[Above photo: Not my feet after multiple leech bites, this is a view from the Anurak Community Lodge dining room. It’s like the world is just being born but again, every morning.]
2 May 2021
27 April
My morning started with a bang. 8 bangs, actually. As I stepped out of my elevated domicile to go to breakfast, my flip-flop slipped on the top stair. It is varnished hardwood, it rained during the night, and the leeward lip is slanting down. I felt every stair as I bumped down to the landing; my left shoulder and left rib cage took the brunt of it, but I was only bruised.
After breakfast, my guide for the day, Wut, gave me the full tropical rainforest hiking experience for 6 hours. The humidity was about 95%. The canopy absorbed the direct sun, so it didn’t feel screamingly hot. We took a “trail” into Khao Sok National Park. There were no markings and since there has been no tourism for over a year, it was wildly overgrown. But beautiful. Gibbons (apes, solitary, tailless) called each other in the distance; on our return they were next to the trail and we enjoyed their acrobatics in the upper canopy. There was birdsong, especially hornbills. And cicadas in the trees and in their underground nests. Some live 17 years underground, emerging only to buzz, mate, and die..
We hiked up a pitch and over, dropping into an interior valley with a stream which we crossed several times. It felt ancient. We soon were plucking leeches off our ankles. When we’d stop to rest, we’d remove our shoes and find many in there, sucking away. They are kind of amazing, if unwanted when hiking. They look like fat little slugs and move rapidly like inchworms, having suckers at each end of their body. They have heat sensors and move rapidly toward you if you stand still. And when removed, they elongate 3x, waving one end of their body around to attach. They must be on constant alert, since when they grab with one end of their body, they must instantaneously let go with the other.
Despite having many, I was kind of charitable, admiring their persistent attempts to attach to a host. However, when I returned home to find my scrotum bloody and 3 of them hanging on there, I took umbrage. They are not “dirty”, though, Humphrey. Just omnipresent in the jungles here. Their anticoagulant is remarkably effective; my bathroom floor looked like an abattoir before I showered. It was kind of cool to join the leech club, though. They don’t hurt.
As we crossed the valley floor we came to a stream that issued from a cave set into a tall limestone cliff. Adjusting our headlamps, we entered, slogging up to our knees in the cool. The ceiling was dotted with a million drops of water, so it appeared studded with diamonds. We saw an immense, immobile frog, 2 small groups of bats, cave crickets, and lots of midges. There was an astoundingly perfect group of white mushrooms growing in the dark. There were also lovely stalactites and stalagmites; one was being constantly carved by a vigorous stream of water issuing from it. The cave is ½ mile (800 meters) long and serpentine, with a roof that soars at least 150 feet at times.
After exiting the cave, we pursued a vague trail around the hill, returning to the cave’s entrance. Then things went a little south, as Wut decided to take us back by a different “trail”. We quickly got lost; he’d tell me, “Wait here.” while he plunged into the undergrowth wielding his machete. He’d go for awhile, out of sight and earshot, and then whoop for me. Feeling like a gibbon but less suited for living in the jungle extemporaneously, I’d whoop back and he’d emerge looking tired and a little anxious. While he was gone I began to plan for the most comfortable night we could have there, all things considered. We had plenty of water—it is a 160 million year old rainforest with 138 inches per year, after all—and I hadn’t eaten the fried rice lunch the resort had fixed for me. I was amused, not anxious. There are numerous park rangers at each entrance to the park and there would be a search party tomorrow, I was sure, when they saw his pickup truck still parked at the trailhead. Also, we could likely follow down the stream’s flow which would lead us…somewhere. After at least 5 attempts at reconnaissance, Wut felt assured he had a good lead and I followed him. Sure enough, we came to the huge tree by the stream for which he’d been searching, caught the trail, and wearied back.
It was the kind of adventure that I like. Exciting and novel but not really dangerous. Windsurfing appealed to me for the same reason; you fall into the water if you err. The beauty of this park is astounding with stands of giant timber bamboo, towering hardwood trees, green rattan ropes wandering along the jungle floor, lianas twice the size of an ample thigh, and frequently near the streams we’d see groups of 20+ butterflies—-white, yellow, and orange—fluttering together. Spikey rattan is a near-invisible hanging vine with very sharp upward-facing thorns, just waiting for the unsuspecting traveler. It was a perfect outing. And I am beat for today.
4.29-30
With some anxiety I donned my helmet, sat astride my rented Honda scooter, and set off the 43 km to Chiaw Lan pier. Riding that far on the shoulder, paved as it is, challenges concentration. I managed, keeping it down to 50km which seems to be an average speed for women carrying children on their scooters. The men, in flip flops with no helmet, often scream down the middle of the road at twice that speed. My life and my physical integrity, not ego, are important here, I remind myself.
After checking with Entrance Security twice, Information and Reservations once, the Park Service once, and the alternate pier, I made my way to my guide, Nit, and the longtail boat that would carry me to the park hotel.
Chiaw Lan is a huge lake with many fingers set in the middle of Khao Sok National Park. It is 80 meters deep in places, with limestone karst pillars rising straight up 1500-2000 feet. It is an eerie blue, an almost glacial color, and is tepidly warm.
We zoomed for an hour to the “hotel”, two rafts of 20 simple, one-room bamboo huts joined at right angles with a floating dining hall at the apex. I was the only visitor. I really was tempted to swim but then was concerned about schistosomiasis. Were there snails in the grass on the shore?
I soon learned, Yes, they are large and plentiful. We went to a fishing village, a tiny collection of rafts and huts and netted fish-pens. Little boys were swimming around as their mothers emptied snail shells as big as a fist of their meat. They harvest them regularly and both eat and sell them locally. There were 6’x10’ net pens filled with carp, catfish, and snakehead fish. All in all, a nice operation, if not tidy.
Back at the hotel, I was served a huge meal, including steamed snails in a lime juice-shallot-chili pepper dip. They were a bit like octopus, the consistency of ground up tennis balls with a mild flavor. Sleep was easy on a mattress with a clean sheet on the floor, a pillow, and a knit cotton blanket. After supper Nit broke out his guitar and played/sang American pop songs, like “Country Road” and “Hotel California”. He picked very well and had a soulful voice. The 4 of us joined in.
The next day we took the boat along the shore, looking for game. We saw, and heard, small groups of Gibbons. Their calls, omnipresent in the park, are musical and plaintive. We saw flocks of hornbills; there are 5 species here and I couldn’t get which these were, as well as a Red Hawk.
After breakfast we took the boat to another part of the lake and Nit and I climbed to a viewpoint, 1 ½ hours steadily going up and up. It was a special view and going down we saw a troop of Dusky Langours (monkeys, tail, social—-sounds like the name of a courtesan). Nit saw some Long-tailed Macaques (monkeys, also) but I saw only movement. Upon our return to the lake, Nung, the ‘captain’, said a wild elephant had descended from the forest to drink in the lake nearby.
Then we were off to visit “Guling” (Guelin), a beautiful section of lake with several karst pillars looking like its namesake in China. Back at the pier. I said goodbye and thanked them, mounted my Honda, and returned from whence I’d come.
The lodge where I am staying, Anurak Community Lodge, is a fabulous piece of property with one of the loveliest dining room views I’ve seen (above). The stilt cabins are set in a glorious garden, having been prefabricated in Surat-Thani and assembled here to minimize disruption to the ecosystem. The manager, also George, is a 38yo Brit who grew up in the British Virgin Islands and is married to a Thai woman, a chef, who works and stays in Phuket. He is a sailor and his father is former British Navy, now delivering sailboats all over the world. George is also trained as a chef—Culinary Institute of America—and has had an intresting life. We talk afternoons when I’m here.
He has been infinitely helpful to me in arranging my hike, my tour of the lake, the motorbike, and, finally, my taxi ride for tomorrow morning to Kuraburi Pier. I’ll take a longtail boat 45 minutes to another lodging, Baba Eco Resort, for 3 days. It is upscale, sited on a large, mostly uninhabited island with wonderful beaches. Again, I am a bit anxious if I can get there; there is screening at each province entrance and some places are demanding quarantines. I’ll try to slip through.
That seems enough for now. Myanmar is in upheaval, ASEAN leaders were pathetic in being unhelpful, and President Biden continues to amaze me with his vision. It is radical, if you contrast it with Ronald Reagan’s —“Government is the problem.” Joe thinks that government can be helpful and is proving so with the vaccination campaign. He wants to level the playing field a bit and let the fat cats pay their share so 14% of American children and their parents are not living in poverty while billionaires eat caviar. We are a sorry species!
A Psychiatrist in Myanmar 