Travel Log

Just when you think Asia has sailed smoothly into the world of modern travel, when you think the jet fleets here rival those of any American company, when you are convinced you are well-versed in the art of taxi bargaining and inter-Thai connections...you take another trip.

Selina and I went to Koh Lanta last weekend. Beautiful beaches, coral reefs for days, lush mountains and seaside grub. Idyllic and serenly Thai our days were spent seashell collecting and mosquito swatting. The trip back to Chiang Mai from this southern destination would take 8 different means of transportation in order to traverse the few hundred miles. This we knew. But who could have filled in the details?

To get back to the mainland from Koh Lanta involves two ferries. One to Koh Phi Phi and then a connecting ferry to the mainland of Phuket. We boarded our first ferry. Half sunken and water logged yet spacious and functional. We assumed a connecting ferry in Koh Phi Phi meant "a connecting ferry in Koh Phi Phi." Instead what would have been more accurate is "a connecting ferry about a mile and a half off shore from Koh Phi Phi." We felt our ferry smash against what could have been in iceberg under different circumstances. Instead it was our connection. "Oh they're saving time!" we thought, as the cigarette infused Thai skippers tied our crafts together and we jumped from one to the other in the middle of the rocky sea. The connecting ferry was ladden with people, which ultimately made it clear that this midsea connection was in fact only a means to load about 100 more people than capacity onto this half submerged craft. Inside the cabin looked like some sort of refugee camp. Naked babies cried in the arms of sunburnt women and about 3 bodies to every seat, water bottles rolling around on the floors. I decided that I wanted to be on the deck when the boat sank so as to have a better chance of survival. So there I sat. Planning escape routes and pointing out the nearest land points as we bubbled our way to Phuket. Making it safely, but just.

Our flight back to Chiang Mai was on a craft probably first flown by the Wright Brothers. There was a blade slot in the bathroom, and the faint smell of the 1950's in the air. Once again we made it, but I certainly held my breath for that one.

But who is to say that these modes are wrong? Perhaps my purified water and seatbelt upbringing needed a firm jostling. Perhaps the antiquity and shoddiness of these crafts is something I should learn to embrace and expect. Although the Thai man next to me chatting on his bluetooth midflight reminded me that modernity is out there. It just seems that they might be using it in the wrong places.