Ko "?"

The best part about this entry is that I cannot even say where it is that I went. The NATR group had arranged an overnight stay on one of the local islands (Ko = island in Thai). I am not sure whether or not the island has a name, only that this aspect of the story is irrelevant since we were the only people inhabiting it that weekend.

Meeting everybody at the dock was a little hectic, as I was traveling from Bangkok by bus -- a horrible ride that had taken 16 hours as opposed to the usual ten. I’d rather not recount that story – it isn’t pleasant. Thanks to the good will of a few trusty friends, a car was waiting at my house when I trudged up carrying a huge pack full of sampling equipment from AIT. I had just enough time to grab a toothbrush, sunscreen, and swimsuit before hopping in the back with Dawn, Gordon, and a few others. We purchased some ice and loaded into a longtail boat for the one hour trip toward a cluster of jagged islands on the horizon. The first boat had left ten minutes earlier. The water was calm and glassy that morning. It looked more solid than liquid, viscous like a vast expanse of rolling green jell-o.

The island was like something straight out of a guidebook…Except that no tourist could ever find this place without Bao’s direction. He has been fishing these waters his entire life, and has probably camped on every nearby island at one point or another.

It was the perfect way to erase from my mind the events of the horrible bus ride: snorkeling around reefs full of tropical fish, enjoying delicious Thai food over a campfire, reading in a hammock beneath a palm grove, hunting for oysters along the rocky shoreline. And of course as always the NATR folks provided an endless source of entertainment and good conversation.

I walked down to the ocean at one point late in the evening. As I dragged a toe through the water a trail of phosphorescent stars mirrored those in the black sky overhead. I could hear the soft voices of new friends from the fire further up the beach. I felt so fortunate, so content at that moment. Gratefully I later fell asleep to the sound of waves on the sand, a dying fire crackling nearby.

(Note: I do not yet have pictures of this trip, but will post some soon. In the meantime I have posted other island pictures from the local beach here and from google images)

Liquids in Bags

I can't take it anymore.

I have to write about the issue of liquids in bags in this part of the world. Everything comes in bags: coffee, noodles, peanut sauce, the tasty coconut dressing that goes on my favorite dessert (mangoes and sticky rice)....

Sometimes the bags come closed with a little rubber band; other times - as with my cherished iced tea or coffee drinks - they are open on top, with two little handles built into the bag. For an extremely uncoordinated person such as myself, this results in some serious logistical problems. How for example, does one drink iced coffee out of a bag while typing at the computer or lying in a hammock? In response I will say only that a good deal of my clothing will stay behind me in Thailand, forever marred by layers of coffee and tea stains (not to mention mud!). Once while staring thoughtfully into the forest I pierced my straw right through the bottom of the bag, dumping the full contents into my lap. Excellent.

Ahhhhh...Nothing beats a good bag of coffee in the morning

Amusingly, the one liquid I EXPECTED to see in a bag - my IV at the Phuket Hospital - came in a hard plastic bottle!

A nifty contraption I rigged up using a hole punch and pencil sharpener stacked on top of each other. I call it the bag'o coffee holderer

Ayyuthia: Can I get a wat wat?

I spent a few days on the AIT campus, primarily to secure the use of some borrowed field equipment and conduct a search of the primary literature in the library. Additionally I had to prepare and deliver a two hour seminar to a room full of graduate students. This latter assignment was sprung on me rather last minute, but after spending a day and night pulling my presentation together, I found I was too exhausted the following day to be nervous. The seminar went very well and I was held for 20 minutes afterward to answer questions. This was especially surprising as I had been told that nobody would ask questions. In Thailand professors are regarded with extreme respect, to the degree that students never challenge, debate, or even ask questions of their teachers. I must admit to a sense of satisfaction for receiving so many questions. It seemed the students and faculty were generally interested. Either that or they weren’t as intimidated by me as they would be a full professor. Either way, the seminar was a success in my mind – perhaps my best public speaking performance yet.

Seminar at AIT

That night Lucia – one of the University staff – invited me to join her and her 15-year old son to see a Thai film at the local cinema complex. Inside the cool dark theater, I almost felt as if I could’ve been at home in the States…. Until everyone stood up and began to sing the National Anthem. A brief movie montage appeared starring none other than the King of Thailand. Still screens flashed overhead, showing the King in his uniform giving food to a homeless man, the King hugging a group of children, the King playing his saxophone. Everyone around me sang proudly and I even noticed some eyes brimming with respectful tears. The monarchy is such a huge part of Thai culture, and the people seem to genuinely respect the King. Pictures of the Royal family are ubiquitous – on the walls of family living rooms, on billboards, bumper stickers, t-shirts, you name it. The thing is it doesn’t at all feel forced or contrived. The affection and pride are absolutely genuine. Historians and political analysts have attributed this to the fact that Thailand remains the only Southeast Asian country to have escaped European colonial rule, partly due to the tactful actions of the reigning Kings in the past. As a result Thais maintain a certain individuality and strong sense of national unity expressed through respect for the monarchy.



Long Live the King!

The movie was a very long, violent saga, the second of a three part series about one of Thailand’s Kings (King Neurasan). It was very entertaining – basically a Thai “Brave Heart”. The Thais and Burmese have been fighting for centuries, ransacking each other’s capitals in an ongoing battle for dominance. The movie (along with Lucia’s whispered explanations) helped clarify a lot about Thai history.

Inspired by the movie, the following day I caught a local train north to the ancient ruined capital of Ayyuthia. This city (the main setting from the movie) was at one time considered the capital of all of Asia. The founding King dug a series of trenches to isolate the city on its own island and divided it by rows of canals. In its heyday, t was a sort of Asian Venice, with small boats supplying the majority of commerce and transportation needs.

In the tuk tuk on the way to see the Ayyuthian ruins

Today Ayyuthia is a modern functional city, though tourism is probably the primary source of income. Ruins are everywhere, some thousands of years old. They turn up unexpectedly in the strangest of places: next to a post office, behind a 7-11, in the center of traffic circles. I took a tuk tuk (a colorful, tiny little three-wheeled truck) out to the central ruins and found a man sitting in the shade of a tree next to the river. Miraculously a pair of American tourists appeared just then, and together we convinced him to take us on an hour boat tour around the island city and canals for 200 baht apiece.

Ayyuthian reflection

I wanted to get an overview of the city before renting a bicycle to explore specific sites. The boat ride was beautiful and provided an inside look at both the ancient ruins and everyday modern residents of the city. A group of 8 or 9 year old monks ran out to the dock at their Wat to wave at us, a jumble of bright orange robes and sunny smiles. The red-bricked ruins looked beautiful reflected in the gentle river.

Ayyuthia by boat and the coolest looking but worst behaving bike ever

After a little aimless wandering and a wonderful accidental lunch of Som Tam and fresh mango, I rented a rusty old bicycle. It was covered in hologram stickers in the shapes of various animals and the seat wobbled and tilted so that I had to lean uncomfortably forward. But after a lengthy search it appeared to be the only bicycle for rent in a 3 block radius so I paid the obligatory 50 baht and off I went.

Elephants on parade

It was a wonderful day. I saw trains of elephants, stoically carrying tourists between the different sites. I pedaled through a beautiful park with ponds and bike paths connecting different sites. I tried to imagine ancient Ayyuthia at its prime, as it was presented in the movie I had seen. At sunset I found myself at one of the oldest sites, admiring the rosy light through the trees and the way the shadows made the venerable old Buddha statues seem to pop out from their hiding places in recesses along broken garden walls. I stayed until the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving me with the cicadas to enjoy the peaceful coolness of a stairway thousands of years old.

My rusty bike complained the entire way back to the bike shop, creaking and squealing every time I pedaled or tapped the breaks. Happy to be free of it, I enjoyed a cool rambutan shake at a trendy little bistro before flagging down a tuk tuk to take me back to the train. I soon found myself seated in an open car, the warm evening air rushing through the pane-less windows. I watched the evening scenery rush past, lights of villages winking through the tall grasses of the wetlands and rice paddies. Trains will come and go, those lights will change and multiply and shift, but the Ayyuthain ruins remain, a reminder of the resiliency of the Thai people.

Connect..the..Wats.. (la la la laaa)

Title Disclaimer: If you don't get the meaning of the title, you were probably born in a generation lacking any appreciation whatsoever for Pee Wee Herman. For this I extend my most sincere condolences. You don't know what you missed. Maybe it's better that way.

I awoke early, the sunshine poking through the cracks in my grimy hotel door to beckon me outside. I set out, eager to explore the Wats around Bangkok. First I walked to the Grand Palace and Wat Prao Khao (Warning: Most of the names in this blog are probably misspelled, so apologies for my phonetic shortcomings. A lot of places here have multiple spellings anyway). The place is a total tourist trap but for a good reason: it is one of the most spectacular sights I have ever seen and is truly worthy of its World Heritage Site designation. Wat Prao Khao is a palace straight out of a fairytale. It holds the famous emerald Buddha and the remains of royal monarchs. The architecture is truly indescribable. Enormous dragons fiercely guard jagged rooftops with shimmering spires covered in golden tiles. Everything is golden, crimson, sparkling. Every detail, down to a 2-inch square on some random back wall, is painstakingly decorated, jeweled, and painted. The place is literally brimming with cultural and historical significance. I walked around the complex for a few hours, in complete awe of the architecture, the pure splendor of the place. Rather than blather on with my inadequate descriptions, I will post a few pictures and suggest a visit to my flickr page (www.flickr.com/photos/katiewolff) for more photos.

The Grand Palace and Wat Prao Khao

After leaving the Grand Palace and Wat Prao Khao, I decided to head across the river to see Wat Arun. I made my way to the Pier, where I found a chaotic market swarming with other bumbling tourists. I asked how to get to Wat Arun, and the woman at the ferry pier motioned me towards a tourist boat with bright signs written in English. No, no, I explained, I don’t want a tour, I just want to get across. For 1/100th the price I hopped onto the local ferry shuttle, the only white face among a sea of Thais.

A river view of Bangkok

The ferry dropped me off in the middle of a large wet market. Crazy assortments of slimy, slithering, living things in bright plastic tubs lined the sidewalks. In accordance with Buddhist tradition, Thais buy these creatures and "set them free" in order to earn “merit”. Looking over the pier through the oil sheen at the surface to the murky water below, I realized pessimistically that in reality most of these creatures probably suffocate or are poisoned to death following their “release”. But who am I to judge?

Slimy merit makers

At the opposite end of the market I found not Wat Arun, but another smaller Wat refreshingly free of any western tourists. The air rang with a constant clanging as devotees walked through a line of large bells, ringing nine in succession to honor their ancestors. After a bit of wandering and a few Thai iced teas, I soon found myself at Wat Arun: Temple of the Dawn.

Wat Arun

Wat Arun was constructed in the same architectural style that characterizes Angkor Wat and Arryuthia. Immense towers extend skyward, accented by Buddhist statues. A labyrinth of impossibly steep stairways crisscrosses the network of towers. Tourists aren’t allowed to climb up but I felt dizzy just admiring them from the ground level. The most amazing thing is that every inch of this enormous complex is encrusted with shards of broken porcelain, reconfigured to create landscapes and flowered designs. These materials were collected from residents in the capital hundreds of years ago. I thoroughly enjoyed wandering the steep stairways of Wat Arun, several times pausing to enjoy the view of Bangkok from across the river. More than once I turned a sharp corner only to come face to face with a monk, grinning up at me in his glowing orange robes.

Wall detail from Wat Arun (Note the use of porcelain/china saucers)

Feeling invigorated from the dizzying heights at Temple of the Dawn, I took a water ferry back across the Chao Praya to see my final Wat of the day: Wat Pho. I had planned to end the day’s exploration at Wat Pho for the solitary and very good reason that it houses Bangkok’s premier school of massage. For less than $10 you can get an hour massage from the best of the best. Weary and sun-dried from the day’s wanderings, I made an appointment and explored the dilapidated Wat grounds in the 40 minutes I had to wait. Aside from the School of Massage, the most outstanding feature of this Wat is the giant Golden Reclining Buddha. Housed inside one of the ornate Wat buildings, this enormous Buddha (100+feet long!) was truly impressive. The feet are inlaid with mother of pearl designs that simultaneously mimic the tiny lines of a fingerprint (or toe print) while also depicting scenes from Thai history. It was too impressive, too massive, too shiny, for words. All I can do is show a disappointingly inadequate picture – the last I was able to take before my camera ran out of batteries.

The golden reclining Buddha and an ancient medical chart from Wat Pho

I spent the next hour in pure ecstasy as an expert masseuse pulled, flexed, and mashed my sore muscles into compliant mush. When I stood up again I no longer felt as though I had a body, just a content head floating back towards the market. In my very limited Thai, I chatted with a family at a food stall and ordered Pad Thai Mai Pet Ka (Thai noodles – not too spicy please). Seated on the water taxi on the way back upriver, I watched the sunset over Bangkok and fell in love with Thailand all over again.

Meditation at Matathat

Wat Matathat

On my way back from Lampung Park I decided to take a detour to see Wat Matathat. I always wished I had taken a religion course in college, and have been looking forward to doing a bit of independent study during my time here. I had read that Wat Matathat offered courses in meditation and my curiosity led me to a quiet respite from the Bangkok traffic. Immediately a smiling man approached and initiated a conversation in fluent English. He was happy to show me to the meditation school, where I soon found myself barefoot and sitting across a table from an elderly monk. Smiling in his saffron robes, he remarked that he rarely saw Farang visitors and seemed genuinely interested in teaching me about meditation. A beaming nun brought us each a hot mug of warm sweetened milk. I received a crash course (a 45-minute lecture) on the theory and philosophy behind meditation as a room full of monks chanted at an altar nearby. Over the next two hours, I learned the basics of two types of meditation: walking and sitting. I had always thought of meditation as a contemplative or thinking process, when in fact it is quite the opposite. Since Buddhism is a living religion, the goal is to clear the mind and acknowledge the immediate present. During meditation, the mind should put aside thoughts of the past, and of the future. The focus is on breathing, acknowledging thoughts without acting on them or actively thinking about them. (Easier said than done, especially for a hypo-hypo with an overactive everything like myself.) The end goal is a heightened sense of mindfulness, both of one’s self and of the surrounding world.

The monk padded across the tiled floor ahead of me and I soon found myself in a side room of the building. Together we practiced meditative walking for an hour. This is a method of walking very slowly, partitioning each movement into its own isolated action while clearing the mind of all thoughts. The monk had me repeat a simple mantra as we walked back and forth in this slow, controlled way. “Staaaanding. Lifting. Moving. Dropping. Lifting. Moving. Dropping, Lifting. Moving. Dropping….. Tuuuuurning. Staaaanding.” Though I tried to focus on clearing my thoughts, my inner dialogue initially went more like this:

“Staaaanding. Ooooh, my arm is itchy, DO NOT scratch it. Liiiifting. I think I put these fisherman pants on backwards today. Mooooving. They feel kind of baggy in front, that can’t be right. Dropppping. Yep, definitely backwards. Tuuuuuurning. Well that’s embarrassing. The only farang in here with her pants on backwards. Staaaaanding. Arm is itchy again. DOH! Liffffting….”

Eventually the monk helped correct my tendency to wander mentally and make quick, clumsy movements. This disconnects the mind and body, decreasing self awareness. I began to step as though the floor were peppered with glass, every step a painfully slow exercise in concentration.
Next I tried sitting meditation. Seated straight-backed and cross-legged on a mat, I folded one hand in the other on my lap. With eyes closed, I tried to turn all my attention to the act of breathing. Within ten minutes, my legs began to feel numb. I tried to acknowledge this sensation while remaining motionless. I also had to fight from nodding off, as my sleepless night on the bus was beginning by this point to hit pretty hard. It was difficult but eventually I found myself slipping into a deeper state of consciousness. I no longer felt any desire to move my hands, legs or feet. I could hear the noises and voices in the room around me, but the temptation to let my mind wander and process had dimmed. It was a struggle to stay in this state. At times my brain would spring to life and I had to fight to suppress the onslaught of thoughts. Then I would fade back into the rhythm of my breathing again. After an eternity I heard the sound of bells, a happy twinkling directly ahead. I opened my eyes to see the monk, crouching down to study me with his little weathered face. “Hellloooo…. How are you doing? Did you stay motionless the whole time?” Dazed, I nodded to indicate an affirmative answer. “Good work! You stay still for thirty minutes. Very good job!” I was surprised I had managed to attempt meditation without opening my eyes or moving for that long. For all I knew it could’ve been ten minutes, though my aching hips told me otherwise. The monk’s positive response was encouraging. Up until this point, he had been rather stern and serious, showing little emotion. I purchased a small, thin book on Buddhism, made a donation to the Wat, and vowed to return to practice meditating the following day.

I didn’t return at 6am for a five hour follow-up as the monk had suggested. I did however return after an entire day of visiting Wats around Bankok. I am grateful for my short introduction to Buddhism and meditation, as it helped me to understand some of the philosophy behind these architectural wonders. I returned to Matathat at 6pm, after a day of sightseeing, walking, and wandering. With all the audiovisual sensory stimulation my mind had fragmented into a thousand thoughts and thoughtlets. One thought seemed to spur two more, and so on, so that my brain had become a gnarly tree of tangled thought branches. Inside the coolness of the Wat the monk smiled serenely and led me to an open space of the floor, where a class practiced walking meditation. I joined in and attempted to clear my mind. Gradually I found peace in the repetition, focusing on each individual movement. Nearly two hours later, when I rose from another thirty minutes of sitting meditation, the thought tree had been replaced by a vast calm sea. My breaths were waves, rolling in and out, sustaining, refreshing, renewing.

I am nowhere close to shaving my head and donning white robes to become a Buddhist nun. But I think I learned quite a bit about Buddhist philosophy and meditation at Wat Matathat. Just before stepping out of the peaceful, verdant Wat grounds and into the dirty chaos of the Bangkok streets, I made a resolution: to be more mindful of myself – my thoughts and actions, and of others around me. I’ve carried some burdens on this trip: bad memories, negative thoughts… Within the walls of Matathat I allowed myself to drop these burdens and carry instead a valuable lesson. The world is unpredictable except for the fact that each moment marches on to the next and will continue to do so indefinitely. My past reminds me who I am, my future hovers and motivates. But fixating too much on either belies the value of true mindfulness.

I didn't get any pictures of the monk from Matathat, but he looked a little like this one (from Wat Pho)

Bangkok!

The powers that be firmly suggested that I allow my body another week to recuperate from Typhoid before returning to the field. I decided to take the opportunity to make a trip to Bangkok. I’ve been meaning to do a literature search at the AIT library anyway, and I promised months ago to give a presentation to Amrit’s grad students. As the sun set over Kamphuan Saturday evening, I waited at the side of the road, ready to flag down a huge double decker bus headed north.

The driver pulled over in a cloud of dust, and a secret door opened from the center of the bus. I climbed a narrow stairway into the cool, dark interior. Lucky for me it was a VIP bus – the nicest kind. These buses almost feel like airliners. They have air conditioning, pillows and blankets, movies, snacks, drinks, and stewardesses. Unlike most airplanes however, the bus had enormous windows to reveal the Thai countryside, and periodic stops at night markets along the way. I watched “Cat Woman” entirely in Thai, and was thrilled to pick out a couple of Thai phrases I understood. I mostly grasped the simple plot: Halle Barry in leather jumping around on skyscrapers, Halle Barry in leather yelling, Halle Barry in leather beating the crap out of somebody….

Despite all the comforts of the VIP bus, the eleven hour ride wore me out, and I was happy to find myself in the swarming chaos of the southern Bangkok bus terminal. A cab driver dropped me off in the only area I knew I would find a cheap backpacker hotel – the notorious Khao San Road. The place is a circus and the stars of the show are all the crazy western backpackers on parade. This is where you find the brain dead traveler – the one who has been rambling far too long without purpose and now walks bewildered through the streets of yet another destination. To my relief, Khao San Road was pretty desolate at 5:00am when I rolled in. I began to feel disheartened after passing five or six guest houses with big NO VACANCY signs out front. Exhausted after a sleepless night on the bus, I settled on the first place that had a free room, a sleazy hotel with no distinguishing features other than a big purple “HOTEL!” sign on a side street. I gratefully checked in and passed out until the morning sunshine woke me again.

I took a bus north to the Chatu Chak Weekend Market – an insane mélange of shoppers, hawkers, and just about anything you could possibly want to buy or sell. Particularly disturbing is the pet section, which includes people selling baby squirrels in tiny little outfits (seriously), and a great deal of exotic, and undoubtedly illegal animals. One guy sat in a stall with a cardboard box containing different baby chicks. One was definitely an endangered raptor. I quickly left the pet section and had a fun morning perusing other stalls for different gifts to bring home while tasting fruit, snacks, and different iced beverages along the way. I grabbed lunch at the market and then crawled into a cab, happy to relieve the burden of my purchases.

Kites for sale in Lampung Park

After a refreshing cold shower, I crossed the street to check out Lampung Park. This enormous open green space is most famous for its phenomenal view of the Grand Palace and Wat Khao Praeo. During the months of February and March, locals congregate here to fly kites. I bought some ice cream, parked myself on the vast lawn, and admired the view of the Palace as the sun began to set. Kites of every size, shape, and color filled the sky. The crowd consisted mostly of families and small children, though kite fliers of every age tugged at strings and squinted into the sky. Kite flying is an actual sport in Thailand. I’m not sure I understand the intricacies of the rules, but I know it is in effect a carefully executed kite fight and as with any kind of fighting here (boxing, fighting fish, fighting roosters, bull fighting…) the Thais bet heavily. What a beautiful scene: brightly colored kites swirling and careening like crazed tropical fish before the massive regal towers of Wat Khao Praeo. The sun set and my ice cream long since devoured, I left the Park, looking forward to one more day of playing tourist in Bangkok.

Chinese New Year

I’m sitting on an overnight bus from Bangkok back to Ranong. Unlike my trip to Bangkok, this is definitely not the VIP bus. The bus is old, lacking all the luxuries of my previous ride. No blankets, pillow, movies, or stewardess handing out snacks and drinks every few hours. Definitely no bathroom. In places the side panels are broken and exposed wires show though. The heat is stifling as there is no air conditioning and the windows do not open. My skin is clinging to the sticky vinyl seat and I can tell it’s going to be a long night. Might as well pass the time by catching up on my blog as I’m several weeks behind….

I’ve always complained that New Years Eve is overly built up – it never seemed to live up to all the hype. In the end my New Years Eves have passed pleasantly but unremarkably – just another party or a festive but subdued evening with family. Not so for Chinese New Year in Thailand this year.

This is the year of the Fire Pig

Bodie and his girlfriend Doo invited me to celebrate Chinese New Year with the NATR folks in a small town an hour south of Kura Buri. Jepp, one of their employees, grew up in that region where his family owned several houses and a bungalow retreat up in the mountains. I was excited to celebrate the event with a Thai family, the only glitch being transportation to Kura Buri from a place void of taxis or local (predictable) bus service. Over the phone, Bodie reassured me with a simple:

“You gotta hitch a ride, girl.”

A few hours later I set out toward Kura Buri on foot. It was mid-day and the heat was relentless. Sticking out my thumb, I hoped it wouldn’t be long before someone stopped. The very first car to pass pulled over ahead in a swirling cloud of dust. A smiling, nearly toothless man shrugged his shoulders and pointed to an enormous computer monitor in the passenger seat. He had actually pulled over to apologize for not being able to give me a ride. When people say the Thais are a generous and kind population, this is what they are talking about. No sooner had the first car pulled away than a rusty truck pulled in to take its place. I peered in the window to find a family crowded in the cab. When I told them where I was headed they laughed and motioned for me to climb in the back. The good news was that the bed of the truck was covered with a metal framework to ward off the sun. The bad news: the entire bed was loaded full of dried fish. As we rumbled down the road I settled in between two giant bags of dried squid.

View from the back of the fish truck

Note to self: Next time flag down a truck carrying something odorless and preferably fluffy.

The pointy squid beaks poked my legs and back and the aroma of dried fish at noon in the tropics was pungent. But who was I to complain – it was a free ride to Kura Buri. The kindly family refused to take money for gas. After the thirty minute ride I had joined a growing group of NATR friends. The ride to Kapong was exceedingly confusing. I spend a lot of my time in Thailand wondering what is going on around me. Am I on the right bus? Is this a fruit or a vegetable I’m about to buy? Why are people laughing at me? With little knowledge of Thai language, my motto has become: Wait and see.

I was thinking just that when I piled into the bed of a truck with Gordon, Jason, and a mountain of luggage. We sped along the highway, me cowering under my wide brimmed hat to escape the sun, the other two chatting happily and soaking in the rays. Twenty minutes later we pulled over and inexplicably had to abandon this truck for another. Jepp motioned for me to climb into the cab, where I squeezed between 6(!) other people.

Smooshed in the back of another truck with Gordon and Jason

Finally the two trucks and 16+ people (about half farang) pulled in front of a house in a quiet little mountain town. Jepp’s brothers had set up a karaoke system with huge speakers, and the walls of the place were literally booming. His entire extended family laughed, shouted, and hugged their greetings as we joined them at a big table outside. Introductions were exchanged, though there were far too many names for me to remember. Family members offered us various snack foods from bowls and glasses filled with ice, whiskey and coke. I was greeted by one of Jepp’s cousins – a rotund man who never seemed to stop laughing and wore a shirt that said “CAN WANT TO HAVE ENDLESS FUN” in bold red letters. “You my familee now” he proclaimed. “Everybody happeeee!”

The proud matriarch (top), ceremonial table (center), Jepp and siblings blessing the table (bottom)

It was a wild, festive affair. Everybody was eating and drinking while firecrackers exploded continuously on the dusty streets. In front of the house the matriarch of the family had prepared a table with dozens of foods: roast duck, chicken, fish, a pig’s head, and garish bowls of fruits and vegetables. I couldn’t tell if it was the blaring karaoke or the heat, or the glass of whiskey, but my head began to swim. The matriarch stood proudly in front of the offering table and initiated the New Year ceremony. I watched through a dizzying haze of flower-scented smoke. Each family member clasped a handful of burning incense and took a turn bowing and praying before the table. Then someone set a brass bowl before the table, lit some paper baht on fire and tossed them in. Different people took turns tossing little envelopes and money into the fire. Then Jepp ignited the bottom of a huge pole – thirty feet tall or so – wrapped with red fire crackers. The air exploded and smoke clouded the street as round after round erupted. It sounded as though we were in the middle of a war zone. When the firecrackers reached the top of the pole, multi-colored confetti showered down and everybody cheered. Happy Chinese New Year! The karaoke machine cranked even louder and the whiskey flowed generously into waiting cups and glasses. I began to feel like Hunter S. Thompson – the images and sounds around me swirling in surreal succession like a bizarre dream. I swooned a little and sat down, realizing that it wasn’t the heat, or the excitement, or the whiskey – I had a fever. I shook off a chill, and asked Jepp if there was a place I might lie down for a bit. Two paracetamol later I found myself in a dark room, shivering under a blanket. I lay in a feverish trance for several hours while the racket outside indicated the continuation of eating, drinking, and merriment. Several eternities (hours?) later, Jepp came to tell me that the NATR group was moving up to the forest bungalows. Did I want to stay here? I decided to go along.

Rainforest Bungalow

Jepp’s family had built a quaint little two story bungalow along the river in a rainforest clearing. I joined everybody in the cool water, and found that it immediately quelled my fever and headache. Refreshed, I forgot about feeling sick and took part in the most riotous game of Pictionary I have ever encountered. I was having a blast, but eventually began to feel feverish again, and retired early to a pile of blankets in the bungalow. I spent the night fighting off waves of chills. At one point a black and yellow frog hopped across my arm but I was too woozy to care. In the morning the fever gradually faded, and I began to feel better. We made a trip to the market, where I bought some water and fresh fruit.

The Rowdiest Game of PictionaryEver

I felt almost normal aside from a headache, which I figured most of the hungover group had anyway, so I decided to climb on the back of a truck for a short trip to a local waterfall. This was no ordinary truck. It was basically a John Deere tractor with a flat bed and monster truck wheels. It bucked and roared as it careened into the clearing. Jepp’s Uncle drove the truck with a bit of a crazed look – apparently he never drove this vehicle at less than breakneck speed. He laughed as if to say “You guys have no idea what you’re in for.” Innocently ten or so of us climbed aboard, totally oblivious to the pending adventure. Immediately we were all clamoring to hold onto something – anything, as the truck shrieked and bolted forward. We tore across a little foot bridge as a small crowd of people gathered and cheered. I peered up at the mountainside looming ahead and could barely believe we were plowing ahead towards it. The dirt trail was impossibly steep and interrupted by enormous bathtub-sized boulders. The monster truck paid no head, and we climbed upwards like some kind of remote control toy in a commercial. At times we would tilt impossibly far to one side so that I was certain we would flip over. But Frankentruck held its ground. We plummeted down the other side, so overgrown that the trail ahead looked like a tunnel of vegetation. We had to duck and “hit the deck” to avoid decapitation by overhanging bamboo. Finally we had reached our destination. Gratefully everyone piled out, disheveled and a little stunned. We hiked up a short trail to a lovely cascade of waterfalls separated by deep verdant pools. On the way back down the mountain, a few of the more adventurous (insane?) of our group rode in front, clinging to the rocking hood of the front. The terrified look on Jason’s face and squeals of fearful laughter alone were worth the trip. At one point we veered around a bend in the road at top speed and nearly missed hitting an ice cream cart poking along in the opposite direction. Everyone screamed, including Jepp’s Uncle, and especially the ice cream man, though he was laughing at the same time. I was laughing so hard I had to concentrate on tightening my white-knuckled grip to avoid losing my balance and toppling out onto the road.

Left: Frankentruck; Right: Hanging on for dear life

By the time I got back to Kamphuan the fever had once again set in. It still amazes me that I managed to have one of the most fun weekends of my life while unknowingly battling Typhoid fever.

Playing in a waterfall