How Do You Say "Thank You" in Thai?

As the jet lag slowly lifts and we reintegrate (slowly) into life in Maine (everything I said about hating the heat was a lie)  I feel the need to close out this blog by paying tribute to the person who made the trip possible: Iris Gowen, longtime friend, mentor of the travel challenged, citizen of the globe, and the "Naga Travel" of this account. First I offer two stories that illustrate how she made this experience so rich, so much fun and, in the most basic of ways, possible.

 

As we were planning our trip to Thailand with her  last if we wanted to stay longer, we would have to leave the country and come back in to reset the one month clock.  (Travel agencies  offer lots of "visa trips" to nearby countries for travelers. We decided to add a trip to Cambodia to serve that same purpose since Iris said we had  to see Ankor Wat,  anyway)

Then in the kind of incompetence that makes Iris grit her teeth, we promptly forgot all about this key part of the mechanics of traveling there , probably because we were  so busy deciding if our choice of outfits made us look fat, old, or both. With nothing in between, it's in one ear and out the other.

Luckily, Naga Travel, as yet unknown to us, was already guiding these innocents in their journey abroad, much in the same way the Gods on Olympus pushed the mortals below them around. 

Shortly before we left an email comes with monkey-simple directions for getting through customs, finding our luggage and meeting Iris at the meeting point in Bangkok airport when we arrive.  Attached to it was a document from "Naga Travel" describing our overall itinerary including a week in Siem Reap, Cambodia. "You'll need this document to check-in in Boston,"  she warns.  Although  we had never heard of this agency, we do what we are told, print out the document, and shove it into the folder. One good thing about being obedient is that it allows for a heightened level of stupidity.

Sure enough , as Kate chats up the airline employee at check-in with cheery talk about our exciting vacation, the women frowns.She's spotted a problem with the dates on our return flights. "I'll need some proof  that you will be exiting and returning to Thailand during your stay."

After an awkward pause and some fumbling, Kate asks. " 'Will this do?" She has found  the Naga Travel" form (a miracle!)  and passes it over the counter.  Knitting her officious little brow, our defender of international borders makes a decision in our favor.

"If you didn't have this, I couldn't let you on the plane" she tsk-tsks. We sigh with relief as she stamps and staples a bunch of paperwork that allows us to proceed to security, find the gate, go through the second round of security and maybe then enter the plane with all our clothing, both shoes, and carry-ons intact.

Much later, Kate relates this tale to Iris who chuckles and blithely confesses that there is no "Naga Travel." She had typed up the false document to get us thought check-in. "Didn't you notice the address on the form was mine?"

I share this tale of international skullduggery and intrigue to illustrate both her brilliance and cunning. This story describes just one of the hundred ways she used her incredible understanding of how to get around in difficult places to make our trip possible. Without her help we would literally have not gotten this off the ground.

However, Iris' s real genius for travel and her importance in making our trip so successful is best illustrated by an account of our last day in Bangkok. Given how tired we were from out "overnight" train trip, we were ready to flop down by her the pool for the day had not Iris different plans. To be honest, I didn't even know where she was leading us but there was obviously something we had to see.

Of course there was: the  show at the Bangkok Center for Art and Culture was probably the best thing we should have done to finish up our journey. This amazing building,similar to New York's Guggenheim but more elegant, offered an amazing variety of kinds of art work show, a huge exhibit of new works by Thai artists. The show demonstrates the way that these contemporary artists use  the history, culture, primitive art , religion, philosophy and the everyday stuff of Thai life in their works.   Every piece references something we learned, something we saw, something we experienced  on our trips around the country. All of us agreed that we began to understand the place at least a little and appreciate it a lot. We are sure Iris planned this epiphany--another example of her brilliance and cunning.

Because I can't take up more more of Iris's time --I'm sure she has other guests arriving--I will stop telling stories and just list  some of the other ways Iris, Madeleine, and David (and Bernard through his phone advice) have helped make this trip just a great experience:

1. They didn't complain when we we took over their house, ate up all their food, used their appliances and allowed their housekeeper to iron our t-shirts.( I did not, however,  use their toothbrushes.)

2. They fought like hell over every check.

3. They answered our constant stupid questions without rolling their eyes.

4. Picked us up at the airport at 12 midnight and saw us off at 2:00 in the morning.

5.  Welcomed us when we arrived from our night train at 6am.

6.  Took us to more fabulous restaurants than we knew existed.

7.  Showed us so many different sides of Bangkok-from the hippie world to the astonishing malls to the alleys of "Fellini does Thailand", to palaces and temples, to markets of all sizes and products, to turtle feeding and Sunday concerts,  to Nana, and, of course, to foot massages, body scrubs and facials...

During out last dinner at Sudasin Bangkok--our new favorite restaurant in the world, Sudos,  we all sat around discussing the virtues of Naga Travel and the skill of its owner (Iris) and associates (David, Bernard and Madeleine).   It was clear to us all that Naga Travel needed a slogan...after some discussion, we decided there was only one choice:

NAGA TRAVEL: " We know what's best."

Thank you Naga Travel, Iris, David, Madeleine and Bernard--you certainly knew what was best for us. 

KHAWP KHUN KOP/KA !!!!!!!!

Click...click...click

Travel in the Modern Age

Part One:  Delta Dawn

Knowing the importance of allowing time for unexpected delays and incorrigibly punctual anyway,  we arrive at his majesty the King of Thailand's truly "majestic" and  state of  the art airport Delta's recommended three hours early. That means we are there at 3:00 am for a 6:00 flight.

 Good thinking...there is already a line forming at the check-in. Let me rephrase that. The line isn't "forming" as much as it is "congealing."  As our fellow Bangkok to Narita  flyers are joining the line at the end,  no one in the front seems to be leaving it, at least not very quickly.  Average check-in time per person seems to be about twenty to thirty minutes. We have time to make friends with the couple ahead of us and to inadvertently do something to lose that new bond. 

Confused mumbles turn to muttering in the line. A revolution is brewing. Soon an obviously harried young man is sent out by his cowardly supervisors to inform us all that there is a problem. Well, we knew there was a problem, but now we know what is causing it. 

There is a computer glitch  and the  attendants must fill out all the boarding passes by hand. Yes, by hand. For each person . For each leg of the journey, the attendants take a totally blank card  and imagine that there are boxes on it.  Then they mimic the form of a printed boarding pass and fill in the myriad  bits of information in the imaginary rectangles with neat little Thai-inflected  penmanship. This information is culled from reams of dot matrix printouts tangled around their ankles on the floor beneath them.  The result looks as professional as  the tab in a mom and pop noodle restaurant. We pick up the bill and move along. Because we are warned that we shouldn't delay the second part, the security procedure at the gate, very long, we hustle to the security stations  and look around...

It's empty of course: the rest of the potential passengers are all back at step one or already on the plane.The security staff are sitting here bored as shit, yawning and snapping their gum. Some perk up at the sight of some relief from the lack of anything to do. Nell's body searcher does an unnecessarily thorough search.  My young lady performs her function with the facial expression people have when picking up after their dog at the park.  We're done in record time and proceed to the gate. On the way we see a  somewhat disturbing sight --two pilots running towards the adjacent gate . They are carrying boxes of Dunkin' Donuts. 

As if to prove that they are not totally incompetent, Delta immediately announces that boarding will start early. It's obvious that their strategy is to get us "lucky" few who came early and got through in our seats so we can sit and wait on the plane for those still stuck back in limbo. Our "purser"  (A new term  for head stewardess) begs for our patience every five minutes as we wait an hour and a half for everyone to board and forAtlanta to receive and return data about the number of  passengers and the plane's weight. This last bit of arcane aviation information is not usually shared with the passengers. Does the information affect the size and caloric content of the in-flight meals? Was it worth delaying the flight to,know that white tourists are too fat?

Part Two:  Samauri  Sundown

We arrive in Japan at 3:16...a mere three hours or so, late but  buoyed by the last minute announcement that Delta is holding all connecting flights. When the announcement is made, the economy class bursts into a communal cheer. We have  come through it together and  I for one felt badly about the nasty cracks I had made about many of their outfits and their constant picture- taking. 

The Japanese Delta staff once again demonstrate the efficiency that seems to be part of the national character . Our flight had very few people who weren't connecting to other flights and all were nervous and out of sorts with the Thailand delay. Delta was ready for us when the doors opened. The  plane was met by a phalanx of cheery attendants who quickly shuffled the hordes in a variety of different directions, all clearly marked with English and Japanese signage (Thailand, take heed of that helpful feature). When we got to our gate, there was a big table with all our boarding passes for this and the next leg printed out . It's now 4:00 and we're just about to take off only about 30 minutes late.  I can't figure out why these competent, hardworking people lost WWII.  My bet is that  we cheated.

With one disaster avoided, I think, at least I got to see Japan, albeit, the tiny postage stamp of it I see through the window. 

The trip over the Pacific and Canada takes over 11 hours this way..more the other. Reviews of on flight movies follow.

Argo

CIA guy rescues Iranian  hostages by pretending they are a film company and dressing them in hideous seventies clothing like that  worn by the people in our wedding album. Exciting film with John Goodman and Alan Arkin in  very funny minor roles. Jack Nicholson,too. "Argofuckyourself" 

Lincoln

Worst film of the year, best described as the most beautifully photographed President's Day pageant in middle school history; interesting historical facts can be learned however:

Who knew Lincoln married a woman old enough to be his mother and was a direct ancestor of Walter Brennan? "Four score and seven years ago I was stung by a dead bee."

The Hangover  Part Two

Takes place mostly in two days in Bangkok. Location  shooting made it interesting for me but unfortunately it captures the experience of "Bangkok" only fleetingly.  See it in an crowded, overheated theater, square the craziness quotient in the plot, and you'll get closer to what it's like.  

Lola  Versus

Mumblecore icon Greta Gerwig faces life at 30 looking an awful lot like Courtney Greene if Court  weren't so much better looking and didn't take such good care of herself. Love the wisecracking best girl buddy.

Part Three:  Mini or Maxi Minneapolis? Time will tell.

Mini...The bell tolls for us...we made the last flight, not without a dash to the gate.

After the tension and confusion of parts one and to, the last lap of this halfway round   the world marathon seems to be going smoothly in a roomy  new jet which is seriously under booked.. It appears that through some strange conglomeration of corporate kindness and strong tail winds, we seem to be back on schedule for a dinner time arrival in Boston, sort of.  One of them strangest things about traveling through so many time zones is keeping track of the days and hours.  Dinner  time for folks in maine is tomorrow's breakfast time for us..I think.

Home....and Emily has left it cleaner, warmer, and more homey than we ever achieve.  

Click...there's no place like home...click..there's not place like home..click..but it's great to get away from home every now and then. 

Why didn't anyone tell me this?

Summary thoughts to come when we recover.

Night Train to Bangkok

Night Train to Bangkok

Think of "Murder on  the Orient Express" where the characters travel  in sleeping cars, the woodwork polished, the fittings brass, the seats,velvety and plush. There's  a smallish bathroom for nightly ablutions and a comfy bed  that a sharply dressed porter lowers when the characters are ready to  retire. "Doez anyzing mar your purrfect  happinezz,   Monsieur Poirot?

Remember Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint sharing that stateroom in "North By Northwest" a space big enough for her to hide him from the police and for them to engage in unseen but intimated sex acts symbolized by that subtle shot of the train entering a tunnel?

Didn't you just want to join the party when Jack Lemmon as Daphne joins all the other girls in Sugar's spacious  upper berth to share the contents of her flask in "Some Like It Hot?" and there's enough room that no one detects his obvious excitement?

Ah  overnight train travel....in movies so romantic, elegant, sophisticated ...with a touch of humor . We're enjoying it right now in a comedy-thriller I call "Night Train to Bangkok."

The story opens as we wait in the Chumpon Railway Station for the train to arrive, enjoying the lack of breathable air and the thrill of the chase as we watch a gekko stalk moths and flies on  the ceiling of the"VIP" Waiting Room. (You doubt? I have a picture of the sign under which a drunken man sleeps and snores.)  Kate and Nell's 5 baht trip to the ladies room is money well spent. Not only do they get toilet paper, they are treated to the sounds of the woman in the next stall showering  with the bidet nozzle.  When several

 Muslim men vocalized the  news that they were in love with Nell, we wonder why the heck we'd ever want to leave this place. Yet when the train rumbles in only 50 minutes late and we dash to the exclusive  "reserved sleeping car" with all the other high hats in the crowd..and our friend from the VIP Waiting Room. We lose sight of the gecko in the stampede.

Upon entraining, we are surprised to discover that the sleeping component of this ten hour journey is underway. Why, no need to summon the porter to retire, Mon. Poirot. ..it's supper and  bedtime all at the same time.. right now..at 8:00.  No more sitting up. We struggle to find our seats  and deal with the bags but its hard with all the people entering the car,those  looking for the bathroom or the vendors peddling soup to people already ensconced in their bunks . This last group eerily peek out at us  through the partings in their curtains.  Their eyes have the wet sadness of those abused puppies pleading for relief through wire  cages  in SPCA public service announcements.

Unfortunately, , as our representative from Naga Travel had warned us, an interloper had usurped my seat and has to be shooed out by a porter we manage to flag down when the man keeps pretending he doesn't understand why I am bothering him. I've used this same trick when stopped for speeding so don't fuck with me, old man. After some stalling he shuffles off to a less exalted section. Following our  initial introduction to first class, I experience a twinge of sympathetic imagining whatThailand Railway has in store for him in second--a hay bale in a cattle car or a meat hook in a refrigerated locker maybe?

The porter takes the opportunity to lower my bunk, the upper one, but not happily. The friendly man who will spend the night under me tells me where to store my shoes. Obviously  he wants to get our relationship off on the right foot so I oblige, stow them neatly out of the aisle, and hoist myself into the slender padded shelf that is my home for the next ten hours. It's not so easy to get up here so I abandon the notion of tooth  brushing for the night.  I'm comforted by the sturdy  vinyl straps which serve to prevent my rolling off onto the floor and by the antiseptic smell of the tired pillow and limp thermal blanket provided for my travel comfort (it was more like a giant towel). I assure myself that with practice I can learn to roll over up here without scraping my nose on the ceiling.Because Kate and Nell are in adjoining top bunks, we can  slide our nylon curtains back to  make sure the other two haven't deserted us and jumped ship. Adversity can wreak havoc with unit cohesion. 

Travel is so broadening. I now have much more sympathy for the plight of carry-on luggage knowing how it feels when we cram it into those overhead bins on the plane. I'm shoehorned into a tiny nook near the ceiling. I can't see out. The train stops..Are we at a station or broken down in the wilderness? Loud thumps shake the train..is that a Thai family on a moped under the wheels?   I hear people passing out there behind my curtain but don't know who if they are rail employees, thieves or killers...or a vengeful old man who wants his seat back.  Will the contents of my stomach shift during the journey? 

I found out at 4:30 when the porters ran through the car shouting "Moning... moooooning"  announcing the end of our slumber party. "Up, up!" They thump on our bunks. The conversion to regular train seats commenced apace and god help you if you were still in bed when they got to you. You could be folded into a permanent  part of the train.  The line for the restroom grew out of all proportion to the usefulness of a bathroom that lacks all water sources. We stumble into the Bangkok morning, squinting,  wrinkled, fuzzy mouthed, and quite amused. Feeling thoroughly broadened, having experienced a night train and an incubator in the same ten hours. 

Rain forest, Rain man

Kevin and Nell's take on TCDF Ecologique: 

Leaving Kao Tao was surprisingly more pleasant than our steerage-bound voyage to the island.  We managed seats on the deck (we were well shaded, I assure you).  On this voyage, the " preferred " seating was inside and steerage passengers were relegated to the outside decks. We were not, however, spared the proximity of other tourists and thus had endless entertainment for the ride.  The two men to our left were sweating out last night's booze and sucking down meaty sandwiches saturated with some barbecue sauce lookalike.  Behind us, a young man (I think I went to college with him) passed out shirtless on the deck.  A careless act in my fathers presence but, by some act of god, he was spared a lecture about skin care and UV awareness .  A grim looking couple (German? Russian?) perched themselves and a six pack next to the trash can up front near the door to the VIP section. When a Chinese passenger carelessly disposed of his still-lit cigarette in the bin, she nonchalantly splashed her beer on it and went back to smoking her own. thanks Fräulein or Comrade...

The land stretch of the trip south was much longer than we'd expected.  Our incredibly sweet but totally non-English speaking taxi driver met us (we were finally one of those groups who has someone waiting for them with a sign!) and we headed off for our mountain "resort" . The scenery was fantastic..giant rain forests running up hills, roads running along streams,  much less trash then one might expect.  The drive took an additional turn for the better when,  after  planning how to mime the need for a bathroom for several miles (as I have said before, the Thais are a decorous people) a blue travel sign miraculously appeared just in time for me to gesticulate wildly and we got our much needed break.

TCDF is situated on a hill, just above the tiny village (two stores that sell everything and a gas station) of Pak Song in the southern part of Thailand.  All around us, the sounds (and inhabitants) of the rain forest creep in through our windows while we doze under out mosquito nets.  Every morning we awake to the crunch-crunch of some jungle creature trying to eat his way into our rooms. It's insanely hot here and the sun is more relentless than that on the beaches. Luckily,  nothing much Is asked of us so we cope by moving only to eat and take outdoor showers.  

The TCDF organization is a school for handicapped children and a place for local children to learn english.  We aren't entirely sure how much is actually happening here, but we've all agreed its not our problem and nod along to descriptions of their work.  The rooms we are staying and the restaurant we eat in are separate from the org, but all profits go to their work with the kids.  The rooms are funky/charming and the food,  prepared by locals, was absolutely delicious. W have grown to like Thai breakfasts which are really dinner eaten in the morning. Volunteers from all over the world come to stay here for a few weeks to help with the gardens and work hard in the jungle.  They are all incredibly sweet and while we can't figure out what they do all day besides water plants,  we appreciate their company....even everybody  the dreaded "Nathan who we started off not liking and grew to appreciate with time.  " 

An Aussie, Nathan is the "host," a term he sometimes defines as " overseer."  His job is to greet guests ( in his definition " Aborigine slaves ") and keep the volunteers organized as far as accommodations and meals etc. Apparently there was no interview for this job, because it's quite obvious at first glance that Nathan has absolutely none of the required interpersonal skills.  He spends most of his time on the computer doing nothing, interspersed with insulting the guests and turning volunteers against him.  

The first night we were here he asked (demanded) my mom to do the dishes (group meals here include shared chores and  clean up)...bad move.  My mom will do just about anything, but you have to ask her the right way (trust me, I've honed this skill) and he did not ask her the right way.  Before the evening was over the battle was on. She suggested he was more like a camp counselor than a host, and told him to get his insurance company on the phone when he said he has no flashlight to help her get back to our room (down the steep stairs in the pitch black rainforest night). I'm not kidding. 

The tide turned the next morning when we realized everybody hated him, not just the three Americans.  We loved watching him have a hissy fit about people signing up for breakfast too late and the next morning get turned down when he offers to acompany the cute French girl on a hike to the waterfall. We relish in these small satisfying victories and choose to enjoy his faults rather than abhor them.  It isn't often that one encounters a human being totally devoid of a sense of humor. This crippling handicap prompts pity and amusement rather than active hate. Even the German volunteer i joke with as we wait interminably for coffee  replies to my crack " Well, at least we know it's not instant coffee." by adding In a low growl "You  make a funny joke." 

In truth, it's an interesting group here, particularly the volunteers. They are a mixed bag of Europeans, Chinese, Scandinavians, and Australians   Most are here for humanitarian reasons, except for Nathan who probably has been asked to leave every country he visits. Most are cute and well-meaning and believe that what these  poor Thais need is the help of white Europeans to improve their lot. This is not as bad as the motivations of many of the tourists who just want to sleep with them . What they don't seem to recognize is what the Thai culture can tell us about how we should live. 

End of sermon , we should describe the only real occasion for strenuous activity in our days here...the aforementioned walk to the waterfall. Armed with a former guest's directions, we ourselves (no offer from Nathan, hmmm) started off on this two hour up, two hour down journey carrying water, towels, books, and an adorable pinto lunch prepared by the Thai staff.  And, of course sunscreen. Stupidly we had waited till the fog had burned off for maximum sweating and possibility of crippling sun damage.  The journey  began with 45 minutes up the sleepy country road of the town. The most notable site, besides the amazing Palm forest we passed through,  was a old man with a chicken on a leash...just one of his many chickens . Why this one chicken? The mind speculates...then shakes the thoughts away. 

The next step in the directions took us off the road and into the woods. The directions said turn right at the blue sign with pictures and Thai writing. This move involved something of an act of faith since all signs in thailand are blue and have pictures (mostly of the king and queen at varying ages) and are in Thai. The hunch proved correct and we started the hike up and soon saw the second marker, a stream with rocks (again, hardly a novel sight  here but they were right where the directions said they would be so we felt confident.)

After about twenty minutes, we met up with the next marker, barking dogs. (See "Night of the Baying Dogs.." to evaluate the usefulness of this guidepost ). Luckily the trail also bent through a yard at that time and the woman who owned the dogs came running out to point to the correct trail and to announce we had "three kilos" more to go. I tried to make a joke about how one of the dogs was missing a leg.  Joke fell flat. Like Nathan, she seems to lack a sense of humor although unlike him, she was very friendly.

After several more obvious signposts, the road ends and we complete our  journey on a steep winding staircase ( this whole country should be flatter!) to the spectacular waterfall and swimming hole. We have the place to ourselves for most of the time because this isn't a big tourist area. It was the perfect place to do what?....nothing. Happy to oblige.  We swim, shower, eat our lunch, swim again,  and read books for a couple of hours while we wait for the sun to lower enough to create shade for the trip down.   That turns out to be a good move as the trip back was much more pleasant especially with a nice breeze that picked up.

Kevin's View: Wednesday 6

Kevin's View:

Wishin' and Hopin' and Sweatin' and Eatin'

It's the middle of the day and we're exhausted .  As Kate describes, we began the day with a couple of hours of kayaking, a task that would barely break a sweat at home. Here it has driven me back to the porch, the chaise , and a nap while Kate and Nell are doing the same under an umbrella on the beach. (I really should be down there badgering them about reapplying sunscreen, but I can't lift my head.) 

What is responsible for the difference in our reactions to really minor exertion that we do all summer in Maine  or Massachusetts? The heat.

Growing up in New Hampshire, living in Maine , and never being more than an hour from a coast has conditioned me to the cool end of the climate spectrum.  While I love being here and seeing what this tropical life is like, I can't figure out how people can live like this. Remember, it's winter here...I wonder what in hell it is like during the summer and rainy season?  I'm thinking pure hell..literally.

 

Today it's 100 degrees and the air is thick with hot, sticky moisture.  Breezes don't help....they simply call to mind what it feels like to watch a house fire up close. The result? Every  footstep here is the occasion for more sweating; every staircase one faces 

( remember we're on the side of a steep cliff) precipitates a new round of  panting.  

In this heat, chewing and digesting are the  the only activities that seem remotely plausible to me. 

As kate said, tonight is our last night at the Charm Churee Resort. While we flirt with the notion of betraying our new Thai best friends (the wait staff) and eating at a restaurant down the path a few meters, loyalty (and laziness) will send us back to our own Starlight Restaurant, the scene of all our meals here. I mean, at breakfast the waiter said , "See you tonight" as he cleared our places.  How could we face him in the morning   if we fail to show?

 Besides eating  every night in the hotel restaurant seems very much like the way characters in Merchant-Ivory films vacation and doing so speaks directly to Kate's inner Maggie Smith.  We've  got used to eating outside on the floor in bare feet in the native fashion. Can you imagine Maggie/Kate's withering comment about that? "We'll, if you insist..but I reserve the privilege of retaining my stockings, thank you very much, harrumph."

Kate's View: Wednesday 6

Kate's View:

I've been delegated the writing of today's blog entry because, of the three of us (the tireless worker, the organic farmer, and the god-damn princess), I am having the best time here at the luxurious beach resort.  Kevin complains about the heat,  is afraid the sun will fry us all into the hospital, and is convinced the warm water makes him seasick (yes, it's really fun sitting next to him on a chaise lounge...)  Nell is happier but feeling antsy about all of the work she has waiting for her when she gets home and also finds herself constantly reacting to Kevin's admonitions about sunburn and suntan lotion.  She is grateful that Kevin had returned to the room before the Japanese family arrived in their full sun protection body gear, including full suit, gloves and boots. (When the time comes to snorkel in three feet of water, they accessorize  with life jackets.)(

Me?  I mean really: what's not to like?  The island of Koh Tao is spectacular--really a mountain in the sea so all development is built perched on a slope with amazingly creative steps and pathways.  Our resort brings back memories of my Sea Bright Beach Club days:  we sign for all of our meals and snacks, someone sets up an umbrella to shade the chaise lounges, and we amble around in our bathing suits (suitably covered from the sun, of course).  At night we head up to the Starlight Restaurant, an open air deck jutting out into the water and watch the sun go down as we eat delicious Thai appetizers.

Plus,  I have, after sixty two years of searching, finally found my sport: snorkeling.  Those of you who have enjoyed tropical vacations already know how great this is but my last memory of doing this in warm water was in eighth grade.  I just love floating along watching the amazing world below with the dozens of different colored and size fish eating and eating (very Thai) and seemingly having as much fun floating around as I am.  There is also little danger or demand for physical coordination in this best of all sports.  Except for dodging other snorkelers or long-tail boat taxis---or absentmindedly swimming into a rock, there really isn't much to worry about except, of course, the possibility of sunburn. 

We're off tomorrow for the last stop on our journey:  a lodge in the southern rain forest run by two Dutch women who use the proceeds to support their work with disadvantaged Thai children.   In addition to the promise of beautiful scenery and good food, there are also intimations of arduous hikes up to the mountain tops,  white water rafting, and requests for help with their large organic garden/farm.   Kevin and Nell are already perking up.  I'll let you guess my thoughts.

Days of doing nothing can lead to deep thoughts.

Days of doing nothing  often lead to deep thoughts 

We have made good on our decision to do absolutely nothing for as long as we want to at the Charm Churee resort. Yesterday was as lazy a day as we've had on this trip and today is shaping up to be the same.  

Yesterday began with a slow shuffle late to the breakfast deck. The main deck is surrounded by a bar where you eat facing the ocean. The view and the choice of nationality for breakfast is not a hard one for us. We avoid the decision by eating both eat anThai and an American breakfast each.  A  Thai breakfast is dinner served in the morning. an American one is, well, you know... The buffet format means never having to make a tough choice between the two. We heap our plates in a culinary detente. 

That less-then-strenuous activity was followed by a slow flip-flop down to the beach and the waiting beach chairs on Jansom Bay. The hardest task of the morning, after selecting the perfect site under a palm tree, was getting the six year old Japanese kid to turn off the sound of the combat  video game she  was playing on her iPhone. I  suggested  Nell grab it out of her hand, throw it in the sand, and grind her heel into the screen. Nell took the more logical approach and asked the father to lower the volume. Oh, so that's how truces are accomplished. WWIII was  avoided without the atomic option. 

Major physical activity ensued, if you can call floating like a jellyfish and watching the wide variety of vibrantly colored fish below you in the coral,  a physical activity. In truth,  I could have fallen asleep with my ass bobbing behind me if I didn't have to work at keeping the mouthpiece in. 

More calories, or a least one or two, were expended in reading our books. I get to wishing they had people to hold them up for us in front of our faces.This strain calls for naps on the porches (note plural) . Magically we are treated to a thunderous downpour as we lay on bamboo chaises. 

The return of the sun is followed by an explosion of activity, a 15 minute walk to town. We were so dazed when we landed that none of us had any recollection of it. In truth Mae Haad, the town, is nowhere you ever want to be, A more tawdry  version of York beach only hotter, dirtier, and more crowded. I didn't see hookers, only sunburned stoners, motor bikers with a death wish (other people's deaths)  and taxi drivers hawking their service to each passerby.  Pizza joints. Sunglass shops, tattoo parlors, ugh. We resolve to avoid a return trip until we walk to the dock to leave. 

Dressing for dinner reveals a startling new realization...we have slight sunburns even though we were lotioned to the gills and sat in the shade. Nothing serious but it did provide me with something to think about as the air conditioner worked on the days' humidity and we drifted to sleep.

 I'll share my thoughts on this topic with you now:

My  Politically Incorrect Theory of the Effect of Nationality on Beach Suitability and Behavior.

We'll start with our hosts, the Thai people.  As Naga Travel predicted, we don't see them on the beach at all. They simply (and I suspect wisely) don't see the purpose of lying in the searing gaze of the sun, burning one's skin and courting cancer. Of course, they  are born with lovely tansnsomtheynarentbfacedvwith that difficult choice.  In addition, the working population is busy all day waiting on tourists who have come for tans. This is unfortunate since Thais are the only people around here that are truly genetically suited to the blazing sun and heat on these beaches.

Next, in no particular order,  are the Scandinavians. One thing about this contingent: they are fit and tall and look good undressed, regardless of their age. Oddly these extremely northern Caucasians appear to tan superlatively . I hate them for all the above reasons.

The French are very similar to the the Scandinavians,  but in tinier bathing suits. One senses that they would be naked or at least topless if they weren't in a country of more decorous people. They break up their sunbathing sessions with frequent trips to the beachside bar. No one has to tell the French how to live graciously; it's in their blood.

The Germans.  Hefty, firmly planted on the ground, serious. Not smart about sunscreen. They are represented most vividly here by the man whose arms  face and neck are a virulent red/ brown while his massive chest, bigger gut, and Popeye-like  arms are pure snow white. From a few paces away he looks like he's just put on a fresh white t shirt and tucked it in his skin tight boxer briefs. His chunky  wife and sister in law (or something..i'm guessing here) are in unusual one-piece, to-the-knees swimwear.  I encountered one of them while snorkeling and was treated to an underwater glimpse of large Teutonic mammary when her breast slipped the restraints  of this swimsuit.  

The Japanese don't seem to have a shared tanning/beach suitability national characteristic. A good guess as to why would involve their obsession with picture taking. They simply can't sit still long enough to work on their tans. There are photos to be gotten. By reputation, they are too busy studying and learning so that they can dominate the  world's financial, academic and political spheres to loll around darkening their skin-- but I'm not sure about that.

Finally there are the Irish.  There are no less suitable people fora tropical sojourn then the sons of kings.  Biologically we are the whitest people on earth. Our genetic inheritance includes the smallest amount of pigment of any race, including all those damn blonde Danes. Our pale mushroom-colored skin makes us better  suited to live in graves rather than on a Thai beach. Right now I'm hiding from our enemy, the sun , on our open air porch ,surrounded by the tops of coconut trees because, as I said I got a mild sunburn yesterday...with a shirt on, in the shade. Today  is even hotter and sunnier.  I'll reemerge when the shadows lengthen and take a swim,  Nosferatu on the beach.