I recently undertook an extended solo backtracking trip, in the Pasayten Wilderness of Washington. My purposes were explicit; I wanted a spiritual connection with the land, the land of my birth, the land of mountains that I fell in love with as a child and grew me into an ardent lover of the more-than-human world.
My packing preparations were obsessively detailed, down to the amount of grams of fat I would be ingesting each day. I had to keep weight to an absolute minimum. However, I prioritized special items to aid me in my quest of land-communion, including an elk-skin shamanic drum that i had made for just this occasion. Among the relatively few items that survived the cuts were my smoking supplies. An herbal smoking mix with rolling papers, along with a small quantity of marijuana, and a plastic butane lighter. Again, I saw these items as part of my tool kit for connecting with the spirits of the trees and rocks and skies. I was self-consciously styling myself in the shamanic tradition, replete with drum and ceremonial smokes.
Now then, let’s play a little game. Let’s say that the night I spent on top of Tatoosh Buttes had played out a little differently. As it was, it was something of a trial. I passed the night rolled inside my tarp, warm and dry but cramped and miserable, as the rain and wind struck a deafeningly discordant beat on my plastic shelter. I maintained an exhausted vigilance for the first note of thunder, determined to roust myself upon the report and hustle my ass down the mountain, off of the exposed butte. Getting back to our game, let’s say the thunder had indeed rolled, and the lightning struck me as I tried to descend the mountain. Struck me dead, so that I tumbled off of the trail and came to rest out of sight of other hikers.
A season passes, my flesh is consumed by scavengers and microbes. A few more seasons pass, my clothes decay. A few dozen more, my backpack and sleeping bag are blown to the wind in tatters, mostly photodegraded by UV radiation. Spin the clock forward one hundred, two hundred, three hundred years, and what is left? The Tatoosh Buttes are as glorious as ever, the mountains are my sacred resting place, but what the heck is that damned plastic lighter still doing here?
Paradigm shift. Take a simple, unquestioned “this is the way it is” aspect of daily life. Strip away our cultural filter, the filter that has told us “this is the way it is” every day of our lives. Take a look at that plastic butane lighter. What is it made of? Petroleum by-products, hydrocarbons, the harvest of the energy of 100 million years ago. You know, the finite resource that leads America to spend billions of dollars on a military presence in the Middle East. Lighters don’t grow on trees, you know. We know where lighters come from, we know all about the costs of hydrocarbons, geopolitical economic and environmental. And we know where they go when we toss them out the window, on the ground, into the weeds, even on rare occasion into a trashcan and eventually to an anaerobic landfill. WHerever they end up, the decomposers of our world have no use for them, so they remain, mankind’s durable gift to the world.
Why do we use lighters? Do we have an alternative? Of course we do, and it does happen to grow on trees, or even better, most matchbooks that you’d pick up in a bar consist of cardboard matchsticks, which is just recycled paper scraps. Are lighters cheaper than a matchbook? No... So why do we all use them, tree-hugging potheads and off-roading rednecks alike?
How much inconvenience would it be to never consume another lighter? How much inconvenience would it be to get your matches free, from a bar. To light up, and then toss a little shred of recycled scrap that will be eaten up by decomposers. To enjoy the ultimate convenience, Fire Made Easy, without participating in the losing battle of Mand & Hydrocarbon.
Go for it. Storm the moral high ground. Shock your friends. Do the paradigm shift.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Friday, June 1, 2012
Part IV: Strawberry Milk, Sliced White Bread and a .357 Magnum
When last we were seen, deep in the jungle primeval (not an exageration: the Khao Sok rainforest has been a stable ecosystem for about 150 million years. Woah!), a great drama had reached a climax. Group unity hung in the balance, dependent on the response of our brave yet somewhat foolhardy leaders.
(The end of Part III follows)
Reinhold and Boone emerged from the jungle, moving purposefully. I said we had to stop, and talk.
"Yes of course, let us talk, but we will keep pushing forward in a northerly direction as we speak"
"NO!" "NO!"
My girlfriend and I spoke as one, even if it sounded like two separate utterances. The line had been drawn in the moist shallow jungle soil, even if our leaders did not know it. Would they stop and hear us? Or would they press onwards, pursuing the phantom trail that was always just ahead, that would either take us home or take us to hell.
We spoke. They listened. We were respectful, we did not attack them or call them names. Instead, we pointed out that group collaboration required group communication. When Reinhold dropped into a drainage, we wanted to know why. When he veered off course, we wanted to know on what bearing. When Reinhold made a decision, we wanted to know what inputs were going through his head. The problem was not that Reinhold was changing his mind, or changing direction, or following a new route. The problem was that we did not know why; we did not know what information he was basing the decision on.
So we impressed upon them the importance of staying within speaking distance, of keeping everyone notified of our bearing (what direction we were traveling on a compass), and of frequent group huddles. We also laid out the pitfalls of assumptions. When one is lost in the woods, one must make decisions based on information that is something less than solid gold. You must assume that a drainage leads to a body of water, or that you are on one side of a divide, or that someone is looking for you. It is ok to assume; otherwise you would be paralyzed for lack of decision-making information. But, of paramount importance, you must acknowledge and remember your assumptions.
Why? Because let us say you assume that a logging road will lead you to the lake. And you follow that logging road towards the lake. Somewhere along the way, the assumption is forgotten as such, and reclassified as a fact (human psychology is a beautiful thing). When evidence begins to mount to the contrary, it is dismissed as not conforming to the "fact". If the assumption, however, is indeed remembered as an assumption, then our minds have the opportunity to reassess it. The contrary evidence has a much easier time overwhelming the assumption, and the group can make new assumptions.
Enough lecturing. Back to the adventure!
Off we went, working as a group, heading vaguely South Southwest, towards the fabled flooded forest, which danced in our minds with its alluring known quality. Survival is a combination of skill and luck. We had the skill to work together. But we needed luck. A trail would be helpful too.
We stumbled into a clearing. All around us was open space, in contrast to the constant assault of in-your-face vines and trees. Flattened earth beneath our feet, instead of the unstable tangle of roots and mud, fungus and leaf litter. It was a massive stage, perhaps the size of a living room, terribly inviting and heartwarming. A pheasant had created the clearing, dancing and stamping back the jungle over years of courtship. Pretty damn cool.
But best of all, we had been there before. Just the day before, in fact. We were in the realm of the known once again. Huzzah!
We set off down a trail that clearly led into the clearing. Disturbingly, Reinhold Boone Jacob and Mia all set off in the opposite direction, towards a different trail that led into the clearing. I had a crystal clear memory of entering the clearing via the trail I was moving towards. So did my girlfriend. The other four had equally strong memories of entering via the other trail. So much for the veracity of memory.
Four outvotes two. The group moved forward. My doubt was almost immediately quelled, as we began to encounter familiar, unmistakeable signs. Fresh knife cuts in the trees. Particularly charismatic dipterocarps. Fungus of the extremely weird persuasion. We had found our trail!
Onwards, onwards, onwards, towards the great flooded forest. A few more lucky strikes kept us on the trail following interruptions. By early afternoon, we had reached it, and we felt mighty grand. Once again, we relied upon collective memory to pick up our trail. Reinhold was utterly befuddled by this area, while the rest of us remembered bits and pieces. Together, we had the complete picture, and soon found the trail leading out, back towards the karst.
The afternoon wore on. We reached a truly massive fallen jungle giant, as wide as I am tall. It was our lunch log from the first day. We clambered upon its girth and sat down to a brief respite and a small snack. We had many challenges ahead.
The karst was close, but there was a particularly tricky section of swamp in between, treacherous to cross, with sucking mud and tearing thorns. Navigation had been accomplished by moving from the biggest tree in sight to the next biggest tree in sight. The karst was even more treacherous. Steep, slippery and sharp, ascending and descending it under anything less than ideal conditions was a sketchy notion. We faced the prospect of traversing it in the twilight, after a rain (it had been raining heavily), and extremely exhausted.
Mia was on the verge of being a dangerous liability. She was extremely dehydrated, consequently malnourished as well, and in terrible pain from an old climbing injury. Every step she took was tempting a sprained ankle. Climbing up the karst, and then down-climbing it, seemed impossible.
Although I had not yet shared my opinion, I was staunchly for spending a second night in the jungle, at the base of the karst. I did not think it safe to attempt the final piece at the end of the day. Never mind that we were not even there yet, with one more daunting section of poorly marked jungle to traverse.
Voices. Not jungle noises. Multiple voices. Loud voices. Thai voices. A squad of Thai park rangers ambled out of the jungle on the trail in front of us. They were in full battle gear, camouflage uniforms and backpacks and assault rifles. Moments later, a second squad appeared from behind us. Fourteen armed men now surrounded us.
They were jubilant. The rangers whipped out their digital cameras, rushed over to us, and had their buddies take pics of them smiling next to the filthy exhausted lost farangs (Thai word for gringo). A loaf of white bread and individual cartons of strawberry milk were pressed upon us. A bottle of rum appeared, but only circulated among the rangers.
The vibe was a little weird among our group. Boone and Reinhold were not so happy to see the rangers. For political reasons, as they were local business owners, it was not good that the park rangers were sent on a rescue mission. It was also expensive; about 12,000 baht for the rescue effort, or $400. We still had to hump it over a daunting geological formation, we were still exhausted, and the sun had not stopped setting.
On the plus side, we didn't have to expend any more mental effort to find the way home. And Mia had perked up admirably, after a dose of bottled water from the rangers. Before setting off on the final stretch home, the rangers pulled out a special pistol, a .357 Magnum reserved for celebratory discharges, and blasted two shots into the thick jungle air.
Mia took off, quickly outdistancing us, and we did not see her again till we reached the pickup trucks. The karsts were slowly, carefully negotiated, with a few close calls but no injuries. As we clambered up and then down, hand over foot, I had ample opportunity to close inspect the footwear of the ranger just ahead or just behind me. Remarkably, not a single one had standard issue footwear. Sneakers, army boots, hiking boots, Wellington's, sandals, flip-flops, anything you could think of. Not that it mattered. Every one of them moved with confidence on the treacherous terrain, even with the additional handicap of having to use one hand to hold onto a large rifle.
We made it. It felt anticlimatic. I'm not quite sure why. Perhaps I was too exhausted to bother celebrating. Or too pissed off. Or perhaps the leaches had sucked out enough blood that I was undergoing an 18th century bleeding treatment, the sort that killed George Washington.
That's the story. Lessons Learned will follow in Part V: Epilogue. Hope you enjoyed it.
(The end of Part III follows)
Reinhold and Boone emerged from the jungle, moving purposefully. I said we had to stop, and talk.
"Yes of course, let us talk, but we will keep pushing forward in a northerly direction as we speak"
"NO!" "NO!"
My girlfriend and I spoke as one, even if it sounded like two separate utterances. The line had been drawn in the moist shallow jungle soil, even if our leaders did not know it. Would they stop and hear us? Or would they press onwards, pursuing the phantom trail that was always just ahead, that would either take us home or take us to hell.
We spoke. They listened. We were respectful, we did not attack them or call them names. Instead, we pointed out that group collaboration required group communication. When Reinhold dropped into a drainage, we wanted to know why. When he veered off course, we wanted to know on what bearing. When Reinhold made a decision, we wanted to know what inputs were going through his head. The problem was not that Reinhold was changing his mind, or changing direction, or following a new route. The problem was that we did not know why; we did not know what information he was basing the decision on.
So we impressed upon them the importance of staying within speaking distance, of keeping everyone notified of our bearing (what direction we were traveling on a compass), and of frequent group huddles. We also laid out the pitfalls of assumptions. When one is lost in the woods, one must make decisions based on information that is something less than solid gold. You must assume that a drainage leads to a body of water, or that you are on one side of a divide, or that someone is looking for you. It is ok to assume; otherwise you would be paralyzed for lack of decision-making information. But, of paramount importance, you must acknowledge and remember your assumptions.
Why? Because let us say you assume that a logging road will lead you to the lake. And you follow that logging road towards the lake. Somewhere along the way, the assumption is forgotten as such, and reclassified as a fact (human psychology is a beautiful thing). When evidence begins to mount to the contrary, it is dismissed as not conforming to the "fact". If the assumption, however, is indeed remembered as an assumption, then our minds have the opportunity to reassess it. The contrary evidence has a much easier time overwhelming the assumption, and the group can make new assumptions.
Enough lecturing. Back to the adventure!
Off we went, working as a group, heading vaguely South Southwest, towards the fabled flooded forest, which danced in our minds with its alluring known quality. Survival is a combination of skill and luck. We had the skill to work together. But we needed luck. A trail would be helpful too.
We stumbled into a clearing. All around us was open space, in contrast to the constant assault of in-your-face vines and trees. Flattened earth beneath our feet, instead of the unstable tangle of roots and mud, fungus and leaf litter. It was a massive stage, perhaps the size of a living room, terribly inviting and heartwarming. A pheasant had created the clearing, dancing and stamping back the jungle over years of courtship. Pretty damn cool.
But best of all, we had been there before. Just the day before, in fact. We were in the realm of the known once again. Huzzah!
We set off down a trail that clearly led into the clearing. Disturbingly, Reinhold Boone Jacob and Mia all set off in the opposite direction, towards a different trail that led into the clearing. I had a crystal clear memory of entering the clearing via the trail I was moving towards. So did my girlfriend. The other four had equally strong memories of entering via the other trail. So much for the veracity of memory.
Four outvotes two. The group moved forward. My doubt was almost immediately quelled, as we began to encounter familiar, unmistakeable signs. Fresh knife cuts in the trees. Particularly charismatic dipterocarps. Fungus of the extremely weird persuasion. We had found our trail!
Onwards, onwards, onwards, towards the great flooded forest. A few more lucky strikes kept us on the trail following interruptions. By early afternoon, we had reached it, and we felt mighty grand. Once again, we relied upon collective memory to pick up our trail. Reinhold was utterly befuddled by this area, while the rest of us remembered bits and pieces. Together, we had the complete picture, and soon found the trail leading out, back towards the karst.
The afternoon wore on. We reached a truly massive fallen jungle giant, as wide as I am tall. It was our lunch log from the first day. We clambered upon its girth and sat down to a brief respite and a small snack. We had many challenges ahead.
The karst was close, but there was a particularly tricky section of swamp in between, treacherous to cross, with sucking mud and tearing thorns. Navigation had been accomplished by moving from the biggest tree in sight to the next biggest tree in sight. The karst was even more treacherous. Steep, slippery and sharp, ascending and descending it under anything less than ideal conditions was a sketchy notion. We faced the prospect of traversing it in the twilight, after a rain (it had been raining heavily), and extremely exhausted.
Mia was on the verge of being a dangerous liability. She was extremely dehydrated, consequently malnourished as well, and in terrible pain from an old climbing injury. Every step she took was tempting a sprained ankle. Climbing up the karst, and then down-climbing it, seemed impossible.
Although I had not yet shared my opinion, I was staunchly for spending a second night in the jungle, at the base of the karst. I did not think it safe to attempt the final piece at the end of the day. Never mind that we were not even there yet, with one more daunting section of poorly marked jungle to traverse.
Voices. Not jungle noises. Multiple voices. Loud voices. Thai voices. A squad of Thai park rangers ambled out of the jungle on the trail in front of us. They were in full battle gear, camouflage uniforms and backpacks and assault rifles. Moments later, a second squad appeared from behind us. Fourteen armed men now surrounded us.
They were jubilant. The rangers whipped out their digital cameras, rushed over to us, and had their buddies take pics of them smiling next to the filthy exhausted lost farangs (Thai word for gringo). A loaf of white bread and individual cartons of strawberry milk were pressed upon us. A bottle of rum appeared, but only circulated among the rangers.
The vibe was a little weird among our group. Boone and Reinhold were not so happy to see the rangers. For political reasons, as they were local business owners, it was not good that the park rangers were sent on a rescue mission. It was also expensive; about 12,000 baht for the rescue effort, or $400. We still had to hump it over a daunting geological formation, we were still exhausted, and the sun had not stopped setting.
On the plus side, we didn't have to expend any more mental effort to find the way home. And Mia had perked up admirably, after a dose of bottled water from the rangers. Before setting off on the final stretch home, the rangers pulled out a special pistol, a .357 Magnum reserved for celebratory discharges, and blasted two shots into the thick jungle air.
Mia took off, quickly outdistancing us, and we did not see her again till we reached the pickup trucks. The karsts were slowly, carefully negotiated, with a few close calls but no injuries. As we clambered up and then down, hand over foot, I had ample opportunity to close inspect the footwear of the ranger just ahead or just behind me. Remarkably, not a single one had standard issue footwear. Sneakers, army boots, hiking boots, Wellington's, sandals, flip-flops, anything you could think of. Not that it mattered. Every one of them moved with confidence on the treacherous terrain, even with the additional handicap of having to use one hand to hold onto a large rifle.
We made it. It felt anticlimatic. I'm not quite sure why. Perhaps I was too exhausted to bother celebrating. Or too pissed off. Or perhaps the leaches had sucked out enough blood that I was undergoing an 18th century bleeding treatment, the sort that killed George Washington.
That's the story. Lessons Learned will follow in Part V: Epilogue. Hope you enjoyed it.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Deep Survival in the Khao Sok Rainforest, Part III: Sucking on Straws
Group dynamics become paramount in survival situations. Communicate effectively to work together, and the sum is far greater than its parts. On the other hand, miscommunication leading to disfunctionality can literally cripple the strongest crew. We awoke in the morning with a fractured group that did not believe in its leaders, who were not listening to their followers. So my lovely lady and myself endeavored to promote communication and synergy among our elements. We began with the suggestion of making a mental map of the region through which we had wandered.
A mental map, committed to form by drawing on paper, becomes a very tangible piece of communication. When a number of them appear, disparate geographic ideas become part of a group's mental map. That is not to say that the group's mental map is necessarily reflective of the geographic reality. But in a situation like this, the geographic reality is truly not as important as the group's idea of reality. No one will get out alive unless the group works together. The group cannot work together unless it has a commonly agreed upon reality. If each member has a different mental map, a different reality, than each member will react differently when faced with new information, like a trail or a water source or an informative view point.
So we made mental maps in a sketchbook that I happened to be carrying. Reinhold, Boone and my girlfriend all drew legible, useful maps. And it turned out that they were remarkably similar. Which was really cool. Now, time for a gameplan.
The gameplan was water. We were all very dehydrated. You can survive in a warm environment for a hell of a long time (days to weeks) without food. Your body goes into survival mode, it practices conservation, it metabolizes more efficiently, it starts burning fat when fuel runs low, and will eventually burn muscle when fat runs low. But water, water is another story, as my 6th grade biology teacher taught me with the memorable phrase "Without water, metabolism comes to a G-R-I-N-D-I-N-G halt!" He occasionally accentuated the point by throwing a chair across the room. For real.
Returning to the story ... We decided to go for water. We descended from the ridge back to the ill-directed streambed, and now placed our faith in its upstream water potential. We had a seen a muddy puddle or two the day before. Perhaps upstream it would be running, copious and clear.
We came upon a puddle of mud. It was a few feet wide, perhaps a foot deep, revealed a remarkable biodiversity when disturbed, and had the consistency and coloration of thick chocolate milk. Reinhold had a LifeStraw (check out the link!) in his pack, a product designed for just this circumstance. We scooped up the liquiaceous mud, filtered it through a spare shirt into a tupperware, and then slurped up the resultant liquid through the LifeStraw. It smelled of rotting organic matter, it tasted sulfurous and bitter, but lordy lord it was WET!
The water, however filthy, helped tremendously. Dehydration, and the heat exhaustion that can accompany it, produce profound feelings of despondency, along with lethargy and muddled thoughts. We continued onward, with a bit more vigor, and soon found bamboo growing alongside the streambed. Bamboo has the outstanding trait of holding water in the segments of its trunk. Boone hacked open a section with a knife, stuck a bamboo straw into the craw, and sucked.* Sweet juicy flavorful moist refreshing water was the reward. Remember this the next time you are lost in the rainforest.
We kept moving upstream, and came upon real flowing water, crystal clear pools of the stuff. We sucked and sucked, lying on our bellies with our faces inches from the stream, LifeStraw between our lips, taking turns while we saturated our withered cellular structure with robust water molecules. Over the course of a half hour, the entire group, save Mia, fully rejuvenated. Mia chose not to drink any jungle water, due to a hellacious history of parasites that were still severely impacting her.
With confidence reasonably restored, we directed our attention to finding our way home. We debated on strategies, and decided that we should set a course towards the flooded forest we had passed by yesterday. We figured it was roughly South Southwest, and resolved to set forth in this direction. I pointed out the likelihood of trails appearing that ran in different directions, highlighting our tendency to follow a trail, even if in the wrong direction. The possibility was noted, and the group surged forth from the streambed, in a South Southwesterly direction.
"I found a trail!"
"So did I"
"How does yours look?"
"Not so great, how about yours?"
"Looking good. More of a Northwest direction, but definitely a trail."
"Sweet, we're moving towards you"
Never underestimate the comfort derived from a trail. Given a choice, humans will always follow a trail instead of hacking through trackless wilderness. For that matter, so will most ungulates.
Well, off we went, following one trail to the Northwest, then another to the South, which soon bent Southeast, and then we changed direction and headed North, possibly to compensate for the last bearing. Reinhold was far ahead, occasionally hooting so that we could locate him. Boone was ahead as well, endeavoring to help Reinhold search for trail, while also keeping us posted on Reinhold's whereabouts. Each hoot seemed to reveal a new direction of travel, leaving us flustered, then frustrated, and then furious. Yesterday was repeating itself. We stumbled through a maze, becoming more and more disoriented, and less and less confident that we would see the solid line of a road, or smell the sweet scent of hot asphalt under a tropical sun.
Anger, fueled by fear, rose in my throat. I yelled as loudly as I could to Boone, who was within shouting distance, although still cloaked by jungle. Reinhold, unexpectedly close, could hear me also. They did not know it, but we had reached a breaking point. My girlfriend and I, along with Jacob and Mia, had just held a vote of no confidence, or something close to it. We could not continue to blindly follow a man who appeared to us to be blind. We had to know why our direction kept on changing. We had to know what our direction was. We had to know what the fuck was going through Reinhold's head every time he began to follow a new bearing.
Reinhold and Boone emerged from the jungle, moving purposefully. I said we had to stop, and talk.
"Yes of course, let us talk, but we will keep pushing forward in a northerly direction as we speak"
"NO!" "NO!"
My girlfriend and I spoke as one, even if it sounded like two separate utterances. The line had been drawn in the moist shallow jungle soil, even if our leaders did not know it. Would they stop and hear us? Or would they press onwards, pursuing the phantom trail that was always just ahead, that would either take us home or take us to hell.
Coming soon... Part IV: Strawberry Milk, Sliced White Bread and a .357 Magnum
*Somewhere, I have a video of Boone sucking bamboo water. You have never seen a happier face. If I can find it, I'll post it.
A mental map, committed to form by drawing on paper, becomes a very tangible piece of communication. When a number of them appear, disparate geographic ideas become part of a group's mental map. That is not to say that the group's mental map is necessarily reflective of the geographic reality. But in a situation like this, the geographic reality is truly not as important as the group's idea of reality. No one will get out alive unless the group works together. The group cannot work together unless it has a commonly agreed upon reality. If each member has a different mental map, a different reality, than each member will react differently when faced with new information, like a trail or a water source or an informative view point.
So we made mental maps in a sketchbook that I happened to be carrying. Reinhold, Boone and my girlfriend all drew legible, useful maps. And it turned out that they were remarkably similar. Which was really cool. Now, time for a gameplan.
The gameplan was water. We were all very dehydrated. You can survive in a warm environment for a hell of a long time (days to weeks) without food. Your body goes into survival mode, it practices conservation, it metabolizes more efficiently, it starts burning fat when fuel runs low, and will eventually burn muscle when fat runs low. But water, water is another story, as my 6th grade biology teacher taught me with the memorable phrase "Without water, metabolism comes to a G-R-I-N-D-I-N-G halt!" He occasionally accentuated the point by throwing a chair across the room. For real.
Returning to the story ... We decided to go for water. We descended from the ridge back to the ill-directed streambed, and now placed our faith in its upstream water potential. We had a seen a muddy puddle or two the day before. Perhaps upstream it would be running, copious and clear.
We came upon a puddle of mud. It was a few feet wide, perhaps a foot deep, revealed a remarkable biodiversity when disturbed, and had the consistency and coloration of thick chocolate milk. Reinhold had a LifeStraw (check out the link!) in his pack, a product designed for just this circumstance. We scooped up the liquiaceous mud, filtered it through a spare shirt into a tupperware, and then slurped up the resultant liquid through the LifeStraw. It smelled of rotting organic matter, it tasted sulfurous and bitter, but lordy lord it was WET!
The water, however filthy, helped tremendously. Dehydration, and the heat exhaustion that can accompany it, produce profound feelings of despondency, along with lethargy and muddled thoughts. We continued onward, with a bit more vigor, and soon found bamboo growing alongside the streambed. Bamboo has the outstanding trait of holding water in the segments of its trunk. Boone hacked open a section with a knife, stuck a bamboo straw into the craw, and sucked.* Sweet juicy flavorful moist refreshing water was the reward. Remember this the next time you are lost in the rainforest.
We kept moving upstream, and came upon real flowing water, crystal clear pools of the stuff. We sucked and sucked, lying on our bellies with our faces inches from the stream, LifeStraw between our lips, taking turns while we saturated our withered cellular structure with robust water molecules. Over the course of a half hour, the entire group, save Mia, fully rejuvenated. Mia chose not to drink any jungle water, due to a hellacious history of parasites that were still severely impacting her.
With confidence reasonably restored, we directed our attention to finding our way home. We debated on strategies, and decided that we should set a course towards the flooded forest we had passed by yesterday. We figured it was roughly South Southwest, and resolved to set forth in this direction. I pointed out the likelihood of trails appearing that ran in different directions, highlighting our tendency to follow a trail, even if in the wrong direction. The possibility was noted, and the group surged forth from the streambed, in a South Southwesterly direction.
"I found a trail!"
"So did I"
"How does yours look?"
"Not so great, how about yours?"
"Looking good. More of a Northwest direction, but definitely a trail."
"Sweet, we're moving towards you"
Never underestimate the comfort derived from a trail. Given a choice, humans will always follow a trail instead of hacking through trackless wilderness. For that matter, so will most ungulates.
Well, off we went, following one trail to the Northwest, then another to the South, which soon bent Southeast, and then we changed direction and headed North, possibly to compensate for the last bearing. Reinhold was far ahead, occasionally hooting so that we could locate him. Boone was ahead as well, endeavoring to help Reinhold search for trail, while also keeping us posted on Reinhold's whereabouts. Each hoot seemed to reveal a new direction of travel, leaving us flustered, then frustrated, and then furious. Yesterday was repeating itself. We stumbled through a maze, becoming more and more disoriented, and less and less confident that we would see the solid line of a road, or smell the sweet scent of hot asphalt under a tropical sun.
Anger, fueled by fear, rose in my throat. I yelled as loudly as I could to Boone, who was within shouting distance, although still cloaked by jungle. Reinhold, unexpectedly close, could hear me also. They did not know it, but we had reached a breaking point. My girlfriend and I, along with Jacob and Mia, had just held a vote of no confidence, or something close to it. We could not continue to blindly follow a man who appeared to us to be blind. We had to know why our direction kept on changing. We had to know what our direction was. We had to know what the fuck was going through Reinhold's head every time he began to follow a new bearing.
Reinhold and Boone emerged from the jungle, moving purposefully. I said we had to stop, and talk.
"Yes of course, let us talk, but we will keep pushing forward in a northerly direction as we speak"
"NO!" "NO!"
My girlfriend and I spoke as one, even if it sounded like two separate utterances. The line had been drawn in the moist shallow jungle soil, even if our leaders did not know it. Would they stop and hear us? Or would they press onwards, pursuing the phantom trail that was always just ahead, that would either take us home or take us to hell.
Coming soon... Part IV: Strawberry Milk, Sliced White Bread and a .357 Magnum
*Somewhere, I have a video of Boone sucking bamboo water. You have never seen a happier face. If I can find it, I'll post it.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Deep Survival in the Khao Sok Rainforest, Part II: "I have a gut feeling"
Down we plunged, turning our backs to the jungle below and our faces to the harsh edges of limestone as we cautiously downclimbed. We reached the jungle floor, a happy place indeed for sore feet and hands. The path was clear, our spirits high, onwards! Into the jungle primeval!
Jungle paths are queer things. They are not like your normal hiking trail, a well-defined dirt path in the midst of vegetation. Rather, all is vegetation in the jungle. And the most one can hope for in the way of markings is the occasional knife slash on a tree. Yet, they are surprisingly legible. Eyes quickly grow accustomed to picking out the path of least resistance through a tangled web of vegetation, and that path is usually the trail. So with some practice, one can quickly see "trail" and "not a trail" through the riotous growth.
However, jungle paths have one debilitating weakness. When a Douglass Fir falls down on the Pacific Crest Trail, hikers must clamber over it until a chain-saw crew liberates the trail once more. When a huge dipterocarp falls down in the rainforest, something very different happens. All of a sudden, a patch of canopy has dissapeared, perhaps covering a few acres, and energy-giving tropical sunlight pours through the gap. Remember, rainforest canopy is remarkably good at blocking out the sun. This is why the rainforest understory is relatively open, and why us humans can hike through it with few problems, and not even have to worry about sun burn. The sudden influx of sun light causes a riot of growth, and within weeks (possibly days?) the sunlit understory has erupted into a tangled thicket.
The path abruptly ends at the beginning of this thicket, utterly lost to the eyes. It can be confidently said to exist on the far side of the thicket, continuing its reliable track. But for an area of several square acres, it is utterly lost. Which means that those following its line must fan out into the bush, blindly pushing through vines and swamps and thorns and thickets until they stumble across the trail once again.
One might reasonably guess that this was the fate that befell our stalwart sextet. Indeed, time and again, we confidently stumbled from clear, comforting path into demoralizing thicket. Sometimes we found the trail on the other side. Sometimes we backtracked. And sometimes we struck out in the trackless wilderness and stumbled upon another trail (or the same trail?). After a few hours of this, a new reality began to emerge, at least for myself and my lovely companion.
Wrong.
I voiced some of the above concerns. I was immediately shot down, most of all for the grevious sin of negative thinking.
"We WILL make it to the lake"
"It is only another hour in this direction, I have a gut feeling that if we just press on another hour, we will be at the lake"
"There is cold beer and comfortable beds at the lake, no way are we spending the night in the jungle"
"But, if we don't start thinking about water, we might end up in the extremely unpleasant scenario of camping without water" I protested.
"There is plenty of water in the lake, I have a gut feeling about this" was Reinhold's clever retort.*
The sun was too far to the west to reasonably argue for a turnaround. And besides, we didn't even know the way back. So we agreed to keep pressing on for the lake, solidly outnumbered 4 to 2. We soon hit a logging road, a sure path straight to the lake (according to Reinhold...), and confidently strode ahead, buoyed by the refreshing thoughts of cold beer.
The logging road eventually gave out, or disappeared, or reached its final tree, or something. It did not take us to the lake, despite Reinhold's gut feeling. We blindly pushed onwards, and miraculously dropped into a streambed. It was dry, no water to be had, but it was a drainage! And drainages drain to large bodies of water! So this streambed would take us to the lake! Huzzah! We hurried on at a feverish pace, inspired by deep dehydration and the fading light. We pushed around each bend expecting to see the dazzling expanse of blue open up in front of us.
We heard a shout from Reinhold, as usual out of sight and far ahead of the group. "I have a surprise for you!" we heard. Cold beer! Cold beer! A topless lemonade stand! We rounded the corner, and the streambed disappeared down a hole. Gone. Into the karst.
I have never felt so profoundly disappointed and synchronously destabilized. It was as if we were following a trail of sequential numbers, 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 etc, looking for 99, and when we reached 98 we were informed that numbers only go to 98.
Reality shortly intruded upon the group. We would have to make camp in the jungle, without water, and with precious little in the way of camp amenities. We ascended the ridge that Reinhold was on, where he had found the remains of a campfire, which gave us some scant comfort that we were in a known place. We rationed our food and remaining water ( one liter for six of us), spread out a tarp on the ground, and spooned up for warmth and comfort.
* The clever reader will note that this retort is clearly fabricated. Reinhold was not yet, and to my knowledge is still not, aware that his catch phrase was an object of bitter derision.
Jungle paths are queer things. They are not like your normal hiking trail, a well-defined dirt path in the midst of vegetation. Rather, all is vegetation in the jungle. And the most one can hope for in the way of markings is the occasional knife slash on a tree. Yet, they are surprisingly legible. Eyes quickly grow accustomed to picking out the path of least resistance through a tangled web of vegetation, and that path is usually the trail. So with some practice, one can quickly see "trail" and "not a trail" through the riotous growth.
However, jungle paths have one debilitating weakness. When a Douglass Fir falls down on the Pacific Crest Trail, hikers must clamber over it until a chain-saw crew liberates the trail once more. When a huge dipterocarp falls down in the rainforest, something very different happens. All of a sudden, a patch of canopy has dissapeared, perhaps covering a few acres, and energy-giving tropical sunlight pours through the gap. Remember, rainforest canopy is remarkably good at blocking out the sun. This is why the rainforest understory is relatively open, and why us humans can hike through it with few problems, and not even have to worry about sun burn. The sudden influx of sun light causes a riot of growth, and within weeks (possibly days?) the sunlit understory has erupted into a tangled thicket.
The path abruptly ends at the beginning of this thicket, utterly lost to the eyes. It can be confidently said to exist on the far side of the thicket, continuing its reliable track. But for an area of several square acres, it is utterly lost. Which means that those following its line must fan out into the bush, blindly pushing through vines and swamps and thorns and thickets until they stumble across the trail once again.
One might reasonably guess that this was the fate that befell our stalwart sextet. Indeed, time and again, we confidently stumbled from clear, comforting path into demoralizing thicket. Sometimes we found the trail on the other side. Sometimes we backtracked. And sometimes we struck out in the trackless wilderness and stumbled upon another trail (or the same trail?). After a few hours of this, a new reality began to emerge, at least for myself and my lovely companion.
- We were defintively NOT heading towards the gap in the karsts that was our supposed target
- Reinhold was taking us in a direction that can only be said to align with his "gut feeling"
- It was late in the day, we were low on water, and we might be spending the night in the jungle
- We did not know how to find our way back, due to stumbling off-trail so many times
Wrong.
I voiced some of the above concerns. I was immediately shot down, most of all for the grevious sin of negative thinking.
"We WILL make it to the lake"
"It is only another hour in this direction, I have a gut feeling that if we just press on another hour, we will be at the lake"
"There is cold beer and comfortable beds at the lake, no way are we spending the night in the jungle"
"But, if we don't start thinking about water, we might end up in the extremely unpleasant scenario of camping without water" I protested.
"There is plenty of water in the lake, I have a gut feeling about this" was Reinhold's clever retort.*
The sun was too far to the west to reasonably argue for a turnaround. And besides, we didn't even know the way back. So we agreed to keep pressing on for the lake, solidly outnumbered 4 to 2. We soon hit a logging road, a sure path straight to the lake (according to Reinhold...), and confidently strode ahead, buoyed by the refreshing thoughts of cold beer.
The logging road eventually gave out, or disappeared, or reached its final tree, or something. It did not take us to the lake, despite Reinhold's gut feeling. We blindly pushed onwards, and miraculously dropped into a streambed. It was dry, no water to be had, but it was a drainage! And drainages drain to large bodies of water! So this streambed would take us to the lake! Huzzah! We hurried on at a feverish pace, inspired by deep dehydration and the fading light. We pushed around each bend expecting to see the dazzling expanse of blue open up in front of us.
We heard a shout from Reinhold, as usual out of sight and far ahead of the group. "I have a surprise for you!" we heard. Cold beer! Cold beer! A topless lemonade stand! We rounded the corner, and the streambed disappeared down a hole. Gone. Into the karst.
I have never felt so profoundly disappointed and synchronously destabilized. It was as if we were following a trail of sequential numbers, 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 etc, looking for 99, and when we reached 98 we were informed that numbers only go to 98.
Reality shortly intruded upon the group. We would have to make camp in the jungle, without water, and with precious little in the way of camp amenities. We ascended the ridge that Reinhold was on, where he had found the remains of a campfire, which gave us some scant comfort that we were in a known place. We rationed our food and remaining water ( one liter for six of us), spread out a tarp on the ground, and spooned up for warmth and comfort.
* The clever reader will note that this retort is clearly fabricated. Reinhold was not yet, and to my knowledge is still not, aware that his catch phrase was an object of bitter derision.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Deep Survival in the Khao Sok Rainforest, Part I: Frolicking on Karsts
Let me begin by promoting my father's personal bible, a book by Lawrence Gonzalez entitled "Deep Survival". In a nutshell, an extreme adventure journalist with a neuroscience education tackles how people get into "survival" situations, and then how (or if) they get out alive. It is fascinating and thought-provoking, most especially for anyone who has spent time in the backcountry. It is not a book about people building shelters and finding water. No, it is about understanding why smart people do stupid things.
Now then, in a flagrant non-sequiter, I'm going to tell a short story about a short hike that I took in mid-March in Khao Sok National Park, Thailand. My girlfriend and I were part of a group of six. The instigator of the hike was Boone, a charismatic California Buddhist with a mission to change the world. There was also Reinhold, a German ex-pat who owned property bordering the Park which would serve as our trail head. And finally there were Jacob & Mia, two very Californian (at least in diet and attitude) rock climbers. (All names have been changed to facilitate full disclosure). The plan was to hike from Reinhold's property north to Cheow Lairn Lake, a vast reservoir lake in the Park, where we would be picked up by a boat and taken to the floating raft houses, where cold beer bottles were patiently perspiring. Three hours of hiking through verdant old-growth rainforest, marveling at Nature's fecundity while savoring the prospect of mankind's finest fermentation.
Again in the interests of full disclosure: There were three (3) lies in the opening sentence of the last paragraph.
We left the lodge second thing in the morning, arriving at Reinhold's place a couple hours late. Upon greeting us, he then informed us that the Thai guide, a National Park ranger, had called in sick that day.
The five of us all responded with a variant on "Sure, no problem, we're ready for an adventure". My girlfriend and I both had backpacks full of food, water and clothes to spend the night in, as we were packed for a couple days of playing on the lake. Boone, Jacob and Mia had sent their gear and supplies in a truck to meet the boat the normal way, via a paved road. Reinhold had a daypack on, contents unknown and unasked. We clarified with Reinhold that the boat would be waiting for us from 2pm to 3pm, and if we had not reached the lake by 3pm, he said we would turn around, giving us 3 hours to return before dark.
And we were off! Into the jungle primeval, with the exquisite feeling that only the confidence that we would emerge and meet civilization on the other side could engender. The lack of knowledge, in retrospect, is rather impressive. We did not know the trail and we had no map. We did not know this piece of wilderness, its qualities and particularities We did not know how much water people had, or how much food they had, or any other sort of supplies. We did not know a damn thing about our companions. We did not know their wilderness experience, we did not know their medical issues, we did not know their personal styles or expectations. About the only thing we did know was that we would emerge from the jungle with less blood than when we entered, thanks to the voracious leeches of Khao Sok. But enough foreshadowing, back to the story!
Words will pathetically fail to communicate the grandeur of the rainforest that we entered, or even the awe that we felt in response to the magical miracles of the rainforest. Anywhere one looks, up into the canopy or down into the leaf litter or straight ahead into the spider's web, Life is composing its masterpiece, showcasing the most exotic, marvelous examples it has to offer. I have never felt so completely enchanted by the miracle of life as I did in that rainforest.
So we tromped onwards, we scaled jagged vertical limestone karsts*, we descended into lush jungle valleys, we stopped and marvelled and rejoiced, we hugged trees and got scratched up by thorny vines, we took pictures and brushed against poisonous nettles that produced a burning sensation that lasted for weeks. We descended from the first karst and met a stream flowing towards us ... for all the world it appeared to be flowing uphill. Upon closer inspection, we realized it was diving down into the karst, disappearing from atmospheric influences, and entering the unknown world of labyrinthine limestone faults and caverns. We stopped, a lot, to inspect the latest entry on the "holy shit this is cool, check it out!" list.
We finally reached the top of a second karst, which we were informed was the half-way point. From the top, Reinhold (who had become our de facto guide) and Boone took a compass sighting, targeting a gap in the karst cliffs which circled the jungle ahead of us, into which we were about to descend. It was early afternoon, our pace had been slow due to the frequent stops, but we felt strong. All that stood between us and the lake was a steep descent, an hour's hike through the jungle below, and finally pushing through the gap on the far side of the valley.
Coming up next...
Part II: "I have a gut feeling" - Reinhold
* A karst refers to a body of limestone that has been severely eroded by dissolution via slightly acidified water. The acid reacts with the calcium carbonate in the limestone, causing it to effervesce (make bubbles). The bubbles are carbon dioxide; the remainder of the original calcium carbonate molecule is dissolved in the water. The end result is a lot of holes. This produces the famous caves of limestone formations, such as are found in Kentucky or the Yucatan. Karts in Thailand are usually "tower" karsts, meaning they look like isolated cliffs, towering above the landscape. The dissolution process produces incredibly sharp jagged edges, making the rock rather dangerous. For more information, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karst
Now then, in a flagrant non-sequiter, I'm going to tell a short story about a short hike that I took in mid-March in Khao Sok National Park, Thailand. My girlfriend and I were part of a group of six. The instigator of the hike was Boone, a charismatic California Buddhist with a mission to change the world. There was also Reinhold, a German ex-pat who owned property bordering the Park which would serve as our trail head. And finally there were Jacob & Mia, two very Californian (at least in diet and attitude) rock climbers. (All names have been changed to facilitate full disclosure). The plan was to hike from Reinhold's property north to Cheow Lairn Lake, a vast reservoir lake in the Park, where we would be picked up by a boat and taken to the floating raft houses, where cold beer bottles were patiently perspiring. Three hours of hiking through verdant old-growth rainforest, marveling at Nature's fecundity while savoring the prospect of mankind's finest fermentation.
Again in the interests of full disclosure: There were three (3) lies in the opening sentence of the last paragraph.
We left the lodge second thing in the morning, arriving at Reinhold's place a couple hours late. Upon greeting us, he then informed us that the Thai guide, a National Park ranger, had called in sick that day.
"But it is ok, I can lead the group, I have taken this trail before, I can get us most of the way to the lake for sure, we might lose the trail towards the end, but it is ok, we can turn back or we can spend the night in the jungle" (note: please read all Reinhold quotes with a friendly, arrogant German accent).
The five of us all responded with a variant on "Sure, no problem, we're ready for an adventure". My girlfriend and I both had backpacks full of food, water and clothes to spend the night in, as we were packed for a couple days of playing on the lake. Boone, Jacob and Mia had sent their gear and supplies in a truck to meet the boat the normal way, via a paved road. Reinhold had a daypack on, contents unknown and unasked. We clarified with Reinhold that the boat would be waiting for us from 2pm to 3pm, and if we had not reached the lake by 3pm, he said we would turn around, giving us 3 hours to return before dark.
And we were off! Into the jungle primeval, with the exquisite feeling that only the confidence that we would emerge and meet civilization on the other side could engender. The lack of knowledge, in retrospect, is rather impressive. We did not know the trail and we had no map. We did not know this piece of wilderness, its qualities and particularities We did not know how much water people had, or how much food they had, or any other sort of supplies. We did not know a damn thing about our companions. We did not know their wilderness experience, we did not know their medical issues, we did not know their personal styles or expectations. About the only thing we did know was that we would emerge from the jungle with less blood than when we entered, thanks to the voracious leeches of Khao Sok. But enough foreshadowing, back to the story!
 |
| Rainforest tree - really big, magical |
Words will pathetically fail to communicate the grandeur of the rainforest that we entered, or even the awe that we felt in response to the magical miracles of the rainforest. Anywhere one looks, up into the canopy or down into the leaf litter or straight ahead into the spider's web, Life is composing its masterpiece, showcasing the most exotic, marvelous examples it has to offer. I have never felt so completely enchanted by the miracle of life as I did in that rainforest.
 |
| Scaling vertical karsts |
 |
| Give this fungus a hand! |
So we tromped onwards, we scaled jagged vertical limestone karsts*, we descended into lush jungle valleys, we stopped and marvelled and rejoiced, we hugged trees and got scratched up by thorny vines, we took pictures and brushed against poisonous nettles that produced a burning sensation that lasted for weeks. We descended from the first karst and met a stream flowing towards us ... for all the world it appeared to be flowing uphill. Upon closer inspection, we realized it was diving down into the karst, disappearing from atmospheric influences, and entering the unknown world of labyrinthine limestone faults and caverns. We stopped, a lot, to inspect the latest entry on the "holy shit this is cool, check it out!" list.
We finally reached the top of a second karst, which we were informed was the half-way point. From the top, Reinhold (who had become our de facto guide) and Boone took a compass sighting, targeting a gap in the karst cliffs which circled the jungle ahead of us, into which we were about to descend. It was early afternoon, our pace had been slow due to the frequent stops, but we felt strong. All that stood between us and the lake was a steep descent, an hour's hike through the jungle below, and finally pushing through the gap on the far side of the valley.
Coming up next...
Part II: "I have a gut feeling" - Reinhold
 |
| Karst towers |
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Hadsiao Tour (see slideshow)
Hadsiao is not a particularly thrilling place, but it does have its moments. It is best experienced by strolling along its soi's, or small side streets. On February 29th, just before leaving town, I ambled along with a camera in tow, highlighting interesting aspects of a typical Thai town. Click on the "Hadsiao Walkabout" slideshow to see the photos, with comments on the interesting aspects.
Let's start with the surrounding geography. We are in an agricultural river valley; there are hills in the distance which are still forested, but everything, i mean literally EVERYTHING, flat is under cultivation. Sugar cane fields and flooded rice paddies predominate. The sugar cane appears to be big business; huge double trailer trucks loaded with cane run through town day and night destined for the processing factory just outside of town. (It makes for quite the experience. I will be biking through town on the main street, I feel the roar of an approaching cane truck, and I'm engulfed in the strangely sweet odor of diesel exhaust mixed with freshly cut sugar cane.)
Agriculture is not geographically segregated. As one approaches town, more homes appear, until the majority of the land is being lived on as opposed to cultivated. But even in the middle of town, one will see fruit orchards (see slideshow) and even rice paddies. And of course, nearly every home has its own fruit trees.
The town itself is predicated on the highway through town, a four lane strip of pavement that usually has as many non-moving vehicles (such as food carts) as the traditional sort. Nearly all commercial activity either fronts the highway or actively takes place on it (see slideshow). One market is built adjacent to the highway, the other spills onto it. Automotive shops, banks, the 7-11, restaurants, even the hip coffee house featuring wireless and comfy reclined seats; all are built right alongside the highway, exposed to the cacophony of vehicular traffic that plies the road at all hours.
Motorbikes dominate traffic. Thai teenagers get motorbikes like American teenagers get cars. And load them up with their buddies just the same. The brand spankin' new Toyota Hilux diesel pickups catch the eye, but there probably aren't as many as I think there are. I'm just jealous that Thai people get better pickup trucks than Americans. After a sprinkling of Japanese and Korean cars and pickups, we get the really interesting vehicles, the old-school Thai work trucks (see slideshow). I ain't mechanically inclined (just ask Murphy), so I can't really tell you what is going on with these home-made oddities, but I would describe them as being built of Tinker Toys with a lawnmower engine strapped to the front. They certainly sound like lawnmowers.
Which brings me to my biggest, whiniest gripe about Hadsiao. The noise. The engines are always loud, whether on a truck or a motorbike or a sewing machine. The needs of tropical construction mean insulation, and hence sound proofing, are non-existent. Street noises, therefore, are your bed room noises as well (and vice-versa, teeheehee). I can't tell you how many relaxing glasses of pineapple-mango-papaya smoothie on the front porch were rudely interrupted by the deafening sound of a motorbike roaring past. You see! My life is hard.
Continuing our walkabout...We come to the river. The river runs parallel with the highway, a few blocks to the west. It feels dead; no visible movement, no observable impact on the air temp or humidity, too far below town level to appear consequential for irrigation, in fact too far below town level to even think about. But wait a minute, this is the dry season. Take a look at the river pics (see slideshow). Note the height difference between river-level and town-level. At least 60 feet. Now imagine the river rising to town-level, like it did in October. What I think is so cool about these photos is that they reveal the three dimensional "shape" of the flood river. Kind of an inverted trapezoid, that stretches from the northern highlands all the way to Bangkok. That is an enormous quantity of water.
The park, composed of flagstones and pastel exercise equipment, is built alongside the river. It reveals an interesting aspect of Thai society, namely its relationship with the concept of public spaces. Public parks are extremely rare, and have very defined uses. For example, should one have the rare good fortune of stumbling upon a grassy turf, it is most likely off-limits for actually playing on. So when I wanted to toss a hardball with the lovely lady, we usually struck out for a bulldozed dirt pad that will someday have a house built upon it.
Yet, while public spaces receive relatively little attention, nearly every private space is intended to be somewhat public. This goes beyond waving to your neighbors who are hanging out on their porches as you walk by. People's homes literally open up to the street (see slideshow). As the photo shows, there is a garage-type sliding door that opens to reveal the front room of the house. During the day, the residents do their work in the front room, open to the street. In a similar vein, most public business (restaurants, internets, law offices) are the front rooms of houses as well. So if you ask to use the bathroom at your hip coffee house, you will find yourself squatting next to the owner's toothbrush. Wow that sounds way grosser than I intended. But you get the point, yes?
This open style of residential living leads to a very lovely thing indeed. Thai-style gardening. Nearly every home in town is fronted with a lush variety of potted plants, most of them flowering. Oh so delightful, the loveliest flowers you ever have seen! At their best, the street-side gardens of Hadsiao can create oases of verdant tranquil greenery. (see slideshow, numerous pics)
Question, for those who are interested in commenting: What experiences with Public Spaces (especially public green spaces) have you had in foreign countries? Any particularly delightful examples? Or did this become one of those "I can't wait till I'm home" longings?
Let's start with the surrounding geography. We are in an agricultural river valley; there are hills in the distance which are still forested, but everything, i mean literally EVERYTHING, flat is under cultivation. Sugar cane fields and flooded rice paddies predominate. The sugar cane appears to be big business; huge double trailer trucks loaded with cane run through town day and night destined for the processing factory just outside of town. (It makes for quite the experience. I will be biking through town on the main street, I feel the roar of an approaching cane truck, and I'm engulfed in the strangely sweet odor of diesel exhaust mixed with freshly cut sugar cane.)
Agriculture is not geographically segregated. As one approaches town, more homes appear, until the majority of the land is being lived on as opposed to cultivated. But even in the middle of town, one will see fruit orchards (see slideshow) and even rice paddies. And of course, nearly every home has its own fruit trees.
The town itself is predicated on the highway through town, a four lane strip of pavement that usually has as many non-moving vehicles (such as food carts) as the traditional sort. Nearly all commercial activity either fronts the highway or actively takes place on it (see slideshow). One market is built adjacent to the highway, the other spills onto it. Automotive shops, banks, the 7-11, restaurants, even the hip coffee house featuring wireless and comfy reclined seats; all are built right alongside the highway, exposed to the cacophony of vehicular traffic that plies the road at all hours.
Motorbikes dominate traffic. Thai teenagers get motorbikes like American teenagers get cars. And load them up with their buddies just the same. The brand spankin' new Toyota Hilux diesel pickups catch the eye, but there probably aren't as many as I think there are. I'm just jealous that Thai people get better pickup trucks than Americans. After a sprinkling of Japanese and Korean cars and pickups, we get the really interesting vehicles, the old-school Thai work trucks (see slideshow). I ain't mechanically inclined (just ask Murphy), so I can't really tell you what is going on with these home-made oddities, but I would describe them as being built of Tinker Toys with a lawnmower engine strapped to the front. They certainly sound like lawnmowers.
Which brings me to my biggest, whiniest gripe about Hadsiao. The noise. The engines are always loud, whether on a truck or a motorbike or a sewing machine. The needs of tropical construction mean insulation, and hence sound proofing, are non-existent. Street noises, therefore, are your bed room noises as well (and vice-versa, teeheehee). I can't tell you how many relaxing glasses of pineapple-mango-papaya smoothie on the front porch were rudely interrupted by the deafening sound of a motorbike roaring past. You see! My life is hard.
Continuing our walkabout...We come to the river. The river runs parallel with the highway, a few blocks to the west. It feels dead; no visible movement, no observable impact on the air temp or humidity, too far below town level to appear consequential for irrigation, in fact too far below town level to even think about. But wait a minute, this is the dry season. Take a look at the river pics (see slideshow). Note the height difference between river-level and town-level. At least 60 feet. Now imagine the river rising to town-level, like it did in October. What I think is so cool about these photos is that they reveal the three dimensional "shape" of the flood river. Kind of an inverted trapezoid, that stretches from the northern highlands all the way to Bangkok. That is an enormous quantity of water.
The park, composed of flagstones and pastel exercise equipment, is built alongside the river. It reveals an interesting aspect of Thai society, namely its relationship with the concept of public spaces. Public parks are extremely rare, and have very defined uses. For example, should one have the rare good fortune of stumbling upon a grassy turf, it is most likely off-limits for actually playing on. So when I wanted to toss a hardball with the lovely lady, we usually struck out for a bulldozed dirt pad that will someday have a house built upon it.
Yet, while public spaces receive relatively little attention, nearly every private space is intended to be somewhat public. This goes beyond waving to your neighbors who are hanging out on their porches as you walk by. People's homes literally open up to the street (see slideshow). As the photo shows, there is a garage-type sliding door that opens to reveal the front room of the house. During the day, the residents do their work in the front room, open to the street. In a similar vein, most public business (restaurants, internets, law offices) are the front rooms of houses as well. So if you ask to use the bathroom at your hip coffee house, you will find yourself squatting next to the owner's toothbrush. Wow that sounds way grosser than I intended. But you get the point, yes?
This open style of residential living leads to a very lovely thing indeed. Thai-style gardening. Nearly every home in town is fronted with a lush variety of potted plants, most of them flowering. Oh so delightful, the loveliest flowers you ever have seen! At their best, the street-side gardens of Hadsiao can create oases of verdant tranquil greenery. (see slideshow, numerous pics)
Question, for those who are interested in commenting: What experiences with Public Spaces (especially public green spaces) have you had in foreign countries? Any particularly delightful examples? Or did this become one of those "I can't wait till I'm home" longings?
Monday, February 27, 2012
Relocation Excitement
Phase 1 of Thailand is just about complete. We are wrapping up in Hadsiao, the town where my teaching wahine teaches all those cute thai kids. We will be relocating to Khao Sok, a national park in the southern part of thailand, where we will be working for an ecolodge.
The good news! We will be surrounded by verdant natural beauty. There is a good chance I will have an opportunity to help develop / implement nature-based education, for tourists and locals alike. Which is pretty much my life calling.
The bad news :( I've grown rather fond of Hadsiao. Yes, it is always noisy and lacks hiking access. But, it has genuine beauty, we are slowly developing a community here, I am slowly learning thai, and most of all, this is REAL thailand. Real life is happening all around us, and gee, when I choose to engage with it, its rather interesting!
The resultant good news: I promise to put up a photo tour of Hadsiao prior to departure. And I have been compiling notes on interesting aspects of life here to post ASAP as well. Start salivating! The Land of Tasty Treats is about to be served up!
The good news! We will be surrounded by verdant natural beauty. There is a good chance I will have an opportunity to help develop / implement nature-based education, for tourists and locals alike. Which is pretty much my life calling.
The bad news :( I've grown rather fond of Hadsiao. Yes, it is always noisy and lacks hiking access. But, it has genuine beauty, we are slowly developing a community here, I am slowly learning thai, and most of all, this is REAL thailand. Real life is happening all around us, and gee, when I choose to engage with it, its rather interesting!
The resultant good news: I promise to put up a photo tour of Hadsiao prior to departure. And I have been compiling notes on interesting aspects of life here to post ASAP as well. Start salivating! The Land of Tasty Treats is about to be served up!
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Thailand is a densely populated Central American narcostate
Ok, this probably makes me look like an insensitive ass, but whatever, at least I can come by it honestly. The blatant truth is that I came to Thailand and immediately began judging it in comparison to Guatemala, where I spent a few months in 2005. It was hot and humid, just like Guatemala. Trash was being burned everywhere, just like Guatemala. And woah! here comes a pickup truck with the bed completely packed full of standing guys in military fatigues and ski masks! I assume they won't shoot me, after all i'm the tall goofy white guy with a smile on my face, but still, yeeesh that gives me a chill down my spine.
It turns out that Thailand is in fact not Guatemala. The pickup truck with a narco army in the back was actually full of day laborers, who wear the fatigues and ski masks in the tropical sun to keep their skin from darkening. Turns out that staying as light skinned as possible is a big deal. But wait, this ain't pre-Civil Rights USA either! You are either white or black here, by local definition, but other than white being a desired status, I don't know of any actual discrimination being practiced. Thai people go to absurd lengths to look white (all sunscreens have whitening agents, most makups are whitening, and of course the ski masks), but Americans having plastic surgery is a better analogy. Really, as far as I can tell, it is just a cosmetic thing.
Other amusing not-Guatemala moments (sorry to pick on Guate, its a wonderful place in many ways)...
... I was reading on my front porch, I heard a shout and looked up to see a man running toward a dog cowering in the street. My Central American mentality fully expected to see the man wind up and kick the poor mutt as hard as he could in the ribs for having the audacity to exist. The Thai man raised his hand, and ever so lightly tapped the mutt on the nose to reprimand it. Ain't Buddhism cool?
... The lovely lady and I were exploring the countryside on our bicycles last Sunday. We were far from town, in agricultural lands, beginning to transition into wooded hills. A man approached us on bike from the opposite direction and began to try to communicate with us. We quickly established that we did not speak or understand Thai, but no matter, he kept on trying to communicate some very important information. All we could understand was the word for "water". My experiences in Central America taught me that it was vitally important to understand a message that was being communicated in such a fashion; you never knew when there were armed bandits just around the corner ready to rob you naked (seriously) and perhaps shoot you just for shits and giggles. But this being Thailand, we just shrugged and smiled and kept on biking.
As we climbed into the hills, we were cheered by families hanging out in their front yards relaxing in hammocks in the shade. Soon, we reached a magnificent lake tucked into the hills, a spectacular reward for our sweaty climb. Shortly there afterward, a teenage girl pedaled up with her little sister mounted on the bike behind her. She brought two cold bottles of water for us, compliments of one of the cheering families. As for the man's critical information...probably "water" had something to do with the lovely lake.
... Ok, I can't think of anymore good stories, poop.
I suppose this is one of those lessons that we learn when traveling abroad. Each place we visit should be judged on its own merits, according to its own traditions and culture. But, being human, we of course have expectations based on our past experiences. This is a very useful skill, it is how we adapt to a complex world, but it is good to remember its limitations.
Next post will be looking entitled Hypocrisies and Apologies. Hmmm, I doubt I'll be able to write anything witty enough to justify a tag like that, probably should just leave it standing as is. Wouldn't want to dilute it, yeah?
ps I would LOVE it if people commented with their own versions of stories I am telling. For example, if you have a story of a time you landed in Land X and had expectations of Land Y, I would be thrilled to hear it.
It turns out that Thailand is in fact not Guatemala. The pickup truck with a narco army in the back was actually full of day laborers, who wear the fatigues and ski masks in the tropical sun to keep their skin from darkening. Turns out that staying as light skinned as possible is a big deal. But wait, this ain't pre-Civil Rights USA either! You are either white or black here, by local definition, but other than white being a desired status, I don't know of any actual discrimination being practiced. Thai people go to absurd lengths to look white (all sunscreens have whitening agents, most makups are whitening, and of course the ski masks), but Americans having plastic surgery is a better analogy. Really, as far as I can tell, it is just a cosmetic thing.
Other amusing not-Guatemala moments (sorry to pick on Guate, its a wonderful place in many ways)...
... I was reading on my front porch, I heard a shout and looked up to see a man running toward a dog cowering in the street. My Central American mentality fully expected to see the man wind up and kick the poor mutt as hard as he could in the ribs for having the audacity to exist. The Thai man raised his hand, and ever so lightly tapped the mutt on the nose to reprimand it. Ain't Buddhism cool?
... The lovely lady and I were exploring the countryside on our bicycles last Sunday. We were far from town, in agricultural lands, beginning to transition into wooded hills. A man approached us on bike from the opposite direction and began to try to communicate with us. We quickly established that we did not speak or understand Thai, but no matter, he kept on trying to communicate some very important information. All we could understand was the word for "water". My experiences in Central America taught me that it was vitally important to understand a message that was being communicated in such a fashion; you never knew when there were armed bandits just around the corner ready to rob you naked (seriously) and perhaps shoot you just for shits and giggles. But this being Thailand, we just shrugged and smiled and kept on biking.
As we climbed into the hills, we were cheered by families hanging out in their front yards relaxing in hammocks in the shade. Soon, we reached a magnificent lake tucked into the hills, a spectacular reward for our sweaty climb. Shortly there afterward, a teenage girl pedaled up with her little sister mounted on the bike behind her. She brought two cold bottles of water for us, compliments of one of the cheering families. As for the man's critical information...probably "water" had something to do with the lovely lake.
... Ok, I can't think of anymore good stories, poop.
I suppose this is one of those lessons that we learn when traveling abroad. Each place we visit should be judged on its own merits, according to its own traditions and culture. But, being human, we of course have expectations based on our past experiences. This is a very useful skill, it is how we adapt to a complex world, but it is good to remember its limitations.
Next post will be looking entitled Hypocrisies and Apologies. Hmmm, I doubt I'll be able to write anything witty enough to justify a tag like that, probably should just leave it standing as is. Wouldn't want to dilute it, yeah?
ps I would LOVE it if people commented with their own versions of stories I am telling. For example, if you have a story of a time you landed in Land X and had expectations of Land Y, I would be thrilled to hear it.
Welcome to Thailand, home of...Thai people?
Howdy y'all!
When I last posted, and you last read (if indeed you were reading this blog WAY back then), I had just moved to New Mexico, to begin work as a geologist conducting groundwater sampling at Los Alamos National Lab. Well, a lot happened in the last three years. But the long and short of is as follows:
I am living in Thailand with my lovely girlfriend. And I am still a wanna be geologist.
New Mexico (and my employment with TerranearPMC) was truly awesome, but i did not become the geologist that I aspired to be. I hope to be in grad school somewhere in Cascadia by Fall of 2013, learning as much geomorphology as they'll let me, but until then...here I am! And as you may have gathered, Thailand (or at least north central agricultural thailand) is short on rock exposure.
But the people exposure sure is something! I will proceed with the assumption that you, the respected reader, desire to learn (or at least be entertained by) about Thai-style; that is, the strange wonderful stupid and silly ways that Thai people live Thai life in Thai land.
I'll share a touch more background info, and then I will start in on Thai-style in my next post. My girlfriend is an English teacher here, giving me my raison detre: Trophy Husband! Traditional Thai social mores dictate a couple living together be a married couple, hence the Husband part of my role. As for the Trophy, well obviously I spend all day long sculpting my guns in the bronzing Thai sun. But seriously, I am embracing the role of helping the lovely lady(and myself) live a lifestyle that is as Happy and Healthy as possible.
Lest ye be fooled, Thailand is not always the easiest place to be Happy and Healthy. For example, Thai food, justifiably known as Dee-f'in-licious, reveals itself to be an overwhelming variation on the theme of meat + rice + flavor after a few gut immobilizing bouts of feasting, Thai style. (An aside for those who enjoy themes of gastrointestinal duress: gut immobilization is the exact opposite situation to which i am used to being subjected to in foreign countries. Aaaahh the novelty of new places!) Getting back to my original point about Happy and Healthy in Thailand, I therefore have turned the trick of cooking lots of delicions Thai vegetables into vaguely New Mexican Thai fusion cuisine. The wahine thinks it's delicious; Thai people appear dubious; our bowels are on the move!
My lovely lady moved here in October. I joined her in early January. I've now been here nearly a month. We'll be here through September of 2012, with a couple month break in March/April for kickin' it in southeast Asia, and some sort of grand touring expedition in Indonesia and possibly India in October/November before returning to the Land of (apparent) Free Choice.
When I last posted, and you last read (if indeed you were reading this blog WAY back then), I had just moved to New Mexico, to begin work as a geologist conducting groundwater sampling at Los Alamos National Lab. Well, a lot happened in the last three years. But the long and short of is as follows:
I am living in Thailand with my lovely girlfriend. And I am still a wanna be geologist.
New Mexico (and my employment with TerranearPMC) was truly awesome, but i did not become the geologist that I aspired to be. I hope to be in grad school somewhere in Cascadia by Fall of 2013, learning as much geomorphology as they'll let me, but until then...here I am! And as you may have gathered, Thailand (or at least north central agricultural thailand) is short on rock exposure.
But the people exposure sure is something! I will proceed with the assumption that you, the respected reader, desire to learn (or at least be entertained by) about Thai-style; that is, the strange wonderful stupid and silly ways that Thai people live Thai life in Thai land.
I'll share a touch more background info, and then I will start in on Thai-style in my next post. My girlfriend is an English teacher here, giving me my raison detre: Trophy Husband! Traditional Thai social mores dictate a couple living together be a married couple, hence the Husband part of my role. As for the Trophy, well obviously I spend all day long sculpting my guns in the bronzing Thai sun. But seriously, I am embracing the role of helping the lovely lady(and myself) live a lifestyle that is as Happy and Healthy as possible.
Lest ye be fooled, Thailand is not always the easiest place to be Happy and Healthy. For example, Thai food, justifiably known as Dee-f'in-licious, reveals itself to be an overwhelming variation on the theme of meat + rice + flavor after a few gut immobilizing bouts of feasting, Thai style. (An aside for those who enjoy themes of gastrointestinal duress: gut immobilization is the exact opposite situation to which i am used to being subjected to in foreign countries. Aaaahh the novelty of new places!) Getting back to my original point about Happy and Healthy in Thailand, I therefore have turned the trick of cooking lots of delicions Thai vegetables into vaguely New Mexican Thai fusion cuisine. The wahine thinks it's delicious; Thai people appear dubious; our bowels are on the move!
My lovely lady moved here in October. I joined her in early January. I've now been here nearly a month. We'll be here through September of 2012, with a couple month break in March/April for kickin' it in southeast Asia, and some sort of grand touring expedition in Indonesia and possibly India in October/November before returning to the Land of (apparent) Free Choice.
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