10.2.11
I finally made it to the beach (Koh Tao, a.k.a. Turtle Island) and my soul has brightened. I think i can feel it radiating from within. I treated myself to a coconut bath today after an intensely invigorating hike to the highest peak in Koh Tao. I picked it up from the side of the dirt road, smashed it open on a rock, and panting ever-so-excitedly with both delight and exhaustion, I stretched my smackers open as wide as my face would allow, attempting to collect both streams of naturally purified water into my mouth, and yet a significant amount must've found another way out of the nut, by the looks and feeling of the sopping wet heaviness of my shirt afterward. I was able to ring it out a bit, but with coconut shreds and sand stuck to my face, hands, and clothing, there's no doubt a curious onlooker would have questioned my general hygiene or at least my recent whereabouts. Replenished and rehydrated and unconcerned about the opinions of others, I continued on my way down the slippery gravel path, skipping and running, when possible, and hopping meticulously, remaining as low as possible on the steeper, more eroded bits.
5.3.11
It almost stormed yesterday. I took a break from editing in the studio, walked down to the pier to get a
pancake (banana, chocolate, peanut butter), and brought it down to the beach where I sat on the rocks and watched what I hoped was an angry storm brewing overhead. The wind picked up and tried to steal my pancake plate, but onto it I held with forceful greed. It reminded me of the wicked black clouds filled with vengeance and rage that used to come plundering into the harbor back in the days when i worked on the boats in St. Augustine. The sun would suddenly disappear, the wind would somehow grow spiteful, and as the darkness in the distance quickly drew nearer, the shroud lines and rigging on all the sailboats masts would create an uproarious symphony of frightened emotion. The smell of a nearing rain storm, a bone-chilling dampness in the air, and a deep whistling of the wind weaving around the towering masts and pilings will forever broaden my mischevious grin.
18/3/11
I don't know where I'm going. I only know I've set out on a long journey. Only when I'm at
my way's end will I discover why I made that great journey, even though it may have stretched over many generations.
I haven't been able to completely reach that state called "asleep" in four nights. I'm a little confused as to why this may be, since I am generally really good at reaching this point with great ease. My head is beginning to throb, I am acquiring a temper, or maybe just a shortened fuse (or this may simply be a result of repetitive, annoying situations I've found myself in where I am the customer who may not always be right, but in these circumstances, without a doubt, have been, and yet I get taken advantage of anyway because this is Thailand that's how things roll here. I don't think they have ever considered bad service as being an option, much less, a Better Business Bureau. And I'm not typically one to complain, either. Anyway...it's a good thing that these ever-increasing hours of ...awakeness?... have somehow been filled with pure mental bliss, despite the periods of absurdity and frustration, which still weren't enough to shake my delicious metaphysical state. Don't ask me why,for it's something I have been trying to put words to ever since the overwhelming state of mind came into play several months ago, as has done nothing but grown and practailly spread to every unknown cranny of my mind since then. I'm attempting to describe a mentality that is a constant, well, mindgasm, if you will. Honestly, this is the only word that has has come the closest to fitting the bill. Fathom if you can a mental massage..the best massage you've ever experienced; the most breathtaking moment you've ever encountered
or even dreamt of encountering, and then let that feeling take over your soul. This sounds a little weird, I know, but like I said, it's not easy to describe, and so far, I can only portray it with closed eyes, a smile, and a satisfied sigh. If I could bottle and sell this sense of life, I'd no doubt be the most popular person in the universe. I hope everyone can somehow and someday feel this level of satisfaction and contentness.
My last night on Koh Tao was the best one I've had in a while. It was the premiere of my showreel, the final compilation pf all my video work I've captured since the beginning of my underwater videography course. Crystal dive resort bar was the venue for the event, and all the friends I'd acquired in my 2 months on the island were in attendance. Needless to say, I was rather excited. Approxiamtely 100 people gathered in the bar area when the first scene faded onto the big screen and the loud speakers began revealing the queue of sounds and tunes I'd been toying with and tweaking to my liking for hours upon end during the weeks prior.
Twenty-three minutes later, just as the final credits had dipped to black, a touching round of applause and cheers, nods, and smiles showered the moment. Numerous viewers approached me thereafter with, not only extended hands and compliments, but also words of thanks and appreciation for helping them to see things underwater in a whole new way, inspiring them to create underwater movies of their own, and bringing others who had been out of the water for over a week due to unwanted circumstances, back to the one place they love the most. I felt proud. That's a good feeling that everyone should experience at some point in their life.
Although it was no Hollywood production, the fact that my first self-made film had actually moved people was extremely rewarding. The best part wasn't the limelight, but knowing I had painted authentic smiles on faces and warmed hearts. As if that weren't already enough to make my week, I was able to spend the next few hours into the morning with my two favorite brother-like boys. The fact that the 3 of us are able to completely and naturally express ourselves has been such a blessing added to my travels. It's so difficult to find people with whom you can completely connect and be yourself in your own hometown, much less traveling alone on the other side of the globe. I was almost beginning to think I'd never be able to use and enjoy my wit, sarcasm, and intellectualism with another soul again until I met these two. Together, the 3 of us are unstoppable, and though it may seem discriminatory the fact that they are American and Canadian, I am proud to say that they helped make my time on Koh Tao more exciting!
If I haven't yet given an example of the frequent ridiculousness and lack of sense-making in this country, let me do so now. There's usually at least one or two good examples that come about daily, but I'll just give a quick example or two to paint the picture for you. I had purchased a joint boat/bus ticket the day before my departure from Koh Tao to Phuket. This trip should, in theory take about 8 hours in total. The ferry boat from Koh Tao to Surat Thani (on the mainland) is scheduled to leave the pier at 10AM, and so check-in is at 9:30AM.
I stuffed the last of my belongings in my oversized military pack and proceeded downstairs to the guesthouse office/mobile phone sales and sevice shop/motorcycle rental shop that is run by a few young Thai "kids". (Again, keep in mind that these are all typical things here).
So, since it was early, you know, 9:15 A.M., the kids were still sleeping in the back of the office, so I had to wake them. With sleepy eyes, disheveled hair, and wrinkly boxers, one of the boys came out and proceeded to find my paperwork. Another one, about 18, ran upstairs to my room to make sure it was acceptable and I hadn't taken the towel or oversized towel (aka sheet to sleep with) that was provided for my convenience. Upon returning, I was questioned as to where the pillow was. Once I translated his broken English in my head and figured out what he meant, I replied there was no pillow in the room to begin with (2 months ago). He informed me that I should've told him that the pillow was missing, although he personally showed me the room on the day I moved in, and never said anything about a pillow not being on the mattress, so after also not being supplied a pillow in my first apartment in Bangkok, I assumed (my mistake) that the room simply did not come with one. After all, there was nothing but a towel, a "sheet," a mattress, and a floor mat in the room.
By this point, it's 9:33 and though I am learning "Thai time," I have a hard time with not being punctual and prepared, especially when traveling, so I am beginning to get figity. After 15 more minutes of the boys discussing things and making phone calls in Thai, I am prompted to fork out 300 baht ($10) for the pillow. For some more minutes, I attempted (my second mistake) to reiterate the fact that I had had to sleep for 2 months without a pillow, and that I should not have to pay money because I think I already suffered enough. Ha! Well, they "can not sell the room now without a pillow" of course, so they were kind enough to give me a special price, 200 baht. How sweet of them. At 9:56 A.M. I ran with 55 pounds of what's left of my material life, on my back, downhill on a horrible road in the pouring rain, 200 baht lighter than before.
I arrive at the pier and a line of other weighed-down foreigners stand, dripping wet, under the tin awning of the check-in window. The Thai man behind the window informs me that the departure time has been delayed until 11:00. Ok, I expected that. Happy to not have missed the boat, I scamper off in the downpour with my load to find some much-deserved brunch. By 12:45 P.M., our boat has arrived and its previous passengers, pale-faced and agitated, warn us not to get on that boat due to extremely rough conditions, people puking everywhere, gorwn men crying, and an overall horrible experience. Twenty-five minutes later, I am the first of 80 or so to make my way in the rain down the decrepit dock to the ferry boat. Just as the boat was pulling away from the dock, the bow of another boat comes plowing through one of the large windows on the bottom deck where we are all seated and crammed in like sardines. The captain, upstairs, is unaware of the mishap and continues to pull out of the harbor and into the rough seas ahead. The Thai kid selling snacks inside the lower deck with us, doesn't seem to be bothered by the broken window, so people move away from it as best they can, as their increasing regret levels begin to appear on their faces. Once out of the safety of the harbor, the winds pick up and the 20-foot swells rock the boat, sometimes nearly enough so that anyone on the upper deck could almost reach out and touch the water. I wasn't liking the tightly-packed quarters, and crawled over damp travelers to get to the upper deck, to the bow. The sky was fierce-looking and the wind packed a blow, but an obvious smirk spread across my face and I began to come to life again. Thirty minutes flew by, and I fancied a different view, so I climbed back down to the pool of people, which now about blinded me with its fluorescent orange color. Every passenger aboard the ship had securely fastened himself into a neon life jacket. Many had terror-stricken facades, and I thought the floor had been flooded with all the tears streaming from their eyes. As it turned out, the biggest swell we'd encountered had sent loads of water in through the busted window, so glass and sea water now owned the floorboards. Still, somehow, I struggled to keep a straight face.
This sensation that I can't seem to shake, whether I'm trying or not, is so good that it's almost bad. And I don't know what to do with it.
Although the actual tune of this song by The Format doesn't much appeal to my senses, I can appreciate the lyrics quite a bit:
Swans
At least come join me
Within the belly of the big blue beast.
Set asail, catch a breeze,
And come on
Don't forget to fill your suitcase.
Now watch it sink,
Cause where we're going we don't need a thing.
Not a map, or a seed,
Cause where we've been is who we used to be.
We started wrapping our regrets in cloth
Are you defined by all the things you want...
Or did you get caught
Up in the things that we are not?
You were born to believe you can't get lost,
So when you run, you always get too far.
Now there's nothing you haven't seen.
But where we're headed we have never been,
Past the pavement that we used to walk,
Past the people that we used to know.
Now come on, go
Past the people that had broke our hearts.
We started laughing at them from afar.
But now we've climbed too far without a rope.
Now come on, go
No we're not swans,
Nor are we as ugly as we think we are.
We don't take to compliments but please don't stop
Now come on, come on,
We are not swans
We fit into eachother, we are russian dolls,
Where somewhere in the centre sits a beating heart.
But come on, come on,
We are not swans.
Now do you feel we've gone too far
Or do you feel we've reached the top
Or do you feel like letting go
Now come on, hold on,
We are not swans,
Nor are we as ugly as we think we are.
We have fallen fast, but we aren't falling far
Now come on, come on,
We are not swans,
Our fathers gave us features that we didn't want,
Our mothers claim those features made them fall in love,
But come on, come on,
We are swans.
We are flying higher than our counterparts.
We have got eachother I'd say that's enough.
Now come on,
come on,
come on.
21.3.11
Phuket
So leaving Koh Tao was an adventure. We established that. After finally reaching the edge of the mainland in Surat Thani at 12:30 A.M. and having missed the last bus to Phuket by about 9.5 hours, the four of us who were continuing on (to Phuket or Krabi) ended up having to stay overnight in a hotel at our own expense. Oh, and there was only one room with one big bed and a twin bed in it. That's another story in itself, but after causing me a scene on the bus, failing to get my way, and having to pay again for the bus ride from SUrat Thani to Phuket because the ticket taker on the boat had taken my bus ticket as well, I arrived in PHuket town. My original intention was to come to Phuket and find some work on a boat as crew, and hopefully get the chance to travel simultaneoulsly; however, after the recent shenanigans and severe sleep deprivation, I decided to camp out on a secluded beach on the northwestern part of my new island for a night to clear my head. I found the line of taxi buses that run all around the large island and asked which one was going to Nai Yang. I set my hefty bag aboard, confirmed with the driver we'd be leaving in 10 minutes, and hustled across the street to see what cheap snacks I could find to munch on at the glorified convenient store, found nothing appetizing, and ran back, hoping he'd not left without me and that my bad remained untouched. Fifty minutes later, we took off, heading south. This seemed a bit odd to me, but I was enjoying the sites from the rear bumper, regardless. The sun began to set and I was the last passenger remaining. Signs pointed to the next (and southernmost) beach called Nai Haan. "Of course," I laughed to myself. When the taxi came to a halt and the driver's eyes met mine in the rear view mirror, I reminded him that I'd said "Nai YANG, not Nai HAAN!" Well, here we go again. I'll tell ya if traveling doesn't give you patience, I don't know what will. He told me it was the nicest beach (with a price to go with it) on the island and that I should have a look. If I don't like it I can come back and catch the last bus going back to Phuket town that leaves in 5 minutes. Right. I had wanted to camp on the beach anyway, right, and although they didn't rent out tents on this beach, it wouldn't be the first time (even in the last 2 weeks) that I'd passed out in the sand. So, I shook it off, and started down toward the beach, found a toilet stall with a broken light, changed in the dark, sweaty stall into my bikini, and soon found a large rock down on the crowded beach by which I set my pack. Just as I pulled out my book and began to settle down, an old German guy approached me and began questioning about my luggage on the beach and inquire as to where I'd be staying for the night. Shocked by my answer, he switched over to German and informed another older German man in a Speedo as to what my current accomodation plans were. His friend wouldn't have it and offered to take me on his motorbike to a place he knew I could stay for the night. The Reggae Bar, why not? I spent the following 5 nights sleeping in random places in the bar, hanging out with Thai, Bob Marley-look-a-likes, watching soft hair being transformed into tight dreadlocks, making belts, bags and shoes out of leather and snakeskin (well, I, myself made a fancy bracelet), watching the foreigner transplants race around the salt lake on motorbikes or in BMW's or tennis shoes, helping prepare community dishes for whoever happened to be there at the time, hand-washing clothes and draping them on the john-boat to dry in the sun, and grabbing overpriced beers from the fridge for the sporatic patron. I was a Reggae Bar resident. And an unpaid employee. And a part of this beautiful potpourri of a mostly male, Thai-Rasta family.
Life is hard. ha. I'm tempted to start dreading my hair now. An Australian boy with
hair a few centimeters shorter than mine is getting his done now by a Thai lady with dreads that southwardly surpass her tail end. The air is warm and there's a soothing breeze that creeps its way amongst the paintings, leather products, geckos, cobwebs, and other so-called "art" creations that adorn the surface of the tree-trunk floor posts. This place reminds me of an old garage/shop in a retired, Rastafarian hippie-mechanic's backyard. Rusting metal bunk beds, old-fashioned sewing contraptions, and intricate wood carvings and furniture are camouflaged amidst the spontaneous display of color that is dispersed about the place. "Walls" are formed by hanging leather bags, old pieces of drift wood, and sheets of extra metal roofing material. The bar bathroom is a typical Thai-style "wet room," as I refer to them, with a toilet, bum gun hose, industrial size garbage can containing water and a floating bowl (used for showering), a sink, and a pivoting plastic mirror, with a small, matching shelf beneath it that struggles to maintain its grasp of the wall. The times I am usually ready for a shower generally tend to be the time the bar customers are needing to break the seal and sometimes form a small queue of anxiously-hopping-from-side-to-side women outside my "shower" door.
26.3.11
I had rented a motorbike for a day and took it for a spin around the island to see about a job in some of Phuket's numerous marinas. After filling out applications and picking the brains of many a "yachtie," I came upon 2 Australian men chatting inbeween their boats. They told me that they only knew of one guy who was leaving Thailand who may be in need of some help, but who requires a "ticket" for insurance purposes, which I don't have. I scampered down the dock in search of this guy's boat and stopped to ask the only foreign sailor-type in sight if he knew the whereabouts of this boat. I ended up climbing aboard and listening to magic happen. This was not the boat I was looking for, but he was always in need of a deckhand, was planning to leave Thailand 3 days before my visa expired (in 2 weeks...the perfect amount of time to prepare and get acquiainted with the boat), was going to all the dream-like places I'd envisioned, offered me the use of his dive gear and cameras, both video (with underwater housing) and still, was willing to teach me anything I wanted to know, and seemed to be a genuinely kind guy. His Thai girlfriend, a young married couple from the UK (though Jamaican) and Columbia, his son and son's girlfriend (a few years younger than I), and a close friend from the UK who is a fairly well-known artist would be accompanying us. Until departure, I could stay in his spare bedroom with my own bathroom, and have unlimited use of their motorbike. Expenses paid. All it takes is a little patience.
I can't wait to head off into the open ocean. The route isn't yet set in stone, due to the monsoon changing early, but Langkawi, Malaysia and Singapore are pretty definite starting points. I love my life. Have I said that?
The first song I ever remember hearing on the radio as a child has crossed the path of my eardrums a few times lately and struck me as rather appropriate for my life. It's one by Rod Stewart and the chorus goes a little something like this:
Oh, the rhythm of my heart is beating like a drum
With the words 'I love you" rolling off my tongue
No never will I roam for I know my place is home
Where the ocean meets the sky, I'll be sailin'
