Wild Hogs

Dec. 10, 2012

The next few days on Ko Pha-Ngan provided a few little adventures, but nothing as serious as the Full Moon Party. One of the days we decided to go out to the island that was just a couple hundred meters off shore. There was a sand bar between our islands, so when the tides were not too high, we could walk and swim across without too much difficulty. In the middle, waves were crashing on us from both sides. Although nothing had led us to believe that the island was inhabited in any way, we immediately saw signs of life when we got there. There were a couple of little Buddhist shrines in a grassy clearing. As we walked further in, we saw a couple of small shacks. As we got closer, one of them appeared to be an abandoned bar. It started to get a little creepier as we weren’t sure whether anyone might be around or not. We started to follow a trail and it took us up to a few wooden bungalows that also looked abandoned. It looked like this had been something of a guesthouse at some point. It was hard to tell how long it had been since it was used. It wasn’t listed in any of the guidebooks, so it was probably built fairly recently. Decay in the tropics happens quickly. We went inside one of the bungalows. The mattress was off the bed and covered in mold. Even some of the wood seemed to be rotting. We found a magazine that seemed to be the Thai equivalent of Maxim. It was dated just six months earlier. The trail petered out shortly after passing the few bungalows so we turned back around. Although it was incredibly creepy to walk around this little ghost hostel, it seemed like it would have been an awesome place when or if it had ever been open. I thought it would be fun to come back out here during the lowest tide and bring things to camp and have a bonfire. Nobody else was that interested, plus it would have been difficult to get our things across without getting them wet.

A couple of the days we rented motorbikes to explore the island. We rode to a trail to a waterfall that was not all that impressive (dry season), but it had great views. We stopped for noodle soups, conquered steep hills, found a rope swing and enjoyed the green scenery. One thing that I did not like about the island was that the tourists seemed to greatly outnumber the Thais. I have a hard time with that dynamic. Although we had come for the beach and the island atmosphere, I feel that I travel because of the people I meet. The fact that we were a big group on a touristy island meant that we would not be interacting much with locals. However, after riding around a bit, I was glad that we had chosen to stay at the place that we had. We were secluded from the towns that were just overrun with tourists, guesthouses, trinket shops and bad western restaurants. At one point in our ride, we stopped at a place suspiciously called “Lady Bar”. We had not taken much notice in that detail though. Other than a young white couple playing pool, we were the only people there. A woman in her thirties served us our drinks and tried to chat us up. I had a hunch where it was going and kept my distance. She told Henry, with a smile and a wink, “You are so handsome.” We later suspected that this lady may have been a boy. This was lost on Henry, and after we left he gloated, saying, “Did you hear? She thought I was the most handsome out of all of us.” I responded, “No, she thought you were the most likely out of all of us to pay for sex.”

I enjoyed Ko Pha-Ngan and I guess it was a fitting way to finish this long travel. It was not as rugged and far more mainstream than most of what I had done in the previous fifteen months, but perhaps it would make for a more normal transition back to America. Going back after a traipsing around obscure Indian states or a river in Mali would be a lot more difficult than a traditional beach holiday where I was surrounded by westerners anyway.

After a healthy dose of the island, we took the ferry back to the mainland. We encountered a strange phenomenon during our transit. It was the backpacker that is stuck in a tube. We realized that most of the people we were around had paid for package deal all the way back in Bangkok, where all of their transport was arranged and paid for in advance. And even those who have not signed onto a package trip are steered into this tourist tube and don’t bother trying to get out. When our minivan got to Surat Thani, the main town and transit hub not far from the ferry, we were dropped off on a random street near a tour company office. All the other passengers were herded off the van and into the office to wait for their connecting mode of transport to either their next island or back to Bangkok. We tried to ask where the main bus station, but nobody would give us a straight answer. They asked where we were going. I knew they just wanted to get us onto one of their buses that would be inevitably more expensive, and, as far as I’m concerned, carried a higher risk for theft or scams.  We knew there was a bus station in the city that had connections to Bangkok, but nobody wanted us to find it. We walked away from the tour office and tried to find somebody who spoke English to help us out. It wasn’t long before we had some reliable information, but it wasn’t the best news. It sounded like the bus station had moved and was no longer centrally located, and that the odds of catching a bus to Bangkok at this time were not very good. We decided to relax and have a night in this mostly ignored town. This was probably one of the few good decisions we made so far in Thailand.

We checked into a comfortable and surprisingly cheap hotel room. It even felt luxurious compared to our rustic beach huts. We proceeded directly to the nearby night market. The food on Koh Pha-Ngan had been expensive and mediocre at best. Now we were back in actual Southeast Asia, where the night market, rather than the hostel, feeds the hungry masses and fried noodles, curry and steamed dumplings, rather than banana pancakes, reign king. Even in Bangkok we hadn’t eaten as well as we did in our two hours in the Surat Thani night market. We ate ourselves silly. We didn’t know most of what we were eating. We just walked around, saw what looked good and put it in our mouths. The night in Surat Thani was actually a far better final memory of Thailand than our time on Ko Pha-Ngan.

The next morning we were up early enough to see the monks walking around collecting alms. We made our way to the bus station and quickly found ourselves heading back toward Bangkok. The bus was surprisingly fast, especially compared to the train, and we were back in the capitol before dark. This time we chose to stay near the horrid and infamous Khao San Road. When we had first been in Bangkok, it had given the Cameroon crew the biggest culture shock of the trip. Nobody actually wanted to go back there. Unfortunately, though, its cheap prices and other convenient amenities lured us in anyway. It always happens to me.

As much as we were against the idea of Khao San Road, we managed to enjoy ourselves. We met some other travelers at a street side bar, and hung out with them. They were typical Southeast Asia backpackers. Nice company, but not so interesting. Then we met a couple guys from Togo. They were far more interesting to talk to, so Harly, Paul and I spent an hour or two hanging out with them, practicing our French and talking about Africa. I had always seen the occasional African in Bangkok, Kolkata and Phnom Phenh, and always wondered what their story was. This guy explained that many of them originally come to play soccer. Maybe they have been recruited by a team or perhaps figured they could get on a team on arrival. This explained why all the Africans in Kolkata said they were soccer players. Unfortunately one of the Togolese guys told us, things don’t work out for most of them as they plan. And since most of them have obligations to a family back home, who expect them to come back with big soccer money, they turn to various forms of crime to support themselves and their families. This explained the reputation the Africans, specifically Nigerians, had in India and Thailand. I had heard that Nigerians ran the cocaine trade in India and various other unsavory activities in Thailand. I was glad to be finally getting a little more of the whole story. I’m sure there is a lot to learn about the African Diaspora in Asia. Perhaps that will be worth another trip this direction.

The next day we languidly departed our filthy flophouse and went back to the guesthouse we had stayed at the previous week. This was simply to pick up some bags we had left there. It was my last stop before heading to the airport. My flight was at 5:30, so it was time for me to start making my way to the airport. As I said my goodbyes, I mentioned how I was always paranoid that I would screw up the 24-hour time that is always on international plane tickets and confuse a 15:30 time with a 5:30 PM time. This was something that I really did worry about every time I headed to the airport. However, this was the only time where I actually did make the mistake. When I got to the airport, I found a bench and an outlet before even checking in, and opened my laptop. The first thing I did was double check my ticket. That was when I realized that my flight was leaving at 3:30 (15:30), not 5:30. I looked at the clock. 2:50. I grabbed my things and ran to the Korean Air check-in, half-expecting them to tell me that it was too late to make the flight. Then began a long series of events that seemed constructed to help me miss my flight. I got to the counter, and as luck would have it, they decided to have a trainee help me. The trainer sat patiently behind them as they slowly asked me all the necessary questions. They made plenty of mistakes, and the trainee calmly, but slowly, helped them along. My urgency was completely lost on them. When I tried to check my bag, they said it was overweight. I started throwing my things all over the place, shoving heavy items into my carryon bag and into my pockets. I got my boarding pass and ran toward security. Then I was blindsided by the customs line I had to get through first. The shortest line had ten people in it. I found myself behind a couple of French girls who looked like backpackers. I started speaking to them in French, explaining that my plane was leaving soon and if it would be at all possible if I could cut. They were more than understanding, and even encouraged me to go right to the front. Everyone was surprisingly happy to let me go ahead of them. I needed it desperately, and finally felt like I was catching a break. On the other side, the security line looked long, but it moved fast. I hustled through and found myself in the terminal with about fifteen minutes before takeoff. I had just enough time to get to my gate, and check my email. I was heading to South Korea and had plans to meet up with a friend during my 18-hour layover. The only problem was that I had not done a good job of getting in touch with her about our plans to meet up. The logistics of how I would get into Seoul had not been laid out. Checking the email didn’t help much either. Either way, I was just grateful to make it onto the plane in time. Peace out, again, Thailand.