"And so this is Christmas"
And so this is Christmas, Mr. Lennon. Or it was yesterday, anyway. And what have I done? I have been quite busy, quite busy indeed.
Last I left off Vanya and I were in Ko Pha Ngan, awaiting the full moon party. The Full Moon Party. Oh, what a big, big party it is. It was the reason that Vanya and I traveled across the Thai peninsula and ferried out to Ko Pha Ngan in the first place, and the build up to the Big Day was tangible: every day more and more boatloads of backpackers arrived, and Hat Rin (the town where the whole thing takes place) filled to capacity. The sun was out during the day, and the evening breeze carried the noise of thumping dance music all the way from beach; these people could not wait.
Unfortunately, though, this party-hardy feeling was not to last. Two days prior to the full moon, wind, rain, and waves descended upon the island, and everyone turned indoors or under cover. To top things off, the night before the full moon party happened to be the King's birthday, shutting down all of the bars in town. What a downer.
The storm finally broke, though, the evening of the party. Most people I spoke with put the number of party-goers at somewhere around 5,000, although it wasn't the seething throbs of humanity that you might imagine. The beach is, by my guess, about a half-mile long, leaving plenty of space for people to mill about. Along the beach are a number of bar/clubs, all of which want you to dance to their music, so it is loud. Most of the music had a heavy house/techno feel to it, but apparently it was with this type of music that the full moon parties began. Vanya and I walked along the water side of the beach for quite a while and people-watched, which may actually be as fun as dancing. Drinks at Hat Rin are served not by the glass, but by the bucket, which had the effect of making quite a few party-goers very sleepy; the unspoken consensus of the evening was that the sand made for the best pillow in town. There was a lot of fire: fireworks, fire-breathing, fire-dancing. There was a whole heck of a lot of debauchery.
According to Milan, a late 40s-something Berliner who Vanya and I befriended while hiking a few days earlier, these are no longer "the good times." Milan had first been to the island eight years earlier, when the event was not so "commercialized." Apparently in the past, the parties were measured for success based upon how many foreigners died at the event -- this could be by overdosing on drugs, poisoning themselves with alcohol, or going for a leisurely midnight swim after a few buckets. If a couple of party-goers washed up on the shore in the morning, well, that must have been a very good party! Obviously this is no longer the case. There was a noticeable police presence, both uniformed and plainclothes, trying to sniff out illicit drug use (for which the fine is $1200). They also have an area of the beach roped off with mats for sleeping.
On a flight last week, Vanya and I were talking to an Irish dive instructor who had been to the party a year before. He said that, in his opinion, he'd "been there, done that, bought a shirt." I wouldn't necessarily echo this. It's just a big party, but it is also a really big party. Take it or leave it.
From Ko Pha Ngan we made the unforgiving trip westward across the Thai peninsula to Ko Lanta island (van, ferry, bus, bus, mini-bus, passenger ferry, passenger ferry). Ko Lanta is a decently large island with row after row of beaches, as well as hoardes of Swedes. How does this happen? Why Swedes? Vanya and I came to the conclusion that Thailand is to Sweden what Hawaii is to Alaskans. Vanya was approached a few times and addressed in Swedish, her features looking Scandinavian enough to warrant the assumption.
(A quick interlude, here: Americans have a tendency to criticize other Americans as bad travelers, or as "ugly tourists." From my own experience, this is not the case. Whoever is the dominant travel group in an area comprises the "ugly tourists," at least in the eyes of the local population. On Ko Lanta, locals were not crazy about Swedish tourists. In Khao Lak, Thailand, where Germans are everywhere, they have a bad reputation. Universally in southeast Asia, Israelis are the least-liked tourists, though this has more to do with groups of guys coming on military leave. So breathe easy, we're not so bad.)
We really did not see Ko Lanta at all. Vanya took a PADI open-water SCUBA certification course, and I took an advanced open-water certification course, occupying a full four days. Vanya's course involved four dives, and mine six, which took us on (separate) dive boats out to the outlaying islands days. The diving off of Ko Lanta was incredible: visibility was 100 feet, which is about as good as it gets with diving.
The reason for all this diving was that Vanya and I had signed up for a three-day liveaboard diving trip the following week (for which Vanya needed a certification) out of Khao Lak, Thailand to the Similan Islands. After the tsunami, there was a series of side-by-side satellite photographs showing before/after images that were printed in a number of newspapers -- before it was green, afterwards it was brown. This was Khao Lak, two years ago to do the day. You really wouldn't know it at first glance, though. The tourist amenities are back on their feet, but I really cannot speak for anywhere besides that.
The liveaboard dive-trip was very, very, very good. Vanya and I opted to go with the only budget dive-boat in town, a boat owned by one of the most well-respected dive shops in Khao Lak (Sea Dragon, if you care). As Andy, one of two-divemasters on the boat, explained, "there is not much personal space" on the boat. There wasn't, but I think it was actually beneficial to the experience: we all got to know each other well, and not much time was actually spent on the boat, anwyay. There were four Germans, two Englishmen, and Vanya and me. The sleeping arrangement was complicated, but I will try to explain it, anyway: mattresses were laid on what had formerly been the flat, top of the boat, but which was now covered with a half-cylyndrical canvas "tent" to protect the sleepers from the elements. It was nice. There was always a sea-breeze at night, and the boat rocked us lightly to sleep. At times during the day, though, we would go through sea-sickness inducing swells, some to the point that it was difficult to walk around. Most amazing to me was our chef, a Thai woman. She would prepare hot, delicious meals (western breakfasts, Thai lunches and dinners) right in the middle of these rollers. Her favorite cooking shirt read "Half-court shootout '94."
The "100 foot visibility" advertised for the Similan islands dive-trips by every dive-operator in town never materialized; it was usually closer to 30 feet. I could list the many different families of fish, of which we saw dozens of sub-species, but this would mean nothing to most people. We did see the following, though: manta rays, leopard sharks, octopus, cuttlefish, napolean fish, sea snakes, many types of eels, crabs, lobsters, a sea turtle, blue-spotted rays, and so on.
A word on manta rays. They are big. When you first see one underwater, you will remember that moment. Manta rays come in a close second to whale-sharks on the "things divers want to see in Thailand" list, but many do not end up seeing them. Dive-operators, of course, do their best to take divers to the sites these animals frequent, but ultimately it is up to the manta rays to show up. Dive-masters actually have to brief divers on making sure to maintain neutral bouyancy when watching a manta ray: seeing a manta ray inevitably makes your heart rate go up, in turn causing you to breathe faster and increase bouyancy, and more than a few divers have inadvertantly ascended to the surface.
On our first dive, all of us, of course, were constantly checking around us to look for them. Finally, our dive-master began pointing to the blue (they literally come "out of the blue"). A manta ray with a ten foot wingspan, looking like an underwater alien spacecraft, flapped his wings and went swimming past us, making a "flying" motion. Looking back at the dive-master, next I saw him pointing at me. It took me a second or two to realize that he was, in fact, pointing behind me, and turned to see another manta ray, mouth open, swimming directly at me. I quickly grabbed Vanya, who spun around, and then proceeded to latch onto my arm ferociously at the sight. Manta rays are filter-feeders, but it is still disconcerting when they swim at you that with the mouth wide open. It's not possible to be "weak-kneed" underwater, but I think the term is still applicable, here. With a slight shift of the body, he swam above us.
On the last dive, I looked into the blue every minute or two, often doing 360 degree turns, hoping to see them again. Finally I saw one coming from behind us, and began the painful process of trying to alert everyone else. Above water you would shout "LOOK!" Underwater this is not possible, and it all happens very, very slowly. I got the attention of all four divers, who were then agape (figuratively) watching the manta ray, while our dive-master swam along, obliviously looking at the rock-bed. The manta ray swam past us, went over the top of our dive-master, hung above him for a while, turned to the left and dissappeared. Our dive-master never saw it. In total, we saw manta rays on three of the nine dives. They are the highlight of most dive-trips, and they were the indisputable kings of ours.
From Khao Lak we took a mini-bus south to Phuket, where we caught a flight to Bangkok. We only had two days in Bangkok, which meant that we weren't going to see the city. So we didn't even try! One of the days we had an excellent lunch with Vanya's uncle and his family at the corner of Democracy Monument, followed by painfully good Thai massages. Another day we played video games and went bowling at the MBK shopping center and did some street shopping. We didn't see anything! I would argue, though, that you can feel Bangkok as well as see it. One of our stranger experiences happened one night as Vanya and I were walking in the middle of a Bangkok side-street, a street temporarily lacking in traffic. Suddenly, the electricity went out and the city went black. Completely black. The lights were probably only out for one-half of one second -- not even enough time to realize it cognitively -- before, just as suddenly, they were all back on. I don't recall hearing a single sound during that half-second. Vanya and I agreed that this must be very close to what it feels like to die. Lights out!
In the early morning on December 22nd, I left Bangkok to fly to Cairo. Later that day Vanya flew to San Francisco. Goodbye southeast Asia! I barely know you! You have the finest of tropical fruits.
Obviously, then, I am in Cairo. There is much to say about Cairo, but I am not going to say much of the much to say about Cairo right now. My overnight bus (confound it! They are the worst!) leaves at 12:15 AM, and there is still more to see, more to see. I will say this, though: Cairo is a challenge, and has a rough-and-tumble, New Yorker attitude. During this writing, there was a near fist-fight outside the door of the internet cafe. Two middle-aged Egyptians were yelling at each other, one pushed the other hard, and the push-ee, after some thought and the intervening of friends, maturely decided to ignore the aggrievance. This is the third such near fist-fight that I have seen in three days.
"Welcome to Egypt!"
Last I left off Vanya and I were in Ko Pha Ngan, awaiting the full moon party. The Full Moon Party. Oh, what a big, big party it is. It was the reason that Vanya and I traveled across the Thai peninsula and ferried out to Ko Pha Ngan in the first place, and the build up to the Big Day was tangible: every day more and more boatloads of backpackers arrived, and Hat Rin (the town where the whole thing takes place) filled to capacity. The sun was out during the day, and the evening breeze carried the noise of thumping dance music all the way from beach; these people could not wait.
Unfortunately, though, this party-hardy feeling was not to last. Two days prior to the full moon, wind, rain, and waves descended upon the island, and everyone turned indoors or under cover. To top things off, the night before the full moon party happened to be the King's birthday, shutting down all of the bars in town. What a downer.
The storm finally broke, though, the evening of the party. Most people I spoke with put the number of party-goers at somewhere around 5,000, although it wasn't the seething throbs of humanity that you might imagine. The beach is, by my guess, about a half-mile long, leaving plenty of space for people to mill about. Along the beach are a number of bar/clubs, all of which want you to dance to their music, so it is loud. Most of the music had a heavy house/techno feel to it, but apparently it was with this type of music that the full moon parties began. Vanya and I walked along the water side of the beach for quite a while and people-watched, which may actually be as fun as dancing. Drinks at Hat Rin are served not by the glass, but by the bucket, which had the effect of making quite a few party-goers very sleepy; the unspoken consensus of the evening was that the sand made for the best pillow in town. There was a lot of fire: fireworks, fire-breathing, fire-dancing. There was a whole heck of a lot of debauchery.
According to Milan, a late 40s-something Berliner who Vanya and I befriended while hiking a few days earlier, these are no longer "the good times." Milan had first been to the island eight years earlier, when the event was not so "commercialized." Apparently in the past, the parties were measured for success based upon how many foreigners died at the event -- this could be by overdosing on drugs, poisoning themselves with alcohol, or going for a leisurely midnight swim after a few buckets. If a couple of party-goers washed up on the shore in the morning, well, that must have been a very good party! Obviously this is no longer the case. There was a noticeable police presence, both uniformed and plainclothes, trying to sniff out illicit drug use (for which the fine is $1200). They also have an area of the beach roped off with mats for sleeping.
On a flight last week, Vanya and I were talking to an Irish dive instructor who had been to the party a year before. He said that, in his opinion, he'd "been there, done that, bought a shirt." I wouldn't necessarily echo this. It's just a big party, but it is also a really big party. Take it or leave it.
From Ko Pha Ngan we made the unforgiving trip westward across the Thai peninsula to Ko Lanta island (van, ferry, bus, bus, mini-bus, passenger ferry, passenger ferry). Ko Lanta is a decently large island with row after row of beaches, as well as hoardes of Swedes. How does this happen? Why Swedes? Vanya and I came to the conclusion that Thailand is to Sweden what Hawaii is to Alaskans. Vanya was approached a few times and addressed in Swedish, her features looking Scandinavian enough to warrant the assumption.
(A quick interlude, here: Americans have a tendency to criticize other Americans as bad travelers, or as "ugly tourists." From my own experience, this is not the case. Whoever is the dominant travel group in an area comprises the "ugly tourists," at least in the eyes of the local population. On Ko Lanta, locals were not crazy about Swedish tourists. In Khao Lak, Thailand, where Germans are everywhere, they have a bad reputation. Universally in southeast Asia, Israelis are the least-liked tourists, though this has more to do with groups of guys coming on military leave. So breathe easy, we're not so bad.)
We really did not see Ko Lanta at all. Vanya took a PADI open-water SCUBA certification course, and I took an advanced open-water certification course, occupying a full four days. Vanya's course involved four dives, and mine six, which took us on (separate) dive boats out to the outlaying islands days. The diving off of Ko Lanta was incredible: visibility was 100 feet, which is about as good as it gets with diving.
The reason for all this diving was that Vanya and I had signed up for a three-day liveaboard diving trip the following week (for which Vanya needed a certification) out of Khao Lak, Thailand to the Similan Islands. After the tsunami, there was a series of side-by-side satellite photographs showing before/after images that were printed in a number of newspapers -- before it was green, afterwards it was brown. This was Khao Lak, two years ago to do the day. You really wouldn't know it at first glance, though. The tourist amenities are back on their feet, but I really cannot speak for anywhere besides that.
The liveaboard dive-trip was very, very, very good. Vanya and I opted to go with the only budget dive-boat in town, a boat owned by one of the most well-respected dive shops in Khao Lak (Sea Dragon, if you care). As Andy, one of two-divemasters on the boat, explained, "there is not much personal space" on the boat. There wasn't, but I think it was actually beneficial to the experience: we all got to know each other well, and not much time was actually spent on the boat, anwyay. There were four Germans, two Englishmen, and Vanya and me. The sleeping arrangement was complicated, but I will try to explain it, anyway: mattresses were laid on what had formerly been the flat, top of the boat, but which was now covered with a half-cylyndrical canvas "tent" to protect the sleepers from the elements. It was nice. There was always a sea-breeze at night, and the boat rocked us lightly to sleep. At times during the day, though, we would go through sea-sickness inducing swells, some to the point that it was difficult to walk around. Most amazing to me was our chef, a Thai woman. She would prepare hot, delicious meals (western breakfasts, Thai lunches and dinners) right in the middle of these rollers. Her favorite cooking shirt read "Half-court shootout '94."
The "100 foot visibility" advertised for the Similan islands dive-trips by every dive-operator in town never materialized; it was usually closer to 30 feet. I could list the many different families of fish, of which we saw dozens of sub-species, but this would mean nothing to most people. We did see the following, though: manta rays, leopard sharks, octopus, cuttlefish, napolean fish, sea snakes, many types of eels, crabs, lobsters, a sea turtle, blue-spotted rays, and so on.
A word on manta rays. They are big. When you first see one underwater, you will remember that moment. Manta rays come in a close second to whale-sharks on the "things divers want to see in Thailand" list, but many do not end up seeing them. Dive-operators, of course, do their best to take divers to the sites these animals frequent, but ultimately it is up to the manta rays to show up. Dive-masters actually have to brief divers on making sure to maintain neutral bouyancy when watching a manta ray: seeing a manta ray inevitably makes your heart rate go up, in turn causing you to breathe faster and increase bouyancy, and more than a few divers have inadvertantly ascended to the surface.
On our first dive, all of us, of course, were constantly checking around us to look for them. Finally, our dive-master began pointing to the blue (they literally come "out of the blue"). A manta ray with a ten foot wingspan, looking like an underwater alien spacecraft, flapped his wings and went swimming past us, making a "flying" motion. Looking back at the dive-master, next I saw him pointing at me. It took me a second or two to realize that he was, in fact, pointing behind me, and turned to see another manta ray, mouth open, swimming directly at me. I quickly grabbed Vanya, who spun around, and then proceeded to latch onto my arm ferociously at the sight. Manta rays are filter-feeders, but it is still disconcerting when they swim at you that with the mouth wide open. It's not possible to be "weak-kneed" underwater, but I think the term is still applicable, here. With a slight shift of the body, he swam above us.
On the last dive, I looked into the blue every minute or two, often doing 360 degree turns, hoping to see them again. Finally I saw one coming from behind us, and began the painful process of trying to alert everyone else. Above water you would shout "LOOK!" Underwater this is not possible, and it all happens very, very slowly. I got the attention of all four divers, who were then agape (figuratively) watching the manta ray, while our dive-master swam along, obliviously looking at the rock-bed. The manta ray swam past us, went over the top of our dive-master, hung above him for a while, turned to the left and dissappeared. Our dive-master never saw it. In total, we saw manta rays on three of the nine dives. They are the highlight of most dive-trips, and they were the indisputable kings of ours.
From Khao Lak we took a mini-bus south to Phuket, where we caught a flight to Bangkok. We only had two days in Bangkok, which meant that we weren't going to see the city. So we didn't even try! One of the days we had an excellent lunch with Vanya's uncle and his family at the corner of Democracy Monument, followed by painfully good Thai massages. Another day we played video games and went bowling at the MBK shopping center and did some street shopping. We didn't see anything! I would argue, though, that you can feel Bangkok as well as see it. One of our stranger experiences happened one night as Vanya and I were walking in the middle of a Bangkok side-street, a street temporarily lacking in traffic. Suddenly, the electricity went out and the city went black. Completely black. The lights were probably only out for one-half of one second -- not even enough time to realize it cognitively -- before, just as suddenly, they were all back on. I don't recall hearing a single sound during that half-second. Vanya and I agreed that this must be very close to what it feels like to die. Lights out!
In the early morning on December 22nd, I left Bangkok to fly to Cairo. Later that day Vanya flew to San Francisco. Goodbye southeast Asia! I barely know you! You have the finest of tropical fruits.
Obviously, then, I am in Cairo. There is much to say about Cairo, but I am not going to say much of the much to say about Cairo right now. My overnight bus (confound it! They are the worst!) leaves at 12:15 AM, and there is still more to see, more to see. I will say this, though: Cairo is a challenge, and has a rough-and-tumble, New Yorker attitude. During this writing, there was a near fist-fight outside the door of the internet cafe. Two middle-aged Egyptians were yelling at each other, one pushed the other hard, and the push-ee, after some thought and the intervening of friends, maturely decided to ignore the aggrievance. This is the third such near fist-fight that I have seen in three days.
"Welcome to Egypt!"
posted by conor | 7:46 AM
1 Comments:
Man do I have a lot to live up to when I blog in Ecuador :) My first blog has a disclaimer saying that my blogs probably won't be near as entertaining or humerous as yours :) I'm extremely jealous of all of the Thai food you ate. That's my favorite. Love you
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