So I'm sitting on a wooden pier off the gulf of Thailand. It's warm, but the late afternoon breeze makes it bearable and just then, the call to prayer come wafting through the air like the sweet smell of Jasmine.
I'm reading The Alchemist, per the suggestion of a friend, and they are speaking of omens, signs from God.
I am not a religious woman but in great pain I find people seek solace in many ways, and I choose to believe the chanting, echoing off of the mossy rocks of southern Thailand is speaking to me, and telling me that as badly as I want my father to be here with me, he is.
And just like that, the prayer is over, and he is gone.
And it is quiet.
And I am alone.
But I digress...
Having to hoof it to the train station because my chucks carry me faster than the wheels of the bus not going so round and round, the I made it in the knick of time to catch my night train to Surat Thani, which would take a total of 12 hours, and would force me to lay in a cocoon known as an upper sleeper for the better part of that time. Sadly, this midnight express experience made me feel nothing like Jack Lemon or Tony Curtis larking about in drag.
Off the train and onto a bus to Krabi, where I came to the following conclusion: Anyone drinking beer at 6 am is suffering from one of two afflictions: alcoholism or douchebagism. The young Brits at the front of my bus, presumably heading to the Full Moon Party in Kho Pagnan were likely suffering from the latter. Though I know people come from all around the world just to attend this all night beach rager, I will be avoiding it at all costs.
Once in Krabi Town is apparent that there are some things back at home to which I need to attend immediately and spend many hours and many Skype dollars attempting to remedy.
At one point 'it just is what it is' and I am forced to pull myself away from WiFi and hop on the back of a motorbike with a strange man who will be taking me to The Bananas, the accommodation I have booked through to next week based on lush photos of the location and not its proximity to city center.
An hour later my left shoulder is a rosy brown and my ass numb from the vibration of the vehicle's seat. Being met with this beautiful little hostel situated on the coast, consisting of a series of bamboo huts and run by a jovial German man, I quickly forget about my nearly 17 hours of travel to get here and hastily put on a swimsuit and head to the pier and enjoy the beautiful day in the jungle.
A lazy afternoon in a lounge chair with a book and my camera is not only welcomed - it just might be necessary. It is difficult for me to relax and whenever I attempt to do nothing I am struck by overwhelming amounts of guilt - maybe it's the New Yorker in me, maybe it's the or maybe it's the MTV Culture in which I was raised - either way, this was an exercise in patience, with myself, and I was flexing.
With a communal dinner every night at The Bananas I was able to get in on that evenings shuttle into town for the Loi Krathong festival where families light lanterns and send them into the river, sometimes with money and often with nail trimmings (don't ask me) to rid themselves of bad mojo. Along with some fellow travelers and a German family with two little girls who were hard not to fall in love with, we were off through the chaos and noise that is a celebration in Thailand.
Wanting to join in on the festivities I purchased my own design to light looking far more like a loaf of bread than the ornate floral arrangements most seem to have selected from the families fastidiously making them river side. I selected a fun offering in the form a turtle with a bright red shell and chocolate chip eyes as as I lit it's candle and incense sticks and sent it down the already polluted water way I hoped with it I sent my bad energy as well.
Sleeping in the silence offers a deep sleep and some strange dreams.
As I adjust to Thai time the hour at which I rise gets later and later and on this particular morning it was almost 8 before I dressed and dined on a single pancake with banana and honey. A coke for breakfast, because calories or health concerns are irrelevant when abroad and I was properly hyped up to go kayaking for the day.
A group of 6 of us from the hostel took a quick bus ride to the local pier to embark on our adventure that morning, which would be a 2+ hour kayak trip around the bay led by a local.
The company was lovely and everyone, with the exception of our guide, spoke English beautifully. Also beautiful was the scenery. Secluded beaches, tall mossy caves and mangroves offering a unique landscape to this breathtaking, if not labor intensive, adventure.
All of the aforementioned items should have been my focus, but from the moment our very young and very petite guide disrobed from the waste up all I could think of was how much I longed to be in a harlequin novel about an older white woman on holiday who gets in touch with her sensuality with the help of a small Thai boy.
Turns out when you kayak in the tropics for a living you become quite lithe, quite sinewy. The sun makes you a dark cinnamony brown and the sticky air leaves a shimmery film of sweat on your body, giving the sun tendons and muscles and movement plateaus off which to happily bounce.
Perverse as it may be. It was beauty.
It was natural AND it was local, so by my estimation it was part of the tour.
The sunset had been gorgeous the evening before and with the rain lessening to a drizzle, having broken the thick humidity, I decided to go on a walk.
An evening walk to watch a beautiful sunset and listen to songs that matter
Another communal dinner, family style - this time with curried vegetables and some pleasant conversation with the proprietor and his staff left me contended for several minutes on a row and I chose to savor that.
As the guests decided to take a late night dip to see the bio-luminescent plankton I took a dip, of another kind - to bed.
Sometimes moving slow feels good.
And sometimes that's ok.
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