During the first couple of weeks, not only was I tired because of the completely opposite time zone that I found myself in, but I was constantly craving a cool breeze, a casserole and someone who could speak some understandable English. I didn’t think those feelings would ever go away, but gradually I became so immersed in the culture that I almost felt Thai. It probably helped that I’m as short and thin as they are, which spurred many to ask if my mother was Thai and my father was American.
I began to prefer to visit the huge open air markets to buy food, dumping cayenne pepper on the mass quantities of rice I consumed and hearing the very tonal chatter of people in the streets at night. It all passed so quickly. So quick in fact, that I was nervous that once I returned home I’d fall back into my regular routine and forget about my second home and second family.
Luckily, I married someone who is always up for an adventure, and last month we returned together to my old stomping grounds on the other side of the world.
It was a trip that almost didn’t happen. A week-long siege of Bangkok’s airports by anti-government protesters was resolved just before we left, making us grateful just to get into the country.
Our first stop after Bangkok was the small coastal town of Trang, located on the Malay Peninsula near Thailand’s southern border. The air was heavy and the sky was filled with billowing clouds. The airport itself was nothing more than a single-level concrete building with a couple small rooms. As we waited patiently for the creaky luggage rack to come to life, we were watched peculiarly by the locals, as we were the only white people in sight.
Our van driver was patiently waiting outside and we all piled in. It’s nothing short of a miracle that we survived the 40-minute terror ride to the Pakmeng Pier. In Thailand, if you want to pass someone on a one-lane highway, never mind if there is a string of cars coming at you in the opposite direction, just honk and for some reason instead of flipping you off, other drivers merely slide to the outside and you can pass. Speed limits are also seemingly non-existent, so experiencing car sickness during the journey to any destination is a given. Previous experience has taught me to close my eyes and just lean into all the turns. This time, however, I couldn’t keep them closed as I watched the luscious green mangrove forests fly by the window. I’d never been privy to this side of Thailand before.
Our treacherous journey was rewarded, however, with the beautiful scenery that awaited us. Mountainous, tree-covered islands shot out from the emerald blue waters of the Andaman Sea. A slender Thai man with long dreadlocks shoved beneath a crocheted beanie helped us load our gear into a rickety long-tail boat.
“I like your hair,” my husband told him.
“You can do it too,” he chuckled in response. “If you don’t have a job.”
He reminded me of all the people I had grown to love a few years earlier — laid back, friendly, and always willing to lend a helping hand.
Arriving on the remote island of Koh Ngai, a 50-minute rocky boat ride from the mainland, was nothing short of visiting an oasis, complete with glimmering waters, white sandy beaches, hermit crabs waddling along the beaches, light ocean breezes, and a delicious menu of savory Thai dishes.
We watched teenage Thai boys shimmy up towering palms to harvest coconuts. We walked along the beach at dawn and watched the crabs scamper from their sandy burrows to the water. We scraped our feet on coral numerous times, sought out colorful schools of fish through snorkel masks and even swam through a lightless cave to explore a crater-like cavity on the island of Koh Mook, where pirates hid their booty many years ago.
Rest and relaxation was then traded in for the crazy life of downtown Bangkok — of which I am very accustomed too. From the air, Bangkok looks like any other huge city, but beneath the towering skyscrapers and elevated freeway systems a different world exists. Uneven sidewalks are peppered with people buying fresh fruit, meat on a stick or other foods from vendors behind stands or on bikes and motorcycles. Sad eyes stare at you from street corners and near public transportation hubs, making the poverty level increasingly evident. In the sprawling suburbs, families crowd into single-room apartments with no kitchen and a squat toilet in the corner of the room. Every day is about selling homemade goods to survive. Aging grandparents sit on front steps keeping a close eye on youngsters in the street. The older generation watches us questioningly, but the younger calls to us with any English they know, or otherwise just yell “farang, farang, farang” — alerting everyone around to the presence of foreigners — whose fair skin they covet.
As we nestled down into our seats for the return flight home, I marveled at the new set of memories that had just been made. Even though Thailand is on the opposite side of the globe, adapting to its unique, calm, and friendly way of life isn’t difficult. I doubt I'll be able to stay away too long.
Jamie Belnap: jamieb@tooeletranscript.com
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