Koh Tarutao marked the (temporary) end of our “Thaiisland”
escapades. We decided to start working our way up the peninsula of the
mainland, visiting a number of towns along the way. Although we were obviously
tempted to head back to Satun to visit Mr. Chia one last time, we opted to seek
out some unexplored territories instead. So we chose a town called Trang
(“Trawng,” not “Trayng,” like you’re tempted to say). We stayed at a guesthouse
right downtown by the train station in a great location.
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| Trang LOVES Dugongs, which are just like manatees. There are images and statues of them everywhere. |
Here in Thailand, we are repeatedly reminded that the term
“guesthouse” is exactly that – a home in which you are a guest. In some
circumstances this is more apparent than in others. Some guesthouses have
social areas done up to the nines, decorated for a high rating in
Hostelworld.com’s “atmosphere” column. They’ve got great color schemes and cozy
lounge areas that are dressed to impress, which practically beg you to come
hang out and spend your time there with the staff and guests, meeting new
people and sharing in good times. This was not one of those places.
When we booked our first night, all
we knew really was that it was dirt-cheap and was close to the night market. When
we walked into the place, it was clear that it was, as we will eloquently
refer to it, on the budget end of accommodation offerings, but we didn’t really
mind; so we settled in and began to explore. Although we had obviously noticed
the thin, fragile woman who lay in the bed opposite the reception desk night
and day, it took well into our second day for Bob and I to mention it to each
other. I’m not sure why that is. Maybe we were trying to ignore it because it
made us uncomfortable; maybe we wanted to believe that we weren’t staying in a
place that was half guesthouse, half hospice; or maybe we were really trying to
be culturally conscious and understand that we were guests in this home, and
that their daily lives were no different simply due to the fact that we were
there. But it made me really sad. The woman who ran our guesthouse was taking care
of her sick, presumably near-death mother, right in the middle of the
guesthouse “lounge.” I’ve debated whether or not to include this part in my
depiction of Trang because it’s a gloomy aspect of our trip, but I figure that
it’s honest and it’s real, and if we’re going to paint you an accurate picture
of our experiences, then that includes the gloomy stuff as well.
On a lighter note, if you’ll excuse the abrupt transition,
we were lucky to arrive in Trang on a Friday, which marked the beginning of the
three-night long, weekend night market just around the corner from us. The
Trang Weekend Night Market was one of the liveliest that I’ve seen yet (with
the exception of the Sunday Night Market in Chiang Mai – that market is the
craziest, busiest, biggest market for sure; it has to be). But nevertheless,
the Trang market had a really great energy: musicians, karaoke predominated by
high school teens, a bunch of locally crafted goods, and tons and tons of food.
Admittedly, we were a bit surprised and ashamed by the abundance of things we
hadn’t tried or even encountered yet, after already being in Thailand for over a month.
So we amped ourselves up with a YouTube episode of Anthony Bourdain, and
decided to go try new things. This is one of the really fun and exciting parts
of the markets – you get to try a smattering of weird and different things
instead of sitting down and committing to one meal. And if I don’t like it, I
just try to get Bob to eat it instead (which usually works).
Trang was a great place for exploratory eating. Eating food
and drinking coffee is mostly what consumed our days and nights in here. Trang
is revered for its amazing traditional Chinese “Kopii” cafés, which I recommend
scouting out if you ever find yourself in the area – “the area” being roughly
in the center of the peninsular south, along the West coast, on the Andaman
Sea. Keep in mind that you must order your coffee using the Hokkien word “Kopii” here, or you run the risk of
receiving an instant cup of Nescafe, which is what about 75% of the coffee
shops and stands in Thailand primarily serve. There was one particularly noteworthy café
across the street from our guesthouse. I’m
going to go ahead and say that it’s called Sin Ocha, because that’s what some
of my online research tells me. It’s also where we had our first true “Jok” or
“Congee” breakfast experience – this is a hot rice porridge served with a
partially cooked egg, either pork meatballs or ground pork (sometimes seafood),
scallions, garlic, and loads of ginger. Different vendors have different styles of crafting this
filling, heart-and-stomach warming morning staple that has become one of my
favorite ways to start the day, but I would recommend steering clear of your
average night train’s rendition…
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| Mmmmmmmm |
We had a variety of tasty, caffeinated beverages here, including
coffee/tea combo drinks, coffee brewed in old style Chinese coffee brewing machines made of bright, shiny metal, with a big, shiny chimney on top, and, of course, Thai iced teas. This is also where
we began to learn to use the phrase “Mai sai namtan,” the way to order your
coffee without sugar. It is crucial to note that sugar is one of Thailand’s
biggest exports, and they are by no means stingy with it. In fact, they are
quite proud of it, flaunting their sugar resources at every turn down the
average walking street or night market. A majority of the desserts, drinks, and
snacks are so incredibly jam-packed with sugar and florescent food coloring that
they will likely send you into a whirlwind flashback of the 8-year-old child
you once were who just received a $5 bill to spend at the local candy shop at
your own discretion. In other words, they’ll either send you into hyperspace
via sugar high, or, in adult, logistical terms, give you diabetes. So, “Kopii,
mai sai namtan” is a life-saver; but if you order your coffee, green tea, Thai
tea, or what-have-you, with milk, it is best to check to see if their version
of milk is actually milk, or if it is in fact Carnation’s sweetened condensed
milk – because then, “mai sai namtan” is a futile request.
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| REALLY GOOD and funny looking custard-filled buns! |
We also tried some coconut encrusted fried mini bananas
(that were, for whatever reason, green – the coconut batter, I mean, not the
bananas), some blood tofu, and chicken foot soup. I chose to treat the chicken
foot as a garnish, and hope that as a silly foreigner, that would be
acceptable. This is also where we had our first bamboo tube of sticky rice.
This is something YOU NEED TO TRY if you are in Thailand. The bamboo sticky
rice creators fill all sorts of sizes of bamboo tubes with sticky rice, usually
mixed with either corn or beans, and they place them over hot coals to cook.
Then, when you order one, they take a machete and hack off the top so that it
splinters; you then peel the sides of the bamboo down like a banana, dig in and
pull out a wad of it with your fingers. Not only is it super cool and fun to
eat, but it’s absolutely delicious too.
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| He's not exactly demonstrating the technique as described above, but you get the picture. |
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| Fried Green Bananas |
Besides all of the eating, I lost my wallet at the night
market during our first night. I didn’t realize it until the next morning, long
after all of the people, vendors, and action of the market had packed up and
headed home. In sum, the wallet in question contained EVERYTHING except for my
passport. Bob and I searched every square inch of our room, bags, and luggage
about 7 times before admitting this harsh and tragic reality (unfortunately,
due to my heightened state of nervous panic, I didn’t even allow myself to
laugh at the realization that our bed was held up by a cinderblock).
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| Kind of funny, right? |
I hit a
traumatic phase of horror and dread here, which is totally not a healthy or
effective way of dealing with these kinds of events – so I’m working on that,
okay? But in my mind, this was the WORST THING THAT COULD EVER HAPPEN. I have
no mailing address – we rarely stay in a place for more than 3 days; there is
no way I could be sent a new ATM card, and even if I could, it would take
who-knows how long. I knew, objectively, that of course there would be a way to
adjust and adapt and fix the problem, but it would include enlisting lots of
help from my family, from Bob and his family, and from both of our banks as
well. Plus, objectivity was nothing but a small figment of my imagination at
this time and place. Although somewhere deep down I knew it could be done, this
was not reassuring for me in the least…because I didn’t want to do any of that
stuff! I wanted to be a smart, savvy traveler who keeps track of her things,
especially her important things, like, you know, her social security card. I
wanted to stop losing, misplacing, and forgetting my things! So I allowed myself
a brief moment to sulk in feelings of self-loathing blame before hitting the
streets to begin the step-retracing search.
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| Photos from the night of the incident (before I knew I had lost my wallet) - Note the care-free, happy vibes |
Objectivity, Logic, Sensibility. That was the mantra that I
kept repeating to myself in order to try to perform the rest of this search in
an effective, dignified way. Avoid the panic; Think clearly; Use The Force. So
we strutted on up to the Police Box right near where the night market had been
just a matter of hours before, with feigned optimism in order to see if any
kind soul had returned this prized possession of mine. We knocked, waited, and
tried to peer through the tinted glass windows of the small cube, until a man,
whom I took to be a police officer, burst out of one of the doors. We tried
explaining my dilemma, but he irrefutably just kept trying to sell us train
tickets. I felt...confused, and a little delirious. I kept stepping back and
examining the big words printed under the Thai script plastered on the top of
this cube in the middle of the street: Police Box. Then, I’d look again at the
man in front of us: Police uniform, badge, weapon. So why was he trying to sell
us train tickets while I am (totally accurately, I’m sure…) trying to depict to
him that I have lost my wallet? I was overwhelmed again, so I thanked him and
stepped away to try to come up with a different plan (more realistically, to
try not to cry in public as Bob helped come up with a new tactic). So I trudged
sullenly down the stairs with a pre-emptive air of defeat, only to look down to
see, what? My wallet? No. A cat that had been run over and flattened into the
street.
It was too much. Bob promptly turned me around and whisked
me back to the room so that I could regroup (that really just means “stop
crying”).
A short while later, we returned to the Police Box with our
eyes strategically set to avoid the aforementioned scene, and our Thai/English
dictionaries in hand. Take Two: The officer totally understood this time, and
the immediate transformation in his whole demeanor was really astonishing. His
face dropped with sympathy and a sense of urgency to help; he rushed inside for
the keys to his motorbike while shouting in Thai to a motorbike driver nearby.
I hopped on his bike, Bob hopped on his recruit’s, and we sped off to the
Tourist Police Station. But, Oops! It’s Sunday. They’re not open. Okay, next
stop: Thai Police Station around the corner. Our gallant drivers and aides
dropped us off and explained to a couple officers what our circumstance was
before returning to their posts.
This was interesting. The language barrier was pretty
drastic, so that made for a very long and drawn-out process of writing out a
police report, which required lots of miming and pointing and motioning, and,
in my opinion, a little too much laughter from the officer writing the report
as he read over my claim that I had over a whopping 3,000 baht in my wallet
(about $100, but it takes you much further than that here), my drivers license,
social security card, and a number of other quite important and worthy wallet
items missing somewhere in this town. But that’s because I was in a sensitive
state. And just because I was sad didn’t mean he had to be too, but still. So
we completed the report an hour later and left the police station to begin the
walk back, during which we passed a homeless, legless man seeking shade and
rest at a bus stop. It was all just too much. Too much emotional input for one
day. The only thing left to do was to wait for the night market to reappear around
6pm in order to ask around.
At 6:00 on the dot we headed straight towards our last stop
of the night before: the yogurt stand. I got in line (there’s always a line -
it’s really good yogurt), and when it was my turn I feebly inquired if anyone
there had seen my wallet. The yogurt lady's eyebrows arched in a perplexed, quizzical fashion
as I put my hands together horizontally and opened and closed them, like a
book, or… flapping fish gills, or something. Then the light bulb went off in
her head and she ducked down, disappearing under the counter, rising up with my blue,
leather, Salvation Army-acquired wallet in her hand, which was surrounded by a
glowing orb of joy and relief and happiness, reviving my confidence in human
kindness and good-heartedness. THANK YOU Yogurt Lady, and every other Trang
native that eagerly and freely offered help to me throughout that fateful day.
And Thank You to Bob, because this post only touches on what a mess I was to
deal with that day, and if it weren’t for his optimistic reassurance, his knack
for side-tracking me from dwelling on dreadful and sorrowful things, and his great
balance of level-headedness and appropriate sympathy, I would have gotten
derailed somewhere along the way, and probably would have abandoned my search,
given up, dug the cat a grave and performed a memorial service for it instead.
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| Once I got my wallet back, I ran out and bought these immediately. |
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| Asia Ocha - Good Duck! |
We spent a few days in Trang before working our way further
up the peninsula to Nakkon Si Thammarat. This was actually a pretty big city,
but I was sick the only day we spent there, so I can’t tell you much more than
the fact that our hotel had a really big, lifesaving ceiling fan and that it
was decorated like a Thai hotel that sought its inspiration from the American
70’s. Okay, I can tell you a little more – they have really delicious street
food rice cakes that taste like popcorn (but without the off-putting risk of getting
a kernel stuck in your teeth, or suctioned to some gag-worthy region of your
tongue), and Bob got a free mango on the street from a really nice old lady.
She peeled it and cut it up and everything.
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| Bob enjoying his free mango |
On to the next! The following day we got up really early and
left for Khanom because we had read that there were a couple of caves there; we
hadn’t performed any cave surveying yet since our arrival in Thailand, and it was something
we were drastically looking forward to. I had been caving with my family once,
but I think I was pretty young because I can’t clearly remember where or when
it was, but you can ask my mom. I do remember it being really mind-blowing
though, so I was REALLY excited to see what Thai caving was all about. Bob and
I hopped on a motorbike and set to work trying to find this cave, or “tham”
(pronounced “tom”).
We zoomed past an outdoor gathering with a couple food
stands, a bunch of people, and a net set up on a basketball court where teams
were competing in a Sepak Tekraw tournament (that game that we first
encountered in Chiang Mai, that is kind of like a blend of the skills required in soccer, volleyball, and Muay Thai).
We immediately pulled a U-turn and joined the crowd. This is very hard to do
discretely in a hidden sector of a back road in a town not frequented by
tourists. It’s like the announcer of the match must have suddenly alerted the
crowd that there were Farang approaching - the Thai word for “foreigner” is
“farang,” which is sometimes pronounced “Fah-lang” and is sometimes pronounced
“Fah-rrang” like you’re rolling your tongue the way the Spanish language
requires you to (side note: it is also the Thai word for guava). We hear the
word a lot and it is usually followed by a great deal of good-natured laughter.
We seem to do a lot of awkward things that really amuse the Thais. But anyways,
everyone was very happy, and slightly confused, to see us here at this
middle-of-nowhere tournament. The athleticism of this sport is really impressive
to watch, so we put the cave on the backburner and stayed to enjoy a couple
matches.
The cave was not easy to find, but, in accordance with true Thai nature, one of the ladies we asked for directions just gestured for us to follow her, and she guided us right to the cave. This happens often in Thailand, regardless of what people are doing or where they are going; if we ask for directions, many times we wind up with a free tour-guide, or a free ride. It’s something I’ve never experienced before. They literally drop whatever they’re doing, even if they’re working a store, spending time with family, or they’re already on their way somewhere else completely.
So we got to the cave, which required a guide – not because it was challenging or dangerous, but probably just because the stalagmites and stalactites are fragile and they don’t want you smashing around in there, breaking or chipping these natural wonders, or coating them with potato chip laced fingers that would inhibit their growth, when they’ve been growing already for thousands of years; isn’t that crazy? Something can persevere and grow for
that long with no problem, and then a human just touches it and it messes everything up.
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| Cave Entrance |
Our guide was pretty funny. He was an older guy, and he
didn’t speak any English, or maybe he just didn’t speak at all because I never
heard him say a word. If he wanted us to notice something, he would just
flicker his flashlight a couple times in the direction of a group of bats, or a
large spider, or a significant stalagmite. It was a huge cave (we probably
would’ve only gotten a
little lost
without our guide), and a completely inspiring adventure; it gave us the caving
bug. After this beautiful and mind-boggling cave quest, it was clear that we
had to set aside some more of our travel time to do caving. It had to be done.
Sawasdee!
- Emily
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