Journeys End

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I am thrown from Claire to Jane as our mini bus screeches its way around another bend. Through the narrow mountain passes we drive on, flanked by luscious green jungle towards the hippy town of Pai. Arriving, we are taken around by a man calling himself Mike in search of a room which we eventually found at the Pai Phi Fah for the reasonable sum of 500baht with aircon and hot shower.



In the evening we saunter along the streets, gazing at the market sellers with all manner of crafts and jewellery to sell. I stopped to admire one bohemian man’s paintings which cover both canvas and discarded pieces of wood. I stirred him from his fiddling on an old guitar to exchange 150 baht for one design and a flyer for an arts and music night just outside Pai. Meandering further up the road I had to dive into the side as a hippy rode past with his hands occupied by scraping on a washboard. I love this place. At the market was a man dressed to the tilt as Captain Jack Sparrow and selling postcards of himself posing with different sights around Pai. Later we joined Erin, Amy and Robyn for a quiet drink at a place to discuss our plans for the last weeks of our holidays. They were set to travel south tomorrow for the paradise beaches of Koh Phi Phi, then onto the full moon party. We were planning to eventually drift our way south, stopping at Kanchanaburi for its 7-tier waterfall and Death Railway, and see how far our funds would take us. And so, with the gentle sounds of trance mixed with the drunken ambiance of the one-night standers beside us, the evening passed pleasantly till we all said our goodbyes, not knowing when or where we’d see each other again.



The next day we decided to embrace Pai’s laidback culture and do sweet fuck all except gorge ourselves on unfinishable pancakes and milkshakes. We did manage to secure the rental of two mopeds and promised to head out for an evening of arts and music once the sun goes down. As night swallowed the hills and valleys we drove out to where our little map directed us. Down a dell was the small gathering of travellers young and old. It felt like walking back into Sol Fest. Circled by stalls selling cakes, teas and trinkets sits a crowd of the dread-glad few, listening to a stage where a man strums his guitar. Bare-footed children run between their parent’s legs and play on a swing tied between two bamboo trunks. We watched a banjo-led band (including washboard guy) sound out a few hoedowns before giving way to belly dancers that played with fire. We stayed, drank mushroom tea and let ourselves be mesmerized as one couple danced together; missing each other by inches as they swung flaming fire balls in the blur of light. As the evening winded down so did we wind our way back to get some rest for a day sightseeing.



We arose early and set out first to the hot springs where we dissolved our bodies in searing temperatures of 37 degrees. Before melting, we quickly dried off in the rush of air as we drove up to the Pai Canyons. Standing on the narrow ridges, we surveyed the views where jungle met the sky and the scattering of russet farmland appeared caught between the denser greens. Getting slightly lost we headed first up then down a mountain, having to negotiate a series of precarious hairpins on the way. We stopped at our final destination in the Love Café with its stunning views and English rose garden below (probably summing up the unreality of Pai). Our last meal was at Baan Pai who served us succulent gnocchi amongst other Italian delights. Pai for me has some, if not the best, international food in Thailand. Where else can you get authentic Italian pasta, street vendors selling cheesy chips and crepes handmade by a man from Brittany? If I had money and no reason to come back to Muang Samsip I would happily set up shop here working in any capacity I could find (though preferably bar work over prostitution).







Parting from Jane, Claire and I roamed our way south to Bangkok and took the train, for only 100baht, through irrigated paddy fields full of black and white stalks to Kanchanaburi. Feeling very hot and sweaty we took the first song taew that came our way and went on his recommendation that Sugar Cane was our best bet for cheap accommodation. Built onto the river, our room floated as part of a long white house and was surrounded by lotus flowers and fish feeding off the bottom. Tired from 24 hours of travelling we slept soundly to the gentle patter of rain on the water.



The next day we rented a moped and set off on the 55km drive to Erawan national park and its 7-tier waterfall. Driving here is a lot different to Koh Lanta or Pai. For instance, Pai was single lane roads with barely another vehicle in sight. Here, your faced with 3 lanes of constantly overtaking traffic speeding past you at 140km. At one point we narrowly missed a head-on collision by veering off the motorway. Yet there were small sections of free and straight road where you could let the needle spin past 100km and feel the bike shake with the G’s. Although Claire was always on hand to reign in any boy racer fantasy’s I might have had. Arriving unscathed, (and paying the princely sum of 420 baht,) we parked and walked to the falls. The first tier was occupied by Thai boys who were throwing themselves off into a deep pool flanked by jagged rocks. The second saw the water fall into a wider and murky pool. As I swam across I felt myself being nipped left, right and centre. Finding myself surrounded by fish intent on taking out chunks with their gummy mouths I dived out, just as a loud thunder clap announced the presence of the monsoon.



Driving through rain is like swimming with water hitting you like bullets. I drove at 20km, peering through the watery gloom whilst Claire shouted if anything was coming behind. Eventually we drove out of the storm and dried off in the hot air. Back in the town we stopped off at the infamous Death Railway Bridge. Originally constructed by WWII POWs, it serves as a reminder of how 200,000 died through forced labour to create a railway connecting Thailand with Burma. The bridge itself is covered with tourists desperate to get a picture of themselves at sunset. After a photo shoot with some eager Chinese tourists we walked down to a floating restaurant for a drink against the stunning backdrop. Just as we started to leave, the tranquillity was ruptured by a karaoke bar floating upriver. At the sound of a drunk Thai warbling down a microphone we fled to our river refuge for a long nights sleep.



In the morning we checked out and drove on a near empty tank to the WWII museum. A mixture of amusement and shock is created when reading the English translations. One read ‘England was pushed into the sea by Dunkirk,’ another simply that ‘Hiroshima was destroyed in a jiffy.’ So on this cheery note we upped stick and went as far south as we could, which as it turned out was only a far as Koh Samet.







As an Island in itself, Koh Samet hasn’t got a lot to offer and what it has is expensive. Beautiful it is, with white sandy beaches, resorts off the beach and a few bars to revel in but nothing different from Koh Lanta or Koh Chang. Being only 200baht away from Bangkok it’s certainly the cheapest island to get to. Yet perhaps this close proximity has deluded the locals into thinking everyone is made of money. For example, stepping off the mini bus we were talked to a desk by an annoying woman who carried her weight like a waiter carries a plate stacked with jelly. Speaking a little Thai we manage to get an open return back to Bangkok for 600baht, but were told to keep our voices down as she was simultaneously charging a young couple 1,600baht for the same deal. This set the tone for Koh Samet: everyone is out for your money. We found cheap rooms with shared bathrooms for 300 baht at Jep’s (although Claire and I spent most of the time avoiding the front desk since we had no money for the room till we got paid). We drank at Naga bar and I caught up with Eachan and Henry, who’d joined us in Bangkok, on the crack back home. For the first time in 9 months I slipped back into Hexham speech where people are either micey, cushty or wick. As much as I love Thailand, I’d be lying if I haven’t missed the crack back home. We sat in deckchairs drinkiing on the beach beneath the stars then headed off to the bars. Since Claire and I were both skint the night for us ended soon thereafter.



The next week was a chilled affair of lying on the beach, avoiding getting bitten by oversized mozzys and trying to get by on very little which, when all food is peng, is very hard. Thankfully we were able to scrape together enough for a decent anniversary meal of steak pie and ended up watching Ice Age with the restaurant owner’s excitable toddler. Our last beach day was overshadowed by a grouchy old woman who first moved us from sitting in her deckchairs, and the insisted we pay for sitting in her shade (despite the whole Island being a national park). At this point I felt glad to be heading homeward to Muang Samsip where Thailand really is the land of smiles.



So here it is then that my summer travels ended: baht-less yet tanned with a head full of amazing memories. I have discovered a world which I had dreamed of since leaving home; places I shall revisit, others that I will steer clear of. The rainy season here is truly underway with storms raging and rain saturating the ground. Gone is missioning around on mopeds, replaced by teaching and seeing Claire when I can. It is both scary and exciting that in nearly 2 months’ time I will be home. Not long now!

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