Heading home

In the morning I had to get a super-early start to the airport…something I needn’t have bothered about, since the flight was late. After the second time it was delayed, I went upstairs to get something to eat (I was starving) and suddenly heard them paging “Shao, Anh, Shao Anh.” I had to run for it—really embarrassing. I slept for much of the flight and finally got in to Bangkok at about 3:30 in the afternoon. There were numerous errands to do, so I didn’t get to see any new sections of the city. I did run into a woman from Khao Lak, Heather, who told me about going to Chinatown and the Indian market…wish I’d gotten a chance to do that. I never made it to the lingum shrine, either, darn it. However, there was a huge and beautiful Buddhist festival going on and I did get a photo taken of me in front of two deer and the wheel of dharma. It’s so cool to see monks in saffron robes everywhere. I also went back to the amulet market and got some new glasses made near there. Heather and I had lunch down by the pier at the same place where I ate the second afternoon in Bangkok. I had the same thing (spicy seafood on wide rice noodles, with roselle juice to drink) and it felt like a good way to close the trip. Things coming full circle.

Then I stayed up for most of the night, packing all my loads of filthy laundry, souvenirs, and camping stuff I didn’t use. I slept maybe about 20 minutes and then got my taxi to the airport.

Now I’m on the plane, having gone through Toyko already. I have to say that I am really glad to be going home. I miss my sweetie terribly and can’t wait to get picked up at the airport. I’m also looking forward to a big, crispy apple and a green salad. This has been an interesting trip, sometimes disappointing and more than a little confusing. I am still trying to figure out what to make of the Thais as a culture and utterly convinced that more help is needed, for the tsunami victims and in so many other places in the world. It’s one thing for us to see poverty on tv, another to see it in person. You begin to realize that the images on tv are real, the places are real. If anyone is interested in hooking up with the Tsunami Volunteers, I strongly encourage you to do it. Plase feel free to contact me if you’d like. It has been great, and there is so much more still to do.

Signing off,

Anne, no longer in Thailand

Captain's Quarters (Vietnam)

The next morning it was off to Halong Bay for real. I was excited to see it, since the Bay is a world Heritage site and supposed to be as beautiful as Phi Phi Island. The water is ringed by what appear to be mountains (the round, steeply-cliffed kind with forested tops, just like in Japanese prints), but these are actually innumerable limestone islands. The harbor was filled with dark, low-slung sightseeing boats and smaller fishing dorues maneuvered among them. The place was crowded, and we were told there were no tickets left. Eventually, after what Lap identified as an exercise in Capitalism, we got in and walked from boat to boat; after moving we got onto a boat that was going out for 4 hours, the shortest tour. The boat was full but we ended up in the captain’s cabin, where a raised platform with a clean woven mat provided more than enough space for all of us to sit. Lap chatted with the captain and looked like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. On the deck, Chinese tourists posed, and posed, and posed in front of the scenery. I guess tourists from everywhere take too many pictures. Then we were off on a long slow cruise around some of the more famous islands. One, known as The Lovers, is two almost equal-sized rocks that were once undeniably the same island. They jut up in the middle almost like a sailboat, and I watched as a woman moored her small dory between them. The ships in Halong Bay were less colorful than I’d expected, the water not so turquoise on this particular day. Still, you can see that the Bay is a stunning natural habitat. There must be amazing species of orchids and other plants up on the mountains and equally amazing fish colonies living below the water.

There are also caves, and we stopped at the Heavenly Grotto. Wow. Inside the walls and high ceiling were covered with white limestone formations, well lit by colored and white lights from some mysterious source. It looked to me as though someone had taken balls of white dough and squeezed them out from between their fingers. Some of the extrusions, or more properly stalactites, looked almost like solidified waves. Inside was a pool into which people reached their hands—lucky water. The cave apparently was used both by smugglers in the past and by the Vietnamese who manufactured and hit weapons there for fighting the Chinese. High up in the wall I could see an entrance filled with daylight and greenery, and told Tiang that this cave was not unlike the one Tom Sawyer got lost in in the book.

Since we’d been discussing religion earlier, I told Lap and To that this would be a sacred place in my religion also—in fact, I could feel the old, intense but reticient energies there. I wasn’t too surprised when we came upon a large breast-shaped formation (replete with nipple) that women touch in order to have a son. “You touch!” Tiang insisted, trying to drag me over, “you touch!” Of course I was unable to explain why I didn’t feel so inclined (afterwards: “Why you no touch?”). It’s so interesting the significances different cultures attach to places that are universally powerful; to me the energies there, like those in Eagle Cave, evoked the Divine Feminine, but it a very different way.

After the cave, the Chinese people apparently decided they had seen enough, so the boat returned us early—what a pity. I got only the briefest glimpse of the Bay where, I felt,After luch it was time to go, so we piled into the car again and I began to realize that I had to leave the next moring. I have quickly gotten really attached to Tiang; it’s not hard to see why he’s the apple of his parents’ eyes. He had been suffering from some allergy since we’d been in Halong Bay and on the way home (it was really hot) his cheeks were swollen, itching, and red. I was able to give him some Benadryl, which seemed to help. After being told that it would put him to sleep (it kinocks me right out) he stayed awake for the rest of the ride and just seemed to get funnier. At one point he had everyone in the car in stitches (in Vietnamese). I think he hates to sleep and denies being sleepy at all costs…a kid after my own heart.

We had dinner in a Parisian-style café with live piano and violin. Lap knew the words to all the songs, “You must remember this,” and “Top of the world/ lookin’ down on creation” which exactly summed up what I was feeling at the moment. We talked about Communism and Christianity and the core beliefs about human nature intrinsic in both systems. At Tiang’s request, Lap attempted to explain to Tiang in Vietnamese and I realized I really didn’t want to say goodbye. In fact, I felt quite heartbroken over the thought. Tiang is such a great kid. I knew I was really going to miss him. Lap and To took the most amazing care of me while I was there. It was great to have a real intellectual conversation, to exchange real opinions again. Vietnam is such a beautiful place in so many ways. I really want to come back and spend more time, discover the literary scene in Hanoi and meet the ten thousand poets Lap knows there. I could kick myself for having to leave so soon. I didn’t sleep much that night for thinking about how sad I was to be leaving after such a small glimpse of the place.

Halong Bay (Vietnam)

The rest of my time in Vietnam was great. Modern VietNam is an interesting phenonmemon—thousands of years of tradition and modern industrialization all rolled into one. We left early for Halong Bay after a bowl of pho ga. After the initial novelty of seeing people in pointed hats working the bright green rice paddies, I realized that the area we were driving through is much like the strip between Chicago and Milwaukee. There’s a mix of agricultural land that looks semi-desolate, industrial barf of power plants and construction sites, and various stops catering to the incessant tourist buses, many of them pink, that run up and down along the road. There are ancestral graves with huge headstones right in the rice paddies, and raised walkways where people park their bikes or motorbikes. People below may be using hoes to work the rice fields or large bucket systems, requiring two people, to irrigate them. In between fields there may be a single three-story narrow house, painted lavenbdar green or yellow. They just stick up as if from nowhere.

One of the things I find most interesting, watching people on motorbikes and in the fields, is that everyone wears long pants and the women cover themselves—arms, heads, and faces—so as not to get dark skin. This is very unlike the Thais—the only people I saw doing that in Thailand were teenage boys and young men. I also can’t believe that they do this in spite of the stifling heat. Why is it people in the hottest climates always wear the most clothes when they don’t have to? I had left my hat in Bangkok because I was tired of the stares it drew in Thailand; in Vietnam everyone thought I was crazy for going without a hat. To my relief, though, I later observed that tank tops are quite ok in Vietnam. In Thailand, they are a no-no.

When we arrived in Halong Bay (the town) and checked into our hotel, it was time for lun ch at 11:30. Lunch in VietNam seems to be the main meal of the day and is followed by a short siesta. It wasn’t until later in the afternoon—about 3:30—that I got to hit the town beach. My Western-style bathing suit drew stares—I really should have worn shorts with it, l but once I was in the water it was great. The bay there is very shallow and there were only small swells of waves coming up. The water, while murky, was astonishingly warm and I told To about the astonishingly cold water we swim in at Scarborough. She found it hard to believe that it’s like ice water even during the hottest part of the summer.

As it turns out, most Vietnamese can’t swim very much, not even Lap, who was a ship’s captain. Swimming mostly consisted of people holding onto inner tubes and splashing in the bathtub-warm water. Tiang does swim some, though, and asked me to teach him the crawl stroke. You haven’t lived until you’ve taught someone to swim with only part of a language in common. He borrowed my swim goggles and caught on really fast. Between our swimming lessons, kids kept coming up and saying “hi!” to me. Eeveryone seemed eager to practice their English. One skinny brown kid rehearsed a whole dialogue with me: “Hello. How are you?…” When we got to the end (I think it was “my name’s Anne,” he started over with “hello!”

An old man aksed me something in VietNamese which Tiang later told me was whether I was an American or French. No one gave me any flak for being American. In fact, people in VietNam seem amazingly warm and genuine. This at least was my perception at the beach on a fine day with a Vietnamese family…so unlike my experiences of being a foreigner who doesn’t know anybody in Thailand. Really, they seem more real and less corrupted by consumer culture than the Thais, who, in Bangkok anyway, always seem to be trying to make money off the tourists by giving them what they want. In Vietnam, I sensed greater curiousity and the warmth felt genuine.

At dinner I discovered rice wine, which has a lovely toasty aftertaste, and purple mangoes that To called Indian mangoes. After dinner we visited the house of a woman who had helped Lap find the hotel we were staying in…a relative, I believe. She is a teacher of Advanced English, but most of the conversation was in Vietnamese. I just sat back an enjoyed the scene as everyone chatted and Lap talked with an older, silver-haired man who had also been a ship’s captain. We ate fruit (sweet mangoes and watermelon) and I watched the kids play with blocks on the clean yellow floor. It always amazes me how, in the tropics, there are simply open doorways leading into the house, without doors or windows that can be secured against the next blizzard. The tile floor led out into the night and the children came and went from outside as the news played on the muted tv in the background. It wasn’t until the end of the visit that I realized our host spoke English—very good British-sounding English at that. As we were leaving, she gave me a dragonfruit, and an older woman place her hand on my rear with motherly affection. Vietnamese people have a different concept of personal space.

(This, in fact, was another pleasant surprise. In Thailand, people keep a good deal of distance from one another and there’s very little touching. In Vietnam a friend or total stranger can be right next to you, their knee touching yours, and it’s totally fine. People are very casual in this way. None of the weird sexual vibes or irritation that this would create in the states.)

Having finished our visit, we went to a nearby amusement part. This was the highlight of the whole trip for Tiang, since there is a haunted house there—or as he called it, the abomination or ghost house. First, though, we went to a cultural heritage pavilion where we watched Vietnamese dancing. This is clearly something that emerged in an agrarian culture—
dancers in brightly colored costumes skip between bamboo sticks that are held horizontally, close to the floor, and moved up and down to create a pounding rhythm.. It reminded me of a mix between double-dutch and the limbo. At the end people were asked to come up front and dance with the dancers. (I declined).

After this we watched the water puppets, an art that is, I believe, unique to Vietnam. Again, this is clearly a legacy of the rice fields. Brightly-colored, sequined puppets are floated on the water where they writhe and splash as if alive. With no sign whatsoever of puppeteers, we watched dragons slither through the water, phoenixes coax each other in a love-dance, and fishermen catching flying fish in baskets. Lap told me later that the puppets are operated with a complex series of pulleys and levers, sometimes with several people controlling a single puppet. During the performance, Tiang got more and more excited—he could hear people screaming in the ghost house. I felt bad that he had to wait for me to see the show; he’s probably seen water puppets tons of times before.

By the time we got to the ghost house, Tiang was really worked up. I even felt some trepidation going in. Inside were the requisite black lights and real people who move suddenly from among a row of mannequins—exactly like the haunted house I went to at Cedar Point so many years ago. The main difference between Vietnamese and American ghosts, it seems, is that Vietnamese ghosts hold long bamboo sticks. Everyone seemed to be afraid of being touched by them. (I thought that perhaps these were death-dealing sticks, but To told me later that ghosts in Vietnamese lore sometimes beat people who’ve done bad things.) Boys in white t-shirts pulled a screaming girl through the exhibits, and turned me around when I tried to backtrack to find Lap and Tiang When I got to the end I discovered them already there; as it happens, Tiang had been too terrified to go in at all. Poor kid! As we say in Anerica, what a bummer.

After this we had a brief view of a museum with artifacts dating from about AD 95. To me they seemed impossibly ancient, but Lap shugged and said they weren’t so old. To my amazement, some were wooden statues. There were also ceramics that looked for all the world like they’d been fired the day before. I was told not to take photos of the Buddha’s head that was on display and we soon had to leave anyway. On the way out, my favorite sign of the day: A picture of a rooster with the caption, “Cork Fighting.”

Hanoi

Yesterday I flew from Bangkok to Hanoi, but not before getting kinda sick again. I think it is partly the diesel fumes in Bangkok, because many people say that the city makes them feel sick. I also think I got some bad water or food or something. Suffice it to say that my stomach really hurt and I felt really nauseous. It didn't help that the airport had the air conditioning on Super Hi and I got chilled to the bone. I actually put a second set of clothes I had in my bag (under the first set)and still couldn't get warm. On the plane they gave me some food and then I felt hot, hot hot. By the time I got to Hanoi I was feeling really sick.

The scene in the airport was subdued and orderly. At passport control guards in beige and red uniforms made certain that everyone stood behind the red line until motioned forward. They did not smile. There was no bustle and little noise and I thought, is this what the whole country is like? Outside was a different scene, though. My friend Lap came to pick me up at the airport and soon we were off to the hotel where he had reserved a room for me. On the way there as we were chatting I saw my first big sight of VietNam--a pig on a motorbike. The driver was in front with a side of pork splayed out over the seat behind him. The pig's hooves were just touching the ground,as though it were skating, and its back was arched over the seat with its head hanging back. That's something I've never seen before. A short time later, still feeling pretty awful, I came very close to getting sick in the car. I had *that feeling* and started taking everything out of the nearest plastic bag as fast as I could. For a moment I went totally green around the gills...but then it started to pass. In fact, I didn't throw up at all until we got to the hotel.

Lap wanted to take me around the city and I wanted to go, so after throwing up (I felt quite a bit better) we went out again. He insisted that I eat something and ordered some beef noodle soup for me. To my surprise, it did me a world of good, as did the green tea. Then he took me around to see the famous sights of Hanoi, starting with the "Temple of Literature" which is an ancient university (c. 900-1000 c.e.). The names of the doctors who earned their degrees are inscribed on stone stelae, each on the back of a huge turtle, and all the turtles are different. The grounds had large, shady trees and old peely red and white Chinese-style architechture. Hanoi looks very much like New Orleans because of the French influence, and Ican see why it is the cultural capital of VietNam. (Bangkok, at least the part I was in near Khao San Road, looks like a pit in comparison. ) We went to see the famous Hanoi Hilton, where part of the former prison is preserved as a musuem. Unfortunately, it was closed but I did get to peek in to part of the grounds. (Oh, how it helps to have a friend who speaks the langauge!) We went on a cyclo--the tourist thing to do. It's a kind of scoop-seat with room enough for just two people, and the driver gets in back and pedals them around. Very colonial, and I would imagine very hard work for the driver. Of course everyone else goes by motorbike or bicycle.

After the stark scene at the airport, the streets of Hanoi were a surprise. There are few traffic lights and lots of motorbikes. There are no turn signals, no stopping before you turn, no taking turns. Crossing the street is a matter of plunging out in front of 100 oncoming vehicles and hoping they avoid you as they speed past. We also went around to see the famous lake in the middle of Hanoi, where a magical turtle once surfaced to provide the king with a sword to help him defeat the Chinese. After the victory, the turtle took it back, so it is called "The Lake of the Restored Sword." Interestingly enough, there is a species of giant tortise that lives in the lake and is occasionally sighted. There is one on display that died back in 1968 and it is huge--maybe four feet long and 250 kg. The shell is flattish and without the usual tortise patterning...it just looks like lumps of mud. Apparently this is a species unique to the lake.

After this we got something to drink and later met Lap's family for dinner. To, his wife, and Tiang, his son, are both great. To is another university instructor--she teaches literature--and she is smart, mischevious, and funny. Tiang is ten and is learning English. Apparently he was eager to talk to the American, so we have been chatting about what music and books he likes (music: Back Street Boys, Beatles, and Louis Armstrong. Books: Tom Sawyer,Huck Finn and 10000 Leagues Under the Sea). They are really lovely and have been very sweet, even making a special trip out to get some medicine for me. Alas, I was not up to eating snake meat at dinner as Lap had hoped. However, I did discover the joys of green rice.This is sticky green rice that is put inside a bamboo stalk and heated. The water in the bamboo cooks the rice, giving a nice compact roll that you then peel out and dip in a mixture of peanuts and salt. As Tiang said, "It's Yumee!" We were also joined by the Dean of Vietnam National University, who is interested in setting upsome kind of exchange program with Carthage. He had been busy all day, because as I was reminded, it was Bastille Day. All in all, it was a good time. I only wish I had been feeling more adventuresome.

We made an early night of it, and I have to say that after all of Thailand's hard, blanketless beds, the Eden hotel lived up to its name. There was a big comfy bed with a warm blanket and a bathtub and hot water...even in the sink. After a good night's sleep, I feel loads better. I even had a bowl of Pho Ga (chicken and rice noodle soup) for breakfast. (David, if you are reading this....first jello, and then we *will* go for pho together...we will.)

Last day in Khao Lak

Well, yesterday was indeed my last day in Khao Lak. In the morning I went to Laem Pom and spent the time sanding and partially painting a windowframe. Now that the foundations are done, it's on to the lighter work. It's good to know that I was able to see part of the project come to completion while I was there, but sad to be leaving. The two weeks seems to have taken forever and to have passed really quickly at the same time. I finally got someone who speaks really good Thai to translate for me to Ratree, the woman at Laem Pom. I told her there's much more I want to say to her and asked for her address, telling her I'd find someone to translate a letter into Thai for me. So if anyone out there knows a Thai speaker who is also fluent in English...

Then there were errands to do and goodbyes to say...last night I went to find the Nepalese guys, but they weren't in evidence. Instead I found the shopkeepers I ate durian with before. I had brought some maple candy with me to give to people, so I offered them some of my precious stash. I've got to say, after hauling this stuff around and watching it melt and worrying about it, the reaction was distinctly anti-climactic: Oh yeah, this is just like palm sugar. We use that for cooking. In the end I don't know if they liked it or not, but we did have a great conversation at at the end of the might (about midnight) they invited me and this very tall Candaian Jeremy (who is actually learning Thai!) to join them for some food. It was great to try some of the local dishes, things I'd never even know to order. My favorite was black eggs with crispy fried basil leaves.

I stayed up too late packing, then got up early to try to shag a ride to the airport. I'd thought I'd end up on the bus (a complicated proposition) but missed it and had just decided to hitch when a bit of good luck struck. The Brazilian painter who has been working in Khao Lak was heading home by way of the airport in Phuket. Her ride stopped just in front of me and soon I had a ride too. She has long curly wild hair and does work with street kids in Rio. This morning she had no luggage but bags of what looked to be tossed-in supplies; there was green paint on her hands and a kitten in a box who was coming along to Brazil. (Don't ask me how she planned to manage this.) She and I have been speaking Spanish together, and suddenly I found myself switching back and forth between Spanish to talk to her and Thai to talk to the driver...at least I now know that the Spanish is pretty deep in my brain. The only problem is that I keep transporting the Thai "ka" (sort of like "uh-huh") into conversations in other langauges.

The flight went smoothly and I only got semi-ripped off by the taxi bringing me to meet Cheryl at the hotel she had told me about. While it's near the carnivalesque Khao San Road, it's much nicer, and quieter, than the Rainbow Guest House where I stayed before. Spent the afternoon walking around the amulet market and area near Thamassat University. I love this part of Bangkok, walking around among the fruit and amulet sellers. And I saw something today I can safely say I've never seem before: In Thailand they have these public toilets shaped sort of like large tin cans. As I was walking along I saw several people with chairs lined up on the sidewalk; they were actually staring into one of these bathrooms. As I walked by I saw that they actually had a tv set up in there!

As I think I mentioned before, I've also really been enjoying the English-language signs here. Among my favorites: "Please make sure you are wearing appropriate dresses before entering Grand Palace." "Do not put anything other than paper in toilet blow." "Cliff jumping--a memorable way to descend water." And today's favorite: "We buy everything. Thank you."

Later on I went to dinner at a place that serves "ancient" Thai recipes. The pumpkin and egg I had was less interesting than I'd hoped, but ok with my glass of lychee juice. (My goal is to try one of everything not available at home before I leave Thailand...) Although I'm checked into my hotel, I have yet to see Cheryl herself. We have some news to catch up on, but I gotta sleep. I am dead tired, and tomorrow morning it's off to Viet Nam for a completely different set of adventures....

It looks like a Russian gulag

The last foundation was poured at Laem Pom today, though I was working in another house and wasn’t there to see it. This was a big milestone. All the buildings are in and now just have to be finished.

The foundation would have been done on Friday, when I worked a line of cement buckets all morning and shoveled sand all afternoon—but midway through the afternoon one of the foundation walls collapsed. (This is what happens when the real builders decide to take off to Burma for two weeks—no one realizes they have to attach the walls to the poles at the corners.) Cement spilled out and the wall had to be shored up somehow. Evidently, it was somehow fixed and finished this afternoon.

My consolation was that I wasn’t the only one who missed it. The site was really quiet, since most of the volunteers went to Krabi island for a Thai raggae concert over the weekend and then forgot to come back. There were maybe 20 of us and all the Thai university students (150 or so) had gone. Rather than do pond dredging, I volunteered to go and do “plastering,” also known as rendering (to the Brits) or doing stucco (to me). I got to work in the shade and learn a new skill.

As it happened, the more experienced plasterer and I were the only volunteers working at the house with the blue roof. Tommy is a grad student from South Carolina who is studying architecture and planning. He told me that his thesis is on land rights, originally of the South Carolina Sea Islanders, but it may be comparative since their situation is so like the one at Laem Pom. We worked in the second floor loft of the house where a cool sea breeze ran through. Between Tommy’s patient instructions, we talked about poetry and architecture and fell into a comfortable silence.

It took me the entire morning to rough in the section of stucco on the small wall around the door. We were late breaking for lunch, but it was at lunchtime (as is so often the case) that the most major developments of my day took place. I met a New Zealander who used to live at Laem Pom and married one of the women from there. He had just, moments before, returned—the first time since the tsunami. As it happened, he had gone home for Christmas. ..otherwise, he was sure he would have been on the beach and been killed. He showed me pictures of his wedding, where the woman who is now the community leader had been his bridesmaid. “This used to be the garden,” he said, gesturing to the fly-filled kitchen area around us. In the photo were Eeetang’s daughter, the one who died in the tsunami so horribly, and several other kids. A man in the background was laughing and taking a photograph. All dead, he told me….only one of the boys from the photograph had been on a boat trip and so had survived. His siblings were all killed, and I realized suddenly how few children there are in the village. What must it be like to be a kid and suddenly lose not only your family but all the other kids? I also realized why they were all there and not at school…Christmas holidays.

I asked him about the village before and he told me there had been really nice bungalows and a bar his friend owned. “Now look at it,” he said, “it looks like a Russian gulag.” What I’d really been trying to ask was about the architecture—was it the same as what we’re building? From the photo it looked as though it might have been, but evidently not. “Thai style” was all he would say. “Now it looks like a concentration camp.” It wasn’t too great to be told this about the houses we’re labored over, but I can see where he’s coming from. If my neighborhood looked like Laem Pom does now I’d probably feel the same.

Since he spoke good Thai and was clearly friends with the village leader, I asked him (finally!) to ask her about the Moken, the Sea Gypsies. This is when I discovered that Laem Pom is not in fact the Sea Gypsy village as I had thought. Apparently, the Sea Gypsies live in Taptuan. The people in Laem Pom do seem ethnically different to me, though—for one they are quite dark—but I couldn’t ask for many details. He was clearly upset and a little shaky. As I watched Reetang’s eyes scan the photograph of her daughter I wanted to tell her in my broken Thai that it made me have “sad heart” but I felt it too clumsy and too obvious. I opted not to intrude and slipped away.

Tomorrow will be my last day in Laem Pom, and it feels really sad. It doesn’t feel like I’ve been here long enough….there is so much more to do, more I want to say to these people. If I’m able to come back, the project may be done….so I don’t want to go, even though I am longing to get back home too.

After lunch and dipping my feet in the sea, I learned how to smooth and polish the wall. I do think the smooth stucco looks pretty when it’s done, and the sand has lots of mica (or salt?) in it, so the surface seems to glitter if you look closely. By 3 I’d finished my wall and went downstairs to start on a second low wall of the patio. A really nice Thai guy was on site all day and though he wasn’t plastering—I’m not sure why—he kept us well supplied with buckets of concrete and water. He’d have one there before I was done with the last, then empty the old one before I even noticed it was gone. Between buckets he offered us rambutans and coco leaves, saying “you, you” and gesturing to eat. As the afternoon wore on, the Thais drowsed in their hammocks—they can sleep through seemingly any commontion—and I was determined to get the wall done before quittin’ time. There’s a study in culture for you…redheaded farang, genetically Calvinist, tried to atone for slow work before lunch….laid-back Thais decide not to knock themselves stupid in the heat.

Of course Tommy and I worked past 4:30 and then past 5:00, just as we’d worked past the start of lunch. I did get two of the three low walls done; working with stucco is not unlike working with clay. By the time we washed up and we ready to leave, the truck back to town had left without us. Neither of us was particularly surprised, nor were we that upset. I contemplated what it would be like to hitch a ride filthy as we were (Thais like to keep clean and even on the worksite somehow manage it.) We reappeared in the kitchen, where Reetang said “Khao Lak” and made steering-wheel motions. I nodded. “Kaa” (yes). She asked if we wanted something to eat and we somehow communicated that there was no need to call the crew on her cell, because someone was already headed to Khao Lak. I had just helped myself to a bowl of shrimp and glass noodles when the truck appeared, loaded with people and ready to go. Reedang said something to the effect of “take it with you” and I answered “reung niii” in Thai, pointing to the bowl. “Tomorrow,” a man nearby repeated. Thank the Goddess for gestures, or no one would ever learn anyone else’s language. Then I jumped in back with Tommy and it was dinner in the back of a truck speeding through the smells of evening jungle and cooking food. How can you beat that?

my cheap-ass luxury getaway (Part I: My posh hotel)

Warning: The following set of posts contains contradictary impulses and impressions. To anyone interested in accusing me of hypocrisy, I plead guilty now.


Part I: My Posh Hotel

I am desperately behind on my blog, thanks in large part to my trip to Phi Phi island this past weekend. Cheryl and I left on Friday night and stayed in Phuket, at the OnOn hotel where part of The Beach was filmed. I didn’t find it particularly picturesqure—more of a dive—but it was cheap, with glossy ivory walls, dark, sort-of-Portuguese woodwork, and a stifling-hot room with a wimpy fan.

Having gotten in late, we walked around the night market and I took photos of the food vendors…lots of good-looking fish and pans of alien-looking pink and green sweets. Cheryl kept seeing rats in the dark. From this nighttime perspective, Phuket itself seemed a little dive-y, the way I imagine Mexico City to be.

The next morning it was off to Phi Phi via the ferry. The trip over was amazing—hot sun and turquoise-indigo water. In the distance were islands of what looked like limestone, with steep, eroded cliffs. The jagged tops were covered with green and I kept watching one island (Phi Phi Le) as we approached. The outline of the hills looked sort of like a woman sleeping, and it was cool to see the strange shape get bigger and bigger. It was also on the boat that I had a severe attack of homesickness. I found myself wondering why, with such a spectacular view in front of me, I should long to be anywhere else. Really I think I wanted to share it—Alane should have been there. I sat on the boat as it hit big swells and focused on the horizon line to avoid getting sick, thinking about the things in life that steady us and how unfamiliar everything felt at the moment.

The harbor in Phi Phi was an amazing scene of aqua ocean with bright yellow and red boats, and steep cliffs topped with greenery in the distance. I found the view stunning as everyone does, especially the view across the island to a white beach on the other side. I could see palm trees whose tops had been ripped clean off, and beyond them the water. There was also a big banyan tree with ribbons tied around it, one of the sacred trees. I couldn’t help but remember that trees like this saved a lot of people during the tsunami—those who managed to hold on to them. Kind of like the elephants who save the elephant herders.

The view across the island seemed to rattle Cheryl. She had learned to dive on Phi Phi and couldn’t believe the extent of the destruction. She pointed out to me where her guest house used to be---that beautiful view to the other side of the island used to be hotels and shops. Now it’s reduced to rubble. There’s lots of this in the center of the island, and 1-storey trash-heap just as you get off the boat.

One of the first things we did was go to the dive camp, where I had heard I could go volunteer snorkeling with a net bag. A woman I met in Khao Lak told me that she used to do it every day for weeks and found things like passports , wallets and clothes. I really wanted to do this—to do something significant that could perhaps help identify someone—and to see what was down there in the intertidal zone. I’ve been told that everything that was in the houses and hotels is there now—all the clothes, tv sets, purses, microwaves, and everything else that was in the hotels and houses. It wasn’t until someone told me this that I realized how empty those photos of the beach wreckage really are. Lots of broken buildings, but none of the things that were in them.

At any rate, the guys at the dive camp were fairly discouraging. It was too late to go out snorkeling, that afternoon, and I was told that anyway that work is pretty much over and I’d probably be doing mainly beach cleanup if I stayed the extra day to work on Sunday. There didn’t seem to be much point, as I could be doing the same in Khao Lak, where the beaches haven’t been cleaned nearly as much. Cheryl was told that she didn’t have nearly enough dives to help with the larger underwater recovery efforts, and that the prospects for her being able to help once she logged enough dives were slim.

While Cherly talked to the dive camp guy, I noticed a plastic bin that said in magic marker, “Human bones and remains. Do not touch.” The guy interrupted the conversation—“Sorry, I have to do this”— to talk to two Thais who had come it. As it turns out, some of their possessions had been pulled up out of the water and identified—a wallet, some money, and I don’t know what all else. The young man and older woman looked somber as they accepted the plastic bag containing their possessions—evidence of life Before. Cheryl said she thought she saw the guy shed a tear or two as he took back whatever it was that had been recovered.

One of the guys at the dive camp did give us some advice on where to stay, so we decided to check out the Cabana—a once-posh hotel now offering deeply discounted rates. It wasn’t hard to see why. The huge rubbish heap is in front of the place now, and the downstairs lobby is half-trashed. A few fancy chairs and tables sit in the now-cavernous space. The place is eerily empty, and what was once an inner garden courtyard houses salt-damaged trees. Here and there are dangling bits of masonry. A small group of employees seemed huddled at a desk in one corner.

When we asked to see a room, we were shown one on the third floor—large, with a balcony and nice marble bathroom. It was upscale for a US hotel, but great for Thailand. After two weeks in my bungalow, with cold water and ants and nothing ever getting dry, I thought, why not? When will I ever be able to stay in a place like this again? (I was especially temped by the thought of hot water; there turned out not to be any.) The view was stunning, too—bright turquoise sea and an enormous, neon-blue curvaceous pool right below the balcony. The film footage of the tsunami coming into a similar hotel courtyard kept playing in my mind, but it still seemed too good to pass up. After getting the hotel workers to agree to reduce the price (no, we don’t want breakfast), the room was 500 baht for the two of us, which comes out to about 7 bucks. I have to admit that I felt pleased with myself. Call it seduction by the thought of a hot shower.

Although we’d been shown a nice third-floor room (the water hadn’t gone that high) the one we were assigned was on the second floor, where the room was just as nice but a distinct mildew scent prevailed. The carpet had light colored stains in places, as if from sand. The room number on the door was spelled out in mother of pearl, but the wood of the door had a huge gouge out of it. It actually looked as though someone had gone at it with a crowbar. Since the lock was decimated, a padlock had been put on the outside of the door and we were given the key to that. In the bathroom, the dark marble floor was sandy and wood of the cabinet was water-scarred beyond redemption. Between the queen-sized beds there was a fancy control panel for lights and the tv and radio, but only a couple of lights and no tv or radio. I suppose they are down in the inter-tidal zone with everything else. Cheryl and I put down our bags and traded morbid speculations about when the room had been broken into and why—was it to loot the place or to recover the bodies?.

After getting our room, we started back toward the main shop-lined street. Not far outside the hotel, Cheryl spotted a bone lying on the sand. It was a big bone, femur-esque but broken off quite short and flat on one side. There it was in plain sight, and the Thai guys sitting in the shade nearby apparently hadn’t noticed it. We ended up taking it to the local clinic, which collects such things and has an Australian forensics team try to ID them. One thing we learned is that since the tsunami bones have been found from previously-unknown species of sea creatures. So many strange and random effects when literally everything is swept away in the midst of its everything-ness.

My cheap-ass luxury getaway (Part II: I go scuba diving)

Part II: I go scuba diving

Cheryl was still keen on going scuba diving, and so we went back to the one dive shop that was will to take us out for the afternoon. The place is out of favor in Phi Phi, since they have done nothing to assist the dive camp, so deciding to patronize them was a bit of an ethical dilemma for both of us. Cheryl really wants to get her dive numbers up, though, and when I calculated that I could do the “Discover SCUBA” dive for about 60 dollars I began to consider the idea. Before this, the thought that I might someday go scuba diving had only crossed my mind as the vaguest of possibilities. I had always considered it something too expensive for the likes of me, though I do recall some far-off pinings when I used to watch underwater footage by Jaques Cousteau. Suddenly, here I was with the (terrifying) opportunity to do something I’d never seriously longed for or even considered before. I was tempted to chicken out and just wander around taking photographs and doing familiar things while Cheryl went out on her dive. In the end, though, I decided that this was my annoying and habitual fear-of-things-I’ve-never-done. I could hear Alane saying, “You should do it!” and decided she was right in abstentia. I bit the bullet and said I would go.

Scuba diving turns out to be a wonderful and terrifying experience. I don’t think I’ve ever even had a wet suit on before (The most equipment I’ve ever had have been some goggles) and suddenly I was putting on this thing that felt like a foam-rubber straightjacket. Then I got a belt with weights on it, and after that I was velcroed and buckled into an inflatable vest that felt like it was designed to restrict my lung capacity. After that, I was attached to a tank so heavy I could barely walk—and I was supposed to go in the water with this? Stepping up to the edge of the boat with all that gear on and being told to jump was, I imagine, a bit like skydiving for the first time. I hoped the nice Thai guy who was helping would shove me off the edge of the boat if I couldn’t bring myself to walk the plank, but after “wann, tooooo, thriiii!” I forced myself to step off the platform. Amazingly enough, I did not sink to the bottom like someone chained to a sixty-pound barbell.

Let me say this about scuba diving—there are a number of things about it that are distinctly not normal. I say this as a person who has swum since the age of 4 and logged literally hundreds of miles. Now, suddenly, I’m never supposed to hold my breath (it will burst my lungs!) and I have a plastic thing covering my nose. I’m supposed to breathe extra slowly through this thing in my mouth. (Extra slowly?) So I’m in the water and trying to swim without swimming….no arms. No arms. The tank on my back feels like it’s gonna flip me right over and…oh my god! I have plastic over my nose and I can’t get enough air! Get. to. surface! Throw out stupid regulator. Real air. Ok.
Control panic. Try it again..

After getting used to the weirdness of the breathing apparatus and telling myself, repeatedly, you have plenty of air, you have plenty of air, I was able to do the short skills session with the diving instructor. It was like being 4 years old and in swim class all over again…now we put our head under the water….now throw out your breathing apparatus and blow little bubbles. (What? Throw out my air? These people are insane. Who thought of this get-up anyway?) Now find your breathing apparatus and clear out the water. Put it back. I was told I did really well on the learning the skills, all of which were really pretty simple. When I finally remembered to exhale as well as inhale deeply, things got much better. Just like breathing in yoga class.

Once I had my skills down, we started our descent by a coral-covered rock wall. Now I can see why people love this sport. Right away I saw black and white angelfish and the most amazing little fluorescent purple flickers that I learned later are damselfish. We saw lobsters on the wall and they look completely different underwater—huge white antennas waving out of crevices. We also saw the purple tentacle of an octopus curled up beneath a rock. Huge plates of coral that looked like manta rays but weren’t, and sea fans seething with little fish, looking for all the world like the neural circuitry of a white, otherworldly brain. I’m told I saw a lionfish—dangerous ones with stripes and spines—but my favorites were the iridescent parrotfish, flashing green and indigo and blue as they swam by. It was just like Finding Nemo, only better. A whole different, teeming world. You could live on the surface forever and never have a clue. Maybe the most amazing thing was a satiny purple thing that seemed edged in black drapery fringe. It swirled around and seemed a sort of creature. I learned later it was an anemone.

The biggest problem, once I was under the water, was with my ears, which were intensely painful even when I did the pressure-equalizing exercises the instructor had drilled me on. I had to go down slowly, and several times come back up a little ways before I could try it again. Somewhere about halfway through the dive, when we were 10 or so meters down, I had another moment of panic. I can’t breathe! I want to go back up! But you can’t, Besides, you have plenty of air, you have plenty of air…. All in all the first dive was pretty amazing, despite the somewhat murky water. I learned later that some people never even make it that far, and Tony said I did great on my air, meaning that my breathing was slow and relaxed. I was so proud.

After going back up—more painful ear problems—we got back on the boat and went to the second site. I was just getting adjusted to being back with air and gravity when I had to jump into the water with all that stuff on…and get used to breathing through the regulator again. Once more I found that my life was in Tony’s hands. I have to say that he was great. He was right there with me, usually guiding me by the arm, which was just fine with me.On this dive we didn’t go as deep, but we were in slightly more open water. I saw branching red corals and Tony pointed out a long skinny thing that slipped through the water like an eel but turned out to be a razorfish. On the bottom were tons of sea urchins that looked like treacherous brown pompoms. Looking down on them, each seemed to have two several lights hidden among its spines—one purple and a few yellow. I suppose these were mouthparts. Down here were more parrotfish, fat sea-slugs and gold angelfish. We also saw a pufferfish, which I recognized from cooking shows, and a big flat fish, white with black speckles. It looked like dinner to me. Oh yes, and we did see a couple clownfish. Just like in the movies.

I have to say that I didn’t enjoy this second dive quite as much. The water here was really murky, and I just felt as though I’d had enough. Once I lost sight of Tony and got panicky again, though by this time I could imagine how I might handle ascending by myself. Then I turned around and he was right next to me. When we finally came up, we were much closer to the surface than I’d imagined. Cheryl had meanwhile found some stuff on the bottom—clothing and I don’t know what all else. All in all it was a good experience, but my ears hurt for the rest of the night and I could barely hear a thing.

Back at the dive shop, the woman working had a beautiful dragon tattoo on her arm that I had to compliment. She told me, “I was born in the year of the dragon, and I survived the tsunami, so I figure my dragon saved me.” I didn’t ask for other details, and she didn’t volunteer any. It's like this all the time here--one minute people are talking about how they survived the tsunami, then they catch themselves and the next minute they're joking around with you.

My cheap-ass luxury getaway (Part III: Midnight at the Cabana)

Part III: Midnight at the Cabana

By this time I was so hungry that I threatened to eat Cheryl's arm if she didn't stop chatting with the dive shop guy and go get some dinner. The people at the shop recommended going to a place called Papaya for dinner. After the dive and only one meal so far, I was starving. The restaurant was croweded—always a good sign, I thought—and I decided to order something new, fried cashew nuts with vegetables. We ordered. We waited. And waited. After half an hour Cheryl decided to go and tell the other dive shop, which was about to close, to hold a spot for her in the morning. I waited nearly another half hour before I finally got my food—a plate of stir-fried vegetables. I was too hungry to send it back, but I did (try) to complain to the waiter. No go there. In the end, I decided it was good, though not what I wanted. I wolfed it down as I watched Cheryl’s dinner, which had finally arrived, going cold on the plate. After another half hour or so she reappeared and I told her I had to go and call Alane. I still felt terribly homesick. That was when I discovered that calling the States from Phi Phi costs 30 baht a minute, which is about 75 cents. Suffice it to say that it was a short phone call.

When we settled into our tsunami-scarred room for the night, it felt as though we were the only people in the entire hotel. Cheryl got spooked by the thought that people had died there, and I got spooked by the idea that another tsunami could come in the night and wipe us out. The room really didn’t feel haunted to me, though the bathroom did seem creepy after dark. (What is it about bathrooms? Is it just me?) However, we made the best of it, and had some Thai whiskey and Birdy instant coffee out on the veranda—a surprisingly tasty drink. We talked, looked at the stars, listened to the ocean, and the tinkling of the fancy fountain in the pool.

After a bit, Cheryl fell asleep on the bed in her bathing suit and I read for a while. At about 1:30 I turned out the light. I heard what I took to be two small moans from Cheryl’s side of the room, as though she were having a bad dream. I was thinking of rousing her when I noticed that there was more light in the room than I’d thought there would be—some kind of white glow coming from over by the mini-fridge. I was just deciding that it must be some kind of small light I hadn’t noticed before when it faded out slowly and left the room in utter darkness. It didn’t come back on. Ok, weird, but since the day was an exercise in controlled panic, I noticed Cheryl’s phone plugged in nearby and decided it must be that. All the same, I turned on the bathroom light and left it on. Then I went to sleep thinking that as long as I could hear the sea I was probably ok, but that if the sound went away I’d have to wake up and run. In the morning, Cheryl told me that no calls had come in to her phone and there was no reason for the light to come on. I also double-checked and found no light on or near the fridge. Insert Twilight Zone theme here.

My cheap-ass luxury getaway (Part IV:I am a big freakin farang)

Part IV: I am a big freakin farang

Cheryl got up before I did and left early for her dive. I was planning to stay in Phi Phi, wander about taking photos and catch the afternoon boat rather than the morning one. After a quick cup of coffee, though, I realized I didn’t really want to stay. I’d wanted to go there to help, but the scene of tourists rebuilding there tourist paradise was really distasteful to me. Recovering people’s belongings from the water is admirable, as is the restoration of the coral reefs, but I’m less impressed by the presence of volunteers on Phi Phi than in Laem Pom and other places where building for the regular people is going on. I thought, it’s sort of a like a bunch of New Yorkers going to Maine after a tsunami and rebuilding only their favorite summer vacation spots. I wondered, too, about building up that gorgeous beach that was by all accounts so overdeveloped before the tsunami. Would it be better to leave it bare, as a natural resource for everyone? I quickly went back to the hotel, in time to grab my bags and get on the ferry before I realized I never had made it to the beautiful beach and hadn’t taken any pictures there or kayaked out to the islands as I’d hoped.

On the boat back I thought, there just isn’t any beautiful place left that hasn’t been taken over by fair-skinned tourists. We’ve gotten our paws in seemingly everywhere. And here I am, a fair-skinned tourist, wanting to be the only one experiencing the place—just like a bunch of other people. The result is these tourist havens where you have to fall all over other tourists. These places, nice as they can be, really play to my hatred of things fake. I want to go to a foreign country to yes, smell strange and disgusting smells, eat bizarre food, see things I never expected, and experience, insofar as I can, the daily lives of real people. Or at least talk to real people. What the tourists and tourist magnates create are bubbles of luxury. No real people, real food, real experience—just scenery to look at and everyone’s best effort to make you feel as if you haven’t left your nice Western developed country. In Thailand, you don’t even have to knock yourself out learning to say, “bring me a drink” in another language.

I know other people will take issue with me on this, and yes, tourism brings in income to the area, etc. It also, often, destroys the local culture and the natural places that made the place so appealing to begin with. I don’t know if this is the case with Phi Phi island, but that was the impression I got. On the ferry back I thought about how lucky I was in Ecuador, to be able to experience a little taste of indigenous life with such great people. I really regret that I haven’t been able to make more genuine contacts here, especially in Laem Pom. In large part it’s the language barrier. If I spoke better Thai, it could possibly happen. It’s also hard to break through the noise with so many volunteers running around. I do think it’s good work we’re doing there. Help out the real people, not the companies, not the Thai mafia and their would-be golf course. I decided then that, though temped, I am not buying one of the t-shirts everyone is wearing here, with Cocca-Cola written in Thai and the Coke logo flying underneath. Why give them free advertising?

Back in Phuklet, I made my way to the bus station and started looking for lunch. The last bit of luxury I endulged in before leaving was lunch at a really nice restaurant. This was more of an accident, really—I was looking for someplace that looked cool and like it had good food. Down from the street-stalls by the bus station (a little scary, those stalls—fish in the hot sun, anybody?) I discovered Je t’aime Vietnam, an upscale restaurant where well-heeled businesspeople were eating beautiful green salads and spring rolls. The disapproving stares from the waitstaff reminded me that I was carrying a huge backpack, wearing a tank top and a hat, and generally looking like a big freakin farang. (The Thais don’t seem to wear hats unless they have a really practical reason for doing so, and keeping the sun from cooking your Scottish skin isn’t among them. Also, no one understands Panama hats here…it feels like wearing a 10-gallon cowboy hat.) Still, they seated me, I put down my heavy packs and ordered a roselle shake (a reddish, almost rose-flavored fruit) and a spicy seafood salad. Then I looked up and realized that the TV was showing Carnivale, my favorite show. I can’t imagine what the Thais make of it. The food was delicious and left my lips absolutely burning. The meal was cheap by US standards but twice what I’d normally pay here. One doesn’t normally tip in Thailand but I don’t know the protocol for upscale lunch spots, so I figured, when a farang….and left one.

Then it was off to the bus—the non-air-conditioned bus, which is the one most Thai people seem to take. Hard blue schoolbus seats and blue curtains, overhead fans blowing the whole time and the windows open….it was great. I saw in back near the section for oversized cardboard boxes and burlap sacks filled with some large metal things, where my packs didn’t seem so out of place. I even lay down across the seats and slept part of the way. The conductor’s seat was across the aisle from mine, and the fortyish-woman who was the conductor was extremely efficient at getting people on and off. There was no way she was going to let me sleep through my stop. In fact, when we got there, she exhorted me to hurry and even pointed several times to the door.

Back in Khao Lak, I moved into Suzanna’s old digs. It will be nice to be in town instead of a mile and a half out. I have hot water!! No more working in the cold rain and coming home to a cold shower. No chance of that today, though. It’s been really sunny all day and when I got back I realized that my left ankle and right shoulder had gotten sunburned…ouch. That’s it for my fancy vacation. To more days in Khao Lak of relative comfort, then it will be back to Bangkok and on to Hanoi.

New pics

Nicole from Rutgers at the worksite.


Kids at Laempom, in the midst of it all.


In the rafters during the monsoon.


The floor we leveled...and leveled.


At the top of the waterfall.

under the weather

Yesterday I went to the worksite in spite of the scratchy feeling at the back of my throat. It was the most tiring day yet. We were put back on the house I’d first worked on, the day I was shoveling sand. When we got there, we were told that we hadn’t put enough sand in. We were told to fill to the red line someone had drawn, and so we spent most of the morning shoveling and wheelbarrowing sand. Our goal was to level the floor, but by lunchtime we had only about a quarter of the floor done.

After lunch, we were told that the red line we were told to fill to actually the cement line. As a result, we spent most of the afternoon moving the sand back out—this time, without the aid of the wheelbarrow. It was frustrating to see that mostly all we’d managed to do was to move a pile of sand from one place to another.The guy who sells ice cream and popsicles in the afternoon never showed up, and as the day wore on, I could feel my throat becoming more and more sore. By the end of the afternoon, we had moved most of the sand where it needed to be and had leveled about two-thirds of the floor. I was so tired I could barely move. The good news was that one of the women from Rutgers kindly allowed me to use her shower, so I had my first hot shower in what seemed like an eternity.

I realized I was coming down with something so I headed home after dinner last night and went to bed. I’d told my crew that I probably wouldn’t be out, so I slept in this morning. Actually, I slept all day. (Each time I woke up it was pouring rain, so it must have been pretty miserable out there.) At 2:30 or so I woke up and decided to get ready to go into town. After getting ready, I felt tired again and went back to sleep until about 6. While I don’t feel particularly better, the good news is that I also don’t feel any worse. I’m hoping I can nip this in the bud and not get really sick—apparently some of the volunteers have been throwing up. We’ll see how I feel tomorrow.

monsoon

Happy July 4th. Here it's been raining like mad all day. The monsoons are interesting--the rain comes on fast and usually disperses quickly, but today the rains just waxed and waned without really stopping. There are such sharp contrasts here--red earth and intensely green vegetation. When the sky goes grey-blue I look out at the rain pouring off the corrugated tin roof and can't believe I'm in such an alien landscape. Mostly the rain is warm, but today was a bit chilly. The morning was, if you will, a wash. By the time we had moved the bags of cement mix to the worksite, it was pouring again. The bags weigh 50 pounds dry and a lot more wet, and the wet bags tend to give out just as someone is hefting them off the truck. We covered them with a tarp and stood around in ponchos. I'm not really sure why, since we were all already soaked.

We broke early for lunch and I was feeling pretty useless when part of the kitchen/eating area in the camp started to flood. At first they had laid down concrete blocks to make stepping stones from one table to another, but then someone dropped off a load of sand and we spent about an hour shoveling, hoeing, raking and carrying sand to level out the floor. There was a large group of Thai university students at the site today. It was a bit surreal to see so many people shoveling sand as fast as they could, all wearing ponchos in pastel shades of green, pink, blue, and orange. Eventually we got the floor leveled out and it was good to feel like I'd helped accomplish something.

Back at the worksite, it was still raining, but we had cement to pour. This was for a partially-poured floor. The rest of the day was spent moving baskets of sand and stone for the cement mix. I spent much of my time trying to keep the cement mix out of the cuts on my fingers (I fell into some thorns at the waterfall yesterday and got kind cut up). Since no workgloves materialized, I wore the plastic bag from my poncho over my hand. Still, the bandaids kept coming off and anyway I had gotten sand in all of the from the big kitchen sand move.

Since I've been here, I've heard murmurings about there still being unrecovered bodies all along the coast. Apparently the authorities say that all bodies were either found or washed out to sea, but some of the volunteers who spent time collecting bodies after the initial disaster have said that they can still smell them. As I was working this afternoon, an unmistakable death-smell wafted in and out on the breeze. I think it came from one of the enormous tsunami trash-piles that are all around Laem Pom, but it was impossible to tell for sure. The smell would waft in--I really wanted to get away from it--and then it would dissipate. The really creepy part was that no one commented on it at all.

Later in the afternoon, I was putting my poncho on when I suddenly realized that the floor felt like thick mud under my feet. I'd walked right into the section of wet concrete. Once again, I found myself trying to apologize in Thai. This time it was to the man who had just finished leveling off the area where my two deep, huge footprints now stood. I can say "I'm sorry," in Thai, but that seemed like a long way from "oh jeez, what a klutz! It was an accident." At any rate, I tried to make amends by helping the man re-level that section of the floor.

One or two batches before we would have finished, we ran out of cement and the skies opened up. This marked the end of the day. By the time I got home I was filthy, wet, and cold. I would have sold a major body part for a hot shower, but there's no hot water in my bungalow. The breakers at the nature center blew out last night, so there was no electricity, either. (I heard the box go in a series of loud pops around 2 am and thought, wow, so this is how they celebrate 4th of July in Thailand.) Not too much fun, but I felt better after I finally got cleaned up. Now I just feel tired and a bit sore in the shoulders.

I found out on the way home that Rajim (the Czech guy) is leaving tomorrow, which makes me sad. When I asked what he'd done this weekend, he said he spent Sunday in meditation. As it turns out, he is a serious student of Buddhism. Tonight we had a long chat in very broken English, in which we managaed to discuss Paganism, Buddhism, our various career paths, and future travel plans. The conversation went something like this: Anne-- "Radim, If you (pointing) come U.S., you stay my house." Radim, after a moment-- "Ok! Understand." Then he cracked a big smile.

Other than that, Khao Lak is quiet. I think I'll head home and try to get the cement dust out of my throat.

durian and beach cleanup

To look at photos of the camps I wrote about on Friday, go to:
http://www.sendpix.com/albums/05070205/pfhnqyg02c/

I've been trying to post pictures to the blog for several days now, but the internet here is touch-and-go as it's mostly satellite and this is the rainy season. I will post more when I can.

At any rate, last night I ended up hanging out with some of the local shopkeepers, all young Thais. We ate durian together. They were so surprised to see a farang who would try one! One Thai guy who said he hadn't eaten it in 10 years gave it a whirl again...and one other Westerner came over and got in on the action too. I have to say that durian doesn't smell all that bad (at least not the ones I've had) and tastes pretty good. This one was much sweeter than the one I bought in Bangkok. The taste is pungent, and a little sweet, and the texture is custardy. I'm told you must drink lots of water with it (it is "heating"). One thing that rehydrates you and also kills the smell is to fill the shell with salty water and drink that. What I didn't know was that eating durian and drinking alcohol raises your blood pressure dangerously. It can actually kill you. No worries, though; I was only drinking water. Actually, after my day of feeling absolutely rotten and eating next to nothing, eating the durian made me feel much, much better.

When we finished with the durian I went to the next table and hung out with some Nepalese guys I'd been talking to the night before. They are great--one of them really wants to go to college but can't; he had to leave Nepal to find a better job here and only went to "level 10" which I think is pre-university. Now he works in a tailor shop. He told me that he can conduct business in about 10 languages! At the end of the night he borrowed a friend's motorbike to give me a ride home. Very sweet.

I have to say that riding motorbikes here is an unexpected bit of fun. You get on the back, take hold of the handles under the seat, and off you go, spinning through the twisty roads with the wind blowing through your hair. It can be scary and a little dangerous, but it's great. You can have a conversation with the other person, and the drivers are good about watching out for each other. The other alternative is being picked up by a truck. Some of the more interesting vehicles I've had rides in have been a big commercial truck whose door had a makeshift sliding lock you had to open and close by hand, a tour bus, and the back of a pickup loaded with logs cut in half from the sawmill.

This morning began with a motorbike ride from South African Bruce to a small waterfall near the nature center. The water pours over the falls and pounds almost horizontally against a tall rock at the bottom of the falls. I climbed up to the top of the falls using my prehensile toes to keep from sliding down the slick rocks.I made it to the top, with the digital camera no less. I could feel how old the falls are; the vibe there is not like anything I've ever experienced. Distinctly Asian. There was a small, perfectly round cove off to one side and a grove of bamboo at the top. Meanwhile, Bruce went in under the falls and let the water pound against him. It looked like fun.

As we left the waterfall, we passed some elephants that were grazing in a field the way cows might graze at home. One was resting his trunk on his tusks. Also saw some water buffalo--the grey kind with the big horns--later in the day. As I'm writing this, I can look up and see that the glass window is covered with little white gecko-undersides. It's hot in here from all the computers, so I suppose the heat attracts them.

After getting home and hitching a ride in the other direction, I met the beach cleanup crew. This was right around the corner from the "tropical paradise" beach I wrote about on Thursday, but god was it a mess. Everywhere there's wood tangled with nylon string, foam rubber and styrofoam. Broken glass, soles of sandals, burlap bags, bottles and people's backpacks filled with nothing but sand. The amount of cloth I found was impressive. One thing they're doing here as a fundraiser is making small cloth dolls from the tsunami clothing that washed up. Apparently, there was so much of it that they figured they'd put it to good use.

At any rate, I found I could fill a large Hefty bag in no time at all and it still didn't look as though I'd accomplished much. One volunteer who has been here since January told me that the beaches are actually much cleaner than they were. "When we first came out here, you couldn't even see sand," he told me. "You'd work and work to clear just a small area, and the next day it would be gone. We had trucks rolling in (on the tide) every day." The amount of junk that was left at low tide was still impressive to me--lots of clothes and bags, even a toilet seat. There were several wrecked boats up onshored. Beyond it all, the sea was indigo and turquoise and the palm trees waved in the breeze as if nothing had every disturbed them.

On my second Hefty bag I met a young woman, Yo. She who was part of a team of university students from Phuket who had joined us for the day. Her English is great (she's studying hotel management and tourism) and she taught me a bunch of words in Thai. I learned to say "shell" (hoy) and "coral" (pakarang; now I know why the place is called Cape Pakarang); also "heavy" when we took the bag in. She also taught me how to distinguish between "near" (glai) and "far" (glaiiii). (That one has given me problems, let me tell you.)

Now that I've been listening to Thai for about a week, I think I am starting to get the hang of the tones. Tonight I heard one of the waitresses at the cafe quizzing her mother about the menu items. The daughter would read the item in English ("orange") and the mother would have to come up with the Thai word (som). It made me laugh, because that's exactly what I've been doing.

BTW, a number of people have asked about the language barrier...the answer is that most of the Thais speak really good English and the foreigners can usually say "thank you" in Thai and that's about it. I have met a few farang who have learned, or are learning, Thai (mostly Peace Corps volunteers). As for me, I try to learn a few more words each day, just because I think it's rude to go to someone else's country and expect them to speak your language. I don't mean to suggest in these posts that I "speak" Thai...that would be a gross exaggeration. My knowledge is really shallow. I can do numbers and 25-30 phrases. The tones are hard but the grammar is easy, easy, easy! There are no verb conjugations and no noun-adjective agreement rules. Not at all like Greek or those other pain-in-the-butt Romance languages. You just say the person, the verb, and the adjective, so limited vocabulary can go a long way. One funny thing is the way that I've started Thai-ifying my English. "I go Khao Lak" is a perfectly fine sentence in Thai, but a little weird in English. The Thais say things like "when the tsunami was came." Somehow it all works out.

O.k, all finish. I go talk Nepalese guys now.