more Ayuttaya

Ayuttaya, former capital of Thailand

I had a glorious last day at Chatuchak Market, which I will not relay in detail, but will only say that I finally buckled down, mustered all of my patience and sweat glands, and dug into the vast used clothing section, finding a few hidden gems among the thousands of used Levis and plaid western-style shirts. I heard recently that this market is actually in the Guiness Book of World Records for being the largest outdoor market in the world. And I believe it. It's also the hottest, no doubt, if they can record that sort of data. I, myself, broke all personal records, and spent more than 5 hours at Chatuchak, scouring every row and stall looking for the rare non-ruffled woman's shirt in Thailand.

I finally got around to visiting the Grand Palace here in Bangkok. It's supposed to be the first thing you do as a tourist here, but I had been putting it off, knowing I had plenty of time. The place was mobbed with people, as I had expected, so I payed my 300 baht, made a quick tour, and left. I think I must have seen a few too many wats on this trip, and after seeing both Angkor Wat and the secluded wat in the mountains of Chiang Dao, the Grand Palace was sort of...ehh.

Hualamphong Train Station, Bangkok


While I was in Khao Yai, one of the backpackers that I met asked me if my exhibition would have been different had I done all my traveling before I developed the show, rather than after. I told him that although I have been in complete awe of the beauty of Thailand, it is a different sort of awe that inspires my artwork. My work comes from an interest in human development, human clutter--it is a scale difference. When I look at a limestone mountain range or another natural wonder, I get a rush that is similar to a creative one, but it is sort of paralyzing or humbling. The complexity of the natural world is beyond my comprehension; it is incredibly articulate, and nothing that I can make can capture that complexity or make it any more beautiful or visceral than it already is. Anything that I would make on paper or in sculpture can only be a simplification of what is already there and took millions of years to create. The documentary "Burden of Dreams" about Werner Herzog is a great example of this frustration with the natural world.

The term "worse for wear" keeps coming to mind when I take a look at myself these days. The last couple of weeks have taken their toll. Regarding my tan, I look as though someone played a cruel joke on me and taped off various parts of my body and spray painted them red. I have a seriously stratified tan, that is the result of wearing different length shorts on different days and then riding on motorbikes. I also had a dry cough for a while, and I have noticed that everyone in Thailand had this same cough. Whether smog or unclean conditions play a factor, I don't know. I also have various scrapes and bruises from falling several times on rocks during hikes, as well as some leech bites (mentioned previously), mosquito bites, and a rash on the back of my legs.

I'm separating this next passage into its own post because I don't want it to taint my experience at the national park. After returning to Hua Hin, I decided I was going to try to get a night train back to Bangkok rather than stay in an overpriced hostel in town. I learned that the next train left at midnight, so I went out to find some dinner and explore what little there was of Hua Hin. As is customary in all thai tourist towns, there was a night bazaar. I cannot express the level of my disdain for these night bazaars. They are not normal markets; they are designed specifically to appeal to the lowest common denominator of tourist, and they are all virtually identical across the country. Every 10 stalls, the merchandise repeats itself: 1. cheap scarves, 2. beer t-shirts, 3. wooden elephants, 4. plastic jewelry, 5. fisherman pants, 6. bootleg videos/cds, 7. hot shorts, 8. linen shirts, 9. fake Billabong boardshorts, 10. flower print dresses, repeat pattern. I'm beginning to wonder if the tourists even make it out of the airport before being flanked in fisherman pants. It's as if they think coming to Thailand is akin to going to the moon, and you would never wear your normal clothes to the moon, right? You'd have to find local "moon clothes" so that you blended in with the moon people and adapted to the moon climate. As if their white skin were not enough of a giveaway, tourists have to wear a travel uniform: fisherman pants, expensive faux-camouflauge jungle apparel, linen shirts, etc. I can only complain so much, though, before I become a hypocrite because I draw the line at jean pants--Thailand is just too bloody hot for them.
Anyway, after wasting as much time as possible in Hua Hin, I return to the train station to wait some more, only to find out that my train is late, so it is after 1 a.m. before it pulls into the station. I had been wondering why my return ticket had cost me 1/3 the price of my ticket into town, and I soon found out--it was a third-class train, and already packed, packed. There were people sleeping on newspapers on the floor in between the seats and people standing in the isles, and the few that woke up to see me walk in gave a hearty chuckle at what must have been my look of shock. I have ridden third class trains before, but I always boarded on the first stop, so I had time to adjust to the density of bodies. After a few moments, I managed to find my seat, which was being slept in already. I awoke the sleeping man and squeezed myself into the tiny space between him and the window. This was a tough, uncomfortable, slow, non-airconditioned 5 hour train ride, but not one that I regret.

Back in Bangkok and itching for a little last minute adventure, I take off for the Upper Southern Gulf of Thailand, an area which I had sped past some time ago on a bus heading north, but which I had never explored beyond that. I was intrigued by a description that I had read of Khao Sam Roi Yot National Park, and I was hoping to do a bit more hiking. From Bangkok, I took the first train in the morning to Hua Hin, a resort town and the closest train stop to the park. I had remembered driving through Hua Hin previously, and I was not anxious to return there. The town is filled with high rise hotels and it feels about as thai as Palm Beach, FL. So, after departing my train, I walked half a block into town, rented the first motorbike I found, and hit the road for the national park. The ride was quite beautiful, passing rice patties on the way south and then shrimp farms as I headed toward the coast. I was practically the only visitor in the park; I think I saw, maybe, a total of 6 people all day. As is normal in Thailand, there was little in the way of hiking. However, there were two short, very steep walks to lookout points that were incredibly beautiful. Actually, I don't think I've sweated more in my entire trip to Thailand; it was a combination of the heat and the fact that I was carrying an overstuffed backpack, that felt like I had a mid-sized child on my back as I scrambled up the mountain. As you can see in the photographs, the park is defined by large limestone cliffs which rise out of totally flat planes near the ocean. The park is quite spread out, and can only be accessed via a car or motorcycle. I had read that I could take a sawngthaew bus into the park, but I saw no evidence that this sort of service existed, and it would have greatly limited my ability to get around the park. Over a steep, rocky trail, I found a secluded stretch of beach, with sand so white that it seemed to glow. I think this place is what they are talking about when they refer to "deserted island." The loudest sound by far was the waves lapping against the shore. From this beach, I was able to access a famous cave complex within a mountain. This cave was discovered by a previous king of Thailand, Rama IV, who soon after visiting the place, died of malaria from a mosquito bite. I guess the mosquitoes can be quite pesky there, but I never saw one. The cave complex is different than ones I had seen previously--it was partially open at the top, and this allowed for some trees and plants to grow in the cave. It was a great experience to cap off a beautiful, remote day.

My sawngthaew back to Pak Chong: one of the nicest I've ridden in, with red padded seats and paintings of Khao Yai on the interior.

my sillouette at the waterfall at Khao Yai



my guide through Khao Yai



vast Khao Yai from an overlook

I had been planning to go to Khao Yai for months now, trying to figure out when I would fit it in. The park is only a couple hours out of Bangkok, but it's supposed to have some of the best wildlife in the world, and is designated an UNESCO World Heritage Site for it's natural treasures. The bus to Khao Yai dropped me off in the nearby town of Pak Chong, where I immediately realized I had not done my homework properly. I'm always expecting there to be some big tourist welcome sign in these small towns, pointing me toward my destination. But, alas, I had to ask directions at the 711. Having been pointed in the right direction, I boarded a sawngthaew bus (a truck with bench seats in the back), which, during the off-season, was packed with school children heading home. The bus ride passed fancy resort hotels and country clubs on the way up to the park. At the park entrance, I was dropped off, and had to wait to hitch a ride from a car going into the park (evidently this is common practice with backpackers). I had read that I could get a dorm room in the park for the night, and I was counting on this because it was dusk as I was driven into the park. Along the drive, we passed dozens of monkeys, lazily crossing the road. At the headquarters, I payed $1.50 for a floor to sleep on and another $1.50 for a pillow, blanket, and mat. I headed to my dorm room in the pitch dark, thinking how smart it would have been to have brought a flashlight with me, and thinking that it was going to be a long, lonely night in the woods. However, I was overjoyed at the sight of a light on in the dorms, and I introduced myself to five young backpackers from Australia, Germany, and Britain. We had some discussion about where we had been and where we were headed. One guy had also just been to Angkor Wat, and we shared a few moments of mutual gushing about what a transcendent experience it had been. Before I had left Bankok, I had bought some cheap pants at the supermarket, having heard that they would be necessary for hiking in Khao Yai. I was thankful to have had them that night in the park because it was very cold, and I slept restlessly, trying to keep my entire body wrapped beneath the tiny blanket. I woke early in the morning to a wonderful sight--out the dorm window, I watched as monkey after monkey dropped from the trees, followed by their babies, and walked across the road, just feet from where I sat watching. Soon, the monkeys in the trees started calling to each other, almost melodically, and they kept up quite a loud discussion as I packed up my stuff and headed out to find breakfast.
I had been planning to take the longest hike in the park, 8 km, but when I got to the trail entrance, there were signs that said the hike could not be attempted without a guide. Discouraged, I went to the visitor center where I grudgingly bought leech socks and hired a $15 guide. This was a fabulous decision; I would have died deep within the Thailand rainforest otherwise, becoming lost almost immediately along the non-existant trail. My guide was all business, and I loved the rigor. He was dressed in full military camoflauge, and he was a no mercy sort of a guy, going fastest up the steepest, most slippery inclines. I felt that if I were to trip on a branch, he might just leave me behind. This being the slow season, it was just me and him on the trail, slogging through seemingly impenetrable brush and mud, and crawling over fallen trees. I was so thankful that I had worn pants and sprung for the leech socks, because I was soon covered in the leeches, and I have bites on my neck, legs, and waist to prove it. My guide stopped us many times along the way to listen to animal noises and identify tracks in the mud. I was surprised to learn that there are wild chickens in Thailand, and there were some very funny barnyard-like sounds along the hike. Near the end, we witnessed some large monkeys swinging through the upper canopy levels. Having avoided up to this point all of the elephant camps that are touted in Thailand, where I could ride the elephants and watch them do tricks, I was heartened and satisfied to witness the tracks of WILD elephants in Khao Yai--that's all I need, ya know, to see that there still exist a few places on the earth where a creature that immense can sustain itself and be free. I don't need to get any closer. At the end of the hike, there was a beautiful and powerful waterfall, Haew Suwat, which I admired for a few minutes before hitchhiking back to the park headquarters.

Monsoon cover-up at Chiang Mai market

On my last day in Chiang Mai, I returned to the Sunday Walking Street, where I scoured the stalls for more used clothing. There was a brief monsoon rain during the market, which only added to the experience; as the dark clouds rolled over the distant hillside and toward the city, all the vendors frantically packed up their goods and covered things in tarps, buckling down the hatches, I think we'd say. When the rains came, they were intense and brief, and everyone huddled in doorways and under awnings. Then, 20 minutes later, the rain had passed, and the stalls were uncovered again and commerce recommenced.
Later that evening, I took a night bus back to Bangkok. I had accidently chosen the last seat in the back of the bus, but it turned out to be a great decision. It was a bench seat and no one else was sitting there, so I was able to lay out entirely horizontal for the 10 hour journey. I slept quite well (with my new earplugs), and was only awoken for several bleary bathroom breaks in unknown, florescent-lit bus stations with squat toilets. In one 3 a.m. stop, I was even conscious enough to stock up on bulk tamarind candy and sugar coated peanuts (my two favorite Thailand snacks), although when I woke up in Bangkok with the bag of food next to me, I had almost forgotten that I had purchased it.
Back in Bangkok, I returned to my apartment, took a shower, did some laundry, ate breakfast, and then headed straight back to the same bus station to board a bus for Khao Yai National Park.

The soi in Chiang Mai where I had my guesthouse.


Me and my motorbike in the hills of Chiang Mai




The foggy hills of Chiang Mai.

The best part of cooking--eating what you have made!


Mango sticky rice--my favorite Thai dessert.

I don't know why I hadn't thought to do it before now, but I finally took a Thai cooking class, and it was great fun. For $25, my friends and I took an all day class at a home in suburban Chiang Mai, in which we made 6 dishes and pounded our own curry paste with a morter and pestle. We all sweated quite a lot since we made the curry paste from scratch; the other students in the class had bought theirs at the market, so they just watched us and laughed at our effort. It was immensely satisfying, though, to understand the effort that goes into the art of Thai cooking and the amount of ingredients necessary to acheive the distinct flavors. Our cooking teachers were great Thai women (perhaps a little TOO good looking, though) who spoke excellent english and could even crack jokes (humor is very difficult in a foreign/second language). Now when I get back to the states, I have a new Thai cookbook to use and many implements/pots/woks to buy in order to recreate what I learned.

By far the highlight of Chiang Dao, though, beyond the general beautiful setting, was the remote monestary set up in Chiang Dao Mountain. I came to this monestary twice; once just after a monsoon rain, and again on a brilliantly sunny day. It was like an entirely different place each time--after the rain, it was misty and ethereal, and on the sunny day, the temple seemed to glow on the hillside. Both times, though, I was nearly the only person there, beyond a few monks meditating. There were 600 or so steps to the main temple, as well as smaller paths leading to small huts in the hills. However, this place was far from silent; the forest was alive with animal noises, most strikingly from the ear-splitting cacophany of an insect like a cicada, which was making the most unnatural whining/vibrating noise that would increase in intensity and then die off, only to begin again moments later.

The Chiang Dao cave was really something special, and much more low-tech than the caves I have visited in the US (like Meramac Caverns, where you sit in stadium seating in front of the largest stalagtite formation and listen to the Star-Spangled Banner while colored lights flash on the surface of the rock formations). At Chiang Dao, I hired a woman with a lantern for 100 baht to lead me through the cave. Many of the formations were named by the locals (like, "elephant ear") and there were buddhist shrines throughout the complex. My guide was somewhat demanding about taking advantage of photo opportunities, showing me how I could sit down in front of a certain formation and have my picture taken. There were some tight squeezes through different caverns that would have prohibited anyone above a certain girth to enter, and I had a few nervous moments thinking about how long I could survive on half a bottle of water if my guide's lantern went out. There were lots of bats in the cave, which the guide kept refering to as "batman."

Mountains around Chiang Dao


Near Chiang Dao, one of the most beautiful places in Thailand




A wat on a mountain in Chiang Mai







The highlight of my trip to Chiang Mai was renting a motorbike and driving two hours north to Chiang Dao, a tiny town in an epically beautiful valley with rice patties and densely forested mountains ringed at the top with clouds. Near the town is a cave complex as well as a remote monestary in a national park. This monestary is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been and it receives only a few tourists a day, most of them Thai. When I first arrived in town, I went to check out a guesthouse that was suggested in my Lonely Planet guide. The guesthouse was amazing--bungalows set right in the rice fields, perfect for...a couple, lovers, not me. It was too expensive. So, I went back into town, and found one of the only cheapo guesthouses--it was more like an outhouse with a bed, really. It had no windows, no sink, no mirror, a squat toilet, and the door brushed the mattress when I opened the door. But how can I complain when I'm in such a beautiful setting? I threw down my stuff, and headed out to the nearby caves.

Talat Warowat: a Chiang Mai market specializing in bulk food items, and every manner of dried animal flesh--fish, pork, many unidentifiable food items, and oh, the smell!




Chiang Mai from a nearby mountain (I drove to the top)



The first night in Chiang Mai, I stayed in a real dump, Daret's Guesthouse. I took the last room they had for about $4, and my presence in the room immediately attracted all the local ants, who proceeded to crawl onto the bed towards me. I sprayed some DEET around the bed to keep them at bay. Daret's was really noisy too, right on the main drag, and since it was the night of the Walking Street, I think it was the biggest party night of the week. I tossed and turned all night, thinking of the ants and listening to loud speakers on the street and drunken tourists arriving home at 3 a.m.





The next morning, I went immediately to find a quieter hostel, and I happened upon Grace Guesthouse on a quiet street, somewhat removed from the bar scene. I ended up staying at Grace for 6 nights. It was run by a wonderful Thai family--the father would sit all day on the second floor balcony, looking onto the street, and when I came home, he would say in a thick accent, "hello...you!" The place even had hot water--what a luxury for $4.50 a night!

A wat in Chiang Mai at night, all lit up.


View from my hostel in Chiang Mai.


About a week ago, I woke up before dawn in Bangkok, and I rode the skytrain to the bus station, and caught the first bus of the day to Chiang Mai in northern Thailand--a 10 hour drive. This bus was 2nd class, but it had particularly good service; we were given two meals, including one at a cafeteria somewhere along the way. I had the best seat in the house, on the second level of the bus, directly above the driver's head, so I had plenty of leg room and a 180 view out the window. I like riding the bus for long distances during the day (instead of at night) so that I can see each little town that we go through during the trip. It was a beautiful drive to Chiang Mai, winding through lush hills as we neared the city.

I arrived in Chiang Mai on a Sunday night, and the city was totally alive: every Sunday evening there is a "walking street" in which many of the main streets of the town are closed to traffic and hundreds of vendors set up stalls selling clothes, food, hill tribe crafts, jewelry, etc. This market is not just for tourists--there are plenty of thai people there too. And the most surprising and wonderful thing is that this market also has fabulous used and vintage clothing--who knew that Chiang Mai, Thailand would hold this treasure?

I really can't end my discussion of Cambodia without mentioning my trip back to the Thai border. My luck had evidently run out, and the dirt road was now a muddy mess, with sometimes dozens of cows being herded slowly down the center. Much of the time, we were driving at about 5 mph, with some hydroplaning and spinning of tires. All the cabs in Cambodia are Toyota sedans--I think that Toyota should film its next commercial in Cambodia; it would really burst all of our American associations with Toyotas as a safe "family" car, giving Subaru or Jeep a run for their money. These photos are the best articulation of my border journey.

Perhaps the most hilarious part of this ride, though, was that the other passenger and I managed to stonewall the cab driver. We had bought our ticket through a local travel agency, and they had told us that, so far, they only had 3 passengers, so we might each have to pay $3 extra if they didn't have a forth one by the time the cab left Siem Reap. This deal was written on our ticket. However, once we were in the cab, myself and a tiny Korean woman were told that it was just the two of us, and therefore we had to pay an extra $4 each. We told him that $3 was written on our ticket and we were not going to pay more. The driver repeatedly asked for $4 while we were driving, but the other woman and I just sat silently with our arms crossed, stonyfaced, staring back at the driver. Finally, he relented, and we paid the agreed upon $3. Yeay for solidarity.

Around the back side of Beng Mealea is a long, ancient path that had been some sort of grand entrance; it is lined with the remains of stone carvings and enormous trees are growing up into the path. Mike and I wandered down this path, leaving behind the groups of tourists who had overrun the temple. We sensed that the path must lead somewhere, and that it was still being used by locals. At the end, we came to a small river or creek, where the last of the ruins of Beng Mealea had tumbled into the water. We sat on these ancient stones and, below us, we watched two Cambodian children fishing in the creek. They soon noticed our presence and Mike invited them to look at the pictures that he had taken of them. The photo above is of their interaction, and it is perhaps my favorite image of my entire trip to Cambodia. Tourists come to Siem Reap to see the remains of a lost civilization, to take pictures of sandstone carvings and glorified rubble, but there is another layer to this place; there is life and...new growth.

On my last full day in Cambodia, my friend and I took a long tuk tuk ride out to a remote jungle temple, Beng Mealea. The trip to this temple is exquisitely beautiful; for an hour and a half we

rode past miles of flooded vibrant green rice patties that reflected puffy cumulous clouds on the surface of the water, and colorful houses on stilts with the family cow out front trimming the lawn. These homes were not run-down shacks--they were well-kept, simple rural farms. The smell of wood-burning fires and food and incense along this route was intoxicating.

Beng Mealea itself was everything that I hoped it would be, and more. It is a temple that has been entirely subsumed by jungle and left that way. All of the other temples that we had visited had been carefully maintained, leaving a sort of "tourist friendly" level of ruin. But Beng Mealea is something else entirely; the jungle vines and weeds are growing up everywhere within it. It looks as though a great earthquake or explosion has occured on the grounds, rather than simply the slow decay of time. We were able to climb all throughout the ruins, over slippery stones and pitch black passageways. There were local children around to guide us through, but I mostly ignored their presence, prefering to find my own path.