Alright, so any of you who have read any of my writing will know that I am at best haphazard with dates, locations and, lets face it, facts, so it should come as no surprise that I will now go back to one of the progenitors of my future travels. This tale will cover the wonderful missions trip I took to Thailand with my best friends in order to volunteer at a Thai orphanage.
I had actually been to Thailand once before- it was the most touristy, milque-toast experience you could have imagined, but it was also my first solo experience overseas and I loved it. This one would prove to be different though, as firstly we would be living in rural Thailand with the locals, eating local food, and would be there with a purpose, rather than just bumming around.
I will not speak too much about the orphanage itself- there are privacy concerns and delicate situations to be respectful of, however I will let you in on the reason for this service existing in the first place, which when I heard it, hit me like a ton of bricks.
Thailand is a beautiful place, and it’s people are generous, open and loving. Unfortunately, it is also a place of poverty and opportunism, and as someone who has never faced severe poverty in the manner some of these people have, it is not up to me to pass judgement, abhorrent as the reality truly is. The orphanage is a slight misnomer, as the building exists primarily as a halfway house between the hill tribes of this farming and remote region, and the schooling services that are further into the built up areas of town. So really it’s purpose is to provide a safe haven for children to stay when attending school, from primary right through high school. It is available to kids who have lost their parents as well of course, but the necessity for the lodgings is what can happen if the kids are left at home unsupervised while mum and dad are forced into the fields to work the land. Thailand has a well known and active human trafficking network, with children and sometimes even adults being kidnapped and sold into the sex trade. Evidence of this is clear if you have ever walked down some of the shadier alleyways of Bangkok and seen disgusting old men leading little Thai children or women by the hand. Please never go and see a ‘ping pong’ show- these are a direct result of this terrible situation. Anyway, what happens to the children of the hill tribes is that relatives (who have their own children to feed and take care of) would organise with traffickers to sell their brother or sisters children while they were away from home. The children would disappear without a trace, and the $10,000+ payment was a temptation beyond the wildest dreams of wealth for those who organized it. There are more than 50,000,000 human slaves in the world today, more than any other time in human history.
All that doom and gloom (a very real situation that deserves our attention) is to set the scene for our little kiddos, who were absolutely incredible. We spent our days away from any media or devices, owing to the fact there was no signal or tv’s to distract us, and just spent time living with the kids (just to clarify as well, we all went through the necessary police vetting to work with children and vulnerable people). Joining in games like Sepak Takraw, an incredible game no one but Sarah (our resident soccer player) was any good at, and involved kicking a very hard ball the size of a handball over a net using only your feet!
We did lessons, of course, sang songs, prayed together and ate together- a wonderful little community that truly began my journey along the path towards asceticism (or at the very least, minimalism). You see before I left NZ I had been debating about buying a second car- I love cars, and driving is one of my absolute passions, so having a spare car to fling about seemed a wonderful idea. After an afternoon conversation with these kids, that idea, and my perspectives, were forever shifted.
We had sat down with a group of boys (men with men, girls with girls) to do a little lesson. As a warm up, I asked my kids (through an interpreter of course) to go around the room and say whatever they might wish to have in their homes when they grew up, allowing their wildest dreams free reign of imagination. We went around the room and I heard what they most desired, and I have to admit that by the end of the round I was choking back tears. When I did this exercise with my class back in NZ, I would get answers along the lines of “10 playstations and a bowling alley inside!” or “My own McDonalds!” Here however, the first boy said “I would like to have curtains”. The next said “I would like to have a bed”. The next “I would like my family with me”. Their complete and utter humility moved me, that the basic necessities none of us in the western world would consider worth our mention were the height of luxury for these kids. My dreams of a second vehicle evaporated instantly, as did a small chunk of my personality that for some inexplicable reason desired to ‘keep up with the Joneses’. My subsequent years on the road as a backpacker living out of a 15-kilo rucksack would happily erode any trace of this attitude altogether.
We all drew close to individual kids, and they to us. Our most boisterous member was Andrew, a 6 foot 3 half indian boy who I initially thought would terrify the kids. He is loud, opinionated and unapologetic (also loyal, generous and our resident expert on all things highfalutin). My favourite saying when traveling with him was that he would one day be the reason I got stabbed. Almost 10 years together now and I can happily say that though I’ve been stabbed twice (stories for another time), neither one was because of Andrew. He does, however, have an amazing affinity with young children- ostensibly the most aggressive in appearance, the little ones always draw around him. I have seen his big hands calm upset babies when nothing else will do it and here, true to form, little Ong (one of the youngest children at the Orphanage) became Andrew’s shadow, and absolutely adored him.
We drew close to those kids, and as we did the regular ties that society places upon you, like the need for the latest this or to be informed about that, started to be cut away for all of us. When we finally left, it was with much lighter hearts and spirits- those kids giving far more to us than we could ever have hoped to provide them.
One little adventure we did have was when our resident leader (and coincidentally, pest controller by profession, Doug) decided to rid the place of a soccer-ball sized hornet nest. The hornets themselves were almost 2 inches long and very aggressive, but a well placed broom handle, a mosquito net for head protection and oven gloves took care of the majority of the nest. As Doug went to remove the larvae chambers that were left behind clinging to the eaves, the locals made it known that these were a particular local delicacy and should therefore be saved for them to eat. I, having a mania for trying new and exotic foods, decided if the wriggling, fat white maggots were good enough for the locals, they were good enough for me. Throwing a couple of them into my mouth, I blatantly peer pressured two of the girls to join me, and to their credit they swallowed their disgust and the larvae all in one go. Giggling at the odd experience, we turned around to see the local kids staring at us in horror. As the girls choked, I asked what was wrong, didn’t they like eating these things? Yes, they replied, but stated that they were also not savages, and would cook them up in a soup!
They really weren’t too bad once they had stopped squirming in your mouth.
After leaving our kids with heartfelt goodbyes and mutual presents flowing both ways (why is it the less fortunate are so often the most generous?) a core group of us had arranged to spend a few extra days exploring Thailand while we were there in the country. One of the benefits of this was the Thai prices- not only could you barter things down (if you had the confidence to do so- I would normally send Andrew ahead of me like a charging bull to haggle for the things I wanted- I had neither the stomach nor the talent for it) but also regular services like hair cuts or medical supplies were unbelievably cheap. I decided in my wisdom, therefore, that dying my hair back to the bright blond I had when I was a child would be a wonderful and economically sound idea. Oh hindsight, how I loathe thee.
What I failed to take into account was that Thai people all have uniformly black hair, and do not attempt anything foolish like turing it blond, so my poor hairdresser basically poured straight bleach on my head, wrapped it in gladwrap and left it until the burning sensation was strong enough to leave a charcoal smell in the back of my nose. Unwrapping the result was like getting a pair of kitten patterned socks from your Grandma- they are nothing even close to what you wanted, but you don’t want to hurt anyone's feelings so you smile, say thank you, and inwardly imagine how to avoid being seen by people for the foreseeable future.
My hair, I kid you not, had turned a remarkable shade of Guinea-pig yellow, and with my face turning red from the humidity and heat, I looked like a slightly scarier version of Slim Shady (if you picture Slim raised as a zombie who had just eaten several thousand Jalapenos).
To make matters worse, the chlorine in the pools gradually turned it a horrid shade of green- suffice to say I didn’t get an awful lot of female attention on that trip.
Our group now consisted of Andrew, myself, Karena and Danielle. The last two and I had affectionately dubbed ourselves the 3 amigos, as we were often galavanting about getting into trouble, and I think the famous cry of all for one and one for all suited us well as it meant none could divulge any dirt on the others without incriminating themselves as well. Friends you keep around for their qualities- best friends you are terrified to lose unless they share all your secrets!
As a surprise to this lot, I had encouraged them to take the sleeper train from Bangkok to Phuket. This is an overnight train service I had done before and loved, the novelty of sleeping on a moving train while the wild jungle rushes past you was one I wanted to share with them.
The journey began easy enough- we laughed and giggled as we tried to squeeze ourselves into the little shelves they pull down which become your bed for the night. Your luggage is tied down with string so it doesn’t shift about during the night. This does however, leave it open and accessible for potential thieves wandering around, though I knew my friends were pretty conscientious and had taken the best measures they could find to keep their bags locked up tight (just fyi, anything with a zip is easily opened with nothing but a ball point pen!). I had just finished using my Macgyver quality knot tying skills to secure Karena’s (or as we called her, Renabena) luggage, she immediately remembered she needed something desperately out of it. I sighed deeply, rolling my eyes dramatically but being the ever faithful suffering servant (are you gagging yet?) I dutifully set about undoing the string, which I found was simply easier to snap with a sharp tug than painstakingly unwind. Pulling on a particularly stubborn piece of twine, I was distracted by an argument erupting as Danielle decided that she didn’t want the sizable form of Andrew sleeping above her, and he responded with a not so subtle hint that hot air travels upward and he was really the one who would be suffering. This was so entertaining that I didn’t notice my string snap and my fist (conveniently located directly in front of my face) rocketed back and I had the distinct displeasure of punching myself in the face. This of course, distracted the other two from their grumbles as they shared a laugh at my expense, and when Karena popped her head out of the curtain she had drawn over her own shelf, she kindly asked me why I was being stupid enough to punch myself in the face.
Feeling rather foolish already, I threw sense into the wind and replied that it was because I was trying to do her a favour that it happened in the first place. I saw a flash in her eyes and my fight or flight response kicked in (and knowing who I was facing, I was definitely leaning towards flight) and backed quickly away. You see my wonderful, loyal, kind, and gentle friend Karena was all of those things until her Tongan half decided to switch from being an angelic person whose morals and behaviour were genuine inspirations to all of us, to being a murderous, cantankerous ball of fury that one must never, ever, antagonize.
Quickly backpedalling, I explained quickly that I certainly didn’t mind doing her the favor, and how silly of me it was to punch myself in the face like that, trying to subtly raise my hands in self defence lest my excuses not prove quite enough.
She climbed down and advanced threateningly, but I could see the tell tale twinkle of mirth in her eyes, and relaxed. She mumbled something about not being able to find good help these days, looked at my semi-raised hands and joked that I was afraid she might hit me. I relaxed and laughed too, dropping my guard. “You’d know about it if I was going to hit you” she said, and without warning, launched a right hook at my face, which connected rather well with my already swelling lip. “Oh my gosh! You were supposed to duck!” she said, clearly horrified she had actually hit me, but I burst out laughing- who knew my first time getting hit in the face would have been because of one of my best friends. To this date, I have only been hit in the face twice… and both times it was Karena.
Having settled into our trip (and giggling together when we heard an irate German passenger shouting at a snorer “Do you know that you are snoring! You must shut up now!!”) we arrived at the station well rested and ready for the beach.
Unfortunately, I had forgotten that on my previous train trip, we had been collected directly from the station and ferried directly to our hotel. This journey we would have to figure out ourselves, and 9 hours of multiple Van, Bus and dragging-our-bags-with-us foot journeys later, we arrived at our hotel, caked in sweat, road dust and grime from the vehicles, weary beyond measure and every one of us (yes, myself included) hating me for suggesting the train rather than simply flying down.
In the interests of self preservation, I plastered a smile on my weary face and tried to point out the fancy-pants nature of our lodgings. Fortunately, this was not mere bluster, as La Flora was a four star resort that lived up to its rating.
There were multiple pools, a free minibar and these glorious, huge orange towels everywhere. As people's attitudes towards me became slightly less murderous, I spied the ocean just ahead of us, and as I felt I could peel off the top layer of dirt that was on me with a stick, I thought a nice dip in the ocean would be great.
Stripping off my shirt and wearing nothing but short shorts, I tore down the sand to the ocean (which in Thailand is always a balmy temperature that you could float in for hours. Emerging (I like to think) like Bond from the ocean, I took out my phone to take a little selfie (get to know me and you will realize this is a far more common experience than it really should be).
Suddenly, a guy popped up and offered to take my pic. I thought that was a nice thing to do but explained I was fine with a selfie, when he offered to be in the picture with me. Now, I don’t understand different cultural behaviours so well so I figured this was an overture of friendship and politely declined, when another guy popped up from behind the first, proceeded to compliment my body, and offered to make some pics together. Flattered at these very friendly overtures, I smiled and said he didn’t need to bother, when a third guy turned up. Now even I can grasp a hint when it is hurled into my forehead with the subtlety of a blunt axe, and as I looked up I saw an enormous rainbow flag flying proudly in the wind behind me. Ahhhhhhh, I suddenly thought- knowing my awfully dyed blond hair and tiny short shorts really were making out to be some awful gay stereotype. Politely making an excuse that my friends were calling me (an outright lie but I was barely able to deal with the attention of one girl let alone 5 or 6 randy guys) and shuffled quickly away, seeing the laughter on my friends faces as they watched the whole drama unfold. At least they seemed to think this was recompense enough and had forgiven me for the nightmare journey.
Many exciting adventures and hilarity occurred during this trip, but in the interest of brevity I will fast forward to share a couple of incidents that involved the rather dangerous wildlife of Thailand- mostly because I love writing about animals but also because almost dying seems to make for good reading.
One of the obligatory activities to do in Thailand is to take a cruise to the coral reef. Snorkeling, visiting various incredible beaches, eating huge amounts of pineapple and watermelon- this is how we do. On one such cruise we had been taken at least an hour from mainland into the ocean to a particularly rich habitat for ocean life. I dived off the boat recklessly, forgetting for a moment that I couldn’t swim to save my life, but immediately remembering when I began to sink despite my valiant attempts at a dog paddle. Clutching madly, I found the anchor chain and used this as a security blanket to look around with my borrowed mask, marveling at the biodiversity around me- beautiful fish, from the bright green and yellow sergeant majors that would happily swim right up in their numbers to give you a nip, to the larger species, floating majestically just out of reach which were a riot of colour in these tropical waters. I found I could venture about 10m away from my treasured anchor chain, and thus, buoyed with confidence, I began exploring further and deeper.
I stared at open clams, wonderful brain corals and softly flowing seaweed, turning in wonder at any new movement that caught my eye.
I spied a sinuous form gliding gracefully through the water not far to my right, and fascinated I started to swim after it. I realized quickly that I was following a wee snake- bright orange, white and black, it moved just as it might on land, aided by slight fins that protruded above and below it’s tail. I thought it was utterly beautiful, and being me, simply couldn’t resist reaching out to feel what it’s scaly skin might be like. Suddenly, I felt something grip my ankle and yank me backwards. Scared, I turned around to find one of our guides furiously gesturing at me to surface with him.
One above the water, he explained in broken english that that particular beast I was trying to pet was actually one of the world's most poisonous snakes. He told me that although they have tiny mouths, they are smart and will often bite the thin skin between your fingers. He also told me, to my horror, that if I was bitten, there was nothing they could do, as I would be dead in 20 minutes and we were more than that away from the nearest hospital. Having heard all this, I decided that I really had enjoyed my time in the water and due to my not wishing to hog all the nice fish from everybody else, it might be time for me to make a hasty exit to the boat.
I turned tail and swam to the large vessel, and clambered a little clumsily up onto the duckboards- those platforms that extend into the water to give you somewhere to climb out from. I paused to get my breath back, and heard an unexpected slap of something down by my feet. Jumping a little, I turned and saw a pair of flippers being brought down roughly in a slapping motion. I thought perhaps I had been rude to our guide and he felt I wasn’t taking him seriously enough, when I spied a familiar sinuous form doing its best to climb up on the platform not 20cm away from my feet. Giving a very manly squeal, I realised my valiant guide was using his flippers to try to beat the snake away from me, being probably affronted that I had so casually tried to grab his tail.
I quickly hightailed it up the ladder that extended downwards, and gave my ok to our guide, who pushed himself away from the animal and keep any other passengers away from the area. Needles to say I was at once a little shaken and also elated at the opportunity to share this daring brush with death with anyone who listened. Ironically this was the first but by no means my last encounter with poisonous snakes, meeting sea snakes again several times and even falling in love because of another affectionately called a cow killer. Me and snakes- who knew?
After this adventure, I was quite ready to chill out for the rest of the cruise, and when we were driven to a beautiful beach, I decided I would stay in the shallows and watch very closely for any other poisonous animals that decided to try to get to know me.
Andrew and I had decided to take a little dip, and we noticed that on the island there were 2 bays- one populated by about a thousand tourists (see above) and one a short climb away that was completely deserted. I convinced him that this was the better option to try for (our own private lagoon- how cool!) and though he is never one to willingly travel further than he needs to, he was also a little over the crowded atmosphere and grudgingly agreed to accompany me to the other bay. We scrambled over the rocks, finding the bay completely empty, and dove gratefully into the water. It was a glorious place, full of all the sea life that had come to escape the annoying, grabby hands of tourists, and as I lifted my head to take a breath, intedning to dive a little deeper to check out an interesting coral, I noticed an oddly shaped log swimming not 10 feet away from me. It was odd, especially, because logs don’t normally swim, being awfully lazy things, and when it lifted up a huge, blocky head, I took an involuntary gulp of sea water in my surprise.
The log swimming next to me was actually a huge water monitor lizard, easily 2 and a half meters long. These are the smaller cousins of Komodo dragons, and look very similar, a long dragon like snout, dark grey body and long, tough tails. They are vicious hunters and with their backwards facing teeth are known to leave horrendous wounds on their prey. We had seen these in the waterways and drains of Bangkok, but never one of this size, and I was absolutely mesmerized. Then the huge thing submerged, and I suddenly became aware that 1- I couldn’t swim, and 2- I really wanted to know where this monster was in relation to my tender little tootsies.
Swimming slowly backwards, keeping a wary eye open, I got Andrew's attention and very calmly told him I thought we should exit the water now. He looked at me quizzically, obviously frustrated that I had made him walk all this way only to leave early, but a look in my eyes let him know it was a little more serious than that. “What is it?” he asked. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing major, but I saw something and I think it's best if we quietly get out just now”.
He didn’t question further, and we both slowly wandered back to the beach, as I turned my head constantly, trying to see this where the dragon had gone.
Once safely back on land, I told him excitedly what I had seen (he was less enthusiastic than me about the encounter but I am a little strange when it comes to animals). Looking back out across the bay, I stopped suddenly stock still. There, basking in the sun, was not one but at least a dozen of these monsters splayed out on the black rocks across from us.
I wondered how many more were in the sea with us, but decided not to mention this particular fact to Andrew until we were well away from them, and I was well away from him should he choose to vent any frustration at my brilliant idea to ‘swim away from all those tourists’!
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