Travel can be transforming

Traveling can be transforming..a brush with enlightenment.

Kevin

Two of the things I've always prided myself on are actually personality flaws and yesterday's travel nightmare proved that point. 

First of all, I'm a cheap. Enough said.

Secondly, I have a tendency to make do, to adapt to problems rather than take action and resolve the issue. The path of least resistance. I've always understood why the Jimmy Stewart character in "It's a Wonderful Life" always rebalances the top of that newel post rather than fix it once and for all.

The following story should explain the reason for this personal disclosure.

The final  destination for yesterday was Koh Tao an island off the West Coast of Thailand. The first leg was a puddle jumper flight to Chumpon, south of Bangkok.

Travel problem 1: Due to an error in our booking, we didn't book any transportation from the airport to the ferry landing. This glitch was discovered by Naga travel (you know who) the night before. No need to go into more detail. Aside from adding to the stress level, the issue resolved itself easily at the small airport and doesn't figure in the story to any degree.

Travel problem 2 :  flying on a small airplane ( bigger than Sky King's but smaller than most commercial flights ) and potential motion sickness.  Again, only twinges occurred at minor turbulence and the worry proved worse than the eventuality.

Travel problem 3: the ferry ride raises the motion sickness issue again.  I imagined a Vineyard type vehicle and procedure  No such luck. The wait at the landing was lovely..lounge chairs on a beach, beautiful island scenery.   However, soon fleets of tour buses began disgorging their contents and a mob scene developed.The boat arrived. It was this catamaran affair at the end of a very long dock. That vehicle proceeded to disgorge an equal number ..more maybe.  We were in awe...how could they possibly have fit that many people and their luggage on that modest boat? After much milling about and sweating,  we  learned how when we boarded, packed like rats in the giant hull while the "preferred" customers " took their seats above on the deck. In place of the Lucy Lui Lifetime movie we got to watch on the monitors  (not hear, just see), they got to breathe. 

After an hour and a half of hull thumping and gasping for air, we disembark to an island mob scene...drivers all yelling at the boatload of potential customers. As willing lambs to a slaughter, we quickly pick the most disreputable looking guy for a ride toTao Thong Villa ( I bet you're now visualizing a high class resort with Europeans in tiny bikinis. We'll sink that ship shortly)

No worry that his vehicle was a truck with two benches for us in back.

Yes , worry. The rutted dirt road to Tao Thong Villa is  a winding, practically writhing,  overgrown , narrow kilometer straight uphill. We hang on for dear life and use our feet to keep the backpacks from bouncing out. The driver adjusts to the difficult terrain by driving as fast as he can and beeping madly  as we approached each hair pin curve. When he finally brakes to an abrupt halt, we climb out, spent with terror and flooded with relief.

Here's where I debunk your fantasy about Tao Thong Villa. Sorry.  I will also soon tie in the personal issue I started with in case you're wondering if and when I'll get to the point.

Travel Problem 4: the Ugly Reality  of Tao Thong Villa.

Imagine that scene in John Ford's "The Grapes of Wrath" when the Joads drive into the Dust Bowl refugee encampment. Change them to three sweaty, bedraggled Americans with backpacks. Then put the encampment on the side of a steep cliff. Keep the bewildered, defeated looks on the Oakies' faces but make them Europeans and put the men in speedos. Litter  the set with mounds of what I now consider traditional Thai litter. 

After about ten blank stares, we finally get someone to point out the proprietor, who looks like a pirate without the requisite sword but with the scowl and the kerchief. He apparently isn't all that glad to see us and reluctantly shows us our bungalows, each up an equally treacherous span of cement stairs. They are on stilts so the first view is each is of the totally disreputable plumbing. 

To make a long story, well, shorter, the North Vietnamese Army put American captives in nicer digs than these two cells. The tired mattresses were covered with one fitted sheet and what look like the stains of multiple illegal medical procedures. The mosquito nets have gaping holes filled with duct tape. Is a window still a window if you can't see out of it for the thick layer of dust? 

Stunned and shocked, we follow him past the lethargic walking dead that are the other guests to finalize the deal. During this interaction we discover that

1.  We have to pay extra for water, toilet paper, blankets, snorkels, rides to town. 

2. the staff and Internet are unavailable from 4 to 6 pm.

3. The electricity cuts out at 9 pm...no lights at all at night.

And he wants me to pay up front.

And I do! I swear to god! I can't believe it.

Kate goes numb and can't speak. Nell worries that she has lost one parent to dementia and can never  forgive the other for his cheapness and unwillingness to act. The debacle is all my fault. I saw the cheap price and forked over the loot thinking we could somehow turn this hell into heaven. 

Then the spirit of Naga  Travel ( iris Gowen would never take this shit) speaks to me from above. She says that wIth some action and energy, i can save what was supposed to be the culmination of our trip. I grab the map of the local area and identify possible resorts within walking distance. I enlist Nell's support in the search and leave a glazed and incoherent Kate sitting on the deck staring into the void as we head off down the footpath along the cliffs.  "Don't forget about me '" she whimpers as we leave.

We walk and evaluate potential replacements. I wheel and deal with the owners. I lie and say  we'll be right back to the owner of one barely acceptable inn.  Then I set my sights on Oz, the "Charm  Churee Ecological Resort. "Come on Nell, it's right ahead. I know it." I know it's what we want. Think of your mother!"

"Dad, it's getting dark. Mom's alone back there." (Knowing that should she come-to while we are gone, her ability to worry without reason might send her off a cliff of a different sort).  

Then we spy it..our very own Emerald City...Xanadu....Nirvana...the solution to the problems 

The paths are manicured, the bungalows stylish and smart, the bathroom has both a male and female urinal, the views beautiful, the staff friendly and warm, complementary everything. They want us and they will even pay for a cab to get our shit from the bowels of hell we left Kate in. 

Travel problem 5: Can I face both personal flaws in one fell swoop? Having taken arms against a sea of troubles, can I pay the 24'000 bahts it will take? I face a angel on one shoulder, the devil on the other.

Nell speaks for reason. "Dad, that's 800 dollars. With the pittance you spent for that Thong  dive, you're still under a thousand for 4 nights."

"Yes, yes,yes, "  I cry like Molly Bloom at the end of "Ulysses, "and they take credit cards!" (which Molly never mentions.)

We seal the deal...the staff provides orange juice and chilled towels to sweeten the moment and to address our sweating and panting. They lend us a flashlight, hire a taxi with four wheel drive and we set off up that damn road to rescue Kate. We find her in the dark on the beach. She has  used  her iPad to descend from the house, numb with agony and loss.

We grab our bags and lead her out as we sneak away into the dark towards our waiting cab. 

We are heading for warm showers, our two porches overlooking the beach, breakfasts on the deck, free snorkeling, friendly faces. 

And I swear to myself never to  be so passive and cheap again.

Well...not so much.

 

Two hikes in Sukkothai

Two bike hikes in Sukhothai

Kevin and Nell 

First of all, a description of the classiest resort we've lucked into on the trip and something quite different from roadside guest house we originally booked ( Thanks Naga Travel!), the The Legendha, the Disneyland of a southeast Asian resort. Soft plucking Music (that you often hear in Chinese food restaurants back home) greeted us as we walked over our very own little bridge crossing the creek (complete with water features).  The grounds of the compound were beautifully kept, by landscapers who worked in the dark of night to keep the lawns free of leaves.  When a sudden shower occurred, they put on shower caps and kept working. The rooms were quite tasteful.  We even had a pool! The resort is geared towards the French (we have found that typically restaurants and hotels will be geared towards a certain nationality.) To date, we've lucked out and avoided being stuck with fellow Americans but have had less luck avoiding those fun-loving Germans,.). The French  flocked there by the hundreds! That's a gross exaggeration, but there were lots of French families and they certainly enjoyed a good dip in la piscine.  I love me a good banana hammock on a sixty-year old homme."Lifeguard, could you turn off the pool lights, please?"

For dinner, the hotel put on a great buffet, a wide range of authentic Thai dishes (and at the end ,oddly, spaghetti Milanese ) complemented with entertainment, an authentic Thai dance performance that involves more hand movement than footwork.  Strangely enjoyable even though one Japanese tourist felt that the best shot he could get was standing directly in front of the stage. His family, of course, took pictures of him taking the pictures. 

Spent a good  part of yesterday biking around  the Sukkothai (spelling varies on whim of writer) Heritage  Park somewhere about 700 miles north of Bangkok.  Sukkhothai is often considered the poor cousin to the other UN  National heritage sites in the region like Angkor Wat and Ayutthaya but its reputation is undeserved. It is truly a park, a beautiful and very flat place to bike and appreciate the extensive and beautiful ruins. At this point in our travels we really appreciated the lack of effort the biking demanded and the rewards of finally understanding what this temples, ruins, wats stuff is all about. 

Late in the exploration of the central areas of the park we came across a lovely sight. Approaching one of the major sites, we discovered it overrun with a herd of those strange water buffalo- like cows (Nell says they are "Brahma crosses" that we've only seen from far away previously.) 

The shepardess  was sound asleep under a ruined wall and  a rebel faction of the herd took the opportunity to sneak off down the perimeter road of the park. luckily the shepard woke up  and gave them a good talking to in the "caw'caw" sound that distinguishes the Thai language.  Order and obedience was soon restored but watching this little episode of  "The Real Housewife of Rural Thailand"  made us nosy about what it would be like to live here. We already have a good idea about life in Bangkok. Life there is a constant rush of shopping, eating, looking for places to eat,   littering, buying cheap clothing, buying designer outfits,  hooking, looking for hookers and, of course, sweating profusely.  We wondered what happens away from the urban sprawl and away from the main roads.

We resolved to stop sight seeing and spend the rest of the afternoon and early evening exploring country roads behind our resort.  Immediately beyond the elegance of the "Lengendha" resort was a whole world of ordinary life...who knew? The streets were a warren of narrow concrete paved lanes  on which all houses opened. As people put-putted their motor bikes home from work (we assume) the socializing began..old men smoking cigarettes and swaddukaying (greeting)  passerby's, a clutch of women chattering with babies on their hips or cooking in pots for sale to the neighbors. The schoolchildren "hellogoodbyed" the white guys on bikes wearing those silly grins. In  several places we encountered a soundtrack to this congenial scene--Thai music blaring from inside houses,,a lovely rhythmic music based on drumming and plunking.  Dogs napped in the middle of the road, oblivious to the traffic around them.

What was so nice was that there wasn't the squalid litter of more urban areas and throughout Cambodia. The houses, many very crude , others well- maintained and sophisticated and all in the typical thai stick house mold--a lot of life goes on under the house. Yards were filled with the stuff of life--car parts, drying clothes, chickens, grandparents. 

We found ourselves saying "I could live here."

That was good. What do you want for supper?

Eating in Thailand: 

Kevin

It's hard not to talk a lot about food when chronicling a trip here since the Thai people and their visitors spend so much time eating and eating with great intensity out in public. The French do this too but you don't really see them actually swallowing any food..they just jabber and smoke  in each others' faces while the food cools between them.

The Thai people eat with great concentration and little conversation, and not because they  or not sociable or use chopsticks. It's just that the food is so delicious. 

The standard utensils are a fork and big spoon. The fork is used to fill the spoon with the a specific amount of rice, vegetables and/or meat, and topping. The perfect mouthful is then shoveled into the mouth. Then on to the next succulent morsel. Why chat when you can work on constructing the next delicious biteful? What is there to talk about? How many times can you intone , "This is so fucking good" or ask "Are you going to finish that?" Just shut up and eat.

It's, of course, a cliche to observe that what these people are eating is the most delicious national cuisine in the world. I am not going out on a limb in saying it might be impossible to find a bad meal anywhere here--outside of ,yes, McDonald's--whether it is prepared by a woman squatting on a curb or by a chef in starched whites in an elegant restaurant. Damn, even those Lay's chips taste better than ours.   In Chiang Mai, Bangkok, Ayutthaya,  we ate a meals prepared on a primitive mountain top, in a fast food restaurant, in a Chinese banquet hall, in a mall food court, and in an swank hotel restaurant. In truth the only difference was in the decor, the  price, and the willingness to risk dysentery.   Each dish we downed was delicious and distinctive. There is no one way to make Pad Thai but all versions taste great. 

 What seems to make the food so special is the availability of ingredients and the interest in creating dishes that layer flavors onto them.   Familiar items   like chicken, eggs, pork just taste better here and are the case of fruit, the variety and level ripeness is simply unavailable elsewhere. It's so interesting to watch school kids slurping down dishes of noodles with blood sausage and bok choy, food it would take the jaws of life to get an American kid to consider eating. What's also interesting is that in a culture where everyone seems to be eating all day,  there are very few fat people...except for us tourists. 

Es

Getting from one place to the other

Small Annoyances While Traveling 

Kevin

Not much to relate travel- wise as we clump our way on the special express train from Chiang Mai to Sukkothai , capital city of an ancient regime. I don't know why it's labeled express since we are stopping at we keep stopping at myriad little towns separated by miles of nothing but exotic foliage. The route is a broad arc that results in our moving away from our destination instead of heading directly at it for a great deal of the trip. That, and the fact that the train can't go over  thirty and  chugs painfully when confronted with a grade adds some time to the journey. 

However, what's special about the train is the fierce strength of the air conditioning . Fruit is imported to the USA from New Zealand with less refrigeration than we are being subjected to. Kate, Nell, and Iris have taken to emptying their luggage (and mine) to layer on clothing that is neither clean nor color-coordinated.

Since this is a six- hour trip, a lot of our time is devoted to planning for and putting off our trips to the tiny bathrooms located at the end of the car. These incredibly tiny "conveniences"(NOT) require much dexterity to since you must open the door, enter the one and a half foot square cabinet and close the door while you avoid either stepping in the hole or being splashed as the train maneuvers around a corner. Exciting news on two fronts: Nell has just returned from such an expedition with e discovery that the toilet on the left has a seat! Kate rushes off and learns  something important too...the contents of the toilet simply flush through the floor onto the tracks.  This fact might account for the fact that the windows are so dirty we can't tell whether the sun is out but I don't want to know if that might be true.

Both these concerns would seem petty considering the beauty of the Thai countryside outside the windows. They also pale in comparison to the lack of comfort one experiences when forced to cram into a local bus for the final leg of the journey. None of these working Thais seemed happy to include tourists with luggage on their hot and crowded trip home from work but like most Thai people,  they were too polite to express their discomfort with the eye rolling or nose snorting we resort to when we confront the inevitable annoyances of travel like making room for the luggage on a local bus or dealing withnJapanese tourists taking pictures of each other taking pictures of each other in front of historical ruins we want to take a picture of.

The Elephant Rescue

The Elephant Rescue

Nell

After hearing various tidbits about a supposed elephant rescue outside Chaing Mai, we sniffed out the Elephant Nature Park.  For those of you familiar with Blue Star (the draft horse rescue Justin and I used to work on), you too would have been stuck with the eerie similarities between the plight of the work horse and the work elephant, and the two organizations commitment to helping them.  

Promptly at 8 am we were picked up at our hotel by a van filled with other tourists from around the city-all destined for the elephants.  An hour and a half and a short documentary later, we arrived: the Canadian woman, traveling alone, the British couple, clearly a tad out of their element, the long distance relationship, mom's new friend Debbie and her husband whose name has been lost, and our tiny thai guide whose name was unpronounceable.  

When we pulled in, it looked more like we'd arrived on the safari.  Elephants wandering about in the distance, water buffalo picking at the dry grass, a thatched building filled mostly with fruit, a watering hole that separated the grassland from the mountains beyond.  Our itinerary for the day began with morning feeding.  Us tourists have a little "sky walk" at which the elephants line up to eat, piece by piece, large quantities of fruit from our hands.  You wouldn't believe how dexterous their trunks are, picking up a single banana and carefully placing it into their doughy mouths.  It's impossible not to love them.  Their saggy, tough skin, the way they seem to paddle along on their loaf like feet, the joy they take in a good scratch.  After morning feeding with headed down as a group to ground level to meet the elephants and have a wander.  One elephant that won everyone's heart had been tied up and forced to accept the advances of a bull elephant she wasn't interested in--resulting in a broken hip and quite the gait post-healing.  Her best friend has cataracts and they never leave each others side.  

After a truly outstanding buffet lunch, it was time to head to the river to throw buckets of water at the elephants.  While hokey on the whole, all our silly little tasks were really fun.  Have YOU ever bathed an elephant? One gal loves to lay down in the deepest part of the river, resting her head on the bottom and using the trunk as a snorkel. Clever.

The trip to the park was a welcome retreat from city.  With the fresh air, beautiful landscape and endearing (let alone exotic) residents, it really was a treat.   

"Is slant like this..."

"Is slant like this..."Three versions of one event.

Kevin:

I don' t know about you, but when forced to converse with  people  whose English is weak, I have a tendency to nod stupidly in agreement even when I haven't a clue what they are saying. Sometimes I'm just too lazy to decipher.  It's the flip side of shouting at them to make them understand what I'm saying. Instead of finding the perfect phrasing to be understood, I bellow, thinking that the decimal level will force comprehension.  

So...when Atta our guide asked us which route we wanted to take up the mountain I really didn't understand that that two village route was much harder and longer than the other route which went straight to the town where we would stay.  I shouted " two towns "'really loudly, thinking we'd  be getting more for our money and apparently not understanding the part about it being much longer and steeper.  Anyway, Nellie voted for the "two town" option too and so I figured she knew what he was talking about. Therefore what ensued was partially her fault. After all, he warned us it was "slant like this."(visualize hand in karate position. 


Before I describe the physical agony of the upward climb, I should mention that the walk, climb, trek... whatever...was too beautiful for words. At times it seemed almost heavenly..the air clean and sweet smelling, the views hazy and spectacular, the vegetation strange and lush.  Atta grew up in a hill town and had lots to say about life in a town you have to climb through the woods to get through.  Speaking for myself, I wouldn't have missed this for anything. It was like waking and finding oneself in a Kurosawa film only you understand the words.


However the trail was steeper than we had been led to believe and lots of the hard clay soil was terraced into tall steps up the hillside.  A lot of the time we were using our hands as well as our feet because most of the way to the first town was straight up. Soon we were panting and sweating and straining leg  muscles that had long ago assumed we would never call upon them again.  Atta barely broke a sweat  and chattered frequently and often interestingly about everyday life up here where people grow crops in fields that, with the subtraction of a few degrees, could be called cliffs.


Once we dragged our sorry asses into the first town, the hardest part was over. The town, like most of this country was incredibly backward....and yet, I spotted solar panels and satellite dishes screwed to the sides of shacks.  Babies, pigs,dogs and residents roamed around and only occasionally noticed our presence (see below)


Of course there was also a store in the center of town. No matter how isolated and lonely a place is here, there is always a run down corner shop in front of and often comprising part of someone's house. I mean in a town of ten families, where baby pigs are running free and chickens are everywhere,  you can still buy a bag of Lays potato chips often in exotic flavors  like "Nori Seaweed" or (I swear to god) "Curry Crab."  Many people do, as evidenced by the drifts of litter that fill the sides of dusty roads. (The plastic bag will prove to be the downfall of Southeast Asia if the smog or road carnage don't get it first.)



The minute one walks out of the woods in one of these towns the people start pulling out there wares to hawk..."Lookee... Lookee!" Some of the trinkets are clearly  made in China..but others are sewn goods in the hill people style. We have developed a thicker skin about buying the stuff but left a few baht behind in these towns. How many carved elephants can you fit in a small day bag?


The rest of the trip to the outpost  was a more moderate up and down trail between the two towns...a second wind was enjoyed by all as the trail flattened and widened. We walked through mountain fields as the sun waned, the air cooled  and the views became a darker mixture of green and gold. Lovely. 


Finally, the lodge loomed above us, a shaky perch made almost totally from bamboo. It creaked and swayed a bit when anyone walked and the thin bamboo  lattice floor strained under our western weight. A wide veranda faced east  and behind it our rooms, elegant and rudimentary--futons and mosquito nets. We sat on pillows on the deck, enjoyed the sunset (each with our own bags of chips) and the moonrise and then ate a five course meal Atta cooked  without appliances and modern utensils by candlelight sitting on the floor. 


Sleep came easy in the colder mountain air, and we woke to the beautiful sunrise and breakfast, a strange  and delicious rice gruel with chicken and carrots left over from last night. We agreed that we could get used to this if they put in an escalator.


Atta lowered the boom after breakfast by admitting that going downhill was harder than the ascent. In a sense he was wrong-- one didn't get out of breath as one descended what was in many places a staircase with giant risers. However one expended greater effort and used different muscles to take each giant step There were times when each of us ended up sliding on our ass.   A good walking stick became essential.


The way down involved a stop at a waterfall where a small women in a hut sold us yet more trinkets and tempted us with a selection of...you guessed it...Lays potato chips.<br />
<br />
Nell-


While the trudge up the mountain tested my legs, I spent most of our journey exhausting myself with the worry that I very well may have killed my dear parents in agreeing to this route.  As fatigue set in, I found myself wondering how exactly I would transport them out of the jungle, should need be.  Short of thumbing a ride on an elephant, dragging them seemed the only feasible solution. With the intelligence I am told elephants posses, I doubt we could have convinced them to walk that trail.  May one learn from their wisdom. 


The lodge, our final destination for the day, was wonderfully rustic.  While I was too distracted trying to win the affections of the village strays, Mom and Dad spent the&nbsp;&nbsp;few hours consumed with worry that they might just fall through the bamboo flooring (these were valid concerns).  To my fathers dismay, the only other guests were a German family: a mother, father, their son and his girlfriend. Having taken the easier route, they beat us to the top by who knows how long (cowards). In a typically German fashion, they had usurped all of the cushions on the porch with a good view of the mountain.  My father and I were forced to enjoy our congratulatory beer in the corner, staring at the son groping his girlfriend as she perused the inevitable display of souvenirs provided by the locals. Giddy that both of my parents had made it up in one piece, my mood could not be spoiled by this act of greed.  My father on the other hand, let me know repeatedly how little he approved of our lodge mates.  My mother, desperate for kinship in her struggles, immediately reached out to the Germans, making friends with the mother who was also too exhausted to move.  At dinner, the Germans took the table and we were forced to eat on the floor (cough), which was okay in the end because it allowed me to share the last bits of Lays Nori Seaweed chips with a pregnant stray cat who wandered in.  I don't this she liked the Germans much either.  


The next morning, Dad took off at a rapid pace down the mountain, determined to keep our lead on the Germans despite a brief hold up at the site of a new school being built by volunteers from the city.  My mother, having refused a walking stick for most of the climb up, was the only one who still had hers the next morning (albeit thanks to me).  Dad, having been the sole advocate for their use initially, had managed to lose his overnight. Filled with resentment for my mothers stick, but knowing we'd be chasing after her tumbling body down the mountain should he take her up on her offer to give him it-Dad chose to very audibly play the martyr and make due with what he could find next to the trail.  It was sort of like Goldie Locks and her legendary chairs, this one's too big, not round, too floppy.  We all suffered.  


Ata, our guide, had rubbed me the wrong way when we first met him.  I found him too eager and eager often strikes me as desperate (I inherited my tolerance from my father).  Yet, in the end, I am grateful for his patience.  We were a motley crew and there was probably more than one occasion that he thought he might have to leave us in the jungle to save himself. If he keeps a journal, his account of our trip would probably give David Sedaris a run for his money. 


Kate:


Due to problems with PTSD,  Kate will not be able to offer her version of these events. We feel her time is better spent relearning how to walk.

Baying dogs and the grinning monkey man

Night of the Baying Street Dogs and the Grinning Monkey Man.

 Our guest house in Chiang Mai is everything you could hope for in a small, inexpensive, old fashioned small hotel--at least that's what we agreed as we sat having beers and tea overlooking the Ping River when we arrived in this smaller, friendlier, less smelly, and certainly less polluted version of Bangkok. Mathematically speaking Chiang Mai is to Bangkok as Boston is to New York. The Galare guest house was a kilometer from the old town , tucked away down a tiny alley. Charming , despite a clientele that appeared to be slight older and Teutonic. Later,we wandered into the old town and knocked about looking at restaurants and two of us, ( not me) buying stuff and planning to come back and buy more stuff when we return to the city after planned adventures into elephant rescues and the hill people outside the city. More on both of those later.

 Our first night at the in started, well, badly when there appeared to be a vicious fight among the numerous street mutts outside the garden walls. Luckily the fight ended and peace finally was declared. The next night began well as we knocked off around 9:30 to rest up for our two days of trekking (hiking to the pretentious and to the manufacturers of nylon clothing devoted to it) in gorgeous mountain region a surrounding the city. At 12 midnight the horror began. The snarling , barking, baying,squealing continued periodically throughout the night...at intervals seemingly planned to allow us almost to fall asleep before ratcheting up the bedlam again. Imagine if the works of Hieronymous Bosch had soundtracks and you come close to what the noise was like.  In desperation I dressed and went down to the office.

God, I wish I hadn't.

 Perched on a stool like a bird, the night manager appeared to be a monkey who spoke no English. It was like trying to reason with one of the Wicked Witch of the West's flying army except that this one didn't speak English and was, well, developmentally disabled. Apparently what he thought I was asking was "Where is this delightful dogfight happening? I'd like to participate." He kept nodding agreement, grinning maniacally and pointing in the direction of the brouhaha. I gave up, lost sleep, and we pledged to find a new place when we returned to the city in three days. Iris saved the day once more with a new inn called the Nice Mom guest house. Sounds homey but I envision cockfights in the yard.