this little boy was hiding in the dumpster to eat his food in privacy

Instead of celebrating Thanksgiving at home with my family as usual, I’ll be celebrating in Phnom Pehn, Cambodia this year.  (I’m a bit behind in my blog so in the next week, I’ll catch you up on how I came to be in Cambodia, but in the meantime, suffice it to say, I’m here). And this year I’m especially thankful. 

Stung Meanchey garbage dump is the only dump in Phnom Penh, Cambodia’s capitol city.  In Cambodia, no distinction is made between toxic waste and regular refuse with regard to disposal so it all ends up at Stung Meanchey.  Living amid all the waste, toxic and otherwise, are over three hundred children and their families.  The children work alongside their parents sifting through the garbage in search of any sort of scrap metal or recyclable material that they can sell.  These families live on the bottom rung of Cambodia’s already rickety ladder.  They are Cambodia’s castaways, barely scraping by.  Most of these kids don’t have shoes.  They don’t have enough to eat. They live amid toxic fumes and spills through which they walk barefoot, frequently cutting their feet on shards of glass, rusty metal and used hypodermic needles. 

I learned about this situation from a flyer posted in my guesthouse that queried, “Want to help feed the kids at the city dump?”  My traveling partner, Eric Anderson, and I investigated a bit and found out that a group of British and Australian men went to the dump three to four times a week to take food to the kids and had been doing so for five years.  We met with the group leader, who established and runs a no-overhead non-profit organization which raises money to feed the kids and provide some basic first aid.  “I can feed three kids for $1,” he told us. “Whenever we have $100 saved up, we go.”  

the kids come running as word of the food truck's arrival spreads

Naturally, Eric and I signed up for the next trip two days later.  And it changed our lives.  We’ve now been to the dump three times and have put all of our other travel plans on hold in order to stay in Phnom  Penh and work with these kids.

The first day we went to the dump, we pulled up in a large box truck loaded with 70 kilos of apples, 100 kilos of oranges, 50 kilos of bananas and three hundred loaves of bread.  As the truck rumbled onto the dump site, kids came out of the proverbial woodwoork and screamed with delight at the sight of the truck.  “They’re here!  They’re here!” they shouted excitedly as they ran, arms waving, toward the truck’s usual parking spot.  Within sixty seconds, the area that was previously empty save for five kids milling around was filled with about seventy excited and hungry children with many more heading down the roads that lead farther into the dump.  That was the first of many times that day that I had to choke back my tears. 

This little toddler has no clothes. His mother covered his head with a towel just before I snapped this photo. He's carrying a hat in which to collect his food.

The standard meal provided by the volunteer group consists of a baguette of bread,  two oranges, two bananas and one apple.  The apples, oranges and bananas are all about half the size of those in the US.  Although meager, this quantity of food is difficult for my small hands to hold onto and many of the children struggle to carry it away as well.  Some of the children hold up their shirt tails making a field-expedient basket in which to put the food.  It’s not uncommon for the tiniest children that the shirt they pull up to hold the food is the only piece of clothing they’re wearing so that they walk away with a “shirt basket” of food in the front and an exposed bottom from behind.  A few toddlers who are completely naked present a hat in which to carry their food.  Inevitably, these children are barefoot.  

Some of the children have gotten wise and arrive with a plastic bag in which they can collect their food.  I suspect that most of the plastic bags that they bring to carry food have been scavenged from the dump.  On a few occasions, the child has failed to notice holes in the bottom of the bag and, when I failed to notice too, the food I put in the bag fell straight through to the ground.  I now regularly inspect for holes.

Maybe it’s because of the time of year, but each time I placed food into one of these bags, I had the odd expectation that the child would say “trick-or-treat” as they arrived at the front of the line to accept their food portion.  Instead, before taking the food offered to them, the majority press their hands together and raise them to their mouth in a wai (a sign of gratitude in Southeast Asia) and say an obviously heart-felt  “thank you.”  

this obviously malnourished little girl soberly contemplates an orange (photo by Eric Anderson)

The boys and girls each have separate food lines since, as I’m told, in Cambodia’s patriarchal society, girls aren’t regarded as equal and would otherwise not get any or equal portions of food.  At least six volunteers come along on each trip.  Two volunteers keep order in the lines preventing pushing, kids cutting in line and kids collecting their food and then getting back in line for more.  At least two volunteers assemble the meals inside the truck and hand them out to two more volunteers called “feeders” who give them to the kids.  The group leader has found that if they hand the meals out directly from the truck to the kids rather than going through a “feeder,” that all the kids will rush the truck, trampling the little ones in the process.  He now has it down to an efficient, smooth and safe process.  I was amazed at how much work was involved.

In my most recent trip to the dump, I worked as a feeder, taking the assembled meal from a volunteer in the truck and handing it to the hungry children.  I worked the boys’ line and was amused as a few of the boys assembled near me as self-appointed policemen to make sure there were no repeaters in line.  A couple of the younger boys crouched beneath the back of the truck and started tugging on my jeans pleading “one more apple please.”  I had no extra apples to give them so I tickled their bellies instead. Although it made them laugh, the tickle didn’t come anywhere close to stopping the hunger pains I’m sure they must feel.  

we've run out of bread, but even the fruit is almost too much for his little hands to handle

Inevitably, we always run out of food before the lines are finished.  I’m hoping that this is because many children do still manage to repeat in line and get double their portion rather than the ugly alternative that some kids get no food at all.  The bread is always the first to run out.  When I worked as a feeder the other day, the first little boy who did not get bread combined humor and philosophy in his reaction when he feigned anger at first, raising his fist and shouting, “What?! No more bread?” followed with a resigned “I guess it’s just not my day to have bread.”  

It takes about an hour to distribute all the food. Afterwards, two of the regular volunteers who are trained in first aid inspect and treat the kids who have wounds.  In my three visits to the dump, I’ve seen them treat many cuts (mainly on feet), staph infections and head lice.  In addition to treatment, they also distribute rubber boots to the children with cut and infected feet as there’s no point treating the cut if the kids are then going to walk around in the waste.

On that first day, I served as a food organizer in the truck.  After the food was all distributed, I climbed down from the truck and walked over to the first aid area to watch the children being treated.  Within a couple of minutes I felt someone envelope me in a hug from behind.  I turned around to find a beautiful, thirteen year old girl who gave me a broad grin and said in a sweet, sing-songy voice, “What’s your name? My name is Sophy.”  From that minute on, Sophy did not stop holding onto me in some manner, either grasping my hand, wrapping her arm around my waste or just giving me full on hugs until I left the dump that day.  Another older girl, Sopey, was equally affectionate.  She also took great interest in my cameras, wanting to actually use the camera, not just have her photo taken.

new boots and a forced smile

I took a chance and turned over my Canon Powershot, the little point-and-shoot that I carry with me to make videos.  At first she stayed pretty near me and I kept an eye on her and my camera.  After a bit though, I got distracted with the other children, hugging them and fulfilling their never-ending requests for photographs.  I discovered that “two photo” means they want a portrait of two of them while “one photo” means “please leave everyone else out and only photograph me.”  It’s often difficult to take “one photo” or “two photo” as everyone wants their photographs taken and will jump in to be included in the action.  In all the chaos and confusion, I lost sight of Sopey who was nowhere to be seen with my camera.  I held my breath and hoped for the best.  

Sure enough, just before the truck left, I caught sight of her.  She had wandered away from the area immediately near the truck but was clearly in “serious photographer” mode, snapping numerous photos of the people and environment that were part of her life.  She came and found me and returned the camera, which naturally instilled me with much trust and confidence in her.  When I looked at her results on my computer later that night, I was astonished.  She was a natural with the camera, creating unique and excellent compositions.  A lightbulb went off in my head.

I love how seriously the little girl in the purple skirt is taking her portrait

“I want to get a camera for Sopey,” I told Eric.  We began to wonder out loud if perhaps some of the other children would take to using cameras as well.  What would happen if we put cameras in the hands of more of these kids?  

The next day, we bought a used Olympus point-and-shoot in Phnom Pehn’s central market for $45 and took it with us on our next trip to the dump the following day.  When we arrived, about twenty kids were playing in and with a small dumpster, using it as a teeter-totter.  

We handed the Olympus to Sopey, showed her how to operate it, and she took off again.  Some of the other kids saw her shooting with it and asked Eric and I if they could use our point-and-shoots.  “Why not?” we thought.  This would be a good test run for the project that was already percolating in our brains.  

this dumpster becomes a giant teeter-totter

I took photographs of the kids who seemed the most eager to be photographers so that I could remember who they were.  When I started to write down their names as well, an interesting thing happened.  Children and adults alike all wanted their names to be known.  They rushed over to me.  Someone started calling me “teacher” and it stuck.  Everywhere I turned, I heard “Teacher, my name is ________” and they would watch and wait as I wrote it in my notebook.  These people want a voice!  They want their names to be known.  I choked back my tears.

A number of things amaze me about these kids.  Despite their unimaginable living conditions, smiles abound; big smiles that would put the Cheshire Cat to shame.  One little girl approached me on the first day and, unprompted, began to sing a beautiful Khmer song. When I took out my video camera, she got a little shy, but in a few minutes, started singing “If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands.”  She was shy, but sincere as she sang. That she chose that song to sing with garbage strewn about as her backdrop almost dropped me to my knees. 

"Good things come to those who wait" ... so hold on there little guy!

Despite everything, these kids still have pride.  They look me in the eye and ask me how I am, how many brothers and sisters I have, where I’m from and how old I am.  They are very polite, most of them offering the volunteers sincere thanks before accepting the first bit of food.  They are generous.  I’ve already been given a necklace, two bracelets, a flower and a drawing (of food!) from these kids who have nothing.  And they’re full of love.  At times, I’ve felt like I was wrapped in an octopus of little kid arms.  Their hugs and kisses are so excessive, it makes photographing difficult at times.  Tough life for me, huh?

But Eric and I both manage to love on them and photograph them.  Yesterday, I photographed a little boy whose front teeth are so rotten, they’re mere little nubs of black.  One of his eyes is crossed and won’t open completely.  His hair is a complete mess and his attempt to flash the ubiquitous “peace sign” that the kids love here was a bit muddled.  He managed two fingers on one hand but only got one finger up on the other hand.  Nonetheless, he flashed me a big, almost toothless grin.  When Eric and I reviewed our photos that night, he noticed a detail I had overlooked.  The little boy’s shirt said “Good things come to those who wait.”  We laughed hysterically at the paradoxes in the photograph, surprising ourselves at the manner in which we were dealing with the enormous range of emotions that we were feeling.  We weren’t so surprised when our hysterics turned to deep, racking sobs.  

the greatest paradox

Cambodia is full of paradoxes and the Stung Meanchey dump is no exception. I photographed two young boys with their arms around each other, posing for a portrait, as sweet as they could possibly be.  One of them was wearing a face mask.  We’ve noticed many people in Cambodia wearing face masks and have been told that some do it to prevent inhaling the dust that is so thick and prevalent here that it is almost constantly visible in the air.  We’re told that other people wear them because they have colds and don’t want to spread their germs.  That this little boy who lives in a toxic waste site is concerned about inhaling bad air or spreading cold germs is probably the greatest paradox of the many I’ve seen in my three weeks in this country that’s laid claim to my heart.  Although you can’t see the smile on his face, it shows in the eyes of the little mask-wearing boy.  The icing on the cake is the pretty purple flower that he’s holding.  I can’t imagine where he found it.  What, besides bacteria could possibly grow in that contaminated ground?  But he posed with it and then gave it to me.  

Eric and I both lost sight of all three cameras during our second visit.  Yet, just before the truck left, the kids reappeared with them and returned them to us.  On our third visit to the dump, we again had a 100% camera return rate.  

the food line (photo by Sopey)

At this point, we have a good idea which kids are our likely photographers and our plan is this:  with the involvement of the children’s families and the school (there’s a school on site at the dump), we will select ten to twenty children and distribute cameras to them to use for set periods of time, shorter at first and then longer as we establish our relationships.  When we return to the US, we will exhibit the images created by the children to raise awareness about their situation.  We will also offer the images for sale with all proceeds going toward feeding the families, but also providing longer term solutions for their plight.  

Sopey doesn't talk so we don't know where she took this photo of a man near the dump (photo by Sopey)

To date, I have made two videos of the kids at Stung Meanchey dump.  To see them, click here for Video 1 and herehere for Video 2.  

I have added two sets to my collection of photographs in the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of my blog.  Within that collection, you can now choose to see photos of my trip, photos of the kids and photos taken by the kids.

This is the first Thanksgiving I’ve ever spent away from my family.  I won’t be home for Christmas either and my birthday is next week.  As I planned this trip, I wondered how I would feel as these holidays rolled around given what a monumental part of my life family is. It seems that the answer is this:  I miss my family tremendously, but I miss them just as much everyday; not just because it’s Thanksgiving. 

It doesn’t FEEL like Thanksgiving Day to me.  Maybe that’s because it’s a sweltering 85 degrees in Phnom Penh (and somehow, 85 degrees here feels much more like 95 so it really can be sweltering).  The autumn season which signals fall and all the subsequent holidays doesn’t exist in Cambodia so perhaps that’s the reason I’m not in “holiday mode.”  I haven’t observed Mom cooking and baking for a week, meticulously labeling all the dishes with their identity, cooking time and temperature in preparation for her orgranized-beyond-imagination Thanksgiving Day which always makes me feel like I should color coordinate my sock drawer.  Along the same lines, I haven’t feasted on the smells of Mom’s pumpkin pies baking in the oven or her amazing one-of-a-kind yeast rolls which pull me out of bed by the nose on Thanksgiving morning.  And most importantly, I’m not at home swapping stories, playing games and watching movies with my parents, my brother and his darling fiance.  So in the absence of all these signals telling my senses that it’s Thanksgiving Day, well, it’s just not. 

The upside of not feeling like it’s Thanksgiving is that I’m not pining for my family any more than I do any other day.  And the downside to not recognizing that it’s Thanksgiving is …. well, I don’t think there is a downside.  During this amazing trip, my heart has been swollen to the point of bursting with appreciation every morning as I wake up.  So even though I don’t FEEL like it’s Thanksgiving Day, I still am counting the many many many many people and experiences for which I’m thankful and the multitude of ways in which I’m blessed.  It’s impossible for me not to feel thankful each day, traveling long-term as I have been, fulfilling my dreams, exceeding my own expectations of what I would find and just enjoying the hell out of this (hopefully not) once-in-a-lifetime experience.  So maybe it’s because I feel abundantly blessed and thankful each day that I don’t need for today to be Thanksgiving Day. 

releasing sparrows for good luck … and animal welfare

After returning from the floating markets in Damnoen Saduak, I headed back to Bangkok to meet my friend, Steve, who flew from the US to Thailand for a brief Southeast Asian vacation and a visit.  We spent the next four days navigating Bangkok, spending more time in traffic than we did actually touring.  Or perhaps being stuck in Bangkok traffic IS touring Bangkok.  

On our first morning in Bangkok, we were approached over breakfast at our hotel by a Thai woman who had small, anxious looking sparrows trapped in wooden cages.  She was selling them so that people could release them for good luck or to make merit.  Most of the cages were about ten inches cubed and held about 5 birds each.  Although the cages were small and the birds understandably uneasy, each bird had enough room to flit around inside its cage.  

The woman also had one slightly larger cage into which she had stuffed what seemed to be over fifty little sparrows.  There were so many birds in the cage that, not only did they not have room to move around inside, they were smashed on top of each other, suffocating the ones on the bottom.  In retrospect, when she proposed to sell me a cage to release the birds, I wish that I had grabbed the big cage, scolded her for mistreating the birds and let them go without giving her a single baht.  For some reason though, despite being horrified at her cruelty to the tiny birds, Steve and I played the game and bought the cage for 400 baht.  We both marveled that in doing so, we were rewarding bad behavior and probably encouraging her not only to capture more birds, but to cram them in like sardines as well.  But at least for the moment, the birds we bought were alive and now free.  To see a video of us releasing the birds, click here.

Our time in Bangkok seemed to be dominated by animals.  After releasing the birds, we headed to Queen Saovabha Memorial Institute and Snake Farm.  At this particular farm, trained snake handlers extract venom from Thailand’s numerous poisonous snakes to make anti-venom to treat snake bites out in the provinces.  In addition, the farm also offered snake shows which Steve and I attended out of curiosity.  We got a bit lost in the city and ended up arriving at the farm just before the show started.  The small concrete stands were already full of spectators so we joined two head-shaven nuns in white robes in the “standing room only” section.  

Steve was thoughtful enough to invite the nuns to stand in front of us as they were much shorter than he was … at which point a funny thing happened.  About fifteen Thai school girls all dressed in their neatly pressed uniforms spotted the nuns.  The girls got up out of their front-and-center seats and walked down to where we were standing, indicating that the nuns should take their seats.  “How odd!” I thought.  Why did ALL of the girls get up when there were only two nuns?  Then one of the girls tapped me on the shoulder and indicated that Steve and I and a few other tourists who got to the show late should also take seats in the stands.  We marveled at how polite and thoughtful the girls were and happily took them up on their offer.  To see a video of the snake show, click here. 

We also spent time roaming through Chinatown, tasting innumerable foods in the streets and checking out an interesting amulet market where I found many supplies for my mixed media artwork.  The highlight of Bangkok for me, however, was the Thai Puppet Theater.  

According to the program distributed by the theater, there are three types of Thai theatrical puppetry:  khon, the most sophisticated performs only the Ramakian (the Thai version of the Indian Ramayana epic); lakorn is less sophisticated performing all other classics of Thai drama while likay, the least sophisticated, performs only common dramas.  We were treated to a performance of the Birth of Ganesha which I believe fell into the khon category and were thrilled with what we saw.

posing with the puppets and puppeteers

Theatrical puppetry is a very intricate and complicated performance art.  Three puppeteers, each khon, lakorn or likay dancers in their own right,  are required to manipulate a single puppet.  They appear onstage with the puppet and use highly stylized and synchronous dance-like movements so that they appear not only to operate the puppet, but as a shadow-like extension of it.  Each puppeteer wore black costumes with red sashes around their wastes.  Their pants looked to actually be a skirt with fold of cloth that came up loosely between the legs in the fashion of a diaper, but which was actually quite elegant in appearance.  I loved watching the puppeteers’ feet as they continually mimicked the same action made by the puppet.  Their toes were  often curled up and every movement was perfectly synchronized.  They were exquisite to watch. It was no surprise to me to learn that this particular troupe are recognized masters in their art having won Best Performance (2008) and Best Traditional Performance (2006) at the World Festival of Puppet Art in Prague.  

In addition to the talented puppeteers orchestrating the theater, the puppets themselves were absolutely stunning.  They were approximately three feet tall with exceedingly ornate costumes and elaborate features.  Their wooden bodies were highly articulated allowing the puppeteers to create subtle as well as dramatic movements that seemed very life-like.  The story was accompanied by a very talented traditional Thai orchestra with classical singing.  

Before the show began, as is the custom in Thailand, the national anthem was played and the entire audience stood.  Throughout the anthem, a slideshow was projected with images of the King as a baby, growing up, helping people and then as an older, very regal-looking man.  After the national anthem and slideshow, the musicians, narrators and singers offered a prayer explaining that it’s traditional in Thailand before every art performance to perform a ceremony to give thanks to the teachers of that art.  During that small ceremony, the performers lit incense, said prayers and played some reverent sounding music.  

we snuck backstage before the performance and captured the puppeteers relaxing before the show

The orchestra utilized very unique instruments.  Each piece looked ancient, elaborate and exotic. Oversized xylophones curved up into a smile.  An instrument resembling a flute was wider and bowed out at both ends.  The sounds created by these odd-looking instruments were as exotic as the pieces creating them.

The story of Birth of Ganesha, although told/sung in Thai, was translated in English projected on either side of the stage.  That story as presented by the Puppet Theater goes like this:  Isuan, a senior God, was mourning the death of Satee, his wife/consort and was incapacitated with grief.  Taraka, a senior demon, decided to take advantage of Isuan’s present state in an effort to take over the universe.   Taraka asked Brahma, god of everything, to make him invincible except to Isuan’s son, who was as yet not only unborn, but unconceived as well.  For some reason (perhaps so we could enjoy the story?), Brahma granted the demon’s wish.  

The demons, led by Taraka, invaded heaven.  My jaw dropped when I read the next English translation of the action:  “The gods were unable to defend heaven and fled.”  “What a fascinating concept!” I thought. 

Upon fleeing heaven, Isuan and several lesser gods went to see Brahma about the demon invasion of heaven (In the play, Brahma appeared to me to be in a place that looked like heaven.  Were there two heavens? Where was Brahma located anyway?) Brahma’s solution was love.  He rescued Isuan from his incapacitated state by making him fall in love with Uma, a deity re-incarnation of Isuan’s late wife, Satee.   

Thai puppets "hanging out" backstage

Shortly after their marriage, Isuan went away on retreat leaving his new bride, Uma, with a five-pointed spear.  While Isuan was gone on retreat, the demons invaded heaven again and Uma retreated to her room to pray to Kongka, the goddess of the waters.  As she prayed, a child formed “from the perspiration of her body.”  The enactment of this particular part of the story was spectacularly beautiful.  It was all portrayed in silhouette within a soft light that appeared to be a protective bubble, reminiscent of a womb.  A small spot of bright light appeared in the softly lit womb and became larger and larger until it finally became a child.  The child and Uma were in the womb like bubble together.  I loved the imagery.  

The next projected English translation was, “In this way, she had a child – a very large child.”  I laughed to myself at the stilted way this was put.  It seems that Kumarn, Uma’s son was about 5 years old when he was born.  Shortly after his birth, Uma gave Kumarn the spear given to her by Isuan and told him to the guard the palace.  

Eventually, Isuan returned from his retreat and tried to enter the palace but was impeded by Kumarn.  Neither Isuan or Kumarn knew the other’s identity.  Isuan became furious at the impudent boy who would not let him pass into his own castle and chopped off the boys’ head.  It seemed to me that Isuan might need to consider some anger management classes.

Uma discovered what happened and naturally grieved.  Her grief became anger and she turned into a monster.  Literally.  Not only did her appearance change at this point in the story, but her name changed as well to Kalee.  Kalee was large, ugly, very black with huge white eyes and four arms.  Her hair was wild.  She looked very menacing indeed.  Kalee scolded Isuan telling him that he had killed their son.  

Isuan’s response to this was interesting.  He ordered his servant to go out and cut the head off the first animal he found lying in a westward direction.  We audience members saw the servant tromp off into the woods and a few seconds later heard the sound of a poor elephant trumpeting.  The servant returned with the elephant head which was placed on boy’s neck.  While Kalee changed back to Uma upon her son’s resurrection, her son’s identity changed as well:  he was now known as Ganesha.  

In the meantime, the demons had still been running around heaven creating havoc so Isuan sent his son to deal with them.  (I took great interest in noting the narrative elements common to Ganesha’s story and the Christian story of Jesus regarding the death of a son of god, his resurrection and the concept of the father/god sending his son to do battle with evil.)  In a great battle, Ganesha kills Taraka and becomes a great god himself. 

The entire performance was Broadway quality.  After the play was over, unlike on Broadway, instead of the cast taking a bow, they disappeared backstage.  The men who were voices of gods in the production lit some incense, said some quiet prayers and also walked out without taking a bow.  Then the entire audience walked down toward the stage and got in single file line to pray.  One by one, they pressed their hands together in front and held them to their forehead, wafted smoke from the incense sticks toward them as though washing their faces in the smoke.  After saying a prayer, each audience member rang a bell and then silently filed out the side door.  The entire evening was lovely and fascinating.

Although the quality of the production was superb, tickets were only $25 (900 baht) each.  Sadly, there were only 30 to 40 people in the audience to experience this exquisite performance.  Steve and I both commented that it was a great shame that the theater wasn’t completely packed for such an amazing and successful work of art.  We were delighted, however, that we had stumbled upon it and had experienced such amazing levels of puppet mastery.

———————–

If you’re in Bangkok, I would highly recommend attending the Joe Louis Puppet Theater.    They have performances every night beginning at 8:00 pm with a documentary on Thai puppetry from 7:30 to 8:00.  The theater is located off Rama IV Road behind the Suan Lum Night Bazaar.  Their website is www.thaipuppet.com.  Tickets are 900 baht per person.

I'll take that one!

After much to do getting through Bangkok, I arrived in Damnoen Saduak, home of Thailand’s infamous floating market, in the evening. I stayed at a place called The Little Bird Hotel. It seemed that I was the only traveler staying there and between the deserted feeling and the 1950’s look, it reminded me of the hotel from the movie “The Shining.” It was a comfortable, air-conditioned mosquito-free sleep, however, so I was well-rested for my market tour the following morning.

I arranged to hire a boat through the hotel to ferry me through the market place. Captain C, as he introduced himself, greeted me at my hotel at 6:45am and walked me to his boat. We started our tour through the market at 7 am which seemed a very good time. By 8:30, most boats passing through canals were filled with tourists instead of vendors so it was definitely best to get there early.

The market was a series of narrow canals lined on either side with vendors selling food, souvenirs and clothes from fixed dock platforms. By 8:30, many vendors in their long, narrow boats had essentially moored up in front of these fixed platforms, making the already narrow canals even more narrow. At 7 am, however, many of the boats on their way to moor up were still paddling through the canals. The boatsmen and women all greeted each other and me as well. The feeling was one of camaraderie, locals chatting among friends. There was a palpable shift in this mood as the morning drew on. Even as early as 8:30, it seemed that the vendors moods transformed from a state of relaxation to one of virtually hunkering down to weather the tourist storm. Clearly, I much preferred the early morning atmosphere.  

not quite ready to start the day

The long narrow boats used by many vendors were clearly the “star attraction” at the market. At least that was clear to me. Although friendly, “Captain C” had a horrible sense of what I wanted to see. In areas of the market where there were many vendors selling fruits, veggies and flowers where I could spend hours snapping away, he zipped our boat on through. The tough thing about photographing under those conditions is that all your subjects are constantly moving. Not only are the people moving which is always tricky to shoot, but the boats themselves are moving so fantastic compositions come and go in fractions of a second. I didn’t expect Captain C to be aware of the “rule of thirds,” but I had hoped that he would recognize my interest in photographing people and not shopping given the plethora of photo gear strapped around my waist and slung over my shoulders. Alas, he wasn’t attuned to these details so we dawdled by tacky souvenir shops and whizzed through the spectacular stuff until I told him I didn’t want to buy anything. The whizzing still continued but we resolved that toward the end the more I motioned with my hand “slow down, slow down.”

watching the morning pass by

The people were very friendly and easily impressed with my simple ability to say “Hello. How are you?” in Thai. Often they would mistake that for an ability to speak Thai fluently and would chatter away at me until I told them (also in Thai) “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. I only speak a little Thai.” The fact that I said even that in Thai affirmed their conviction that I spoke Thai fluently so they praised me more in Thai and chatted even faster. Nonetheless, that little bit of language seemed to provide an inroads with these people and garnered additional smiles and feelings of welcome which I appreciated.

The markets themselves were fantastic. Although there were a number of vendors selling plastic tchotchskies for tourists to take home to the dog sitter, there were an equal number of vendors whose market was primarily the local Thais. These sold fruit, flowers, soup, fish and breakfast items.

Some of the vendors were mobile all morning long, making their rounds to sell their food and flowers. I admired the talented and graceful way the Thai vendors manuevered their boats through the water. One old man who was selling hot coconut pancakes even cooked as he paddled. An even older grandmotherly-looking woman paddled a much smaller boat than the vendors. It closely resembled the tiny white water kayaks used for playboating, only made of old wood. Granny was the Thai canal version of the Little Old Lady from Pasadena as she zipped in and out among the larger boats. I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised to see her do a cartwheel with her boat. They were all truly most impressive.

flipping pancakes while paddling through the market

The floating markets are all about the pictures … and the food. I enjoyed some delicious food. Tiny dollar size coconut pancakes, sweet melt-in-your-mouth mango and sticky rice, some spicy tom yam noodle soup, and many more munchies than I can possibly remember. As more boats moored up on the sides of the canals, I noticed several of the vendors whose boats were caught in between others would pass their wares out to customers via buckets on long poles and collected their money the same way.

All in all, It was a lovely day and well worth the hassle of traveling through Bangkok to experience this unique event.

monk collecting alms and giving a blessing

Unfortunately, there’s not nearly enough room here for all the photos I took so I invite you to see some more in my photo gallery page of this blog.To see a video of my floating market experience, click here.

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If you want to visit the market, I would suggest getting to Damnoen Saduak the evening before as most morning buses from Bangkok don’t arrive until 8:30 when the best action has passed. Stay at either Little Bird Hotel (just tell your bus driver “Nuc Noy Hotel” and he’ll practically drop you at their door. Prices are 250 Baht fan/ 350 Baht aircon) or the very scenic P Guesthouse which is actually on the main canal (from the main bridge, walk down the left side of the canal about 200 meters) Rooms there are 300 Baht per person).

If you make it a very early morning and start walking to the market at 6 am, you’ll be rewarded by seeing monks in their tiny wooden boats collecting morning alms at the houses that line the canals. Turn left at the main canal in the market area (it will be obvious) and have a little breakfast canalside while you watch the market start to wake up. You can hire a boat to paddle you around the neighborhood of canals that make up the market for 200-300 baht per hour. I would recommend waiting until 7 am or even 7:30 to actually start your boat tour, however, as there’s not much action outside the main canal until that time.

I hate Bangkok.  Well, that’s not quite fair.  That’s an overly broad statement and I’ve really not even spent time in Bangkok.  To be more accurate, I hate navigating through Bangkok on the public transportation system.  The train stations do not “intersect” with the bus stations.  Nor do the skytrain or subway stations.  None of them cover the whole city, yet they don’t connect with each other.  

Twice now in cavorting around the country, I’ve been forced to go through Bangkok to connect to my ultimate destination.  In general, traveling by bus in Thailand is easy, safe, relatively quick (except for that Chiang Mai to Bangkok stint which I will avoid like the plague in the future), pleasant and cheap.  A tour hour trip on an airconditioned bus costs less than $2.  Even the ten hour bus trip from hell (which was only hellish because of the length and the overnight aspect) cost only $20.  When you pull into a station, if you’re connecting to another place, you simply look for the sign of your destination, walk up to that line and buy a ticket. Easy as pie.  Except when you hit Bangkok.

Worse than the heat which smacks you in the face as you emerge from your connecting bus are taxi and tuk tuk drivers who assault you with the ubiquitous seemingly helpful question “Where you go now?”  The first time, I assumed they WERE trying to help me and TOLD them where I wanted to go.  In that situation, Bangkok was only a connecting point for me with my destination at least two hours away.  Without batting an eye, they tried to convince me to take a taxi all the way there.  “What? Are you kidding? Do you think I’m made of money?” I would think each time.  Then quickly answered myself “Oh yes, you actually DO.”

Bangkok has three bus terminals, each serving different parts of the country. It’s not uncommon (in fact, it seems to occur frequently) for the “leg 1” bus to arrive in one station while the connecting bus leaves from another station.  The stations are not close to each other (certainly not walking distance) and they’re not linked by subway, train or  skytrain.  Even if you’re lucky enough that your connecting bus departs from the station at which you were actually deposited, the obvious lines to buy tickets that are ever-present in other smaller stations don’t stand out in Bangkok … BECAUSE THEY’RE NOT THERE!  Neither is an information stand so an unwitting, ignorant traveler like myself is left at the mercy of the piranha taxi and tuk tuk drivers.  

In order to survive the Bangkok transit system … well, I should limit this comment to just the bus system since I haven’t actually tried to negotiate the others yet … I can’t get to them!  In order to survive the Bangkok bus system, you have to be tough AND know what you’re doing.  I can visualize myself breezing by the taxi drivers, ignoring all their “Where you go now?” questions that are merely bait.  But to do this, I have to know where to breeze to … and in that department, I’m at a loss.  

My Lonely Planet guidebook is no help.  They’ve written a mere paragraph basically advising you that there are three bus stations, but don’t provide essential helpful tips which I learned on my own … painfully.  The Bangkok transportation system and how to navigate between the various branches requires more than a paragraph!  I’ve written a whole page on it already … and I’ve only bitched about it (which needs to be done), but you still don’t know how to navigate it!

So, due to my lack of experience and my crappy guidebook, I alighted from my Ayuthaya bus at Bangkok’s Northern bus terminal, Mochit, with little clue what my next step was.  In another section of my guidebook that could also use a bit more roughing out, the writers indicated that I could buy a ticket at Mochit to go to Damnoen Saduak, home of the famous floating markets and my next destination.  I knew for certain that these tickets were sold at the Southern bus terminal, but was hoping I could just depart from this station and save the hassle and unwanted education of transferring between stations.  I was looking first for the ticket booths and when I couldn’t find them, for an information booth.  Both proved elusive. 

The sharks saw that I didn’t have a clue and circled.  “Where you go lady?” they chorused together.  From my previous experience, I knew better than to tell them.  I asked what I thought was a safe question, “Where do they sell the bus tickets?”  “You want to take a taxi? I take you.” They each vied.  “No, I don’t want taxi. (I find when I travel that my English becomes as bad as the person’s I’m speaking with. I now drop articles on a regular basis). Where do they sell bus tickets?”  

“Depends where you go. Where you go lady?”  Damn. If it depended where I went, then I had to tell them … or drag my heavy bags around trying to figure it out on my own.  Note: although I’m still traveling with only carryon luggage, that luggage contains my heavy 17” laptop, photo gear and, quite regrettably, my tripod which I’ve used all of two times.  So my bags are compact, but they still rip my shoulders apart.  Shoulder ripping leads to bad decision making in my experience.

“I’m going to Damnoen Saduak,” I finally relented.  As expected, “I drive you there lady.  Only 2000 baht.” “I take you for 1500.”  Thanks for the discount, buddy. The bus ticket cost 85 baht.  “No, I don’t want you to drive me 250 km. Can you please just point me to where I buy a bus ticket?”  

“You have to go to South bus terminal. No Damnoen Saduak here.”  “But my guidebook says …” I trailed off pathetically.  If I could just figure out where to buy the tickets, I could see for myself whether this transfer was necessary.  But the ticket sales posts weren’t obvious to me; even the direction in which I should walk in order to look for them seemed hidden.  Ripping shoulders and persistant piranha were winning out.  

“Ok. How much to drive me to the Southern terminal?” I asked.  Still not convinced they couldn’t get a windfall out of this wide-eyed traveler, the guys kept lobbying for the long distance trip.  I was in no mood for this.  “South terminal or I’m going to find another taxi,” I threatened.  “Ok lady. I have meter taxi.  Should be about 150 baht by meter.”  In Bangkok, all taxis have meters.  The drivers prefer not to use them, however, usually overcharging by two to three times what the metered rate would be.  

“Fine. Metered taxi ok. Let’s go.” I surrendered.  I dragged my bags for about a block and arrived in front of the man’s tuk tuk. Now a tuk tuk is not the same as a taxi.  It has no meter and the drivers typically make unscheduled stops at “my friend’s jewelry shop for a fabulous one day sale.”  This tuk tuk driver now upped the charge to 300 baht to drive me to the South terminal. I was tired, my shoulders ached and I was pissed.  I hate being lied to.  I turned on my heel and walked away back in the direction from which I had come.  

Finally, I saw a chink in the armor of one of the drivers who apparently had witnessed it all.  “Lady, I’ll show you how you can buy a 40 baht ticket to the Southern bus terminal if you’ll give me 20 baht for showing you.”  Ok, maybe not a chink.  Maybe just a teensy weensy thought of a dent in the armor.  I probably didn’t sound as grateful as I felt.  I likely would have if he hadn’t insisted that I pay him for the knowledge … and would likely have given him more than 20 baht for his kindness.  But I suppose however you get it, knowledge is knowledge.  We struck a deal.  

He grabbed one of my bags (ah! now THAT was worth 200 baht!) and walked me to a spot ten feet from where I initially stood before the lying tuk tuk driver had lured me away.  There was a stand where a lady sold tickets for 35 baht.  Delivery to the Southern bus terminal was available via minivan.  (Note to Lonely Planet: this would have been REALLY HELPFUL TO KNOW!!!!)  

The pseudo-sympathetic man had taught me to fish.  Now I knew how to do it on my own for any future trips that required station transfers.  My energy surged again slightly.  I would now be able to glide past the oppressive taxi and tuk tuk drivers and sail effortlessly between stations.  Hmmm … but what would I do if I was actually ever “lucky” enough to  connect out of the station I arrived at?  Well, hopefully (and doubtfully) that will ever happen.  But if it does, maybe I can just pay someone 20 baht for that piece of knowledge as well.

the chedi at Wat Ratburana

In the morning on my second day in Ayuthaya, I rented a bicycle from the Baan Lotus Guesthouse (time for a little exercise) and struck out to tour the city.  The bicycle felt flimsy underneath me after having driven motorbikes the past three months.  

Because of the heat, my plan was to visit a couple of temple ruins in the morning, return to the guesthouse around lunchtime for a cold refreshing shower and a nap, spend the afternoon writing and then go temple hopping again around sunset.  But plans are made to be changed and that’s exactly what I did.   

The day was gorgeous. The skies were bright blue, the first I’d seen of those in a while, I guess because of the rainy season being so drawn out.  I had read about a temple, Wat Phra Mahathat, where a statue of Buddha had been enveloped over time by the roots of a tree such that the tree appeared to be cradling Buddha’s head.  That temple was closest to Baan Lotus so I headed for that one first.  On my way, I got distracted by some fabulous looking ruins at another temple and ended up spending an hour at Wat Ratburana, a temple not even in my list of “wats to see.”  

Wat Ratburana was built in the 15th century by a king on the cremation site of his two elder brothers who died fighting each other for rights to assume the throne.  I found the architecture fascinating, the colorful history was icing on the proverbial cake.  The initial thing that caught my eye was a tall, corncob shaped tower made of multicolored bricks.  I later learned that the tower is called a prang and is a style used by the Khmer throughout Cambodia.  I saw the prang through the door of a crumbling wall … inviting my curiosity to peek behind the door and find other forgotten treasures.  

cubist Buddha

Through the door and behind the wall, I found blocks of stone that formed very abstract bodies reminiscent of Picassos cubist people.  At first, I mistook the block people for armies.  Upon reflection, I think perhaps they were intended to be Buddhas.

Next on the list was Wat Phra Mahathat.  I had read that Thais view the intermingling of sacred images with nature to be very auspicious, making this particular temple very popular with merit makers.  This particular Sunday was no exception. It seemed that every Thai in Bangkok had made a day trip to Ayuthaya just to see Buddha embraced by a tree.   Five large tour buses were parked in the temple’s lot and two more were pulling in when I arrived. From a distance, I could see at least thirty people thronging around what I figured had to be the infamous Buddha statue.  I turned my bike around and headed out, deciding I would visit the temple later rather than compete with the merit makers for views of the Buddha.

that's got to make for one slobbery head

On my way to the third temple on my list, I came across an elephant show.  I was so glad I was not traveling in an organized tour and had the freedom to stop and watch.  Changing plans on a moment’s notice appeals to some side of me that must have ADHD.  So I stopped and watched the elephant circus and then walked across the street and grabbed some lunch at the local market.  

So many books on travel health warn travelers not to eat from street stalls.  Clearly those authors have never been to Thailand. Food stalls in the street are a way of life for the locals here.  Not only is the food delicious, it’s incredibly cheap.  For some reason, most Thai people do not have kitchens in their homes so they eat every meal out.  The street stalls, which usually conglomerate together to form a sort of outdoor food court, seem to be the preferred dining destinations for many Thais.  Generally the food is fresh and cooked right in front of you.  In 6 weeks of eating this way, I’ve only had a couple of incidents of upset tummy and I get those at home on occasion as well so I figure … mai pen rai. 

This day, I met a sweet couple who were making rotis and matabas.  Rotis are a fried dough-based dessert that can be served plain (which means with chocolate sauce and sweetened condensed milk), stuffed with egg or stuffed with banana (in either case, you still get chocolate sauce and sweetened condensed milk). Matabas start with the same crepe-like base and are filled with meat, veggies or a combination.  Anyway you serve them, they are delicious.  The couple was very amused when I told them so in Thai.  I guess Thais aren’t accumstomed to foreigners (farang) speaking any Thai because when I say the smallest thing (delicious, how are you, nice to meet you), they giggle, give me the thumbs up and tell me I speak Thai very well.  We both end up amused at the other so it’s good entertainment all around.

the roti maker

After my mataba/roti lunch, I visited Wat Chaiwatthanarum, the temple that made me salivate for sunset shots the previous day but which was off limits from the river side because of the high water.  I rode my rickety bike across the island and over the bridge to the other side of the river to get there.  I noticed on my way there how much the temperature had risen.  The sun which had turned the skies blue was beating down on my shoulders.  Just this wat, I promised myself.  Then you can go home and cool off until sunset. (Traveling alone as I do, it’s a common occurrence that I find myself talking to myself. Mai pen rai.) 

I could tell this was a popular wat for tourists to visit, not because of the tour buses which were thankfully absent, but because of the number of souvenir stalls.  When I mention tourists, I should clarify that I primarily mean Thai tourists.  There are a decent number of farang that make it to Ayuthaya and of course they hit the major tourist spots, but the Thai tourists outnumber the farang visitors by far.

Wat Chaiwattanarum

Although Wat C was not exactly swarming with tourists of any flavor, there were enough that for almost every photograph I wanted to take, I had to wait about five minutes for the various tourists to get out of the way. Definitely an exercise in patience. But it was worth it.  Of all the temples I visited that day and the previous, Wat C definitely tops my list.  In the previous temples, it had appeared merely that the Buddha statues that were dismembered may have become so in the fires that I understand burned through all wats.  In Wat C, it became quite clear that the dismemberment was not accidental or the result of fire.  These statues had all been deliberately decapitated.  Only about five of the hundred plus Buddhas retained their heads.  Strangely, even without their heads, (and perhaps even BECAUSE they were without heads) these statues compelled my attention. They felt alive as if they were not made out of stone.  I can’t explain the feeling I had, but if the Burmese intended to kill the spirit of Buddha when they beheaded the statues, they failed miserably.  

I spent over an hour wandering among the ruins.  I was mesmerized by the statues and photographed them over and over, coming close to filling my 8GB memory card (that’s about 500 photos for you non-shutter-geeks).  But the heat finally got to me and it was time to go.  

Wat C headless Buddhas

As I rode my bike back toward Baan Lotus, I passed a store that had hundreds of brightly colored rooster statues outside ranging from 5 inches to twenty feet tall.  I chuckled to myself and tried to recall some funny story I had read at some point about a Thai king redeeming his reputation by winning a cock fight, but it was too hot for my brain to work.  I supposed though that the story was behind all the rooster souvenirs although I couldn’t imagine someone being a big enough fan of that king or that story to want a one story rooster sitting in their front yard.  I was too hot to think, but not to photograph so I snapped a couple shots of the giant chickens.  

I was about to hop back on my bike when I noticed that the shop next door to the rooster store sold religious supplies (starter kits for monks-in-training as well as various statues for people to put around their homes and in their spirit houses).  I had seen some small plastic characters from the Ramayana narrative at some temples and spirit houses and was on the lookout to buy some to incorporate in my artwork.  I was already stopped so … why not?  

one of many headless Buddhas at Wat C

Before I could just browse for myself, the woman running the store stepped in my path, smiling, and tried to be helpful.  I’ve found of course that very few Thais speak English unless they’re somehow engaged in the tourist industry.  In such a case, it’s easier if I just look for myself rather than try to convey what I want.  But she wanted to play the game … and she had an oscillating floor fan!  So I enjoyed the nice breeze while asking her (first in English, just in case, then in my own invented brand of sign language) if she had any Ramayana characters.  

Ramayana is a classic Indian epic that I understand is a major thread in the Hindu religion.  I don’t know exactly how Hinduism and Buddhism relate to each other, but I do know that the Thai form of Buddhism has retold the tale of Ramayana and incorporated it into their religion.  So although the word “character” might not translate directly, I figured Ramayana would, particularly to a woman running a shop selling religious articles and figures.  Of course, I would also have thought someone running a hotel who saw a farang pull a motorbike full of luggage into their parking lot would also figure that the farang might be interested in a hotel room.  In both cases, I was wrong.  

The woman called her teenage son to help.  Apparently he was the English speaking expert in the family.  Ramayana didn’t translate to him either.  Maybe I was saying it wrong.  So I just browsed and found some of the characters myself.  “Ramayana,” I said.  “Oh! Ramayana!” he exclaimed, pronouncing it exactly the same way I did.  With a good sense of humor, travel and cultural exchanges can be constantly entertaining.  

the world's largest souvenir

These figures were much larger than what I was looking for so I said the word for little and shrunk my fingers down.  “You want smaller,” he said.  “How big you want?”  I showed him with my fingers: about 2 inches tall.  He disappeared.  I guessed he went to the back to check their stock.  A couple minutes later he returned, looked me in the eye and flashed his motorbike keys at me.  He gave no indication how long he would be gone, but I took that communication to mean “Wait here. I’m going to get them for you.” 

The figures really weren’t all that important to me. I had just come into the store on a whim since my bike was already stopped right in front of it.  The son left in such a hurry, I didn’t have time to tell him, no, never mind. So I waited.  And waited. And waited.  I waited for 30 minutes.  During that time, I bought a cold water from his mother and drank it.  She had brought out a little stool and placed it in front of the fan for me.  For the remaining 25 minutes, she and I just smiled at each other.  I was thoroughly refreshed, but I couldn’t stand waiting there any longer.  I tried to ask whether her son was coming back in about ten different ways, but just managed to confuse the poor woman.  Finally, a smile and “mai pen rai” was all I could offer.  “Ok, bye” she said casually as if she wasn’t sure why I had been sitting in her store all this time anyway.  I laughed to myself as I walked back to my bike.  Had I misinterpreted? Had I really been waiting for nothing or had her son gone to fetch some small Ramayana characters for me?  I’ll never know. I had to giggle trying to imagine what the mother must have thought of this apparently insane white woman plopped in the middle of her store for half an hour.  Either way, she had been very kind to me.  If her son hadn’t implied I should wait, then the woman was a saint.

Before invading the woman’s store, I had been headed for a cool shower at my guesthouse.  After sitting in front of the fan for 30 minutes and drinking some water, I wasn’t quite so wilted so when I saw a sign for Wat Phra Mahathat, the one with Buddha in the tree, I made a detour and followed it.  The heat was so bad that even the short ride to the Wat made me question whether I’d made the right call.  But I was there so I went in.  On my way I passed an ice cream vendor and immediately promised myself (and the pushy vendor) a sweet reward when I finished viewing the temple.

Buddha enshrined

I have to admit that Buddha entertwined with the tree roots was very cool.  Unfortunately, the heat made everything else pass by in a blur. Or perhaps I was “watted out.”   For whatever reason, after seeing the interaction of nature and religion, I became a very lazy photographer.  Time to go. 

When I was at the elephant camp back in Pai, I noticed that the elephants trudged along  for most of the elephant ride (or “elephant carry” from their perspective) but that toward the end of the ride/carry, as we approached the river, they almost began to trot.  I felt like those elephants as I hurried back toward the pushy ice cream vendor.  We were both about to be very happy.  

I had her in my sight, but she started wheeling her cart out of the parking lot.  No, wait! I shouted inside my head. I told you I would come back!  I trotted faster and caught her halfway out the parking lot.  Now I REALLY wanted that ice cream.  She dished me up some delicious looking coconut ice cream in a cup. It was the homemade kind that has a little more ice mixed in.  She sprinkled peanuts on the top (I think Thais love peanuts on everything) and handed me a spoon.  I paid her, found the nearest trash can and scraped the peanuts off.  Not in the mood for them that day.

Now that I could see the ice cream, I was surprised to find what looked like a kernel of corn in my treat.  I picked it out with the spoon.  Yep, corn.  Hmmmm… that’s a first.  And then I spotted some diced up green vegetables in my creamy dessert as well. I nibbled on a few.  There was little flavor to them because they were frozen so they didn’t interfere with the taste of the ice cream.  So of course I ate the whole thing, corn, green veggies and all and concluded that I had stumbled on the most brilliant way for parents to get their kids to eat their veggies:  simply take them sightseeing in the hot sun all day and then treat them to ice cream laced with this nutritional goodness.  They’ll be so hot and thankful for the treat, the veggies will go down without the slightest complaint.  At least that’s how I, as a naive non-parent, viewed the situation.

There were more temples on my list of sights to see, but I was hot, tired and “watted out” so i biked “home.”  Back at the guesthouse, I took a refreshing cold shower and relaxed.  That evening, I hit the night market for a meal.  I always find it interesting to go to places that exist for the local population rather than for the farang.  Not only do I meet more locals this way, I get a better taste of what life is really like in their country.  

This particular evening was no exception.  After I finished my dinner, I wandered through the market and came across some strange version of a snake show.  Naturally, the man was speaking entirely in Thai so I was relying completely on his showmanship to understand what was going on.  At first he was really good, demonstrating a big box and acting really scared to open it. He had a mini Buddhist shrine set up on top of the box to which he directed a dramatic prayer before opening the box.  When he did open the box, he pulled out a big snake and set it on the ground. One of the food vendors was sitting next to me watching the show.  When I was engrossed in the snakeman’s show, she tickled the back of my leg with my saraong trying to scare me.  We both got a good chuckle out of it.  

live fish vendor

But from that point, the snake man’s show dragged on and on.  I told my prankster friend “more snakes, less talk” to which she giggled although I don’t think she understood what I was saying.  For all I know, it was a sales presentation for healing snake oil but the man just talked and talked and talked and we didn’t see many more snakes.  So I headed home.  

That night, I read an interesting article.  According to the article, on the road toward one of the local wats, vendors sold live fish, eels and other critters that devout Buddhists would buy to release into the river for good luck and to make merit.  It sounded like an interesting experience and opportunity.  And doesn’t everyone always need a little good luck?

Before I left town the next day, I hired mini-songteoaw (kind of a cross between a tuk tuk and a song-teaow) and headed toward  Wat Phananchoeng (aka “Buddha Visits Las Vegas”)  to release some fish for good luck.  Sure enough, I came across a vendor selling plastic bags with eels, several kinds of fish, turtles, snails.  The turtles and snails looked content in their bags and buckets and eels weren’t really my thing that day.  So I chose three bags of fish that looked the most frantic to get out and paid the lady 100 baht (about $3) for my future good luck.  Both the fish seller and my songteaow driver were amused as I made the purchase.  The vendor gave me a prayer card along with fish.  Of course it was written entirely in beautiful Thai squiggles which were illegible to my untaught eye.  

releasing fish for good luck

When we got to the Wat, I walked to the river, fish in hand, and stood with what I’m sure was a “what now?” look on my face.  A chubby Thai man must have seen that I had no idea what I was doing and stepped up to assist.  He introduced himself to me as Ot (which I knew to mean “little frog” because that was the name of “my” elephant in Pai) and authoritatively grabbed me by the hand and led me and my fish to a boat.  He told me that if released the fish by the dock, big fish were there waiting and would just eat them.  “No good luck for you!” he cautioned.  So with Ot’s guidance, I hopped on a boat and headed upstream away from the docks to the middle of the river.  Ot read the prayer card that the fish vendor had given to me in Thai and had me repeat each line. Even with his coaching, I doubt I got it all right, but I figured Buddha would understand.  

I asked Ot to photograph “the release.”  He’s apparently as much of a shutter bug as I am.  Once I turned the camera over to him, it was difficult to get back.  He not only  photographed all three releases of the happy fish (I did one bag at a time), he snapped away as I prepared to release each bag of fish and then shot about twenty photos of me (no kidding!) on the way back to the dock.  

As the sun warmed my shoulders and I smiled for camera-loving Ot, I felt very lucky indeed.

Additional photos for this and other blog entries can be found on the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of this blog.

Wat Chaiwatthanarum, Ayuthaya

Ayuthaya Thailand (population 90,000), the royal capitol of Siam from 1350 to 1767, has a fascinating history.  It’s located an hour and a half north of Bangkok.  It’s a cheerful little modern city built in an around a beautiful but sad old city.  In its day, Ayuthaya had a population of 1,000,000 and had a reputation for being one of the most amazing cities in the world … and the most “glittery.”  According to Kosoom, the well-traveled Thai lady who owns the lovely 100 year old teak Baan Lotus Guesthouse where I stayed, all of the Buddha statues in the city (we’re talking tens of thousands) and many of the temple stupas (again, the numbers are quite high) were covered in pure gold.  Many of the smaller statues were made entirely of gold.  When the sun glinted off of them, I can imagine that the city must have looked like a giant disco ball.

Burma, historically never on fabulous terms with its Siamese neighbor, invaded Ayuthaya in 1767 and utterly sacked the city. Except for the one temple in which the invading army was staying, the Burmese burned the entire city and destroyed all of the temples. They looted the smaller golden statues and melted the gilded outer layer from the rest.  Kosoom tells me that the gold Shwedagong pagoda in Rangoon (now Yangon) in modern day Burma/Myanmar was manufactured almost entirely from the gold melted by the Burmese in Ayuthaya and taken back to Burma.  

In addition to burning and looting the city and doing unimaginable things to its conquests, the Burmese army did the unthinkable.  Despite also being Buddhist, they melted golden Buddhas and decapitated the majority of the remaining stone ones.  Kosoom contends that this act of utmost disrespect is the reason for all the sorrow and bad luck currently experienced by that most unfortunate country.  The temple ruins in Ayuthaya still house the headless Buddhas.  Oddly, despite being headless, the statues still seemed to me to retain a curious life force. They continually drew my eye (and that of my camera) even after seeing hundreds.  

decapitated Buddha statues

Ayuthaya is surrounded on all sides by water and for this reason was selected to be the then capitol.  The king believed that the moat-like rivers provided strategic protection, making the city was undefeatable (in fact, that’s what the name Ayuthaya means).  Obviously, and very unfortunately for the Thais, he was wrong. 

The water did allow me to take a boat tour of the island city, however, on the first evening I was in town.  Due to global warming, Thailand’s rainy season, which normally ends in September, has drawn on into early November.  The excessiveness of the rains was very evident as our quaint, low-ceilinged boat made its way through the swift brown current.  The waters had already invaded some of the low lying riverside houses, but apparently unsatisfied, was greedily licking its chops over others, already creeping inches onto steps and patios.  It seemed to me that this town was just a few rains away from a serious flood problem.  Sadly, more rain is in the forecast.  Yet, none of the the families seemed to be taking any visible precautions against the waters.  I saw no sandbags, save at Wat Chaiwatthanarum, one important temple ruin site.  Instead, the families of these houses waved and smiled cheerfully at our boat as we puttered past.  As children will, many were making great use of the river’s proximity to their door treating the waters like personal right-in-your-backyard swimming pools.  

kids swimming in the river

Besides getting a voyeuristic peek into the lives of the Thai families who lived on the river, the tour itself was quite interesting. More precisely, the stops were interesting.  Our guide spoke very little English so we didn’t get much in the way of explanation for the three temples we visited. The guide would only quip, “Twenty minutes here” before turning us loose to plunder with our cameras. 

Each of our three stops was on the non-island side of the river.  The first stop on the tour was Wat Phananchoeng, a very active and modern temple.  Before entering the temple, we amused ourselves watching about ten young monks attempting to retrieve a gangplank that normally connected one of the docks to the mainland but which had been submerged by the waters in all the heavy rains.  

the bright lights and "over the top" feel of this "shrine" made me feel like I was in a casino

I wandered around the temple which had at least six different rooms.  As best I could tell, one had nothing to do with another (pretty much “pick your worship spot”) although I noticed that each seemed to get more glittery as they progressed.  The last couple of rooms seemed to me downright gaudy and I immediately dubbed the temple “Buddha visits Las Vegas.” With all the noise and flashing lights, I expected to see slot machines.  The machines were missing, but the opportunity to put money in little slots was not.  

The temple was filled with Thais. All that I spoke with were from Bangkok there to make merit.  I observed them doing so by ringing bells, placing flowers in vases, lighting candles and incense, depositing money in slots and into little note holders that stuck out of a bamboo tree, even placing strands of flowers on and applying gold leaf to many of the thousands of Buddha statues around the temple.  Oh yes, and praying.  In between all the merit making, the dutiful Thais posed for photos in front of the various Buddhas.  The “shhhh, you’re in a church” approach we’re accustomed to in the West doesn’t come into play here. Thais easily and naturally intermingle merit making with merry making.  In the background of all the merit making in one room was the constant sound similar to mariachis shaking.  The source of the percussion was a group of sticks being shaken together in a container.  I’m told that these sticks somehow reveal the week’s winning lottery ticket number.  Undoubtedly, the magic number seeker had made merit in some way before consulting the sticks. 

100 Buddha statues at Wat Putthaisawan

Twenty minutes wasn’t nearly enough in this religious carnival.  Although I didn’t understand most of what I saw and heard, I was still fascinated and could easily have spent an hour or more photographing and chuckling with amusement.  But alas, that’s the pitfall of group tours.  Twenty minutes was up.  Time to move on.  

The second stop was Wat Putthaisawan.  Although it wasn’t more quiet than Wat Phananchoeng, it was less bustling and the sounds were of a different sort.  We had arrived at prayer time and a multitude of monks were cloistered away inside one of the buildings chanting.  I’m not sure how long the chants went on, but they were still audibly perfuming the air when we left twenty minutes after we arrived. 

This temple contained ruins from Ayuthaya’s golden age and the monks’ chants provided a lovely, peaceful backdrop as I took in the sights.  At least it would have if I had been leisurely making my way through the sights. The first stop had given me a reality check on how quickly twenty minutes zips by, so I didn’t linger.  Rather, I practically ran (respectfully of course)  through the vast temple grounds which contained even more camera candy than the first Wat, trying to collect as many visual memories as possible and still be back at the dock on time.  I’m not used to being pressured by time when I photograph.  Although I’m a prolific photographer and naturally shoot fairly quickly, I also like to take time to look around and contemplate what I’m shooting.  Because I didn’t want to keep others waiting, the contemplation element was missing at this venue, but such is life.

head of the large reclining Buddha

I didn’t have time to count and confirm, but I was told that a newer section of this Wat shaped in a square with an open air courtyard contained 100 Buddha statues.  I noticed that each of them had a string tied to one of Buddha’s fingers and running up to the ceiling. I’m not sure what this symbolized, but there was no one around to ask … and I didn’t have time anyway.  Such a shame to be in a hurry.  

I scrambled through the courtyard area (snap, snap, snap with my camera) to my main goal – some old ruins that I had seen from the river.  There I found a number of lovely surprises.  Remnants of an old brick wall stood in a grassy courtyard. Peeking through some windows in the wall were a very large reclining stone Buddha kept company by four smaller seated Buddhas all of which were decked out in the traditional orange yellow robes.    

Beethoven Buddha

I peeked around the wall and saw that I could walk back to the Buddha statues. I wasn’t sure if it was required here, but just in case out of respect I ditched my shoes and visited the Buddhas up close.  Most of the visitors to the temple seemed to be concentrating on the first courtyard so I had this area all to myself.  Although I was hurrying, the absence of other people did make me feel like I could be a bit more contemplative as I clicked away.  

In another part of the ruins, sitting rather unceremoniously in front of a pile of rubble and  behind what looked like a trash bucket (but was actually a sandfilled clay pot in which worshippers could place incense) was an armless, legless statue that looked more like a quadruple amputeed Beethoven than Buddha.  But he had the orange robe on so I had to show respect to the poor chap.  

Once again, twenty minutes flew by and it was time to get back to the dock.  Just as I was headed that way, I noticed a rainbow in the sky right behind one of the old stupa ruins.  I couldn’t resist.  Click, click.  Our boat puttered away to the sounds of the monks’ lovely chants.

Wat Chaiwatthanarum should have been our final stop on the tour but it was inaccessible due to a wall of sandbags placed there because of the threat of flooding.  These temple ruins are probably the most fabulous in all of Ayuthaya and are a favorite sunset destination for many Thais and tourists.  The views from the boat were lovely, but unfortunately we had to settle for just that.

Wat Chaiwatthanarum from the river as we floated by

Wat Kasatthirat became the sunset substitute.  A small, modern temple with no obvious outstanding features (other than it was the temple in closest proximity to Wat Chaiwatthanarum), it clearly paled in comparison to Wat C.  When I have my camera in hand though, I can almost always find some point of at least minor interest to enjoy and photograph.  Sure enough, a collection of orange and silver umbrellas caught my eye; more so a group of ceramic roof tiles on which things had been written (prayers perhaps) before being used.  

Sunsets don’t last long in Southeast Asia (at least not at this time of year).  We went from daylight to dark within fifteen minutes.  So the rest of the boat tour was by the light of lamps at various riverside houses.  Not being able to see much or photograph at all, I think we were all ready to wrap up the tour which ended at the night market.  My fellow tour and guesthouse-mates were a lovely young Swiss couple and delightfuly sweet and energetic Canadian family (Mom, Dad and their three extremely polite little girls).  We’d all spent most of the tour wide-eyed or noses in cameras so it wasn’t until we docked at the market that we actually introduced ourselves and began to socialize.  We all managed to find different things to eat at the market and I commenced a progressive dinner party, joining the Swiss couple first and then migrating to the family table.  

ceramic tiles with prayers written on them

We all shared food with each other so that we got to experience different tastes.  I experimented with a beautiful looking steamed “something” wrapped in a banana leaf.  I was never sure what it was exactly but the it had the texture of a hotdog so I’m assuming ground meat of some kind molded into the leaf.  Probably it was hot at some point but was “room temperature” by the time I got to it.  I finished it (“If it doesn’t kill the Thais to eat it, it won’t kill me” is my current motto.) but didn’t inflict it on anyone.  

Back at Baan Lotus Guesthouse, I got an interesting history lesson from Kosoom about Ayuthaya, Thailand, her neighbors (Thailand’s; not Kosoom’s) and her family (Kosoom’s; not Thailand’s).  When she learned that I used to be an attorney, she excitedly told me that her father had also been a lawyer as well as a judge.  The house that she now used a hotel had been in her family for many generations.  She even pointed out to me the room in which she had been born.  Her name meant Lotus after the gorgeous lotus pond behind the house.  

Baan Lotus lotus pond

Kosoom was very well traveled and spoke excellent English.  She had been all over Southeast Asia and had visited Europe and the United States on several occasions.  She currently has two brothers living in the US, both of whom are generals in the US military.   

She was a font of information regarding travel in Southeast Asia had definite opinions about Thailand’s various neighbors as well as their former colunizers.  She admired the English in part because they left great roads in Burma.  She did not trust the French, frequently describing them as “tricky,” primarily stemming from the current land dispute between Thailand and Cambodia that has the two countries almost at war.  Kosoom told me that when the French occupied Cambodia, they also wanted the Eastern half of Thailand.  “My very clever king,” she called him, “gave France four towns so that the whole of Thailand could stay in one piece.” Yet the French wanted more and drew their maps to reflect Cambodian ownership of a particular temple, Preah Vihear, and the land surrounding it.  Although the French no longer occupy Cambodia, their actions are having present day repurcussions.  Based on maps drawn by the French during the colonial era, the International Court of Justice declared the lands to be Cambodian in 1962.

“This is ridiculous!” Kosoom exclaimed. “The only door and path to enter the temple is on soil that everyone agrees belongs to Thailand.  If the international court had come here and seen this, they would have known that the temple and the land it sits on also belongs to Thailand and that the French maps were misdrawn.”  She got pretty excited and angry discussing the matter.  For a minute, I thought that this fine, well-bred lady was going to spit if either of us said “France” one more time.

Her distaste for the French was excerbated by the fact that Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam have bad roads which she blames on their former “landlord.”  Although I was delighted to let another country take the fall for once, in all fairness, I pointed out that my country probably had a bit to do with the holes in the roads as well.  Kosoom would hear none of it and ended the conversation, bringing it full circle shaking her head and saying “the French are tricky.”    I had done my duty in making my previous observation.  Fine with me to let another country take the hit for a change.

I headed to my room and settled in with my laptop.  I had enjoyed a lovely day in Ayuthaya, but, on reflection, decided I hadn’t seen enough of this charming city.  In particular, I wanted to see the temple that had been off limits due to flooding (there was an entrance on the road side of the temple).  As I drifted off to sleep, I was happy that I would be around a day longer than originally planned.

Additional photos for this and other blog entries can be found on the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of this blog.

I was motorbiking back from Thong Pha Phum to Kanchanaburi where I rented the motorbike and began my tour of the province when the engine suddenly cut out and I coasted to a complete stop.  It had sputtered at times before but this was the first time that it completely died.  And it wouldn’t start again.  

Within minutes, a very nice young Thai couple pulled over in their pickup truck.  Through miming and my limited Thai, I conveyed the problem to them.  After trying a few different tricks with the bike, the young man also concluded I needed a mechanic.  We loaded the bike and my stuff in the bed of the truck. I was prepared to jump in the cab with them (an unusual opportunity to make new Thai friends, I thought), but they managed to convey to me that they didn’t have any straps to tie down the bike so I had to sit on the bike in the bed and just hold the brakes down to keep it from toppling out.  Basically, I was “riding” the motorbike in the bed of a pickup truck!  THAT was a little scary!  

About five minutes into our trip, my rescuers pulled over to a Buddhist shrine/spirit house on the side of the road and asked me to wait while they prayed. I took the opportunity to say a few of my own prayers … and to put on my helmet “just in case” (although I’m not sure that it would have made much difference).  

Murphy’s Law apparently works in full force all over the world because a mechanic was no where near and within a few minutes of us hitting the road again, it started to rain … hard.  The drops were pelting me as though they were small rocks, stinging my arms and face.  I was more worried about my laptop and camera gear exposed as they were in the truck bed.  I tapped on the back of the cab and shortly my bags were stored safely away and I had donned my not-so-stylish aqua blue rain poncho.  The poncho was semi-effective in shielding me from the driving rain, but we were cruising so fast that the wind whipped the oversized plastic cloak around, choking my neck and threatening to pretend it was a kite, carrying me away.  (My rescuer was probably driving slower than normal, but it still felt fast to me, exposed as I was standing on a motorbike in the truck bed).  

What a sight we must have been  to all the people we passed who stopped what they were doing and stared at the sleek new truck zipping past with a motorbike-riding foreigner in the back donning a windblown aqua cape, like some physically and stylishly challenged superhero-wanna-be.  A glance at my reflection in the rear view window of the cab sparked the realization that the color of my poncho matched my bike perfectly.  Great.  Thwarted superhero analogy complete.  It was an odd thing to notice at the time, given my need to stay constantly focused on balance, but one doesn’t get to choose the timing for most humorous moments.  Murphy was definitely laughing at me.  I was able to join in once I was safely on the ground.  

After thirty minutes of our circus act, we finally reached a mechanic.  My rescuers would not accept any money for their trouble, even though I noticed they drove away in the direction from which we had come so this stop was obviously not en route for them.  I don’t know what village they deposited me in; only that it was about 100 km from my destination of Kanchanaburi.  At the shop, we piled my bags against a pole and I went next door to buy sodas for myself and each of the mechanics (never underestimate a well-timed bribe!).  I sat and watched for 45 minutes as they took my bike apart, trying one thing after another to get it to start.  

They finally diagnosed the problem, but no one in the shop spoke a word of English.  All I could understand was 800 Baht (about $25).  Although this doesn’t sound like much by western standards (oh how I wish ANY of my trips to the mechanic with my car or trailer back in the States were $25!), by Asian standards, it was a very expensive repair. To put it into context, repairing a punctured tire cost $3; cleaning the carburetor $0.50 (probably a serious undercharge) and diagnosing and replacing a spark plug (including the cost of the new plug) $4.  I’m no stranger to motorbike repairs.  So an 800 Baht fix is probably on par with about a $500 one back home.  To justify the expense, the mechanics imported an English-speaking friend who explained that the owner either hadn’t put oil in for a while or hadn’t changed it or whatever you do with motorbikes.  Bottom line, “Oil all gone. Piston stuck.  Won’t move. Bike no start.” 

Although the bike still needed repairing, I was a bit relieved.  If lack of oil was the problem, then the owner was at fault as I had only been driving the bike for 4 days. I had explicitly told the English-speaking owner, Gail (a young, 30-something tiny Thai woman), that I planned to drive the bike over 500 km and asked if the oil was okay for the trip.  She had assured me it was no problem.  So whatever the costs, I should be reimbursed.  

The lawyer in me reared its head and I decided to call Gail before any repairs commenced to explain the situation and confirm that she would reimburse me.  I called both numbers I had for her and kept getting non-English-speaking people who would not put Gail on the phone (maybe she wasn’t there?) and would hang up on me.  So I handed the phone to the mechanic who called.  Eventually, we got Gail on the phone who agreed to reimburse me for the repair charges.  

The mechanic’s shop got very busy all of a sudden.  About five people came in with motorbike problems and my bike just sat there, like a sad exposed skeleton with all its pieces strewn on the floor waiting for some attention.  None came.  After 30 minutes of watching everyone’s bike get serviced but mine, I finally took some action.  After all, it was already 2:30 in the afternoon. The repair looked like it would take a while (it had taken them 45 minutes just to take the bike apart) and I still had to drive about 1.5 -2 hours back to Kanchanaburi and I had planned to stop at an interesting place called “The Tiger Temple” on the way. (The monks at the Tiger Temple began adopting orphaned tiger cubs in the early 90’s, and now had quite a collection of adult tigers on the grounds).  All this, AND I was trying to get back to Kanch before dark as I try not to drive my motorbike at night except in town.  

Somehow the mechanic managed to convey to me that “the company” told them to wait until someone from “the company” called back to authorize repairs (at least this is what I think they were saying.  I’ve discovered in my travels that language barriers often create interesting understandings and misunderstandings).  I had already been at the shop about 3 hours and was starting to feel a bit of time pressure so I handed them a 1000 Baht note hoping they would understand me to be saying  “I’ll pay for it. Just fix it please.”  They refused.  I guess authorization, rather than payment, was the issue at that point.  Who knows.  

So I called Gail back and explained the situation as I understood it and asked her to explain to the mechanics that she was from “the company,” that she authorized the repairs, that I would pay (with the understanding she would reimburse me) and that we needed to get this project moving as soon as possible.  No problem, she told me.  I handed the phone to the mechanic, who after talking to Gail for a while, handed the phone back to me.  

“We have a new plan,” Gail told me.  “The repairs will take a full day so I think you should take a taxi back to Kanchanaburi.  The mechanic has said he will find a pickup truck taxi for you that can also carry the bike and I will pay for it when you get here.”  “You’ll pay for the taxi?” I confirmed.  “Yes, I’ll pay for the taxi.”  

Well, Tiger Temple was definitely out of the picture now (bummer) but I had already gotten to play with tigers in Chiang Mai.  At least now, I’ll get back to Kanchanaburi and can continue with my other plans, I thought.  So we loaded the bike which was pretty much a skeletal frame and many (many many many) pieces at that point in the back of the truck taxi and took off for Kanchanburi. 

Gail runs her motorbike rental operation in front of a massage parlor (the legit kind, not the porn kind … in Thailand you have to specify) run by an old woman.  When I rented the bike, my recollection is that the two women were working together to seal the deal.  To the extent that I thought about it, I would have said the two were mother and daughter.   

When the taxi pulled up, Mom was upset when she saw the bike in pieces.  Gail was nowhere in sight.  At first, Mom and the other ladies (More family? Girls who work in the massage shop? Or maybe it’s all the same thing?) thought I had been in an accident with the bike and I had to slowly walk them through the situation so they realized a mechanic had taken the bike apart.  I showed them my hands and knees so they could see the absence of scrapes … i.e. no accident.

Finally, Gail showed up. The taxi driver was waiting to be paid.  Gail told me that her mother didn’t want to pay for the taxi because she didn’t understand the situation.  She told me that her own money was in her room which was not close.  “Would you please pay for the taxi and I will pay you back?” she asked me.  

My instincts told me not to pay.  After all, Gail already had 2000 Baht of my money that I had given her for a deposit when I rented the bike.  If I paid for the taxi (800 Baht) then she would now owe me about $100 US.  She didn’t seem to be making any attempts to explain the situation to Mom and it all felt very wrong.  

“Let’s have the taxi driver drive us to your room and you can get both his money and my money at the same time,” I suggested.  “He already told me that he won’t take us anywhere until he gets paid for this trip,”  she replied.  Now, the driver was a sweet-seeming 20 year old boy who didn’t seem the type to take such a stand, but Gail had a trustworthy looking face.  She was the only person on sight who spoke English so I didn’t have another interpretation of what the driver had said.  Still, my instincts told me not to pay so, for a while, I refused.  “Mai dai ka,” I said repeatedly (which is a very polite form of saying “I can’t” (which is the way confrontation-avoiding Thais say “I won’t”).  

With no one paying the taxi driver, we all just stood around very awkwardly for about 20 minutes.  I had decided on the drive back to Kanch that, without a motorbike to continue  my trip, I would just take a bus to Damnoen Saduak, positioning myself perfectly to go see the floating markets early the next morning.  The last bus left Kanch at 6:00 pm and it was already 4:30.  Based on the time pressure, I was the first one to cave in. “You promise you’ll pay me back?” I asked Gail stupidly. “Yes, yes. The money is in my room.  I’ll go get it as soon as the taxi is gone.”  I cringe to admit that I didn’t say “Get on your motorbike and go get it now.”  But I didn’t.  I paid the taxi driver and then waited for Gail to return with the money.  

The clock ticked away and it was 5:15 when she returned.  “I loaned the money to my friend and he’s bringing it at 6:00,” was all she said.  I’ve learned from watching others that losing your temper gets you nowhere in Thailand.  Thais won’t yell back if you show your anger. They just slow down if you’re in a hurry or ignore you altogether.  So, although I wanted to give Gail a piece of my mind (she had to have known that she didn’t have the money), I swallowed that reaction, smiled (I was raised in the South of the US after all which was excellent training for Thailand in this regard) and said, “That doesn’t work for me Gail. I would like to take a bus to Damnoen Saduak and the last one leaves at 6:00.  I need the money now. How about if we go to an ATM and you can get the money there?”   “Sure. Let’s go,” she replied, not exactly enthusiastically. 

We hopped on her motorbike and stopped at an ATM on the way to the bus station.  Really? I thought.  Was I REALLY going to get my money back?  I had very serious doubts.  Sure enough, “Not enough money.” Gail told me.  “I could only get 500 Baht.”  Again, in hindsight, I’m not sure why I didn’t insist she give me that amount then as a start.  “I’ll call my sister and she can bring the money.  She can meet us at the bus station,” was her next ploy.  

Hoping that a bus that was about to leave would provide a little extra pressure, I agreed.  We sat and waited by the bus until 5:55 with Gail on the phone every 30 seconds and looking around frantically.  Finally, she told me “My sister misunderstood and is in her room looking for the money.  Wait here and I’ll go get it. I’ll be back in 2 minutes.”  “Whatever” was my attitude at this point.  Actually, that was my attitude on the surface.  Seething anger that this woman was such a con-artist was my attitude underneath the smiling veneer I had learned from the Thais (and my fellow Southerners).  

At 6:15, the bus pulled away … and Gail had obviously stranded me at the bus station as she never reappeared.  Nor did she answer her phone any of the 7 times I tried to call her.  I caught a taxi back to Gail’s shop.  She was very surprised to see me get out, clearly thinking I would get on the bus without my money.  While waiting for Gail earlier in the day, I had befriended some girls who worked in the travel agency next door so I stashed my bags there and recruited one of them to interpret for me.  Although Gail spoke excellent English, her mother and the other women standing around outside the shop did not.  I was not above tarnishing Gail’s reputation at this point to get my money.  

So I told my story which was translated by the sympathetic travel agent.  In addition to outlining all the ways and times Gail had lied to me, I also tallied Gail’s expense list, adding to it some small items I had previously been willing to overlook (the money I paid the mechanic for his time and diagnosis, extra days on my bike contract that I had paid for but couldn’t use because the bike was broken and the taxi fee for returning to Gail’s once she stranded me).  At this point, I was furious (but managed to suppress it) and I was determined to squeeze every baht from this deceitful woman.  All told, she owed me 3300 Baht.  Although everyone else seemed to be sympathetic and Gail didn’t deny that she owed me any of what I outlined, she was also not affected by the pressure I was applying.  Not surprisingly, her reputation was already so low that this little bit didn’t matter at all.  “My friend will come at 9:00 with the money,” she said nonchalantly.  

That was the last straw.  “Gail, I am smiling, but I am not happy. In fact, I am very angry.  You have lied to me, left me at the bus station and now you are trying to steal from me.  I am smiling, but I am also calling the tourist police.”  Finally, some action.  But not from Gail.  Everything I said had been translated by the travel agent and Mom jumped to her feet.      

It turned out, according to the travel agent, Gail’s motorbike rental business wasn’t legit (what a surprise!), but because she operates it in front of/out of Mom’s shop, Mom would get in huge trouble and have her legitimate business shut down for allowing Gail’s illegitimate activities.  They told me that Gail is basically a liar who uses the family and doesn’t care what happens to them. You know the kind.  And “Mom” is actually “Mom-in-law.”  She despises Gail, but loves her son who’s married to Gail.  So I had managed to wander into a little Thai soap opera.

At that point, Gail had just wandered off to someplace.  She didn’t seem to care whether or not I called the police. Mom, on the other hand, was scrambling hysterically. She offered me 2000 baht of her own money as a settlement payment if I would just not call the police.  When I saw how panicked the old woman was, I made up my mind that I would not involve the authorities.  She seemed to be a decent woman who was caught up in a bad, co-dependant family entanglement and I felt sorry for her.  Who of us hasn’t known something similar?  But it irked me that Gail would walk away not paying a penny (or whatever the Thai version of a penny is).  So I countered by saying I would accept Mom’s 2000 baht if I could also have the 500 baht I saw Gail get out of the ATM only an hour earlier.  It was more about Gail contributing something than about the extra money itself although I also wanted to be swindled out of as little as possible.  

“She’s already spent the money on food,” someone said.  “FOOD?!” I exclaimed!  “What in the world could she have possibly bought for 500 baht?! Five hundred baht will feed me for more than five days here!  And she only took it out of the ATM an hour ago.  Get her down here.  She should be part of this.”  Well, it just wasn’t going to happen.  Whether Gail had already spent the money (doubtful) or Mom was just protecting her or had no control over her (likely), I’ll never know.  Mom borrowed an extra 500 baht from the travel agent and I agreed to accept 2500 in lieu of 3300.  Mom was clearly very upset over the ordeal (as was I) and expressed her appreciation for my willingness to work with her and her apologies that I had had such trouble.

Now that I was stuck in town for an extra night, I went to find a hotel while the travel agency gals watched my bags.  When I came back from booking a room, I found Mom sobbing in travel agency office, lamenting to the travel agents that Gail was such trouble.  Mom was upset because she had worked so hard for all that money. (At least that’s what I gathered between what I could understand and what the travel agent told me. Mom spoke very very little English.)  I gave the old woman a hug and she squeezed my hand … and broke my heart.  At that moment I decided that the money, although important to me, meant much much more to this old woman.  

I got out one of the 1000 Baht notes she had given to me earlier and handed it back to her.  She refused it, so I folded it and pressed it into her hand. She didn’t resist this time, but cried even harder and hugged me close.  After a minute, she wiped her tears away, stood up and took my hands.  “Foot massage,” she announced. “No charge. I give,” and she lead me by the hand back to her shop.   

At first, I found it hard to relax and enjoy the foot massage which is normally my favorite kind of massage.  My mind was racing trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together.  Were Mom’s tears a scam? Would she really have been shut down or was she just protecting Gail from police involvement?  Why didn’t I think to insist that Gail give me the 500 Baht from the ATM? How could I have handled this entire situation differently so that I got all my money back but from Gail instead of Mom?  

Finally, I gave up.  I thought of my own mother who’s always so sensitive and compassionate toward others.  Although she and Dad would always insist that my brother and I take responsibility for our own actions, they have thankfully never been faced with needing to shield us from the police, although they’ve bailed us both out of sticky financial situations that we were dumb enough to get ourselves into when we were younger.  So I chose to look at the situation from that point and was glad I gave Mom the money.  I continued to think about my Mom as I relaxed into the foot massage (also her favorite kind of massage) and willed the yummy sensations to her feet in Kentucky.  So Mom, if your feet were feeling really good yesterday morning, that was a foot massage courtesy of me and “Mom” all the way from Thailand.  

As I let myself become completely relaxed, I realized that “Mom” and I had each shared with each other what we were able in order to ease our stresses caused by Gail’s bad character.  Although I wouldn’t knowingly walk into the same situation again, some good (and good lessons) came out of it.

———

If you’re traveling in Kanchanaburi and want to get a foot massage from Mom, have a taxi take you to Sugar Cane Guesthouse.  The guesthouse is tucked away down a little alley (and I would give it a 6 out of 10. Nice people. Good price. Needs some refurbishing.) and Mom’s shop (Fah Thai massage) is on the main street right on the corner at the alley entranceway.  The old woman there is … “Mom” … duh (I never got her real name, nor did she get mine).  

Avoid like the plague, however, renting one of the motorbikes out front though and spread the word.  Maybe this way Gail’s business will be adversely affected, without hurting Mom’s.  And if you see a skinny pretty looking girl named Gail, you don’t need to stick out your tongue at her for me or tell her “Shame, shame.”  Undoubtedly, given her bad character, she will have done something recently to warrant it so you can if you want to.  It’s enough for me to know that in her next life she’ll come back as a cockroach.

morning fisherman

When I peeked out my front door the next morning, mist was rising off the lake, partly shrouding a fisherman leaning out of his boat to collect the morning’s catch.  In the thirty minutes I took to shower and dress, the mist was gone, leaving the fisherman fully exposed to my voyeuristic lens.  I grabbed my camera and headed up the road, anxious to start my boat tour of the moody looking waters.  

Lek, my boatman, lead me to a long, narrow, wooden boat with a small engine in back.  Three well-worn woven mats were lying in the middle of the boat, inviting me to settle in and take a ride.  I eagerly accepted the invitation.

Kheuan Khao Lake was formed when three converging rivers were dammed.  In the process, an old Mon village that resided at the confluence of those rivers was flooded and submerged by the lake, a sort of mystical Mon Atlantis.  (The Mon are an ancient ethnic group in Southeast Asia whose territories in years past covered portions of Burma and Thailand.) I had heard that parts of an old temple peeked out of the lake and my imagination ran wild with the imagery I anticipated seeing and capturing with my camera.  

Thailand's longest wooden bridge

First, Lek and I headed for the long wooden bridge that Katrina and I had walked over the previous evening and then we motored out to find the underwater temple remains.   As we motored along the perimeter of the lake, I got a glimpse of families yawning and starting their day: women scrubbed clothes, little boys brushed their teeth.  All were perched at the water’s edge from their floating houses; the lake was deeply interwoven into their lives.  An enormous and elaborate golden chedi gleamed in the background.

The sky was dark and dramatic that morning.  The threat of rain was imminent.  Yet life continued.  Fishermen fished.  A grandfather and grandson made a beautiful team, each seated at extreme ends of a long narrow boat, rowing past rolling green hills dotted with what appeared to be tea plants.  The grandfather noticed me watching them and stopped rowing for an instant to wave and smile. 

As we traveled into deeper water, we passed a strange looking contraption made entirely of wood and ropes.  The floating bamboo platform supported log poles arranged so erratically to my eye that it could have been an abstract art installation.  To the contrary, Lek said it was used to catch fish. 

the "spirit house" looking pagoda protruding from the lake

I was surprised when we reached the underwater temple, which looked nothing like I had anticipated.  What appeared to be a white spirit house with a bright, golden pagoda was lifted out of the water by stone pillars and the wooden framework of something resembling a portico.  Had this once been the entry point to the temple compound?  About one hundred feet from the “spirit house” structure, crumbling stone remains of the temple walls emerged approximately ten feet high from the watery grave above the rest of the temple.  The roof had long since either decayed or been washed away.  The waters were dark on this particular day so my view of the temple consisted exclusively of the stone that managed to escape the lake.  As we puttered around to what had obviously been the front of the temple, the rounded top of a doorway emerged and beside it, a mosaic stone relief that resembled a pagoda. 

Something prompted me to leave my camera gear in the boat, dive into the water and through the door to explore the temple interior and parts of the temple that were currently out my sight.  Maybe it was the gloomy day that cast a foreboding shadow on the idea of such a bold move.  Maybe it was a remnant of my former fear of water that was born after a near drowning experience five years earlier.  Maybe it was the look of fear on Lek’s face when I bounced the idea off of him in charade format.  For whatever reason, I suppressed the instinct and remained in the boat, my imagination still churning with the imagery of crumbling stone Buddhas receiving kisses from multitudes of fish and lake creatures.     

Before heading back to the dock, Lek showed me some limestone cliffs that had been whittled away into beautiful formations by the water over the years.  One cave that had formed was now used as a natural temple. A bamboo ladder lead up to it allowing people to climb up, leave offerings for Buddha and pray.  In this area, there was a fisherman quietly pulling up his nets and stashing a fish or two in his boat.  I love watching the fisherman work.  At some point before my trip is over, perhaps I can convince one to take me with him one morning to either help or at least watch and photograph.  

successful fisherman

After Lek and I docked, I decided to go explore some of the local wats.  I was interested in trying to chat with the monks and learn a little bit more about Buddhism as it is practiced in Thailand. The first temple I went to seemed to be brand new and still under construction.  The door was blocked with plywood. Decorative concrete embellishments to be added to elaborate stone structures were set out to dry on the side of the temple. 

The monks at this particular temple, as in many others, varied in age from about fifteen to seventy.  I saw lots of them moving around in one area of the temple compound so I headed over to say hello. Several of the young monks were brushing their teeth and another seemed to be putting on his robes so I figured this was their living area.  I walked away so I wouldn’t accidentally catch one of them dressing and embarrass us both. 

Adjacent to the “living area,” an older monk seemed to be holding a small ceremony with a woman and her baby.  I waited for them to finish and approached to say hello.  The old monk immediately started indicating that his knees hurt (arthritis perhaps?) and then abruptly turned his back and walked away.  So I hopped on my motorbike and headed over to the other temple that had caused my jaw to drop when I arrived in town the previous day … the one with the very large reclining Buddha.  

man brushing dust from newly cemented pagoda before painting it

I stopped first to admire the nine larger than life (literally) Buddhas seated across the street.  Next to the gravel lot in front of those Buddhas, three new stupas were under construction in various stages, each of them surrounded with bamboo scaffolding.  One stupa received the attention of three workers who were covering the brick structure with concrete, smoothing the concrete and painting it.  The man painting at the top worked in his bare feet which seemed to mold to the concrete that had already been placed and dried.  The workers were friendly and we exchanged hellos and smiles. 

I walked across the street to the temple/monastery itself and found several older monks sitting on benches watching one monk weave some sort of basket onto a bamboo pole.    At first, they were shy but they warmed up after I spoke to the in the limited Thai that I know and invited me to sit with them.  Some younger monks joined us then too and a few began practicing their English with me.  

One asked me if I had seen the monkey and motioned for me to follow him.  Sure enough, I had not misunderstood.  Near the monks’ quarters were two monkeys, a baby and an adult.  Neither my Thai nor their English was good enough for me to understand how they happened to have acquired the monkeys.  Both monkeys wore belts around their wastes onto which a chain about fifteen feet long was clipped.  The baby monkey immediately sprang into action and climbed my leg and then my hair.  He sat on my head and tried to take my glasses off my face.  The monks clearly spent a lot of time playing with this little guy but he still had energy to spare.  He was cute but a handful.  

one of the monks with the baby monkey

The adult monkey didn’t take to me so much.  He was lying on his back enjoying a tummy rub from one of the monks when he spotted me.  His peaceful demeanor was gone in a flash as he jumped up, growled and started to charge me.  I stepped back beyond the length of his chain.  Recalling the monkey bite I sustained in Bali, I was thankful when his chain grew taut and forced a distance between us.  

Many of the monks had gathered around now.  Most kept a little distance from me and smiled shyly, but seemed to watch everything I did.  One of the young monks brought me a puppy to hold and play with.  Another had me write my name and address in one of his books.  He introduced himself to me as Somsit and handed me an envelope that he had pre-addressed to himself, care of the monastery.  He didn’t give me any instructions about what he wanted me to mail to him so I told him I would send copies of the photos I had taken at the monastery that day.  He seemed pleased and offered to give me a tour of the temple and monastery.  

Before we set off on our tour, Somsit unclipped the baby monkey from his chain.  “Don’t worry. He won’t run away. He’ll take the tour with us,” he told me.  Sure enough, the baby monkey stayed with us for most of the tour.  He would sometimes lag behind, distracted with a bug or a piece of string and sometimes he would run ahead and jump up and down on a railing as if to say, “Hurry up!”  So lead by a monk and a monkey, I got a personal tour of Wat Somoet.  Throughout our tour, several monks invited me to take their photos.  That was certainly new … and welcome!  

an older monk posing for his first portrait in twenty years

Seeing that they didn’t mind having their photograph taken, I asked an older monk who was lounging on raised platform whether I could take his picture.  He smiled and stepped into his room.  I took that to mean that he was shy and would rather not, but he re-emerged a minute later with a bright orange robe that he was wrapping around his upper-body.   He didn’t mind having his photo made. He had merely wanted to appear more modest in his portrait. 

He stood very formally next to the platform he had been lounging on just minutes before and posed with a very solemn look.  Another older monk walked up and the first monk grabbed him by the elbow and walked him over to a table where they both posed for me.  To look at the expression on the first monk’s face in the photos, you would think he was an unwilling participant.  He looks so serious, almost slightly scowling.  I thought it a very humorous contrast to know that he not only was willing, but initiated the second portrait with the two monks.  I never captured the first candid composition that had caught my eye when he was lounging on the platform.  In a way though, these portraits were just as good if not better because of our interaction.  

The older monk smiled when I showed him his portaits on my digital camera.  Somsit translated for me that it had been twenty years since this monk had had his photograph made.  It seemed to bring back pleasant memories for him.  

Somsit with the adult monkey

After thanking the monks for their hospitality, especially Somsit, I said goodbye and headed back to my hotel for a bite to eat.  On the way, I passed a group of brightly dressed Muslim children who were happy to pose for a photograph.  Back at the Burmese Inn while enjoying some delicious curry, I noticed some fabulous wooden puppets.  The owner told me they had been made in Burma and advised me to look at the Mon market held every day beneath the enormous gold chedi.  I was smitten with the puppets and was now on a mission to have some of my own.  

The next morning, before heading to the Mon market, I made a quick road trip on my motorbike up to Three Pagodas Pass located right on the border between Thailand and Burma/Myanmar.  On the way, I got a chuckle out of some cattle that walking alongside the road.  One of the cows had picked up a piece of blue cardboard and was carrying it in its mouth; not chewing or trying to eat it, just carrying it.  The other cows were trying to take it away but the cow in possession was defending its treasure.  Weird … and very funny.  

I arrived in Three Pagodas Pass and was surprised to see how small and understated everything there was, including the three pagodas for which the town was named.  Contrary to the information in my guidebook, the immigration officer advised me that the Burmese border was closed and that foreigners were not permitted to cross.  About fifty feet beyond the immigration office were some red and white barricades that stood only about three to four feet high.  No one seemed to stand guard around them.  Beyond the barricades, motorbike and car traffic passed within feet on Burmese soil.  As I was watching, three men simply walked around the back of a building that sat on the border, crossing without incident or notice from the Burmese side of the border into Thailand.  Interesting. 

the unintimidating albeit "closed" border crossing between Thailand and Burma/Myanmar

I walked closer to the barricades and noticed a sign that said “1. ALL FOREIGNERS  2.  WELCOME TO MYANMAR 3. NO VIDEO CAMERAS ARE ALLOWED.”  Of course, I took a photo.  Convinced I would somehow get across the border, I decided to put my rebellious thoughts on the back burner for the moment and did some souvenir shopping.    

I found a number of beautiful sculptures made from sandalwood amid the tacky plastic chotchkies that outnumbered them.  In the process of doing my shopping, I found my way to cross the border.

I noticed that many of the vendors’ stalls opened at the back as well as the front.  Although there were metal gates in the back, these gates looked easy to jump. Immediately on the other side was Burmese soil.  I began talking to one of the vendors who had such a gate in the back of his stall.  As we talked about the border situation, a Thai tourist from Bangkok named Darwed happened up and was also interested in crossing the border.  The vendor told us that Thai people were permitted to go across but foreigners were not.  He himself lived in Burma, but crossed the border each day to work in his souvenir stand.  He seemed to like my rebellious streak and suggested that Darwed and I pose by the gate in the back of his stall while he hopped the fence with my camera and took our picture from Burmese soil.  We happily agreed.  

yours truly on Burmese soil ... for 30 seconds

After he took our photo, he told Darwed, “You know, you can cross if you want to because you’re Thai.”  Darwed was a little nervous and reluctant, but finally did so and I took his picture with Burma as his backdrop.  The vendor then looked to the left and the right and told me, “If you hurry, you can cross too just long enough to have your picture taken.”  I didn’t need a second invitation.  I jumped the gate, had my picture made and crossed back.  Although I don’t have a visa stamp in my passport, I do have a photo to prove that I went to Burma/ Myanmar … at least for 30 seconds.

Darwed and I both thanked the vendor and hopped on our motorbikes back to Sangkhlaburi.  I had to hurry to check out of my hotel.  Darwed was obviously in a bigger hurry because he roared past me and waved.  I passed him when I got the security checkpoint where his bike was being searched.  I was waved through.  “Good luck” I called to him.

Back in Sangkhlaburi, I packed my bags and stored them with the hotel clerk while I ventured to the Mon market in search of the wooden Burmese puppets.  I looked for thirty minutes before I spotted them.  I picked out three that I liked and braced myself for the price.  I had seen some slightly larger the week before at a market in Bangkok where the seller was asking 3000 baht each (about $100). My jaw hit the floor when this vendor offered to sell me all three puppets for 1000 baht total.  “Wrap them up,” was all I said.  I was thrilled with my bargain.  

rustic Burmese puppet

While my puppets were being wrapped, I explored Chedi Luang Phaw Uttama, the temple connected with the golden chedi that loomed over the Sangkhlaburi landscape.  I marveled at the architecture and photographed the variety of sculptures of oversized Buddhas in the temple parking lot.  

Thirty minutes later, I was on the road waving goodbye to Sangkhlaburi and headed back to Thong Pha Phum.  Between the friendly people, interesting history, shared border and culture with Burma and stunning landscape, Sangkhlaburi is the kind of town I could easily live in for a year or so.  It was with great regret that I left after only two and a half days, but I was meeting a friend in Bangkok and had a few more stops to make on the way so it was time to move on.  The road was calling my name.

Additional photos for this and other blog entries can be found on the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of this blog.

At long last, I now have video uploaded from my time at Thom’s Elephant Camp in Pai.  If you’d like to see it, click here.

Kanchanaburi Province (and beyond) motorbike trip plan

Kanchanburi province in Thailand lies west of Bangkok and butts up against the Burmese border. The province (similar to a state) gets few tourists compared with the rest of the country, but reputedly had beautiful mountains, rivers and waterfalls and, the further west one travels, a “wild west” kind of feel. So I rented a motorbike (what else?!) to explore. A quick note of gratitude is in order to Couchsurfer Melly-Mel who gave me the idea to take this fabulous trip. Thanks Mel!

The city of Kanchanburi (not to be confused with the province of the same name) is known worldwide for its famous Kwai River and even more famous bridge that crosses it. The town was the hellish home for a number of Allied POWs and conscripted Southeast Asians during World War II. From this base, thousands of prisoners built the railroad known as the Death Railway linking Thailand to Burma/Myanmar to provide an alternate supply route for the Japanese. More than 100,000 of those prisoners died because of the cruel, brutal treatment they received at the hands of their captors. A small number of those are buried at the Allied War Cemetary also located in Kanchanburi.

The day I arrived in the town of Kanchanburi (Kanch for short), it was raining so I didn’t get to see much of anything. I had given a temporary home to a woman I met on the bus who’s wallet turned up missing (she thought she left it at her hotel back in Bangkok). She was quite sweet … but snored so I didn’t get much rest that night. The next morning, after seeing her to the bus station, I caught a quick nap so I wouldn’t snooze on my motorbike. When I woke up, I was more in the mood to get moving than to do much museum-type sightseeing so, other than stopping to take photos of the infamous Bridge over the River Kwai, I postponed the War Memorial sightseeing for my return to Kanch the next week and took off for Thong Pha Phum.

TPP is about 150 km from Kanch with many opportunities between the two to pull off to see waterfalls, hotsprings and tigers. Well, actually, there’s only one opportunity to see tigers. In the early 1990’s, monks at Wat Luang Ta Bua Yanna Sampanno (aka Tiger Temple) began taking in tiger cubs orphaned by poachers who killed their mothers. Word spread about the monk’s unusual collection and now they have many adult tigers (babies do grow up!) roaming the property … supervised, of course.

THE Bridge over the River Kwai

I had enjoyed playing with the tigers in Chiang Mai last month and was curious to visit the Tiger Temple. I remembered the severe allergies I had to those tigers, however, and decided it was best to visit on my way back as the Tiger Temple is just on the outskirts of Kanch. Better to have a sneezing fit 30 minutes from my hotel rather than 2.5 hours away was my way of thinking.

I did plan to stop at some of the waterfalls though but the rain must have followed me from Kanch. It caught up with me about an hour into my drive and stayed with me for a full hour as well. My growling stomach made me finally call “Uncle” and I pulled over to an open-air roadside restaurant. The owner hospitably let me pull my bike under the covered area by the tables so that I didn’t have to unload all my gear which had previously been covered by my oversized, stylishly-challenged rain poncho.

My jeans and tennis shoes were completely soaked. I was famished. I was cold and feeling pretty miserable. A family already seated at one of the two tables took pity and invited me to join them. I waited and waited but no menus were brought. The owner, since inviting me to keep my bike dry, had disappeared. “Gin?” I asked. I forget if that means food or eat, but my tablemates got the point. They shouted something (to the invisible restaurant owner?) and held up their hands, signaling me to be patient.

I tried to be patient, but I had skipped breakfast that morning and needed something in my cold, wet tummy at that moment. As many Thai restaurants do, this one also had snacks in handy packages so I grabbed a few and passed them around the table. That took the edge off while we waited for who knew what. Well, to be accurate, my dining companions knew what we were waiting for but because of the language barrier, I had no idea.  It was pouring out and I wasn’t going anywhere anyway.

Four kids were sitting at the next table watching what appeared to be a knockoff version of “Little Mermaid” in Thai. Or maybe it was a sequel. In this version, it seemed that instead of being a mermaid who wanted to be human, Ariel was a human wanting to be a mermaid. A skinny version of the underwater octupus witch was busy trying to capture her soul. It was amusing. Since none of us adults could communicate with each other beyond smiling and sharing some snacks, we were engrossed in the shoddy cartoon as much as the kids were.

Finally, out of the blue, the restaurant owner appeared again with two bowls of hot steaming broth-based soup which she handed to the couple sharing my table. The woman kindly passed hers to me. I guess this soup was all that was on the menu for the day as the owner immediately returned with another bowl for the woman. The kids all got the same thing too. Fine with me. Hot soup is just what I would have ordered anyway.

They all watched in eager anticipation as I took my first bite, concerned it would be too spicy for me and ready to fall out of their seats laughing if indeed that was the case. But I love spicy food. So far, nothing I’ve eaten in Thailand has been too spicy for me, which has surprised and delighted me. So the soup was fabulous. Although my feet and legs were still cold and wet (why hadn’t I worn my quick dry clothes that day?) I was warm and toasty inside. Before Little Mermaid’s Thai sister was over, the rain stopped. The family and I all took that opportunity to leave. We hadn’t shared conversation, but we had shared food, shelter in a storm and bad cartoons so hugs were exchanged before we each motored on in opposite directions.

I passed a very tempting hot springs 30 km before Thong Pha Phum but knew I would only want to fall asleep after getting out. It was safer to drive on and spend the money for a hotel with a hot shower in town. I had a good imagination. A hot enough shower could easily be a hot spring.

view of the mountains driving into Thong Pha Phum

Between Kanch and TPP, the road was not curvy and mountainous as I had anticipated. It was straight and flat. The scenery was nice but nothing out of the ordinary either. All that changed when I arrived in TPP. TPP is a tiny town nestled in among some limestone mountains with jagged edges on top. There’s a lovely brown river (you’d have to see it to believe it) that flows through town, a golden pagoda sits on top of the mountain and the whole thing is just gorgeous.

Given my late start and the rain delay, I didn’t pull into TPP until 4pm. Although late October in Thailand generally feels more like August back home with its heat and humidity, the overcast skies and my still freezing feet reminded me of cold fall days when I just want to crawl under the covers. So that’s what I did. I found a hotel with hot water and tried to pretend I was in a hot spring while I showered. Unfortunately, the water didn’t get quite hot enough and the pressure left much to be desired so I toweled off, climbed into some clean dry clothes and burrowed under the covers in my bed. I napped a bit and journaled a bit until my stomach advised me it was time to stop being a hermit.

I headed for the night market anxious to meet some people and fill my tummy. I was successful in the latter but not the former. TPP doesn’t get many non-Thai tourists. One hotel owner was apparently so stunned to see me that she couldn’t comprehend that I wanted a room. I literally had to walk to a bungalow, point at myself, mime sleeping and point at the bungalow door before she caught on and opened the door for me to see. Alas, cold water. Mai pen rai.

border crossings and waterfalls ... all enroute to TPP

The folks of TPP, who I’m sure are lovely people, were no less stunned to see me. I was able to purchase food, but no one seemed to want to have anything to do with me otherwise. They didn’t even stare as often happens in less touristy places. They just looked away and ignored me. I didn’t get my feelings hurt, but neither did I have the energy that evening to try to break through this invisible barrier so I took my chicken back to my room and ate it there. Don’t feel bad for me! In the privacy of my room, I was able to lick my fingers and gnaw on the bone.  Yummy!

The next day, I was looking for internet access before heading out of town. It had been several days since I had checked in and I like to keep my family informed of my whereabouts and let them know I’m safe. The last they’d heard from me was that I was traveling by motorbike toward Burma in an area where few tourists go. Definitely needed to check in.

this view was about 1000 times more beautiful than I've managed to capture

I stopped at the Department of Tourism to ask about internet access. Here’s where the shiny happy people of TPP lived! They told me that the only internet cafe in town had closed, but that I was welcome to use their office computer to send email. When they discovered I had a laptop, they fixed me up with comfy space in their lobby and helped me tap into their WiFi. I had been there fifteen minutes happily downloading and reading the 600+ emails that had accumulated since I was last online when one of the employees turned on the fan behind me to make me more comfortable. Another fifteen minutes passed and a woman brought me a glass of ice water. Holy cow! These people were fabulous! They wanted to practice their English with me so between sending and receiving emails, I chatted with several of them. By the time I left, I felt I had a town full of friends. Since there was only one main road to the Burmese border and back, I knew I would have to pass through TPP again and looked forward to it.

The drive and views between TPP and Sangkhlaburi were stunning. Just outside of Sang, I stopped at a  “viewpoint overlook.” I accidentally walked up on a man using the overlook as a reststop so the view didn’t start out so great. After he was gone, however, the views took my breath away. They were nothing short of epic. There was a massive lake with many many bright green islands spread throughout. Mountains upon layers of mountains served as a steadily fading backdrop. For some reason, The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings came to mind. I still can’t explain why because they didn’t show this kind of scenery there. I just keep coming back to the word epic. It’s a strange word to use to describe landscape and yet that’s what seems to fit. I did my best to photograph it and I’ll share that with you, but will also tell you up front that I utterly failed to capture the gloriousness of what I saw.

the valley just outside of Sangkhlaburi

The eye candy just kept getting better and better as I got closer to Sang. Further down the road on the same massive lake were floating villages. Further beyond that I came to the edge of the lake where it seemed to turn to rivers or smaller lakes running through a lush green valley that reminded me of photos I’d seen of Ireland. It was certainly green enough to be the home of leprechauns. I was moved to say “Wow!” out loud more than ten times during that drive. I was so glad I was on a motorbike and could stop and enjoy it all at my own pace. 

All of this was merely a prelude to the giant photo opp that was Sangkhlaburi. As I pulled into town, I was greeted by a reclining Buddha that was at least one hundred feet long. Across the road from him were nine more very large seated Buddhas with different hand positions. The temple next to the reclining Buddha was the most beautiful I’ve seen to date in Thailand. The style was different than others I’d seen. Perhaps this is the Burmese influence being so close to the border, I thought.

Buddhist cemetery

Things like this are like a magnet for me and my camera. I easily get lost in them for hours. I forcibly tore myself away to go look for a hotel before it got dark. The Burmese Inn had reasonably priced bungalows right on the lake with a pretty view of bridge spanning the water. Sold. After dumping my bags at the Burmese Inn, I motored off to explore. I found another temple with beautiful structures I mistook for spirit houses and later learned they are a kind of Buddhist headstone holding the ashes of a deceased person. I had wandered into a Buddhist cemetery!

 While I was photographing the cemetery, a western woman walked past on the road and we waved hello to each other. On my way back down the hill, I came upon her and offered her a ride. Her name was Katrina and she was from Cleveland, Ohio. She was a nurse volunteering her time in the area for ten weeks. We immediately clicked.

We drove to the bridge viewable from my lakeside bungalow. From there, I could see more floating villages and also the longest wooden bridge in Thailand. I was inclined to stop and photograph, but was enjoying Katrina’s company so I kept my camera in my bag. That bridge isn’t going anywhere, I thought. After crossing the first bridge, we headed onto the second, longer wooden one. It was lovely in a quaint rustic way, but was also a twisted ankle waiting to happen. Each time I was tempted to look at the sights around me or at Katrina as we talked, I would be reminded by an ill-spaced board that my eyes needed to be fixed downward.

front view of the stunning temple

When we arrived on the other side of the bridge, men with solid color vests kept asking us “motorbike?” I thought they were offering to rent us a bike and started to decline since I already had one. Katrina knew better. She told me that these guys were moto-taxi drivers and were offering to take us to the top of the hill to see a temple. “We should do it,” she encouraged. “Sure! Let’s go!” I was happy to have some company after my last few days of solo travel.

We each hopped on the back of a motorbike and zipped off. The drivers took us to a different temple than the one Katrina had been expecting so it was a nice surprise for her too. The temple compound was huge and fantastic. Again, I noticed a different architectural style than I’d seen elsewhere in Thailand. We both snapped away with our cameras comparing notes about what we’d seen as we did.

At some point we wandered in different directions and I found a monk with a dozen or so temple boys. I chatted with the monk for a bit and then the boys asked me to take their photo. Sangkhlaburi, I love you! Their laughter caught Katrina’s attention who tickled them by also taking their photo.

energetic temple boys

The temple complex was so big there were actually three different temples in it. We made our way into the second temple which was still open. One man was praying so we looked around quietly. I was interested to find the tusk of a wooly mammoth on display. First, you just don’t see one of those every day. Secondly, why had they displayed it in a temple? Some of things I find in Buddhist temples amaze me … like large, plastic-wrapped Hello Kitty dolls sitting right up on the alter/shrine with Buddha. Strange. Comical.

Apparently the man praying was the temple custodian and was ready to retire for the evening so he chased us out and closed the doors. No problem. We found our way to the third temple where we both got tickled at a monk talking on his cell phone. After making the temple rounds for who knows how long, we were ready to head home but discovered our taxis were apparently only one-way as the guys had gone. On the walk back, we saw a number of taxis driving the many monks back to the monastery. We flagged one down as he came back down the hill and asked if he would take us to the bridge. He spoke no English, but motioned for us to climb aboard. It was the first time I’d seen a motorbike with a makeshift sidecar other than ones used by food vendors. Katrina and I hopped aboard.

I didn’t know my way around as I’d just arrived. Katrina felt that the taxi was heading in the wrong direction and kept trying to redirect him. We weren’t sure whether he understood that we wanted to go back to the bridge and at one point almost got off to find our way on our own rather than try to direct in a language that we didn’t speak or one that the driver didn’t understand. Out of nowhere, the bridge appeared. We cheered happily which pleased the driver. When we asked how much we owed him for the lift, he refused payment. Turns out, he wasn’t a taxi driver afterall; just a nice man who had said yes when two travelers had flagged him down and asked for a ride. Sangkhlaburi, you’re my kind of place!

Katrina and the "non taxi driver"

Katrina was about to finish up her 10 week stint shortly and was on the hunt for gifts to take back home. While she shopped, I chatted with one of the souvenir vendors who was closing up shop. I helped her put her things away and she gave me a cute little plastic ring. Good feelings were rolling all around.

I invited Katrina to join me for dinner and she in turn invited me to join her and her friend Kathy cook dinner at the team office where Kathy stayed. Girls’ night in! Excellent! Kathy pretty much had all the food cooked by the time we got there. Karma was definitely working in my favor. I had been craving roasted chicken (one of the flavors I miss from home) and that’s exactly what she was serving.

We made fruit shakes for dessert and then Katrina broke out some sweets from home. Her family had recently sent her a care package with flavors from the States that she had been missing. Apparently we think alike because she had a box of unopened Nutty Bars. That generous, generous woman sent me home that night with THREE of them, among other things (they didn’t make it through lunch the next day) justifying her gift by telling me that she would be enjoying those tastes a lot sooner than I would. What a gal!

We had a fun visit and I looked forward to my next day in Sangkhlaburi.

Additional photos for this and other blog entries can be found on the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of this blog.

quintessential Pai

Pai was a particularly magical place and I thoroughly enjoyed the two weeks I spent there. It’s such a small friendly town that after only staying two weeks, I felt like I had lived there for years. Everywhere I went, I saw someone I knew, both locals and fellow travelers alike. Pai and the people I met during my stay there awakened Thailand for me. Before I left town, Daniela, my German traveling companion, and I decided to launch some “wish lanterns” as I had seen people doing on the night I arrived in Pai.

As I understand it, wish lanterns originated in China, but are widely used in the northern parts of Thailand which are strongly influenced by the Chinese. The lantern is made of tissue paper which is wrapped around the sides and top of a wire frame. A flammable wax circle is attached to the bottom of the frame. When the wax is lit, it basically works like a hot air balloon capturing the hot air inside the lantern causing it to fly up, up and away. When it does, the fire inside creates a warm, mystical orange glow. People who use the lanterns believe that you can make a wish on them and send your wish to heaven or, alternately, you can put all your bad luck on them and send it far away from you.  To see video of Daniela and I launch our wish lanterns along with our friend Nook’s help, click here.

On the whole, I’ve been feeling pretty lucky lately (it’s not every girl who gets to take seven months to travel around Southeast Asia) so I made a wish on my lantern. It was enchanting to watch it fill with hot air and float away, high into the sky.

Soi One Grand Opening

My last night in Pai before heading to the elephant camp, I attended a party. A new boutique of shops was holding their Grand Opening two doors down from The Good Life (home of campucha!). Daniela had lent her graphic design expertise and designed the invitations which were distributed all over town. Not surprisingly, the hosts presented guests with delicious food, great music and exceptionally stylish ambiance. When the power went out (which happens frequently in Pai) the party continued by candlelight. So many of my favorite people that I had met in Pai were there, including a few of the guys from my Muay Thai boxing class who surprised me and showed up.

I thought it was especially fitting as I walked home that night (I had turned in my motorbike earlier in the afternoon) that a woman who had given me a massage a few days earlier stopped as she passed me on her motorbike and gave me a lift home. On the way, we passed people on the bridge sending off their own wish lanterns. It was all quintessential Pai.

open 7pm ... a fun sign found in Pai

Of course, not every moment in life is magical and I’m not always lucky. That evening began a series of seven sleepless nights which will drive even the sanest person a bit crazy. Among the funniest reasons for my insomnia (if you can find humor in not being able to sleep) … torrents of rain poured down starting around midnight my last night in Pai. Remember that charming thatched roof I had? Well, I discovered they’re not so charming when it rains that hard. Minutes after the rain started, drops of rain splashed intermittently on my forehead and cheeks. This continued torturously for the rest of the night. (And yes, it did the same on my feet as well so turning the other direction in my little twin bed was not an option).

Despite that incident, I was very sorry to leave Pai. I left on October 22 and headed to Mae Taeng to attend the birthday party of a lovely Thai woman, Yao, whom I had met and clicked with the previous week at my Pai guesthouse. She and her husband operate an organic cooking school and coffee shop (You Sabai) next to an organic farm where they frequently volunteer their time (Pun Pun). I took the bus from Pai to Mae Malai, a small town where Crit, Joe and Nate (Yao’s husband, Pun Pun owner and Joe’s brother-in-law respectively) picked me up and gave me a lift to the You Sabai/ Pun Pun farms. The gusy were in Mae Malai running errands for both birthday party supplies and materials to build a solar water heater at Pun Pun. In the course these errands, (which ended up filling the back of Crit’s truck to almost overflowing) we stopped at two of my favorite places … a food market and a hardware store.

While Crit placed his orders at the food market, I wandered, munched and photographed. Although I had eaten lychees before, I discovered what they look like in their “shell” … beautiful and exotic. To date, on this trip I have eaten six new types of fruit that I never tried or (many) never knew existed: salak, durian, jackfruit, mangosteen, pomello, and dragonfruit. Of course I’ve also delighted in many fruits that I already knew and loved; mangoes, passion fruit and pineapple being my favorites.

lychees in the Mae Malai market

At the hardware store, while Joe and Nate were measuring and debating on the water heater supplies, I browsed and found some delightful pieces of metal cut from recycled aluminum that are somehow used in roofing here. I loved both the shapes and designs on the cans from which they were cut … and bought all that the hardware store had! These will be perfect to use in some of my mixed media art pieces!

Several hours later, after the guys had finished all their errands (and they think we girls spend a long time shopping!), we finally headed for the farm. Due to space limitations at You Sabai, my home away from home was at Pun Pun. Joe and his wife Peggy who run Pun Pun have really put a lot of effort into making everything on their farm natural in every respect.

my adobe home for the night at Pun Pun organic farm

The bungalow that I stayed in was made of adobe and had a thatched roof. They built shelves into the adobe – some were hollowed out of the walls and others were built to extend out from the wall. Even my bed was made of adobe … with a mattress pad and mosquito net. They had cleverly installed old glass soda bottles in parts of the adobe walls that guests could use for hooks to hang towels, etc. In keeping with their “back to nature” mentality, the hut had no electricity. A hemp hammock hung from two posts outside for guest enjoyment. I found some quiet time to laze away in it and read a book. It was all very charming … and one step above camping. 

On the walk to the party, we had to pass through an orange farm that, interestingly, operated in a manner completely opposite to that endorsed and practiced by the two organic operations on either side of it. They planted crops in such a way that erosion was a big problem. Rather than planting a variety of crops to reduce pests, this farm utilized only one type of crop (mono planting) and, as a result, used pesticides heavily. The orange trees grown there were a new hybrid type that grew more fruit than the tree could support on its own and depleted the soil of its nutrients so that the land would be rendered relatively useless within a few years. Listening to the discussion among these people who were well educated about self-sustanance was certainly an education for me.  

with Michelle (my "bungalow mate") and Yao

The party for Yao that evening was lovely. Many very interesting and eclectic people from all over the world were there and I enjoyed visiting with so many of them. One of the guys, Justin, from Yao and Crit’s cooking school whipped up all the food for the evening so, no surprise, it was AMAZING!!! People had also brought red wine (which I hadn’t tasted in a while and had missed) and then someone broke out some homemade rice wine … wow! One of the guests presented Yao with a homemade passion fruit cake which was passed around and seemingly inhaled by the group. Could this get any better? This was easily one of the best meals I’d had in the past three months. It was a fabulous evening, but my previous sleepless nights were taking their toll so I decided to turn in early. It was dark and raining when I left the party, but someone loaned me a flashlight (which they call a torch here) and I was convinced I could find my way back to my hut.

Remember that erosion problem the middle farm was having? Well, I can tell you first hand that they have serious issues. The rain, which was steady but not pelting, had formed small rivers that were cutting deep ruts into the dirt road that was the path back to Pun Pun. I slipped and fell in the mud and water several times as I walked/slid down the steep hill. At the bottom of the hill, I came to a dead end which I hadn’t expected and, in the dark, I couldn’t find the path to my hut. Rather than risk getting lost, I headed back to the party a little frightened, but mainly frustrated.

A thoughful guy named Zach, whom I had met the previous week in Pai, escorted me home. The rain had gotten worse and we both slipped and fell in the mud even worse than I had done on my way down the first time. I concluded that falling almost face first in the mud is much more fun when someone else does it with you. Nonetheless, my jeans, shoes, hands and arms were caked by the time I got home. Somehow my one-of-a kind shirt that I had bought just before leaving Pai managed to escape unscathed.

I showered off, changed into my pajamas (ah, fresh and clean again!) and crawled under the mosquito net onto my adobe bed for what I hoped was a good night’s sleep. Unfortunately, the adobe beds, though quite natural, didn’t produce a very natural sleep for me. The mosquitoes that managed to invade my net didn’t help either. (I discovered in the morning light that there was a large hole in the net rendering it pretty ineffective). So, sleepless night number three. 

the breakfast gang in You Sabai cafe

The next morning, I headed back up the eroded dirt road which had dried considerably in the short time since I had made it my personal slide. Several of us gathered with Yao at her cafe for a leisurely breakfast and coffee. Yao reminded me that she had forty monks coming the following day for a class making soap, shampoo and other items by hand. As a result, they would need my room. Although I had been looking forward to visiting with Yao longer, I can’t say that I was sorry to give up the adobe bed.

A charming lady, Jah (far right in the “breakfast gang” picture), and her friend Mike (third from the right in the same photo) offered me a ride back to Chiang Mai … after they got their truck unstuck from the storm’s greedy mud. I had visited a bit with Jah and Mike the night before, but of course got to know them better on the ride back to the city. They are both teachers at Chiang Mai University. Jah is a full time tenured professor who teaches Thai to foreigners and English to Thai students. Mike, who’s British, is a part-time English teacher for Thais. Although we had just met, Jah generously invited me to stay at her apartment while I made my next travel plans. Her parents were visiting from out of town so she basically turned over the keys to her apartment to me during my stay. I greatly appreciated her trust and her generosity. We did have a chance to have some delightful visits before I left Chiang Mai and, in a short time, found a kindred soul and made a friend for life in this tremendously bright, independent and spirited woman.  

beautiful offerings for sale in the Chiang Mai flower market

On October 24, I took an overnight bus from Chiang Mai to Bangkok. Ten hours. Illadvisable. The flight between the two cities takes an hour and costs only about $40-50. I’m not sure why I didn’t do that … trying something new I guess. Chalk up sleepless night number five (the night before was my own fault … I intended to go to bed early but lost track of time catching up with friends and family on the internet). I blame sleepless night number six (Bangkok) on the karaoke blaring from the first floor of my hotel. Sleepless night number seven (Kanchanaburi) was due to my roommate … a girl I met on the bus to Kanch lost her wallet and didn’t have money for a hotel. Unfortunately, she snored. No good deed goes unpunished, eh?

But finally in Thong Pha Phum, my week-long streak of sleep-deprived zombie-dom came to an end. It also began my interesting week-long motorbike ride around the Kanchanaburi Province….

Additional photos for this and other blog entries can be found on the “Photos of Her Adventure” page of this blog.