Thailand - Farewell to Southeast Asia

I enjoy hearing the sound of roosters crowing in the morning, their bold calls proclaiming the promise of a new day, and while the throaty trilling still catches my attention, it’s become familiar almost to the point of routine along with the sight of swaying coconut palms.  The wild flap of banana leaves is still enthralling to me because the unique look of the trees symbolizes the jungle and life far away from home and gives me a sense of longing that I did not anticipate while planning this trip.  A green mountainside on the island of Koh Samui has been home to my little family for five days now, two of which have been grey and rain-soaked with runoff from the storms turning the nearby access roads into branches of the Lamai River.  The wet weather gave us an excuse to relax from our travels and catch up on some bookkeeping and school testing. The large windows all around the perimeter of the house provided easy access to a rainforest panorama that became our final memory of southeast Asia.

We left our bungalow in Khao Sok National Park mid-afternoon on a longtail boat with our heads ducked to avoid the spray from the wind-driven chop of the waves in the green water.  On the shore at the national park headquarters, we boarded a waiting taxi for a three-hour drive to the Don Sak pier on the eastern coast of the Surat Thani province where we hoped to catch the 6:30 ferry.  We made it with thirty minutes to spare and settled back in comfy chairs on a large ship which was so smooth in the water, we hardly noticed any swaying over the entire two-hour journey to Koh Samui, Thailand’s second largest island, and our home for the next five days.

Our hosts had arranged for a driver to pick us up at the dock, and he was there at the rail holding a “Deena” sign which still gives us a feeling of thrilled relief that a long travel day is coming to a close.  It was pitch dark and raining as we drove for thirty minutes to our neighborhood, and our driver stopped at a market along the way so we could purchase supplies for breakfast the next morning.  Our hosts for the week are Thomas, an expat from the UK, and his wife, Phanita, a native Thai with an infectious smile and the light of goodwill shining in her eyes.  They helped us with our luggage as we climbed the stairs and walked into our house which immediately reminded us of our beloved home in Chiang Mai in the northern Sansui village.  

The house is long and narrow with a large main room and two bedrooms off to the side with a big blue-tiled bathroom in between.  The main room has a well-equipped kitchen at the rear and a dining and living area toward the front.  The balcony near the sliding glass entry doors has a view that sweeps down a palm tree-filled valley all the way out to the sea, which we were delighted to discover the next morning.  The freshly-painted white walls and the cream-colored tiled floors give the place a bright, tidy appearance.  We felt relaxed right away, and our cheerful hosts left us to unpack as they walked back to their house at the top of the neighborhood.  

After a good night’s sleep we enjoyed our favorite eggs-in-a-basket breakfast together as we looked out the windows and discovered the rainforest beauty that surrounded us.  When a break in the rain came, Deena and I left the kids to their studies, and we walked a kilometer through flooded streets to drop off our clothes to be laundered and to purchase supplies for the next couple of days.  The majority of the places in which we’ve stayed in southeast Asia haven’t included washing machines, but laundry services are widely available, and for about three dollars, we get our clothes returned washed, pressed, and smelling fresh.  With the fridge stocked with food, we settled in for a rainy day, and I looked forward to an afternoon nap, which was the only item inked on the schedule.  Later that day as I reclined on the bed, I looked out the window and saw the ridge of the nearby mountain partially shrouded by rain clouds and covered with palm trees.  I fell asleep listening to the soft popping of rain drops on the leaves of the banana tree under the window sill and thinking about how the mountains back home in North Carolina don’t have palm trees on top.

Other than the lush greenery surrounding our residence, my other favorite community amenity was the fresh water station at the entrance of the neighborhood, which I haven’t seen anywhere else in southeast Asia.  The station looked like one of the streetside book-lending depots back home, and for the the price of one Thai baht, or three cents, one can fill up a two-liter bottle with fresh, cool drinking water.  I loved making trips to this thing and filling up bottles for next to nothing, and it became a bit of an obsession which led to the best hydration my family had experienced in quite some time.  The station was located beside Thomas and Phanita’s house, and their massive wrinkled Shar Pei, Sumo, usually kept me company while I filled up my numerous bottles.  Despite his fearsome appearance, Sumo was a sweet dog, and I looked forward to patting his wrinkled head while he cozied up beside me.

My buddy Sumo

When the clouds broke up for a few hours during the middle of our second day on the island, we walked the short distance from our neighborhood to the beach in front of the Tiki Tiki Resort.  Our hosts informed us that as long as we purchased lunch at the hotel restaurant, we would have access to the lounge chairs and umbrellas on the beach as well as the pool overlooking the lagoon, so we took advantage of this convenient arrangement for a few hours.  Thickening rain clouds put an end to our beach excursion, but we had a fun, relaxing time out there and vowed to return for at least one more visit when the weather improved.  

Dinner that night had a Bavarian theme at a small homestay across from our neighborhood that was owned by a tall and lanky German expat named Helmut.  I estimated him to be in his late seventies, and he worked the floor of the open air restaurant while his much younger Thai wife held forth in the kitchen where she prepared our excellent schnitzel and salads.  Helmet had just been released from the hospital after suffering with dengue fever for several days that still had him looking weak. Hoping to avoid a similar fate, we nervously swatted at the twilight wave of mosquitoes in the rear of the restaurant.  I noticed a larger presence of expats on Koh Samui than other places in Thailand, and I guessed that the beauty and laid back lifestyle of the place is too strong a pull to resist for a lot of foreigners.  Other than coconut and rubber export, the major source of industry on Koh Samui comes from tourism which drives up the cost of goods and services.  While we haven’t gone over budget, the numbers going into the little black book at the close of each day have been higher than usual, but that’s the cost of living in paradise I guess.

On the first full day of bright sunshine, we decided to venture out from our little slice of Eden and head for the famous beaches of the Chaweng area about ten kilometers to our north.  Chaweng is one of the main tourist hubs on the island, and in addition to lagoons with white sand beaches, it has a modern mall, chain restaurants, and a busy street market.  We walked down the mountain from the neighborhood and quickly boarded a songthaew, the cheap red pickup form of transportation in Thailand which we haven't used since our time in Chiang Mai.  The driver dropped us off at the mall, and we made our way to the beach where we had lunch at a seaside restaurant. Later we took a dip in a nearby hotel pool before getting kicked out for lack of a room key.  

We found a shady spot under some mangroves on the beach and spent a couple of hours in and out of the blue green water bobbing on the waves and taking in the scenery.  The sky was deep blue with bright sunshine and high wispy clouds which cast shadows on the deep green jungle covering the mountains surrounding the beach.  We shared plates of mango and sticky rice and cups of coffee before making our way back home where we cooked a delicious dinner of chicken with coconut milk and Thai spices to finish up a fun day of island life.

Our last full day in southeast Asia began with a swift sunrise and a clear, deep blue sky, and I could see all the way out to the green ocean from our balcony.  The neighborhood dogs were making their rounds, and our resident lizards were chirping happily from their hiding places in the corners of the eaves.  Deena and I were up early and enjoyed coffee and tea together in the quiet cool of the morning while looking out at the purple bougainvillea that twisted around the utility poles next to the grove of banana trees.  We had a lazy day yesterday, but the kids pressed on with their studies, and Deena and I continued making reservations for activities in Australia and New Zealand, and we researched the areas in which we’ll be staying for the next couple of weeks.  

We ventured out late yesterday afternoon when we took a taxi to the Lamai Beach area a short distance away. We enjoyed some time on the uncrowded seashore as the sun set and the famous Lamai Sunday Night Market cranked up for the evening.  Our hosts told us that this market was a must-do because of the variety of local food for sale and bargains on souvenirs and island-made goods.  We were primarily in it for the food and were not disappointed as we wound through the crowds and foraged a dinner of crispy spring rolls, spicy pad thai, and huge cobs of corn, salted and roasted over hot coals.  We sipped fresh strawberry and mango smoothies and spent the rest of the evening walking the busy streets purchasing small items like phone chargers to replace the ones we’ve worn out over the past few months.  

Our children never really ask for much, so when they do ask for some small thing, especially my daughter, I’ll run over small, endangered animals and elderly ladies in the street to find it.  For three months, Deveny has been on the lookout for a small, colorful backpack which she had seen other travelers wearing all over Thailand.  After scouring many markets, we had been unsuccessful in finding one of these things. We figured we’d give it one more shot at the Lamai Night Market, but it was to no avail.  We spent a couple of hours walking the alleys of the town looking in every stall and storefront and finally realized it was time to go home.  Deveny was okay with it all, but I could tell she was dejected, and I tasted bitter defeat as I placed a call to our taxi driver for a pick up.  

He was on another run and told me that he couldn’t pick us up for forty-five minutes, so we walked down another street to find a cafe where we could have a cold drink while we waited for our ride.  On the way, we stopped into one more small variety shop and there on the wall was the miniature version of this backpack, so with trepidation, we asked the proprietor if he had the larger version.  With a wide smile he replied, “I have many large packs like this, any color you want,” as he pointed to a stack of backpacks in the corner still packaged in their plastic shipping wrap—yeah baby, jackpot, the Holy Grail.  After bargaining a fair price, we paid the man, and Deveny walked out grinning from ear to ear with her bright yellow backpack, a truly special, hard-fought souvenir from Thailand won because a cab driver couldn’t pick us up on time.  

So tomorrow we begin a twenty-four-hour odyssey with the final destination of Brisbane, Australia, and our three months in southeast Asia is over.  This section of our trip was the one that I was most apprehensive about, but it turned out to be the one we enjoyed the most so far, and now it hurts deeply to leave.  This part of the world is hard to reach, and who knows when or if any of us will return one day?  I can remember fretting with Deena over a year ago about these countries and the difficulties we might face during such a long visit.  How will we purify water?  What about diarrhea and cholera and malaria and dengue fever and bubonic plague?  Do we need to be vaccinated?  There’s no proper infrastructure, how will we manage?  There are cobras hiding in the weeds, right?  Good grief.  Backpackers have been flocking to southeast Asia for decades, and we deduced that they must be onto something, and reasoned if they could figure it out, so could we.

For three months, we followed the circular Banana Pancake backpacker trail through southeast Asia, and we’ve had a blast doing it.  Cheap bottled water is available everywhere, and so far we haven't seen anyone dying in the street from some heinous disease or a bite from a king cobra.  While some areas have been more primitive than others, there’s been sufficient infrastructure everywhere we stayed, and when conditions got a little tougher, positive attitudes prevailed along with the continued realization that we were visiting truly special places populated with friendly people willing to help traveling families like ours.  We’ve had constant access to our money as well as food and medicine, and transportation from village to village and country to country was readily available, and even though some routes required more research and planning, we enjoyed the challenge and the reward of the destination.  Most of all, we came to realize that no matter how many books we read, how many pictures we saw, or how many travel documentaries we watched at home, preparation can only go so far, and true perspective only comes from going to an unfamiliar place and experiencing it personally.

While the three countries we’ve visited in southeast Asia have many similarities, the people have cultures and histories with distinct differences that make them fiercely proud of their unique nations.  We’ve seen thick jungles and mountains and lagoons full of emerald green water.  We’ve seen mysterious temples and terraced rice fields and ancient rivers where life continues in the same way it has for centuries.  We’ve seen sprawling, modern cities with streets teeming with motor scooters and golden spirit houses full of incense and lavender orchids on every corner.  We’ve ridden in tuk tuks, talked to monks, climbed waterfalls, petted tigers, ridden elephants, hung onto the backs of motorcycles, and eaten some of the best food in the world, which we learned to cook in lively classes.  We watched many sunsets with pink, orange, and purple skies as the moon rose over the tall coconut palms and flapping banana trees, and we had time to enjoy each other immensely.  The thing about southeast Asia that I’ll miss the most is the daily opportunity to discover something new with my wife and children in this wild region full of smiling people halfway around the world from home.  And the roosters.  Oh my goodness, I’ll miss the roosters.