Sunni Dawson

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To bike or not to bike?

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Living on a remote beach in a tropical, sweat inducing climate, the only way to get around the island is by motorbike. Or pay expensive ‘taxi’ rides in songthaews, which are beat up old Utes that you have to grip onto very, very tightly. To loosen ones grip would be to play with your life. It seems like drivers here find it immensely pleasurable to drive very fast up and around narrow curvy, hilly roads. Its like riding a cheetah going for its prey, inflicting terror in its passengers with each fast paced pounce, becoming more and more likely you are going to slide off and land harder than a coconut hitting the ground, most likely cracked.

Pushbikes are out of the question, unless you are either:

  1. Sadistic;
  2. Would like to die a horrible death by sweat, blood, a combination of truck and motorbike tires, and potentially a cliff;
  3. Sam Hill who cannot only traverse the roughest peaks,  but with has the talents of Evel Knieval, having abilities to jump, slide and remain balanced on sandy, wet, hilly, curvy roads between motorbikes, songthaews or the occasional truck.

Locals and tourists alike ride motorbikes. Its the cheapest way to get around the island. ‘Refueling stations’ are like these, just pull up, open her up, leave the money in the coconut, and away you go! 🙂


But, motorbikes are death traps. What they don’t tell you in the tourist brochures for the island or any one of the islands around Thailand, is that many tourists die each year from motorbike accidents. One local Farang restaurant owner told me of three deaths in just the last two years alone. And of course they were all Farangs (tourists).

But even more regularly, its the non-fatal accidents that cause a lot of destruction. Every single week here I see at least one Farang with a head, foot, leg or arm injury. All from the bike. It usually inhibits them from doing anything, especially swimming in the warm salty waters that lap the delectable beaches, or preventing them from continuing their holiday journey.

The reasons are numerous: 
This a ‘better road’ but it is as slippery as a nipple
and as holey as a sponge!
  1. The roads are perilous. Full of pot holes, sand (think slippery ice), dogs and any number of other bikes or songthaews trying to compete for some space.
  2. You drive on the left side of the road. This is an issue for the generous amount of Europeans, Russians, Israelis and the occasional American.
  3. The guileless young Thai men who speed along like its their last chance to reach enlightenment.
  4. The cocky male tourists who believe they are newly anointed Kings of the island.
  5. The drunk or drugged drivers (aka collision masters).


On the flip side, there are safe drivers around. Every Thai woman I have seen drives slowly and sturdily. But this does not counteract the rabidness of these roads.

Tree poses are suppose to be straight!             



 I have contemplated driving like a Thai woman. I do have to mention here, however, that I am particularly   uncoordinated. My sense of balance has always been called into question (think chubby blonde 8 year old repeatedly falling from a bar one foot off the ground in gym class). I reassured myself in my yoga classes in Brisbane, that my complete lack of balance, primarily evidenced by my failing at even the most basic tree pose, was to allow my fellow class mates to think ‘at least I’m not that bad.’






What I currently do is walk to most places. I walk the 20 minutes or so to my favourite cafe (this isn’t a stroll mind you, its a blazing 3 hill walk there/ 4 hill calf pumping return). Or if I’m in the mood, a 40 minute scorching hike to the next town. It means my reach to other places on the island is limited. It also constrains my nightly activities (as taxis don’t exist at night and walking past unleashed dogs viciously defending their territory in the dark, is more than a little terrifying!).

It would be nice to expand my reach. What I am currently doing keeps me focused on what I’m here for: writing. It keeps me in close quarters, concentrating my craft and life here. On the other hand, expanding my reach could stimulate new ideas and creative outcomes. Or hospital visits.





To bike or not to bike, that is my question…


The Farang Divide, Part 1. Frog poison, yoga and all night partying!

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Farang is the Thai word for foreigner. You are always a Farang in Thailand. Always. Even if you’ve lived here for 20 years, have children here, establish a dog shelter, or have had the incredible honour of meeting the King, you are still a Farang.

Farangs generally come to the pretty coconut laden island of Koh Phangan in 2 distinct groups: to party or to do yoga. Even if you come to start up a business or to live out your years here, you still fall into one of these 2 groups. Either way you are trying to find yourself or move away from yourself.

The ‘Spirituals’


Farangs in the ‘yoga/spiritual’ scene in Koh Phangan are quite simply fabulous. There is a glorious spectrum of spiritual/ alternative/ healing sessions, workshops and courses a seeker can enrol in here.  They start with your average bodywork/massage, to esoteric messages from your spirits, workshops on open love and tantra, aura readings, aqua therapy, meditation, fire ceremonies and my new personal favourite: Shamanic Frog Poison Medicine.


I almost want to go to an individual healing session to find out what Frog Poison Medicine could do for me. Almost.










Besides writing, Farang watching is one of my favourite pass times. You have Farangs here who emanate continually smiley goodness like they are in the permanent state of holy communion with the palm fronds of eternity. 

Others mope around like grumpy wombats, overtly put out by the heat, sweat, mold, dirt, mosquitoes, stench and lack of perfect English skills of Thai people. 

Many are here ‘processing’ their navels, lives, ex-partners, mother issues with earnest faces and sad hearts, looking for any opportunity to latch on to someone or something that may take the pain away. 

The Party Beasts


‘Buckets’ (from Google images)

Some just dull the pain in a constant state of alcohol, drugs and pot, one hit leading into a buzz of another, the body and brain begging for more. They live their lives like the whirring of a blender, days whizzing continually into one long painful eternity.


Full moon party (from Googe images)
The more buckets the merrier! (from Google images)

Farangs who are here to party primarily gather in the hotbed of incestuousness: Haad Rin. Haad Rin beach in its prime, in its high season supremeness, contains every sort of sodomy and excess possible. Jumping fire ropes, slippery slides of jelly, buckets of peerless poison: Thai rum (one sniff is likely to bleed a person’s nose dry) with sugar highs of coke & red bull and any number of blends of secret herbs and spices enabling eyes to swim in the back of cortices. This enables a whole range of liberated responses to follow: the abilities to perform great feats; the dancing abilities of Michael Jackson; becoming the greatest of sex gods (I’m the motion of the ocean, baby!); the regalness of John George IV of Saxony, allowing him to piss wherever he wants (including in front of you, beside you and around you).

Just some of the crowd (from Google images)

  I stay well clear of this hub of   hedonistic play.

A typical morning in Haad Rin! (from google images)












The Farangs I encounter in my bungalow hood, on my stunning sun-sets- over water beach, tend to be more chilled, more enjoying the moment, could go out and party, but could equally enjoy a quiet night reading in a hammock sipping a Singha or two.

Its a nice space to hang out. I also take advantage of the yoga hood restaurants where veggie delights of all descriptions satisfy my incredibly high requirements of sensationally tasty food. But I have no desire to do a course, workshop or session. Nothing is enriching and challenging me more than this current task I’ve set myself. 

A beautiful Brazilian restaurant owner imparted this yoga/party group divide to me. She said:

‘I am not in one of these groups. But I love my life here. It is a relaxed, peaceful and beautiful life.’

Me: ‘I don’t fall into one of these groups either. I am here for a different reason, to write.’

‘Ahhh, that means you are happy with yourself.’

Beaming, ‘Yes, yes I am.’

I walked out of the shop content with this knowledge. Knowledge that it was true. It’s a nice space to be in. There are improvements to be made for sure, but these can evolve in time. And I’m ok where I’m at. Happy.

Food. Interrupted.

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I’m going to interrupt my usual ramblings today to create a photo blog of some of the food I have been enjoying here. It would not be exaggerating for me to say that, after breathing, food is the marvellous mystical pleasure of the Universe divinely inspired to make sinners atone and angels do damnable deeds.

Fresh coconut! Yummy!

Of course the most refreshing thing in the world after a long sweaty walk is a fresh coconut!







Thai tea latte!
The coffee here is repugnant. Melbourne, you have ruined me. Fortunately, Thai people know about tea. Traditional Thai tea on soy or coconut milk is luscious. Thank the Buddha that I love tea!


The BEST chocolate mousse ever!
And mouth watering, melt in your mouth coconut ice-cream!




Boldly brilliant banana cake & Irish breakfast tea

I have spotted as I’ve been walking about stalls for locals and workers. They contain all sorts of treats, mainly vegetarian (except for the BBQ on a wire places). I spotted little plastic bags filled with pink noodles, a couple of beans, slices of carrot and slices of fried flat egg: a simple ‘pad thai’; wrapped bamboo leaves containing sticky rice; dried banana chips in hard plastic bags; and dried puffed rice patties with sugar and salt (I tried some of these beauties and they were delicious, sweet rice chewy gooey-ness).


The freshest fruits!
Sweet potato & walnut burrito!
Fruit salad!

The best hummus!

I have found the sustenance of the gods vegan Israeli place. Hair-raising hummus and zesty falafel. Twists on other great cuisines, like Spanish gazpacho and Vietnamese rolls… Mmmmmmmmmmm.

To die for ‘Jupiter Moon Cakes’ with dill and cashew cheese OMB!
(Oh my Buddha!)
Fresh fruit shake!
Only in Asia: Salt & Seaweed Pringles!


















The next three dishes are all my breakfast items!

Banana in sweetened coconut milk!
Mushrooms and loads of garlic!
Yes, those big chunky white things
are garlic!



Rice soup with vegetables & fresh ginger! 

























And I am treated to fresh, crispy vegetables and amazing flavours generously laden in Thai cuisine. 

Pad Thai with a twist!
Basil, crispy veges & tofu! MMmmm

The freshest vegetables with a delicious peanut sauce!
A closer look!



And finally, the best Massaman curry in the entire Universe! Seriously. Rich, and supernaturally good. The only problem is, Belleza won’t let me have it every night for dinner. She thinks I need variety! 🙂

THE best Massaman curry EVER!!!

Gallant explorations in Thai bathrooms!

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Let me begin by describing what I am accustomed to. Bathrooms are generally dry places when a person is not having a bath or shower. Sometimes toilets are contained within bathrooms, but often they have their own small separate homes, neatly tucked away in a private space. 

Bathrooms have towel racks and whirring air vents to take away the humid moist filled air. Usually they have cupboard spaces and benches. And bath mats to ensure water is safely absorbed and not spread throughout the rest of the room.

Bathrooms in Thailand, lets just say, are different. At their best, they can be described as wetlands of adventure. At their worst, they can be described as a slaughterhouse of dirt and danger, to be feared by germ- a-phobes the world over!


The first thing you need to know about Thai bathrooms is that they are wet. This may be shocking to hear, but they are.

Usually a  pair of thongs or flipflops wait patiently outside a bathroom. All I can presume from this is that it is so your feet don’t get wet, but this is near impossible, with or without the thongs.

The doors to bathrooms are nearly always closed. This is, I presume, to keep the mould, air, dirt and stench beautifully contained so as to increase the aura and organisms multiplying whilst you are absent, in order to greet you happily and in plenitude at a further time.





So entering a Thai bathroom, with or without the thongs, you are always greeted to wet floors. The wetness could come from any of the following:

  1. The shower hose attached to the wall, which is usually positioned in the middle of the room and pointed over the toilet.
  2. The basin which greets the entry way.
  3. The bucket of water (large or small) and the smaller container which you use to scoop the water up either to wash yourself or flush the toilet.
  4. The toilet (which may or may not leak).
  5. The complimentary toilet hose. The hose is attached to the wall and has a helpful lever that can be pushed easily with a thumb to squirt strong spouts of water in the required areas.



















Lets first turn to number 4. The toilet. 


In most tourist hotels and destinations, there are ‘western’ style toilets. This means they have your standard toilet bowl and lid. Often they include a cistern with a press flush on the side. But not always. I am lucky enough to have a western toilet in my bungalow, but there is no flush.


So I get to use a bucket to flush my unmentionables down. 

But the truth is, I am just happy to be able to sit down. What a luxury! In many places all over Asia, they use drop toilets. This means one has to squat over a hole in the floor (and despite humans having squatted for centuries, I quite frankly like cushioning my behind on a seat). Squatting becomes extremely tricky when you are by travelling  by yourself and you carry your backpack with you into the toilet. 

I have tenderly balanced myself and my backpack over an incredibly slippery, dirty, smelly surface either side of a dark hole the size of my foot and with a stench that could knock a hippopotamus over.

My worst nightmare would be to slip. I practiced squats at every opportunity whilst travelling in Asia to gain the muscular stability necessary to hold me and a whole lotta luggage whilst precariously perching in mid air above a stinking hole.

Once the worst happened. I landed bare bum first in a slippery yellowy dirty wet mess. I was horrified. No amount of cleaning, bacterial gel or washing helped me feel clean for over a week. 

Let me be clear however, I am ok with the concept of drop toilets. I grew up with one in my home until I was about 6 years old. In Australia we call them ‘dunnies’ or ‘thunderboxes’. 

Dunnies rested out the back of houses, their wooden thrones cocooned in their own little light wooden rooms. I quite liked sitting on the wooden bench, legs dangling over the side and then depositing a handful of saw dust shavings after. Now this is the key I believe to drop toilets. Having a nice sprinkling of shavings and complementing it with other materials. Makes things a little more bearable in the stench department.

But in a lot of places in Asia, this does not exist. So we have a whole lot of odour to enjoy. A dogs paradise, but unfortunately not mine.

Now let us consider number 5. The toilet hose.












The toilet hose is both a revolution and a disaster for me… In Thailand, and most of Asia, the hose is  used instead of toilet paper. People hard water spray themselves, pull up their pants and go about their day.

The outcome of using this implement is what is important here. Having a good focused flush of cold water down there after relieving oneself, is quite frankly, very refreshing. And as long as the hose has a good pressure happening, it cleans really well. I like that.

There are however two major problems. The first is learning how to use the hose. In the first months of travelling in Asia a few years ago I tried to negotiate with the hose. The hose won every. single. time. The damage: water stains up my back, sides and very often everything from the waist down. If I was lucky, I also sprayed my backpack.


The second problem occurs once you have mastered the art of the hose (and I am pleased to report my now confident usage of the hose). It is the inevitable and most uncomfortable drips that happen after one uses the hose. They shiver and slide gleefully down ones leg, sometimes both, proud and free. 

I grew up having a relatively dry crotch and legs after going to the toilet. After 30 years of dryness, its a little hard to get used to wetness. Especially when it gets EVERYWHERE. 

And that inevitable wet patch that spreads from your crotch afterwards.

I saw a woman come out of a bathroom last week with a massive wet patch emanating from her jeans. She mustn’t have been completely comfortable with it because she was pulling at her jeans as she walked past me. I wouldn’t be comfortable with that either.

It is, of course, just water. Just the run off. Yes?

I asked one of my Indian friends how she finds it after she exits a toilet, she says you simply get used to it and it drys pretty quickly. Easy. Just. Like. That.

Now I have dangled over the toilet, trying to encourage the final drops of water out, but after a few minutes, I get bored and I just want to get on with my day.

But I’ve found an even better compromise. I now use the hose and use just a little tissue to dab it dry afterwards. Subsequently my crotch feels substantially better and more refreshed. And dry.

Now I’ve spent a decent amount of time in Asia and already being here now for a month, if the truth is to be known, I am actually starting to get used to the dribble, but, only in the privacy of my own bungalow thus far. 🙂

Here’s me, checking out the hose.


Pyjamas, Obama and mosquitos!

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What is the common theme in these three very different subjects: pyjamas, Obama and mosquitoes? Nothing. Nothing at all.
 
But that is what filled my third and fourth days of writing. 
 
 

Day threeeeeeee

 
I awoke early from a peculiar dream. I dreamt I was staying at Obama’s house. We were watching TV in his big lounge room and there was an important election going on. I thought I needed to get comfortable, so I went and got into my comfy pyjamas.
 
The pyjamas of my dream – yes they are sheep! 🙂

 Light blue flannelette, baggy pyjamas. With love  hearts and little sheep jumping everywhere.

 
 In Obama’s house. On his lounge.
 
 In the President of the United States home. Me, in my sheepy, love hearted flannellette pyjamas! There were lots of people starting to gather around to watch the TV (not just Obama and Michelle, but some important advisers and other such peeps), and I thought to myself I should get dressed again. But then I thought, no, I am comfy!
 
 Me in my fluffy, sheepy, flannelette pyjamas. On Obama’s sofa.
 
 Seriously? I feel so embarrassed, and it was only a dream! 


The subsequent hours of writing were no less strange. Arriving to my ‘office’, people wanted to chat to me, I had frustrations with computer programs not doing what I wanted them to, more people distractions, Facebooking, emails, trying to connect with people and not being able to.
 
I realise I have low blood sugar, I eat. I want to eat more. A lot. I eat a walnut, sweet potato mashed burrito.  Followed by a banana cake. Then another thai tea latte on soy.
 
I think I might be getting my period soon. I feel skittish. I plan my dinner. I think a massage might help. I go for a walk. I decide I will get into my exercise routine next week. I chat to Belleza and decide the best thing for me to do is to go to bed early. So I do.
 
 
 

Day four of writing

 
The writing flows a bit better, that is, despite two very concerning matters, which I shall now turn to.
 
 

1. Remember Sunni, social norms vary from country to country. And that’s ok.

 
As I eat my breakfast, a lady is coughing up a quarter of her intestines. It sounds like she gets half of them out of her, eats them again and throws up a third of it once more. And then adds in a lung or two for good measure.
 
I try not to dry retch. I also don’t want to know about the hands that made my breakfast. At all. Its just not worth considering. 
 
I repeat to myself, I am in Thailand. Its okay. I have a strong constitution. 
 
 

2. Mosquitoes are mamas!

 


The second, more concerning thing of the day for me was I found out that the mosquitoes that eat people are all female. And they are sucking your blood to make eggs in their tiny tummies.
 
There are apparently over 3500 mosquito species, and not all suck blood. Most species get their nutrients from nectar and plant juices, as do all male mosquitoes in every species.
 
In the species that do suck blood, the females risk their lives so that they can produce babies. They are particularly attracted to Type O blood, (yes, that’s me), people with body heat, (tick), and those that are pregnant (thank god that isn’t me!!!).
 
I suddenly have a new appreciation of mosquitoes. I no longer want to kill them before they feed on me. I have never liked killing mosquitoes, despite their potentially deadly consequences, or even the annoyingly itchy consequences. Its one of the few things, I am ashamed to admit that I have had little remorse over harming or killing in the past (that probably makes me a bad vegan). But I have thought about it a lot. It hasn’t sat well with me.
 
Even worse, it makes me a horrible feminist. How can I kill potential mothers who are only seeking sustenance to make babies?

 
My new citronella repellant!

I decide immediately to buy insect repellant.

I lament over those poor female mosquitoes and their  eggs I have killed. 

 


Oh and by the way, yes, I came to Thailand without mosquito repellent. 

For all the mosquitoes I have killed.

Arriving to my island

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Arriving to my island, I am greeted by a myriad of ‘taxi’ services at the pier. The taxis vary from mad motorbike men who insist they can carry me, my 23 kg back backpack, my 12kg front backpack and my other handheld bag on a one seater motorcycle, to bushbashing Songthaews… (such a pretty name for a truck!). You have to throw yourself into a Songthaew, scrambling with your bags and hang on for dear life as it traverses around sharp bends, at the same time clutching your luggage to spare it from flying off the sides of roads, and if you’re lucky, a cliff or two. They are all insisting I go with them. I pound past them all with my 36 kgs of weight somewhat attached, somewhat hanging off my body.


I walk to the main street and I am greeted by a woman taxi driver. 

She tells me in her broken english, ‘Normally one person to Haad Yao 1500 Baht’.

I step back with a disgusted face. ‘No way! That is ridiculous. I have been here before.’

‘No, no, listen, because quiet, one person 400 Baht.’

‘No way.’ My disgust is clear. ‘200 Baht.’

‘You say 200 Baht. I say 400 Baht. We make it 300 Baht.’

‘No way. 250Baht. That’s it. I’ve been here many times before.’

‘No, it long way. I am by myself woman. I try to make business. If you go back in there (motioning to the ferry ‘taxi’ services) they will make problems for me. I only do 300 Baht and not pick anyone up on way. Just you. Straight to your bungalow.’

I am a sucker for a woman trying to make her way in a man’s world.  ‘Ok then.’

‘300 Baht’ she said eagerly.

‘Yes, ok.’ I climb in the back half stumbling over my bags and half pushing them in.


Arriving to my bungalow…


My bungalow
Belleza (her english-ified name, she was given by a western woman many years before that has stuck ever since due to her big, bubbling, beautiful, warm, hospitable self) greeted me with a big gushy, strong, warm hug. Two of them in fact. I thought she wouldn’t let me go. She did briefly so I could pay my taxi woman who hadn’t stopped talking thai since we pulled up.

Belleza exclaimed, ‘So happy you come back! How long you stay this time? Me think you lost weight. Not so fat. Must be the vegetables.’

I smiled, trying to appreciate the compliment in the way it was intended. I have actually put on weight. 
Inside my bungalow
My hammock & balcony





View from my balcony & bed!








Going to my office…

The following day after a delectable ocean swim, beach walk and good food, I start the walk to my favourite ‘office’ of all time. A stunning tree surrounded cafe with high bamboo ceilings, low tables, beautiful art and books, and most importantly, great wifi. Its a few blood pumping hills walk away from my bungalow. As I commenced my first walk, a motorcycle pulled up.

‘Sunni, so great to see you again!’ Grabbing my hand, she couldn’t seem to stop her tight grip throughout the whole conversation. 

‘How are you? How long you stay?’ She looked intently in my eyes… ‘I have been not so good. I had a major motor bike accident. Look.’ She pointed to the scaring that slurred her eyes and mouth. The substantial scaring over her left arm and leg looked horiffic.

‘So happy you are back. I love your laugh. Good to see you.’ And waving her arms about with emphasis, ‘Welcome to Koh Phangan!’

As I climbed on the back of the motorbike, she glanced back in fear. She bravely dropped me at my cafe. 


Meeting Benny again…

 
My office

Arriving at my cafe, my office, Benny was behind the counter looking at his phone.


‘Sa wa dee kaaa’

 ‘Sa wa dee krap’ he didn’t look up. As I moved towards a table and he looked up.
‘Oh my god!! You come back!!!’

He excitedly rushed from behind the counter, to give me big hug. He is a gentle, lovely, short, open faced young man who fled his country to send money back to his family at home, who live in poverty and poor health. There are many Burmese on this Thai island doing the same.

My office

 He exclaimed: ‘I’m so happy to see you. This is    the best day, because I see you again!’, and a bit  later, ’The sun came out today because of you!’ Benny, you are too kind.

We catch up on the state of his family, he was sad because his sister recently married so young at 18. And this has also meant the money that he was saving to help his parents with their very poor falling down shack of a home had to be spent on his sister. ‘But not to worry, I save again now, in two more years I can make their home a bit better’.


He asked, ‘How long are you here for?’ 

‘I am here for a long time.’

‘Years’ he eagerly replied.

Laughing, ‘No, months, but that’s a long time!’.
My office

It certainly is good to be back!