Ton Sai to Langkawi

Shadows swim across bare skin like fish darting across sand. I should be climbing. I can see my shoes sweating on the porch. They are waiting, anticipating limestone hung with stalactites, small toe-holds worn smooth by countless climbers. But I swing lazily in my hammock watching the light play across a man's shoulders, running the length of his belly as he flip-flops past on the path.

Two nights ago I met a tortoise here on this path, the high dome of her shell like a broken coconut under my headlamp. She hissed as I shone the light up under her shell, the glare of it blunt and offensive at this hour... entirely inappropriate. I touched the rough scarred plates of her back and she hissed again, so I said goodnight and continued to my bungalow.

After a weak in Ton Sai they tried to raise my rent. Peak season, they said. I got two more days out of them and then found someone to split a bungalow with. Coincidentally it's a guy I met in Colorado last year, hitching a ride with him from Vail to Boulder. We recognized each other on this same path, maybe in the same place I came across the turtle.

We've climbed a bit together, shaking each other awake at six to get to the crags before the crowds. Mike. And then there is Mindy, and Ian and Michelle, and Asha and Jimmy and Vicky, and... What was her name again? And the Germans, the Israeli, and everyone wants to climb.

I feel like a non-climber here. They are all so serious, planning their off days, waking up in the pre-dawn hours, practicing on the slack-line at night. (note to non-climbers... slack line is like a tight rope, but it is slack, and walking on it improves core strength and balance. I suck at it.)
Everyone wants to climb harder, harder, harder. I just want to hop on the east routes and feel the stone under my hands. I want to sail up the rocks. I want to lead, I decide, so I lead an easy 5.8 and top roped from then on out.

Hanging out.



Meet Mindy.

It is time to leave the comfort of Ton Sai. Time to go in Search of something... "Same, Same. But different," as they are fond of saying here. I meet Tino, and he is headed South. Thailand only allows people to stay 30 days at a time, and his time is up, and mine is getting close. They call it a Visa Run. You can get a bus to the border and back, but neither of us want to make a wasted trip, so we decide to visit Malaysia’s Langkawi Island.

Meet Tino, the dread-locked German fire dancer, and Al the sarcastic Brit. These are mytravelingg companions.

Cheaky Monkey Tino, John and Al

By the time we reach the Malaysian border we have added Rashid, the towering Aussie to our band of merrytravelerss. And it’s a good thing we did too, because he is the only one who has bothered looking into accommodations on the island. He brings us to Zakary’s Guest House (just 100 meters from the Reggae Bar!). The price seems reasonable, though we are having a hard time with exchange rates. How much is that in Baht? Which is what in Dollars US (or Aussie dollars or Pounds or Euros?) and there are about two dollars in a Pound, right? Oh well. Hopefully I’m not spending a fortune.
Besides, this place is a dream come true. A young woman checks us in. she calls herself Pete and we ask if this is the name she prefers. She responds, “Pete is better than Pussy!” We all agree. I quickly remove my long sleeve shirt, realizing this may be a Muslim country, but it is not a conservative Muslim country. She points us towards the beach and says to feel free to use the resort facilities across the street. “They have a Jacuzzi!” she says. Ahhh, and it is a cool-water Jacuzzi, very nice after a swim at the beach.

Al lives in the “Special Room.” A closet on a normal day, and the rest of us live in a dorm with four beds, sharing it with… “She.”
“She isn’t here right now, I think She went shopping, but She will be in your room as well.”

Every few days we are all moved from one room to another. For a while Tino and I live in the, “Knock Down Room.” When we got here it was a construction sight. Now it is luxuriously equipped with two beds and a fan (no electric outlets, no mosquito net, no bathroom). Guests come and go, and we continue to play Chinese Poker at the coffee table, or wander down to listen to live music at the Reggae Bar. The band is really quite good. She becomes Samira, and we meet Irish John, and so many others. Some people rent guides to take them Island hopping. Rashid, Al, Tino and I decide we can swim to the next island. A half-hour or so later we pull ourselves out on a sandy beach strewn with trash. We watch some fishermen throwing fish to a group of monkeys, and head back as the wind picks up. We drag ourselves out of the water feeling pretty proud of ourselves. We survived without drowning, or jelly-stings, or shark bites. The next day we rent scooters and go sight seeing. Note to Reader: The black sand beach of Langkawi island has sand as white as snow: just like every other beach on this island. We slid down waterfalls, cruised through the jungle on Malaysia’s amazing, well-kept roads, and stopped here and there to wonder where we are. Really we don’t do much. We rarely leave the guest house until the afternoon, and we can’t be bothered to pay for most of the touristy things. Tino and I are getting kicked out of our latest room. Rashid is gone. John as well. Al thinks he will head south. Tino and I look North again, and decide to check out Ko Lipe in S. Thailand. We join with a Canadian and a Swedish Brit and decide to leave tomarrow.