# Writing Ourselves Into Stories



## RnJ (Aug 18, 2009)

(second half of a travel story I once wrote).

The next way, we caught a minibus to the edge of the city and then a truck to the border, where the police tried to set us up with a bus, while I came to the stark conclusion that I had left my eyeglasses on the previous ride, which was now long gone. I just disposed of garbage in my shoulder bag, and we walked down the highway anyway, to their complete confusion. We soon got another ride to a a place just across the bridge to Phuket island. We stopped for a break. We spent pennies on some Pepsis and a blissful pineapple which we cut up using my pocket knife and devoured on the side of the highway, squatting like scavenging wolves over the juicy messy, tearing pieces off with our merciless teeth. This was one of the most unforgettable scenarios, and reminded me of Tim Horton's donuts, for one reason or another. We continued on to the edge of that town until a Vin Diesel-esque foreigner scooped us up in his rented el camino in transit to Krabi. To divulge a bit, I want to say that traveling, especially hitching, brings a striking realization to mind; that every single person who ever lived, is living a fully-detailed story, be it boring or interesting, of 3 or 76 years; it happens without inaccuracy. And further, you become a part of the story of every single person you have and ever will meet. And on this occasion, we found ourselves in the story of the national Italian kayak team's physiotherapist, me riding shotgun in the only car the rental company owned, and Alan offering him directions from the tight space of the backseat, where our map of Thailand sprawled panoramically in front of him. The Italian talked and talked, and interrupted himself to comment on the beautiful scenery, and then continued. The ride may have been mere minutes, but it felt like hours; I was spent from a short night and the hot sun, and was going into energy debt, courteously fulfilling the hitchhiker's duty of keeping the driver company; I commented whenever he paused to think about something. Meanwhile, as we started to notice directional signs to Krabi, we began to do what we later realized was get completely lost. We took a turn which purportedly lead to a beach; which beach, the Italian had no concern for. We toured unknown villages and single-lane roads through the trees for what felt like hours, until we came to a bay. To be fair -- and truthful -- the view at the bay was amazing; limestone islands rose out of the dead-still waters and silhouetted against the ecstatic flare of sundown colors which in turn ricocheted repeatedly off the water's surface. It was an eclipse of time and location that made every feeling of doubt, sadness, and pain pause momentarily in the wake of nature's beauty. Were were lost, and we knew it, but we had forgotten it. We were hungry, but it didn't matter. We remembered our cameras and made good use of them for 20 minutes. We got back into the car and drove around in the unlit gravel roads, stopped in at a small neighborhood store for the most unearthly snacks tasted and water, and drove on. We reached a quaint little resort, and reading the sign's desperate 'food / water / bungalow,' we decided to at least stop in for a much needed supper. While waiting for our food, Vin Diesel pored over the lodge's map of Krabi area, and Alan and I tried not to chuckle over our waiter/ess; he wore a dress and flip-flops, his hair long and carefully styled, and a thick line of lipstick had been liberally applied -- his throat was scratchy, as close to the Godfather's as I've ever heard, only higher and not at all authoritative. We finished our excellent pad Thai and and chocolate-banana roti, a classic fried pastry-like dessert of the Thai. The Italian wheeled out in the el Camino in search of a better place to stay for the night; he claimed the 400 baht rooms here were expensive, as opposed to the 1200 baht A/C rooms he was used to. We kindly asked permission to camp out on the yard with the promise of buying breakfast in the morning, and the owner agreed without fuss. We slept safely in the middle of Somewhere, short meters away from the crashing beach, which lay between us and the fishing boats that raked the waters for food in the starless night. 

I first woke up to a juvenile's 5AM prayers blaring from the village mosque. It only lasted for about 5 minutes, but after that it was the birds and the locusts and the other creatures that wake up on the chipper side of life that kept me awake and out of the blissful sleep I had fell from. I spent numerable minutes trying to sink back into my dreams, failing all the while. I got up in annoyance, put on some clothing, and threw everything else outside the tent; except Alan, which lay soundly asleep like an exhausted child. I readied myself to leave the resort completely, and walked to the restaurant. I asked in hidden desperation, for my stomach had already started to shout at me, "Is it too early to order breakfast?" The yet-groggy home-dwellers said that 6:30AM was in fact too early to order breakfast. I would have to wait til 8. And I did. I found a cute little bamboo platform with a small table which the locals like to sit on for eating, rearranging it to my own taste, and passed out for 1 1/2 hours, waking up only momentarily while the raspy Thai interjections of the ladyboy peaked in his conversation; I understood nothing but sensed his urgency. When at last I felt the courage to face the day, I made haste to order chicken friend rice. Of all the chicken fried rice I have had in Thailand, from street stalls to Phuket restaurants, this was the most stunning of all; the flavour was of heaven, the size was of kings, and the price was just plain normal. When Alan woke up and packed his bags, he took my advice on breakfast, while I packed the tent. He slammed back his food and we walked together down the sun-blasted road in search of a ride back to Krabi town. 

We may have spent 15 minutes or so walking by quaint little country houses, analyzing small village life here; Alan was busy wondering out loud if we'd ever get a ride here, and I reassured him these places are good. We caught a pick-up going 3/4 of the distance, bringing us to many unrecognizable turns that simply required trust on our part of the driver; they typically understand the name of the place you go, and none of your other words; when they nod their head, you only hope they understand. Where we got dropped off, we caught a cheap minibus into the heart of Krabi, which proved to be a pretty uneventful place. We stopped in at Green Tea guesthouse to pick up a free map. I suggested to Alan that we spend a night at Crystal Lagoon and Hotspring Waterfalls, both purportedly pieces of "unseen Thailand," which sounded in stark contrast to the naive beaches of Phuket. In late afternoon, we caught a right to Khlong Thom via a series of farmer pick-ups, where we forked off towards the national parks in search of nature and solitude, in any dose available; a much needed resort from resorts.


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