off to find a better deal at a different bus station. My bus is supposed to arrive in a few minutes, and I desperately need to check my e-mail. I have no idea where I'm going in Singapore; no phone number or address. Just a city. I ask the Thai girl manning the phone where I can find the closest computer. She chases me back to my seat: "No email! You bus come now!"
Fine.
I check my money belt, and find that I only have 20 Baht on me. The rest is all USD and Yen. That'll get you nowhere fast in Thailand inaka. I wait until my bus is 15 minutes late, and then decide to rush over to the bank opposite me to change some money. I run up the stairs. Good, I can see the busstop from the window. At the counter, I open my bag to take out my Black Book Of Very Important Things. And in that moment, I realise that I left everything on the minibus which I waved goodbye 20 minutes ago. With everything I mean:
All my Yen.
All my USD.
My plane tickets back to Japan.
My bus tickets back to Niimi.
Everything.
On a minibus filled with Thai, somewhere.
Wakatta?
I walk back to the busstop taking inventory of my situation: I'm alone in the middle of nowhere in Thailand and all I have is my clothes, my passport, a set of poi, and 20 Baht which is about 70 Yen which is about R3.56. And a busticket to Singapore. Nice one.
Get back to the girl by the telephone who doesn't speak English. "Listen. Very Important. I.. lost.. something. Minibus. Black book. Very Important."
She looks at me and says: "You bus come now!"
"No," I reply, shaking just a little bit. "No bus. First - black book. Minibus. Can you help me?"
She consults a friend, and they phone another friend who speaks broken English, who speaks to them in fluent Thai, and all this is going on in Thai-go around me and I have no clue what's happening. Fianlly, they call over a dude on a motorbike and motions for me to get on. The bus is now 30 minutes late. He tells me it'll be 40 Baht, and I say 20 now, 20 later. I hook my backpack onto my shoulders, get on the motorbike and we zip through the mad traffic of pedestrians and cyclists and tuk-tuks and busses. And he stops at another busstop.
From the start, I decided to just go with whatever the moment brings, so in incomprehension I sit on the corner of a street, looking slightly distressed, not knowing what the hell is happening. The motorcycle guy is happily chatting to his buddies, and I stare at them, hoping to pick up a positive English word. But nai. An old Thai man with a long grey beard breaks away form the group, come over to me and tells me "No worry. You get everything back. Mae pen rai."
Not even 4 minutes into my most distraught diary entry, the motorcycle man calls to me, "This you minibus?"
And it is.
The driver steps out, and in his hands he has the most beautiful black document book I have ever seen in my whole life. Mine. He asks me to check inside, and everything is just as I left it, still warm from the floor where I sat close to the engine. I feel like hugging them, but I have a bus to catch, and we get back onto the motorbike. I'm not even holding on, as I'm using my hands to pray thankyous to the deities that are always saving me from myself.
At the original busstop, the girl is still sitting by her telephone.
"You bus come, you bus leave!" she shouts over the noises of traffic. "No next bus!"
Saying something in Thai, the motorbike guy motions for me to get on again, so I do, and we are back in the street again. He pushes through cars and skips orange lights, until he spots a big bus further on in the street. At the next traffic light, he drives next to the bus and repeatedly smacks it on the side with his palm. The bus stops in the middle of traffic, the driver gets out, words are exchanged and my backpack is loaded into the luggage compartment. I am kwah-pun-kaah'ing in a bow so low the Japanese would have applauded me. I give the guy U$D20, climb the stairs onto the bus, find my seat, and sit down for the next chapter in My Winter Holiday. On my way to Singapore.
Fine.
I check my money belt, and find that I only have 20 Baht on me. The rest is all USD and Yen. That'll get you nowhere fast in Thailand inaka. I wait until my bus is 15 minutes late, and then decide to rush over to the bank opposite me to change some money. I run up the stairs. Good, I can see the busstop from the window. At the counter, I open my bag to take out my Black Book Of Very Important Things. And in that moment, I realise that I left everything on the minibus which I waved goodbye 20 minutes ago. With everything I mean:
All my Yen.
All my USD.
My plane tickets back to Japan.
My bus tickets back to Niimi.
Everything.
On a minibus filled with Thai, somewhere.
Wakatta?
I walk back to the busstop taking inventory of my situation: I'm alone in the middle of nowhere in Thailand and all I have is my clothes, my passport, a set of poi, and 20 Baht which is about 70 Yen which is about R3.56. And a busticket to Singapore. Nice one.
Get back to the girl by the telephone who doesn't speak English. "Listen. Very Important. I.. lost.. something. Minibus. Black book. Very Important."
She looks at me and says: "You bus come now!"
"No," I reply, shaking just a little bit. "No bus. First - black book. Minibus. Can you help me?"
She consults a friend, and they phone another friend who speaks broken English, who speaks to them in fluent Thai, and all this is going on in Thai-go around me and I have no clue what's happening. Fianlly, they call over a dude on a motorbike and motions for me to get on. The bus is now 30 minutes late. He tells me it'll be 40 Baht, and I say 20 now, 20 later. I hook my backpack onto my shoulders, get on the motorbike and we zip through the mad traffic of pedestrians and cyclists and tuk-tuks and busses. And he stops at another busstop.
From the start, I decided to just go with whatever the moment brings, so in incomprehension I sit on the corner of a street, looking slightly distressed, not knowing what the hell is happening. The motorcycle guy is happily chatting to his buddies, and I stare at them, hoping to pick up a positive English word. But nai. An old Thai man with a long grey beard breaks away form the group, come over to me and tells me "No worry. You get everything back. Mae pen rai."
Not even 4 minutes into my most distraught diary entry, the motorcycle man calls to me, "This you minibus?"
And it is.
The driver steps out, and in his hands he has the most beautiful black document book I have ever seen in my whole life. Mine. He asks me to check inside, and everything is just as I left it, still warm from the floor where I sat close to the engine. I feel like hugging them, but I have a bus to catch, and we get back onto the motorbike. I'm not even holding on, as I'm using my hands to pray thankyous to the deities that are always saving me from myself.
At the original busstop, the girl is still sitting by her telephone.
"You bus come, you bus leave!" she shouts over the noises of traffic. "No next bus!"
Saying something in Thai, the motorbike guy motions for me to get on again, so I do, and we are back in the street again. He pushes through cars and skips orange lights, until he spots a big bus further on in the street. At the next traffic light, he drives next to the bus and repeatedly smacks it on the side with his palm. The bus stops in the middle of traffic, the driver gets out, words are exchanged and my backpack is loaded into the luggage compartment. I am kwah-pun-kaah'ing in a bow so low the Japanese would have applauded me. I give the guy U$D20, climb the stairs onto the bus, find my seat, and sit down for the next chapter in My Winter Holiday. On my way to Singapore.
And now for something completely different
I'm typing this at home, my fingers covered in chocolate cake that I was planning to take to school, but I wasuremashita'ed it in my kitchen. Now, all for me.
After having owned this useless laptop for 4 months, I finally hooked it up to someone else's internet and made it useful. This means that, for the first time since August 06, I've been able to access all the music I burned into some obscure format back in SA. Currently, I'm listening to the deep, smooth voice of Laurika Rauch. Ek dink ek het hierdie cd nog van Eric af gebum een aand in Witbank. As jy die lees, thanks dude, dit beteken waar ek nou is vir my soveel. En so ook Koos Kombuis. Lisa se klavier was nog nooit so mooi nie.
I'd just like to quote the following, because it's so damn beautiful. A song about a girl in Cape Town that plays the piano so beautifully that people just stop in the streets at night to listen to the sounds floating down from her window:
haar vingers ken die pad
opgesluit in wit en swart
die klavier se grootste vreugde, hartseer en verlange
verstaan die hart se diepste smart
(her fingers know the way
locked up in black and white
the piano's greatest joy, sadness and longing
understands the deepest pain of the heart)
After having owned this useless laptop for 4 months, I finally hooked it up to someone else's internet and made it useful. This means that, for the first time since August 06, I've been able to access all the music I burned into some obscure format back in SA. Currently, I'm listening to the deep, smooth voice of Laurika Rauch. Ek dink ek het hierdie cd nog van Eric af gebum een aand in Witbank. As jy die lees, thanks dude, dit beteken waar ek nou is vir my soveel. En so ook Koos Kombuis. Lisa se klavier was nog nooit so mooi nie.
I'd just like to quote the following, because it's so damn beautiful. A song about a girl in Cape Town that plays the piano so beautifully that people just stop in the streets at night to listen to the sounds floating down from her window:
haar vingers ken die pad
opgesluit in wit en swart
die klavier se grootste vreugde, hartseer en verlange
verstaan die hart se diepste smart
(her fingers know the way
locked up in black and white
the piano's greatest joy, sadness and longing
understands the deepest pain of the heart)
(not that much lost in translation)
Kao San Road
This part could have been titled "Bangkok", but it all honesty, we didn't see much of the city. There are a lot of tourist things to do, buddhas to be seen, boats in which you can ride, but for 3 days we became stuck in the magical tourist carnival that is Kao San Road. In a Lonely Planet somewhere, there is a mention that KS Rd gained fame/notoriety after the release of The Beach, but only having read the book (twice, years ago) I cannot recall any mention of this road in literature. We just went there because it was a definite that we would find accomodation without booking beforehand.
Three beds we found, for less than the price of a beer in Japan. It was our first introduction to the hand-held cold-water showers that would become the norm for the rest of the trip. The rest of the time was spent people-watching, getting our hair dreaded and braided, indulging in pancakes and food that set your lips on fire, buying crap we didn't need, sampling the local beers, meeting random travelers, getting ripped off by TAT (a travel company that gave our individual trips instant structure, but at a price), going for manic drives in wheelying tuk-tuks, a Muay-Thai boxing match, getting familiar with the yellow backgrounds of the King's face, more food, more beer, more backpackers, night markets, day markets, the sound of wooden frog curios and "kwah pun kaah's" echoing through the streets.
The really interesting part was to go to Thailand from Japan. To go from a place where politeness is taken to the point of indifference, and where people would do a 180 degree turn to avoid you, in fear of being greeted in English. A mere 6 hour flight, and suddenly people were making eye contact (what a novelty!) and smiling when they greet you. Also, I felt much more at home in Bangkok because it was so much more like Africa. More real. Dirty, smelly streets, messy hawkers with stalls and garbage that spills over into the streets. Homeless, toothless people sleeping on the streets. Poverty. Need. Desperation. And yet, they smile.
On the second or third night, we touristed our way over to Patpong with our new Thai friend, the dude who sold me my money belt. That red money belt became so much part of my attire that I wore it into the ocean on New Year's and killed my camera, but that's another story. Patpong had been a name in my head since I read about it in Tom Robbins novels, where he proclaimed it to be the one place on earth that you can find any type of sex that you can imagine. We didn't wander that deep into it's seedy alleyways, but stopped short at the first Ping-Pong bar we found, briefly looking at the program. It was like the scene it "From Dusk Till Dawn" where the guy stands outside the Titty Twister bar, rambling off the pussy menu for the night. The shows ran at 15 minute intervals, and all had delightful names such as: "Pussy open water bottle" / "Pussy play ping-pong" / "Pussy shoot darts". We payed our 200 baht, and made our way up the narrow stairs, anticipating the worst but propelled onwards by morbid curiosity.
Now, you can go your whole life without seeing a Ping-Pong show. You might actually be better off not seeing one. But if you should ever find yourself in Bangkok, just go ahead and do it so that you, in turn, can tell others that it's not worth it. It's not that the shows are hardcore or perverse. What I saw in Amsterdam made the Ping Pong show look like a chugakko English class. And that's the main reason why you leave there feeling a bit gritty. They're so.. disinterested. Removed from what they are doing. The girls dancing on poles in skimpy clothes are barely moving their asses. They keep checking their hair in the mirrors behind them. When we walked inside, there was a naked girl squatted over a piece of paper, with a marking pen stuffed up her twat. No, I won't use flowery euphemisms. She removed the pen, picked up the paper, and walked around, chewing gum in a good imitation of a cow "Welcome To Ping Pong Show" it said on the paper. We felt everything but.
They all just go through the motions. Remove top. Remove panties. Chew that hangnail on your middle finger while you flex those cervical muscles. It's sad because it's nothing. We left after our complimentary beers and headed to a club called "Lucifer" to dance their dead eyes out of our minds.
And so we just mucked about for a few days in a tiny percentage of the city. It was good though. There were moments where I felt myself change, where I felt more alive than I had in weeks. Two nights ended and turned into mornings with me sitting around a dented old stainless steel bowl in the middle of a street, getting a smoky fire going with dry bamboo and matches, trading stories and viewpoints with people who survive only from day to day. No, I don't know what it feels like to sit in school with a war going on outside. I don't know what it feels like to not know where my food will come from tomorrow. I don't know what it feels like to not know my brothers,, not know whether they are alive or dead. I can seek experience in other countries. I don't have to seek solace. I am lucky, my life has been so easy and I have been so blessed. And those dudes - Kpebane, Chai and Adam - they reminded me of that.
Kao San road ended for me while struggling my way through the spiciest salad in Bangkok. Someone was supposed to come pick me up from the guesthouse, to take me to the bus headed for Singapore. A shifty-looking boy came inside, and asked where we were going. I said Singapore. He motioned for me to follow him. I took my backpack, hugged Jen and Dimple goodbye (who, at that stage, had no idea whether or not they were going to see me again, ever) and followed him. We headed through restaurants and boxing rings with primary school boys lifting weights, through dodgy alleys and past sleeping dogs. And finally, a busstop. Which is the point from where I sojourned, until I met up with Hernes 42 hours and 2 countries later.
Three beds we found, for less than the price of a beer in Japan. It was our first introduction to the hand-held cold-water showers that would become the norm for the rest of the trip. The rest of the time was spent people-watching, getting our hair dreaded and braided, indulging in pancakes and food that set your lips on fire, buying crap we didn't need, sampling the local beers, meeting random travelers, getting ripped off by TAT (a travel company that gave our individual trips instant structure, but at a price), going for manic drives in wheelying tuk-tuks, a Muay-Thai boxing match, getting familiar with the yellow backgrounds of the King's face, more food, more beer, more backpackers, night markets, day markets, the sound of wooden frog curios and "kwah pun kaah's" echoing through the streets.
The really interesting part was to go to Thailand from Japan. To go from a place where politeness is taken to the point of indifference, and where people would do a 180 degree turn to avoid you, in fear of being greeted in English. A mere 6 hour flight, and suddenly people were making eye contact (what a novelty!) and smiling when they greet you. Also, I felt much more at home in Bangkok because it was so much more like Africa. More real. Dirty, smelly streets, messy hawkers with stalls and garbage that spills over into the streets. Homeless, toothless people sleeping on the streets. Poverty. Need. Desperation. And yet, they smile.
On the second or third night, we touristed our way over to Patpong with our new Thai friend, the dude who sold me my money belt. That red money belt became so much part of my attire that I wore it into the ocean on New Year's and killed my camera, but that's another story. Patpong had been a name in my head since I read about it in Tom Robbins novels, where he proclaimed it to be the one place on earth that you can find any type of sex that you can imagine. We didn't wander that deep into it's seedy alleyways, but stopped short at the first Ping-Pong bar we found, briefly looking at the program. It was like the scene it "From Dusk Till Dawn" where the guy stands outside the Titty Twister bar, rambling off the pussy menu for the night. The shows ran at 15 minute intervals, and all had delightful names such as: "Pussy open water bottle" / "Pussy play ping-pong" / "Pussy shoot darts". We payed our 200 baht, and made our way up the narrow stairs, anticipating the worst but propelled onwards by morbid curiosity.
Now, you can go your whole life without seeing a Ping-Pong show. You might actually be better off not seeing one. But if you should ever find yourself in Bangkok, just go ahead and do it so that you, in turn, can tell others that it's not worth it. It's not that the shows are hardcore or perverse. What I saw in Amsterdam made the Ping Pong show look like a chugakko English class. And that's the main reason why you leave there feeling a bit gritty. They're so.. disinterested. Removed from what they are doing. The girls dancing on poles in skimpy clothes are barely moving their asses. They keep checking their hair in the mirrors behind them. When we walked inside, there was a naked girl squatted over a piece of paper, with a marking pen stuffed up her twat. No, I won't use flowery euphemisms. She removed the pen, picked up the paper, and walked around, chewing gum in a good imitation of a cow "Welcome To Ping Pong Show" it said on the paper. We felt everything but.
They all just go through the motions. Remove top. Remove panties. Chew that hangnail on your middle finger while you flex those cervical muscles. It's sad because it's nothing. We left after our complimentary beers and headed to a club called "Lucifer" to dance their dead eyes out of our minds.
And so we just mucked about for a few days in a tiny percentage of the city. It was good though. There were moments where I felt myself change, where I felt more alive than I had in weeks. Two nights ended and turned into mornings with me sitting around a dented old stainless steel bowl in the middle of a street, getting a smoky fire going with dry bamboo and matches, trading stories and viewpoints with people who survive only from day to day. No, I don't know what it feels like to sit in school with a war going on outside. I don't know what it feels like to not know where my food will come from tomorrow. I don't know what it feels like to not know my brothers,, not know whether they are alive or dead. I can seek experience in other countries. I don't have to seek solace. I am lucky, my life has been so easy and I have been so blessed. And those dudes - Kpebane, Chai and Adam - they reminded me of that.
Kao San road ended for me while struggling my way through the spiciest salad in Bangkok. Someone was supposed to come pick me up from the guesthouse, to take me to the bus headed for Singapore. A shifty-looking boy came inside, and asked where we were going. I said Singapore. He motioned for me to follow him. I took my backpack, hugged Jen and Dimple goodbye (who, at that stage, had no idea whether or not they were going to see me again, ever) and followed him. We headed through restaurants and boxing rings with primary school boys lifting weights, through dodgy alleys and past sleeping dogs. And finally, a busstop. Which is the point from where I sojourned, until I met up with Hernes 42 hours and 2 countries later.
Fuyu Yasumi (finally..)
It's been just over a week since I left the jungles and beaches of South East Asia and returned to the brown mountains of inaka Japan. It's been over a week since I sadly left the summer sun for a mediocre winter where the snow just isn't getting around to falling. On the day of my inevitable return, the winds in Osaka was blowing with such force that the trains had to be cancelled, and the rest of the trip was done in all too familiar bus seats. Of my 15 day holiday, approximately 4 days was spent in transit. Three nights I slept on busses. One night on a train. Despite the slight discomfort of 55 degree reclining seats, nightbusses suited me fine, as it meant one less night I had to pay for accomodation. So much happened in such a short time that it would take an entire day's worth of blogging to type everything down, so I decided to divide the posts into convenient bite-sized portions. These will be arranged according to topic. The things I want to remember. The things that I feel is worth sharing. The things that the Niimi crew have heard seven thousand times already. Enjoy, kudasai.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
In all fairness
Today had all the makings of a very bad day. I had to re-set my alarm three times because I just couldn't muster up the enthusiasm to face the cold. In the end, I opted to not bath, and crawled from electric blanket to kerosene heater to school. But my fears were unsupported: Today turned out to be a pretty kickass day.
Here are two highlights:
1) I bought some durian candy in Kuala Lumpur. Now, for those unfamiliar with the natural charms of Durian, it is said to smell like a good dose of vagina, and any respectable train, bus or hotel in Southern SE Asia will have a sign like this one:
Here are two highlights:
1) I bought some durian candy in Kuala Lumpur. Now, for those unfamiliar with the natural charms of Durian, it is said to smell like a good dose of vagina, and any respectable train, bus or hotel in Southern SE Asia will have a sign like this one:
Yah. It stinks.
So, rubbing my sweaty palms together in grinning glee, I bought three packs of durian candy and lugged it around for 2 weeks, all for the simple pleasure of seeing my school kids vomit in class.
I was not disappointed.
When I cracked open the bag in the san-nensei class, they ran to open the windows. Half of them dared to eat it, and started gag-reflexes while desperately clawing the air. My team-teaching partner wanted to fold over laughing, but he was too busy trying to get his vision back after taking his first bite of chewy durian. It was like the atom bomb had been dropped again. Only this time it smelled like gasoline (they said) and tasted like green onions. And they call it a fruit.
PS - my team-teacher refrained from eating any more candy during the next 2 classes, and said he wished he had a camera with which to capture the other classes' obvious pain when they too were introduced to Durian.
2) I was trying to explain "New Years Resolutions" to 2 other teachers, failing horribly because I could not remember the English ("voornemens".. what the hell.. English.. uhh..). Trying to corss-reference from a Japanese word that they gave me (houfu), I flipped through my pocket dictionary and
there I spotted my memory card
The memory card that I thought I had crumpled up and threwn into Koh Tao's garbage
The memory card from the dead camera that I fed to the sea on New Years
The memory card that contains all my memory reminders up to 23h39 on the 31st of December 2006.
My trip to Thailand/Malaysia/Singapore has been resurrected. Brilliant.
(photos might possibly follow)
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