14/03/10
I am at the airport. I am in the quietest part that I can find. I can hear a dull roar. Not as soothing as the tide outside my door. I have just put in earplugs and the roar has lessened. It was an uneventful trip from the island. The morning taxi from Treehouse at 8 am. I had managed to get a final swim in at 6:30 and my final bucket shower. I sat in the front with Ole the driver and one of the cooks. I sat in the middle. Ole speaks an atrocious English, all mangled words and missing consonants. It was a feat to grasp what he was saying. He and a Swedish girl are boyfriend and girlfriend. He said that once a Thai man has a western girlfriend, it is very hard to be with a Thai woman. I put my hands together at my heart to say goodbye but he opened his arms and gave me a strong hug.
Ferry to the mainland. A hour wait for the bus which was very decent after Lao and Cambodian bus service. A shuttle to the airport and here I am. Now decisions to make: do I check my suitcase in left luggage? Do I treat myself with a room at a nearby hotel for $30? I am such a cheapskate. I already let go of my reserved and paid hotel room in Bangkok because I didn't want to hassle with the water festival and the blocked roads. At this point, I think I can chill out here. It is a 12 hour wait and there is always the hope of sleeping part of it. Or I could be staying in a sterile room on a good bed and watching TV till late. Hmm. I am 57 after all.
Postscript: After sitting for a while on a hard seat, the passenger next to me shifting restlessly and shaking the bench then a meal in a frenzied fast food joint, I finally succumbed and went looking for a hotel. I bargained hard but 1000 baht ($32) was the best I could do. I ended up in a no frills standard room with A/C, TV, hot water and a very clean bed. I took my first real shower in over a week. I slept thru the night. It was just lovely. A few mosquito bites but it was worth it.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
the prettiest internet cafe
11/03/10
I have discovered the internet cafe up the hill behind the guesthouse. A girl from New Zealand was sitting next to me at breakfast this morning. She mentioned that she was staying up on the hill. I asked why. She said: it is 100 baht ($3) She comes to Thailand every year for 6 months or more and stays as long as the money lasts. She mentioned that there was internet as well after 6 pm when the generator kicks in. I went today to investigate. i walked up the concrete stairs, down past the 200 baht bungalows. You can hear the generator here. Across the narrow wooden bridge and up the concrete steps on the other side. I come to what looks like a construction site: unfinished concrete bathrooms with no roof. Must be hot in the middle of the day. Holes with the beginning of pilings and finally at the edge of the hill facing the ocean, a very large covered veranda. some hammocks, some lounge chairs. A bar counter and a long table in the centre with 3 laptops on it. Each one is occupied but the manager vacates the middle one for me. I sit on the chair and key in my internet provider. I am facing the ocean. It is 5:30 pm. The sun is setting. The water is a clear turquoise. The sky is blue. It is a beautiful sight. I tell the manger that this is the most beautiful internet cafe ever. I will come again tomorrow, mainly for the view.
I have discovered the internet cafe up the hill behind the guesthouse. A girl from New Zealand was sitting next to me at breakfast this morning. She mentioned that she was staying up on the hill. I asked why. She said: it is 100 baht ($3) She comes to Thailand every year for 6 months or more and stays as long as the money lasts. She mentioned that there was internet as well after 6 pm when the generator kicks in. I went today to investigate. i walked up the concrete stairs, down past the 200 baht bungalows. You can hear the generator here. Across the narrow wooden bridge and up the concrete steps on the other side. I come to what looks like a construction site: unfinished concrete bathrooms with no roof. Must be hot in the middle of the day. Holes with the beginning of pilings and finally at the edge of the hill facing the ocean, a very large covered veranda. some hammocks, some lounge chairs. A bar counter and a long table in the centre with 3 laptops on it. Each one is occupied but the manager vacates the middle one for me. I sit on the chair and key in my internet provider. I am facing the ocean. It is 5:30 pm. The sun is setting. The water is a clear turquoise. The sky is blue. It is a beautiful sight. I tell the manger that this is the most beautiful internet cafe ever. I will come again tomorrow, mainly for the view.
treehouse guesthouse
10/03/10
Third day at the beach. I finished that 800 page book yesterday. I am glad to have it behind me. It was beach material, no more. I am sitting on the porch of my bungalow, the water perhaps 4 metres in front of me. I can wade into the water in seconds when it is high tide. When the tide is low, I have a great expanse of sand in front of me. The water is different shades of turquoise and warm as bathwater. The sun is strong. I am careful to lather my body with sunscreen and avoid the peak heat. Today I have experimented and gone bathing at high noon. We will see later if I am burnt. I do feel a tingle on my face.
The bungalow is very basic. It is made of wood with a thatch roof and is up on stilts. A mattress on a raised platform, a couple of rudimentary shelves, a mosquito net, 3 wooden windows, a door, a small balcony with a hammock.There is no fan. and as long as the wind is blowing off the ocean, I am comfortable. When the wind dies, I sweat. There are many little bungalows along the path. They are placed such that there is a sense of privacy. There are many trees and flowers and shrubbery. I have seen hibiscus plants towering over me. Thus, my balcony and hut are always in shade. A big plus here. There is a bigger bungalow 2 bungalows down. No one is using it so I go during the day to use its hammmock. It has a better view than mine. Plus there is a bigger balcony space to do yoga in the morning. At 350 baht(around $11) I am in the most expensive bungalow here. There are others at 200, 250 and 300 which are further from the beach. But not by much. We all share the numerous toilets and showers. They are in concrete huts. Someone has been creative and mixed rocks and shells into the concrete. The shower is a bucket shower. A room with a concrete bath filled with brackish water, a plastic basin for rinsing. A dead tree trunk in the centre, the branches are hooks for clothing and towel. The toilet also has a concrete bath filled with water and a plastic basic to flush the waste.
The electricity comes on at 6 pm till 1 or 2 am. A long life bulb in the bungalow and one on the porch. A few strategic lamps light the path to the restaurant. The food is fair. Many different types of salad, rice dishes and curries. Tofu and yoghourt available. I drank the last soya milk yesterday. Water is 10 baht a litre and we can refill the bottle for 5.
So the days pass. I get up, meditate, do yoga, then go for breakfast. Sometimes I swim before breakfast. Today I was hungry. Breakfast is a fruit plate, raisins and yoghourt. Then I went to swim. It is now the heat of the day. I stay out of the sun. I sit and look out at the water. A Danish man just passed by. He stopped to talk. He came for the afternoon on his motorcycle. We chat about this and that. Now he is gone. Soon I will go and try another salad. A German woman has made up the menu. It is definitely not Thai. There was banana in my salad yesterday with the curried rice, tofu and vegetables. Actually tasty. And the shake yesterday of carrot, apple, cucumber and honey was fine. Do I dare try the ginger lemon watermelon shake?
I will be here for 4 more days and then it is time to go home. It is Thai New Year and the red shirts are protesting in Bangkok. I will avoid the city and stay at the airport.
Third day at the beach. I finished that 800 page book yesterday. I am glad to have it behind me. It was beach material, no more. I am sitting on the porch of my bungalow, the water perhaps 4 metres in front of me. I can wade into the water in seconds when it is high tide. When the tide is low, I have a great expanse of sand in front of me. The water is different shades of turquoise and warm as bathwater. The sun is strong. I am careful to lather my body with sunscreen and avoid the peak heat. Today I have experimented and gone bathing at high noon. We will see later if I am burnt. I do feel a tingle on my face.
The bungalow is very basic. It is made of wood with a thatch roof and is up on stilts. A mattress on a raised platform, a couple of rudimentary shelves, a mosquito net, 3 wooden windows, a door, a small balcony with a hammock.There is no fan. and as long as the wind is blowing off the ocean, I am comfortable. When the wind dies, I sweat. There are many little bungalows along the path. They are placed such that there is a sense of privacy. There are many trees and flowers and shrubbery. I have seen hibiscus plants towering over me. Thus, my balcony and hut are always in shade. A big plus here. There is a bigger bungalow 2 bungalows down. No one is using it so I go during the day to use its hammmock. It has a better view than mine. Plus there is a bigger balcony space to do yoga in the morning. At 350 baht(around $11) I am in the most expensive bungalow here. There are others at 200, 250 and 300 which are further from the beach. But not by much. We all share the numerous toilets and showers. They are in concrete huts. Someone has been creative and mixed rocks and shells into the concrete. The shower is a bucket shower. A room with a concrete bath filled with brackish water, a plastic basin for rinsing. A dead tree trunk in the centre, the branches are hooks for clothing and towel. The toilet also has a concrete bath filled with water and a plastic basic to flush the waste.
The electricity comes on at 6 pm till 1 or 2 am. A long life bulb in the bungalow and one on the porch. A few strategic lamps light the path to the restaurant. The food is fair. Many different types of salad, rice dishes and curries. Tofu and yoghourt available. I drank the last soya milk yesterday. Water is 10 baht a litre and we can refill the bottle for 5.
So the days pass. I get up, meditate, do yoga, then go for breakfast. Sometimes I swim before breakfast. Today I was hungry. Breakfast is a fruit plate, raisins and yoghourt. Then I went to swim. It is now the heat of the day. I stay out of the sun. I sit and look out at the water. A Danish man just passed by. He stopped to talk. He came for the afternoon on his motorcycle. We chat about this and that. Now he is gone. Soon I will go and try another salad. A German woman has made up the menu. It is definitely not Thai. There was banana in my salad yesterday with the curried rice, tofu and vegetables. Actually tasty. And the shake yesterday of carrot, apple, cucumber and honey was fine. Do I dare try the ginger lemon watermelon shake?
I will be here for 4 more days and then it is time to go home. It is Thai New Year and the red shirts are protesting in Bangkok. I will avoid the city and stay at the airport.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
going to Trat
5/3/10
I am heading to Koh Chang, an island off the coast of Thailand about 5 hours from Bangkok. My plan is to take the bus to Poipet at the border and then find a Thai bus heading south. However during my tour yesterday, I met a taxi driver while I was eating my lunch. Wth the ketchup bottle, the toothpicks and the napkin holder he showed me that I was going out of my way. The shortest physical distance was to cross at Prom. From Prom, I need to get to Ban Paket, then to Chantaburi and then to Trat. It sounds complicated and I am sure that it will take as long as my previous plan. But what the heck. It is possibly my last adventure this time around.
The share taxi comes at 8:00 am. There are 3 people sitting in the back and one moves to the front seat when I approach. I have paid a whopping $10 to keep only 3 people in the back seat and to get a window seat. Two people are now sitting in the front passenger seat. One has his buttocks on the bucket seat and his torso shifted towards the middle. I am happy to have my seat in the back.
It takes a while to reach the border as the taxi driver keeps trolling for more customers. When one gets out, he stops and waits for another. At 10:45, we get to the border. I am the last passenger. Leaving Cambodia is straight forward. A young man on a moto offers me a free ride to the Thai border. Nothing is free. He wants to drive me to Chantanburi for $45.
At the Thai border, they want a photocopy of my passp0rt and a photo. They send me to window 6 to get a photocopy but the electricity is down. Luckily I have a copy in my suitcase. It is 11:30. I stand outside the border office. A heavy sweating man with poor skin offers to take me to Trat for $50. He is actually offering me his friend who stands there in sunglasses with a serious look on his face. When I say it is too expensive, he suggests Chantaburi for $40. As I continue to refuse, he offers smaller distances at incrementally smaller prices. He finally offers me a motorcycle ride to the nearest pick up station for 100 baht (around $3) I accept.
A young boy places my suitcase propped up in front of him on a very small bike and I hop on behind. It is a 10 minute ride down the road. He loads my suitcase onto the sang thiew ( pickup truck with 2 benches for passengers). I have just enough time to eat a green papaya salad and we are off. Two hours later we arrive in Chantaburi. I have to pay him $3 because I have no baht. I try to get baht at the bus station but the ATMs are not working. The big bus is leaving for Trat in 10 minutes. I have just enough to pay the bus fare. 52 baht ($1.50) It takes an hour to get to Trat. The Trat bus station is deserted. The sangthiew is waiting to fill. It may take some time. Two monks are waiting onboard. They are willing to pay 100 baht each to get the driver to take us to the ferry dock. I agree. One monk pays for me so we can get going. The driver stops at an ATM machine so I can pay back the monk.He motions to me to put the money down on the suitcase between us. I cannot hand it directly to him. I offer him a mango. He is very pleased. We arrive at the ferry station. It is now 3:35. We have just missed the ferry. At 4:00 we get on the next one and arrive at Koh Chang just before 5. Almost there. But yet again, the sangthiew waits to fill. I arrive at my guesthouse at 7:30.
I am heading to Koh Chang, an island off the coast of Thailand about 5 hours from Bangkok. My plan is to take the bus to Poipet at the border and then find a Thai bus heading south. However during my tour yesterday, I met a taxi driver while I was eating my lunch. Wth the ketchup bottle, the toothpicks and the napkin holder he showed me that I was going out of my way. The shortest physical distance was to cross at Prom. From Prom, I need to get to Ban Paket, then to Chantaburi and then to Trat. It sounds complicated and I am sure that it will take as long as my previous plan. But what the heck. It is possibly my last adventure this time around.
The share taxi comes at 8:00 am. There are 3 people sitting in the back and one moves to the front seat when I approach. I have paid a whopping $10 to keep only 3 people in the back seat and to get a window seat. Two people are now sitting in the front passenger seat. One has his buttocks on the bucket seat and his torso shifted towards the middle. I am happy to have my seat in the back.
It takes a while to reach the border as the taxi driver keeps trolling for more customers. When one gets out, he stops and waits for another. At 10:45, we get to the border. I am the last passenger. Leaving Cambodia is straight forward. A young man on a moto offers me a free ride to the Thai border. Nothing is free. He wants to drive me to Chantanburi for $45.
At the Thai border, they want a photocopy of my passp0rt and a photo. They send me to window 6 to get a photocopy but the electricity is down. Luckily I have a copy in my suitcase. It is 11:30. I stand outside the border office. A heavy sweating man with poor skin offers to take me to Trat for $50. He is actually offering me his friend who stands there in sunglasses with a serious look on his face. When I say it is too expensive, he suggests Chantaburi for $40. As I continue to refuse, he offers smaller distances at incrementally smaller prices. He finally offers me a motorcycle ride to the nearest pick up station for 100 baht (around $3) I accept.
A young boy places my suitcase propped up in front of him on a very small bike and I hop on behind. It is a 10 minute ride down the road. He loads my suitcase onto the sang thiew ( pickup truck with 2 benches for passengers). I have just enough time to eat a green papaya salad and we are off. Two hours later we arrive in Chantaburi. I have to pay him $3 because I have no baht. I try to get baht at the bus station but the ATMs are not working. The big bus is leaving for Trat in 10 minutes. I have just enough to pay the bus fare. 52 baht ($1.50) It takes an hour to get to Trat. The Trat bus station is deserted. The sangthiew is waiting to fill. It may take some time. Two monks are waiting onboard. They are willing to pay 100 baht each to get the driver to take us to the ferry dock. I agree. One monk pays for me so we can get going. The driver stops at an ATM machine so I can pay back the monk.He motions to me to put the money down on the suitcase between us. I cannot hand it directly to him. I offer him a mango. He is very pleased. We arrive at the ferry station. It is now 3:35. We have just missed the ferry. At 4:00 we get on the next one and arrive at Koh Chang just before 5. Almost there. But yet again, the sangthiew waits to fill. I arrive at my guesthouse at 7:30.
The Bamboo Train of Battambang
4/3/10
My guide book mentions a bamboo train than runs in the outskirts of Battambang. It is used by locals to transport people and freight and is now also a bit of a tourist attraction. Its unique feature, that it can be dismantled and reassembled in moments, is an adaptation to the reality of a one-track system.
I have hired a motorcycle driver to take me around today. We have been to 2 mountains with different temples, old and new at their summits. We have stopped to see the hundreds of fruit bats roosting in the trees. (Katty tells me these are just the males. The females are in the jungle tending to their babies.) And now we have arrived at the tracks of this notorious bamboo train. We have come along dirt paths threading thru villages, rice paddies, banana plants and palm trees, jackfruit and mango trees. The wind feels wonderful when we are moving. Now we have stopped. It is easily 35 degrees in the shade. Across the tracks, a wedding reception is in progress and the music is blaring. We sit in the leanto and sip at tepid drinks. Katty goes to tell someone that we would like to ride the train.
A train assembles before my eyes. Someone brings 2 sets of iron wheels. They look like oversized bar bells. Then 2 young men carry a bamboo platform which they fit onto the wheels. Someone carries over a motor. (Katty informs me that 20 years ago, they switched from manual power to engine power. It is an 8 cc motor, the kind to pump water out of a small well.) A mat is placed in front for me. A stool is put by the tracks and the motorcycle is wheeled aboard. We clamber on. The fan belt of the engine is attached to the axis of the front wheels and we are off. We are going maybe 40 km an hour. Katty tells me that this is faster than the regular Cambodian trains which are notoriously slow at 20 km an hour. We barrel along, clickety clack. It is a pretty smooth ride except for the regular jumps every few seconds. I try to see what it is on the tracks creating the bump but I finally decide that it must be the engine. I feel like I am on a very bizarre amusement park ride. One set of tracks opens a path in front of me. Greenery flashes by me on either side. When we have gone several kilometres, we can see another train approaching us. Both trains come to a stop several metres apart. The other train is filled with local people and one foreigner. I am surprised to see them all get off. We win, says Katty. The motorcycle is heavier. Our engine driver hops off and helps the other driver dismantle his train. It is done in less than 2 minutes. Once we have passed him, they reassemble his train. We continue on. At our destination, the driver and Katty carefully lift off the motorcycle onto the ground. I give the driver $6 and we head back to town.
My guide book mentions a bamboo train than runs in the outskirts of Battambang. It is used by locals to transport people and freight and is now also a bit of a tourist attraction. Its unique feature, that it can be dismantled and reassembled in moments, is an adaptation to the reality of a one-track system.
I have hired a motorcycle driver to take me around today. We have been to 2 mountains with different temples, old and new at their summits. We have stopped to see the hundreds of fruit bats roosting in the trees. (Katty tells me these are just the males. The females are in the jungle tending to their babies.) And now we have arrived at the tracks of this notorious bamboo train. We have come along dirt paths threading thru villages, rice paddies, banana plants and palm trees, jackfruit and mango trees. The wind feels wonderful when we are moving. Now we have stopped. It is easily 35 degrees in the shade. Across the tracks, a wedding reception is in progress and the music is blaring. We sit in the leanto and sip at tepid drinks. Katty goes to tell someone that we would like to ride the train.
A train assembles before my eyes. Someone brings 2 sets of iron wheels. They look like oversized bar bells. Then 2 young men carry a bamboo platform which they fit onto the wheels. Someone carries over a motor. (Katty informs me that 20 years ago, they switched from manual power to engine power. It is an 8 cc motor, the kind to pump water out of a small well.) A mat is placed in front for me. A stool is put by the tracks and the motorcycle is wheeled aboard. We clamber on. The fan belt of the engine is attached to the axis of the front wheels and we are off. We are going maybe 40 km an hour. Katty tells me that this is faster than the regular Cambodian trains which are notoriously slow at 20 km an hour. We barrel along, clickety clack. It is a pretty smooth ride except for the regular jumps every few seconds. I try to see what it is on the tracks creating the bump but I finally decide that it must be the engine. I feel like I am on a very bizarre amusement park ride. One set of tracks opens a path in front of me. Greenery flashes by me on either side. When we have gone several kilometres, we can see another train approaching us. Both trains come to a stop several metres apart. The other train is filled with local people and one foreigner. I am surprised to see them all get off. We win, says Katty. The motorcycle is heavier. Our engine driver hops off and helps the other driver dismantle his train. It is done in less than 2 minutes. Once we have passed him, they reassemble his train. We continue on. At our destination, the driver and Katty carefully lift off the motorcycle onto the ground. I give the driver $6 and we head back to town.
spring rolls
04/03/10 Siem Reap
I go to my favorite stall in the market. It is in the centre where the food stalls are - surrounded by stalls with fruits and vegetables on display. I pass the raw fish stalls and step carefully on the dirty wet floor underneath me. I discovered this stall a couple of days ago. A woman sitting behind a counter, making fresh spring rolls. I was able to express to her that I wanted no meat in mine, just vegetables. The meat is white and rubbery. It looks like squid or octopus but is more likely pork. I am now able to signal how many I want and she will make them for me as I like. They are filled with lettuce, bean sprouts, noodles, mint. She will give me a little bowl of vinaigrette topped with shredded peanuts.
But she is not here today. There is somone else at her spot. The counter holds fried greens and meat. No spring rolls. The girl smiles hopefully at me but I move on.
I sit in one of the open restaurants on the edge of the market. Here the meals are $1.50 a plate. Within moments, the street urchins arrive: Buy postcards. Where are you from? Canada. Capital of Canada is Ottawa.They have memorized the capitals for the most common tourist countries and are able to reel off the names with great pride. A few days ago I bought a meal of fried rice with beef for three of them to share. The waitress brought 3 plates. They sat down around me and finished it off within moments. They thanked me politely. Today the same ones are here. One recognizes me but the others do not. The plate of fresh spring rolls at $1.50 is triple the price of my little market kiosk. I am paying for sitting at a table.
I go to my favorite stall in the market. It is in the centre where the food stalls are - surrounded by stalls with fruits and vegetables on display. I pass the raw fish stalls and step carefully on the dirty wet floor underneath me. I discovered this stall a couple of days ago. A woman sitting behind a counter, making fresh spring rolls. I was able to express to her that I wanted no meat in mine, just vegetables. The meat is white and rubbery. It looks like squid or octopus but is more likely pork. I am now able to signal how many I want and she will make them for me as I like. They are filled with lettuce, bean sprouts, noodles, mint. She will give me a little bowl of vinaigrette topped with shredded peanuts.
But she is not here today. There is somone else at her spot. The counter holds fried greens and meat. No spring rolls. The girl smiles hopefully at me but I move on.
I sit in one of the open restaurants on the edge of the market. Here the meals are $1.50 a plate. Within moments, the street urchins arrive: Buy postcards. Where are you from? Canada. Capital of Canada is Ottawa.They have memorized the capitals for the most common tourist countries and are able to reel off the names with great pride. A few days ago I bought a meal of fried rice with beef for three of them to share. The waitress brought 3 plates. They sat down around me and finished it off within moments. They thanked me politely. Today the same ones are here. One recognizes me but the others do not. The plate of fresh spring rolls at $1.50 is triple the price of my little market kiosk. I am paying for sitting at a table.
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