I enjoyed every minute of my four-month Australian stay—soaking up the Australian way, enjoying the first of my two summers in 2009. But, after living abroad in a fairly familiar country, I realized a craving within me for culture shock, a craving that the Australian culture couldn’t satiate. I wanted to feel out of my element. So Meesh and I decided on Thailand, hoping that two weeks and one backpack would help us find some worldly insight.
Upon our arrival into Bangkok the cultural differences present themselves immediately; a Buddhist monk donned in traditional robes and an English-speaking businesswoman sipping from a Starbucks cup sandwich us in the taxi queue.
We start in Bangkok and quickly learn what many friends had advised: go but don’t stay. One cold shower and fourteen sleep-interrupted night-train hours later, we arrive in Chiang Mai, where we explore Buddhist temples and learn to say “kom poon ka” with a respectful wai in place of “thank you.”
One day we drive through villages of straw huts in the back of a pickup to get to the jungle, where our hike guide stands at about 4’9’’ and weighs maybe ninety pounds. But her tiny legs find the perfect steps to carry her stably and seemingly effortlessly down the steep path. She stops abruptly every third step to explain what medicinal benefit the plant in her hand provides when boiled in water. She lives up to her nickname, Medicine Woman, but her actual name is Yo, which provides me with a stifled laugh whenever anyone addresses her. Replaying the said sentence in my mind with a ghetto accent, I giggle. Example: “That was the best mango I’ve ever had, Yo,” or “Yo, let’s go ride elephants!” (Yes, we splurged on the elephant ride, but I wouldn’t recommend it.)
In Pai—a dog-friendly little town situated in a valley north of Chiang Mai known for its live music scene—we rent a motorbike. This is the most popular means of transportation for Thais. In every city motorbikes lines the lanes—mom’s picking up their children from school, kids cruising to the market for their parents, and teenage girls hanging on tightly to their boyfriends from the backseat. If twelve-year-olds can ride them, I figured I could too. So after a shaky start, we drive through a winding village road avoiding the chickens that pace the streets aimlessly. At the top of the hill the road turns to mud, so we take in the city view from above.
Driving back into Pai it seems we pass as many dogs as we do people. This is my favorite part of Pai, aside from its chilled-out atmosphere and quaint streets. The dogs walk the streets like the people do, dropping in the shops and restaurants as they please. In the evening as the air heavies with the sweet smell of dinner from the open-aired restaurants, the dogs wander up to tables licking their chops, hoping for a taste from a generous diner. Our one night in Pai is entirely too short; despite the village’s teeny area, we leave knowing we’ve only skimmed Pai’s surface. Fortunately, the rumored breathtaking beaches of southern Thailand awaited us.
Ko Phi Phi Don—a dumbbell-shaped, tourist-ransacked island off the coast of southern Thailand, marked our last Thai destination. When Meesh and I started planning our trip we surveyed all our friends who had traveled to Thailand and they all recommended one thing in common: Ko Phi Phi. So we flew south to where tourists hail to see what Meesh rightly referred to as the Mecca of all beaches: Maya Bay.
The trash filled shores of the island’s main beaches showcase tourist disregard, but we learn that nice jungle hikes lead to the outer beaches, where empty hammocks hang in abundance and the only thing littering the shore is seashells.
One afternoon the head fisherman of the fishing village we stumble upon takes us to Maya Bay on neighboring island, Ko Phi Phi Ley on his longtail boat. We snorkel with the rainbow fish, then climb our way to the inside of the island where we’re met with white sand so soft it forms a paste when wet. Eyes lit, we run down the sand path to The Beach. The magnificence of the limestone cliffs in combination with the translucent turquoise water of Maya Bay takes our breath. I just laugh. I know I’ll never be able to explain the beauty. I’m happy I couldn’t bring my camera, because I know I would have tried the impossible: to capture the beauty in digital form. Eyes on the sky, arms out, I spin down the shore and splash into the water. Floating on our backs, I tell Meesh, “the only thing that could make this moment better would be if everyone else left.” As if on cue, a tour guide blows his whistle and within five minutes the beach is cleared. In disbelief, all we can do is laugh and soak in the perfection of the moment.
Back on the boat, Lex cuts the pineapple that our Israeli friend provides. The six of us—Lex, the fisherman and his brother, Yelon and Ratival, our Israeli friends, and Meesh and I sit smiling eating the pineapple, ripe to perfection and sweet as honey.
Every location of our Thailand stay offered a bit of culture, a taste of simplicity, and a lot of beauty. Culture, simplicity and beauty—the real riches of life.
