My First "F"

"The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall." ~ Nelson Mandela

I had no intention of diving when I arrived in Cairns.  I figured I might snorkel, but would see the Great Barrier Reef via a glass bottom boat.  I have a fear of deep water that prevented me from ever having the desire to dive.  Yes, I can swim in a pool, but I usually stay in the shallow end.  There's something about not being able to touch the bottom that freaks me out.

Several days passed in Cairns before I could muster up the courage to investigate a diving trip.  I compared different companies, and settled on Reef Experience.  For $185, the shuttle picks you up at your accommodation, drops you off at the marina, you are served breakfast, lunch, and happy hour, as well as a choice of diving or snorkeling, equipment included.  I consulted with one of the agents at their office at length.  "Do you think my eyes will pop out?"  "What if my eardrums burst?"  "May I switch to snorkeling if I don't like diving?"  After a lengthy incredulous gaze, she answered, "You will complete an introductory course that will teach you everything you need to know about diving.  If you still don't like it, you can snorkel instead."  I was sold on the trip.  I didn't want to spend a large sum of money on an activity if I didn't even know if I'd like it.  The trip was booked, and then my anxiety began to rise.  Luckily, in the span of time between booking the trip and the actual day, I rented a car and took a road trip.  That project took my mind off the impending dive trip.

The day of the trip arrived, and I was remarkably calm. I would say I felt more excitement than consternation.  The transfer shuttle picked me up near my Airbnb location, we picked up several more people, and arrived at the marina.  I was met by some young, friendly girls and guys in their 20s who checked me in, fitted me for fins, and handed me a medical release form.  "You only really need a wetsuit if you're a poor swimmer, but it also helps with sun protection," said one of the instructors.  "I'm a good swimmer," I replied.  I found a table on the lower, indoor level of the catamaran.  I began reading the medical release form, which stated that the wetsuit would facilitate buoyancy in the water and protect against jellyfish (stinger) wounds.  I returned to the equipment station aft of the boat, and was promptly fitted for a wetsuit.

We were welcomed by the crew, departed for Hastings Reef, fed breakfast, and the divers were called over for an introductory talk.  Lucy was a young, enthusiastic presenter who I thought would make a fascinating primary school teacher.  "Diving is easy if you remember three things!"  Oh no, where's a pen and paper?  I really have no short term memory.  "First, you need to remember to breathe normally.  In...and out...."  That sounds easy enough.  Several people had told me to take long breaths and relax while diving.  "Second, pop your ears as you descend."  Lucy showed us how to pop our ears by plugging our nose and blowing.  I prefer to pop my ears by moving my jaw around, and she said that would work as well.  You just have to find an ear popping technique that works for you and that you can employ every few feet, or you cannot descend to the ocean floor.  "Third, communicate with your instructor."  She showed us some hand signals such as the a-okay and the thumbs up to return to the surface.  I was relieved and encouraged that it wasn't more complicated.  Lucy counted off at least eight groups of 4-5 divers and said to listen for your group to be called.  I was group five, so I had some time to snorkel before my introductory lesson.

I descended the narrow, metal, port side staircase to the metal platform where the snorkelers were launching.  Lucy had instructed us to clean our goggles by spitting into each lens, rubbing the saliva into the corners, rinsing with sea water, and putting on the mask immediately to prevent fogging.  I sat down on the buoyant platform, put on my fins, and properly cleaned my mask.  I glanced back at the attendant standing there.  "Do you need a noodle?" he asked me.  "No, I'm fine," I replied, and launched off the platform.  Whoa!  They said the water was choppy today, but this was incredible.  I felt like a shipwreck victim being thrashed around in an ocean storm.  I swam back to the platform and yelled, "I think I need a noodle!"

That was better.  Now, to get some shots of Nemo and Crush for my niece and nephew.  I practiced the breathing that I knew would be imperative for my diving lesson.  I didn't like not being able to breathe through my nose, but I was told it took a while to adjust.  I floated for a while, face down.  I didn't see anything but cloudy, aquamarine water.  Where was all this amazing sea life?  I swam out a bit further, where I noticed most of the snorkelers were concentrated.  It looked like the aftermath of the Titanic, with everyone floating face down in the ocean.  I started getting nervous at the fact that I was tired.  It was fatiguing to fight the waves and breathe through my nose simultaneously.  I snapped a few blurry photos with my iPhone in its pink protective case.  It was exhausting to keep track of my phone as well, even with the cord around my neck.  I swam back to the boat, removed my fins, climbed up the ladder back to the platform, then the ladder back up to the deck.

My diving group was checking in, so I went over to the instructor and told him my name and number (12).  We were all assigned numbers for the day to help keep track of the passengers, which is probably a good idea for a tour at sea.  "You might want to leave your phone here," the instructor said as he looked at the case around my neck.  "It's not a good idea for the phones to be underwater at great depths."  We were diving fifty feet, and the girl at the shop where I bought the $30 case said it would be fine.  I recalled a few minutes earlier, at how fatigued I was from trying to manage the phone in the water, and left it in my backpack at the table.

I climbed down the ladder to the diving platform aft of the boat and sat down.  Three other girls sat down next to me, comprising my group.  My mask wasn't fitting correctly, so I kept adjusting it and blowing through my nose to empty the sea water.  The girl next to me asked, "Did you snorkel earlier?"  She was probably wondering if I had any idea what I was doing.  "Yes, but I really didn't like the feeling of not being able to breathe through my nose."  She said, "It's kind of like you have a cold, all stuffed up."  Perfect!  That relaxed me, and I tried to pretend as if I were congested.  A large tank was affixed to my back, like a backpack, but the instructor had to make some adjustments to my equipment.  Our group's diving instructor was already in the water and was beginning the lesson!  I started getting nervous.  I was already behind in the course, as I couldn't hear what she was saying.  The instructor on the platform finished the adjustments just as Lucy swam up in front of me.  I guess I needed one on one intervention and she was finished with her group.  "Are you ready?  Just lean forward and put your face in the water."  I tried to move, but it was as if I had ten tons of bricks on my back.  What was going on?  I tried again and couldn't budge an inch.  To Lucy's surprise, I began rocking back and forth to work up some momentum and eventually, ungracefully, splashed face first into the water.  Okay, I just had to remember those three things:  breathe, ears, communicate.  "I have to see you keep your face in the water for five minutes," Lucy instructed.  I put my face in the water, breathing long, deep breaths through the regulator.  I glanced down and noticed the rest of my group holding onto a metal bar attached to the boat about ten feet below the surface.  They were already on the next step!  Then I glanced down to the ocean floor.  That did it.  I lifted my face out of the water.  Lucy looked surprised, "You need to keep your face in the water for a full five minutes."  I think I had interrupted her timer.  "I know.  I'm sorry.  I just needed to come up for a second."

We moved farther from the boat, as the next diving group was preparing to launch.  The water was much more buoyant at this distance.  At this point, sea water had crept into my mask and was stinging my eyes.  I had ingested a fair amount of it as well.  It was difficult to hear Lucy as the water slapped our faces and thrashed us around.  I put the regulator in my mouth and she pulled me under a couple of feet.  I was feeling good and getting the hang of it.  Then I looked down.  I panicked and looked up to swim back up to the surface.  I couldn't remember how to communicate to Lucy that I needed to go up, so I just started swimming.  At the surface, I ripped the regulator out of my mouth, lifted my mask so my nose was exposed, and gasped for air greedily.  Lucy appeared, "You need to communicate with me!"  Were we in a relationship?  "I'm sorry.  I don't think I can do this," I told her reluctantly.  "Yes, you can.  Once more, but signal to me what you need."  I tried it once more, and we descended about twenty feet this time.  My ears started to hurt.  I tried to plug my nose and blow, but that didn't work.  Moving my jaw didn't work.  Then I couldn't breathe.  I thought I was successfully breathing through the regulator, but suddenly I couldn't remember what to do.  I looked at Lucy, who was smiling and trying to gauge my concern.  My survival instinct kicked in and I bolted for the surface, possibly kicking Lucy on the way up.  I emerged, panting, and she was right behind me.  What patience!  She reviewed the instructions again, but I said, "I want to get out.  I don't want to go down again."  She actually tried to convince me to try it again.  What persistence!  I thought for a moment.  Do I really want to get out?  If I do, I won't have another chance to dive.  When I'm faced with obstacles, I usually try and try again until the task is finished.  I couldn't believe I was actually contemplating failure.  However, most situations don't involve breathing impairment and survival skills.  Ironically, and in retrospect, I think I would have been more apt to continue if I didn't have snorkeling as an option.  I was so disappointed in myself, but I was exhausted and needed to sit down and breathe as nature intended.

I took off the wetsuit and returned it.  Then I went back to the table to put my clothes on over my swimsuit.  A couple from South Africa was sitting at the next table, Betsie and Nardus.  "How was it?" Betsie asked.  "I couldn't do it," I replied sadly, trying not to cry.  Betsie told me the story of how Nardus had always wanted to dive, and was finally doing it, at age 70.  She was just along for the ride, not intending to dive or snorkel.  "The glass bottom boat is ready.  Are you coming?" she enquired.  We boarded the glass bottom boat, which took us far away from the catamaran to get a clear view of the reef, while staying dry.  The water hadn't calmed down, and I began to feel seasick.  What a day!

After lunch back on the catamaran, we travelled to Breaking Patches Reef, named for the waves that break directly over the reef that looks like patches from above.  Aptly named.  I donned my fins and mask again from the port side snorkeling platform, and set out with my noodle, without my wetsuit, for more snorkeling.  I swam farther out to try to get some photos with my iPhone, suspended around my neck again.  It was still hard to manage, so I gave up on the photos and just concentrated on the breathing.  It was getting easier, and I wondered if I could have handled diving in the afternoon.  However, to dive in the afternoon, passing the morning course was a requirement.  I looked around for something interesting, but really couldn't see much so I got out.  I mentioned to one of the crew members that I didn't see what all the fuss was about.  I couldn't really see anything spectacular.  She pointed to where the waves were breaking over the reef that was visible from the boat.  "You need to swim out there.  That's where you will have the best view while snorkeling."  Ugh, that means suiting up and launching again!

Once more, I found myself on the snorkeling platform, donning my equipment, and launching off.  I swam far out to the reef the crew member had indicated, but noticed no one else was out there.  I looked back to the boat and saw that the instructors and crew members had their eyes on me.  Well, I thought, they told me to try this area.  This time, I left my phone in my backpack, as I didn't want to wrestle with it.  What a mistake!  I put my face in the water and floated.  It was Finding Nemo Live, with fish swimming in schools, in and out of the coral.  Fish of all colors and sizes were performing their daily duties.  I thought if someone were just deranged enough or on enough drugs, they could write an entire story about reef life! I think it's been done.  I swam around a bit until I had my fill of views and of ingesting sea water, then returned to the boat for our afternoon Happy Hour.  It turned out to be a wonderful day.

So, I failed the introductory diving course, signifying my first "F" in a course.  Instead of "failure", I'll replace it with "focus".  The next day, I was so focused on diving that I looked up private lessons, where I would have more personalized attention and not be so rushed through the steps.  Unfortunately, the cost prohibited me from making a booking.  I'll just shelve it for now, and the next opportunity that comes, I'll try again.  The positive outcomes of the day:  I improved my snorkeling skills, acquainted myself with the required breathing technique, viewed the Great Barrier Reef, and made some new friends.

View of Hastings Reef from the glass bottom boat

Breaking Patches Reef, snorkelers in the foreground

Posing in front of Breaking Patches Reef.  You can see how close the reef is to the surface.

Tales from the Bus

I've grown quite fond of public transport on this trip.  I sold my car to finance part of the trip, so I'd better learn to love it when I return home.  Sydney has many public transport options such as trains, buses, and ferries.  Up in Cairns, the main mode of public transport is the bus.

The Cairns bus confuses me.  The website is cryptic, I can never find timetables posted at the stops, and you must have your route memorized to alert the driver when you want to alight.  In Sydney, I learned to at least memorize the stop prior to mine, but even that took some trial and error.  One night I alighted too soon, and another night too late.  Obviously, I always got to my destination. 

On my first day in Cairns, I thought I would check out the downtown area (Central Business District or CBD).  I walked to the closest bus stop, noticed no timetable posted, but did see a map.  As I was studying the map to determine which bus to board, a bus arrived and stopped for me without even my hailing it.  Well, I thought, if anyone knows the answers to my bus related questions, it's this guy.  I said to the bus driver, "I'm not sure if this is the bus I need."  He smiled and said, "Where are you going?"  I told him I wanted to go to the Esplanade.  "Cairns," he said.  I thought we were in Cairns.  I guess not.

I quickly learned that I would ride from Zone 5 to Zone 20 and it would cost $2.80 each way.  Finally, I could use these coins that were weighting down my bag.  I dutifully presented exact change to the driver almost every time I boarded the bus.  In Cairns, the bus driver deals with all the finances, which is time consuming, but offers an actual interaction with the driver.  In both Sydney and Melbourne, you must purchase your ticket or pass at a convenience store.  Melbourne is even further advanced.  You may use the same ticket/pass for all public transport:  buses, trains, and trams.  Genius!

The next day, I was waiting patiently at the same bus stop.  I still hadn't figured out the timetable.  A woman sat down next to me on the bench and enquired, "Do ya know what time this bus comes?  Damn city council...can't even post the times!"  I replied, "No, I have no idea.  I just wait here until a bus shows up."  She looked at me quizzically, "Don't ya have anything else to do?"  "Actually, I don't have anything else to do.  I'm on holiday here."  Her eyes widened, "Whaddaya a millionaire or somethin'?  Holiday in Australia...nothing else to do?"  Her tone was a bit insulting, so I countered with, "If I were a millionaire, I wouldn't be taking the bus.  I'd take a taxi."  We shared a hearty laugh at that, and I felt like we were back on equal ground.  The funny thing about chatting at the bus stop is the temporary relationship you develop.  The bus comes, your conversation is over, and you're on your way.  I wonder if people who take the same bus every day have "bus friendships" or even "bus affairs".

One day, an older, indigenous gentleman boarded a bus I was already riding.  As he paid his fare, he saw a man he knew seated on the bus.  He bellowed in a Louis Armstrong like voice, "Hey you....f**k you!!!"  At least that's what I thought he said as he reached into his pants pocket.  Oh no, I thought, I'm right in the middle of this altercation, and if he's pulling a gun from his pocket it'll be difficult to escape his line of fire.  The next thing I knew, he sat down next to the man and they began a jovial conversation.  Quick geopolitical interlude: I never begin political discussions in foreign countries.  It's sort of like the first date rule for inappropriate conversation topics.  Never mention politics, sex, or religion on a first date.  However, as I travel, if I'm asked my opinion, I try to feel out the situation and the other person's affiliations before I answer.  Someone asked me point blank, in reference to gun control, "What's wrong with your country?"  In Australia, the gun control laws are strict and the penalties severe.  Needless to say, my fear is incrementally quelled the longer I'm in this country.

When I took the bus back to the house where I was staying each evening, I tried to begin the ride around twilight.  The neighborhood was pitch black with only a few street lights.  To attest to the safety of the neighborhood, all you need to know is that my hostess never closed her doors, even at night.  She kept the thick security screens locked at all times, but the humid climate and the lack of central air conditioning demanded the cross ventilation.  I was lucky enough to have an AC wall unit in my room.

One night on my return trip, two brothers were riding at the back of the bus.  One boy was about eleven years old and barefoot, and his brother was about eight and wore flip flops.  I heard the older boy cussing up a storm in the back of the bus.  At one point, I sneaked a glance to confirm it was a child speaking so graphically.  The boys signaled for their stop, and the older boy alighted first, popping a plastic bag at a deafening decibel as he exited.  He jumped off, hurried down the street, leaned against a picket fence, and snickered.  His brother wasn't so lucky.  Before he could exit, the thirtysomething bus driver caught his attention and quietly admonished him.  All I could hear was something about telling his mother what happened and how he should be ashamed.  The younger boy apologized quickly and sincerely, then fled off the bus.  The older boy was still smirking and exuding a nonchalant air.  The bus driver crept the bus forward, level with the older boy on the sidewalk, whose expression had now changed to petrification.  The driver beckoned with his finger for the boy to board the bus.  This time, the chastising was audible.  "You think you're funny, do ya?" Dead silence from the boy and from the passengers watching this scene.  I felt like one of my former students, observing me doling out a consequence to an offending student.  I could empathize with the bus driver completely.  After at least a full minute of the boy's motionless expression and the passengers patiently waiting, the driver shouted, "GET OFF!!!" The boy leaped off the bus and scurried down the street toward his destination.  I thought maybe a slow clap was in order, but the expressions on the other passengers' faces discouraged me.  We continued on our journey as if it was a daily occurrence. 

This last incident confirmed my prior observations that bus drivers are revered members of society in Australia.  When I first arrived, back in September, I noticed that people would wave to and thank the bus driver as they disembarked at their stop.  I recalled stories from a former bus driver friend in the US who was given many different hand gestures, but never a grateful wave.  Just by observing the way the public treats their country's transit employees, much is revealed about the character of that country. 

Longest Travel Day

In a tropical climate, you are constantly transitioning between humidity and air conditioning.  I think that's what saddled me with a head cold the day I was supposed to travel from Thailand to Australia.  I woke up congested, but had to shower and pack to be ready for my 9 am taxi to the Phuket airport.  I had already checked in for both flights online and my Airbnb hosts in Australia were expecting me.  I had to pull it together.  I thought, "I've gotten ready for work and taught all day in worse condition than this!"

I powered through, got all packed and ready, and went downstairs to bid my hostesses at the hotel farewell.  I had become acquainted with them over the past three weeks, and wanted to give them a nice tip.  I slipped a bill that was larger than all the others into the clear plastic tip box, and they were abundantly appreciative.  They presented me with a brown gift bag.  Inside was a frangipani soap and a photo they had taken of me for their guest wall.  They have a huge transparent glass map on their wall and said they would post the photo there, affixed to my hometown in California.  I looked at the map, and there had been no other guests from the US, or even from the Western Hemisphere.  It looked like Australia, Asia, and Russia were the most populated.  We said our goodbyes and I was off to the airport.

Online, I had secured the window seat in the last row of the plane, hoping I would have the row to myself, as I did on the flight down to Phuket.  No such luck this time.  Next to me was a woman who thought she was the one in the window seat, leaning over me, and gesturing across my face as she described the scenery to her husband.  I gave her a dirty look, she apologized, but continued the behavior.  I just thought to myself, "If I am contagious, there's her retribution."

After the short flight to Bangkok came the next hurdle of the day.  I had to navigate my way to the main airport in Bangkok, Suvarnabhumi International.  I flew an economy airline, Nok Air, to Phuket, but that meant utilizing Don Mueang Airport.  In my online research of Phuket activities, I noticed a mention of a free shuttle between the two airports.  I had booked an early flight out of Phuket so I would have plenty of time to investigate and then find a taxi if the shuttle myth was untrue.

I disembarked the plane, retrieved my checked bag, and followed the public transport signs downstairs.  I didn't see any signs about a free shuttle, so I asked at the information desk. Sure enough, just outside was a desk and a completely empty, full size bus waiting.  I asked if the bus really was free.  The guys at the desk, who were all wearing the same type of sunglasses for some reason, replied yes.  All they needed to see was my boarding pass.  Good thing I hadn't trashed it in the restroom.  I boarded the bus, along with a young couple, but that was it.  We took off with three passengers on the entire bus. 

I arrived at Suvarnabhumi with two hours to spare before check in for my flight even opened.  I wanted to get past security to eat and rest, as I was still feeling under the weather.  I found a spot near some monks, careful not to accidentally touch them as I walked to a seat in their row.  Vit, my Thai tour guide, is a former monk, so we were schooled about proper, respectful behavior.  I worked on my journal and people watched until it was time to check in.

I approached the counter once I saw on the screen that check in had begun.  I really just needed my boarding pass and to check my bag.  I had booked the flight through Qantas and flew Qantas on the way up to Bangkok, but for some reason Emirates was operating this flight.  The agent ran my passport and asked, "Do you have a ticket back to the US?"  I'm sure Australia asks them to confirm that information before issuing boarding passes.  I didn't have a printer to print a boarding pass anyway, but at the end of online check in, a message popped up that told me to see a ticket agent for my boarding pass.  That message gave me an uncomfortable feeling.  "Yes. It's on January 8th." "May I see it?" asked the agent. "I don't have a paper copy, but I have the email on my phone. Would you like to see that?" I asked, nervously.  I can usually pull up emails without wifi, but of course it wasn't working at that moment.  I couldn't get on the airport wifi until I was past security.  I said, "I'm sorry, but it's not working.  If I can use a computer, I'll find it for you.  Or, you could possibly look up my flight with my frequent flyer number.  Or, maybe you could run my passport.  I have an electronic Australian multiple entry tourist visa that will pop up for you."  She stared at me for several seconds.  I don't know if she didn't understand what I said, took my word for it, or felt sorry for me, but she said, "It's okay" and printed the boarding pass.  What relief I felt!  I had read an article about a man who had been detained at the Bangkok airport and just imagined myself stuck there.  I thanked her profusely and proceeded to security.

I'd anticipated this Emirates flight ever since I booked it back in August.  I'd heard nothing but praise for the airline, and it's all valid.  I'm referring to the amenities rather than the service, which was rather bland.  I was dazzled by the large personal TV screen, the plethora of film choices, the personal electrical outlet and USB port, and the complimentary travel kit.  When it was time to sleep, the ceiling transformed into an astronomical wonder of twinkle lights.  I had chosen the last row of the plane, with the hope of having extra room.  My hopes were met, with practically a foot of space between my seat and the window, plus ample room to recline my seat.  I felt like the personal guest of the Emir.  Highly recommended!

After a stunning sunrise over the Australian Outback, we landed in Sydney.  I disembarked, retrieved my checked bag, and queued for passport control.  As I stood in line, an immigration officer approached me from the side. "Where are you coming from today?" he asked sternly. "Bangkok," I replied.  He looked at me for a moment, then asked, "Were you in any rural areas? Any farms?"  I thought for a moment, breaking eye contact with him.  I tried to recall all of my destinations over the past six weeks.  Was the elephant camp considered a farm?  What about the rice field we briefly walked through?  I wasn't sure, and I was taking a long time to answer his question.  Hadn't I just answered this question on the customs form?  I know he was concerned about soil, and my shoes had been thoroughly washed.  "Um...no," I said.  "Any wooden souvenirs?  Food?"  I looked away again to think, shifting my eyes.  Did I buy that wooden Buddha I was contemplating?  Did he say any souvenir or just wooden souvenirs?  I'm standing here wearing a Singha beer T-shirt.  Is that what he means?  My head was still congested and my processing was faulty due to lack of sleep.  "Um...no." He stamped my customs form and wrote a secret code near the stamp.  That hadn't ever happened before.

I proceeded through passport control, and was nearing the final exit.  The officer there looked at my form, looked at me, and said, "Row 5."  I figured I would exit with everyone else, but I followed the barricades to another station.  There was a large carpet area in front of me.  A female officer appeared...with the DRUG DOG in tow!  Oh come on, I thought.  I knew I didn't have anything contraband, but was nervous nonetheless.  I guess I did take too long to answer the customs officer's questions.  I was ordered to spread my two pieces of luggage out on the carpet and step back.  The cute beagle sniffed my suitcase quickly, but then lingered on my shoulder bag that had accompanied me wherever I went in Thailand.  What is he doing?  Why is he taking so long?  Do I still have a cookie in there from the first flight?  I recalled my arrival to LAX from China several years ago.  The drug dog went crazy over some beef jerky a man had in his bag.

"Okay, thank you," the officer said.  I was clear!  I grabbed my bags and hightailed it out of the airport.  I understand that it's their job to exercise caution and be thorough.  I guess that's the chance you take when travelling to a country known for its contraband.  I finally arrived at my Airbnb location in Newtown, took a rest, and felt an immense sense of relief.

Farewell, Thailand

NOTE:  Direct quotes are used in this blog entry, as best as my memory serves.  These direct quotes, especially from non-English speakers, are not meant to offend.  They are only meant to preserve the authenticity of the interaction.

I only stayed in Patong for three weeks, but it felt like an eternity. I'd made some friends and wanted to bid all of them farewell. My first stop of the day was my usual beach spot. Nora, my favorite foot masseuse, saw me coming and ran over. "Victoria from America!" I was settled into my beach chair by my favorite servers. "Chair, towel, and Singha."

Nora and I chatted as she worked her magic. "Victoria, I see you around. You always happy and smiling. That make you beautiful." What a sweet compliment! Because it's Thailand, I know she's sincere. Nora's worked as a masseuse for over 30 years and was born in Patong. Her sister works with her, and they are two of eleven children. Her daughter works at a hotel nearby and her son works in IT on Phuket Island. "He helps me on the computer," she said. "When you come back, Victoria? Next year?" I wondered if people really did return year after year, or if it was a saying that was passed around. "I hope next year," I told her. "Don't forget me," she warned. "I could never forget you, Nora!"

Even though I saw a rat at 1-2-3 Restaurant, I decided to return. The people were so friendly and I hadn't suffered any ill effects from my previous visit. Plus, they prepare the best papaya salad. During my first visit, I was afraid 1-2-3 might represent Eat-Toilet-Die. The Los Angeles County Health Inspector would probably grade it with an "F", but it's those secret ingredients that make a dish so tasty. Americans are obsessed with cleanliness, too. I always tell people that's what they will notice about America. As I approached, the servers waved and smiled. I sat outside this time, decreasing the likelihood I'd see another rat. I ordered the papaya salad again, one of their veggie dishes, and a large, commemorative Singha. "Large?" the server asked, aghast. Why does this surprise everyone? You get a better value for your money and you don't have to bother the server if you want seconds. In Thailand, every beer is served in a coozie anyway, so there's no risk of warm beer. They brought me a complimentary, traditional Thai dessert of watermelon and pineapple, and we parted ways. "When you come back? Next year?" Once again. Maybe they all want ME to return next year?

Much of my journal writing and blog prep was completed at Segafredo at Banana Walk, located right on Beach Road. I also liked going there because they play Rhianna's Greatest Hits every single day. Most of her songs really are catchy! I walked in, ordered my favorite Iced Mezzo Mezzo, and told the girls it was my last night in Patong. "Oh no!" said the barista. After making my drink, we took a photo, and she came over to sit on the sofa opposite from me. I love Thailand for this reason exactly: everyone treats you like you're an old friend. We chatted, but her accent was so strong and Rhianna was so blaring that it was difficult to piece together the conversation. I showed her some of my photos from Bangkok and northern Thailand. She said she loves Chiang Mai, as most people do, and was shocked at my photos with the lady boys in Bangkok. "They were really nice people," I said. She gave me a big hug and asked if I would return next year. I'm not kidding. They all asked me that. "I hope I can return next year," I assured her. Just then a torrential downpour commenced. "You cannot leave now!" she chided.

I strolled slowly along Bangla Road and Rat-U-Thit Road, purchasing a few souvenirs along the way. I took in every sight of luring restaurant hosts, every smell of fish water in the gutter, and every sound of competing tuk tuk drivers' music, as I knew I probably wouldn't hear them again "next year". I'll return as soon as I am financially able, and hopefully my new friends will remember me.

Nora, my favorite foot masseuse

My last meal in Thailand

Coffee buddies

Rat-U-Thit Road

Phi Phi La La

In my scrambling to fit in everything I wanted to do on Phuket, and because of weather delays, I finally booked a tour to Ko Phi Phi (pronounced pee-pee...I worked with sixth graders for way too long!) I noticed that my hotel had some brochures on day trips to the islands, so I asked the concierge about Phi Phi Island. It is supposed to be breathtaking, with turquoise waters, and it's where The Beach was filmed, one of my favorite movies. The concierge said, "You want to go to Pee Pee?" A million responses ran through my mind. (Okay, I'll stop now with the pee pee jokes.) The flyer said 2900 baht, but she said the hotel gets a discounted price of 1400 baht. That discount seemed a little extreme, but I trusted her. The day includes a pickup at the hotel, transport to the port in Phuket, ferry service to the islands, lunch, snorkeling, drinking water, then transport back to your doorstep. Great deal! I gave her my 1400 baht and she booked the trip for the next day.

The next morning, the driver picked me up and I joined a van full of other tourists. I was the last pick up since my hotel is the furthest away from the beach. It was dark inside the van, so I couldn't see the others too well. A group of guys in the back yelled, "Good morning!!!" I returned the greeting, a little less exuberantly. In the front seat next to the driver sat a tall guy in his late 20s, with his head shaved except for the top, which was pulled back in a rubber band. In the next row, there was an amorous couple of Asian descent and a woman who was leaning against the window, taking her morning nap and mumbling in her sleep. I sat in the next row, next to an oblivious girl who was listening to her noise canceling headphones. The two rows behind me held the guys who had greeted me.

We set off on our drive to Phuket Town, about 30 minutes away. The guys were talking loudly, though pleasantly. I'm usually adept at identifying languages, but this one I couldn't place. I didn't want to turn around and look at them. That would have made it too easy. Russian? I've encountered many Russians here in Thailand, but it didn't sound quite right. Arabic? It contained some guttural sounds. French? I thought I heard the word "travaille", and you would think after a major in French I'd have the skills to detect that one. Italian? They were stressing certain words that reminded me of an Italian accent. One of them turned on some music and started clapping and singing. I thought, "These guys are fun. I must hang out with them today!"

We arrived at Phuket Town port, where several bus loads of tourists were corralled into one area to wait for the boat. We were handed a ribbon to tie on our wrist, so our group could be identified by color. Mine was turquoise. I was impressed that I could tie the ribbon on independently. I looked around, as others were tying the ribbons for each other. I thought, "Wow! I really can do anything!"

One of the group leaders introduced himself as "LaLa" and told us to gather round for a few instructions. "Hallo ladies, gentlemen, lady boys!!!! Listen to me!" This was going to be a fun day! We dispersed into our groups and turquoise went first. One of the pink group members got mixed up in our group. LaLa took his rented snorkeling fin, smacked him on the behind with it, and told him to find his own group!

Boarding the boat, I realized that the guys from the bus were in my group. Yes! About 50 people boarded onto a speed boat with a sun tarp on top, two long benches at the sides, and small rows in the middle. LaLa gave us a few more instructions on safety, but the guys were chatting and playing music on their phone. "You five! I can leave you here! So...SHUT UP!" LaLa would make an excellent teacher. At this point, I was disenchanted with the guys and abandoned the idea of hanging out with them.

After about an hour, we arrived at our first stop, Maya Bay, where most of The Beach was filmed. It was crowded and inundated with tourists, so much that you couldn't get a clear shot of the bay. LaLa said it only became popular after the movie was released. I tried to imagine what it would look like deserted. We had 35 minutes to explore and take photos. 

We made a couple more stops to view the "emerald water", that definitely lived up to its name. Then it was time for lunch at "Long Beach". We all sat together in a large hall and quickly ate from a buffet that had Thai food as well as spaghetti! After lunch, I walked around and ran into two of the guys. They asked me to take their photo, and they took mine for me. I asked them where they were from. Israel, they replied. Hebrew! That's why I couldn't understand their language in the van. I don't hear Hebrew very often. "You are...with...someone....or...you..." one of the guys struggled in English. "Alone?" I said. "Yes, I'm alone." They seemed perplexed by this notion.

Again, we boarded the boat, and finally reached our last stop at Khai Nai Island. It had been a long journey, and some people had fallen asleep after lunch. LaLa said, "Wake up! Wake up! Or I will kiss you! If you like to drink, this island is for you! Beer...whiskey...Mai Thais...not free! I give you Coca Cola, water, and fruit for free at my table. If you want beer or whiskey for free, you come to my room tonight. Men only...no lady!!!" What a character! I was laughing hysterically.

Some people swam, some people snorkeled, but I chose to stay on the beach in the shade since I had a headache. LaLa started rounding us up just before 4:30. Everyone had boarded the boat...except the five Israeli guys! LaLa said, "I said 4:30. It's 4:34 now. You not here, I leave you," and the boat driver took off. I couldn't believe it. Go, LaLa!

As we arrived at the port at Phuket, LaLa said, "I know some of you worry about those five guys we leave behind. They are very rich. They have private boat come pick them up on the island." Dammit! I knew I should have hung out with them. I could have some new rich Israeli friends.

Reasons why I liked LaLa:

1) He didn't care what other people thought.

2) He kept his word.

3) He was the most entertaining part of the trip!

Something New

I woke up with a start and thought, "Is today already Thursday?" I checked my phone and learned it was only Wednesday. I was scheduled to leave Thailand in less than a week and still had several activities on my agenda. Where had the last two weeks gone? It reminded me of my Kilimanjaro summit. I knew I was walking from midnight to 6:00 A.M., but don't remember most of it. Have I been lying on the beach for the past two weeks continuously in a catatonic state? Have I been sitting in the same cafe drinking iced coffee? Or worse, have I been dodging tuk tuks and motorcyclists, attempting to cross the street, for the past two weeks? The doctors can consult my daily written journal after I'm committed to find out these answers.

Time was ticking away, so I consulted my map and a couple of websites. I'd previously hesitated about travelling too far outside of Patong because of the cost of the tuk tuk ride, but really needed a change of scenery. I decided Karon Beach wouldn't be too far away, and found a typical tuk tuk fare of 200 baht online.

I walked down the street until I saw a tuk tuk driver coming out of a convenience store. He smiled and I asked, "Karon Beach? How much?" He replied, "300 baht." I said exasperatedly, "Hmm...no...250?" "Okay, 250," and I hopped in the back. 

The drive from Patong to Karon is scenic, through the lush, verdant hills. I recognized it as the same route I travelled when I visited the Garden (see The Secret Garden post). The driver dropped me off in a central parking area close to the beach. I handed him the 250 baht and said, "Thank you. Have a nice day!" He flashed his smile again and said, "You have a nice day!" People are so happy here.

I walked south down the main road, with the beach on my right and a row of restaurants and shops on my left. I thought I'd find a toilet before settling down for a few hours, and I stumbled upon an elegantly decorated al fresco restaurant called Vitaporn. There are always a couple of hosts out front to greet you as you walk by and ask if you've eaten yet. The host said, "Hallo, Madam!" I said, "Um, toilet only." "Yes, of course," as I was escorted practically into the stall. Upon exiting, I said, "I'll come back to eat."

After about three hours under my umbrella, I was getting hungry, so I walked back to the restaurant. There he was, ready to greet me again. "Welcome back, Madam!" I was seated, looked at the menu, and couldn't believe the affordability of this restaurant. I ordered a papaya salad, chicken pad thai, and a soda water. When my mountain of food arrived, I spent several minutes photographing its beauty and detail. That's one thing about the Thais. They don't spare any detail when it comes to presentation. It's always intricate and perfect. I finished most of my food and was craving a coffee, but remembered I needed to save at least 250 baht for the tuk tuk home. I figured the bill would total around 400 baht, but amazingly it was only 265 baht. That's less than nine USD! Incredible. 

I decided to forgo the coffee anyway in favor of walking around. I walked further down the main road, took some sunset photos from a new vantage point, then stumbled upon a night market. I thought I might return, bringing more cash with me next time.

It was dark and time to head back to Patong, so I attempted to hail a tuk tuk. They were all occupied, so I went to the tuk tuk stand and showed the driver the location card my hotel provided. He said, "500 baht." I said, "It was only 250 to get here!" He realized my naïveté and said, "More traffic now. Takes too long to Patong," and wasn't interested in negotiating. I walked away, slightly panicking about how I would get home. There was no way I could walk through those hills at night and I wasn't even sure  of the route. I furtively checked my cash and had 300 baht in 100 notes and a few 20 notes. I really didn't want to pay much more than 300. I chuckled to myself, "This tuk tuk ride is going to cost more than my entire dinner!"

I walked back and forth down the street, trying to hail a tuk tuk. They were still occupied, as it was dinner time and people were heading out to shop. I found a shopping street with several tuk tuks lined up. I thought, "Maybe it would be cheaper if I said to drop me off at Bang La Road. I usually walk home from there anyway and it's closer to Karon." I discussed it with the first tuk tuk driver, a woman. She said, "400 baht." That was better, but still more than I wanted to pay. I tried to negotiate to no avail, then walked away. She yelled down the entire row of tuk tuks, "Bang La Road!!! 400 baht!!!" which essentially prevented me from trying to negotiate with any other driver. The nerve!

I started getting teary, but then pulled myself together to review my options. I could try to find a cheap room someplace, but I still wasn't sure I had enough to pay for it. I could call the girls at the hotel and ask them for help. Maybe they could negotiate with the tuk tuk driver in Thai, promising that I would pay them when I got back to the hotel. I know it sounds irresponsible that I didn't have enough money, but for safety reasons, I leave my large cash withdrawal from the ATM, along with my ATM card, in the safe at the hotel. It hadn't been a problem for the past two weeks.

I walked a few streets away from where the tuk tuks were in cahoots, and hailed another driver. He said, "400 baht to Patong." He had a friendly demeanor, so I said, "320?" and gave him a sad face. He imitated my sad face and said, "400. Lots of traffic, then I drive back in traffic." Understandable, but I kept trying to negotiate in increments of 20 baht. I finally checked my cash again. I DID have five 20 notes, so I just gave in. "Okay, 400," and I hopped in the back. I peeked in my wallet and realized I had to give him every single note I had. I didn't even have enough for a bottle of water! We arrived at Bang La Road, I gave him the 400 baht, he cheerily accepted it, and I started my 30 minute walk back to the hotel from there.

Several lessons were learned with this incident:

1) Always carry more than enough cash.

2) Tuk tuk drivers will not negotiate at rush hour.

3) "Sad face" doesn't always work.

LML

I don't think I've ever uttered the phrase "I love my life." Life was always an existence. You go to work, spend time with your family and friends, pursue your hobbies, plan for your future. It was never about enjoying the moment. It was always about survival and essentially materialism. You have to work to afford your house, your car, your bills, food to eat. I've compiled 10 reasons why I can say I love my life right now. They may seem trivial, but when you abandon complication, that's all that remains.

1) Sink Laundry.

Two of my most cherished possessions are my washer and dryer. I paid for them myself and they represent convenience. I haven't had access to a washer and dryer in Thailand, and I don't like other people handling my clothes. The solution has been sink laundry. It's so easy. My pattern has been to throw a load in the sink with some shampoo, let it soak while I eat breakfast, squeeze out the excess water with a towel, and the clothes are dry by the following morning. You always have clean clothes!

2) The Beach.

As I've mentioned before, I'm not a beach person. However, there's something about sitting on the beach and listening to the waves that is soothing. It's probably also the exotic nature of Thailand, as well as the drink service.

3) Beach Decorum.

Anything goes on the beach in Thailand. It's not a display of everyone's workout results. People come here to enjoy the beach on their vacation. That's it. All types of bodies are welcome. Maybe I'll give that thong bikini a try...

4) One Room Living.

I just packed up and moved out of my two bedroom condo. Well, my sister did most of the packing. I told myself I'd never have another office nor a home with ample storage. If it's not displayed, donate it. When you're living in hotel rooms or Airbnb rooms, your space is obviously limited. Your only possessions are what you've brought, and you have no other options.

5) Room Service.

It sounds so extravagant. When I was told breakfast was included in my $30 per night room, I assumed it would be in a dining room. There is no dining room at The Artist House, so breakfast is delivered to your room. I even explained and successfully received egg whites.

6) Humidity.

Southern California is a dry climate, and I laugh whenever anyone claims it's humid. After travelling to the Amazon, I know humid. Thailand is a tropical country, which accounts for much of its beauty, so you endure the humidity. The positive result of humidity is fresh, dewy, radiant skin.

7) I'm a "Regular".

 I attempted to try a new restaurant every day, but I did amass my favorites. Very few places exist where you can sit and relax in the air conditioning, so that means ordering a coffee or snack. The baristas at Starbucks and Segafredo know my preferred drinks (green tea latte & iced mezzo mezzo).

8) Limited Wardrobe.

As mentioned above, I just packed up my entire house. I mean my sister did. I packed up plastic bins full of work clothes and winter clothes, as well as summer clothes that I would not take on this trip. I even have a few suitcases in my mom's garage that are filled with clothes. All this packing was done after sorting and donating TEN bags of clothes. It's almost a relief to be limited to the few outfits I currently have in my suitcase. Actually, I had only packed for three weeks and had to stretch it into six weeks.

9) Detachment.

I like to keep up with people on Facebook when I'm back at the hotel on the wifi, but it's cathartic to leave my phone in the hotel safe during the day. I've found that I'm not always looking for a "free wifi" sign, and I concentrate on other activities such as journal writing, blog ideas, reading, or meditation.

10) Not Teaching.

I don't hate teaching, but when your life becomes routine, you have to make a change. You spend the most time at your job, so that's where I decided to make the first change. I tried unsuccessfully to obtain a new job and I even tried to volunteer my services as an English teacher here in Thailand. I guess a PhD in Education and 15 years of teaching English Learners didn't qualify me. Then I thought if I really wanted to teach, I would find a way to make it happen. I don't want to be a teacher. What a revelation!

My fear is that I will collapse back into the mindset of routine existence. My challenge is to discover how to combat that collapse. 

Ride of My Life

I can't laud Overseas Adventure Travel enough. Discover Thailand was my fourth trip with them. After taking three trips with the company, you are inducted into the Sir Edmund Hillary Club for frequent travellers. That means that you get a little extra attention from your trip leader, among other perks. When I made the decision to extend my stay in Thailand, I asked my trip leader, Vit, what he thought. Of course, he was pleased that I wanted to see more of Thailand and said that he'd call the local Qantas office for me to change the flight. (Read Scavenger Hunt in Bangkok for the second half of this story.)

We had an afternoon at leisure after touring Bangkok all morning, so some of us walked over to the Silom Complex mall on Silom Road and Rama IV. Vit said that would be a good time to call Qantas and we could look up the info on his iPad as well. He called for me, but after learning that the change of date would cost $200, I told him I'd think about it and deal with it later.

We started walking back to our hotel, The Tawana, which was only a few blocks away on Surawong Road. Vit asked, "Would you like to take a motorcycle taxi back to the hotel?" I hesitated for a moment and he said, "It will be a cultural experience for you. And faster." My hesitation was rooted in recalling what Vit had told us about motorcycle taxis a few days prior. Yes, he said they are fast and convenient, but he also said that no one wears a helmet, though the law requires it. Some of the drivers carry a helmet for their passengers, but it's the same helmet for everyone. Vit said people usually line the helmet in plastic or wear a shower cap. All the elementary school teacher in me could think was: a) Why haven't I collected the shower caps from our hotels? b) HEAD LICE!!!   

As I was ruminating about where I might find some RID in Thailand, we approached an apparent biker gang, smoking and hanging out in front of 7-11. I walked closer to Vit, then realized that these guys were the taxi drivers, with not one helmet in sight. Before I could say anything, he told them our destination, hopped on the back of one of the bikes, and motioned for me to do the same. I thought we'd ride the same bike back to the hotel! I don't know how, but if a family of four can do it, I thought we'd manage. Picture this: the dad is driving, the older child is standing up in front holding onto the handlebars, and the mom is sitting behind the dad, holding their newborn baby. It sounds crazy to an American, but it's a perfectly acceptable norm here. I couldn't imagine my niece or nephew calmly riding a motorcycle. It's just how the Thai kids are raised.

"You okay?" Vit asked. "I guess, but how do you hold on?" He didn't hear my question, and his motorcycle sped off. I called after him, "Am I supposed to hug him???!!!" The driver looked at me amusingly and motioned to the seat. These motorcycles aren't Harleys. They are sleek, with no compartment on the back, nothing to lean against. Similar to a scooter, but more powerful and with larger tires. I inspected the seat and wasn't sure where to step to get on. The driver seemed a bit impatient, so I just stepped up on some part and hopped on. Now, do I hug him??? I scooted up close to him so I wouldn't balance on the edge of the seat, and felt around for the bar that contours the back of the seat. I guess that's what I'll hold on to! We took off. "Okay, this isn't so bad," I said to myself. "No cars around...quite unusual for Bangkok." Then we arrived at Surawong and a traffic jam. I knew what was coming. I squeezed my legs together as hard as I could, but noticed that my driver's legs were still wider. Good. I held onto the seat bar as tightly as possible, thinking my white knuckled grip would be painful later. The driver darted in between cars, buses, taxis, tuk tuks, and for a moment I understood the exhilaration that accompanies motorcycle riding! Just when I was feeling slightly at ease, we arrived at the hotel. Vit was waiting on the curb, smiling. "So, how was it?" I hopped off and fumbled around in my bag for the 30 baht payment, hands shaking. Vit handed the driver the money, as I'm sure he couldn't wait to take off. "Scary, but exciting," I said, finally rounding up 30 baht to repay Vit. "Cultural experience!" he said.

Trust was the evident theme here. I knew Vit would never put me in any danger and I just had to go with it. I've been tempted to hire another motorcycle taxi for a short distance around town, but I think once was enough.

The Price of a Towel

I've never really been a beach person, not because I abhor the beach in any way. I have light skin that burns easily, and it wasn't part of my upbringing. Plus, my dermatologist told me to wear sunscreen and stay out of the sun, unless I want to die. She put it more eloquently. Now I've found myself in a vacation spot where the main activity is lying on the beach. I thought I'd give it a shot, with sunscreen of course.

I don't read guidebooks when I travel. I might look up some info online, and I definitely school myself in the customs and etiquette of the culture. It's akin to reading student placement cards before you meet the student. If you have someone else's perspective in your head, the ability to form your own opinion is impacted. I rely on observation to acquire the most knowledge of a new place. My first full day in Patong was spent scoping out the beach situation. Do you have to pay to use a chair? Will they provide a towel for you? The concierge at my hotel didn't know the answers to these questions, so I set out for the beach without a cumbersome towel.

The chairs and umbrellas on the beach look as though they are all run by the same operation, but in fact, every few hundred feet is a new enterprise. I found a chair with an unobstructed view of the water and sat down. Out of nowhere, just like Emilio from Mr. Deeds, a server (not sure what they're called, but I'll call them servers since they bring you drinks) appeared and asked if I needed a chair. "Yes, please. May I rent a towel too?" He replied, "Chair 100 baht. Towel 50 baht." Wow, a pretty cheap day! That's about 4.50 USD. 

With this first positive beach experience under my belt, I set out again the next day. I walked farther down the beach this time, possibly for a different experience. There are probably at least 10-15 different chair sections along Patong Beach. A server approached me before I could even sit down. He found me a chair in the front row and set up my umbrella. I started to unpack and asked to rent a towel. "100 baht," he replied. I said, "They only charge 50 down there," I said, pointing to my previous station. He shrugged his shoulders and said again, "100 baht." I said, "No, thank you," and left. What really surprised me is that he didn't even try to negotiate! Usually, when you walk away during a business deal, they will lower the price for you. I know 50 baht doesn't seem like too much of a difference, but when you're on a limited budget, it could amount to a beer or a few bottles of water.

I continued to the next station, where the server approached me. This time, before I got settled, I asked, "How much for a chair and towel?" "180 baht." You're kidding me! I said, "No, thank you," and kept walking. He called after me, "170 baht plus one free bottle of water!" I kept walking and he didn't persist.

At the next station, I started the negotiation. "How much for a chair and a towel?" "150 baht," he answered as he wrote it in the sand. "Great!" and I gave him a thumbs up. Whew, I was exhausted. I gave him a 20 baht tip and he was very attentive, adjusting my umbrella whenever the sun moved and closing it for the one hour of sun exposure I allotted myself.

Negotiation may seem like a lot of work, but personally, I think it's fun. It's expected in this culture, and can forge a friendly interaction with the native people. If you are negotiating with someone who is selling handicrafts for their own profit, just remember that they are only trying to feed their family. It's customary not to offer more than 30 percent below the original price. Bring your calculator!

Archetypal Patong

Patong Beach is as hedonistic as they come, with another street of bars everywhere you turn and a beach full of pleasure seekers. In other words, it's an excellent people watching location. After only a few days on a beach lounger, I've compiled a list of the Patong Beach archetypes.

Best Ass on the Beach Girl.

This girl must have an entire suitcase of swimsuits. The first time I saw her, she was wearing a triangle top with those bottoms that are skimpier than bikini, but not quite thong. The next day, she was wearing a tankini with the exact same style of bottoms in matching print! I need to consult my Victoria's Secret catalog. She is usually accompanied by a man.

Topless Little Girl Who's a Little Old For That.

I've seen her a few times. She is definitely European. Her long hair is braided in cornrows, one of the services hustled to tourists. She is not older than about eight years. My niece hates wearing tops, and would really love it here. Hey, it's Thailand.

Camera Laden German Tourist.

The Germans seem to love Patong. They always carry huge cameras. I never worry about my crappy camera getting stolen when I'm around the Germans. Four Germans orchestrated an entire photo shoot on the beach, in which they took turns behind the lens, even splaying their legs in the sand to capture the perfect shot.

Old Guy With a Young Guy's Body.

I keep seeing this guy around town. He emerged from the waves just like a model. Actually, it was more like Aphrodite due to his salt and pepper flowing locks. If you don't look at his face or hair, he could pass for 35, probably something he would greatly appreciate if I told him. As I was walking down the street, I saw him sitting in a bar reading the paper. I exclaimed to myself, "OMG! There's Old Guy With a Young Guy's Body!!!"

Babymooning Couple.

I wouldn't dare ask whether or not she's pregnant, but there seems to be several of these couples here. She's wearing a bikini, proudly showing off her baby belly. He's making sure that she's alright before he orders another beer.

Old White Guy With Young Thai Girl.

Several scenarios are at play here. Maybe they met online? Maybe she's a mail order bride? Maybe he was travelling for business, they hit it off, and they're back for a visit? Maybe she's showing him around town? One can only surmise.

Soft Spoken Man/Shrill Voiced Woman Couple.

Every time she comes out of the water, he goes in. Or he goes to get food. Or he goes to take photos. Whatever he's doing to get away from her, she's calling after him, loudly and shrilly.

Naked Baby on the Beach.

Did they forget swim diapers or is this acceptable in nature? It only works until about age three, and the babies seem to love it!

Jet Skiing Novice.

One of my favorites. It's always an overconfident white guy who thinks he's going to speed off just like the Thais do. I'm sure I wouldn't do much better. I love the look on the guy's face when he tumbles off. I was so excited to see a Jet Skiing Novice perform yesterday, but he mounted the jet ski and took off in a straight line! It's like it was his profession, turning and stopping as the natives do. I was impressed!

Surreptitious Ocean Urinator.

C'mon people, it's so obvious. He or she enters the water alone, finds some space, and with a satisfied look on his or her face, stares at the shore. Within moments, he or she exits the water and is back on the beach.

The Vendor.

As you sit on your beach chair, vendors walk by about every ten seconds to hawk their wares. Seriously, you can get almost anything you want. Sunglasses? "How much you pay for Prada?" Aloe vera treatment? Massage? Snacks? Beer? Fresh corn on the cob? Wooden flutes? Wooden toy motorcycles? Silver jewelry? Sarongs? Duffel bags? Beach towels? Henna tattoos? I always smile and politely decline.

I may amend this list as my observations continue. Now, where do I fit in?

The Secret Garden

Part of the fun of travelling alone is designing your itinerary for the day. Since I severely burnt my legs at the beach two days ago, that activity was out of the question. Less than an hour in the sun and my legs are burnt! I scanned the map for an intellectually stimulating activity. The Phuket Botanic Garden sounded promising, so I researched the website and looked up the typical taxi fare since it is outside of Patong and not walkable. Tip: Always know a ballpark figure for taxi and tuk tuk drivers in Thailand.

I discovered that the fare should be around 500 baht (about 15 USD...100 baht equals about 3 USD), which I confirmed with the concierge at my hotel. I walked along and hailed a tuk tuk. I'm newly skilled at hailing taxis, tuk tuks, and even buses, which you must do in Australia if you want them to stop for you. The driver stopped, I told him where I wanted to go, and he stared at me blankly. I said, "Map?", which he produced. I found my destination on the map and asked, "How much?" "600 baht," was his immediate response. "600!!!" I said, "500?" and smiled politely. "Okay." And we were off.

I noticed that he was driving in the opposite direction from where I thought the garden was located. The map was up front in the cab with him and I cursed myself for not bringing my own. You see, in Patong, the tuk tuks are designed with a driver's cab in the front with a glass partition. The back consists of two rows of seats and no door. Luckily, there are bars to hold on to. Actually, I think that vehicle is called a songthaew...hard to keep them all straight.

Soon we were at the beach, then further south toward Karon Beach. I was trying to stay calm and assure myself that he knew where he was going, as this is his job and his country. We arrived at a town called Chalong, which I remembered from the map, but didn't think the Garden was there. We turned down a deserted road and I started getting panicky again. Suddenly...hallelujah...I saw a sign for the Garden with an arrow in the direction we were headed.

We arrived and I was greeted by a hostess, the typical hospitable Thai style. I handed the driver his money and thanked him. He said, "I wait for you?" I started to say not to worry, but then thought about the deserted road and wondered how I would find a ride back. Yes, he was motivated by money, but I appreciated his offer nonetheless. I said, "Two hours."

I could write an entire post of the beauty of the Garden, but I'll just leave it at that. After two hours, I exited, and there was my driver, right where he said he would be. I told him I wanted to go back to Jungceylon Mall in Patong. I don't usually frequent malls, but the free toilets and air conditioning beckoned. I asked how much it would cost and he said, "500 baht." I didn't try to negotiate, as I was just grateful he was willing to wait. He delivered me safely to the mall.

Trust has played a fundamental role in this trip. From trusting that Airbnb locations will meet their descriptions to trusting that people will keep their word, it really is a necessity. Americans are typically skeptical of others as a result of watching the nightly news. Of course, trust your instinct, but if you walk around paranoid, questioning every person's motive, you won't enjoy yourself. That's why it's essential to experience different cultures, so you can form your own opinion.

The Isty Bitsy Spider

Overseas Adventure Travel continues to receive my business because they seek out and plan unique cultural experiences for their travellers. We travelled overland from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap, Cambodia in a small bus with no shock absorbers. Along the way, we stopped at "spider village" in Skuon. We arrived at a home where a woman approached us with a metal bowl full of tarantulas. 

As we were walking toward the harvest site of the tarantulas, a little girl of about 10 years took my hand. She asked my name and we chatted as we walked toward the tarantula den. I noticed she was admiring my watch, which is a cheapie inconspicuous watch I purchased at Target, exclusively for travel. I thought, "I should give it to her. I've always regretted not giving that Peruvian girl the bracelet she admired." Suddenly, I heard a voice, more like a growl, say, "You give me this!" It wasn't Regan from The Exorcist. It was this little girl! Her nails dug into my hand as she spoke. Moni, one of my travel mates, said, "How sweet! You've made a little friend!" I muttered, "Just wait until I tell you what she's saying." 

After we learned how to defang a tarantula, we walked back toward the house. The entire way, the growl continued, "You give me one dollar! One dollar!" No one else heard this! I tried to ask her some questions, but she had money on the mind.

It became apparent that we were going to cook and eat these tarantulas, so I got out my hand sanitizer. I offered some to my demonic friend, and it seemed to take her mind off extortion for the moment. Within minutes, I was surrounded by about six or seven children, all with their palms extended. I squeezed a drop of hand sanitizer in each of their hands. They rubbed their hands together and inhaled the tangerine scent simultaneously and incredulously. I recalled the scene from Airplane in which Elaine educated the Malumbos about Tupperware.

We sampled the tarantulas and shared them with the children. My little friend remained by my side, still eyeing my watch. As we walked toward the bus to depart, she became fanatical. "One dollar! One dollar! One dollar!" I smiled at her and said, "It was very nice to meet you. Goodbye!" At this, she shot me a dirty look, spun on her heel, and stormed off. I wondered where she had learned this behavior.

I don't mind helping people who need it. I know my new acquaintance was an impoverished little girl, but I just couldn't give in to her pressure. What was really on display here was the assumption that Americans, or any tourists, are affluent with funds to spare. Obviously, this little girl had been indulged by previous visitors and had learned the system. My hope for her, besides receiving an education, is that she creates a handmade trinket for her future visitors, in exchange for the "one dollar".

Scavenger Hunt in Bangkok

I've wanted to travel to Thailand ever since my grandma showed me her gold nail extensions that are worn by Thai dancers. My travel plans took me elsewhere until this year, when I decided to travel to Australia for four months. I thought since I would be in the neighborhood, I would swing by Thailand. I was apprehensive about travelling there as a single woman, so I booked a tour. While on the tour, I realized just how exotic the country seemed and decided to extend my stay. I had already booked a short group trip to Cambodia, which served as my "visa run". The group was scheduled to leave our hotel for our flight to Cambodia at 10:30 A.M. After enough procrastination, I called the local Qantas office at about 8:30 A.M. The rep said the flight I wanted was available, but she needed to run my credit card in the office. Conveniently, the office was just down the street from the hotel. I told her I'd be right there. I was scheduled to fly back to Sydney the day after we returned from Cambodia, so I had no choice. I finished packing quickly and ran down to breakfast, where my travel mates were leisurely enjoying their coffee and tea. They were confident I would make it back in time. I wasn't so sure. I told the bell boy where I needed to go, and asked whether I should walk or take a taxi. "Oh, walking," he said. "Five minutes." There is no problem with walking in Thailand until the sidewalk mysteriously ends or you need to cross the street. I knew I needed to cross the street to get to this location. I summoned the fearlessness that is required when crossing a Bangkok street, and was on my way. 

I was walking down Surawong Road toward Rama IV, and thought it would be a good idea to use the crosswalk at the intersection. First rule of Bangkok street crossing: Cross when you can. Never wait for the crosswalk, because the cars might stop for you but the motorbikes certainly won't stop. They'll just honk until YOU move out of the way. Once you learn this system, all is well. Miraculously, when I got to the crosswalk, all cars were stopped in all directions. Though there are no crossing signals for pedestrians, the traffic lights are accompanied by this ingenious little countdown clock. It lets you know how many seconds you have left to wait (red) and how many seconds you have to proceed through the intersection (green), though some drivers still don't abide by the clock. A few seconds remained on the countdown clock, so I ran like a maniac across the intersection. Sure enough, here came a herd of motorbikes, just as I reached the sidewalk. Where do they come from?!? Now that my first mission was accomplished, I focused on finding the "Charn Issara Tower" building. The rep said the office was located on the 22nd floor, so I examined the front of every tall building I saw. That might sound easy enough, but in Bangkok, you really must watch your step as well. I always try to scan about three feet in front of me for uneven pavement, urine puddles (human or canine), stray animals, or street vendors. When I got closer to Silom Road, which I knew already because of the mall, I started asking people for directions. Since address numbers are nonexistent on the buildings, it's better to ask. At Silom and Rama IV there are skyways to ferry pedestrians across that major intersection. Back and forth I went, enquiring along the way. Everyone was pointing in the general direction I needed to go, but I still couldn't find the tower. I found a tower that looked like it had 22 floors and said something about travel on the plaque. I rode the glass elevator up to the 22nd floor and exited. It was completely deserted and the elevator had already departed. Whenever I get in a precarious situation such as this, I launch into my determined mode. The elevator returned, I made it down to the ground floor, and I looked at my watch. 9:40!!! We were supposed to have our luggage out at 10:00 and I still needed to settle a bill with the hotel before departure. 

I thought, "Maybe this is a sign I should return to Sydney." Then I persisted, "NO! That defeats the whole purpose of vagabonding/adventure travel!" The purpose is to plan on a whim and avoid as much scheduling and convention as possible. I walked very slowly down Rama IV, back toward Surawong, and sure enough, there it was, set back from the street, exactly in the direction those helpful Thais had pointed. I entered the lobby and was examining the plaque to ensure I was correct when a security guard approached and said, "British Airways?" I responded, "No, Qantas." "22nd floor," he said. After a "khob khun ka" (thank you), I was at the elevator. I swung open the door to Qantas, absolutely saturated in sweat, and was greeted by the woman I spoke to on the phone. She took care of everything in about five minutes, and I was on my way back to the hotel, where I arrived just after 10:00.

Bangkok gives you a jolt of culture shock, but once you learn the customs and open up to the adventure, you realize its splendor. In retrospect, if the Qantas rep had been able to process my credit card over the phone or if I had found my destination as quickly as I should have, I would have missed out on some incredible cultural interaction.