So. I just arrived in Bangkok, flying out of Krabi like Dengue fever was in a Spitfire hot on my tail. Aside from distancing myself, I had two other exigencies. Firstly, my Thai visa was quickly running out; I had to cross a border in nine days. Secondly, I was now two weeks behind my unscheduled schedule. I had time to make up. I was toying with the idea of going to Myanmar to experience something entirely different and get off the well-trodden Thai tourist trail, but I was still not feeling 100% and my adventure bone was a soft, gummy mess. Besides which if I added Myanmar, what was I going to take off my to-see list? Thus, Bangkok, a decision that would prove fortunate, as two days after I arrived in Yangoon I would’ve been caught in the middle of one of nature’s fury once again in the guise of a tempestuous fellow named cyclone Nargis. While I would love to see nature in all her fury (from somewhere safe), and while I think it would’ve been very rewarding (and probably traumatizing) to lend a hand to rescue and help people, I would probably have been a victim like everyone else there to dirty water, no aid, and who knows what else. Plus, I felt like Dengue was enough of a show of nature’s fury. So. Bangkok. Khao San Road. May the first.
Off the plane and onto the shuttle bus, wandering around, dodging touts and transport offers, I found a place not far from Khao San. Cheap as chips at 150 baht, and life everywhere. It was so vital and so different from how I’d spent the last two weeks and so different from the company I’d kept. Fighting for life and living it are so different. Myself, most of my fighting was done, but apparently I was not finished recovering. I wound up sleeping most of the afternoon in my room with no energy to get up at all. When I woke up I, for the first time in a long time, felt the very faint pangs of hunger, and oh how excited I was. Off to sample local food in food carts. Off to explore. Night did not quiet the street, quite the opposite. It did affect the disappearance of all the suit tailors, and believe me, there are many, but in their place, food carts, DVDs, watches, the black market laid bare for all to see. Want a fake ID? Press badge? Drivers’ license? No problem! They’re all set up and ready for you. While I didn’t procure any fake ID, even for old-times-sake, I did stop at the DVD market where I bought 27 DVDs for about 2000 baht or about $60. New movies and old, some TV episodes, you name it. And then I sat and did what a single traveler does best. People talking, flirting, walking by, watching the watchers, trying not to show too much interest in the market stalls while still taking it all in. I watched them all over a crisp Thai beer (Singha), the first I’d had since hanging out with Carrie and Lori, and took it all in.
There is more to Bangkok than markets of illicit goods, however, and I intended to peel back the cultural veneer a little before leaving. For you see, it was now May 2, leaving me one week to get to Chiang Mai, do a cooking course, the three day trek, go to Pai, and cross the border to Laos. That’s 1, 1, 3, 2, and 1 days respectively, totaling one more day than I had to spend already, not to mention looking around Chiang Mai. So I had booked another plane to Chiang Mai to shave one of those days off and cover the ground I needed, giving me one more day to explore Bangkok. This second day I could not get up, I guess I overexerted myself the day prior, so when I finally did get going and make my way to the golden palace, it was closed for the day (3:30). I met a couple Dutch people on the street and we split a tuk-tuk to see some of the Buddhas around the city, only 10 baht (33 cents) each. First the giant Buddha, probably about three stories high. He was thin and I was impressed to see something so large so unattended. Only some locals selling birds in a cage that you could set free for good luck (and a fee), no doubt only to have them ensnared again. If it’s good luck to set a bird free, and I can see reason why it might be, surely it’s bad luck to trap them in a cage for profit? I pondered this as I walked away; certainly I was not about to risk misfortune by financing such activities. I think I’m pretty lucky overall anyway, no sense being greedy.
The next stop was the sleeping Buddha, which was yet another Buddha statue in a different pose – there are apparently 80 such poses all with different significance. Sleeping Buddha would be sleeping, you might think, but no, he was reclining on his side with both eyes wide open. I guess that’s less poetic. What was great about this temple was not Buddha but the monk tended him. He was just about to lock up for the day and when we arrived he reopened a few doors and brought us on a personal tour. He gave us incense – three sticks each – and had us light it, on our knees, clasped in our hands which we then pressed to our foreheads. Buddha may not have closed his eyes, but we did, and we were to wish for what we wanted. I guess this is something like prayer, I felt pretty uncomfortable basically praying to something/one that’s not God, but I suppose if it’s not my belief then it’s kind of like throwing coins in a well, drop it in and hope that it somehow works but with no real faith attached. Not to take anything away from Buddhists of course.
Well, I couldn’t leave Bangkok without a stop at the Grand Palace that I have unconsciously and irrevocably decided to dub the Golden Palace. I believe this is the first time I’ve gotten it right. Marking the second miracle in a young paragraph, I managed to wake up extra early and make my way there. It took a solid hour to weave through the palace and innumerable people and that was rushing it. The palace itself beautiful with so much to see in terms of buildings, art, and religious iconography. And did I mention people employed solely to get in between you and all of these things? So my hour there and getting back and forth from Khao San Road meant I was cutting it quite close. My flight to Chiang Mai was at 12:50, which meant check-in finished at 11:50, which meant I should aim for being there at 10:50, which then meant leaving around 10:00. If security gets much worse, it will soon be faster to rollerskate to distant locales. By the time I got back to my guesthouse and sorted everything out and was on the road with my backpack, it was 11:00. Forget the shuttle bus, forget the trains, I took a taxi for 300 baht, which he promised me would take less than 40 minutes. I’d be cutting it close but away we went. And then, for the price I negotiated, he was going to take the slow way. I didn’t let on during the negotiations that I was in a hurry, of course, and I didn’t want to let on now, but I wanted him on that expressway. Oh, for that 400 baht. Riiight. I managed to convince him to get on and moving and I’d pay the toll, which was only 20 baht and so at 11:35 and I was at the Air Asia terminal only to find boarding was delayed until 1:35. I still don’t know if I should have been relieved or angry.
Our puddle hopper bumped and wobbled its way to Chiang Mai (a city of the north in which the old town is entirely surrounded by a moat) without incident and the tiny airport had one thing worth noting. A Dairy Queen. I had found one at the MBK shopping centre my first night in Bangkok in the cinema on the fifth floor (so I grabbed an oreo blizzard and went to see Ironman), but I hadn’t gotten my fill. For some reason I’d been craving blizzards all the way back in Australia. This does not bode well for my food craze when I return home. So much to eat, so much I’ve been missing, which is no commentary on local food, just of extended periods away from home. Even here, I feel like I’m at the fair half the time, just eating and sampling and it’s all so good and interesting and different. But DQ is not. There’s something to be said for the devil you know, and I got an extra large helping served upside down with a pitchfork in it to pass the time en route to Banana Guesthouse, a place that had been recommended highly. I don’t recommend it so highly. While it’s only 120/night ($4), there was nothing going on there. Were I to go again, I’d recommend Julie’s Guesthouse. That place was wafting atmosphere several streets away.
After I ditched the cab and checked in I realized that I had energy. Not just the beginning ebbs, but a full store of antsy, eager energy. I found that I was excited and wanted to get out. It was May 3, 13 days after first being struck down by an insect smaller than my pinky fingernail, and I felt good! I went out, I got lost in the sidestreets, I stumbled on the Sunday markets which just kept going and going in all directions. I ate BBQ Honey chicken (yum!) fresh off the grill, I took a ticket for one food cart that had a 20 minute line… fresh spring rolls, not deep fried with a beautiful sauce. I grabbed a crab claw or two, and some fishy concoctions, watched one man BBQ omelettes in banana leaves fashioned into boats, and soaked in the culture. Hill tribe folk wandering around selling the wares they’d spent last week producing with their unique traditional clothes, and people pretending to be hill tribe people trying to avoid them. Clothes, carvings, jewels and bracelets everywhere. Bangkok had whetted my appetite for travel again slightly, and my first day in Chiang Mai had me starving for it. I’m back, baby! It was so great to be here in northern Thailand.
I somehow found my way home accidentally in the maze of streets – I was genuinely surprised to see the big peace sign that marks my home when I turned a corner – and spent the next day wandering that same maze. I tried going out that night and found a place finally, but it was not easy. All the bars were full of Thai girls – or at least, most of them appeared to be girls, one can never be too sure here – trying to get you in. Some work there and that’s their job. And some want to take you home to work their job. They don’t announce this up front, however, though I feel it’s generally pretty obvious when they want SOMEthing from you… you just don’t know what. But they’re not above death-gripping your arm and blocking the sidewalk to slow your progress. I had dinner somewhere much more tourist populated, quite the opposite of what I try to do ordinarily, and then decided to brave one of these bars for a drink. Sure enough, I had a 36 year old woman sitting across from me within minutes of getting my beer, telling me she was my age (ha!) and so on. Whether she worked for the bar or herself I never did stick around to find out but we had a bit of a chat before I took off. At least I’m pretty sure she wasn’t a ladyboy.
The days in Chiang Mai were a blur. I believe it was the next day, May 5, that I took a cooking course. We started at 7 AM in the local markets and got a crash course in Thai ingredients, what to look for, and what was what, including a small dissertation on rice. From there, we drove out of town to the headquarters of Master Thai Cooking Course, a place with a few assistances, lots of woks and gas burners and ingredients waiting for us. The course was great, we made Phad Thai, rolled our own spring rolls, made Green/Massuman curry from scratch, fried up some thai veggies, and stirred up some tom yam soup. We also discussed and watched mango sticky rice being made. And then we ate and it was delicious. For 600 baht, the meal was worth it alone. Fresh, delicious, and we all had a great time making it. That said, I feel like we should’ve been doing more in that we got a lot of help with what I felt were the mission-critical aspects like the mixing of the oyster sauce, fish oil, coconut milk, and sugar. Only the curry was all us, and that was the highlight for me. As well, I discovered that Massuman curry is my favourite. As soon as I saw them grinding cinnamon (while those of us making green curry were working our basil in) I knew I’d chosen the wrong curry. But both are delicious and I’m hoping I’ll be able to find the ingredients to make some at home. I’m almost tempted to try to find a mortar and pestel here, go to the markets, get the ingredients, get some jars, and send a bunch of paste home. It apparently keeps forever in a fridge, even months sitting out in the open.
So that was another day and now I had three days left in Thailand. It soon became obvious that I was going to have to sacrifice Pai or my trek to do it all and either way I’d be rushing around. Walking around after the cooking class (we finished around 3), I saw signs for trips up to the Golden Triangle, the meeting place of Thailand, Laos, and Myanmar, so named because it forms a triangle in which opium trading, once huge here, made everyone except the users a lot of money. Thailand no longer allows poppy growing (in fact, police have permission to shoot drug dealers). I don’t know about the other countries. But anyway, it was a trip up to the border and I thought, great, I can do this trip, see some hill tribes and the golden triangle, and get another 30 days for Thailand. So I did. It was a lot of driving, stopping at a ‘hot spring’. Now, it was hot, and I presume it came from the earth, but it was more of a single fountain surrounded by markets on all sides. But it broke the trip up a bit. We stopped at a temple which was a much better way to stretch our bums, and then got on a boat and cruised along the Myanmar border. You could see the mountains of China in the distance as we turned back and docked in Laos for yet another market full of snake and scorpion whiskies. The boat ride is not recommended. Lunch, then we crossed the Myanmar border. Literally, we made it as far as the passport office on their side of the river, I did a little jig on Myanmar soil, and then back, but time pressures were off.
Seeing the hill tribes was, aside from the visa run, what I was there for. It was the bonus to extending my stay in Thailand. And it was our final stop on the way home. We stopped at a place with three tribes, all Karen tribes I believe. The first is distinguishable by their clothes and particularly their hats, studded with all sorts of things, generally black clothes with colourful stitching and, well, look at the gallery. From there we passed down into a village of people whose tradition it is to stretch their ear lobes. You’ve probably seen a few people doing this today, putting in ever bigger things into their ears to make a large hole. One of the ladies took her earring out for me to examine and I hope I didn’t make my revulsion to apparent. She seemed happy enough to have a photo taken of her. Then, finally, the long neck tribe. They are refugees of Burma and the Thai government is letting them live in the hills; they have no Thai ID or ID of any kind, so aren’t allowed to leave except by applying for special passes. The ones that have been here roughly twenty years or more have generally been given a special ID – they don’t pay tax or get the schooling, but they can move freely in Thailand. And yes, they have long necks, stretched from age 4 with a slowly increasing number of rings. They sleep with them on and do not remove them except to add another ring, which is a big celebration – after all, the longer the neck, the more attractive the woman. The current record in this village is 26 rings. To dispel a myth that I myself was unsure about, their necks are not perilously weak when they remove the rings and don’t snap. It was fascinating to meet people living this way.
It was late when we got back, well after dark, and so I took the next day to relax and wander Chiang Mai some more. The day after, May 8, I took an elephant trek for two days into the hills. Everyone went in twos on the elephants but because we had an uneven number of people, I actually got to ride alone – alone with the guide, that is. But he was very laidback and apparently my Australian hat inspired confidence in him that I could rustle animals like a pro; so it was that within five minutes of departing, I alone was sitting on the elephants neck. It is a strange place to sit on an animal, and of course there’s no saddle. You just keep one leg on either side and watch your balance, leaning on its mushy head if needed. I loved it! We all bought some bananas to feed the elephants, and as soon as one of the others started feeding it, I had a trunk probing me. We passed through some mud, which the elephant sprayed to cool itself, and then that muddy trunk left elephant tracks all over my clothes and I decided it was time to give him some food. Far too soon, we were back at base and off to lunch before our trek.
Then, we went into the hills, along a stream, through some farms and villages, to one village where we had dinner and stayed the night. There was little interaction with the villagers, which was disappointing, but I suppose what did I expect? They get tourists every day, it’s probably better that they go about their day to day life and ignore us rather than putting on a show. We stopped in some waterfalls on the way back and then grabbed a bamboo raft, really just maybe ten bamboo logs roped together at either end. That’s it. No real structure besides that and we were making our way down the river. Because I sat at the back, I got to captain our raft (well, assistant captain) for a while before I passed on my duties. What this means is I had a long bamboo rod that I pushed off the bottom, rocks, and so on to keep the raft straight and on track. Again, it was fun however touristy it may be. But overall, I think that perhaps I would trek next time somewhere less touristed, especially now that I’ve done the elephant/bamboo raft. Just in case anyone is reading for ideas. But I had fun and met some nice people, so if you have your heart set, I wouldn’t change my mind.
May 9 and back in Chiang Mai. I don’t know where the time went aside from a bit too much in Betrayal at Krondor, a trip to the nightmarkets, and another to a shopping centre for some supplies. Then May 11 found me on a three hour (read: one hour late and one hour extra to make five hours) minibus trip to Pai. My instant reaction, in spite of the degrading weather, was delight. It was set in a beautiful valley, along a river, it was quiet, and the minibus company lends out a scooter for an hour to let people suss out accommodation. I got to drive again! I took a scooter and went into the hills after looking at some bungalows on the river which I’d pretty much decided on. Bamboo hut, attached bathroom, 100 baht ($3), sold! But I did go look at the places in the hills, nice, but a bit more expensive for the view and scooter you’d inevitably need, and got some sunset photos of the countryside. I went to one place quite out of the way and my scooter died there and would not start. We had three Thai people gathered around for 20 minutes trying to start it, looking at gas and oil levels, kick-starting, etc. It seemed like something had just switched off the electrical system, and, after a phone call to the scooter people, I discovered something did… the kickstand! Oops. We all had a good laugh, I put up the kickstand, and brought the machine to life then sped back to town (after dropping my daypack at the bungalows) and dropped it off.
I ran into a really nice French girl I’d spent some time with in Chiang Mai on the street (Naima), and an Israeli guy (Michael) who had been on the trek with me. The three of us actually closed out several bars before going our separate ways only a few nights before. And I met several other very friendly people here. Everyone is friendly, and it’s extremely easy to meet people. Unfortunately, I didn’t get much chance to do this aside from the first night, as my website was hacked and I spent two days on the internet getting things fixed and working properly again (and, hopefully, hacker-proof for the moment). Though that was a definite downside, it feels good to have things back in order. And it’s not like I didn’t get out for dinner and chat with people over a drink at night, or a fruit shake in the morning. Even the locals are really pleasant. I really enjoyed just wandering over to a stall and eating and visiting with the owner(s). It’s a very laid-back, slow lifestyle here, and though I’m far from burnt out, it is enjoyable just for the atmosphere that this lends the town. I had been warned it was just a drug hangout, and indeed I’ve seen my share of hippies (and my bungalow neighbour passed by me eating on the street and told me a story about how her friends were just arrested for possession of marijuana leaving the waterfall one night as I was eating) but I have not seen much of it. So again, fellow adventurers, put Pai on your map.
As I said, the first day was just running into people and getting to know the place. I went out that night to Ting Tong, one of the local clubs, but was too early, so I wound up having a beer with Mao, Pao, and Chewie who worked there. Then I went back up the street to a pub with live music and met a bunch of people there. The second day I met some people trying to organize the Gibbon Experience, a pretty highly recommended thing to do in Laos. I’d tried twice to contact them with no response, and indeed they are pretty unprofessional. I tried a third time with the email he gave me but still nothing. So I’m not going and am more than a little unimpressed. The third day, I grabbed a shake in the morning and chatted with the woman who made my mango-banana-pineapple-licious shake for about half an hour. I had another beer that night and watched somebody tear it up on the harmonica and someone get a special birthday song. And an Australian-turned-Canadian girl gave me her scooter to use that day as she was leaving to Chiang Mai, so I zipped all over the hills, villages, and countryside. It really is beautiful up here. And between that comfortable feeling that you’re among friends, the beauty, and the more cool climate, it’s no wonder there are so many ex-pats here. So many that came and never left. My ticket out of here to Laos leaves tomorrow, May 16 (already!) to the Laos border. And then two days on a slow boat south into Luang Prabang in the heart of a new land with a new language, new foods, and new experiences. This is the Life of I, after all, and neither a Yann Martel novel nor a story of settling down in small-town Thailand. The Life of I shall resume in Laos shortly.
My arrival in Krabi had three primary objectives. Number one, find a place to stay. Number two, get to the hospital. Number three, meet up with Kristoffer and get my snorkel. I had just arrived off the boat from Phi Phi feeling quite horrible; Fever, headache, dizziness, aching muscles, and no energy or appetite to speak of. I managed to get a free ride into the city to check out a hotel (Bai Fern) which I wound up staying at for 500 baht per night, a definite splurge, but there was no way I was going to be this sick without air conditioning and a hot shower. As soon as I checked in and checked my medical kit for a quick self-diagnosis, I caught a couple motorbikes to the hospital. What a zoo! Everything is numbered, non-sequentially, so when I arrive I get directed to go to “number one”. And pointed vaguely around the hall. Well, ten minutes of trudging sickly around later and I find number one. I talk to the nurse in broken English, fill in some details, and she sends me to number 29. God help me! 15 minutes and a flight of stairs later and I somehow found 29. Another nurse and I saw a westerner – a Spanish girl – who was also in the hospital after her eyes had puffed up huge. She looked fine now, I guess she’d already done the hospital circuits. I answered some questions, had my temperature taken, and discovered it was just over 40 C (104-105 F). No wonder I felt horrible. The Spanish girl sat with me and we talked about getting sick in Thailand and then I was in to see the doctor.
About one minute later, I was back out. You have a sore throat? No. Open wide and say Ahh. Ahh. Dirty looking stainless steel stick on my tongue, flashlight down my throat, “Tonsillitis”. “Tonsillitis?!” I respond. I’m thinking I may have to get them removed, I’m thinking who the hell gets tonsillitis in Thailand, and I ask how I would’ve gotten it. Dirty air, most likely. Well, Phi Phi did stink, and I DID use a public snorkel. Still, shouldn’t I get a blood test? Blood tests are the only way to confirm two of the most dreaded tropical illnesses, malaria and dengue fever. No no, you have tonsillitis. Well, just to make sure? If you don’t better in three days, you come back. You won’t die from malaria in three days. Oh, great! I think it was the shock of this statement that derailed me from demanding a blood test, though retelling the story you’d think it would have the opposite effect. So, I went to number 97, which thankfully, the Spanish girl was familiar with, and got my prescription filled while we talked about the unlikeliness that I had tonsillitis. Some antibiotics and pain killers in my pocket, I left the hospital. How I was supposed to take those antibiotics with food when I couldn’t even think about putting a spoon in my mouth without gagging was beyond me. I soon found out I didn’t need the food that badly after all.
So I spent the next couple days not getting better in my hotel, trying to drink water, occasionally stomach food, and stay cool and out of pain. I had free wireless with which I became fairly convinced that not only did I not have tonsillitis but I also didn’t have malaria. Unfortunately, I had every symptom for dengue fever that there was and I was quite certain that was what I had contracted. Dengue is spread by mosquitos, which are plentiful here and much more stealthy than their Saskatchewan cousins. It is also known as breakbone fever for the muscle and joint pain it causes, comes with extremely high fever, headache, lack of appetite, and, in later stages, a rash, and lasts a solid 10 days. Still, I hoped that somehow I had the first case of tonsillitis without a sore throat, and I staggered dizzily to a nearby restaurant called Joy Corner. I almost threw up waiting for the food, and it was a battle against every urge in my body to swallow the grilled cheese and ham. I managed to convey my illness to the restaurant people and got a card and menu and they agreed very graciously to deliver me meals to my room. This was very very kind and I can’t tell you how much I appreciated that I wouldn’t have to trek down here and sit in the heat trying not to pass out waiting for food.
Back home I laid in bed, my head to sore to read and laid and slept and rested. In the morning I ordered some soup and fruit and yogurt from the restaurant and they brought it over true to their word, along with plates and cutlery. Kristoffer came over that night and brought me some more water, a chocolate bar, and of course my snorkel set. He sat and we chatted a bit though I fear I was horrible company, and he left me to drift off to sleep. I don’t know if I can convey how little energy I had. I would lay shivering because I couldn’t bring myself to sit up and find the remote to shut off the A/C. I would be thirsty, but the water bottle was way over there. I obviously forced myself – eventually – to just do what needed to be done, but it wasn’t always easy. So it was that I couldn’t be bothered to order food the next morning. I didn’t want to find the phone, or the card, or pick and order food that I didn’t really want anyway and then have to choke it down. So I laid in bed that morning and took my pill with no food, but soon enough the woman from the restaurant came over to see if I wanted any food today and if I was doing okay. So I got another fruit salad. The hotel owner also came over and asked if I was doing okay and wanted a ride to the hospital again. These gestures were small but very appreciated.
That day passed, day three arrived, and true to the doctor’s word, I wasn’t dead but neither was I feeling better, despite religiously following the medical schedule. I spent the morning gathering the energy to drag myself to the hospital. I was a bit afraid to ride on the back of motorbikes as dizzy as I was feeling but once we got going and the air was blowing across my face I was okay. More waiting at the hospital and finally I got a doctor that was really helpful, though sitting and waiting this time was a lot longer (it was a busy day to be sick) and I wasn’t sure I’d last in the chair much longer when I finally got to see her. I got my blood test, she checked my ears and did some other tests at my request but concluded that I probably had dengue fever. She arranged for a nurse to wheelchair me to the place where I had to get a blood test, which I would’ve refused except that the thought of stumbling and trying to find that number in my present condition was more than I could handle. And then the wheelchair wound up being a gurney and I was highly embarrassed to crawl onto it but I got my blood test done and then wheeled back to where I could wait for my results for about two hours. I laid there, eventually a victim of the open-air design when the rain really started coming down and a friendly man came and wheeled me elsewhere.
Sure enough, dengue fever. My platelet count was 140,000 and the minimum for staying out of hospital was 100,000, but she suspected my numbers would be dropping as this was only my third day (they did indeed dip to below 60,000). In fact, she was quite insistent that I stay in hospital and even tried to find me a private room. I decided that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It would be a good experience for someone who is usually healthy, I’d meet some locals, maybe have a few pretty nurses, and on top of that, this way I would – or so I thought – get to keep being monitored by this doctor whom I quite liked. So I got another bike back to the hotel, gathered my bags, and went back to the hospital, where I would spend the next six days withering. My first day I was able to eat and drink and be fairly sociable. The guy beside me had dengue fever as well and he looked a mess. I had heard the worst was to come and looking at him was more than a little demoralizing. He had a little jug to save himself some trips to the toilet and when his family visited, they talked – or tried to - more with me than him because he was so out of it. Or they tried to. Only his brother spoke English, and that includes all the other patients, visitors, and nurses.
The bed and pillow were anything but comfortable, the rooms had nothing but fans to keep things somewhat cool, and there were all manner of phlegm being produced all around me. Seriously. One guy at the end, whose wife was quite nice and would offer me anything she thought I might want including jasper-scented washcloths, would make noise that probably exceeded health and safety regulations for hearing protection before letting out a nice quiet “pttoie”. I swear he probably woke up the entire hospital on more than one occasion. Except for the guy across from me. He could sleep through anything, provided, of course, that everybody was awake but him. I felt bad at first because I came in and he was on oxygen and his poor wife and daughter stood by his side the whole time. Especially the daughter got me, probably nine years old or so, sometimes I’d look over and she’d be holding his hand. I tried to smile encouragingly or reassuringly at her and received only dirty looks back. Still, as soon as he was off the oxygen, he’d be wide awake all night and talking – no, yelling, really, but not angrily, just talking as loud as possible – even when there was nobody to listen. Except of course for the entire ward, who was trying to sleep. He didn’t need to sleep because he’d get his in the day, and after several days of this I really considered standing beside his bed and screaming (calmly) random gibberish at the top of my lungs. Hey, I was sick and irritable, and lacking sleep, food, and any company whatsoever. Sue me.
Aside from the brother, who visited only occasionally and was quite nice, I met only three other people who spoke any English. Two were doctors (they would spend about 2-3 minutes per day with me) and one was a random visitor that passed through whom I never saw again. My only other company, now that the pain killers were starting to work, was my books. I finally finished The River at the Centre of the Earth, a story about the Yangtze and more specifically a journey back in time in China, and while in the hospital I was gratified to lose a day and a half reading Raymond E. Feist’s Magician. The escape into that world of fantasy mid-way through my hospital stay is, I dare say, all that kept me sane. And while I’m mentioning it, might I add that this is probably the best fantasy book I’ve read by anyone other than Tolkien.
Enough can’t be said for how important ‘comfortable’ food is to the healing process. Dengue fever takes away any and all appetite, so it’s doubly important that you really WANT to eat whatever it is you are trying to force down your gullet. Well, I enjoy Thai food, but it’s nothing to eat when you’re sick. And even if it were, the hospital adaptation of it most certainly is not. Even the smell, that sickly salty bland smell, made me gag when people on either side of me would try to eat it. I tried, once. I vowed I would go find my own food, dizzy and IV in hand before I would try it again. The mornings were a rice-based gruel. Seriously. After a few days not eating that, they tried a cold egg and soggy bread with yogurt and juice. I ate half the yogurt, that was all I could take. And when one of the nurses was particularly worried about my lack of intake, she asked what I wanted. Oh, how to tell her? My grandma’s chicken noodle soup. Greens. Roast pork. Of course, they had none of those things, but she did offer ‘spaghetti’. Yes, I thought. Good old plain spaghetti with meat sauce. No weird sweet and salty taste, they can’t mess it up. I nodded that I’d have that, but never did see it or any food that evening. I asked again the next day and the nurse was so embarrassed that she went and got me some from a restaurant. It was pineapple and sour something and nothing like I wanted, but I choked down what I could of it to be polite.
As day bled into day, and my estimated time of departure was always “a few more days”, I developed something exciting: a rash. That may smirk of sarcasm, but I was indeed excited. When you have been laying around the last week and nothing has changed at all – still a 40 degree fever, still on IV, still dizzy when you get up and dead tired/in need of a nap by the time you get back from the washroom – any change is a good thing. I thought of it as the dead virus from the internal battles floating to the surface. This excitement didn’t last long however, before the redness added a new irritant. Pain. Now my entire body felt and looked like it had been completely sunburned. Worse than ever, not only because it literally covered every square inch of leg, knee, body, underarm, neck, and scalp, but it felt like the needles and pins you feel when your leg, for example, falls asleep. Anytime something touched it even faintly.
By the end, it was a combination of food, IV, and heat that drove me mad. Hauling the IV with me to the washroom or anywhere made me feel tied down. Trying to sleep with it (I generally sleep on my arm) was not a successful venture. The food, as I detailed, was not encouraging consumption or giving me the energy I needed to fight this virus. And the heat, well, all there was to combat IT were a couple fans. The man beside me had one mounted over his bed, which he always wanted off. There was another fan opposite which I couldn’t feel but was always on. And there was a fan on the far wall that rotated. When it briefly pointed in my direction, the air took 3.5 seconds to reach me. Which, with my rash, was accompanied by a bit of pain in my scalp as my hair was tussled ever so slightly. The morning that was to be my last in hospital, or so I thought, my fever was down to a normal 37. I was told 24 hours of no fever and I could finally go home. But by midday it was at least that hot in the hospital anyway. I lay there sweating as other patients had their guests fanning them – these are locals, remember – and trying to keep cool all the while getting more and more irritated. It was no surprise when my fever spiked back up as they took a reading that afternoon, but it meant another day of this. I prayed for rain, I really did. I cursed that they had nothing better to keep the patients cool. I lay with a wet towel on my head and did everything I could think of but kept sweating and feeling worse and worse.
The food that night was not edible. It simply was not. It appeared to be the sandwich I’d not been able to eat from lunch, the same one as the day before, and the mayo didn’t look healthy anymore. There was leftover spaghetti. Anything I’d remotely tried to put down, it was on my plate. And a Coke, for some reason. At least I’d got them to take my IV out. Breakfast the next morning, after a mercifully quiet night (night-talker had gone home the previous day) more gruel. And while I’m on the subject, watching people you think are on their deathbed get better and go home while you’re still in the hospital is, at best, discouraging. Staying beside someone with the same virus as you who leaves two days earlier, likewise. New patients who stare, literally pass their day staring at you, also discouraging. So when the doctor came to see me that morning and clucked his tongue that my fever had resurged briefly last afternoon, I told him I was leaving. No, you stay until no fever for 24 hours. NO, I’m leaving. Today. How can I not have a fever when it’s so hot in here?! I’m going back to the hotel, to air conditioning, and to normal food.
“Well, it’s safer for you to stay here” at which point I told him that I would lose it, literally lose it, if I had to stay another hot and sweaty afternoon in this ridiculous bed. I’m not asking permission, I’m telling you, I’m leaving. If you have any advice, I’m happy to hear it, but my fever’s pretty much gone and I’m not on any medicine or IV anyway. By now, something in the desperation of my voice had attracted all the patients in the ward and all stared at me wondering what was going on. But I had won. The doctor said I could go if I signed a release (which I never did see). So it was that I paid my bill – 8600 baht – and was back in my hotel that very afternoon, basking in the air conditioning. I did strike out from the hotel to get pizza, which was almost a doomed trip in the heat of the day, but man that pizza was great. A couple days laying around the hotel and doing nothing but resting and recuperating, and I still had no energy, but also no fever. I had to get my butt into gear, so I booked a flight to Bangkok. After all, my visa was expiring, and the only border I was near was Myanmar, and they were expecting a cyclone near where I would have to cross in the next few days. A cyclone which, it would turn out, killed over 300 people. Can you imagine just getting better from dengue fever only to die or be injured and hospitalized? So, still feeling sub-par, I jetted off to Bangkok, leaving untouched Ko Tao and Ko Samui, two islands I’d really wanted to visit, in favour of making tracks. Thailand, it appeared, would require a subsequent visit sometime in the future.Read More...
I crossed the border to Thailand on foot in the baking sun with an Irish couple and a Dutch guy I’d shared a cab with. We had about 15 mins to catch a train at the station 1km away, so all of us hopped on motorbikes and got to the station and jumped on just in time. My destination for the night was to be somewhere in the Tarutao National Park, so I had 4 hours to Hat Yai where I would move from train to bus. During that time the train filled up and I definitely was not in my seat. A local girl, probably around 16, appeared to have the seat beside me, but she just put her bag down and went, ostensibly, to sit with her friends. She didn’t say anything to me, but the Thai sitting across with whom we’d been chatting said that. Still, I’ve lived in western society long enough to be paranoid of unattended baggage, even if I’m aware that it is indeed paranoia. Whatsmore, with it placed beside me I was doubly worried that there may be something in it that I wouldn’t want someone to think was mine. The girl was nowhere to be seen, and the Irish couple was getting quite worried indeed and it was adding to my own concern. At our next stop we were evicted from our spots and all separated to our assigned seats, and the girl still hadn’t collected her bag. I was happy not to have it sitting beside me, and I kept my eye open for her as I worked my way backwards but I probably wouldn’t have recognized her anyway. The Irish girl did, however, and she did get up as I walked past and walk forward. So I made it to Hat Yai with only fear of an incident to show for it. Silly, no?
By the time I got to Hat Yai I decided to just stay there the night. Progress in Asia is slow, you take steps as far as you can and be prepared to make due however far you get. This seemed a lively enough place and it had already been a long day of travel. I ran into a couple while I was looking for a hotel and made a dinner date with them and then found a hotel. Next on the agenda was a phone card and money changing, then figuring out exactly where in this National Park I was to go. Everyone seemed to be headed to Ko Lipe, and the name rung a bell somewhere in the recesses of my mind, so I booked a trip there the next day and went for dinner. At last, Thai food. We ate at a small stall, some very nice and spicy Tom Yam soup. It was, well, nice and spicy and full of tasty ingredients. I talked with the couple about Malaysia and things to see and do, and they told me of Ko Lipe, and we went our separate ways. I ran into a Calgarian a little later and we sat chatting for a couple more hours until I couldn’t hold my head up anymore. I’d still wanted to use the night to catch up on my blog, but I didn’t have enough energy left to turn my lock. Sleep came quickly and was terminated in a similar manner.
8:30 that morning I was on a mini-bus for the port of Pok Bar just outside Satun, in the southwestern corner of Thailand. 200 baht national park fee, 650 baht ferry ticket, 30 baht minibus ride, and 50 baht island transfer and I was there (cost in dollars about $30). I’d traveled with some people from the same hotel I’d stayed at, a couple Irish women and an English chap, and we met two Dutch girls on the ferry over. The group of us was dropped unceremoniously at the opposite end of the island from everything and trekked for 15 minutes across towards the Porn Resort. Yes, you read that correctly; I’m not sure of the Thai meaning, but rest assured it’s not the same as in English. I checked. However, there were some similarities. The hotel was seedy, the rooms Spartan and dilapidated, and for 300 baht per night, I was going to take my chances looking for something better. I convinced the Dutch girls to come with me and we made our way through the jungle to the south side of Ko Lipe, Pattaya Beach. Here, we stumbled on Daya Resort, with much, much nicer rooms for 200 baht. Sold. The girls wanted to continue looking for something nicer, but by my standards, it was great. Tiled floors, clean, decent washroom, fans, mosquito nets intact, and 100 baht cheaper than that wreck they’re calling Porn Resort.
I did walk with them for a way after checking in, and we went for dinner whilst they were still undecided somehow. I’d had enough and they continued to look around while I returned to Craig’s place in Porn to grab my bags I’d left there. Leaving with my stuff, I took a wrong path and ended up in the middle of the jungle, coming across this remote temple and having to ask two monks for directions, which were most definitely not in English. I did, eventually, make it back just in time for sunset, but with all my bags loading me down and half an hour of walking. This meant it was time for a beer and I ran into the two Irish ladies and sat with them for the evening. After two days of exhausting travel, I was unable to even think about diving like I’d wanted to, so I went to sleep with no plans for the following day. That meant I was free to wake up whenever (which was beautiful), go for lunch, and run into the Dutch girls who had stayed, after all, in Porn resort that night. They were traumatized by rats scurrying all over their room, however, and had promptly joined me that morning in Daya along with Craig. I discovered I’d left my snorkel behind in Malaysia (Kristoffer is now taking care of it), but Craig let me borrow his and I snorkeled around for just over an hour seeing little but clown fish.
Craig and I had dinner, fresh BBQ fish, having given up waiting for the Dutch girls to join us. It was delicious though expensive. The Dutch girls did come by later having likewise given up on us and, as a result of being up all night with the rats, were getting some much needed sleep tonight. Craig and I had a couple drinks at the bar then and had a good chat before calling it a night relatively early. The next day, April 13, was Thai New Year and a festival they call Songkran. Essentially, they bathe all their Buddha statues in water to cleanse the evils of the prior year and this has extended into what is essentially the world’s largest waterfight. Everywhere you go, people are armed with buckets, gallons, supersoakers, all waiting to ‘purify’ you. Trucks have their decks filled with younguns splashing other vehicles and pedestrians. Motorcycles are driven in pairs, one to man the watergun, the other to drive. Roadblocks are set up where you are not likely to pass without slowing considerably and getting soaked by the 15-20 people there. And sometimes, it’s not just water. It’s food colouring and flour as well, making a sticky, colourful paste. I wanted to be on the mainland to see this festival. So I was leaving as quickly as I’d come, zipping back on the speedboat. Tickets for this, by the way, I was able to get for 450 baht. Prices aren’t so fixed as they appear.
The next morning I grabbed a longtail boat to catch the speed boat. I was supposed to do so at 8:15 and was there at 8:20, but I wasn’t too worried – yet – because the speed boat left at 9:00. Then, we pushed off and I saw him tinkering with the motor. He appeared to be changing the fuel filter and five minutes later, as the tension was growing, he replaced it. We might just make it to the other side of the island to catch the boat, I thought. Then he tried to start it. And tried again. And again. Nothing. It kept stalling. Precious time was diminishing. He called to land – as we’d drifted slightly – for help but nothing seemed to come of it. Another boat was anchored near where we were floating and he managed to get us alongside it, and we jumped ship and were off. It turned out that, unlike the ferry, the boat was right off our own beach, so the trip was a short 5 minutes and I was there with plenty of time to spare. We sped off on the speed boat and I was thankful for the big engines as I was trying to catch the 11:00 bus to Krabi. I decided to go here as it would have a lot of activity for the festival. We made one stop at Ko Tarutao to pick up a group, and they wound up being 30 minutes late which meant, I was annoyed to discover, I wouldn’t be catching the 11:00 bus - but I did get the photo you see on the right. We made landfall at 11:10 and I was told there was also an 11:30 bus and then after that the next was at 1:00, so I grabbed a taxi of sorts and made it to where the bus picks up at 11:35. It didn’t matter anyway, there was no 11:30 bus, so I waited around until 1:00.
There was no real urgency other than I wanted to get there and participate. It was perhaps foolish to travel with all my belongings on a day when people were soaking each other, but I was confident my bag’s rain fly could fend off most of the attack. But when I did finally board the bus, at 1:30 as it turns out, I soon discovered that the aforementioned roadblocks were everywhere and the four hour trip would take somewhat longer. I made it to Krabi, eventually, and decided since I was this far, I might as well get to Ton Sai, a beach in Krabi that could only be reached by boat or hike. I grabbed a taxi for 250 baht to the pier and had to wait as the sun sank in the sky until we had 8 people before the boat would go. I began to despair that no 8 people would come at this hour, that I would be good and stuck here, and that I should’ve just stayed in Krabi town. But a family did come and we were off, and all the patience and delays paid off big time. For, as it turned out, we were sailing out amongst the massive limestone pillars in what would be one of the most beautiful sunsets I’d ever seen. We made it to Railay West, and I had to walk across to the east and catch another boat before I’d be in Ton Sai. This boat again was waiting for 8 people though there was another boat going right by that was full. They just didn’t want to take me or the other guy.
He was exhausted and yelling, and it got him nowhere. He stormed back onto the beach and I asked the guy why he wouldn’t drop us there when it would mean more money for him? I never did get a good answer, but he just said, “Okay, come” and we were off. At last I was in Ton Sai, I eventually found a place up the path some ways for 300 baht. It’s expensive traveling along, I’m reminded. And then I went to the beach bar after a so-so dinner for the New Year Party. This was good fun, they’d brought in a band from Bangkok that was pretty good for being reggae, and I met a bunch of Canadians there. I took the next day off, that is April 14, to decide what exactly I was going to do here (and when) and just have a look around. Climbing, it seemed, was everywhere, and I booked myself a day of climbing for the 15th and continued looking around. Kayaking, snorkels and dives, all sorts of things to do. I had a relaxing day and met two sisters from Victoria that night. I had a very nice chat with Mel in particular and we agreed to go kayaking the day after my climb.
The day of climbing was excellent. It started a little slow, I have to say, but before midday I and the other English girl who were students had both climbed 30m to a small cave for some nice shots of West Railay. We had lunch, she being finished her half day and me joining Mike, an Irish guy I could hardly understand, for the second half of the day. We did some really challenging climbs and I ‘fell’ for the first time on one of them. Then we clambered through the dark into a cave and climbed up and up in the cave to a beautiful view looking over East Railay and Ton Sai, then abseiled down to the forest floor. From here we did a couple more climbs. One was really challenging but in the end I made it to the top and got treated to a beautiful view, high enough up to see both sides of the peninsula, and it was all worth it. We were back in time for sunset but it seemed like a night when I wasn’t going to meet anybody and indeed it was. I sat watching a guy at One More Bar doing a pretty nice job playing acoustic guitar and harmonica with just a few locals, but that was about it. And I had, for dinner, my first Pad Thai in Thailand, but it wasn’t anything special, not surprising given the last time I’d eaten at that restaurant it was poor as well. I would try again.
On the topic of foods, I had had some beautiful green curry in Ko Lipe, and become somewhat addicted to Mango Sticky Rice (with coconut milk) here in Ton Sai. And I had a warm banana coconut milk almost-soup as a delectable dessert. I’d been recommended by an Israeli guy I’d met here in Ton Sai while having a BBQ chicken leg to try the papaya salad and I did so on the morning of April 16. That, however, wasn’t really anything to write home about. I ran into Mel and her brother Nate eating breakfast and they sat with me and we all had Thai pancakes as well. We were to go kayaking today but Nate wasn’t feeling great so we put it off another day. Instead, I thought I’d take the afternoon snorkel trip to the nearby islands (Chicken Island, etc). I went back to my bungalow to get my stuff and as I was walking back to the snorkel place I heard, “Hello, stranger!” from my left and turning, there were Carrie and Lori, friends from Saskatoon. I’d actually been expecting to run into them somewhere in the next few days, but as far as I knew they were still in Bangkok; I’d just emailed Carrie the night before with information on flying from Bangkok to Krabi.
So it was, you might say, a big surprise to have them walking down the pathway in the ‘resort’ I was staying at. I dropped the snorkel trip and instead we went down to the beach. The beach at Ton Sai isn’t anything special – in fact at low tide it’s pretty much a long shallow rock pool – so we went over to East Railay and then continued on to Phranang. We’d run into Mel and Nate again and they were doing the same thing, so the four of us set up shop on the beach together. It was a hot one, alright, and the water was hardly what you’d call refreshing at 30 degrees, but it was still nice to relax and hang around. We made our way back and split from Mel then went for BBQ fish at the Dream Valley restaurant, not worth the money, and then had drinks up at the Kasbah. Ismail, a guy I’d met when I was hanging out with Mel a few nights back, came up and said hello again and seemed quite enamoured with Lori. We hung out with him for the evening and tried our hand at tightrope walking before going home.
The next day we were up early, I had some more mango sticky rice, and the girls had Thai pancakes. The three of us rented a couple kayaks and snorkel gear for 1000 baht altogether and kayaked out to the islands. 8km, I’d heard, was supposed to take about an hour. Well, we reached the first island, a little clump in the sea thinking we were right around the corner from the others. Coming around the corner – and looking for somewhere to do some cliff jumping – we saw that wasn’t the case. The next island was quite some distance again. An hour later, we were pulling our kayaks onto the sands of Poda Island. Here is where some of the best snorkeling is meant to be and we set out to explore the underwater world. Unfortunately, even with five masks (I’d told him I didn’t think his masks were very watertight) most of the masks leaked at least somewhat, as did the snorkels. I had to breathe out sharply every breath to expel the water. Also, the mask I ended up with had a solid nose, so I couldn’t equalize properly, and it had a ‘nose vent’ for some reason which was letting in a bit of water too. The girls had similar problems or worse, though I’d tried to take the worst equipment for myself.
That done, we sailed around Poda island to Chicken Island, which was a much better experience. It is so named because there is a large vertical karst that looks like a long neck with a head atop it. We arrived at low tide to find a long thin strand of beach connecting it with Tum Island, which was beautiful. And, at last, we grabbed some lunch and energy from a restaurant there. The food was good if overpriced. We didn’t see the chicken head immediately, but after a short walk it came into view watching over the island like a hungry dinosaur. And then it was time to go back. The girls were sunburned and without adequate protection from the sun, it was a daunting 2 hours back to look at, we were all tired, and, well, it occurred to me that we might not have enough in us to get back. Of course we would make it happen, but that the thought crossed my mind at all was worrying. It was a tough slough back, complicated by some larger waves which, though pushing us along (thank goodness) were making the girls seasick. Slowly the beach receded behind us and even more slowly did Ton Sai grow in front of us. The last kilometre was the worst, it felt like we were getting nowhere and breaking every two to three minutes. Finally, we could see huts on the island, then boats, and now, at last, people. I think we burst into absurd laughter when we finally jumped out of the kayak onto land. We wouldn’t do that again anytime soon.
The next day we were meant to do some climbing, but we were all too tired – everywhere – to consider anything of the sort. The girls being sunburned limited options, too, and so we split. Sort of. We both wound up on the beach relaxing a couple hundred meters from each other though we didn’t discover this until the end of the day. I split with them to climb to the lagoon just before sunset (I was hoping to catch the tide up somewhat) and then met up with them for dinner back in Ton Sai at Mambo’s. Afterwards, of course, we went up to the Kasbah and had a great send off before we headed off to the island of Phi Phi the next morning. And we did indeed set off for Ko Phi Phi in what was to be an ill-fated journey. First of all, the weather deteriorated – not badly, but it was gray and overcast which was in stark contrast to the weather of the previous, well, month. The island was also really developed and this wasn’t exactly desirable compared with a place like Ton Sai. Finally, everyone talks about this being the most beautiful place on earth, and it is beautiful, but it’s really not all that much different than where we already were.
We found a place to stay the night and booked ourselves into a sunset snorkel cruise. Two snorkel stops turned into one. A stop along Monkey Beach turned into, well, no stop along a beach that had no monkeys on it. We didn’t cruise down a few canals because of the low tide, but we did finally stop and do a bit of snorkeling and it was pretty nice. Lion fish and everything just below the surface, and lots of needlenose fish too (they look like small swordfish). Then we got off and trekked across the smaller, uninhabited Phi Phi island to Maya Bay, THE Beach beach. The trek there was without camera but plenty of mosquitoes to make up for it. And our arrival at Maya Beach was cluttered with boats in the bay and it had none of the magical look we’d been expecting. I felt especially bad for Lori – whom I’d warned – because her expectations had been so high going into it. I mean, it’s not a horrible place, if you use your imagination to wipe the boats and ropes and signs of tourism gone mad from the scene. It was taxing on my imagination though, and I think mine is still pretty powerful. It did get a bit better as the day waned, but really, how was it going to top the beaches of Phranang and Railay near our home-base of Ton Sai. We sailed home in what was a remarkable sunset only because there was no sign whatsoever that the sun was up, down, or anywhere near a transition. It just slowly got darker. The land that orange forgot. We went to go out that night as well and, at 11 PM, everything was closed. We stopped for a smoothie and I was attacked by a cockroach looking to nest in my hair. Thus ended our stay in Phi Phi.
The next morning, I woke up feeling really sore all over, but I wanted to get up to the viewpoint before leaving the island that morning. I also checked the internet and discovered that Kristoffer was in Krabi so that made the decision for me between Krabi and Phuket. Hiking up to the top was arduous to say the least, though I couldn’t help feeling that I was sweating more than I should be. At the top, I just couldn’t cool down, however much I drank, but I did get a few nice photos from up there. Back down I went, and I tried to have a bagel for breakfast but it took all my energy and focus to stomach the entire thing, nevermind holding my head up. It was then that I realized I was still burning up and had a headache. Great. I was sick and I had a fever, pretty much the one sign that you’re in deep trouble in the tropics. Malaria, dengue, name a tropical disease and they all have one thing in common: fever. The boat ride back to Krabi (I missed the girls and didn’t get to say a proper ‘bye’) only served to confirm that I was sicker than a dog, and hauling my backpack off the boat and negotiating a ride into the city and a hotel was almost more than I could stand. But I did get myself into an air conditioned hotel, and I did get myself to a hospital, and, well, my friends, that story will have to continue next time. But rest assured I’m alive and, so far as I can tell, well, though I can (and will) tell you it was a miserable two weeks…
