travel

My Diary

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Diary
Journal
Technology
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The diary is for general updates about my life here in Thailand. The journal is for deeper reflections about life, like this piece about losing faith. Technology and photography are self-explanatory. If you decide that you want to opt-out of any of these sections, just click on ‘edit your subscription’ at the end of any email that you receive.

We’re now in late June, which means all of us have been alive, every single day, for more than half of 2016. We will always be able to make more money, but we will never be able to make more time.

While I can say that I’ve spent a lot of time in stuff that wasn’t worthwhile, I’ve also had some great experiences so far in 2016.

First off, I was invited to be master of ceremonies for a TEFL conference in Bangkok. The invitation made me nervous, but I make a point of saying ‘yes’ to opportunities to practice my public speaking skills. Despite getting nervous every time, I really enjoy them. For this, I also had to learn how to be an MC, and I always like learning new things.

Second was my birthday. Pooky and I took a short trip to Kanchanburi, which is a beautiful part of Thailand that until now I have mostly ignored. It is most well-known for the bridge over the river Khwae¹, which was built in World War II.

On the morning of my birthday I did some calligraphy by the river:

There are large national parks with waterfalls and caves to explore. And there are also some restaurants in town that float on the river:

Pooky enjoying fried fish in Kanchanburi

I whole-heartedly recommend Kanchanburi.

One more thing. For a few months I’ve been working on a new website for the National Library of Laos. When the site was completed, they asked me to go to Vientiane, the capital of Laos, and train their staff in how to use the site. I’ve never taught technology formally before, so preparing the course took a long time, but my heart was full of joy when I saw the library staff understand how to write updates and take control of the site for themselves.

outside the National Library of Laos, Vientiane

I had a wonderful week there. On the way back to Bangkok, since it’s the rainy season, we were treated with views of amazing cloud formations from the plane.

Songkran in Cha-am, Thailand

Songkran is one of the three occasions that Thailand celebrates as New Year. And I had a plan. It was to be a legendary road trip. I had gotten a hammock with mosquito net and fly sheet, so that I could sleep anywhere where there are trees trees—which is everywhere in Thailand. I had my motorbike loaded up. I had weeks off work. The vision was big: ride as far south as I could, perhaps spending half of each day on the bike, and maybe even get as far as Malaysia.

Except it didn’t go according to plan. It was April, which is the hottest time of year here. It’s exhausting to spend even half a day on a motorbike, in the blazing sun, blasting down the roads which only get hotter as you move further south. So instead of finding some pristine spot of nature to pitch my hammock camp, I went looking for a cheap guesthouse. A cold water shower can sometimes feel like all the luxury you would ever need. After reading a novel on my Kindle, getting a good night’s sleep, and then breakfast, I got back on the road, and wondered where I would be sleeping the next night.

When I got near Cha-am, which is under 200 km from Bangkok, I headed for a small national park that I had already researched and marked on my GPS. It was almost deserted, but the few staff left said it was fine for me to stay there in my hammock. I dumped my stuff and went for a walk around this small park.

The summit of a hill, overlooking a precipice. The walk was only about an hour, but the heat was utterly debilitating. Here you see me hot, exhausted, but happy.

And that was it. No more! Sometimes we’ve got to toughen-up and be strong, but sometimes we have to go with the flow, which is always towards the sea, and find somewhere comfortable to lay low. I found another guesthouse, parked my bike inside and decided to stop trying to be a hardened woodsman and start enjoying things the Thai way.

All Thai festivals are considered in some way sacred and so monks have a duty to be around giving blessings. This one looks serious but I know he was enjoying showering us all with holy water.

Remember how much fun water fights were when you were a kid? Think about an all-day water fight that lasts between three days and a week.

A favourite way to experience Songkran is from the back of a pickup truck.

Thai society seems relaxed and open, but affectionate physical contact in public is frowned upon. Songkran is one of those special times when people get to break all the rules. The way to do this is to mix talcum powder with water and then slap into over anyone that you wouldn’t ordinarily be allowed to touch!

Today, I’m open

Today I took a break from every kind of work. I like to do this on Sundays. At 9am I jumped onto the boat bus, which traverses the canals that cut through the centre of Bangkok, and got off at the very end of the line. Old town Bangkok.

When you go about your daily business, you always have an objective. You’re going to work, or going home, or going to lunch. There’s always some goal in everyday life. This is normal; it’s routine; it’s fine. But it’s one reason travel is so great. Travellers don’t have so many interesting stories because they’ve been all over the world: they have these stories because they have opened themselves to whatever life has to offer.

As I get off the boat I notice an elderly monk carrying a bag. I think it looks a bit heavy, and think about offering to help him, but I don’t. This is everyday mind: I’m busy; he probably doesn’t want my help; someone else will offer.

A few paces later, I stop and look back. Today I’m open. Not sure how to address the monk, as I don’t often speak to monks and don’t know the special Thai words you’re meant to use, I offer to help. He responds in the most normal Thai I can imagine, in a way that puts me immediately at ease. He doesn’t accept the offer, and he doesn’t turn it down. So we chat a bit, mainly about how we are right in the middle of a protest area, and how he doesn’t know how he’s going to get to the temple with all the blockades. But in the end, I’m going with him.

His bag is damn heavy, and I wonder how this 70+ year old guy would manage on his own. But mainly we’re talking, relaxed, enjoying the sights: thousands of monks and nuns have come here from all over Thailand for some big ceremony. He leads me around, and everyone we pass is bowing to him. This event is huge. There are stretch limousines, Rolls Royces, and high ranking officials strutting about. He takes me in to the temple area through the ‘monks only’ entrance, chat a bit more, and then we part ways.

Later on, I’m walking, and the strap of my huaraches (home made, Mexican-style sandals) breaks. Instead of getting pissed off about how I was going somewhere and can’t be late, I think about how I can fix them. I find a hair pin from a local shop, sit down, and have just enough strap left to re-thread and re-tie the sandals. In no time I’m walking again, happy that the monk needed help and happy that I got to do some DIY that actually worked. (I’m actually really crap at DIY; just ask my wife.)

If I had been working today, none of this would’ve happened. If I even had a bunch of things I wanted to get from this day-off, it wouldn’t have happened. It’s only because I had no plans, no agenda, that I’ve had such an interesting day.

You don’t have to be in Bangkok for this. You don’t have to be anywhere special. You just need to tell yourself "today, I’m open."

Luang P’Ri—A Thai Monk

I was wandering through the grounds of Wat Umong, an isolated forest temple in northern Thailand. Everything in the shade seemed to be covered with moss, everything in the sunlight scorched, baked and faded. As in a lot of Thai temples, many trees are considered sacred, and bear the orange robes of the order. Many more carry little plaques inscribed with pithy Dharma quotations.

It’s an ideal space to have fun with a camera.

I was caught by a strange inscription on the ground, and studied it. As I did so, a young Monk approached me, clutching a piece of paper. Pronunciation exercises. He pointed, and asked in very broken English how to say “cupboard”. He was not quick to take in the new sounds. But he was eager to chat, in any language.

He took me on a tour of out-of-the-way parts of the temple. The broken-down crematorium, the head monk’s quarters. Our English lesson deteriorated; we resorted to Thai and conversation started to flow. So I learned his story, of how he used to wait bars in the den of decadence in Bangkok that is Kao San road, then entered some backcountry monastery before arriving at Wat Umong only that week. He had taken his vows to make merit for his parents, and guessed he would not stay in the order for much longer than a few months. His spirit was wild and not ready for the confines of monastic life.

We parted. Seeing the rich, dark green foliage behind him, and feeling the soft diffuse light of an overcast late afternoon, I risked pulling out my camera.

Luang P'Ri—A Thai Monk — Luang P’Ri—A Thai Monk

fire power

Koh Tao is one of the best places to go in Thailand. I’ve been there several times, and although the trip from Bangkok is long and arduous, after I arrive I normally make the effort of crossing the island’s treacherous network of roads and tracks to the East coast, which has some isolated and beautiful beaches. This time, however, I was with my brother, and he hadn’t slept a wink on the overnight sleeper train, and so we crashed as soon as the catamaran had pulled up to the main beach. And that is where we stayed for five days.

I love this island. Even the most developed place still has a laid-back feel.

My brother and I have both transformed ourselves from pitifully weak swimmers into being able to swim a mile or two without any problem at all. I have to thank the TI technique for getting me to where I am now. The greatest thing about being here was being able to try-out this amazing skill away from the pool. (If you’ve never known the frustration of wanting to swim but being unable to, you may not understand how awesome it feels for me to finally do it well.)

On the second day we slapped on sunscreen, did a few stretches, and then donned our goggles. After admiring each other’s new strokes (he learned in England, I in Thailand, and we had not yet seen each other in action), then set out in earnest. Our destination: as far we needed to go to find some good fish.

I’ve never known freedom like this! We swam on and on, cutting through the water, not tiring. We saw a diving boat ahead and agreed to head for it. When we rolled-up, and then dove down, we saw why they had anchored-up here: we had found our tropical fish. Joy washed through me as I bobbed up and down with the small waves, soaking in the intensely blue water and pale sky.

Come evening, we feasted—as one likes to do in Thailand—and then found a cool beach bar. As we ordered our drinks, we got chatting to a couple of Australians. Settling down on comfy cushions spread on the sand, we enjoyed the fire show.

Of course, I couldn’t sit still for long. As the others continue the conversation, I tried out a new lighting technique. With the camera on a tripod, I triggered the shutter with a cheap infra-red remote control. The on-camera flash triggered a manual slave flash, gelled with +1 CTO orange, held by yours truly. I aimed this hard light directly onto the poi artist’s head.

You can see the difference between throwing some light onto the poi artist (the standout shot at the top of this post) and no light (these silhouettes).

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