voice from the jungle (part 1)
(written on Sunday, March 20th, 2005., in a notebook with a scratchy pen.)
Five days, four nights and counting. As I write this I sit on a bamboo daybed in the middle, of well, the jungle. Rin and I arrived here early Thursday evening after riding the train from Bangkok. Bangkok was the polar opposite of this experience. Being in Bangkok made me feel like I was back in the west. Maybe a really hot Montreal or a dirtier New York, ten years ago, with tuk tuks and lots of Asians. But here, in Lang Suan, things are slightly different.
While the drive by car from Bangkok to his house (Chumporn province, about halfway between Bangkok and Phuket) is about five hours, the train took eleven. This train, my friend, is not one that would pass any safety standards, or health standards for that matter, in the west. Don't think about Via Rail, think about those old western movies where they jump on and off trains at high speeds, all dirty with cattle and hay. Well this train had seats, but walking between cars there were no doors, and I spent a few hours with my feet being swung around in the breeze as I dangled them off the side of the train as we sped along the Thai countryside. The train was 90 baht per person, a little over two American dollars. Locals hopped on at one stop with food from that area to sell and get off at the next. Reminded me of the beggars in Paris, train hopping. Pork with sticky rice, 10 baht (25 cents). Cold water, 5 baht. (13 cents). Coconut cake snacks, still hot, enough to feed a family, 10 baht. Not priced for the lonely planeters, this was Thailand at its best.
Once we arrived in Lang Suan we walked for about ten minutes to buy his grandfather some coffee, as I was told he loves the stuff. (a passion we share...) (I later found out coffee is what keeps this stuff alive. He is a fanatic, to say the least. At minimum, I have seen him drink twenty cups a day. Perhaps an explanation for the dark smile.)
After buying the coffee I was told to get on the back of a motorbike with a toothless man and that Rin would follow. So I grinned politely and tried to balamce the three enormous plants we had bought for his mother in Bangers. We slowly started to drift to the edge of town. I thought 'sure, his house is a bit out of the way.' I had no idea.
When we arrived, after being slapped in the face by palm branches, almost falling off as the toothless man threw our weight around trying to avoid potholes on the dirt path, I recognized the house from photos. The house itself is not bad at all. Build by Rin about three years ago, and a stone's throw from his grandparents', where about fifteen people live. (Though I could be wrong, as there is a constant flow of people in and out of the house.) The house is made of cement, beautifully shaded by hundreds of palm trees. Enormous, beautiful long branches spreading out to keep it cool. Inside the house there is one big room, his mother's bedroom and a big kitchen off the side of the house. (Which I later found out we were going to tile the next day.) No ceiling, only open space up to the tin roof. Airy, cool, but definately rustic. Breezy, and shockingly, not hot. A nice change from Phuket, the inferno.
The bathroom has been an adventure. While I am quite accustomed to squat toilets by now, I am not, however, used to houses without running water. This makes taking a shower an adventuire. Espencially when the water in the holding talk gets so cold overnight. Showers in the morning are impossible.
Rin introduced me to his mother, waied, and greeted me with a giant smile. To clarify, a giant red smile. The eomen here chew something along the same lines as chewing tobacco. They chew on the leaves from some tree that are some sort of stimulant, I ate one yesterday and it gives the feeling of being stoned. With these leaves they spread this pink paste kind of like play-dough, roll it up and chew on it, occasionally spitting out this red water. All of which leaves these women with red lips, tongues and teeth. Rin said I could try some if I wanted, I said no, as I forgot my floss in Phuket, Rin asked what floss is. Case closed.
That night we had dinner on the floor, as Rin and I do in Phuket, and set up a bed in the livingroom. He said I should sleep with her mother in her bed, as I would be more comfortable, and I said that made farangs in fact, feel, uncomfortable. And so we slept together on the livingroom floor.
As we fell asleep I heard a familiar sound from a summer in New York when our old victorian house had a bat infestation. I glanced up towards the roof and saw about five bats gliding in figure eights between our room and the kitchen. Bangarang. I nudged Rin, and he was watching me smiling, seeing what I would do. He said not to worry, as they were there to eat the bugs, and they would come nowhere near me. As he said this one swooped down near my pillow and swallowed a bug lingering in the light.
'I warned you,' he said in Thai. Yes, he did. He did indeed. He said there were bats. In the same conversation he told me we would be eating lizards, snakes and cats, and that animals would crawl over me as we slept. He told me he was kidding. I fell asleep that night with a blanket over my head, wedged into his underarm, wondering what was in store for me over the next week.
to be continued...
Five days, four nights and counting. As I write this I sit on a bamboo daybed in the middle, of well, the jungle. Rin and I arrived here early Thursday evening after riding the train from Bangkok. Bangkok was the polar opposite of this experience. Being in Bangkok made me feel like I was back in the west. Maybe a really hot Montreal or a dirtier New York, ten years ago, with tuk tuks and lots of Asians. But here, in Lang Suan, things are slightly different.
While the drive by car from Bangkok to his house (Chumporn province, about halfway between Bangkok and Phuket) is about five hours, the train took eleven. This train, my friend, is not one that would pass any safety standards, or health standards for that matter, in the west. Don't think about Via Rail, think about those old western movies where they jump on and off trains at high speeds, all dirty with cattle and hay. Well this train had seats, but walking between cars there were no doors, and I spent a few hours with my feet being swung around in the breeze as I dangled them off the side of the train as we sped along the Thai countryside. The train was 90 baht per person, a little over two American dollars. Locals hopped on at one stop with food from that area to sell and get off at the next. Reminded me of the beggars in Paris, train hopping. Pork with sticky rice, 10 baht (25 cents). Cold water, 5 baht. (13 cents). Coconut cake snacks, still hot, enough to feed a family, 10 baht. Not priced for the lonely planeters, this was Thailand at its best.
Once we arrived in Lang Suan we walked for about ten minutes to buy his grandfather some coffee, as I was told he loves the stuff. (a passion we share...) (I later found out coffee is what keeps this stuff alive. He is a fanatic, to say the least. At minimum, I have seen him drink twenty cups a day. Perhaps an explanation for the dark smile.)
After buying the coffee I was told to get on the back of a motorbike with a toothless man and that Rin would follow. So I grinned politely and tried to balamce the three enormous plants we had bought for his mother in Bangers. We slowly started to drift to the edge of town. I thought 'sure, his house is a bit out of the way.' I had no idea.
When we arrived, after being slapped in the face by palm branches, almost falling off as the toothless man threw our weight around trying to avoid potholes on the dirt path, I recognized the house from photos. The house itself is not bad at all. Build by Rin about three years ago, and a stone's throw from his grandparents', where about fifteen people live. (Though I could be wrong, as there is a constant flow of people in and out of the house.) The house is made of cement, beautifully shaded by hundreds of palm trees. Enormous, beautiful long branches spreading out to keep it cool. Inside the house there is one big room, his mother's bedroom and a big kitchen off the side of the house. (Which I later found out we were going to tile the next day.) No ceiling, only open space up to the tin roof. Airy, cool, but definately rustic. Breezy, and shockingly, not hot. A nice change from Phuket, the inferno.
The bathroom has been an adventure. While I am quite accustomed to squat toilets by now, I am not, however, used to houses without running water. This makes taking a shower an adventuire. Espencially when the water in the holding talk gets so cold overnight. Showers in the morning are impossible.
Rin introduced me to his mother, waied, and greeted me with a giant smile. To clarify, a giant red smile. The eomen here chew something along the same lines as chewing tobacco. They chew on the leaves from some tree that are some sort of stimulant, I ate one yesterday and it gives the feeling of being stoned. With these leaves they spread this pink paste kind of like play-dough, roll it up and chew on it, occasionally spitting out this red water. All of which leaves these women with red lips, tongues and teeth. Rin said I could try some if I wanted, I said no, as I forgot my floss in Phuket, Rin asked what floss is. Case closed.
That night we had dinner on the floor, as Rin and I do in Phuket, and set up a bed in the livingroom. He said I should sleep with her mother in her bed, as I would be more comfortable, and I said that made farangs in fact, feel, uncomfortable. And so we slept together on the livingroom floor.
As we fell asleep I heard a familiar sound from a summer in New York when our old victorian house had a bat infestation. I glanced up towards the roof and saw about five bats gliding in figure eights between our room and the kitchen. Bangarang. I nudged Rin, and he was watching me smiling, seeing what I would do. He said not to worry, as they were there to eat the bugs, and they would come nowhere near me. As he said this one swooped down near my pillow and swallowed a bug lingering in the light.
'I warned you,' he said in Thai. Yes, he did. He did indeed. He said there were bats. In the same conversation he told me we would be eating lizards, snakes and cats, and that animals would crawl over me as we slept. He told me he was kidding. I fell asleep that night with a blanket over my head, wedged into his underarm, wondering what was in store for me over the next week.
to be continued...
posted by isobella at 12:55 PM
1 Comments:
Sounds like something out of a movie :) Be safe
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