Symbiosis

Maybe it’s the nerdy biologist in me, but I’ve come to see my home here as its own self-sustaining community. Even before Dawn and Som (an American Grad student from URI, and her interpreter from Bangkok) moved in next door, I realized that I had many roommates and neighbors. The most ubiquitous by far are the mosquitoes. They are everywhere. My sleeping area is screened, as are all the windows, but the front door has large open spaces in between the iron grating, so all kinds of creatures are free to come and go. At some point in their evolutionary history, mosquitoes figured out that most mammals like to be out and about at the more pleasant times in the day – namely the cooler dawn and dusk hours. They also LOVE water, which is unfortunately available to them in plentiful supply in my bathroom and from my leaking pipes. Mopping up the puddles is a wasted effort as they inevitably reappear as soon as the water starts running (leaking) again. Therefore, I am doomed to mosquito attacks no matter where I go when I’m home, especially places I like to be or need to be frequently (the hammock or bathroom).

Fortunately I have other more benign roommates. A crafty little spider spun a big web in the corner over my bed. Lucky is the mosquito that makes it into my bedroom and escapes both my fly swatter and the arachnid corner of doom. Although the geckos keep me up some nights with their chirping and barking, I am happy to know they are patrolling my walls for mosquitoes. And on more than one occasion I have literally bumped into a tree frog. One night as I groped in the dark for the door, I was startled to feel a slimy, squishy, bumpy lump where the doorknob should have been. When I withdrew my hand I heard a wet slap as the frog jumped to the floor. My headlamp confirmed that it was indeed a very large tree frog.

A mantis and lizard in/near my apartment

I find all sorts of insects and birds and reptiles around, in, and near the house. Most are harmless, if not downright amusing, like the gigantic bumbling beetles that clumsily circle around the room, repeatedly bashing into the walls like drunken helicopters. From my hammock I can hear the calls of strange rainforest birds and insects, and the hooting of gibbons and macaque monkeys. The other day I heard nearby rustling grasses and the bamboo-snapping racket that could only come from a very large mammal. Prepared for tigers and mad elephants, I stepped out onto the porch to find… cows. A whole herd of them. (There are wild tigers and elephants known to exist as close as 20km from here though!)

Moooooo!

Perhaps most comforting are my neighbors of the human type. There is something reassuring about hearing Dawn and Som’s voices softly echoing off the walls next door, or the children playing across the street. I know that after a long day I can go down the street to get Som Tam for dinner with Dawn and Som, or we can ride our bikes down to the coffee shop for some Thai iced tea to dispel the fatigue and stresses of field work. I know that every morning when I slide my door open the neighbors will wave and shout “HELOOO… SAWAT DEE KRUP”!! When I go running in the morning the kids will chase me and shout “HELOOOO” and the old men and women will laugh and give me the thumbs up sign or shout “NUMBAH ONE!” I like to think that they recognize me on my pink bike in town, on my way to work, or shopping at the market. I hope despite the fact that I’m a funny farang girl doing god (or Allah or Buddha) knows what in this village in the middle of nowhere, they still think of me as their neighbor.

Once when I was leaving to get dinner the next door neighbor walked over and was emphatically asking me something. (GIN KEAOW, GIN KEAOW!!!) I knew it had something to do with eating because she was mimicking the motion of eating, but I just figured that she was making polite conversation and asking whether I was going to eat dinner. I quickly became embarrassed and shy because I couldn’t understand. I awkwardly laughed and waved and rode away, trying to make as polite an exit as possible. Only later did it occur to me that Thais NEVER eat dinner alone, so she was definitely inviting me over to her house to join her family for dinner. I felt rude, but it warmed my heart to know that my neighbors -- even the ones I can’t communicate with -- are looking out for me.

Dawn, Som and other neighbors of the human kind.

Lions and Tigers (and little rabid kitties)

I always imagined my first encounter with rabies and the Thai medical system would begin with some hideous Cujo look-alike. In my mind the nightmare would generally unfold as some variation of the following scenario:

I encounter the dog while running, or maybe during a visit to a remote shrimp farm. He looks like a comic book rendition of one of the hounds of hell, sinewy veins protruding over bulky muscles. He is front-loaded like a pit-bull or a boxer. He is mangy, infected bits of raw pink skin burning through patches of filthy fur. Foam seeps between teeth that glisten like steak knives in the sun. He absolutely wants to kill me. Blood-red lips peel back to communicate this with one continuous growl. His eyes are wild, blinded by the sickness that has turned this dog into a demon.

I am of course far beyond hearing range to call for help. Still I try in vain, and shakily prepare to defend myself. I lift a rock over my head, threatening, but this only angers the beast further. He charges. The rock connects. Momentarily stunned, he shakes his head, venomous spittle speckling white on the red dirt path. He charges again. Rock 2 misses. Rock 3…. Where is rock 3?!....

It’s a slow road to recovery, one that begins with fifty-seven stitches and 15 excruciating rabies shots to the abdomen.

Ok so that is how I imagined my first encounter with rabies. Here is the very anti-climactic, true story of how it actually happened:

I am walking to the office, happily preoccupied with a call from home. I hear a loud and constant meowing. Imagine a car alarm that makes a “MEOOOW” sound over and over. It sounds just like that. Out of nowhere comes a beautiful little grey and white Siamese cat with bright blue eyes. It looks pretty clean and well cared for, so I don’t go out of my way to avoid it. I continue talking.

Suddenly I realize the cat is coming toward me. ‘What a weird cat’ I think, but continue talking. I’ve met Siamese cats in the States before and I know they are a particularly strange breed of cat with peculiar behavioral patterns. The possibility of rabies hasn’t even entered my mind.

The cat comes closer, meowing away. It is purring and rubbing against my ankles, pacing figure 8s around my feet. It rolls over to reveal its flawless snow white belly, meowing and purring the whole time. Absent-mindedly I reach a ginger toe over and rub its belly. I’m still talking, when….. “MEOOOOOOOOW” ---- CRUUNCH!!! Out of nowhere, the cat tears into my foot. I quickly jump away and the cat continues with its meow alarm routine.

After a quick, air-conditioned trip to the hospital for a mostly painless shot to the arm the “ordeal” was over. I just need five of those shots (one per week) and my anti-climactic brush with rabies will be complete. The best part: I’m covered for a whole year, so if my imagined scenario should actually arise, I don’t have to worry about rabies. Now I get to play with all the rabid (and questionably rabid) animals I want! I think I’ve learned my lesson though about animals in other countries.

Bao: My New Field Assistant

Yay for data!

I have a new field assistant to help me collect data. His name is Bao – a fisherman from the next village over. Gathering data with Bao is always an adventure, primarily due to the ever present language barrier. Bao speaks only slightly more English than I speak Thai (which is to say practically none). Fortunately we are both fluent in pantomime. Bao and I can exchange an entire story without understanding a single word either way. I am convinced that the two of us would absolutely clean house in a game of charades.

Despite the language barrier, Bao and I somehow manage to get the job done. He has a clear sense of my project and knows precisely how to question the shrimp farmers and aquaculturalists to get the information I need. I devised a questionnaire and had it translated into Thai specifically for this purpose. But being a local, Bao understands the subtleties of the culture, and his jovial demeanor and local ties usually grant us access into the offices of even the most suspicious shrimp farmers.

Driving around a shrimp farm with Bao

In this first phase of my research I’m collecting production and GPS data from shrimp farms and aquaculture rafts. If we’re collecting shrimp farm data we’ll take Bao’s motorbike up to the entrance, where he’ll sweet talk our way inside. He sits and chats with the manager on duty while I walk around delineating the perimeter boundary with a GPS device. Usually by the time I return to join Bao and the manager for coffee or juice, he has already filled out the questionnaire. (Side note: I am not trying to deceive the shrimp farmers to get data from them. My goal is to work with different stakeholders to develop a set of management recommendations for the entire watershed.)

Harvesting shrimp

If we’re collecting aquaculture data we go down to one of the docks in the mangroves adjacent to Klong Na Ka. Bao negotiates a good price for one of the cheerful, brightly painted little long-tail boats (named for the motor at the end of a long pole that extends behind the boat). We then noisily putter out to the main channel where dozens of aquaculture rafts float in clusters. Mussel and oyster rafts require only routine maintenance (i.e. people don’t need to live on them full time), and therefore we simply count the number of oyster/mussel strings and GPS the corners of each raft. Fish cage rafts generally include a little bamboo hut, where the aquaculturist lives with any number of dogs, cats, or family members. Fish farmers tend to be less guarded than shrimp farmers. I think there are probably two reasons for this: 1) Our project provided seed money to support local aquaculture; and 2) Let’s face it: Sitting on a floating raft all day can’t be that exciting. It must be nice to have visitors every now and then.

Chatting with a fish farmer on his aquaculture raft

While Bao chats with the fish farmer and acquires production data (How many fish cages are there? How much feed goes into the water? Etc…), I gather GPS perimeter data. This is where data collection on the water diverges sharply from terrestrial data collection. Fish rafts are primarily constructed of bamboo – a devastatingly NARROW, and ROUND building material. This means that gathering GPS data for the perimeter of each raft requires a nearly impossible feat of balance and patience. Anyone who knows me will adamantly attest to my lack of physical grace. In truth I am the clumsiest person I know. So you can imagine me out in the middle of a floating raft, moving up and down with the waves with nothing to grab onto, trying to stay balanced on a rounded, wet stretch of bamboo that is at best 4 inches wide. Sometimes I have to turn sideways, crouch down, and inch my way along. With arms and tongue sticking out like a gymnast in the Special Olympics, I have somehow managed to complete this feat repeatedly without toppling into the water, GPS and all. So far. Cross your fingers for me – I’m almost half way through with this portion of my data collection.

Balance is not my strength

Gravity has other, less direct ways of working against me in the field. Bao and I are careful to plan our data collection excursions according to the tides. The inaccuracy of the available tidal charts caught up with us last time, when we were surprised to find a rapidly falling tide on the way back to the dock. Needless to say, we soon became stranded at the lowest possible tide. We had to wait 45 minutes for the tide to change while the little boat rested in three inches of muddy water. I had fun anyway, taking the opportunity to explore and look for marine invertebrates in the nearby mangroves. The villagers laughed at me when I returned to the dock covered to my waist in black mangrove mud. Meanwhile Bao (obviously the smarter of our two person research team) arrived at the dock clean and refreshed from his 45 minute nap.

Stranded at low tide!

Harrowing as the raft walking and tidal strandings may be, every day on the water is inevitably fun. Between the endless laughing and charades with Bao, coffee breaks with happy fisherman in the cozy shade of their bamboo fish houses, and the stunning views of the mountains and mangroves, this field work reinforces my love for the career path I have chosen.

Sorting cultured mussels at the dock

....Along Came Typhoid Fever

I've been neglecting my blog lately due to a nasty bout of Typhoid Fever. What began as a mild headache and low grade fever soon bloomed into full-blown Typhoid. After a visit to the Kamphuan Medical Clinic failed to quell five days of fevers (topping 104 degrees), chills, splitting migranes, and vomiting I checked into the Phuket Bangkok International Hospital (a short day trip away).

After 3 days of intensive treatment and blood tests I've been diagnosed and am receiving treatment. I'm happy to say that I'm improving steadily! I'll be back to work in Kamphuan next week but until then I'm taking the weekend to recover in Phuket. Stay tuned for more posts...

Sunset on my illness (from the hospital window in Phuket)

A Valentine's Day Gecko-Gram

I was just in the bathroom at the office and what did I see but a Gecko with a perfect heart pattern on it's side. How bizarre (yet so appropriate on Valentine's Day)!

Happy Valentine's Day everybody!

Yanni is my new best friend

One can only get so far on foot, especially in a hot, tropical climate. After two weeks of living in a tiny village without any independent means of transport I was beginning to feel a little marooned. To alleviate this creeping sense of isolation, I purchased a bicycle on a recent trip to Ranong. This may well be the best decision I have and will make the entire trip. I decided to name my bicycle Yanni for two reasons:

1) It’s a lot easier to say than Cha-ka-YAN (The Thai word for bicycle), and;
2) I get to use the name “Yanni” repeatedly in casual conversation. “Yanni and I are going to the beach!”… Or my personal favorite: “Yanni is taking me to lunch.”

Yanni has a number of redeeming qualities that contribute to his utter supremacy in cyclitude:

- He is PINK!!!
- He has a basket in the front (perfectly lap-top sized)
- Pedal-powered headlight and tail lights
- An extra padded seat over the back wheel
- And the number one feature (Can you handle the suspense?).… A plastic “Hello Kitty” squeaky horn on the handlebars.

Yanni (left) and Miss Hello Kitty (right)

I believe it wasn’t until I decided to test out Yanni’s supposed double-person capacity that I truly won the hearts of my Thai neighbors. I was picking AJ up from the bus stop on the only corner in the village. It was market day, and the entire intersection was a chaotic swarm of villagers buying various groceries and trinkets for the week. The whole thing must have been rather surreal to poor AJ, who after 24 hours of grungy bus rides from Siem Reap, had spent 5 additional hours just trying to make it the last 20km from Kura Buri to Kamphuan.

I have no idea what the bystanders at the bus stop must’ve thought when they saw me pedal up and enthusiastically jump off to embrace my old friend. Thais aren’t huge into PDA (public displays of affection), even the non-romantic type. AJ was practically too exhausted to speak, so I told him to climb onto Yanni’s little back seat. He obliged and clamored aboard, heavy pack and all.

I hadn’t quite anticipated that the added weight of one 6-foot plus male plus backpack would cause me to lose nearly all control of the handlebars. My arms swung in a wide arc from left to right and back as we wobbled and began to accelerate crookedly down a little hill. I was terrified, but laughing uncontrollably as I squeaked the little “Hello Kitty” horn to warn a group of market-goers standing directly ahead. They scattered like frazzled chickens and laughed hysterically as we barreled past them down the road.

Since he came into my life, Yanni has provided numerous opportunities for self-humiliation. One memory in particular stands out: Me pedaling towards a pair of bearded and stern looking Muslim clerics, dressed head to foot in white skullcaps and robes. I was trying my best to look dignified and respectable, to present myself in a professional manner and represent my country and hemisphere in a favorable light. Just as I smiled and emitted my best “SAWAT DEE KAA” (hello), a gust of wind blew my skirt wide open, and in a hectic scramble to close it and compose myself, I nearly crashed into a pole while eliciting an accidental shriek from the little “Hello Kitty” horn. Nice.

Sometimes kids will just run alongside as I pedal along, practicing their English: “HELL-OOOOO FARANG”! “WHAT YOUR NAME?!!” Yanni has certainly caused me some embarrassment, but making a spectacle of myself has also helped me to make some friends along the way. And pedaling sure is a faster way to get around.

Khao Lak

My favorite Thai beverages: Thai iced tea and coconut shake

My friend AJ took a detour from his five-month tour of Asia to come and visit for the weekend. We spent a day relaxing in Kamphuan so he could recover from nearly 24 hours of cross country bus travel. Following a hectic and confusing bus station rendevous (there was neither bus nor station.. Long story...) AJ went to sleep while I did some work at the office. A few hours later I somehow convinced him to wake up and join me for lunch. Energized from plates of sticky rice and various delicious toppings, we pedaled my new bike (it has a seat over the rear tire) all the way up the mountain for a refreshing swim in the waterfall. On the way back down we stopped to watch the elephant team as they cleared brush from the side of the road. After a post-bike siesta we met up with a few friends from the Tsunami project on the beach to enjoy the sunset.



AJ testing out my two-person bicycle




Fish in the waterfall (top) and the elephant team at work (bottom)



Pharapat Beach at sunset


The following morning we awoke before the 5:30 call to prayer to catch a bus south to the beautiful beach town of Khao Lak. Highlights include quaint beachside bungalows, the best fresh fish dinner of my life, beach soccer, and some good laughs. It was a bit surreal but so wonderful to have a friend from home visit me here. After two months of trekking in China, AJ had no shortage of stories to share!

Khao Lak

Kayaking for Data in Klong Na Kha

While driving around my study area to ground truth shrimp farm locations, Chris and I found a perfect put-in spot for kayaks. We followed a back road that cut through an old abandoned farm to a dilapidated building. The tenant was a cheerful middle-aged man who welcomed us into his ramshackle home. His daughter scurried away with two tiny puppies as we sat cross-legged on the concrete floor and explained the purpose of my project.

Minutes later we had attained the appropriate permission and were rumbling down a rough dirt road in the direction of the mangroves. It was high tide so we only had four hours to paddle out to the inlet and gather GPS data. We wandered through a narrow maze of mangroves, which opened gradually until we were fighting the rising tide in the middle of Klong Na Kha. Immediately we saw a row of aquaculture rafts and developed a system for quantifying and geolocating each one. Chris counted the number of strings (mussels attached) or fish cages while I paddled to the southeast and northwest corner of each raft to enter GPS weigh points. We had to paddle against the current in both directions, since we needed to take advantage of high water levels to get back to the truck. Despite the opposing current, the wind was at our backs the entire way back. I could not help but take this as a good omen for my project.

Green mussels (top) and a grouper cage raft (bottom)

Swimming with Elephants

Elephants!

A few days ago Chris and I went to a little restaurant down the road from the office. We were eating som tam under a little bamboo bungalow, deeply entrenched in some nerdy discussion of evolutionary theory when I looked up to see a train of elephants plodding up the road. I was so excited to see my first elephants outside of a zoo or circus, all I could do was stare wide-eyed and stutter. Hurriedly we finished lunch, paid the bill and took off down the road to see if we could find the elephants. We knew they couldn’t have gotten very far and joked at the thought of two farangs pulling up to a group of Thai villagers to ask “Hey – did you guys just see three elephants go by a minute ago?”…. We were about to give up, figuring they had disappeared into the shade of the woods somewhere. Then suddenly a dirt path appeared, sloping downward toward the river. BINGO!

The elephant herders were a group of young boys from the far south. They travel the roads looking to hire out the elephants by the day. When I asked what the elephants do for a living Chris responded with cheery sarcasm: “They take down the forest!!” I imagine an elephant could come in handy in any number of situations (several personal experiences involving cars and mud come to mind). The boys used rocks to create a small dam in the river bend. And there were the elephants – crouching down in the water to enjoy a cool refreshing break from the heat and pavement. We sat and watched as the boys washed the animals, climbing over their backs like nimble ants. I still had my swimsuit on from kayaking that morning, and asked Chris whether he thought it would be ok to join in. As long as I kept my shorts and t-shirt on (southerners are extremely conservative) he didn’t see a problem with it. So I waded in, barely able to believe I was swimming literally eye-to-eye with the largest land mammal on earth. The thick grey skin felt rubbery and tough to the touch. Most striking were the eyes – tiny in comparison to the massive head, but so alert and inquisitive. Under long lashes I could read the intelligence in those piercing eyes.

The nearest elephant let out a lofty sigh and rolled a bright amber eye shut when I raked a scrub brush across its massive shoulder blade. It was like bathing a gigantic mellow golden retriever. Occasionally the boys would bark orders and an elephant would roll to expose one side to the waiting brushes. Often the entire head would dip completely below the surface, leaving only the giant sloping back to indicate the presence of the submerged elephant. Had I seen only this view, I might have walked by and dismissed them as two strange boulders in the river. I could have watched them splash around all day, diving and extending their trunks like alien periscopes.

Have you washed your elephant today?

Once I had had my fill of playing with the elephants, I crawled back up on the bank to join Chris. Contentedly we watched as they filled their trunks with water then let it drip into their open mouths. Finally a jeep full of German tourists took notice and barreled down the path. In 15 seconds flat three pot-bellied Germans in skimpy Speedos were charging into the pool. We chatted with them for a while and decided it was time to go. The elephant boys were polite, but I think they had grown tired of this spectacle. A guy just can’t wash his elephant these days without a truckload of farangs showing up to spoil the fun.