Am I Corn or Kale?

Disclaimer: This is an abnormally long post because we’ve been offline for so long…

It took us nearly 32 hours to get from Siem Reap, Cambodia to Ko Jum, Thailand. This leg was at times even more bizarre than the previous one, but another long post like that would be boring. Instead, here’s the compiled list of the modes of transportation that brought us here:

1. Tuk Tuk  from guesthouse to taxi;

2. Taxi  from Siem Reap to border;

3. Feet across Thai-Cambodian border and immigration;

4. Tuk Tuk  from border to train station;

5. Train from Aranyaprathet to Bangkok (more specifically, 6-hour ride on 3rd-class train diesel-fueled without sealed/sealable windows, meaning the detritus and smoke from the front wagon would flow through the subsequent cars, melding with one’s sweat-covered skin to form a disgusting film of dirt, a process that was certainly similar to what was happening inside of our lungs. We believe this is the closest our trip will bring us to the experience of being a coal miner. It cost us $1.50 — no joke — but you would have to pay us a lot more than that for a repeat);

6. Train from Bangkok to Thung Song Jn (overnight ride after a 3-hour layover featuring a not-so-romantic dinner of day-old pastries at the cockroach-ridden Bangkok train station);

7. Motorbike taxis to bus station (who would think twice about hopping on the bike of a motorbike carrying their RTW luggage?);

8. Bus from Thung Song Jn to Nue Klong… or not! (we got dropped off at the wrong city, Klongtom. Ironically that was one of the most expensive legs of the whole journey);

9. Song Taew from Klongtom to Nue Klong;

10. Song Taew from Nue Klong to Laem Kruad;

11. Long boat to Ko Jum dock;

12. Motorbike taxi, though this time with a side car, from dock to the bungalows.

Unlike Phuket — Thailand’s ultimate party/resort destination — Ko Jum is a serene, almost monotonous locale. Electricity is a recent development (we were very glad to have a working fan in our room), and as seen in the pictures, our bungalow was not the most solid construction. There was no hot water per se (I lie: depending on the time of the day, the sun would have warmed up the water and it was possible to take a hot shower… though that was not exactly a pleasant thing given the 100-degree weather), and the toilet could only be flushed manually, by dumping buckets of water in it.

***

We spent our first few days in Ko Jum doing, at least by everyday life standards, what amounted to very little. On our first night here we were graced with a superb lightning storm watching opportunity (our island was dry, but the storm faraway looked awesome), and then again later in the week. We’ve been getting up early (before 7am, not simply by choice but also because the sun shines through the cracks of our little bungalow right into our eyes) and heading out to the beach before it’s blazing hot. By late afternoon, the sea water here is so astonishingly warm that it is barely refreshing at all; the same can be said about the breeze, so we’ve spent these hours in the shade, reading a lot. They call this time of the year (April-May) not summer, but rather the “hot season”; by now we know that it’s no joke.

A large portion of Ko Jum’s coast is covered in rocks, so we’ve been walking to spots a little ways from our “hotel” to find a sandy beach and have a nuts and dried fruit breakfast picnic (until we ran out of those). The result is that we usually have a surreally beautiful beach all to ourselves. Of course, come 9:30am the heat is unbearable and sun merciless; even the water feels hot. Thus our main crisis has revolved around sunscreen conservation (as any given capitalist would have realized at some point, vendors at a remote tropical island can charge an exorbitant amount for a little bottle of sunscreen).

In any case, the nature is this place is quite amusing, though most of the time in a subtle way — the exception being a breed of clumsy-flying beetles that hatch only in April and which have taken a liking in terrorizing me… until they fall belly up to the ground and fail to recover, displaying a most shocking evolutionary flaw. Otherwise, we’ve seen a strange (aren’t they all?) brown jellyfish, a big hermit crab, and other crabs of different shell and/or body sizes (some of them very, very tiny — smaller than a house fly); later in the week, we briefly spotted a large (2 ft?) lizard.

But the really interesting find came up one clear night when we were hanging out on the beach watching the stars sit still and the bats fly by. I got up to look for bigger crabs (which are hard to spot during the day, so we figured they must come out at night). At some point I took a break from my crab bullying and started walking towards the rocks near the water, and my eyes magically found a rock that seemed distinct from the rest — it was about the size of a soccer ball, lighter colored, rounder and had a few holes in it. Looking more closely, I realized it must be a large chunk of dead coral (there are lots of dried up pieces of coral along the shore, along with shells and little rocks). I took out my LD light and shone it into one of the holes and found a reptile’s head, its eye looking back at me (probably full of hatred for being awoken in such a crass manner). I called out for Norika, who gave it a look  and quickly classified it as a small turtle. Hanging out inside of a rock. Obviously, I kept wondering around the beach looking for other awesome things that night, but kept going back to the coral rock, waiting there with my feet in the still warm water trying to get a better look at the turtle; the tide was rising and it seemed like at some point over the next hour or two it would have to swim out (also obvious is the fact that by this point Norika was already sitting elsewhere reading a book; we’ve both been reading a lot more than our usual, taking full advantage of book trading and free time in general). Eventually, I caught a glimpse of a couple of turtle legs that looked much more like paddles, and then OUCH! something bit, or stung, or straight up drilled into my right ankle. I quickly reached for and grabbed the culprit, which looked like a minuscule crustacean about 1/8 inch in size — big enough for me to stop exploring and call it a night.

***

As with Siem Reap, food here is relatively expensive when compared to our cheap luxuries in Chiang Mai, though at least the restaurants here can use the “remote location” excuse.  Of course, we eventually found a couple of reasonable places that don’t seem too exploitative. Like most of the other restaurants we’ve been too in the past few, err, weeks, these ones also feature an abundance of insects — not on the menu, but flying around the tables. We have realized that, while in a place like the U.S. the presence of insects inside of a restaurant can be a deal breaker, here it is regarded as a mere inconvenience; most places lack any walls, so keeping bugs out becomes a bit difficult (most restaurants also have kittens everywhere, which is OK until one of them jumps on and claws you bare leg).

At night, servers in most establishments here will place one of those burning anti-mosquito spirals right under the dinner table; the potentially toxic smoke keeps the mosquitoes away, but not the flies or the aforementioned beetles, making eating a bit of a battle.

***

Later in the week things got a little more interesting. We took a long walk down the beach and then through a narrow dirt path to one of the island‘s 3 villages. We did some market research on the snorkeling tours offered by different agencies, only to decide later that we would just stick to the one offered by our own bungalows. The next morning we hopped on a long tail boat with four other people: a nice German couple, Christoph and Kira, and our unengaged guides.

Our boat first took us to the Phi Phi islands. If from far away the scenery was already impressive, up close the steep rocky walls of the islands were incredible. I had never seen turquoise water before — at least not that turquoise! Eventually the guides took us to a bay that has become one of the “mandatory” stops on these kinds of boat trips, as it harbors the beach where the movie “The Beach” (the one where Leonardo di Caprio and his buddies try to start an utopia and then bump into machinegun-yielding drug lords… something like that). Of course there were tons of boats at this place, which was quite silly.

In any case, the reason for the day trip was snorkeling. I had had a taste of it during our trip to Ilha Grande, but had never experienced “real” snorkeling with multicolored corals and all. I was obviously amazed by the reefs, the plethora of fish, big and small, the occasional seahorse or starfish, odd looking fellas like toadfish and sea cucumbers, creepy urchins, and on and on and on. We did not have the capacity of taking underwater pictures, so logic would indicate that this section of the story would be either short or really boring, full of pointless details. Alas, not so. We snorkeled at three separate locations, starting at the relatively crowded bay (thankfully we were far from the beach itself where all the speed boats were stationed, and we left right as a massive passenger boat arrived and certainly played its part in obliterating the beautiful reef). The next stop was at the beach on Mosquito Island, where we had a pleasant fried rice and pineapple picnic and then explored the waters nearby.

The third and final stop was meant to be Bamboo Island, yet we never actually reached the island, stopping rather at a seemingly random spot (it surely wasn’t, otherwise the quiet guides wouldn’t have known where to anchor) in the middle of the ocean. Not long after we jumped in, Norika pointed out the frightening truth: there were jellyfish scattered around these waters. At times you could only see a couple, but other times the tide would bring a few too many for our liking, so after a short while Norika and the German couple were back in the boat, unsuccessfully trying to extract some information from our unhelpful guides on how harmful these creatures actually were. Being stubborn — I was just getting the jest of diving for longer periods of time — I stayed in the water, carefully doing 360-degree checks to make sure I would remain safe. After a while, the only jellyfish I had in sight was being devoured by a group of medium-sized fish, so I summoned the others back to the water, assuring them that all was well.

Naturally, after a while the jellyfish returned. At this point, it was almost time to go and the guides were trying to flag the German couple, who was swimming obliviously a little ways from the boat. Norika got out of the water and, seeing the guides’ plight, asked me to swim out to bring the Germans back. I told her I would… but after just one more dive. I was serious, just one more dive so I can have a better look at the sweet ten-pronged blue starfish I had spotted a while back. I swam toward the deeper area and, slightly bummed that I was unable to spot the starfish again, came to terms with it and sank into my last dive anyway. A few seconds later, the pressure building up on my head and oxygen running low, I started my quick swim back to the surface. Then, on my way up, out of nowhere, right in front of my mask, on my face, there it was. A jellyfish. Purple. No larger than Andre the Giant’s fist. And just like that, the jellyfish brushed against my lips.

Have you ever wondered what it feels like to be stung by a jellyfish? Let me tell you. First of all, it is not like a cut, which takes a few moments before it truly hurts; instead, the pain is instantaneous, a mix of a burn and an electric shock, perhaps a little acid spill sprinkled on top. Soon afterward, it feels like enormous blisters are popping up on your skin; surprisingly, at least in the event of a simple brush as was my case, there is no obvious evidence of swelling. It is an internal, visceral pain that doesn’t let go for several  hours — it still hurt just as bad when I went to sleep that night, and though I felt better by the next morning the effects weren’t completely gone until about 24 hours after the fact.

Absolutely freaked out an in pain, I immediately took out my mask and swam as fast as I could back to the boat. I hastily explained to Norika what happened and collapsed on the floor, hoping that perhaps our guides would have a good idea on how to remedy my suffering. Once they understood what had happened, both men started laughing, a laughter that said “oh man, that farang just got stung in the mouth by a jellyfish! That‘s totally hilarious!” On the flipside, their reaction did make me feel like I wasn’t going to die or need any serious medical attention, something that my body wasn’t quite ready to believe. Shortly after the Germans (that I should have swam toward instead of diving into the world of pain) got back on the boat, I got my consolation prize: we saw a couple of dolphins swim by, thus completing an unforgettable snorkeling adventure.

***

We left Ko Jum on Sunday morning on a modest boat that had only 3 life-vests available despite carrying 20+ passengers. We are currently in Krabi, and will stay here for a couple of days until the beginning of the Thai New Year (aka the “water festival”) festivities, April 13. From there we’ll be headed to Bangkok, where we will hopefully be able to indulge in some watery fun instead of bloody clashes. The news are scary…

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