Having begun the trip with a splash and – quite literally – a bang (as my travelling companion/dive buddy lives in Brussels, and we were conveniently out at sea when the attacks happened), it continues with a whoosh (jet engines whisking me from Phuket to Bangkok), a vroom (taxi to Ayutthaya) and click-clack of train wheels on hot and dusty rail (Ayutthaya to Bangkok proper).
I booked this trip as a 2-part adventure, really. First, the dive holiday, which pretty much just smacks of fantasy. Then the explore and learn bit: how much Thailand can I inhale in just a handful of remaining days…
The “bang” left me feeling a little hollow, freaked out by proxy, and more dismayed with humanity than a privileged western girl maybe has right to be, neatly plunked amongst palms on an idyllic southeast Asian beach.
Determined to not let an unstable, trigger-happy faction that is not targeting me specifically win the war of fear, I send well-wishes (and said travelling companion) Northward and Westward and must continue on, trying to shed the sheer baggage weight of being a lucky one this go-round, stepping through airport security with a bit more trepidation than perhaps usual. That said, I can’t shake the question, “why?” To what end, this madness?
My madness, this travel bug which hit me perhaps later in life than some, leaves me feeling in-between. Too old to be a backpacker, casting off job, flat and responsibility to travel (as so many I’ve spoken with) “until funds run out.” What then, when you arrive back where home was supposed to be, a year, maybe more later, and though you are more world-wise, your world has moved on (as it does) sans toi.
Too young (or at least not nearly liquid enough) to retire and see those things on the world travellers’ bucket list…And a little too comfortable (maybe too tired) in a safe place in life to completely change jobs (again), freelance, live on a shoestring and tick each place off my travel list (which changes as frequently as I learn about less-travelled natural wonders).
Thailand did not have the impact on me that India did. Its plastic, consumable, neon, disposable, synthetic, thing-filled, chaotic-ness (erm, lifestyle?) spoke to me in much the opposite way of Delhi’s musical, synchronised chaos. Spirituality on offer as a tourist show (higher price tag on everything for the foreigner). To be fair, the farthest north I ventured was Ayutthata, clear of the hills and northern jungles that would likely have renewed my faith that there is still a swath of wild Thailand left, home to free elephants and tigers, birds and other fauna. Had I an extra day or two, I would have explored the jungled hills rising from Khao Lak’s beaches.
I gravitated towards the old (Ayutthaya’s crumbling ruins) and felt pangs of familiarity amidst the opulence (case in point, Bangkok’s Grand Palace) in the murals and the depictions of ancient India that called to me quietly from deep within the artwork. Where Buddha’s roots took seed, of course, were the Hindu Brahmins of old, and with that the folklore, gods and goddesses came along for the ride when decorating a palace.
The stone work in Ayutthaya’s old city reminded me of a miniature Angkor Wat (though without being first built as Hindu temples). Where, in its glory, there were hundreds of temples and structures, now only a couple dozen individual sites remain and are being renovated as a World Heritage Site. The city’s temples, its stupas, walls and prangs were decimated in the 17th century when the Burmese flattened Phra Nakhon Si Ayutthaya (as it was then called) in a matter of days; they beheaded most of the Buddha images (as history was told to me, the statue torsos were hollow, and the kings stored their gold and treasures in the Buddhas’ chest cavities) and melted down the gold for their own purposes. Aside: I could not help but wonder whether history curiously repeats itself and our current incarnation of bad guys from the East are plotting their own destruction of our golden idols and symbols of excess. To prove or effect what, exactly, I’m not clear.
When Siam’s capital moved South (briefly to Thonburi, then to Bangkok), palaces and temples were erected but (in this traveller’s opinion) cannot compare to the masterwork of ancient architecture that was Ayutthaya.
I was not prepared at all for Bangkok.
I stayed on the outskirts of town, at a relative’s flat on a lovely soi (side-street) just blocks from the bustle of what my senses perceived as Chinatown on steroids. I wonder if this is what people feel upon meeting New York City for the first time.
I experimented with different forms of Bangkok transport to get around: taxis (So. Much. Traffic.), Metro (clean, quick and efficient) and the motorcycle-taxi (you pay money to put your life in the hands of orange-vested drivers as they zoom you from point A to point B). Zoom: as if for sport, my moto-taxi driver went the wrong-way on a busy street, up sidewalks, and once on the main drag he drove like mad – I do think he was racing the next guy – weaving in and out of traffic to get me from the Metro station to the flat. He was amused. I, not so much.
After many melty-hot hours of playing tourist, the things that did not kill me on my first full day in Bangkok were as follows: blazing heat (34C!), street food, dark alleys, negotiating with street vendors, and the moto-taxi.
Overall trip report card:
- Thailand diving: A-/B+. The reefs are a mess, bleached and trampled; ocean temps are rising, there are too many divers in the water and not enough oversight by the Marine Park Services, though the farther out you get – Richelieu Rock for example – the reefs are in discernibly better shape. There are oodles of fish, though (which you don’t get in the Caribbean), and The Junk liveaboard was a great experience. (A+ for the travelling companion!)
- Khao Lak: B. It’s a little too touristy for my tastes tho the beach was nice and the hills/surrounding jungle inviting
- Ayutthaya: B+. Phra Ram Park was lovely, the air smells like jasmine and the ruins are fascinating
- Bangkok: C+. I’m not so much into shopping, needed an interpreter or guide to do the city justice and prefer a place with more green and open space
And so, with another whoosh (the departing flight) and a grumble (an 8+ hour layover at a Doha airport lounge in the wee morning hours and then a 2+ hour delay to an already 13 hour flight) and a thunk (bags dropped haphazardly in the foyer of my flat, then weary traveller collapsing into bed), the trip ends. A feeling of still being on a boat (or is that the jetlag?) and a post-travel melancholy lingers into a snowy Sunday morning north of Boston.
And the laundry begins…
Most divers have a critter wish-list. That is, we part mer-humans make a small private wish each time we head into the water, hoping to encounter a whale shark or manta ray or ghost pipefish or seahorse or other such aquiline critter we have not as yet met. To this end, I spent 4 days this week aboard the 
And so, ghost pipefish seen but, alas, not photographed, we wade back into the (Andaman) sea to see what other wonders may make themselves known…
I spent my last night with new friends, and in the morning (which comes all too quickly) it’s time to leave and begin that multi-airport hopscotch.
As if on cue, the skies open up in a tropical downpour as I navigate my 17 kilo bag down the (what seemed like) 200 stairs from the heights of my cottage on Booby Hill. Soaking wet and laughing, I cross fingers that the stash of Saba Spice, a local liqueur made from aged rum and local spices (cinnamon, fennel, and others), survives the journey back to the States. I’m certain that the Elfin Forest imps are having fun at my expense…
So now, as we close the books on 2015, there are places to go and people to see and more potential adventures than there are days on the calendar. I wonder if it’s possible to do one new thing each day or maybe each week? There’s only one way to find out: try.
In 1967, a stairway comprising 1064 steps was built, leading up to the “Elfin Forest” at the top of this dormant volcano. A somewhat treacherous (mossy and steep) climb through the rainforest and around a private residence which reminded me of something like a tropical Deliverance (“take no photos, please respect” signs clearly posted), and then rising through the elephant ear and mountain palm, tropical flowers and trees. The trailside was teeming with butterflies: little white ones, black and yellow-striped and some even a vibrant orange. The mosses and ferns truly made the setting look like a scene from Grimm’s.
The afternoon is rounded out with a siesta on my little terrace, views of Mt. Scenery (partially enveloped in its signature fog) in the distance; an ear out for the giant iguana thrashing about in the trees and the hummingbirds with their miniature jet fighter trajectories. Background din is the melange of goats from down the hill, birdsong, roosters and an occasional barking dog. The sun is looming lower in the sky and the peeper frogs (Coquee) are on deck to begin their nightly chorus more.