Enchanting Thailand

The door to my lovely room.

I walked down a narrow outdoor hallway and through the store, often dark, to reach the front street. The town was pretty much the one street I walked out onto, lined with stalls selling fruit shakes, small grocers, restaurants, and artsy clothes that would be fun to gift but couldn’t be stuffed to fit in my heavy backpack. If you visit Old Lanta, it’s worth a walk around the long hot block to find where the locals eat for far less than the tourists and to find a few other gems, like Rosie’s 420 shop. She’ll help you de-escalate to the speed of life in this town. Commensurate with the heat. You’ll better appreciate the brilliant yet tender colors and heavy fragrance of the tropical flowers draping your world here.

The street before 10 am.

Fishing village where my lodging stood on stilts, as viewed from the Old Lanta Pier. The Urak Lawoi, known here as Chao Lay, sea gypsies, have been fishing these waters for over 6,000 years. The building next to mine was the old boathouse until recently. Many live in the part of their homes that sits over the sea and operate a restaurant or store in the front. My housekeeper, who also managed the lodging and store for the owner, was from this indigenous tribe.

The tuk tuks here seemed even less trustworthy than the general janky ones in Delhi. Some were little more than a rectangle of coat hangers vaguely attached to a skooter. As for the local crew of male drivers, buyer, especially if you are a woman, be wary.

Looking to book a tour? Look no further. 

Contemplating an earthquake and a tsunami was unnerving enough, but it was the second sign that shook me. The evacuation route it’s pointing to leads straight to a mountain range running parallel with the ocean. Not exactly comforting. After doing a reconnaissance tour of the stubborn overgrown brush at the foot of the mountain, I realized that unlike the legendary woman who gave birth running like mad up a steep, rocky heel to escape a tsunami unleashed by the Krakatoa volcano eruption, I would more likely meet a watery death entangled in roots and thorny branches. 

I thought I’d just seek may final refuge at the Buddhist monastery there. The architectural details are stunning.

The naga serpent lifted Buddha from the waters of a rising lake and shielded him from the downpour but if  I wasn’t spared, at least I’d be in respectable company.

A few tried to persuade me to abandon my peaceful dock (having not seen it) to visit the more popular west coast of the island, where the beach was sandier and the waves more consistent. Since coming to Asia, I’ve learned to take a good look around before swimming. Often your nose will guide you, but not always. Not all that much is regulated in poorer countries and the sewage situation is far from ideal. Lying on the beach in this brutal sun did not call out to me, especially if jumping in the water might be an unattractivealternative. The other options were shopping along the heavily trafficked strip or spending the afternoons and evening in a bar with tourists. Long ago that might have seemed the height of fun, but after many years of it, drunken conversations become repetitious, ensuing arguments predictable… and while I still sometimes have a blast drinking with old and new friends, it’s not a top priority anymore. My remaining days are too precious to lose to hangovers and embarrassed regrets.  But I did want to ride a longboat and check out some of the nearby islands. I wanted to see them from the sea like the maritime cultures did. And so I joined a small tour. 

The etchings on the lava of this volcanic island were exquisite and in themselves gave one pause. This visual reminder that we live on a planet of actively shifting tectonic plates lends another perspective to the significance of contemporary issues.

The real lure of the trip though was the opportunity to kayak among the sea caves. I had to tint two of these a bit green as it was simply too bright to snap a photo on my iPhone that wasn’t too overexposed to make out the alluring detail of the cliffs. 

This gal scrabbled across an overhanging branch to leap onto our boat and join us.

When I finally left, I took a bus and then another bus and then a train to reach Prachuap Khiri Khan. I came across an inspiring young man in a coffee shop at the first bus stopover in Krabi. He was a young American, born with that disability that keeps the hands clenched and one leg dragging and significantly slows the speech. And yet there he was, dressed in bright red shorts with the Thai elephant print one sees everywhere here, and a matching short-sleeved shirt, traveling the world solo, smiling and striking up conversations with strangers.

Once again, in Prachuap I got stupidly lucky with lodging. The Jungle Cafe and Guesthouse doesn’t look like much from the outside. My room was just below the Aum symbol. But the interior appointments were surprisingly artsy and my balcony and windows looked out where the fishermen docked in the early morning to sell the night’s catch. 

The bay has three coves here where fish swim in for a respite from the turbulent ocean. But alas, this is where the fishermen sit in wait like pirates. 

The maritime culture here is also thousands of years old and has been heavily influenced by Chinese sailors. This temple sits directly across from where the fishermen dock their boats and where they lie in wait. It is home to the Heavenly Empress Mazu, guardian deity of fishermen. Local mediums channel her for those who would like to petition her for protection or healing. Too, the warrior Guan Yu, who you may recall from the temples in Taipei is also said to come through mediums here, his presence recognizable from his stern and authoritarian demeanor. A third deity is paid homage in this temple, a local earth or community spirit, Ben Tou Gong. He is consulted on more practical questions like property disputes, missing objects or family matters.

If one keeps an eye open while exploring Prachuap, signs of quiet devotion become visible.

Muslims and Buddhists also make up the city’s population. A Buddhist temple, known colloquially as the monkey temple, sits atop a staircase with 398 stairs winding up the hill through s tribe of notoriously aggressive monkeys. It’s a tourist challenge of course to climb the stairs and a monkey challenge to exact food from said tourists. Rumor has it that they will even snatch your phone from your hand and hold it hostage until the ransom of treats is paid. There is a barrel of sticks at the bottom of the stairs. I took one, but didn’t need it. The temple looks out over the bay and the city. When I visited, there was a lone monk. After looking me up and down and telling me that I was strong, he suggested that to stay strong I take deep belly breaths daily, inhaling through my nose and exhaling slowly and completely through my mouth. He waited while I mimicked him to make sure I would do it right.