Like most people who travel a lot, I’m frequently asked what my favourite country is. It’s a question I’m never able to answer because in fact I don’t have a favourite country, only favourite travel moments.
I intended to describe one such moment now, but because it took place in Thailand, I had second thoughts about it given this week’s bloodshed in Bangkok. It seemed inappropriate somehow to tell a story about finding beauty in a country which, at this time, is suffering and people are being killed.
But something else occurred to me. I remembered that six years ago, just a few weeks before Dan and I entered Thailand, there were terrorist attacks in Hat Yai, a small city on the southeastern shore of the Gulf of Thailand. Police were everywhere; tourists were warned to stay away. Dan and I followed the news carefully and chose to spend our time on the west coast of Thailand instead of the east coast. Rather than avoid a country entirely, we have found that often (maybe not always), tensions are localized to certain areas. By entering Thailand on boat from Malaysia up the west coast, we avoided the dangerous southeastern area including a tense border town.
So what I learned is that while horrible things can be happening in one area, beautiful things can be happening at the same time in another area. It’s all the same country. I’ve decided therefore to tell the story of my favourite travel moment, my souvenir, afterall.
Alain de Botton in The Art of Travel writes, “A dominant impulse in the encounter of beauty is to hold onto it.”
Most of us hold onto beauty by taking a picture or buying a local handicraft, both things we can take home. I’ve learned however that when you encounter core-shaking beauty, you can hold onto it without tangible memory aids. I encountered such beauty six years ago within a series of little scenes, feelings, sights, and faces, and the experience remains fresh in my mind to this day. I don’t need photographs to be able to write about it as if it were yesterday. In the most exact sense of the French word, I had taken away with me a souvenir.
It was a two hour ferry ride to Ko Lipe, a small fishing island near the border of Thailand and Malaysia in the Andaman Sea. As usual, I escaped the air-conditioned cabin the instant the upper deck opened up. Though it’s mercilessly hot, I like the wind in my face. I like looking at the other passengers sunning themselves opposite me.
I find myself staring at a young couple, beautiful people probably in their mid twenties. Both are wearing deep green tunics, high-buttoned up the neck, over long black pants, extraordinary in this heat, even more extraordinary that the outfits look freshly ironed. Neither youth breaks a bead of sweat.
I’ll call the man Tom although I never did get his name, nor at the time, know his native language. He reminded me of the boy who is followed with great interest by the hero in Thomas Mann’s Death in Venice. Dark curly hair frames his high cheek bones. I detect self-consciousness and conclude he had worked hard on his image, a good copy of John Lennon off the Sgt. Pepper album cover. There is nothing casual about them. The clothing fits like a wrapper over chewing gum. The young man drapes his arms behind the railing, confident in his own piece of the sun. After what I suppose is his gap year, I imagine he will take his place in business, or pursue a career in the diplomatic core.
The young girl plays with a gauzy scarf. She ties it over her head in the local Muslim manner. She is beautiful. I call her Pam. She reties the scarf as a head-band, in the manner of a hippie. She’s still lovely. They exchange few words – hence my difficulty in nailing down their nationality. I suspect Eastern Europe. There’s money in one or both families. You can tell by their posture.
Three days later, I would meet this couple once more in the fishing village on the island. The tunics were gone and instead they wore dirty t-shirts and jagged cut-off shorts. As well, within this short time, Pam’s flawless skin had broken out in freckles. The young man was breathless, his hair frazzled, and the cool detachment had morphed into a nervous but enthusiastic chattiness. They had been unable to find accommodation and been forced to sleep on the beach for the past two nights. Tom had a wild-man look about him and finally I discovered they were German. I concluded that the sleep-deprived rich are just like the rest of us under similar conditions.
At that time (and I’ve heard reports that things have not changed much), Ko Lipe offered about a dozen sets of tourist bungalows, and the best location was the south facing Pattaya Beach. There were coral patches near the shore, great for timid snorkelers like myself. Ivory coloured sand caked like flour between the toes. Sunny perfect days gave way to moonlit perfect nights. There was hardly a ripple on the water. The gentlest of breezes made late dinners splendidly comfortable in the open air.
Most of the clientele were Scandinavian or German and all about the age of Tom and Pam. Although a young crowd, these people appreciated the quiet as much as us. There were no nightclubs here.
At night, the beach restaurants move their tables out on the sand. Each is appointed with a lantern. A half oil drum is used as a BBQ pit and fresh cuttlefish and snapper lay on trays heaped with ice. I am remembering one special evening when, before turning in, we thought we’d enjoy a cocktail at an empty beach bar. While sipping our rum drink alone, we hear familiar music, softly, from far away. Someone is playing Santana. All of the beauty of place, delicious tastes of the sea, the ease of being, and now the hypnotic Samba Pa Ti mesh into a powerful reality. We leaned back in our chairs and looked at thousands of stars arching overhead. We chatted about when we were young like Tom and Pam, what we might have done but chose not to, and lounged away the rest of the black magic evening under the belt of Orion. (by Carolann Moisse at maturetraveler.blogspot.com)
My travel Recommendations:
Getting to Ko Lipe is time consuming which might be one of the reasons why it remains less developed than other islands. Since the ferry for the island departs early, it’s likely you’ll need to stay on the mainland overnight in a town called Satun. The Hotel Sinkiat Thani in Satun offered rooms for about $20 Canadian which were clean and spacious though a little tired. http://www.travelfish.org/accommodation_profile/thailand/southern_thailand/satun/satun/all/3605
On Ko Lipe, the Pattaya Beach Hotel bungalow was well situated on the best beach but the conveniences were basic. A generator powered the ceiling fan and lights at night and switched off in the morning. A tiled basin held water from which you dipped a plastic cup to rinse the shampoo from your head.
South of Phuket and north of our Ko Lipe is another island, Ko Ngai which offered charming and stylish bungalows at the Fantasy Resort which finished at about $120 Canadian per night including our meals, which were delicious, and some rentals. The accommodation is very comfortable in these modern, one-bedroom suites, each with covered verandas. You will form your own opinion about the garden kitzch in the form of wood dwarfs and other fairy tale figures, but look beyond them (it's easy since they are short). http://www.kohhai.com/
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