[Above photo: A seemingly endless deserted beach on the Andaman Sea, Ko Phra Thong, Thailand ]

9 May 2021                                                                  2 May

“Do you want to use the ladder?”, Theresa asked. “No, it’s OK.”, I replied, jumping down 8 feet to damp-packed sand, having heedlessly forgotten about my 30+ pound backpack. Soon I was on my back as a wave of warm Andaman Sea washed over me. I was fine, if damp and a little crestfallen. “And now for my next trick!”

I rode my Honda Click from Anurak Lodge 20km to the western entrance of Khao Sok National Park, returning the scooter and catching a taxi ride with an enterprising and very engaging cousin of the scooter rental guy. With three years of a 5 year architecture degree completed at university, he saw a poor job market and switched to tour guide school. Now he owns acres of coffee trees and a tree-top hotel outside the park. As well as a new Toyota van to transport tourists from the Surat Thani Airport to his hotel. Covid has killed tourism, as I find everywhere here, and he is holding his breath until the virus subsides. He drove me 1 ½ hours to Kuraburi Pier on the Andaman coast where I awaited a boat ride to my next destination.

Baba Eco Lodge is a collection of small, elegant stilt houses on an island with a 12 km stretch of pristine beach facing the Andaman Sea. The longtail boat left the pier and weaved through a myriad of small mangrove islets, emerging into the open sea between two large islands. As the driver continued heading west, I wondered, “India?” “Sri Lanka?” He was merely moving beyond the breakers before turning south to parallel the shoreline. An hour after we departed he beached us behind a rocky promontory that forms the only protected cove on the outside of Ko Phra Thong.

That’s when I made my dramatic entrance. I do seem to be crashing more these days. While I’m happy to have strong bones, I need to be a little more circumspect. Even though I fool people into guessing I’m 60, I am 3 ½ months short of 81; I must remind myself to act it, even if I don’t always feel it.

Once again, I am the only traveler here. Theresa, the manager, is Austrian and very solicitous; I suspect she is used to hosting demanding, well-off Europeans. She has 4 beautiful cats, one of which gave her a live flying lizard as a present while I was registering. She saved it; in thanks, the lizard bit her.

I am in a well-designed one room (bedroom) bungalow on stilts with an outdoor toilet and shower and a covered deck twice the size of the interior. It faces the sea, but is nestled among trees for shade. A light breeze caresses my rinsed and drying clothes and backpack. Two large orange bath towels are origamied into perfect swans on my bed. I deconstruct only one for my shower, preserving the other as a kind of pet.

I can hike on nature trails into the interior of the island; there is great birdlife, I am told. I can kayak in the ocean or some km up a channel in a mangrove swamp. I can walk the endless sand. I can sit and write. I can simply be, taking an occasional swim, smelling the smells, listening to the cicadas and birdsong. Last night, with all doors and windows open, the surf crashed and long-tailed macaques howled as I sank, deeply, into the arms of Morpheus. Happily, the internet is only available in the dining hall and reception area so I won’t waste my time on news.

It seems a perfect place to enjoy nature and avoid covid until I return to Bangkok in a week. I won’t be able to snorkel at the Surin Islands (the Similans are closed because of covid); even though they are open for daytrips, no one will run them for a single traveler. And even though I’d like to visit Ranong, the northernmost town on the Thai Andaman coast and the departure point for scuba liveaboards to the Meik Archipelago off of Myanmar, I suspect none of those boats are travelling either. Theresa’s boyfriend, who recently visited her, was quarantined for 14 days upon returning to his home in Ranong. Interprovincial travel here is increasingly difficult.

I’m not suffering.

4 May

The low salt-palms reached across the narrowing estuary, fronds overlapping. Mangrove roots continued to narrow the channel. I had visions of snakes and huge salt water crocodiles, as are found in Indonesia and northern Australia. I also thought of Humphrey and Katherine, pushing “the old girl” down to the lake where she would seriously interfere with Germany’s African dominance exemplified by a gunboat.

I had taken a paddleboard, standing up, outside the break, entering a channel into the mangrove interior of the island. It was strange and yet uneventful, except for surprising a troop of macaques frolicking in the water. They scampered for the forest as I paddled on but when I returned they were less frightened and simply moved to a little more distant shore.  The dominant male brought up the rear, walking disdainfully slowly. I saw a few birds, surprised a large frog, and watched a strange, small box-shaped fish, black with white markings, dawdle across a shoal.

I could enter a few kilometers up the briny, twisty channel. Eventually it became too narrow and overgrown for an easy passage. I had neither Kate, a lake, nor the “Louisa” to inspire more vigorous propulsion so I spun and paddled back.

Today I took the board again and accessed one of two small islands in the bay. Finding a beach, I ditched it, donned fins, a mask, and snorkel and worked my way around half of the island. There were several types of hard coral, looking healthy to my eye, and a great variety of small, brightly patterned fish. The visibility was poor but it still was fun, always being surprised by yet another brilliant display.

As I returned to the beach after perhaps 1 ½ hours, the sun was high and patches of surface water felt unpleasantly hot. I’ve not encountered that swimming in the tropics. I don’t know if it is new or just common to here but it certainly didn’t feel healthy for living creatures.

8 May

I have never marked time as I have here. “You cannot kill time without injuring Eternity.” I want to be in Maine. Paradise, solo, has gotten boring. It is very remote and beautiful. I don’t feel much like writing. I swim in the lovely warm ocean 100 feet from my cottage. I walk back and forth to meals. I read. It’s too easy. It would be excellent for romance—or for evenings with friends. A wonderful place for evening poker.

I enjoy watching a splendid hornbill swoop back and forth in front of the dining area. The sunsets are colorful but since they are just over water, I don’t find them as special as those viewed on Beach Island, on the coast of Mozambique, or, even, on the shores of Lake Malawi. Boy, am I spoiled!

There was a costume ball last night as I returned to my place in the dark after supper. I noticed a 3-4’ long slender cone-shaped shell under my first stair tread. I’d seen 3 similar there the night before and determined that they were inhabited by hermit crabs. Then I looked around with my flashlight and the ground was alive! All manner of different shells were moving about, their tenants feeding and sight-seeing. Perhaps dancing. I’d wondered what creatures lived in all the holes in the sand, for this island is all sand. Now I know. Night-feeding hermit crabs inhabit every shape, size, and color of abandoned shell they find on the beach. It is perhaps not strange that I have only seen tiny shells, and bivalves at that, on my beach walks. The larger ones are all inhabited.

I struggle to imagine what I’ll do next year. I don’t think just “living” will suit me. I don’t really want to return to the Bay Area, although that’s where many of my old friends, and my roots, are, if I have such. It is too crowded and expensive. I worry I’d be impatient with the concerns of many, given what I’ve seen in the past 4 years. Rural Maine, near Brooklin where my daughter lives, is appealing but seems very isolated in winter. Perhaps I’d enjoy it: writing, building a small boat, reading, observing such wildlife as there is. I could perhaps teach a semester course in Global Mental Health at a local college, if I can find a local college. E.B.White loved living there, but he was enspoused.

Winters can be hard in Maine. It is cold and icy and could be solitary. It can be beautiful, as well. I’ve always liked snow, watching it and playing/exercising in it. I also could look for something in the tropics, but then I’d be out of reach of most family and friends.

Renting a place in Portland when I leave the Island seems like a better fit for me. There are colleges, child psychiatry colleagues, live music, and a variety of organizations with which I could connect. It seems to me to be late in my life to do this; it also just seems strange after so many years imbedded in my nuclear family.

It feels like a challenge for me, one I’ve avoided addressing directly since my divorce, I realize. I didn’t feel it in either Malawi or Myanmar. In the former I had a partner and a defined role; in the latter, a larger, less-defined role and no partner.

[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!

[Above photo: Still life of hammock, porch, and dog.]

25 April 2021  

19 April

One of the first things to strike me, literally, when I sat on my veranda in the countryside was the incredible wealth, variety, and artistry of insects. They are of impossible design and extravagant colors.  Cities now seem so barren and sterile. Yangon, for example, sports cockroaches, ants, rats, pigeons, crows, and house sparrows. And the very occasional mosquito. That’s it, except in the rare marshy or wooded areas like behind our house, where nature comes to life again.

I have landed in heaven! Bamboo Nest is at the top of a series of nearly vertical pitches, initially paved but eventually giving way to a rutted dirt track. It is a cluster of simple bamboo huts, all with spacious bathrooms and large verandas, set like jewels around the crown of a hill. The views are of lush greenery on the hillsides below giving way to a tilled highland valley with rows of mountains in the distance. Below it, out of earshot or eyesight is a tiny Lahu village whose occupants built and maintain the facility. At the top of the hill, with a panoramic view, is a large open, thatched dining area with a kitchen concealed behind bamboo walls to the rear.

There is, of course, the occasional distant thrum of a motorbike heading up a dirt path toward its rider’s home. Since they are all 4 cycle now, they are quiet. Otherwise, there are only birdsong and gecko calls.  I’m aware of tinnitus in my ears, not previously noticed by me because of city noise.

The force behind this operation is Nok, a fit, tiny 48yo Thai woman. As she skillfully guided her large 4WD Mazda diesel truck up the pitches, she described how she enjoys “adventure”. Her parents and her brother, who live in Chiang Rai, were not bitten by the same bug.  She started a travel and trekking agency—“I like to trek.”—20 years ago and 10 years ago bought this isolated patch of hilltop.  Hiring men from the nearby village, she cleared the land and built the Nest. The details are wonderful—note the hammock in the photo above. It is a traditional Lahu design, woven from a single length of timber bamboo which grows prolifically in the area, and is an exquisite and functional piece of craftsmanship.

I’ll find out from her tonight at supper about trekking in the nearby national forest. A surprise like this is what I sought in coming to northern Thailand. I wish I could transport one of the hammocks home!

21 April

I am the only visitor here. Cookie, an affectionate white dog with brown spots, has attached herself to me and resides on my deck whenever I am in my bungalow, including all night. I won’t bother with the details of the systems (water, waste, lighting, etc.) here but they are ingenious. One issue is that termites love to eat bamboo, so Nok must replace the roofs of the huts every 3 years. She refuses to use chemicals, preferring the extra labor.

I hiked the first day “to the waterfall” but took several wrong turns and ended high up another hill in the middle of a lichee fruit orchard, looking down on the Akha village I was supposed to pass through. There are myriad trails here to fields, to remote houses and hamlets, and for hunting; none are marked. It was a lovely hike, however, and it reassured me that I still can go vertically without much strain. I worried because when I jog, I get quite short of breath. But walking at a good clip uphill is just fine.

Today I headed for “the waterfall” again, only to take another “upper trail” which led me far afield. I climbed and climbed through a gorgeous hardwood forest and then past many stands of timber bamboo. The latter is up to 8” in diameter and 60+ feet high, growing in clumps of 40-80 stalks. I ended up at a high mountain farm with two small huts and a stream running through it. Knowing where I had gone wrong, I eventually retraced my steps, took the correct trail, and found the waterfall, and it’s lower partner.

Four of the 5 dogs that live here, including Cookie, accompanied my hike on the first day. Today we set off together but when I walked through the Akha village I somehow lost them and continued the rest of the way on my own. It was reassuring to have them break trail, flushing out any snakes that might be surprised. When I was alone, I carried a length of bamboo as a walking stick and saw nothing of threat. Nok has said she rarely sees snakes; they really do try to avoid us, as I found in Africa. One exception would be puff adders, which move very slowly except to coil and strike, but they are not here.

It is clear to me that my anxiety, and I think that of many people, is not reality-based, since we have little sense of what the reality is. So we prepare ourselves using our imagination, which can lead to strange behaviors and uncomfortable feelings. Nok says many Thai people who stay here are fearful of the dark and leave the two small lights in their cabin on all night.

Dusk has fallen like a purple veil over the hills and fields. If there were others here to share it with, in addition to Nok, I’d probably stay here for awhile. It may end up being the best segment of my Thailand adventure; it is to date.

As mentioned, I am reading A Fine Balance about the life of the poor in Mumbai, how subject they are to cruelty, coercion, extortion, and neglect at every turn. The government of the time (Indira Ghandi) made absurd decisions, bulldozing slums with no provision for the inhabitants and rounding up people from the streets to serve as indentured labor. Not surprisingly with that kind of leadership, the degree of corruption at lower levels of government service (courts, police) and in the private sector is described as ceaseless. I mention the details here because it is additionally painful to be aware of them in such a bucolic setting. Now we are seeing the slaughter through indifference and ignorance of so many Indians from covid. And mighty efforts to conceal the real death toll.

24 April

I been staying at Baanbua Guest House, a simple, cheap, quiet and clean affair in the middle of Chiang Rai. Thym, the owner, has run it for decades. It consists of two one-story wings at right angles with the kitchen at the apex. There is a large garden with shade trees and flowering plants and Hsu, a Myanmar native (Kayin) makes a lovely crepe with local honey in the morning. I introduced her to putting sliced bananas in the middle and I split a mango with her each morning to add on. I sleep in a large room with a table and two sets of bunk beds; there is an “en suite” bathroom with a hot shower. I’m alone in there for $13/night, with a/c. It is perfect.

Nok also introduced me to Suwanee who runs a cooking school. At 48yo she is intelligent, lively, beautiful, never married, fluent in at least Thai, Dutch, and English, and has lived in Europe for 10+ years. She purchased a few acres on the edge of town and recently built a beautiful modern house and a separate kitchen for her classes. The latter is absolutely lovely: light, airy, open, tastefully decorated, and maximally functional.

I took a class with her for 4 hours, learning to cook a red curry, a stir-fry, a soup, and pumpkin in coconut milk and cream for dessert. All were so good, in part because of her graceful manner of instruction and in part because most of the ingredients she had picked from her surrounding farm/garden an hour before I started the class.

If anyone wants to go to Chiang Rai, I have some good tips. This morning Nok dropped by to take me to the airport, giving me a gift of Thai tea and a lanyard to keep my mask attached when it is off, like when eating supper.  All three of the women—Nok, Suwanee, and Thym—are clever and entrepreneurial, making a living doing what they like to do, not to get rich. Nok described to me a design for bamboo hanging bedrooms that she can suspend from trees at her new place along the river; she thinks her Lahu village can weave them for her. She is going to donate the current Bamboo Nest to the villager who has helped her maintain it for 10 years. Like Suwanee, she wants to grow organic fruits and vegetables in her new location.  She also wants to cut back from 8 to 4 dwellings: “Too much work.”

25 April

I flew to Phuket today, not knowing if I would have to quarantine for another 14 days. Surat Province, where I am staying adjacent to Khao Sok National Park, is very strict about people entering it, especially from covid “red” zones. Until yesterday, they hadn’t had a single covid positive test in Surat. Fortunately for me, Chiang Rai has been an “orange” zone. I also carry a certificate for a negative covid test from the Phuket Airport and evidence of having one vaccination, so I am hoping I can avoid it.

An advantage of covid travel is that there are very few travelers and I never need to make reservations. A disadvantage is that there are fewer to talk with and I may not be able to do some of the things I want to do. Because of the rise in infections, they have closed all snorkeling and scuba diving in Phuket. Surin Island is currently closed to scuba but might open in early May.

I’m sitting in my eco-hut on stilts, looking out my window at the fringes of a 160 million year old rain forest. Lush is inadequate to describe the vegetation. There are massive vertical karst cliffs covered in ferns, as well. I’ll likely rent a motorbike, with helmet, since it is difficult to get around here and the distances are too great to walk.  The two park headquarters, for example, are each about 10 miles from here, in opposite directions. Perhaps I can rent a bicycle.

For now, I’m content and excited to explore this huge and amazing park.

[Above photo: A contrast in styles. If only we could address human relationships with as much energy, detail, and persistence as we do our amazingly engineered products. ]

18 April 2021

Travelling in Thailand at this time allows one to just drop in without reservations. Nowhere is full and everyone is happy to have your business. I’m in Chiang Rai in the north, where I’ve wanted to come since hearing about the area when we were in Laos in 2004. I want to take the slow 2 day public ferry down the Mekong from Huay Xai to Luang Prabang but I don’t think I’ll risk Laos right now. Even if I can get in easily, I‘d probably have to quarantine in Thailand on re-entry.  My plane to the US leaves from Bangkok.

It is lush green here, with many hills in the distance. I am going to a very simple hilltop resort (no wifi, no swimming pool) called Bamboo Nest tomorrow for at least 3 nights. There are hammocks on each bungalow porch overlooking the lush valley below, hikes into the National Park nearby, and bike tours if desired. Plus 2 meals a day, which suits me fine—I am losing my belly fat as I eat 2x/day now.

From there I’ll move on to a series of towns on the Mekong before flying south to one of the island destinations to read overlooking the sea, to snorkel, and perhaps to scuba.

Bangkok was much more manageable this time than when we were there 17 years ago. I was not hassled by girls (I look old now.) or touts. I mastered the BTS (Skytrain), the MRT (Subway), and the Orange flag river ferry so between them and my feet I got around nicely.

I very much enjoyed the Jim Thompson House and Museum.  He was an American with the OSS during WWII who fell in love with Thailand and stayed. He revived and developed the Thai silk industry internationally. He also assembled a number of traditional teak Thai houses into a lovely compound on one of the canals in Bangkok and filled it with a large collection of ceramics, paintings, sculpture, and furniture. He only was able to enjoy it for 11 years or so.  At 61 yo while visiting a friend in the Cameron Highlands of Malaysia he took an afternoon walk and disappeared.  He was never seen again. Perhaps he was lunch for a tiger; worryingly, he’d been publicly critical of the CIA so that shadow remains. The restaurant at the compound is beautiful, built underneath one of the stilt houses, adjacent to a long carp pond. My prawn and pomelo salad was delicious. It is a calm island in the middle of busy Bangkok.

I took a bike tour which was fun, albeit hot as hades toward the end. My antihypertensives really kick in if I get a little fluid-depleted in the heat, leaving me faint. It happened on our first trip up Mt. Mulanje, in Malawi. I hydrated and my guide bought me a very chilled wet cloth which I used to refresh my face and then draped around my neck. We finished the ride across the river from the Grand Palace, biking along a maze of footpaths in the old Portuguese section. There is a wonderful small museum set in a traditional house there, which explores the Portuguese influence in Bangkok.  Instead of their usual bullying colonial approach, in Thailand the Portuguese military leaders were impressed with the strength of the Thai army and decided it was in their best interest to work with the king, rather than to battle him.

I also did a bit of shopping at MBK, buying a long pair of Thai fisherman’s pants—I think they are now preferred by women but originally were used by men—which I find very comfortable. I also bought a knock-off watch.  I don’t know why I wanted to get the latter; it feels like a joke of sorts. I bought a Longines for $27 in Hanoi in 2004 and when I had the battery changed 3 years later the Oakland watchmaker declared it was the genuine article, not a fake. It listed for $1100 in Duty-Free! It must have been stolen. This time I stepped up and bought an Audemars Piguet “Royal Oak” (I had no idea but liked the name and looked it up.). It retails for $34,950. I got it for $110 and the seller probably got a good deal although it was less than half of what he initially requested. The many fakes he has are made in Taiwan and have genuine automatic movements. Pretty funny. It looks good, although I rarely wear a watch. I’ll save it for those high-powered interviews when I have on a suit and tie and am really wanting to impress or close a deal!  The seller has Rolex, Tag Heuer, Omega, and more. A $22 Casio quartz will undoubtedly tell time more accurately than any of them and if you drop it, who cares!

As happened quickly in Myanmar, I am Wat’ed out. I’ve seen many and have no need to see more. There are interesting symbolic and structural differences, I hear, although they appear very similar to me.  For instance, the Chinese-influenced Wats have ceramic paneling outside. All have lots of gilt. In Myanmar and, probably here as well, you can salve your guilt for crimes committed by donating a lot of money to build or refurbish a pagoda, stupa, or wat. You also increase your likelihood of being reincarnated higher on the food chain, returning as a monkey not a mosquito, for example.  And, of course, the head monks, as with leaders in the Catholic Church (and other Christian denominations), are grateful guardians of significant wealth.

My 55^th reunion at Columbia P&S will be in two days. I sent in an 11 minute Zoom life-update, compressing 55 years into that time. Now I’m eager to be in touch with some of my former classmates; I’m sure many have interesting tales.

Kitchen Confidential did not hold my interest as I had hoped. Like many breathless tales it left me wanting some air. Bourdain let us into his bad behaviors but didn’t really let us much into the unhappiness underlying them. Like many of us, perhaps it was difficult for him to recognize it. Striking for me was how, after his death at 61yo, his mother said she had “No idea” he was suicidal. It perhaps explains a bit of why he was; he makes it clear how he alternated between feeling king of the mountain and helplessly self-destructive, abusing himself and others to the extreme. Armchair psychiatry has its limits but I sense that he suffered a pretty early failure of empathic bonding.

I’ve started A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry. So far it is a gripping tale of the struggle of Untouchables (Dalit) in a small village in India. The economic roots of the caste system are swiftly exposed as the book develops.  The Hindu/Muslim mobs attacking and killing each other during Partition echo the words, actions, and facial expressions of those in the January 6 Capitol assault as captured on Frontline’s “American Insurrection”. I find it chilling, mostly that many politicians stoke those flames with known lies, thinking the mob’s hatred and destructive energy advance their political interests. It’s not as easy to galvanize a mob with love and kindness, it is true.

I think the aloneness of solitary travel, the lack of novelty for me in this setting, and, having started the process, my increasing desire to return home are sapping some of my enthusiasm for this trip. I still think it was a good idea, allowing it to warm up in Maine and let covid settle a bit in CA before I return. But I am having to remind myself to live in the moment, to enjoy each day. It’s isn’t how I generally feel about travel so I’m hoping that immersion in the natural beauty of the countryside will perk me up. It also is depressing to see and hear of so much economic suffering because of covid.  Tourism contributes between 10 and 20% to GDP here and there are virtually no tourists. I mistakenly booked online the current hotel I’m in; 330 rooms and only 12 taken. On New Year’s weekend, the major holiday week in Thailand.

And, of course, the ongoing news from Myanmar is dreadful. 82 killed in Bago 9 days ago, with the death total of protesters and opponents of the coup over 750 and the arrest total over 3000.  

{Above photos:  A downpour oblierates my view.]

11 April 2021

Tomorrow morning I shall exit to a hotel closer to the elevated train and the heart of Bangkok. The Siam Heritage is listed as 4 stars, has a special mention in the Lonely Planet guidebook, and costs $16/night! We’ll see. Usually the interesting but modestly-priced hotels have guests who are open to chat at breakfast. People are more insular, I find, at the fancier places.  

My promised 45’ of outdoor walking in the riverside gardens has been a relief from sloth. It was possible at the halfway mark of my stay, after my first nasal swab PCR test was negative. I walk briskly in loops around the property and sometime jog on the lawn.  I figure a full circuit is about ½ km and I do 8, so that is 2 ½ miles.  It’s not much exercise but is better than none. Today, unfortunately, as you can see from the photo above, in came the rain and washed the spider out so I am writing instead of walking.

On my second and subsequent days of walking I met a family of 4, including 12 and 9yo girls. They were returning from a visit to their ancestral home in the Shenandoah Valley in early March 2020. Thailand soon shut its doors and they are only now able to get back to their lived-in home. Of course, business investors and tourists have been able to enter much earlier than some, since they bring more money. These parents are missionaries who have lived in rural NE Thailand for 10 years. The girls are fluent in Thai and during my walks as I’d pass they would be playing traditional Thai music on their phones and doing graceful Thai dances.  They looked very sweet; it was lovely to see children being able to be children, not feeling pressure to mature and, especially as girls, not have to become prematurely sexualized.

It is so difficult to raise kids in the US, especially in cities now. They are confronted with so many temptations and pressures, as if their own internal development didn’t contain an adequate number. Thus, they have to make decisions for which they are not really mature enough. Perhaps I’m simplifying or glorifying rural life or earlier eras; I’m sure they had their own challenges. As a parent it is difficult, of course, since you want to protect your children but not smother them. And protection is a moving target, very different now from protection even 60 years ago, given the cultural shifts in sexual mores, prevalence of marijuana, etc.

Linda told me the 4 M’s that describe those committed to working in developing countries: misfits, martyrs, missionaries, and mercenaries. I think I best fit in the missionary category, though clearly not of the religious type. I bring the gospel of helping children, of their development and developmental interferences, of their rights, of their mental unwellness, and of their families.

I’ve binged on a TV series, “Breaking Bad”, in the past two days. It is incredibly violent and bloody but not gratuitously: that is, the slayings all are strategic to move the plot along.  It is remarkably well done—cinematography, acting, script, editing—with constant plot twists and surprises. But I feel, at the end of the day, sort of wrung out, like I’ve been drinking and eating salty snacks from sunup to sundown, which I am not. I’ve not binged on TV before. It’s enough to drive a person to read! 

I’ve been quite remiss in planning my 4 weeks here. I am ambivalent about scuba-diving; I want to dive and the experience is so much better than snorkeling but I retain a bit of worry about my age and lack of a right upper lobe.  Still, I can hike and walk and my experience of scuba is that it is only mildly aerobic. I don’t want to motor along a cliff-face because I’ll miss seeing the minutia. If I limit my depth and only dive 2x/day, I should be fine.

The Surin and Similan Islands are supposed to have world class dive sites; Koh Tao in the Gulf of Thailand and Koh Phi Phi in the Andaman Sea are also supposedly very good. Khao Sok National Park has one of the oldest rainforests (160 million years old) in the world and is filled with birds, plants, caves, and waterfalls.  I expect it will be damp. I think I’m going for nature; I’ve seen enough ruins for now.

The news from Myanmar is heartbreaking, as more and more protesters are killed by the Tatmadaw and increasing numbers of police have been killed by the protesters who are now fighting back. A few of my students are trying to flee the country and who can blame them? The military has refined their practice of intimidating people over their 60 years of rule so it is hard to imagine they’ll take seriously any non-violent response from the opposition or outside nations/entities. Where is an avenging angel?

It seems like most loud-mouths—Trump, Matt Gaetz, etc.—shout others down so their own actions and words won’t be examined closely. I have the funny feeling that Jim Jordan has some skeletons he wants to conceal, but that is the sort of inuendo I disapprove of so I’ll go no further. He certainly likes to talk over everyone.

Joe Biden cannot please everyone, even in his own party, but if you look at what he’s trying to do and how he is going about it, I think it is impressive. Who would have guessed? I didn’t, just thinking that defeating DT would be enough of a step forward for a first term. He’s relying on science for covid measures, re-establishing our diplomacy, trying to stanch the upward hemorrhage of wealth, and looking out for the poor, people of color, and working classes. Providing health care, as with the ACA, to millions cannot be a bad thing; Canada, Japan, and every other developed country are way ahead of us with a national health service and their health expenditures per person are much lower than ours. Not surprisingly, their life expectancies are higher. Trying to invest in our infrastructure and simultaneously address climate change seems like a good thing: job creation, keeping us competitive in the world markets, etc. Now if we can just cool the fires of ultranationalism and white supremacy that are growing here and seem to be consuming parts of Europe. Al Jazeera has a superb and lengthy investigative piece on it.  Good TV journalism in depth is such a contrast to the American talking heads and sound bites! Frontline is, of course, often terrific.

As I read over this rambling piece, I think I can see how too much TV and inactivity hollows out my mind. I’ll look forward to having the focus of travel. I really have no “tasks” here in quarantine. I’m too lazy to try to learn Thai language, to edit my blog, or any other major undertaking. The gears of my mind have ground to a sluggish halt.

[Above photo:  The view of the Bangkok River from room 2423. ]

4 April 2021

A thundershower dropped in and the river, barges, freighters, and bridges all disappeared. It was strange to see rain after 5+ months of nary a drop. It feels healthy to me and it does clear the air. I like the monsoon season in Yangon, which betrays my Seattle origins, I guess.

I’ve not done a quarantine before. It is like a meditation retreat where you speak to no one. There is no one I even see except on the riverside 24 stories down or occasionally walking on the deck of the rust bucket moored in mid-river near the hotel. I also have three ample meals served to me per day, Netflix and the BBC or Al Jazeera news, a comfy bed with 4 (!) pillows, and a computer and phone with the NYTimes, Washington Post, and the New Yorker available. I asked the staff to bring me a yoga mat which is laid on the floor but I haven’t used it yet. I do 50 deep knee bends per day and walk back and forth to the bathroom to pee or brush my teeth. It’s, thus, not at all like a meditation retreat.

I’m staying at the Montien Riverside Hotel, one of the hotels set-up and approved for quarantine. They employ a special elevator and put quarantinees on separate floors from the other customers. I must take a photo of my thermometer twice per day and send it to the hotel nurse.  They will swab my nose for covid on day 5 and day 10. Meals are brought to a table outside my door, the bell is rung, and I collect them. Perhaps more like a prison for white collar criminals, I think. If my day 5 covid swab is negative, I get to go outside for 45 minutes, to walk up and down in the riverfront gardens or to use the outdoor exercise equipment, like going out in the Yard to play pickup ball, have a smoke, or stretch one’s legs .

Traffic on the river is minimal. There are collections of barges rafted together and moored on large buoys, as well as the few odd anchored small freighters. Little watercraft move up or downstream, as well as tugs.  I’ve seen three elegant Chris Craft-like mahogany runabouts going up the river yesterday and today. A flock of large birds which I could not identify just flew by at eye-level as I wrote this.

It is a quiet, climate-controlled existence and such a contrast to the noise of flash-bangs and semi-automatic weapon-fire ever present in Yangon.  I cannot complain and this is what I wanted. It does, however, feel like I am living in a very artificial environment—one that is peacefully dead—compared with that lively killing field.

I’m reading Anthony Bourdain’s memoir, Kitchen Confidential.  It is a titillating peek under the covers. It reminds me of the Orwell scene in Down and Out in London and Paris where he is working in a subterranean hell of a kitchen in a great French hotel. He drops a cooked steak on the floor—the chef shouts at him to pick it up, brush off the sawdust, and put it back on the plate. It gives me a great appreciation for when, in a party of 8 or 10, the food all arrives at once, hot and cooked to perfection  It also gives me pause about ever eating in a restaurant again. At least with street food, which I’m looking forward to here, I can see it being cooked. Certainly, never be rude to your server.

I have about 5 weeks to travel here. I’ve arranged for my flight to the US in mid-May. It is a relatively short flight to San Francisco via Tokyo on Japan Airlines. I only wish I could get off and travel in Japan, we had such a good time when we went to Kyoto and Takashima. That country has a strong pull for me.

I’m thinking of going to an island to snorkel and perhaps scuba dive (20 meters maximum depth) and then head to a national park for some walking. I might fly to Chiang Rai in the NE or to Mai Son in the NW. I’ve been to neither. I’ll be scouring Lonely Planet and the internet for ideas. What with the time of year (hot) and covid I don’t think most places will be crowded.  It’ll be nice to ditch my two heavy bags and travel light.

I am preparing to record a brief glimpse of my life for my 55^th medical school virtual reunion. How can that be?! The earth keeps circling the sun, George, that’s how it can be. Ha! It isn’t easy to compress 55 years into 10-15 minutes, so it’ll be a fly-over, with a brief hover for my recent phase in Myanmar. Don’t we accumulate memories, though.  

[Above photo: A welcome sign.]

31 March 2021

Conner called Than Htun Aung, our cabbie, for me yesterday. He arrived promptly at 6AM and we loaded my bags, again. At this outing, an hour earlier than last week’s, Yangon International wasn’t crowded and I sailed through my stations of the cross. All the Singapore airlines workers recognized me, my overweight baggage charge, and my massive overstay fees. The immigration officer at the Overstay Counter smiled nervously as I gave him $1530 US. Then I moved through the Immigration line quickly, went to the boarding area, and continued to read John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany for the next hour until we boarded. It was an easy passage.

Because I’ve been sending this blog out weekly or more praising the CDM and the protesters and criticizing the coup, because I have frequent Signal or WhatsApp chats with my students—most of whom are in hiding—, and because I am a signatory on a letter that was put together by someone in my Fulbright Group and that got to Secretary Blinken, I worried that I might be a target. That a soldier randomly pulled me aside and photographed my passport as I was leaving the Overstay Counter on my last attempt to leave also worried me. On my second outing with protesters, a 4 hour march in Yangon, many young men with telephoto lenses were snapping shots. The Chinese are rumored to have contributed their facial recognition skills to the Burmese military. Oh, I also donated one of my bank accounts in six different denominations of checks to support the CDM, about $5000.  That is what the military REALLY doesn’t like.

I arranged with Conner and Jose that I would text them each at every step—arrival at the airport, completing check-in, completing immigration, boarding, and arrival in Singapore. If the chain of texts ended abruptly, they would notify the Embassy. Happily, the chain held. I wasn’t as important as I thought!

Over 540 dead now, 158 last weekend alone. One Myanmar citizen was killed by the military every 80 minutes during the month of March, including 30 children. There are ongoing airstrikes in ethnic areas, killing civilians. Two protesters in different cities were thrown onto burning piles of tires and perished. It is getting very fierce. I’m glad to be out. If the military is ousted, I’ll return, next October at the earliest. What is more fun and meaningful for me at this stage of my life than contributing to the development of mental health services there? Nothing I can think of.

This hotel rents in 6 hour blocks, like those cubicles I’ve heard about in Narita or wherever in Japan. Unlike the KH Hotel near us in Yangon which is now closed but as it was failing was renting by the hour. This is not that sort of establishment and serves a great purpose for someone with a long layover and a few dollars who wants to get a shower and sleep.

I am now going to watch something funny and mindless (for the viewer) on TV.  I want to flush some of this out of me.

[Above photo: Our not-so-guilty pleasure.]

18 March 2021

Word on the street is that the internet may be cut off completely for the country starting tomorrow. I don’t know if this is true but want my family and friends not to worry. I’ll be on a plane for Thailand via Singapore in a week—25 March—and will re-connect then.

We go, perhaps 5x/week, to our local coffee shop for a cappucino, Americano, and split a brownie. It is less than a block away down our very quiet street. It’s, sadly, often the high point of the day.

[Above photo: An apt diorama for our current situation.]

14 March 2021

Every day here is different and yet the same. Saturday an estimated 18 were killed, mostly in Mandalay. Thursday there were between 8 and 12 murdered by the military across the country. The evening before 1000 protesters in Sanchaung Township (Yangon) were surrounded by Tatmadaw at twilight and no one could enter or leave, thus forcing everyone to violate the curfew and risk arrest. Tension was high and envoys from the US and other embassies rushed over to try to diffuse the situation. It ended without deaths, I believe. Numerous high level NLD officials have been taken from their homes and tortured and beaten to death, their inert corpses returned to their families for burial. My students, experienced psychiatrists from 34yo-45yo, and their families are all in hiding, some having had terrifying experiences of nearly being caught by the military. If they have lived in government housing on their hospital compounds, they are now evicted for participating in the CDM. I assume the military leaders are sociopaths.  Those who carry out their orders may also be, they may be traumatized from fighting and killing for years, or, like many Germans in WW2, they may simply be imbedded in that culture and have had the latent cruelty that rests in all of us awakened. The race of man is a savage one.

My exit flight was cancelled so I have rescheduled for a day earlier than I anticipated. It is rather expensive for me to go to Thailand for 6 -8 weeks, because I must extend my international health insurance and quarantine in a hotel for 15 days in Bangkok before the vacation even begins. Still, I am in the vicinity, have only explored Chaing Mai, and would like covid in California to settle for another 6 weeks before I arrive. Also, two friends I plan to stay with are having surgery—a hip, a low back—in late March and I suspect it will be easier for each of them if I let them heal for 2 months before I visit.

I have no idea if and when I can return to Myanmar. I know enough about the needs and the players here that I can have a lasting impact if I stay 2 or 3 more years. I’m not sure I have a desire to work that hard in my 80’s yet I don’t want to sit around and read books or build boats and feel useless. Living comfortably with uncertainty is a valuable skill, just as is living well in adversity. And settling comfortably into change as the norm. We often pay a lot to avoid those three conditions, I think, gathering money, avoiding risk and discomfort, and eschewing deep relationships. Still, I can hardly contain my excitement to start a fire in the Jotul in my cabin on Beach Island and tuck into a meal with friends and family to catch up. I’ll be there in 3 months, with luck.

Since Kelly works at the dining room table I am privy to a lot of his conversations. The International NGO lingo includes phrases such as “trigger points”, “evacuation order”, “in country”, and “on the ground”, not dissimilar to military-speak. Not so far from psychobabble, I think, with our “object constancy”, “developmental interference”, ”anaclitic depression”, and “inner working model”. I miss chopping it up with my own tribe, of which there are really none here “in country”.

A coup-related struggle for the NGOs is reflected in a petition that Kelly’s senior management submitted to him yesterday. They unanimously want his organization to publicly recognize the CRPH (the elected but usurped government, now in hiding), to refuse to have any dealings with the military authority, to make a strong statement condemning the coup, and to not pay taxes, water or electric bills or use the Central (government) Bank. The problem is that without an MOU with the military, the organization cannot work here. Without using the Central Bank, no one can get paid. (It is very difficult, at present, for anyone to get money into the country.) If you don’t pay taxes, the head of your organization may be put in prison for tax evasion. Without water or electricity, it is difficult to function and presents a health hazard.  

The problem is the same, I think, as having an argument with an ever-Trumper.  Kelly’s staff are operating off of strong emotions, while he is working logically with facts. There are always the snakes, like Congressmen/women who are only about expediency, what works in their best interest. But facts and reason will rarely triumph over deeply-felt emotion, at least in the moment.  Reason is truly the flea on the back of the elephant, Emotion.

Aung San Suu Kyi was initially arrested for illegally importing 6 walkie talkies for her staff. Next, she was charged with violating covid sanctions by not wearing a mask at a campaign rally where she was speaking before the November election. Today she was formally charged with accepting $600,000 in cash and $450,000 in gold from one of her government ministers. All of these are so patently ridiculous. She has never been interested in money. She wants to rescue the country from the military, establish a democracy, gather glory to the memory of her assassinated father, Bogyoke Aung San, and unite the various ethnic factions in Myanmar, albeit with a Bamar-Buddhist majority.

We talk endlessly among ourselves and with others about possible trajectories for the crisis here. Perhaps the Tatmadaw will increase their depredations until the populace gives up, slumping into an anxious, vigilant, defeated state of depression. Or the ethnic armies, excepting the Arakan Army which has sided with the Tatmadaw, and youth fight back and a smoldering guerilla war develops throughout the country. The military now has facial recognition capacity, surveillance drones, and advanced weapon systems purchased from or donated by the Chinese. It is like any battle of liberation. Neither side will step back voluntarily.

I recall watching the film, “The Battle of Algiers” at a special showing in Berkeley in the late ’60’s. Two rows of the theatre were filled with Black Panthers in their leather jackets. The Panthers was a social welfare (health and breakfast programs) and defense organization which was provoked to armed struggle by J. Edgar Hoover. Understandably, their posturing and rhetoric terrified white people; however, the police had been capriciously terrorizing, arresting, and killing in the black community from time immemorial. We can all escalate easily if frightened.

The situation here feels pretty hopeless to me right now. My exit to Thailand, California, and Maine are looking better and better for me. Until I think about my students, my professor, the Rector, and all the kind and generous people I’ve encountered here. Then I am deeply saddened.