Thailand

Thailand


Under Construction

Sunday, Day 1

Hua Hin, Thailand

The Sea Side Restaurant was a good base for appreciating the seaside resort town 225 km southwest of Bangkok on the calm Gulf of Thailand.  Modern planning and rectilinear construction already showing signs of decay, the business of the town is strictly tourism.  Everything seems new, except for the old planks of the city's wooden wharf district. The only visible history on appeared in out of focus black and white prints of a fishing and boat building past lining the entrances to the innumerable restaurants and bars.  The fading bleakness of the salt curled photos suggests a colorless, shadowed world set under a blinding white sky. The absence of color makes the past appear bleak and hostile to the inhabitants, hot and cold at the same time; yet enormous, toothy smiles burst on the few faces that revealed any detail.  Boys plunging into the sea from rocks, wharfs, and fishing boats, laughed and stretched in the sunshine, exhuding good health, good cheer, and comradery. Few girls or women appear in any photos. The tables at the restaurant are glass enclosed boxes on legs, displaying charming dioramas of sand and seashells. They make good company for the cold Thai beer and excellent rice-based meals.  I started with stir-fried morning glory stems and lace, hotly spiced with thin red peppers. The sticky rice and beer preserved my tongue and palate from the much appreciated fiery oils. 

The Sea Side Restaurant sits upon the first short wharf of many, wedged between a rocky headland and parallel lines of taller, longer wharves extending about a half mile to the jetty.  Built on forests of thin wooden pilons with few stabilizing cross-beams, they stand tentatively upon a what is in this season a tranquil sea that extends without end in all other directions. A few aging, beaten fishing skiffs remain at anchor, with sea grass covered lines and bobbing squares of styrofoam and air-filled milk bottles to mark where the anchors lay.  Some sport more poles, lines, and unidentifiable fishing contraptions than seems prudent, given their small size and slim freeboard, but the seas are presently calm here. Their top-heaviness is surely an appearance only, since they have clearly survived a good many years. Each boat is topped by a half dozen or so large bare bulbs, suggesting the best fishing takes place in the dark.  Some of the older incandescent bulbs are still good, while others have been replaced wit the spiraled modern low-energy fluorescents. One has two arrays of long fluorescent bulbs, reminiscent of the solar panels on the International Space Station.

A short distance across the inlet is a rocky promontory with a Buddhist temple and numerous small niches around its exterior. I do not know the particular significance and purpose of the niches, but they do have some fascinating decoration. The rocks of the promontory are well rounded granite masses with mineral filled cracks predating the erosion by the waves.  Some basalt flows are mixed in, and these are also cracked and mineral-filled. Fishing nets and lobster cages dry in the sun awaiting the next night’s fishing excursion. The cement and stone wall protects a walkway that serves as scooter parking and public space with seaside benches. Tourists, locals, and local homeless stake out the best benches, depending on the Sun's position.  Around the bend is the 5-mile stretch of white sand beach. The sand is fine and compact, making for good walking. It seems more mineral than shell in composition. Indeed, there are relatively few seashells on the shoreline, and most of them are plain white bivalves. The clam shells have a lovely opalescent inner surface. The waterline shifts rapidly due to the fast-rising diurnal tide. For reasons I do not know, the rising period between lowest and highest tide is only about 90 minutes, two times a day. The falling tide is much slower, taking roughly ten hours. Schools of tiny, tiny fish swim frenetically in an inch or two of water and disappear when a wave breaks, and sinister jellyfish are stranded here and there. They made swimming a slightly nerve-racking pleasure, though I did not see anybody stung by them. The somewhat narrow backshore surely gave way to dunes in the past. Development has taken over the entire length of the beach, though plenty of trees keep it green and cool. Indeed, the palms wave in the wind, and the coconuts abound. Predictably, a bundle of for coconuts fell with a crash and heavy thump as I walked by one day, missing an Englishmen by inches. He was grazed by the frond that fell with the coconuts, and he jumped up in fantastic alarm. Everyone around breathed a sigh. Had he been a foot to his left, his skull would have been crushed by the heavy, woody fruit.

This is a tourist resort, and the beach is populated with sun-baking European tourists and a goodly proportion of Asian tourists, as well. The Europeans tend to idle without inhibition (or covering) on the 100 baht ($3) beach club lounge chairs. The eat, drink, submit to massage, and read, limbs asprawl in the hot sun or pockets of shade. The Asians sit in small groups on the sand or stroll in circles, all of them on their iPhones.  I’ve not seen this degree of cell phone addiction anywhere, not even close. The majority of Asian tourists seemed to spend the majority of their time looking into their electronic palms. Their main interaction with their fellows was sharing items of interest on their phone screens. This impression would be confirmed by observation again and again through the week. Meanwhile, the Europeans baked in string bikinis. They really overdo it, from a dermatological perspective; the deep red-bronze of their skin radiates back the Sun's soaked in energy. Europeans cannot fairly call Americans fat anymore, unless as objective matter of fact. They, if these are a reliable sampling, have lost their healthfully slim and muscular physiques and now stand as round, toneless masses, unsteady upon stick legs. I mean this sympathetically, as we all seem to be victims of our era, in this regard.  Physical health is the unhappy and unnecessary bane of recent generations. Poor food, too much of it, daily ritual indulgence, and too sedentary a lifestyle, they all add up. These are the new normals and the signs of the times, indeed.  European men have kept the habit of wearing the speedo style bathing suit of their youth, without adjustment for age and weight. This, too, may sound critical, and it is. Perhaps I'm too prudish and shy.  
The beach stretches a fair distance and all of it is developed.  The larger hotels have made very stately and artistic use of the seafront, and between are tasteful private vacation homes. If the beach had to be developed, it is reassuring to see how that can be done well. The presence of development here is unobtrusive and harmonious. It has, also, seemed to have stopped; there are no signs of new construction being squeezed in any available space. Trees abound in number and variety, and the area is well cared for. The small amount of litter that is left each day is promptly removed by staff of the numerous hotels and beach clubs, and it is picked up each evening. The water has very little in the way of floating trash, and this in a country that thrives on all that is plastic.

Where the rising tide submerged the beach, my walk took an inland course, up to one main road, lined with shop after shop after shop.  All manner of simple markets, garages, scooter rents, bakeries, and eateries. And the road wound just enough to keep some mystery about what lay ahead, so the walk stretched out a bit.  I was rewarded with a fantastic Thai/French bakery, with excellent espresso and pastries of all description. I opted for a savory vegetable filled pastry, and then a second one. Thus energised, I turned back toward town, resuming the beach walk until reaching an inviting hillside cafe overlooking the surf.  This would be my rest spot this day and for every day to come. It was a good spot to swim a bit, mindful of the jellyfish, to dry off in the heat of the shade, and then to cool off with an espresso, a breeze, and a cold beer. The staff allowed me to place a chair in the best spot for the view and the maximum current of air.  I liked their easy flexibility, and that was partly why I looked forward to returning. Dinner was another half hour stroll down the beach at the Sea Side Restaurant, where I enjoyed stir fried vegetables with rice and a large Singha. The portions were sizeable, so I went away satisfied and happy to stroll the boisterous night streets.  Life comes out in the dark here, a different life than in the day.

Double-click on any photo to see enlarged, scrollable images.

Theravda Buddhist shrine, as seen from my lunch table.  More than 90% of Thai people identify as Buddhist in this ancient tradition that spread from India to much of Southeast Asia.

The fishing boats moored in the tiny bit of shoreline between the wharf and the headland.

Singha beer, brewed in Thailand, to accompany stir-fried morning glory and hot red peppers, with the ubiquitous steamed rice.

The headland is reinforced with stone walls and steps for access to the fishermen.  If there are fisherwomen, I didn't see any.

 

Buddhist temples have all sorts of smaller niches.  I do not know the significance or purpose.  Some are very simple and some are very elaborate.

 

It's religion and tourism in friendly harmony.

The rocks show clear signs of metamorphism, especially by infiltration of mineral-rich hot water.

This was my first, last, and favorite meal in Thailand.  (The last one was another just like it.)

 Monday, Day 2

Sunday:  The Streets of Hua Hin

The streets of Hua Hin are animated with all manner of activity.  There are countless tiny eateries, some far back in narrow fronted shops, spilling onto the narrow, uneven sidewalks; and others pull up to the curb on two, three, and four wheels.  All attempt to give their own shade, as the sun beats fiercel, even this time of year. Some shops a little of just about everything, and some sell a lot of a very narrow range of items.  My favourite was the thread shop, with spool after spool lining the walls on tiny hooks and spindles. They also sold cloth, in three or four varieties, each represented by a single bolt stood up against a rickety table.  At the table sits an elderly thread-seller. Most of the shops sold some sort of food. Some were packaged for retail, some in bins and sacks, and others cooked and ready to eat. There were liquor shops, bakeries, the prevalent Family Market, rivalled only by the numerous 7-Elevens.  Approaching the wharf area of town, the barber shops, manicure/pedicure salons, massage parlors, bars, and hotels begin the replace to simpler businesses of the main thoroughfare. The competition for trade became a bit more assertive. The gents offering taxi fare, tickets to anywhere, and tailored clothes were only a little less vocal than the massage ladies and gentlemen.  

The narrow alleys provide space for small homes, smaller shops and restaurants, and even smaller guest houses and hotels.   Laundry lines and electric wires dominate the skyline, along with images of Buddha and Thai royals, flags and banners, and sunshades.  Large front doors make homes appear more like garages, but the need for air flow is great. It is plenty hot in the peak of day, and this is the month of November.  I wonder how much hotter it can possibly get in summer and, with the high humidity, how it can been withstood, especially by the many aged folks lingering about. One fortunate by-product of the heat:  the dogs are all lethargic and can’t be bothered to yap and howl at strangers passing by.

A blackwater gully divides two lines of fishermen’s hovels on the north sides of the jetty.  Packed in like rats and with cat-sized rats, the fishermen and their families smiled good-naturedly, undisturbed by the passing presence of a tourist.  Though it might have been unusual, it wasn’t intrusive.

Tuesday, Day 3

Tuesday was my adventure day out.  I had fixed my sights on the granite hill at the end of the beach, known as Monkey Mount.  LOOK TH AT UP, RT. The two peaks, not quite twins, as one is shorter and rounded, while the other is tall and steep, symmetrically so,  form a headland in the distance. According to Google Maps, it’s 8.5 kilometers distant from my Hua Hin residence.i made fast time getting there, as the three preceding days of walking had reinvigorated my stride and pace.  I could not keep pace with the rising tide, however, and had to turn up to the road as the water rose and closed off passage by the large hotels. Their stone walls were engulfed and the footing would be too unpredictable, even if the water wasn’t all that deep.  So up to the roD for the last kilometer or so, with all the buzz of motor scooters , tik-Turks, pick-up truck taxis, massage buskers, roadside fast food stands, and other traffic. Back in reality, in other words.

    The approach to Monkey Mount consisted of a bend in the sandy beach, some wave-eroded cement steps, and a towering golden Buddha.  Wait, is she a Buddha? Clearly have not done my homework. The path wound gently upward, with short sets of uneven steps through shaded patios with devotional niches of all sizes and richness, with purposes to which I cannot guess.  All had small offering boxes and incense, candles, flowers, and tablets for the worshipper to compose their particular prayer. The most prominent golden statue stands 30-40 feet tall and is flanked by many smaller statues and the smooth, naked, skyward reaching granite.  The path invites entry into the quieter low reaches of the mount, where a couple of Belgians will teach you yoga and meditation or you can enjoy 60 different kinds of massage from one of three rather old but enthusiastic Thai women or their one grinning male colleague. The four benches were occupied by four European jellyfish, slick with oil and semiconscious with the wonder of the sea view and the spiritual vista, while their physical beings were kneaded into the original matter of life.  Well, that’s what it looked like, peering into the shaded, breezy patio from the bright sunlight.

The path soon ended at a gash in the rocks formed from a vertical crack and weathered smooth and stately by gently running water.  In its recess was yet another devotional niche. And there was nothing to do but turn around. To the left rose a steep, vaulting staircase.  Here, too, the steps were uneven, both in the height and depth of each step.

 

Hua Hin lives up to at least four national stereotypes.  The food is hot, fresh, spicy and always good; exotic fruit is abundant and cheap; smiling faces, hands pressed in prayer, and kind words welcome the visitor at every turn; and European men stroll about pot-bellied and sunburned, on their fleshy arms fading tattoos and gorgeous young Thai ladies, half their age at most.

The narrower the alley, the more populous the massage girls.  They invite with a nasally sing-song and staccato catish calls,  each sounding the same to the uninitiated, uncomprehending ear. In the narrower alleys,a derisive, challenging laughter follows the wake of the unresponsive stroller.  It does seem hardly credible for a fellow to wander these narrow back streets for the sake of a walk only. In the guise of getting to know the place. From the outside, it appears that services are rendered behind drawn curtains.  One wonders if the list of services might be longer than the sidewalk billboards suggest. In most of the massage shops, young women sit or lounge about like sisters and good friends, sometimes enjoying a meal in an elaborate array of dishes, bowls, and pots right on the shop floor.  On the larger streets, the greetings are less persistent and greetings can be exchanged with polite mumbling and nods, and it all seems a lot less unseemly. To be fair, nothing lude is to be seen, and any supposition to the contrary may be founded only in the expectations and foreboding of foreigners’ minds.

 The weather is hot and humid, as one would expect on a quiet sea.  The breezes are light but reliable. It is best to stand in the occasional corridors facing seaward, as they funnel the winds to provide blissful cooling.

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Tiny sand crabs burrow on the beach.  They eject sand crystals and move along so fast you can barely see them.  

Gods and goddesses like eggs and sweet smelling smoke.

Wednesday, Day 4

On Wednesday, the weather turned blissfully overcast and cool.  After three hot days, not alleviated by reading Graham Greene,s account of travelling in blistering southern Mexico, the steady breeze felt marvelous, and it was cheered by a more vigorous wind swept surf.  The legions of makeshift beach clubs, serving up soadas, beer, simple meals, and massage, were mysteriously all closed today. Was it the weather? Hardly seems likely. Was it a holiday? Admittedly, I had not done my homework on Thailand before taking flight, and still have not.  I enjoyed a late lunch of stir fried crab, onions,chives, and peppers served over steamed rice. The balance of fried, crispy, soft textures with sweet, sour, onion, and salt flavours was perfect, complemented by a glass of drat Chang beer and the sounds of restaurant jazz and surf.

My dinner companion.  He or she came out at every meal I had in this lovely restaurant.  Reptiles are fearless and sensible.

Thursday, Day 5

Thursday.  Enjoying one last breakfast of tasty rolls from the French bakery across the road and a local version of Nescafé, with unproven caffeine potency.  They survived yesterday’s walk ad were not too stale, and the morning was windy and cool on the terrace overlooking the sea. I enjoyed a last breakfast of fresh mango, pineapple, and plantain (midget bananas with a sweet, peachy taste), topped with a Thai yogurt.  After packing up and putting the place in good order, there was just time to get across the street from a double espresso and one more sit at the sidewalk cafe tables. A small pleasure to mark the final moments in Hua Hin.

The ride back to the airport was smooth and fast, taking only 3 hours.  The way down had taken more tha 4, and I could see the southbound lanes were much heavier in traffic.  I had allowed plenty of time to get to the airport, wondering if the way back could take longer. It did not. And so I had plenty of time to get to know the airport.

I have been told that “Asians are shoppers,” by a friend who has lived in different parts of the East.  The airport scene would not counter this claim, objectively and not critically offered. The greater length of the airport halls are given over to high end stores, such as Hermes, Lacoste Ralph Lauren, and Cartier, as well as a chain duty free souvenir and spirits outlets.  The relatively small food courts also offer a final spa and massage, without the cat-calling on the street in USA Hin. Only three small wings on the end of the vast hall are the fight gates. Indeed, the airport is as much a mall as a travel hub.

The restaurants offer a last moment Thai meal and innumerable international fare options.  In my wandering to the very end of one hall, I happened across a small hole in the wall patronised by airport staff.  The food was intensely Thai and super cheap. I had one of the best meals of the trip there, and all for about 3 bucks.  A huge bowl of rice, broccoli and pork stir fry, as well as spicy chicken and peppers. It was two meals in one, really, and filled me up well.  

As I enjoyed one last Singha beer in an airport “pub,” I was educated in the current generation and style of music videos on the big screen.   It seems that I’ve grown old enough to question . I really don’t get the Justin Bieber appeal, and Taylor Swift can’t dance. The most common themes of the songs are self-doubt, depression, and over-introspection.  Is this something like what was said of our generation of music? I don’t think so. I think it was criticised for being loud, repetitive, and shallow, only about love and sex. If that is true, then music really has changed.

Is this supposed to be appealing?