Post 34: In a Hammock and a Happy Place

I swayed lazily back and forth in the afternoon quiet, my barefoot pushing off the dirt to prompt the hammock into gentle rocking. My book lay forgotten on the ground and I let my thoughts drift languorously where they pleased. Schools will open soon. This moment is one of many in the lull between vacation with my mom and the beginning of my last term in Thailand. There is everything to consider- the past and the future, what I’ve done and what I hope to do, the steps I’ve taken and the steps to come. But right now, in the soft light of the waning day with a cup of spiced tea and nothing to do, I’m not thinking, I am just being, and perhaps there is more wisdom in that than a thousand thoughts.
When I left for Bangkok to pick up my mom, I did not feel like myself at all. During my third time, I found myself enveloped in a malaise and confusion I could not shake. I went into my trip desperate for a break, searching for perspective, and hoping for an extra push to make it through to the end. I needed to regenerate, and the process began physically. Once I checked in to our lovely hotel, I took a hot bath and rested on crisp white sheets. Surrounded by cleanliness and comfort, I already felt something begin to heal. I took my time getting ready, enjoying the scent of lemongrass soap and the hair dryer. That night, Beau was taking me out for a birthday date before Mom arrived. I expected her to arrive around 10:30 pm, so our plan was to go out to dinner and then wait for her at the hotel’s “Wine Pub”. As excited as I was for our evening, I went to Bangkok harboring resentment towards my girlfriends, none of whom would be around to celebrate my birthday or meet my mom. Their excuses were terrible, the worst being “I am having a mosquito screen installed that day” (Kelsi), and in my ennui-ridden state, I felt very sorry for myself and abandoned, which I communicated via passive aggressive text messages.
I am not one to hold grudges, and a bottle of wine and a bowl of pasta later, I sat down in the Wine Pub perfectly content. I perused the dessert menu for some sort of decadent chocolate treat when I heard “Happy Birthday” wafting across the room. I looked up unassumingly and saw a large group of familiar faces holding bright signs and a glowing birthday cake. Surprise! Surprise? I was speechless. When am I ever speechless? I sat with my hands covering my mouth for ages before I could begin to react. Still stunned, we moved to a large table at the back and all I could say over and over was “I am flabbergasted. Flabbergasted. Flabbergasted.” Those wily minxes, Beau had been planning a surprise party for me for over a month, and everyone in Peace Corps knew about it. The excuses were a pathetic ruse which I believed hook, line and sinker, and we laughed at not only how gullible I had been, but also how angry at my perceived desertion.
A few bottles of Prosecco later, Katelyn kindly reminded me that my mother had probably arrived by now, and I raced upstairs to find her already in the room, wondering where I had absconded to. I gave her a huge hug and tried to tell her all about my beautiful, sparkling party and how flabbergasted I was and the ice cream cake and my gift of organic oatmeal in one breath. After I calmed down, we settled in for the night, but somewhere around 4 in the morning, realized we were both awake, her from jet lag, me from excitement, and stayed up talking until around 6. The next day, our first order of business (after the hotel breakfast, which if you know me, may also know I get irrationally excited about) was to buy shoes. I had nothing acceptable to walk around in, which was obviously an obstacle to site seeing. Poor mom trailed after me through multiple Bangkok malls until I managed to find a tenable pair. We rewarded our hard work with an ice cream sundae, and then continued on to a tour of the Jim Thompson House. That night, my mom generously treated a group of my friends to dinner in Bangkok’s Chinatown, a neon labyrinth of seafood and gold.
After the weekend in Bangkok, we flew to Laos where we would spend five days in the North, passing through Luang Prabang, Plain of Jars, and Vientiane. Mom had arranged for us to have a personal tour guide and driver, and our new friend Ken met us at the airport in Luang Prabang. He was about 25 years old and had an impressively large set of teeth. Luang Prabang is at the confluence of the Mekong and the Nam Kan Rivers. It is nestled in the mountains, as is 70% of Lao, and has a strong French colonial legacy. It was so charmingly charming, we couldn’t help but squeal every block or so. The quaint elegance of provincial Europe and the mystical beauty of Southeast Asia were intertwined in a way that was exotic, cozy, and delicate, all at once. In Vietnam, we saw evidence of the French colonial legacy, but Vietnam is much more chaotic and densely populated than Lao, and a strong Chinese influence is clear. Laos had a much more placid, serene energy.
The next day, we went on elephant rides in the morning. Mom and I dubbed our elephant “Eliot” and rode on a wooden bench on his back, while our guide sat on his neck. Mom held on for dear life while I chatted with our handler in Thai, which he understood because Lao people watch Thai TV and listen to Thai music. He told me how his doctor made him stop eating sticky rice for a month and he lost weight and wasn’t able to poop. Standard first conversation material. Then we spent the afternoon on a Mekong boat ride, ending up at a cave with hundreds of little Buddha statues sitting among its cool stone. Our final morning in Luang Prabang, we woke up at dawn to give alms to the monks. I have done this many times in Thailand, but it is a different experience in Luang Prabang, which has over 30 wats in close proximity, and thus the monks fill the streets as they collect rice, fruit, banana-leaf wrapped meats, and cookies. I dutifully rolled the sticky rice out of the bamboo basket as fast as I could, but there were more monks than I had rice. After a final wander through the lovely streets, we departed for Plain of Jars-an eight hour drive through the mountains. I am prone to motion sickness, and needless to say, I was sick as a dog for most of the car ride. My mom said I actually turned green and I had to curl up with my head in her lap until we could stop for Sprite and Dramamine. I couldn’t look out the window for a majority of the ride, but apparently I missed breathtakingly beautiful countryside.
The Plain of Jars is kind of like Laos’ Stonehenge. It is a large, green, open space in a remote area with ancient and inexplicable stone formations. In this case, jars. There is something like 88 different fields in Xieng Khouang that have jars, but only 3 of them have been cleared of mines. Visitors drive down a dirt roed, stop in front of a large sign warning about Unexploded Ordinances, and then stroll down a narrow path, which opens into the Plain. Scattered across the plain are scores of large stone jars. The most likely theory is that the jars were part of a funerary rite of an ancient culture. Ken continued to make bad jokes about the jars (“Look, they are houses for fish…?”) and Mom and I developed our own theories, including alcohol fermentation vessels and space-time portals which facilitate travel to all the other mysterious stone structures in the world. After we left the jars, Ken surprised me with a birthday cake and Beer Lao at lunch. A little tipsy and sugar high, we visited the landmine museum, and learned more about the aftermath of the Vietnam War bombing. Apparently, Laos was the most heavily bombed country in the world (or something to that effect). There are still so many unexploded bombs that people are afraid to cultivate the land, and countless people have been injured and killed. Squads, notably all-female ones, continue to risk their lives every day to clear them away in a necessary but seemingly endless process. We also visited an organic silk farm, and met the owner’s daughter, who spent a decade living in Minnesota.
From Plain of Jars, we departed for Vientiane and caught an overnight train from Nong Khai to Bangkok, but not before stopping by the Duty Free shop at the border crossing for red wine and sandwiches. On the train, we occupied the hours before bed by swigging wine out of the bottle, taking silly pictures, and working on crossword puzzles. I entertained a group of six train conductors, ticket collectors, and patrolmen with my ability to speak Thai, and finally Mom and I nestled in to sleep in the same bunk. Very cozy. I woke up at 6 am expecting to see outer Bangkok, and seeing only wet countryside. I questioned the women distributing rice breakfasts, and she said that due to major flooding, out train was delayed by four hours, quite a predicament considering our flight to Krabi was in three. I learned from a conductor that we could disembark in outer Bangkok and catch a cab to the airport, which we did, arriving minutes before check-in closed. Then after a flight, a bus, a van, a boat, another van, and an SUV, we arrived at our hotel in Ko Lanta, 26 hours after we left Plain of Jars.
On Ko Lanta, we stayed on the far South of the island, bordering a national park. Our hotel was known for its remoteness and described online as reminiscent of “Robinson Crusoe”. We hadn’t taken this literally until the hotel vehicle drove for 45 minutes on windy, dirt, pot-hole riddled roads through the jungle. We celebrated our well-earned arrival with fishbowl daiquiris and massages on the beach. After a few days on Ko Lanta, we took a short ferry ride to Ko Phi Phi, the island made famous by its appearance in The Beach (that Leonardo DiCaprio movie I never saw). As the long boat pulled up to our hotel, we couldn’t help gasping. It looked like paradise. It was paradise. The water was surreally clear and alternated shades of royal blue and teal. We could see hotel guests reclining on the beach chairs, swaying in the hammocks, or drinking cocktails at one of the tiki shacks set gracefully back on the sand. The hotel was on an actual coconut plantation, and the grounds were thick with palm trees. All the bungalows were nestled among the trees, and there were signs that said “Beware of Falling Coconuts”. Everything was made of dark wood and there were flowers everywhere, including out toilet bowl. We were afraid to use it at first.
We spent hours sun bathing, reading, and strolling around the resort. Most of the guests were couples on a romantic getaway, and we entertained ourselves endlessly with people watching and speculation. “Is the girl photographing the fat, hairy man in the water is his daughter or his lover?” “Have you counted how many times that Spanish couple returned to the buffet? It’s been at least 6 since we sat down.” A lucky alignment of the stars put Julia and her family on Phi Phi at the same time, and we spent quality Happy Hour time with them, as well as a snorkeling excursion. Julia’s stepmom Kas and I were the most enthusiastic snorkelers of the group, and stayed in the water long after everyone else, admiring the colors and patterns of the fish and the coral, giving them personalities, and turning their scales into clothes. “Did you see that pink teeny-bopper looking fish with the blue eye shadow?” “Yes, and what about that black and yellow fish. Wouldn’t that make a great print for a skirt?”
Then, sadly, we said goodbye to paradise and made the journey back to Bangkok. We had one more day together in Bangkok before her flight, and ended the trip how we started: with ice cream sundaes and tears. It was easier to goodbye this year though, because I will be home in six months. Six months…