The 200 Day Mark

We've been on the road for two hundred days! Since last time I wrote a collection of anecdotes, I think it's a great idea to write another. Excuse the lateness; I've been bad at keeping up with blog posts, as you may have noticed.

Let's recapitulate where we've been since Hong Kong.

 We've been in:

Macao

Cambodia

Thailand

New Zealand

Hawaii

Australia (though I won't write anything about here in this post)

The trouble is that
I haven't been collecting quotes as often as I was. This is because after a while the interest level in taking them down disappeared a bit, because we didn't always have the iPod, and because it seems there's been less highly amusing quotes we'd remember.

But I'll try and give you a few funny occurences, and we'll see if someone will laugh or not.

Cambodia

We went to Angkor Wat. I'm not sure exactly what the entire temple complex is called— there are a great deal of them, suffice it to say, and they're sprawled all over the place. Access is by tuk-tuk, bicycle, or feet.

We went to Angkor Wat, the one that's on all the postcards of Cambodia, and looked around a bit. There are scenes from the Maha-bharata (in a way like the Hindu bible, and much larger than the Odyssey and Iliad put together.) I read it in India and parts of South China, I think (the dates have mixed up in my head). It's the story of the epic battle between Arjun and Karna, but there are seven brothers and a few sisters and I can't remember the extraordinary amount of  details properly. The actual story isn't very long, but the Maha-bhrata is full of information— how to behave, what to do, history of the gods, etc. It's been added to and added to and added to for centuries, and it's become a monolith of a book that very few people actually try to read. The story though, is fascinating.

We look around at all the bas-relief sculptures, the information, the Apsara dancers, taking pictures and walking through and sitting down on the terraces whenever we can. Sitting is a luxury. When we get to the tower, however, the one in the center that has many steps to get to the top and is very important, it's closed for cleaning.

We head back the next day. I've lent Ileana my blue shirt— she's sick of her purple one— and I'm wearing a crinkled green sleeveless top that's elegant and very pretty. It's a shock seeing Ileana in a bright color. She looks like a completely different person in bright blue. We're all wearing our skirts. It's easier this way. As we get into the loooong line that stretches back quite a while, we talk and think and look around at the building. And, as we're about to get to the cordoned-off section, the one with the signs as to what you're allowed to wear and not allowed to wear, a man lets the entire family through and tells me I can't go in.

"What?" I ask.

"Shirt no good."

Dad looks shocked.

Sleeveless shirts aren't allowed for what I'd call modesty reasons. You also can't take a shawl and cover yourself up with it. So I have to get out of line, and Ileana and Ioan and Dad and Mom start climbing up the steep steps.

I go and find a place to sit, facing the tower, and I start thinking about my own business. I'm completely certain that Dad will send Ileana down so we can switch shirts. I'm right. She comes down and says, a bit curtly, that "Dad says we have to change." She's holding Mom's green shawl.

"I know." I said, grinning. "We just have to find a place where we can change."

There's no bathroom anywhere on the facilities. And everything is open spaces. There are no doors… all you can do is find a deserted corridor to change in and hope no one walks by.

Thankfully, we find one pretty quickly. I take the green shirt off and wrap the shawl around myself— just in case someone walks past, we won't shock them out of their minds. Ileana takes the blue shirt off and tugs on the green one, and then, in some weird maneuver learned I don't know where, I manage to get the blue shirt on without exposing anything but my shoulders. It's a gift. I don't know where I got it. I hand her the shawl and then get in line.

It's only later I realize— we've probably broken a hundred thousand etiquette and respect rules… but there is absolutely no way that my father would ever be able to live with himself if he brought us all the way to Angkor Wat and I missed out on the top tower just because of a dress code. 

Thailand

It was in Bangkok that I rediscovered a fantastic Mac application called Pencil. The awesome thing about this application is that it still functions in Lion, though it hasn't been updated in years, that it takes tablet pressure sensitivity, which GIMP doesn't— thus the harder you press on the tablet, the thicker the line comes out on the screen.

Pencil is an animation program, for making 'hand-drawn' animations. While I was using it, enjoying the pressure sensitivity, Ileana and Ioan peeked over my shoulder.

"What's that?"

"Animation program."

"I WANT TO TRY!"

Ileana had her turn next. Ever since she was little, she's been able to take things down in a quarter of the time I can. Even if they have absolutely no correct anatomical proportions, they have a feel I'll never be able to get down. It comes out more in animation. She drew a little face, with two horns, made it blink a few times… and then it YAWNED. In fifteen minutes she drew this little thing that's moving and blinking and looking alive.

The next thing she drew was a an orca, above the surface of the water, diving down. As it dives, it releases bubbles of air on either side, and as it goes deeper it turns into a mermaid, which turns slowly into a pearl, which drops into an oyster at the bottom of the sea. And then, the oyster closes. When we told her it didn't look quite like an oyster, she said:

"I'm sorry, did I get a PhD in drawing oysters? No I did not."

Ioan, too, drew a picture. It seems to be a cell separating, turning into two blue eyes and a nose. The eyes open and turn into cups, which drop the two blue pupils down. The nose begins to drop too, and as the pupils fall they merge into a drop of water. The seed and water fall, past a tree branch, into the ground, and a small plant grows out of the ground. It's amazing.

I don't animate anything. I'm using it for drawing portraits, and I can't think of anything I'd like to animate.

The last thing Ileana drew (because everything else was 'just practice,') was the beginning of a short featuring our characters and Mr. G, a fat orange evil mastermind cat based on our Tae Kwon Do instructor (who is everything but fat, orange, and cat, but can definitely be an evil mastermind when he sets his mind to it). In this comic, Mr. G opens and accidentally slams a door, which triggers alarmed stares. I don't remember the rest of the short, but the point is that Ileana started drawing the beginning of this.

When she'd got him to open the door almost completely, she showed Ioan and me the animation so far.

"OHMYGOD it's so cute he's opening a door!" I exclaimed. I made her play it (as I did with all the other animations) at least ten times.

—

At the same time in Thailand, I'd started my February Toppler. In this week-long challenge, you try to read books based on a few prizes. I'd decided to try and get every single award, including one called Godfather, which requires finishing three previously-started books.

The books were The Divine Comedy (Dante Alighieri), The AEneid (Virgil), and The Count of Monte Cristo (Alexandre Dumas). In Bangkok, I was reading both the Comedy and the AEneid at the same time, switching whenever I couldn't stand either any longer. But mostly, I was focusing on finishing The Divine Comedy, since it was hardest.

Whenever I don't really like a book, or am bored with it, I start moving, tapping my foot, humming, singing, playing drums on my water bottle, etc. When someone is next to me and it's easy to talk, I talk: "This book is terrible." "He never gets to the point." Etc.

Finally, while I was reading the Inferno, I said, "This guy has good description, but he's boring as hell."

Ileana simply raised an eyebrow.

—

We reached Kho Tao, the place where we were supposed to learn to scuba dive. During the confined session— the really shallow area, less than 2 meters, where we'd learn all the techniques, Dad stopped Anna, our teacher, and said,

"This might be a really stupid question, but are any of these pieces of equipment supposed to fit or be comfortable?"

"Not on top of the water." Anna said.

"Oh!" Dad exclaimed, "Okay. I was worried."

We did the confinement exercises, swam back to the boat, and began taking off all the equipment— the Buoyancy Controlled Device (the vest), the mask, the snorkel, etc.

As Dad took off his BCD, they discovered one very tiny, yet important detail— it was malfunctioning-- his waist belt had come undone… in general, he had the only bad BCD on the entire boat (there were about thirty of us).

They tied a knot in the hose so they'd be able to remember which one needed to be sent off to be fixed, and we continued towards home.

The next day, of course…

"WHAT'S WRONG WITH THIS VEST!" another student exclaimed, coming out of the water after only a minute.

—

There are geckos everywhere. They're small, harmless, and you usually hear them chirping at night. In Bottle Beach, where the three of us shared a small, wooden cabin, where we kept the windows open, we weren't very surprised to find there was a gecko in the house, somewhere around the trash can. It didn't bother us, of course. The gecko had manners, and it would never bother anyone who didn't want to be bothered.

Of course, no one can ask a gecko to stop exploring. I came in one day, turned on the light, and went to our bed to pull open the mosquito net so I could get in. We have to have mosquito nets, or we'd probably be more mosquito bites than actual skin. There, right on the opening of the mosquito net, was Sir Gecko.

I squeaked a bit. He was right on the opening, which meant that if I opened it wrong he'd crawl in. I didn't mind having him on the outside of the mosquito net, the problem was if he got inside. Then Ioan and I would be sharing the bed with a gecko, and sharing a bed with a gecko has never been on my bucket list.

I took Ileana's sketchbook, which was lying around, and began marshalling the gecko more to the left. When I thought it was far away enough, I opened the mosquito net and slid in.

So did Sir Gecko.

Now, this was a problem. I couldn't let him just stay, because then he'd disappear somewhere in the bed, and I'd wake up with gecko on my face. But I couldn't keep the mosquito net open enough to shake Sir Gecko out, because the windows were open for aeration purposes, and mosquitoes have some sort of radar that makes them zoom immediately to any available non-Sketolene-doused (organic insect repellent) surface. I already had about a thousand bites, and I didn't need many more. Needless to say, I wanted to keep the mosquito net closed.

Somehow, I managed to get Sir Gecko on the outside of the mosquito net, and for some reason the idea of the gecko on my face on the other side of mosquito netting didn't bother me. (Of course, thinking of it now makes me shudder)

Penang

Our first thought of Penang was that we'd spend a week here. It's a combination of Chinese, Indian, and Malaysian, and it's an old-new place, full of things to see and look at and enjoy.

But we liked Bottle Beach so much (despite the crazy waiters), that we decided to spend another week there, and spend only a day in Penang.

When we arrived, and looked around, and visited everything, we wondered how we could have ever spent a week here. We couldn't have. We saw everything and ate everything there was to see and eat in one day. I actually read as we were walking on the streets— at the curbs, the stop signs, the maps. You'd be surprised how much you can get in while everyone else is trying to figure out which way to go.

And yet… after weeks of Bottle Beach, it's a bit of a relief to start walking as a family again on a trip, in the streets, looking at nothing in particular.

It's fantastic to walk past street lights and be able to stop while the parents try to figure out where it is we're going next. It's great to be doing the 'routine' again.

New Zealand

We reached Christchurch and settled in. We decided to go dolphin swimming (I was against it from the start!), and we told Ileana and Ioan (asked them, really, if they wanted to go) on March 2^nd.

"YES YES YES YES YES YES!" 

"But the water will be cold!" I exclaim,

"YES YES YES YES!"

"And it's going to be very windy!"

"YES YES YES YES!"

"You really don't want to go." I say desperately.

Mom and Dad are laughing their heads off.

It's not possible to go on the second, since the places have all been taken. So we make plans to go later in the week.

Ileana's birthday comes. We visit the Antarctica Centre, come back home, enjoy some wine and pasta, and begin talking. I think the conversation turned to the age at which the brain matures completely. I thought it was about 23, but I asked Dad.

"15." He says in Romanian. (Pronounced Cheen-spruh-zeh-cheh).

"No, Dad, completely."

"Cinsprăzece."

I knew for certain it wasn't fifteen.

"Daaad."

"Cinsprăzece."

I ask five or six more times. It's 15 every single time.

"Okay," I said, realizing there's no talking to him along this vein any longer, "But WHY?"

"Cheeeen-spruh-zeh-cheh."

I'm almost crying from frustration.

"Mom, tell him to behave himself."

Dad's laughing now. Ileana's laughing. Even Ioan and Mom are trying hard not to laugh.

I get up from the table and put my things in the sink. I really really really want to hit something.

"Cheen-spruh-zeh-cheh." Dad says again. Ileana takes it up.

I smack him on the head lightly with the dish towel.

The dish towel brings him to his senses.

"The brain starts maturing at fifteen," he begins, "And certain parts of it are fully-developed…"  he explains exactly what I needed to know.

"Thank you." I said.

And then we get to Akaroa, either on Monday or Tuesday (I think Monday). We go in, tell the woman we have a reservation (she looks a bit like Emily Blunt to all of us), and she smiles and says, "Yes, well. There are swells that are about two meters high out there today, and it's very windy," (The wind in Akaroa is negligible, but by the time you get out to where the dolphins are, it gets much much worse), "So we're asking that only strong swimmers go out there today."

We all look at each other.

"And what are the other options?" Dad asks.

"Well, you can take just a viewing boat, or you can wait for another day." 

"Okay, well, we'll just go out and think about it."

"I'm not a strong swimmer." Mom says when we get outside.

Now that we're here, of course, I have absolutely no problem with getting into freezing cold water that's making waves the height of my 6'4" cousin, just to swim with dolphins. You get a bit of buoyancy from the wet suits, and I'm the strongest swimmer in the family.

"I can go." I said, "But if we're not going I don't want to do anything."

Ileana doesn't want to do anything either.

Ioan wants to swim with dolphins.

Mom doesn't really care.

Dad wants to at least see them.

But we decide against it, and we go back in to see the nice lady who looks like Emily Blunt to tell her that we might come back when we're finished camper vanning, but we're not going to take the chances now.

"Yeah," she says sympathetically, "it's really not fun at all when the waves are like this. Not fun at all. You can't enjoy it because you're tossing up and down so much, and water gets in your mouth, and…"

So that was the end of dolphin swimming for us— we didn't go back there. 

Hawaii

Hawaii can be very aptly summed up by something Dad said:

"I think we are the only people who were forced to come to Hawaii."

And it's true. There are only two reasons we're here:

1) So that US Immigrations or Security or Whatever Processes Citizenships doesn't start getting ideas that we don't want to be US citizens.

2) So that we can take our tests.

And it's lovely to take tests. We commented on it at the very beginning: "Isn't it great to have to take a test?"

We hadn't been doing any 'normal' schoolwork on a regular basis for months. Schoolwork started when we had enough time and security to set out the laptops, enough energy to understand logic, science, and math, enough enthusiasm to actually do it.

By the end of three days of silly, easy questions, though, I'd had enough of tests and schoolwork. I'd taken this exact same test last year! I know this because I remember the question about cooking a turkey— I messed it up last year. This year, I remembered the trick part of the question and got it right.

Thanks for your patience in getting this post up!

Paradise

Define paradise. A lost island in Thailand, a hut on a white, fine sand beach, azure, shallow waters with a ripple like a wave, a couple of long boats, painted in their bright, hot colors and palm trees sharing their shadow in the gentle breeze. Rocks on the side with some reefs and colorful fish. The hills and the jungle behind, cutting off any sight, sound or thought of an outside world. Warm just enough to be naked all the time. Great tasting food, tropical fruits and cold drinks. A quiet night with buckets of stars, squeezed in a long chair along your loved one. Silence, just the sea sounds or maybe some subdued great music. A stunning sunrise and a breathtaking sunset. If it has to be just one, who decides, do you get options or just take what comes? And when some of these ingredients are missing, where does someone draw the line and counts it as a good enough paradise?

Up at the viewpoint

Late sunrise

This is why it's called Bottle Beach

We want a deserted, secluded beach, but not quite like that, there can be a few people, here and there. Ko Phangan (pronounced phanyan), a crazy place where crazy people come from all over the world to the crazy full moon parties, is a good size island, with mountains, waterfalls, Chinese and Thai temples, a few beaches and all the tourists that you don't want. Not as developed as the bigger sister, Koh Samui, this island might still be our last chance. It is catching up fast and it seems that our options are more and more limited. Ryan, from "RoundWeGo", told me where they stayed, but those people moved their huts and we don't want to be close to five star resorts and all the amenities of modern life. On the east side, there might still be a couple of small gulfs, little unpretentious resorts for every budget and on the North side there is a "Bottle Beach". Reachable only by boat, it is famous for being secluded. How can that be? We decided to see what means famous and isolated. There are three resorts, 1, 2 and 3, owned by different members of the same family. I call the day before and make a reservation, I think I do, because with all the noise behind me, there is no way of understanding the sounds at the other end of the line. We get on a ferry from Ko Tao, 90 minutes later we land in Thong Sala and at the end of the pier we get a taxi. It will stop for a minute at 7-11, I get one sliced bread and jump in again. Twenty minutes later we are on another pier, on the North side of the island in Chaloklum and a minute later on a taxi boat to Bottle Beach. The cost is outrageous, but I have no time to look for alternatives. Thirty minutes later, the beach comes into view, we land and a lady starts waving. Not the right place, we made reservation at Bottle Beach 1, this is Bottle Beach 2. A few meters to the right we are now in the right place, get a couple of cabins for a couple of nights, the row behind, but later we would move in the front row. A few days pass, Maria didn't yet get in the water, Ileana did once, when would these girls realize that this is a once in a lifetime chance?

Freshly shaved for Valentine's day

Our second residence, a "luxury" bungalow

We get visitors!

One night I wake up at 3.30am, this sounds like rain, more like a deluge. I cannot go back to sleep, it's like somebody is pouring buckets of water over my head, I get out on the porch and start reading about our next stop. Penang, Malaysia, amazing, interesting location, another island, but no beach. An industrial, developed city, we are not ready for that yet. I go back to sleep a little sad, what was on my mind when I made those plans? What would we do a whole week there, we could probably visit everything in two days. But I already bought the plane tickets, another $300 to be lost, plus we will have to buy train tickets there, another $150. By the end of the day it wouldn't matter, we decide to stay another five nights here. Next day I go by myself in the village and buy as much food as I can carry.

$100 worth of food in one succsessful trip

With the only train being sold out we will later find out that we have to stay one more day, we would take our last chance and end up with only one night in Penang. Fourteen days on Bottle Beach. I could have never planned that, I would have never imagined "wasting" so much time in paradise. Layers and layers of fatigue came down off us, the girls slowly started to get out, get in the water, have fun. We read, watched movies, played cards, talked under the stars, got happy or depressed, bored and hungry. The food was too expensive, passable, but not exciting. The time for food was exciting, the evening we all ate together, the rest of the time we would go to the restaurant when we felt like it. No Internet was good, just minimal contact with the world out there. The only variation was the arrival or departure of the visiting boats, sometimes 3-4 per day, sometimes 20. It sounds like a lot, but even 20, spread out on a couple hundred meters of shore and over an eight hour interval. No other action, sometimes watching funny young children on the beach or gorgeous young bodies frying in the sun (they can seem gorgeous if you stay far enough). Sometimes playing badminton or jumping in the pool. Occasionally writing some to catch up on our blogs, rating some older pictures from India or China and reading long boring overdue books.

"Gorgeous bodies frying in the sun"

We met an amazing family from Perth, they travel with five younger children for a year, they left in November, they will stay mostly in Asia, but they plan to "hurry up and travel in Europe"  before their children grow up and "start traveling by themselves". I laughed at this, such a different perspective. In America, parents might worry that they have to do something before the children grow up, get a job at McDonalds and/or go to college.

There is one trip than can be made. Ioan and I woke up at 5.30 to go to the viewpoint, hoping to catch the sunrise. It was pitch dark, we should have looked for the trail the day before. It took some time to get going, after a failed attempt to climb through the jungle at the end of the beach. Then we found the trail and after an hour we were on the highest rock, soaking sweat, but amazed. It was worth all the trouble. The sun was up, but our beach was still in the shadow. Some of the peaks of the mountains surrounding us were in the clouds, the sea below had various hues of green and blue and there was another little island on the horizon.

Another option is to take a boat trip somewhere, maybe scuba diving or snorkeling. We considered having Ioan finishing his last dive to get the open water certificate. It would have been $100 or $130 for the dive, plus another $50 for the certificate form. Ioan was equal, OK with it, OK without. We chose the money.

Despite the cost I like PADI. Without their certificate you cannot dive. They should do the same for music, if you don't have a certificate, you cannot record and people are not allowed to play your music. "But this is a matter of taste, some people might like it", protests Ioan. "Some people like to put their heads in the toilet bowl, it doesn't qualify as diving, this shouldn't qualify as music and they shouldn't be allowed to play it." When did I get so mean? Did I just ruin the paradise? Hopefully not. The music at the restaurant wasn't always that horrible. They had a Beatles album one day, that was great, but I never knew that Bob Marley or Pink Floyd can be so bad. And even these, as pitiful as they were, were good compared with some other of the waiters' favorites. The waiters by the way were always drunk, first thing in the morning, during the day or late at night. They were loud, obnoxious, trying too hard to be funny, or just simply inappropriate. One morning, Ileana Ruxandra got in trouble when she ordered American breakfast, specified how she wants the eggs and the main waiter started to yell at her. She apologized profusely and he forgave her. After a while we got used to them, started to like some of them and realized that they are hardly drinking, they were just high on life, pathologically happy, borderline manic. It didn't make the food any better, but we were just amused by almost everything around there. The variation in portions, the salad or no salad, the order of the servings, overcharging or not charging for food. Just not the music.

Valentine's Day, rose made of napkins, under the table, so the boss wouldn't catch him!

A north facing beach has no sunrise or sunset. There is still something magical as the sun rises above the mountain, seven o'clock, most people are asleep and the color of light still has some reddish hues. At 6 the sun falls behind the mountain behind, the shadows of the palm trees grow longer and longer and then is still light but no sun or sunset. Still paradise. There were a few more things that were not great, too little to count in the end, it wasn't all ideal but it was "good enough."

You can have the picture perfect setup for a paradise, you can have the best companions and a gorgeous weather but there is another element to consider. What is the right amount of time to spend in a place like this? Some people come for a few hours, some for a few days. I felt that eight days was more than enough, then we wanted more and more and more. In the end we stayed 14 nights. Asked how many we should have stayed, Ileana Ruxandra said "a lifetime", or maybe 18 or 21, Ileana thought three days, Maria believed it "was just right". Ioan completely lost track of the days, so he couldn't answer my question. I think 40 would have been the right amount. As the time passes there are changes. Outside, the sea can change, sometime it comes closer, sometimes is clear, sometimes is murky or even dirty. The wind, the clouds and the light change. After you see and discover everything in two hours, you realize after two weeks that you haven't seen anything and there is more and more to discover. On a tiny beach, not even going once more than 20 meters inland. There are changes, happening inside, maybe too subtle to describe, but changes nonetheless and they amplify all that is happening outside. It is still me, it is still us, but I feel that we are a little different.

We left on this trip to discover a slice of this world. We got detoured when we saw a little bit of the under(water)-world, and then we got lost in some paradise. Don't worry we are coming back to Earth now.

Rush hour on Bottle Beach

Our third and last residence

Fast pace action

Bye bye Bottle Beach

The Land of Siam

Sawatdee Ayutthaya

With lots of adventure (link 1 2 3), bad feelings and Mihai’s skill, finding our bus in a huge terminal, we arrived in the old capital of Thailand. It is a change of plans, we didn’t know we wanted to come here, because we didn’t read about it. While at home, Mihai tried everything, except bribing, to make us find more about where we wanted to go, but we procrastinated. For one reason, I can’t remember all the details and I didn’t want to read about something that later would prove that we were not going to visit. We wanted flexibility and that’s what we were doing: deciding that we don’t want 5 days in Bangkok, but two in Ayutthaya.

As we step out of the bus we hear “Welcome friend!”. My barriers shoot up immediately, preparing for anything, but it was just a rickshaw driver, who very politely asked us where we wanted to go. He offered his services for the next day if we wanted. That’s what people do in this part of the world. We accepted and he catered to our needs and adjusted to our schedule. 

The ruins in Ayutthaya didn't impress me, maybe just because they were brick buildings stripped of their adornments, still standing. Because of the flood, they were entry free and cordoned with yellow tape in many parts.

Wat Maha That Temple, the rest of the statue is hidden by the roots.

 The earth was still squishing water. In some parts, stupas were leaning dangerously out of line, like multiple leaning towers of Pisa. 

Ayutthaya continued to exist, even if it wasn’t the capital anymore. So now you find those archeological treasures dotting the old part of the city. The contrast is stark, especially when you have a new temple for Buddha, immaculately white, with trims of colored glass and mirrors. They look like a modified Chinese pagoda, taller, slimmer, with curlier corners. People enter all the time, light incense, bring white lotus flowers and cover the statues of Buddha in gold leaf, one square inch at a time. They buy these double paper leaves of gold, choose a spot, say a quick prayer, stick it, rub it and then throw the paper on the floor. 

Wat Na Phra Men, built curved as a boat.

The day is hot and muggy. Our inward compasses don’t work so we take wrong turns and visit temples in a different order than the one that we wanted. They must have looked ravishing in their heyday. They are still impressive with their floor plan, their architecture, the decapitated Buddhas (thanks to the Burmese). 

The model of Wat Chaiwatthanaram

Wat Phra Si Sanphet, the image of it adorns the 20 baht bill

One temple escaped the fury of conquest and its walls are still adorned with frescoes of Buddha’s life.

Interior of Wat Na Phra Men

In the 70’s the authorities noticed a higher traffic with gold, and going backwards, they recuperated just a small part of a treasure hidden in one of those temples. It is now on display in the museum votive tablets, elephants, statuettes and part of the model of the temple. Opposite of this air-conditioned room was another one, in which we could admire the intricate stupas that interred a grain of Buddha’s remains. This was another treasure, with other things, delicate craftsmanship, to delight our eyes.

Chao Sam Phraya National Museum

Our hotel was on a quiet street. I noticed that there were dogs, their anatomy complete. They don’t have a master, people are taking care of them, so the dogs defend their territory. Growing up with dogs and living in a neighborhood where they organized themselves in nocturnal packs, I was wary of them. As we were leaving the hotel for visiting, I looked for a solid branch or something. Finding one, I left it at the corner of the street, hidden. Returning, I picked it up again, and not 20 feet on our street, the dogs noticed us, started barking and gathering. They would have attacked but seeing the stick, they were keeping their distance. A local girl got out and started throwing stones and they left us alone. A French girl congratulated us for being proactive.  She was the victim of an attack and she had a ripped skirt to prove it.

Bangkok

From the bus station we took a taxi to the hotel and cooped up there for the rest of the day. In the evening we visited the Kao San Street, the one that we were not supposed to miss.  There were so many people, walking up and down, hanging out at the bar, or the restaurant, or just perusing the clothing kiosks, having their hair braided or made in dreadlocks. We found a restaurant out of the main way, but we still couldn’t enjoy our dinner because of the hawkers trying to sell us bracelets, trinkets or sleeves with fake tattoos.

We had to do the second round of Hep A vaccine so we went to a clinic, where it was funny to see the bureaucracy of yesteryear at work (link Maria).

Wat Pho 

Mihai would visit more of this city, but we stayed put in our hotel rooms; we were tired. The last day we will visit quickly the Wat Pho temple where the longest reclining Buddha from Thailand resides besides the massage school, 

His soles are inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

and the Royal Palace with its crowded buildings and temples. It even had its own Angkor Wat model. The attraction here is the Emerald Buddha, a 2 feet statue made of green jade, that was found hidden in another one that cracked. It is perched in a high pagoda, almost lost in the decoration. The statues and the gardens have a Japanese feeling.

Garuda, to safe-guard the temple.

On the steps are handpainted tiles, the doors are inlaid with mother-of-pearl, the decorations  on the walls are colored glass and mirrors.

Having decided that we go to Koh Tao, we take the train and sit in the freezing air-conditioned compartment. The beds are on both sides, up and down, on the long side of the wagon, with blue drapes on which is sewn with yellow the number of the bed. 

In Chumphon we have breakfast on the platform waiting for 6.15 am to come so we can take the bus to the dock. We witness our first Thai sunrise as we walk on a shaky, uneven planks dock, toward the ferryboat.

The catamaran moves very quickly and in an hour we see the postcard picture: on a white sand bar beach chairs and blue water on both sides.

Koh Tao is a crowded place, with two sides: one that comes here for distraction, drinking, diving and the other one that provides these things. We were there for diving and you’ll read these adventures in a following post.

And then... beach—Bottle Beach. Its name comes from the way they marked the road toward it, with bottles. It is easier to reach it by boat than by land. It is a cove that has a hotel and numerous beach houses on its whole length. There are four restaurants, but just one seems to be preferred, and its waiters are something else. 

They seem drunk most of the times, they sit at your table to take your order and their comments are not my favorite, “I’ll see you when you see me”, “Now I know who you are!”. The food is expensive for Thai standards and is not that good. What else? Oh yeah, tourists. They come by taxi-boat for some hours on a quiet beach, and leave before sunset. I don’t know what the people who live here are doing, because there are just a few soaking sun, and sometimes I see others at the restaurant. 

My chair and two people on surf boards.

I just watch the waves, and the clouds, and the crabs, siting on a chair next to the sea. At 7 am besides the yoga person and the jogging woman there is no one else to see. At 9 am is already hot, my tanning done, so I take a dip in the clear, soup-like waters and disappear on the porch of the cabin. I try to catch up with the blog, or the pictures; we’ve taken so many, but I am tired, I am on vacation. The children have their own cabin, away from us, we see them when they need something from us or at dinner (the rest of the meals are if and when we feel like eating). There is nothing to do on this beach and I am happy with this, it’s what I need. I sleep at least 10 hours a night, but I am still tired. I move myself from bed to the beach, from there to a chair, and back to bed. It seems like I have waves of tiredness, my body recuperating in stages. 

If you look around you see blue, calm waters, white sand, palm trees, ten more tourists far away, you hear birds, sometimes the bass from the restaurant’s music. It is what I like (actually, I could do without the music and the people). It is a dream come true, to live on the beach, to hear the waves. Why have I told you all of these? Because I had everything that I wanted: vacation on a secluded beach, few people, time to read and books to be read, my family, no obligations and I was unhappy. I felt useless, no one needed me, I had no plans, even if I made plans, they would be changed because of the numerous factors that affect the dynamic of our travels, and I didn’t have a subject for plans, and why do I need plans? In my paradise surroundings it dawned on me, and accepted, that what I have is only today, now, so I should cherish it for what it is.

I still need reminding.

Can you see multiple hazy rainbows?

One afternoon I heard children voices. I looked and there they were, three of them, playing in the waves. Confident young ones, the whole world belonged to them. I couldn’t figure out who were their parents. Our children hearing them, renounced at their interests and joined them. Finding out that we’re Romanian, Meanabadeena (8) asked “Is there something romantic in Romania?” At dinner time, Tintin (8) asked his almost 5 years old brother, Snowy, “May I please have a sip?” This came in total contrast with two little French girls who were stretching their mother’s patience and a brother and a sister who were asking their mother’s attention all the time, just to ignore her when it suited them. Who are these people? They are the “Going anyway” family, that includes besides aforementioned Chris, Jill, Sparky, who has to travel in a stroller, because she has cerebral palsy, and Baby Boy, who is only 10 months old. Talking with them we found out that they are from Australia, they homeschool, and they are taking advantage that they are still young and the children want to travel with them. We spent wonderful days together, sharing stories and I hope that our paths will cross again, soon enough.

We stayed longer than planned. We renounced to stay a week in Penang, Malaysia, we had to take the train instead of flying to get there. As we were waiting for the train to arrive, we took turns sleeping on stone benches. There were huge cockroaches moving around our sandals and rats, following sewer pipes to get to the garbage bags. We’re not reacting, we just take care not to let them too close to our luggage. Because we were soaked in citronella oil, the mosquitos left us alone. Our train was late by almost two hours. It seemed that all the trains are. A group of young men descended close to us. They were telling their stories, how they left for a month, and now have been three already, how their mothers ask when they will return, would they recognize them with their tattoos, and now they have to return, they barely scrapped some money for a return ticket, beside cigarettes and beer. 

Tattoos are wherever you turn. They are beautiful ones, careful design, shading, for each taste: faces, Buddhas, strait lines, dragons and so on. They even go around moles, leaving them alone or including them in the design. But I still don’t understand what makes people go through that pain, to have something etched permanently on their skin. For the tribal people is like a code, it tells others about one if he’s a chief or killed so many animals with his hands. What am I supposed to understand about tattooed people in a western society?

Good bye Thailand and korp khun, thank you for the vacation.