Last night the beautiful Eve took me out for dinner. Perhaps I am innocent, but it's not clear what her motivations are, exactly.
She took me to a restaurant so dark inside that you could barely find your way across the room; we sat in the most remote, romantic corner which was also right beneath the air-conditioning box, so it was chilly in my polo-shirt. The dim lamp was low over the table and we had to lean towards each other and shout because the music was so loud, loud enough to be a nightclub. I was the only foreigner in sight.
I met her, of course, through Sandy the pick-up artist, who was trying the other day to get her into bed, but unusually, failed. Eve is from near Chiang Mai, and works long hours coordinating exports of hyacinths and teak. She is always on her cell phone to some client, getting home from work late in the evening, missing lunch (our dinner was her lunch), flying to the other end of the country, speaking English to some clients, and in addition to Thai, able to speak the northern Lanna dialect, some Cambodian (Khmer) and a smattering of Mandarin Chinese.
She struck me as intelligent and discerning, mature and professional, wry and centred, respectable but possibly mischievous when no one's looking. She responded to Sandy's flirting but always with this amused expression as if she could see straight through his tactics, which, she told me, she could indeed. And yet, she was hanging out with him...and with me. For what, exactly? She said, temptingly, that she was looking around for a boyfriend, but not in a hurry. She seemed to just be being friendly, but then last night dressed to kill, smelling sumptuous, and chose such a romantic setting, ordering me more drinks when I'd finished the first, and often looking about with this odd little smirk on her lovely face. During dinner I came to expect that she'd suggest we go out somewhere afterwards, but then she informs me that she has to pick up a friend and drop me off.
She tells me her brother is a pick-up artist just like Sandy, and she likes to go and look at women with him in clubs. What did she think of his behavior? 'He can do what he wants.' Through all her respectability something about the smirk interested me. It transpired that she'd had an Australian boyfriend for a while, among others. Apparently she found it difficult that he didn't trust her. Her face remained innocent and sincere when I asked, wasn't she a bad girl too, sometimes? 'Oh no,' she insisted. I nudged her wryly, disbelieving. Eventually after the third nudge, she couldn't contain her composure, broke into a giggle, and said unwillingly, 'sometimes. Sometimes.'
Apparently, she has at least five suitors at the moment.
And she does /such/ a good job of maintaining her air of sophisticated, respectable, desirable unavailability.
She is called Eve, because she is the first woman, the oldest child of all her siblings and cousins, and so, the oldest grandchild too. I am also the oldest sibling and oldest grandchild. She said I should be called Adam. That would make us Adam and Eve. Hmmm...
Friday, March 28, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
Chiang Mai, N. Thailand; some vignettes
Sandy, the native Hawaiian/Australian pick-up artist, who has several dates a day every day, and, just for one example, met a beautiful woman walking past on the street by offering her a ride on his moped at about 1pm, got her number and called her later, and had slept with her by 5pm. Not unusual for him.
Driving up the mountain on my hired motorcycle with an astoundingly beautiful Lisu tribal woman on the back of my bike, on our way to the temple. Sandy had picked her and her (also stunning) friend up the night before. She was from a village in the remote Northwestern Mae Hong Son province, speaking Lisu first and Thai second; she showed me how to pray and make offerings in the gorgeous Doi Suthep temple; I followed her lead walking ceremonially three times around the large chedi (stupa), offering incense and candles and flowers, praying, and divining my fortune using numbered sticks shaken in a cup until one falls out. Her slow, faltering steps in her high heels as she walked down the long temple entrance staircase guarded by gigantic serpent-dragon statues with glossy ceramic scales like bits of tea-pot inlaid with mortar. The way she said thank you for every tiny thing like a well-trained child, and rode on the back of my moped effortlessly, as if it wasn't moving, holding onto nothing and fiddling with her handbag.
The Sunday crafts market, when the streets are closed to vehicles and there was a band of blind musicians busking and lifting their half-open eyes upward as they listened to each other; once only the drummers continued as one guitarist quickly adjusted his harmonica and the other talked on his cell-phone; I suppose they're used to being blind but their coordination of objects around them was impressive, and the music arresting.
Being 'used' by the two beautiful Thai girls who invited us from their gold Mercedes to got to an exclusive, private Karaoke club with them; 'we'll have a good time' they told us; they got the four of us a private room with plush sofas and own DJ...and then asked us to pay for it, the price being 10 times more than our initial understanding.
The woman working at a dirty, humble streetside restaurant with wobbly tables on the asphalt who just so happened to have a PhD in insect immunology from Sheffield, England.
Driving up the mountain on my hired motorcycle with an astoundingly beautiful Lisu tribal woman on the back of my bike, on our way to the temple. Sandy had picked her and her (also stunning) friend up the night before. She was from a village in the remote Northwestern Mae Hong Son province, speaking Lisu first and Thai second; she showed me how to pray and make offerings in the gorgeous Doi Suthep temple; I followed her lead walking ceremonially three times around the large chedi (stupa), offering incense and candles and flowers, praying, and divining my fortune using numbered sticks shaken in a cup until one falls out. Her slow, faltering steps in her high heels as she walked down the long temple entrance staircase guarded by gigantic serpent-dragon statues with glossy ceramic scales like bits of tea-pot inlaid with mortar. The way she said thank you for every tiny thing like a well-trained child, and rode on the back of my moped effortlessly, as if it wasn't moving, holding onto nothing and fiddling with her handbag.
The Sunday crafts market, when the streets are closed to vehicles and there was a band of blind musicians busking and lifting their half-open eyes upward as they listened to each other; once only the drummers continued as one guitarist quickly adjusted his harmonica and the other talked on his cell-phone; I suppose they're used to being blind but their coordination of objects around them was impressive, and the music arresting.
Being 'used' by the two beautiful Thai girls who invited us from their gold Mercedes to got to an exclusive, private Karaoke club with them; 'we'll have a good time' they told us; they got the four of us a private room with plush sofas and own DJ...and then asked us to pay for it, the price being 10 times more than our initial understanding.
The woman working at a dirty, humble streetside restaurant with wobbly tables on the asphalt who just so happened to have a PhD in insect immunology from Sheffield, England.
Finding the exit to the tourist bubble: closer than I thought.
Sick of the tourist bubble in Bangkok but unable to see the door--my only guide is Lonely Planet which IS the tourist bubble; if you talk to anyone they only know about the inside of the tourist bubble; they don't even know a Thailand outside that bubble exists. Yet I'd seen the outside in Phetchaburi, a town effectively without any foreigners in it, and thus no tourist industry. Now here I was stuck in it again. However, before I'd even left Bangkok for Chiang Mai, there, in the public bus station, I found the exit: I was outside the foreigner-bubble. It had all the elements of fascination, awkwardness, hyper-self-consciousness, linguistic difficulty, and emotional discomfort that comes with having stepped outside the tourist bubble, alone. There was a gigantic hall with large areas of rows of chairs for waiting, and crowds of people milling around: and not one foreigner in sight. It was exhilarating. Clearly, foreigners don't take public buses (which are much cheaper and less prone to robbery), but pay through the nose for travel agents to arrange special tourist buses, get their bags stolen often and are ripped off. Clearly, most tourists don't even /read/ their Lonely Planet guides (myself included, mostly) as all the public bus info is in there, and warnings against ripoff tourist buses. It was exciting to have been able to dip my toe outside the tourist bubble with so little effort, and sit there on the edge of my discomfort, being stared at and staring. And scribbling constantly in my journal or rummaging incessantly through my backpack, as befits my role as a backpacker.
The tourist bubble, it seems, is more than merely a matter of beaten paths along popular and well-infrastructured routes. In Bangkok's Khao San area, which is the total epicentre of Thailand's massive tourist industry (it's biggest industry by far), you can, if you know where, walk a mere 10 metres down an alley, and be back in 'real' Thailand. There are umpteen whole restaurants where you /never/ see a foreigner, right there in the centre of Khao San. It's astounding how foreigners simply don't, for the most part, explore. Above all, they don't walk. Should you venture a block or two from Khao San road, you don't need to know about the alleys to escape the farangs (foreigners), there just /aren't any/. It baffles me, the strange way in which the tourist bubble works. Even if I depend on Lonely Planet, I've discovered, I can still see a Thailand relatively untainted by the tentacles of the tourist industry, and relatively free of the crouds of beerswilling Brits, Aussies and Israelis.
The tourist bubble, it seems, is more than merely a matter of beaten paths along popular and well-infrastructured routes. In Bangkok's Khao San area, which is the total epicentre of Thailand's massive tourist industry (it's biggest industry by far), you can, if you know where, walk a mere 10 metres down an alley, and be back in 'real' Thailand. There are umpteen whole restaurants where you /never/ see a foreigner, right there in the centre of Khao San. It's astounding how foreigners simply don't, for the most part, explore. Above all, they don't walk. Should you venture a block or two from Khao San road, you don't need to know about the alleys to escape the farangs (foreigners), there just /aren't any/. It baffles me, the strange way in which the tourist bubble works. Even if I depend on Lonely Planet, I've discovered, I can still see a Thailand relatively untainted by the tentacles of the tourist industry, and relatively free of the crouds of beerswilling Brits, Aussies and Israelis.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Vignettes 2
The beautiful 'Lady-boys' (transexuals) who stand like prostitutes on street-corners in short skirts with dainty handbags and call out, 'Where you go darling?'
They also walk down the street past my hostel at about 5 in the morning: just before the monks come out walking to beg for their food for the day.
The hordes of disastrously beautiful Israeli women tourists who are the epitome of unavailable, as they tell us they would never consider dating a non-Israeli man. Pity.
The contrast between the swish clean Westernized shiny gigantic malls and a block away the khlong (canal) taxis of Old Bangkok, which used to be called the Venice of the East. These boats carry more people than a bus, and are fast and efficient, and cheap. Their routes are limited now as many canals have been closed, but they are still heavily used by Thais and there are always a few bewildered looking tourists on them too. Today, having taken them several times before, I knew the routine and felt like a past master, sliding to one side or the other depending on which side of the khlong the boat stops at next to make room for new passengers; pulling up the fabric splash-shield as the boat sped up; feeling relaxed. Two older British tourists looked anxious, confused, and clearly didn't understand how the whole thing worked, and didn't know when or how to get off. That was me recently; but it's interesting to watch 'fresh' tourists from the outside. They really do look clumsy and out of place.
The Americans who don't know how to cross roads without pedestrian crossings. They wait on the curb expecting something to happen. 'So...you just cross any time?' one woman asked me bewildered. There was a zebra crossing (white stripes) but no traffic stops unless you step into the street. 'Yes, whenever you want,' I told her. She was confused. An older Thai man beckoned her across at an appropriate moment.
The joke of walking one block away from the tourist zone of Khao San Road area and suddenly seeing not a single foreigner: Apparently, tourists don't walk. Not even 50-100 metres. Or even just walking to the end of the block, in some cases, or down an alley, where there are entire outdoor restaurants with not a single foreigner sitting in them, but stuffed full of Thais. The food is more authentic, excellent, and about 1/3 of the price, or less, than in the 'tourist' restaurants. It's beyond me why tourists don't eat in these places.
The young tourist man screaming 'HELP! POLICE! THEY STOLE MY BAG! POLICE! POLICE! SOMEBODY HELP! HELP' --over and over again, and everyone, tourists and Thais, just either walking past or staring at him. I couldn't bear it so went up to him and talked with him. He was beyond listening. A Thai woman at a streetstall said 'Maybe you should not shout because people will think you are crazy, and go to the police: it is better.' But he kept shouting, beside himself. The apparent thieves stood at hand, visible through the open doorway and glass wall of their shop.
The young Swedish fellow who laughs and says 'it was totally worth it' when he describes how he broke all his promises to himself about what he wouldn't do in Thailand: Use drugs, get a tattoo, have sex with a prostitute.
Desperate, limbless beggars next to stalls that sell specifically, only extremely specialized luxury items: one sells a particular kind of puzzle-piece lampshade; another sells only fire-whirling (poi) equipment.
How I become used to 'Westernized' Thailand-- the fact that there is no traditional dress left in Bangkok (except the hats street-sellers wear), and that materially Bangkok is very Westernized, with almost everything mass-produced and mechanized--and then I go from the tourist zone to the major central shopping malls at Siam Square, and notice that everything, even huge advertizing boards, is written in English, and that most of the models are white Europeans...and I feel like it's going too far. This is Thailand. Why in English? Because it's cool? Who's it for? Most people in the mall are Thai...And models: Thai people are extremely goodlooking; why use massive images of Marilyn Monroe and other white blondes? It felt racist and culturally offensive to me.
Nonetheless the mall has a huge spirit-house outside it that is sparkling and always has people holding incense and praying in front of it, and is brimming with models of animals: it is the spirits of the animals, apparently--especially elephants, also dogs-- that are honoured and prayed to here, usually by women in business-suits.
The way most tourists don't 'see' Thai people, at least in the tourist zone. They walk into a shop and ignore the shopkeeper, who is always ready to greet them with a smile and a traditional 'wai' bow of respect; the tourists act as if the Thais aren't even there. They browse and leave without eye-contact or a simple nod of thanks. When I'm shopping with a friend I find myself doing these polite basics for them, as it only seems like a kind of (unconscious) racism otherwise, as if only foreigners are human. I do'nt understand how they can seem to be friendly and respectful to other foreigners, but not to Thais: I'm sure they don't mean it, but it is blatant. As one friend put it, it's as if 'the brown people are invisible'. But they're not. They're right there, and they're really nice--actually often a lot nicer than other tourists.
I think this kind of attitude--tourists' unconscious (or conscious) rudeness--creates a lot of the unpleasantness of the tourist trade, encouraging tourist-oriented Thais to rip off foreigners or lose the smiles and generosity that I've seen elsewhere in Thailand, occasionally becoming rude and, in the case of drivers and agencies, deceptive. Having visited the tourist bubble now, I see how the vast majority of tourists don't meet any Thais who aren't employed in the tourist trade. In this way, are tourists really seeing Thailand? Or are they just seeing the ugly reflections of their own cultures and attitudes?
They also walk down the street past my hostel at about 5 in the morning: just before the monks come out walking to beg for their food for the day.
The hordes of disastrously beautiful Israeli women tourists who are the epitome of unavailable, as they tell us they would never consider dating a non-Israeli man. Pity.
The contrast between the swish clean Westernized shiny gigantic malls and a block away the khlong (canal) taxis of Old Bangkok, which used to be called the Venice of the East. These boats carry more people than a bus, and are fast and efficient, and cheap. Their routes are limited now as many canals have been closed, but they are still heavily used by Thais and there are always a few bewildered looking tourists on them too. Today, having taken them several times before, I knew the routine and felt like a past master, sliding to one side or the other depending on which side of the khlong the boat stops at next to make room for new passengers; pulling up the fabric splash-shield as the boat sped up; feeling relaxed. Two older British tourists looked anxious, confused, and clearly didn't understand how the whole thing worked, and didn't know when or how to get off. That was me recently; but it's interesting to watch 'fresh' tourists from the outside. They really do look clumsy and out of place.
The Americans who don't know how to cross roads without pedestrian crossings. They wait on the curb expecting something to happen. 'So...you just cross any time?' one woman asked me bewildered. There was a zebra crossing (white stripes) but no traffic stops unless you step into the street. 'Yes, whenever you want,' I told her. She was confused. An older Thai man beckoned her across at an appropriate moment.
The joke of walking one block away from the tourist zone of Khao San Road area and suddenly seeing not a single foreigner: Apparently, tourists don't walk. Not even 50-100 metres. Or even just walking to the end of the block, in some cases, or down an alley, where there are entire outdoor restaurants with not a single foreigner sitting in them, but stuffed full of Thais. The food is more authentic, excellent, and about 1/3 of the price, or less, than in the 'tourist' restaurants. It's beyond me why tourists don't eat in these places.
The young tourist man screaming 'HELP! POLICE! THEY STOLE MY BAG! POLICE! POLICE! SOMEBODY HELP! HELP' --over and over again, and everyone, tourists and Thais, just either walking past or staring at him. I couldn't bear it so went up to him and talked with him. He was beyond listening. A Thai woman at a streetstall said 'Maybe you should not shout because people will think you are crazy, and go to the police: it is better.' But he kept shouting, beside himself. The apparent thieves stood at hand, visible through the open doorway and glass wall of their shop.
The young Swedish fellow who laughs and says 'it was totally worth it' when he describes how he broke all his promises to himself about what he wouldn't do in Thailand: Use drugs, get a tattoo, have sex with a prostitute.
Desperate, limbless beggars next to stalls that sell specifically, only extremely specialized luxury items: one sells a particular kind of puzzle-piece lampshade; another sells only fire-whirling (poi) equipment.
How I become used to 'Westernized' Thailand-- the fact that there is no traditional dress left in Bangkok (except the hats street-sellers wear), and that materially Bangkok is very Westernized, with almost everything mass-produced and mechanized--and then I go from the tourist zone to the major central shopping malls at Siam Square, and notice that everything, even huge advertizing boards, is written in English, and that most of the models are white Europeans...and I feel like it's going too far. This is Thailand. Why in English? Because it's cool? Who's it for? Most people in the mall are Thai...And models: Thai people are extremely goodlooking; why use massive images of Marilyn Monroe and other white blondes? It felt racist and culturally offensive to me.
Nonetheless the mall has a huge spirit-house outside it that is sparkling and always has people holding incense and praying in front of it, and is brimming with models of animals: it is the spirits of the animals, apparently--especially elephants, also dogs-- that are honoured and prayed to here, usually by women in business-suits.
The way most tourists don't 'see' Thai people, at least in the tourist zone. They walk into a shop and ignore the shopkeeper, who is always ready to greet them with a smile and a traditional 'wai' bow of respect; the tourists act as if the Thais aren't even there. They browse and leave without eye-contact or a simple nod of thanks. When I'm shopping with a friend I find myself doing these polite basics for them, as it only seems like a kind of (unconscious) racism otherwise, as if only foreigners are human. I do'nt understand how they can seem to be friendly and respectful to other foreigners, but not to Thais: I'm sure they don't mean it, but it is blatant. As one friend put it, it's as if 'the brown people are invisible'. But they're not. They're right there, and they're really nice--actually often a lot nicer than other tourists.
I think this kind of attitude--tourists' unconscious (or conscious) rudeness--creates a lot of the unpleasantness of the tourist trade, encouraging tourist-oriented Thais to rip off foreigners or lose the smiles and generosity that I've seen elsewhere in Thailand, occasionally becoming rude and, in the case of drivers and agencies, deceptive. Having visited the tourist bubble now, I see how the vast majority of tourists don't meet any Thais who aren't employed in the tourist trade. In this way, are tourists really seeing Thailand? Or are they just seeing the ugly reflections of their own cultures and attitudes?
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Stung all over my head by jungle bees
As pointed out by one friend, this is another of those 'wow' stories that if not careful sounds like you're showing off and trying to impress other people with how cool your experiences have been. I tell it more because I'm laughing at myself. The jungle yielded a number of such stories; analyse my reasons for telling them any way you will. I hope they're at least entertaining; that's my main intention.
Camping in hammocks strung between saplings deep in the untouched jungle in the mountains towards the Burmese border, Ashton and his men (and a couple of women) gathered wild plants as they could to supplement the meagre fare their porters had brought with them. Their campsite overlooked a brook frequented by the dangerous but elusive wild Gaur and Elepant, and at night they huddled around the campfire to the often inexplicable chorus of jungle sounds, including the crying of a pair of tigers around the camp....
OK enough of that tone. All of the above is true but it's unnecessarily dramatic. We had Thai jungle guides with us as the three of us didn't know the terrain and weren't familiar with all of the dangers. There were always at least 3 guides with us, sometimes four, and sometimes SEVEN guides for three tourists. Hmmm. So that doesn't make us sound so intrepid, does it.
One day I went off to poo, as you do, not too far from camp because of the tigers, but not too close because of the people. This resulted in a rather well-pooed circle at a certain distance from the camp, so you had to watch where you were stepping, as the leaf-litter, though deep, was light and fluffy and you might step through it onto something you didn't want to.
After making my deposit to the Jungle Nutrient Bank, I stood up and took two steps to stand behind a tree to do a tick-check, not wanting to get the uniformly fatal endemic Tick-Borne Encephalitis sooner than necessary.
Suddenly I felt painful sharp stings all over my forehead, ears, and near my eyes. I must have stepped into a jungle bees nest, though I didn't open my eyes to check, and I brushed whatever it was off my face as fast as I could, blundering backwards through the brush, keeping my head low, trying not to panic, and expecting any moment to be swarmed by them and that I'd have to scream and run for my life. However, the attackers chose not to pursue any further; no swarm descended on me. But in the process of my enthusiastic swiping to get them to stop stinging my face, I had knocked my glasses off into the leaf litter. Cautiously I opened my eyes, without moving, and tried to spot my glasses; I knew they couldn't be far away, but of course, I couldn't see them. I looked closely, but they were no-where to be found.
My stings smarting, I wandered with pounding heart and raised adrenaline back to camp, and calmly told the guides I'd been stung all over the head by bees. They shrugged; only one spoke English, but despite the fact that I told them in Thai, I guess my calm body language communicated that it wasn't too much to worry about. So much for getting medical attention. I suppose these particular bees, or wasps, or stinging ants, or whatever it was that swarmed me in that moment, were not going to be life-threatening. Fortunately I had a spare pair of glasses and dared to tip-toe back to the bees' nest site and with their help, found the original pair. Phew!
Camping in hammocks strung between saplings deep in the untouched jungle in the mountains towards the Burmese border, Ashton and his men (and a couple of women) gathered wild plants as they could to supplement the meagre fare their porters had brought with them. Their campsite overlooked a brook frequented by the dangerous but elusive wild Gaur and Elepant, and at night they huddled around the campfire to the often inexplicable chorus of jungle sounds, including the crying of a pair of tigers around the camp....
OK enough of that tone. All of the above is true but it's unnecessarily dramatic. We had Thai jungle guides with us as the three of us didn't know the terrain and weren't familiar with all of the dangers. There were always at least 3 guides with us, sometimes four, and sometimes SEVEN guides for three tourists. Hmmm. So that doesn't make us sound so intrepid, does it.
One day I went off to poo, as you do, not too far from camp because of the tigers, but not too close because of the people. This resulted in a rather well-pooed circle at a certain distance from the camp, so you had to watch where you were stepping, as the leaf-litter, though deep, was light and fluffy and you might step through it onto something you didn't want to.
After making my deposit to the Jungle Nutrient Bank, I stood up and took two steps to stand behind a tree to do a tick-check, not wanting to get the uniformly fatal endemic Tick-Borne Encephalitis sooner than necessary.
Suddenly I felt painful sharp stings all over my forehead, ears, and near my eyes. I must have stepped into a jungle bees nest, though I didn't open my eyes to check, and I brushed whatever it was off my face as fast as I could, blundering backwards through the brush, keeping my head low, trying not to panic, and expecting any moment to be swarmed by them and that I'd have to scream and run for my life. However, the attackers chose not to pursue any further; no swarm descended on me. But in the process of my enthusiastic swiping to get them to stop stinging my face, I had knocked my glasses off into the leaf litter. Cautiously I opened my eyes, without moving, and tried to spot my glasses; I knew they couldn't be far away, but of course, I couldn't see them. I looked closely, but they were no-where to be found.
My stings smarting, I wandered with pounding heart and raised adrenaline back to camp, and calmly told the guides I'd been stung all over the head by bees. They shrugged; only one spoke English, but despite the fact that I told them in Thai, I guess my calm body language communicated that it wasn't too much to worry about. So much for getting medical attention. I suppose these particular bees, or wasps, or stinging ants, or whatever it was that swarmed me in that moment, were not going to be life-threatening. Fortunately I had a spare pair of glasses and dared to tip-toe back to the bees' nest site and with their help, found the original pair. Phew!
Bitten by a possibly rabid dog
On Tue, March 4, 2008 15:00, Roy Ashton wrote:
I'm in a bright yellow room with a too-bright computer screen that hurts my eyes. 5 different loud pop-musics are cacophoning around me in this internet cafe that's evidently for Thais not tourists as the price is much too low, 15 Baht an hour instead of the 180 Baht an hour I paid 2 days ago. Back in Ranong, mainland town, sooner than expected. I was just getting into the peaceful rhythm of a wonderfully slow and replenishing life on Koh Chang, 'elephant island', a good hour's ferry-ride from Ranong, capital of Thailand's least inhabited province, in the South of the country just across the river from Burma/Myanmar.
One of the quietest islands left in Thailand I'm told. Like they all used to be 15 years ago. Double-bed bungalow for 150/night, own shower and loo. 40 mins walk from the nearest shop which is v. minimal, and one of two on the island it seems; only two internet terminals, both someone's laptop and mega-expensive. Brahminy Kites soaring everywhere, saw a sea eagle and a fairy bluebird and lots of Oriental Pied Hornbills. It was magic, like the family summer holidays of my childhood when my brother and I would just spend all day doing nothing and/or exploring nature. All I did was go for walks, watch birds, lie in hammock, eat good food, dip in ocean, write in diary, meditate, chill out. It was exactly what I needed after nearly 2 weeks of cough/cold and lots of stress of various kinds. I finally understood why people like going to the beach (there was no-one on it and the sea was warm, the coast was covered in rainforest or banana and rubber trees).
So of course I wanted to stay as long as possible. However, my friend ironically wanted to leave as soon as possible. She was restless, saying 'there's absolutely NO-THING going on here!'
I guess it's really taught me how I'm just not an urban person and plenty of quiet and rural space is wonderful for me. On all our childhood summer holidays in France my brother Kim and I did 'nothing' and yet we loved it and it was the best thing all year for me as a child. We just played outside, birdwatched, chased lizards and butterflies. We needed nothing more. I realise that I still don't! As I am a birdwatcher and tracker nature is endlessly fascinating. For me, every gecko, every large flying beetle, every sunbird or raptor is a source of wonder and interest that is very sustaining and fulfilling. Anyhow, I had pursuaded my friend to stay until the next day.
So today, with some sadness, I got up early to enjoy the most of my last day on the island. I got up with the light, around 6.45 am, and took my binocs and empty backpack to walk the 40 mins to the nearest shop (one of only two) to buy some water that wasn't overpriced like it was at our bungalow-resort (half the price actually). But just as I got to the driveway to the shop, 6 dogs attacked me suddenly. I wasn't too phased being somewhat used to this show of agression; usually some gesturing and arm-waving is enough to dispel them, though you have to keep looking behind you as they always try to creep up behind you and bite your achilles' tendons. Bastards. Never turn your back!
Dogs here are Jekyll-and-Hyde characters for sure, being lazy and charming and friendly during the day, but teaming up in evil bloodthirsty bands to terrorize the neighbourhoods at night, barking maniacally and attacking people readily, especially foreigners, who they can apparently smell are from out of town. The 6 or so dogs this morning were led by two dominant ones who were apparently more Hyde than Jekyll, or whichever way it would be having never read the book. The big grey one came too close and wasn't frightened enough of my gesturing. I kept walking as this usually works,but the path was narrow and soon they were around me. I kept the grey one at bay by facing it but this allowed his number two to get me from the side in a quick movement that was too fast for me to respond to while still fending off the alpha.
Before I knew it the brown one had bitten me in the right shin, hard, and it hurt a lot. There was a slow-motion moment when I knew its face was coming too close and there was nothing I could do about it like in a bad dream, but it was soon over. Then the whole clan left in a rush, running away.
Hit and run. Bastards.
I quickly examined the damage. There was a wet shiny saliva-soaked patch on my thin trousers. I pulled them up to see an already deep purple bruise and a clear graze with scarlet blood already present. Fuck.
I took my zip-off trouser-leg off and with unsalivated bits of it wiped the wound in hope of removing any superfluous rabid saliva that had decided not to grace my bloodstream with its presence. I paused there feeling nothing, utterly rational, totally calm. What do I do now.
"Sprachen Sie Deutch?" "Ein Bischen." "Magen Sie etwas fur die Wunde?....."
It was a middle-aged German couple who had seen the whole event and offered me Iodine for the wound which I gratefully accepted. I was clearly very adrenalized but acting calm and rational. Suddenly my German was good enough to communicate; we had the entire conversation in German; amazing what adrenaline will do. I told them I was afraid of Rabies and asked the man whether he thought there was a danger, he said no but you never know. The couple had watched the grey and brown dogs attack various people and knew of their biting 4 people in the last month alone, yet the shopkeepers do nothing.
At the shop I went and saw a man about a dog but although he looked at my wound he did indeed do nothing. I bought the water from him and tried to find a stick for the way home but on reading my body language the man offered me a nice long heavy cane which I gripped like a sword and then, feeling a lot of anger and hatred towards those dogs and knowing that I'd beat them in a fight if I had a stick, I actually wanted to meet them again on the way home. At the same time I kept looking behind me and glared daggers and hackles at every dog I saw, them all being now evil vampires pretending to be all cute-and-pathetic lazing in the sun. But no dogs attacked me on the way home.
I considered for a small moment what to do. I knew I had one hour to get treatment. I could not rationally assess the risk or what to do and needed to talk to someone I could trust and in English. I needed to talk with my friend. She's a nurse, she would bring me down to earth, she would tell me whether or not I was overreacting or whether I should get to a hospital right now even if it was annoying and inconvenient. Without thinking any further I headed home fearfully, hating dogs, avoiding eye-contact, resenting the fact that I couldn't appreciate the walk or the birdcalls any more, that I didn't care about the tracks any more or whether I'd miss some new species; I saw the best view ever of the very secretive and hard to see Greater Coucal but didn't even stop to look; this was life-and-death. So much for a peaceful last day on the island.
About half way home I realised that the 40 minute walk would use up most of my hour-left-to-live, hour-to-get-immunoglobulin. And that there was a nurse or doctor marked on the map I'd seen. But it was too late to go back to the shop; what would I do if my friend wasn't at her bungalow?
I got back, at last, all shaky and feeling horrible. Having not drank a drop despite the heat and fast walking with heavy 6-litres in my pack plus binocs and birdbook. The people there smiled at me. Insanely, I smiled back as if nothing was awry. My friend was not at home. What was I going to do?
I needed to talk to someone. I couldn't think straight or act clearly. I knew the risk was probably low but couldn't let go of the fact that I should be taking some action here.
Although avoiding panic, I saw my mind distort the situation through fears and this made simple decisions difficult. Suddenly it was the biggest deal to go and talk with the hotel reception people and scary and I didn't want to set anything in motion and then I wouldn't let myself NOT do it and so I was caught in this paralysis of fear and self-punishment at my inability to act in this urgent situation.
I sat on my balcony drinking water, waiting for my friend, eating some food. I washed the cut with soap and water and put on tea-tree oil. I waited some more. I left my friend a note saying I needed to talk with her. I agonized and struggled with myself. I was reminded of times when I have been unable because of some kind of fear trigger to reach out for my basic needs. I was caught in one of those frozen moments. I could not act. Yet I knew that not acting was choosing on some level to die: or at least to take no action which might result in death. But I could not act and I felt I had to give into that. I knew it was insane; I knew I was choosing to die for no reason, but there was this immense barrier to overcome in myself to tell anybody and strange as it might sound, I just couldn't do it.
It occurred to me that this was some kind of denial. I jsut wanted to go to sleep and forget about it all, to calm down. I lay on my bed under mosquito net and relaxed but ddin't let myself lose consciousness, I stayed present. I reflected that my fate was on some level out of my hands and this helped me relax. I put back on the Buddha-shaped protection necklace (worn by everyone in Thailand) that I'd taken off last night and not worn all day (interesting...hmmm...) and that gave me a palpable shroud of relief. Then somehow I could do it. I went and talked to the people.
My friend didn't turn up but I saw a Thai doctor who happened to be nearby and had the wound cleaned twice more with alcohol then with iodine stuff that was supposed to be antiviral too. Everyone who saw me encouraged me to leave the island on the 2pm boat and go to the hospital, have to shorten story as internet shutting, basically I did and got one jab ....
---------------------------------Written 4th March.------------------------
.....and since have had another. I am still alive and feeling no worse for the wear.. that's the story so far...
I'm in a bright yellow room with a too-bright computer screen that hurts my eyes. 5 different loud pop-musics are cacophoning around me in this internet cafe that's evidently for Thais not tourists as the price is much too low, 15 Baht an hour instead of the 180 Baht an hour I paid 2 days ago. Back in Ranong, mainland town, sooner than expected. I was just getting into the peaceful rhythm of a wonderfully slow and replenishing life on Koh Chang, 'elephant island', a good hour's ferry-ride from Ranong, capital of Thailand's least inhabited province, in the South of the country just across the river from Burma/Myanmar.
One of the quietest islands left in Thailand I'm told. Like they all used to be 15 years ago. Double-bed bungalow for 150/night, own shower and loo. 40 mins walk from the nearest shop which is v. minimal, and one of two on the island it seems; only two internet terminals, both someone's laptop and mega-expensive. Brahminy Kites soaring everywhere, saw a sea eagle and a fairy bluebird and lots of Oriental Pied Hornbills. It was magic, like the family summer holidays of my childhood when my brother and I would just spend all day doing nothing and/or exploring nature. All I did was go for walks, watch birds, lie in hammock, eat good food, dip in ocean, write in diary, meditate, chill out. It was exactly what I needed after nearly 2 weeks of cough/cold and lots of stress of various kinds. I finally understood why people like going to the beach (there was no-one on it and the sea was warm, the coast was covered in rainforest or banana and rubber trees).
So of course I wanted to stay as long as possible. However, my friend ironically wanted to leave as soon as possible. She was restless, saying 'there's absolutely NO-THING going on here!'
I guess it's really taught me how I'm just not an urban person and plenty of quiet and rural space is wonderful for me. On all our childhood summer holidays in France my brother Kim and I did 'nothing' and yet we loved it and it was the best thing all year for me as a child. We just played outside, birdwatched, chased lizards and butterflies. We needed nothing more. I realise that I still don't! As I am a birdwatcher and tracker nature is endlessly fascinating. For me, every gecko, every large flying beetle, every sunbird or raptor is a source of wonder and interest that is very sustaining and fulfilling. Anyhow, I had pursuaded my friend to stay until the next day.
So today, with some sadness, I got up early to enjoy the most of my last day on the island. I got up with the light, around 6.45 am, and took my binocs and empty backpack to walk the 40 mins to the nearest shop (one of only two) to buy some water that wasn't overpriced like it was at our bungalow-resort (half the price actually). But just as I got to the driveway to the shop, 6 dogs attacked me suddenly. I wasn't too phased being somewhat used to this show of agression; usually some gesturing and arm-waving is enough to dispel them, though you have to keep looking behind you as they always try to creep up behind you and bite your achilles' tendons. Bastards. Never turn your back!
Dogs here are Jekyll-and-Hyde characters for sure, being lazy and charming and friendly during the day, but teaming up in evil bloodthirsty bands to terrorize the neighbourhoods at night, barking maniacally and attacking people readily, especially foreigners, who they can apparently smell are from out of town. The 6 or so dogs this morning were led by two dominant ones who were apparently more Hyde than Jekyll, or whichever way it would be having never read the book. The big grey one came too close and wasn't frightened enough of my gesturing. I kept walking as this usually works,but the path was narrow and soon they were around me. I kept the grey one at bay by facing it but this allowed his number two to get me from the side in a quick movement that was too fast for me to respond to while still fending off the alpha.
Before I knew it the brown one had bitten me in the right shin, hard, and it hurt a lot. There was a slow-motion moment when I knew its face was coming too close and there was nothing I could do about it like in a bad dream, but it was soon over. Then the whole clan left in a rush, running away.
Hit and run. Bastards.
I quickly examined the damage. There was a wet shiny saliva-soaked patch on my thin trousers. I pulled them up to see an already deep purple bruise and a clear graze with scarlet blood already present. Fuck.
I took my zip-off trouser-leg off and with unsalivated bits of it wiped the wound in hope of removing any superfluous rabid saliva that had decided not to grace my bloodstream with its presence. I paused there feeling nothing, utterly rational, totally calm. What do I do now.
"Sprachen Sie Deutch?" "Ein Bischen." "Magen Sie etwas fur die Wunde?....."
It was a middle-aged German couple who had seen the whole event and offered me Iodine for the wound which I gratefully accepted. I was clearly very adrenalized but acting calm and rational. Suddenly my German was good enough to communicate; we had the entire conversation in German; amazing what adrenaline will do. I told them I was afraid of Rabies and asked the man whether he thought there was a danger, he said no but you never know. The couple had watched the grey and brown dogs attack various people and knew of their biting 4 people in the last month alone, yet the shopkeepers do nothing.
At the shop I went and saw a man about a dog but although he looked at my wound he did indeed do nothing. I bought the water from him and tried to find a stick for the way home but on reading my body language the man offered me a nice long heavy cane which I gripped like a sword and then, feeling a lot of anger and hatred towards those dogs and knowing that I'd beat them in a fight if I had a stick, I actually wanted to meet them again on the way home. At the same time I kept looking behind me and glared daggers and hackles at every dog I saw, them all being now evil vampires pretending to be all cute-and-pathetic lazing in the sun. But no dogs attacked me on the way home.
I considered for a small moment what to do. I knew I had one hour to get treatment. I could not rationally assess the risk or what to do and needed to talk to someone I could trust and in English. I needed to talk with my friend. She's a nurse, she would bring me down to earth, she would tell me whether or not I was overreacting or whether I should get to a hospital right now even if it was annoying and inconvenient. Without thinking any further I headed home fearfully, hating dogs, avoiding eye-contact, resenting the fact that I couldn't appreciate the walk or the birdcalls any more, that I didn't care about the tracks any more or whether I'd miss some new species; I saw the best view ever of the very secretive and hard to see Greater Coucal but didn't even stop to look; this was life-and-death. So much for a peaceful last day on the island.
About half way home I realised that the 40 minute walk would use up most of my hour-left-to-live, hour-to-get-immunoglobulin. And that there was a nurse or doctor marked on the map I'd seen. But it was too late to go back to the shop; what would I do if my friend wasn't at her bungalow?
I got back, at last, all shaky and feeling horrible. Having not drank a drop despite the heat and fast walking with heavy 6-litres in my pack plus binocs and birdbook. The people there smiled at me. Insanely, I smiled back as if nothing was awry. My friend was not at home. What was I going to do?
I needed to talk to someone. I couldn't think straight or act clearly. I knew the risk was probably low but couldn't let go of the fact that I should be taking some action here.
Although avoiding panic, I saw my mind distort the situation through fears and this made simple decisions difficult. Suddenly it was the biggest deal to go and talk with the hotel reception people and scary and I didn't want to set anything in motion and then I wouldn't let myself NOT do it and so I was caught in this paralysis of fear and self-punishment at my inability to act in this urgent situation.
I sat on my balcony drinking water, waiting for my friend, eating some food. I washed the cut with soap and water and put on tea-tree oil. I waited some more. I left my friend a note saying I needed to talk with her. I agonized and struggled with myself. I was reminded of times when I have been unable because of some kind of fear trigger to reach out for my basic needs. I was caught in one of those frozen moments. I could not act. Yet I knew that not acting was choosing on some level to die: or at least to take no action which might result in death. But I could not act and I felt I had to give into that. I knew it was insane; I knew I was choosing to die for no reason, but there was this immense barrier to overcome in myself to tell anybody and strange as it might sound, I just couldn't do it.
It occurred to me that this was some kind of denial. I jsut wanted to go to sleep and forget about it all, to calm down. I lay on my bed under mosquito net and relaxed but ddin't let myself lose consciousness, I stayed present. I reflected that my fate was on some level out of my hands and this helped me relax. I put back on the Buddha-shaped protection necklace (worn by everyone in Thailand) that I'd taken off last night and not worn all day (interesting...hmmm...) and that gave me a palpable shroud of relief. Then somehow I could do it. I went and talked to the people.
My friend didn't turn up but I saw a Thai doctor who happened to be nearby and had the wound cleaned twice more with alcohol then with iodine stuff that was supposed to be antiviral too. Everyone who saw me encouraged me to leave the island on the 2pm boat and go to the hospital, have to shorten story as internet shutting, basically I did and got one jab ....
---------------------------------Written 4th March.------------------------
.....and since have had another. I am still alive and feeling no worse for the wear.. that's the story so far...
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