backpacker, backpacking, Southeast Asia, Thailand, travel, Uncategorized

Why Do All the Backpackers in Southeast Asia Wear Elephant Pants?

March 20, 2017April 19, 2020 Courtney

It’s pretty easy to identify a Southeast Asia backpacker. Just look at their pants and ask yourself: 1) Are they flowy? 2) Are they embellished with elephants?

Elephant pants. A solid 99.9% of backpackers sport ‘em. You know you’re in Southeast Asia when a gaggle of gap year gals stride past, elephant pants of the rainbow illuminating their eager steps. That purple pair she’s got on is positively stellar, oh how it makes her brown skin glow! And, that chic wisely chose the blue; can’t go wrong with a classic navy.

Indeed, these harem-style trousers are a favorite among maidens and gentlemen alike. Men, I bet that soft, linen fabric offers the comfort and coverage your precious bits deserve. Ladies, pair your pants with a solid crop top, hit the town at night, listen to that Thai band covering Wonderwall and BOOM. How easy is it to drop it low in a pair of elephant pants? You’ll be the envy of every girl on the dance floor.

I lost my elephant pants v card on good ol’ Khao San Road, the beating heart of the elephant pants empire. Fly into Bangkok for the first time, all glossy eyed and rosy cheeked as you stare at the city sights and breathe in all those pungent city smells; the gentle smack of lips evaporating in the humid air as Thai men hang languidly from tuk tuks and murmur “ping pong show *Pop pop*.”

FullSizeRender 6 — Fabrizio Manese models “Cabernet ting tong” from the exclusive 2016 collection

The drab streets are splashed with the vibrant hues of elephant pants stacked like rainbow sprinkle hot cakes; thick mounds just begging to be rubbed against a face, to hug waists, tickle thighs and wedge between butt cracks. They are one of your first and most memorable purchases in SE Asia and with them, you’ll tread upon the banana pancake path invincible.

So what’s the deal with these pants? Why is everyone wearing them? Well amigos, it’s not just about the comfort or cheap price. The spiritual essence behind these mystical pants is profound.

If you take the leap and pull on a pair, you’ll instantly find yourself hurtling down an electric brain tunnel deep within your subconscious. You will transform into a Southeast Asia backpacker. You might even get a bamboo tattoo, don a man bun, or pierce your right nostril. Even after you return home, pulling on THE pants brings you back to exotic lands and fantastic adventures. With them, you can escape reality anytime, anywhere.

Can you hear the jovial chattering of the hostel common room? Do you smell the woody roast of the free instant coffee; feel the crumble of a crispy Laos baguette or hear the sizzle of those golden eyed eggs? It’s that final shot of Lao Lao and that frothy chug of Saigon; that one bus that broke down in the middle of nowhere or when you slept in the airport. It’s the steamy night with that person you met on the beach…you almost lost your elephant pants in the dark, but you crawled through the sand in desperation until you were reunited.

Ask any elephant pants extraordinaire and they will justify the magic. Did they save your legs during a sketchy motorbike spill? Did you meet the love of your life because you both connected over the fact that you were wearing the same pants? Maybe they warmed your extremities during a freak cold night in North Vietnam or you found your missing passport in the pants pocket. It’s not a coincidence that shit worked out. Those pants possess the blessings of ancient mammoths and the incorruptible spells of Asian warlocks threaded in every stitch.

They allow you to somewhat comfortably twist into any demanded position on an overnight sleeper, they check off the culturally conservative box when visiting temples, and those things hide dirt, sweat and swamp ass like a champ.

It becomes your inseparable security blankie, comforting you when wanderings get tough. The elephants are never grumpy, they always want to drink with you and they like the prickly feel of your unshaven legs. When you gotta spring up at 5am to catch that train in Myanmar, them elephants will be there, grinning at you, ready to conquer and destroy. They aren’t just pants. They are the ultimate wing-man and the best (and cheapest) travel buddy you will ever pick up on your journey through Southeast Asia.

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Adventures in Tham Lod Cave

June 7, 2016April 19, 2020 Courtney

When traveling, I enjoy the unique delights of every city I visit, but it’s the cities located away from the concrete, in the farthest reaches of a country, which stirs curiosity the most.

These far reaches sometimes end with border towns. In my opinion, a border that separates two countries is like some sort of purgatory…the no man’s land between two countries that no one fully understands. This is where immigration officials gobble passports. They have the power to trap you between two countries, can be stressful, cause tears to fall, wallets to drain and curses to be uttered. You go to a border, cross your fingers and hopefully get a stamp in your passport hassle-free, then you get the hell out and into fresh territory. Besides the obvious immigration matters, what is there to see in border towns? What untouched beauty and discovery could there be?

These questions are exactly what make border towns so interesting. You have to go, explore and answer those questions yourself. You might find that some of the most stunning and thrilling parts of a country are in that no man’s land, where few tourists venture, except to get a visa stamp.

Recently, my friend Chris and I visited Tham Lod cave in Mae Hong Son province of north Thailand, which shares a border with Myanmar. We rented motorbikes and set off on a day trip from the mountain village, Pai. It’s amazing how once you leave a tourist laden town the roads become mostly empty and pleasantly quiet. It’s just one paved road and endless mountain wilderness.

On our way to Tham Lod cave, we lost internet, missed turns and at one point, drove a good bit in the wrong direction (thanks to my flawless navigation skills); but we didn’t care. To fill our lungs with the crisp mountain air, to be engulfed in a bed of clouds and to feel rain droplets splatter on our faces as we wove around limestone karsts and hillside farms was glorious. The only problem was that we had planned a day trip. After backtracking, we found the sharp turn off that led to Tham Lod cave. It was evening time, and after delving deeper into the misty jungle, we found the secluded Cave Lodge; bamboo bungalows perched above a mountain stream where water buffalo graze and toucay geckos call across the canopy.

We were not prepared to stay overnight, and had only brought the clothes on our backs. A day trip turned into an overnight adventure to explore Tham Lod. Luckily, the one item that was conveniently tucked into my purse was the The WakaWaka Power+ solar charger. Since it’s powered by the sun, it was readily available to charge my phone anytime, anywhere. Score.

Despite our lack of supplies and a long day of biking, drinking loads of beer quickly numbed the discomfort of sweaty skin, greasy hair and dirty underwear. Laying back in a hammock, I was engulfed by the jungle. The sporadic rain showers strummed tree leaves and branches, soothing and sound. There’s nothing like being out there. The magic of wilderness is that you become part of a living system; the beating heart; a thinking brain. You become part of something so natural and your instincts tell you without hesitation that you are where you belong in the world. Stupid gripes and life bullshit fades, and you are treated to the joy that you once felt as a child discovering earth and savoring it, no strings attached.

Tham Lod cave is an impressive sight to behold; an archaeological site that was once occupied by the Hoabinhian hunting tribe from 9000BC to 5500BC.

The mouth and ceiling of the cave is wide and tall, filled with large stalactites and stalagmites that have formed over thousands of years. Three caves are connected into one, with prehistoric wall paintings and skinny, wooden coffins serving as reminders of an ancient past. A quiet stream runs through the cave, and visitors can snag a ride on a bamboo raft to explore every nook and cranny. Don’t forget a flashlight or headlamp! Once again, the The WakaWaka Power+ saved the day for us.

Around 6pm each evening, the cave mouth spews hundreds of swallows and bats, as the nocturnal critters welcome the night and the insect meals it brings. You can view their evening departure from outside the cave, or inhale their ripe odors (and get doo doo’ed on) as they flit around their cavern mansion during daytime.

If you’re an avid caver, besides Tham Lod, there are numerous caves to explore around Mae Hong Son. During certain parts of the year (depending on dry and rainy season) you can rent a kayak to paddle Tham Lod and visit nearby waterfalls. Unfortunately, we were unable to kayak, but the bamboo raft was a different experience that was also enjoyable.

Driving a motorbike from Pai to Mae Hong Son is the definition of scenic and was my favorite part of the trip. You can also book a white water rafting trip the same way, but of course, conditions depend on the season. There is so much more to explore, more than can be done in a day. Caves, hill tribe villages, incredible wildlife and archeological digs- I’ll have to go back, but this time with a fresh pair of undies and a toothbrush.

adventure, backpacker, backpacking, Southeast Asia, Thailand, travel, Uncategorized

Khao Sok Trekking Wild and Untamed

February 29, 2016March 24, 2016 Courtney

When I came across Social Print Studio’s beautiful photo books and metal prints, it reminded me of a trip I took to Khao Sok National Park in Thailand last year. The pictures in this post represent some of my most cherished memories from my travels through Southeast Asia, especially when I escaped the city for the pristine jungles of Thailand.

“It’s a magic mushroom,” said Mr. Toi. There were two on the hard ground at the mouth of the cave. The brown skinned Thai guide split one into three sections and gave one piece to the other guide- a quiet, old Thai man, one to Cam- the Brit backpacker and the last piece to me. The other mushroom, he plopped into his mouth. We swallowed our pieces, he rolled a cigarette, and then we headed back into the wildlife sanctuary just North of Khao Sok National Park.

This was my last day in the park and our small group was on our final trek, following trails that Mr. Toi had developed himself since roaming the jungles of Khao Sok as a child.

We ducked beneath thick branches, passed towering trees and splashed through clear, cool streams. We could not stop moving, or else the leeches would get to us. Cam chose to trek in white chucks. The fabric sides were soon stained scarlet with blood from the sucking parasites that had managed to sneak into his socks and in between his toes where the skin was soft and warm.

10906261_10101145844370742_8041496821882655170_n — “It was remote and wild and flush with danger and unexpected twists, but we were ready for it; we were hungry for it.”- My favorite shot taken at the mouth of the jungle of Khao Sok in Jan. 2015

I slid into a low squat, arching my back, and in one deft movement slunk under a thick twisting vine. My breath was quick, but steady. I felt the shifting terrain below my feet and the moist humidity that lay trapped below the canopy of trees. Mr. Toi was ahead of me, dewy skin and a rag tied upon his head. He stopped and we all stopped. He looked and he listened. We all looked and we listened. It had become a regular part of our trip, an essential activity for understanding the jungle.

On my first day in the wildlife sanctuary of Khao Sok, Mr. Toi had taken me for an evening ride in his long tail boat. The water was glass as the sun set and turned the blue land indigo. The boat engine sputtered to silence. To me, we were just floating in the middle of a giant lake surrounded by massive limestone formations. I turned to say something, but he stopped me and taught me my first lesson.

“Ssh. If you listen, you can hear the jungle.”

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So, I listened.

The cushion of tree tops flowed unevenly over the landscape, a vibrant green spill that hid this obsidian water world. The deafening silence was just a blanket that shielded the active life within. I heard a soft flap and rustle of branches, and I turned quietly to witness a great horn bill take flight into the orange of a heat drunk sun. Twigs snapped and broke somewhere deep in the foliage; perhaps it was an endangered tapir snuffling about for snacks. The shrill whoops that sliced the silence was that of the gibbons, calling to each other from one part of the sweeping jungle to another.

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We did this often during our big trek, stopping to listen to the jungle, to hear what it had to tell us. There was an animal over there or the staunch stench of guano signaled a cave over here. The babbling stream followed us, a crystalline snake that we met every now and then to cool our feet, pull sticky leeches from our calves and to suck coca leaves for energy.

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It was tough work. We weren’t in the actual national park, so we did not see any other people. It was remote and wild and flush with danger and unexpected twists, but we were ready for it; we were hungry for it. The two days of our stay before the trek, Mr. Toi had been preparing Cam and I by letting us explore on our own and living how the people of Khao Sok live.

He taught us not to be afraid of the jungle.

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We lived in floating bamboo huts that rested upon the calm water with no connection to the land or city. Here, transportation is accomplished via boat, there is no internet, electricity is only available for a short time period by use of a generator, and bathing is done in the lake itself.

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The mornings began with a breakfast of fresh caught fish, rice and vegetables, then, swimming and exploring in kayaks. Cam went off with one of the old fishermen in his skinny boat, poles in hand. Later we tagged along to help set up fishing nets. As the moon and stars took over the black sky, the Thai fishermen, Mr. Toi, Cam and I sat on the bamboo rafts, legs folded. With tobacco stained teeth, the Thai men rolled one cigarette after another and passed around a bottle of rice whiskey. An old Thai woman sat quietly against the hut wall behind us. They could not understand our language nor we theirs, but we coexisted together and shared tipsy laughs late into the night.

And so, as our trek continued, we witnessed the entirety of the jungle with all of our senses. Every bug bite, scratch and droplet of sweat was a part of it. The sounds and the smells gave life to it. The abandonment of everything human and the acceptance of everything animalistic is what we morphed into.

We stumbled upon the skull of a bear in a cave. Mr. Toi said that it had come here to die, that it had been very large and old. The hard yellow bone was picked clean, the smooth angles and eye sockets intact. The jungle had allowed the bear to live a long, prosperous life and so, the bear had given its final breath to the jungle in return; had given its meat and organs to the others. The bear had fulfilled its duty to continue the circle of life and the jungle was pleased.

Its skull would not decompose into the soil. Instead, it would be brought back to the raft houses to be put on display. The great bear would not be forgotten; he would become a symbol of the sacred life in Khao Sok.

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adventure, expat, Southeast Asia, Thailand, Uncategorized

A Story About a Place With Pictures

February 22, 2016February 22, 2016 Courtney

FullSizeRender 20 — The building resembles a child’s lego masterpiece; one that took an entire morning to build and stayed on the bookshelf as a prized accomplishment. But, it’s an adult masterpiece, so add money, disagreement, expectations, misfortune and government to the mix.

Mold, dust, tetanus and creepiness aren’t the only things birthed from the death of failed and forgotten human construction.

You can find beauty and adventure in the most unexpected places. You can even find it in a half finished abandoned building perched upon a cornmeal sand lot on the side of a remote highway in North Thailand.

So, come with me….

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Many see a waste of space, a stroke of bad luck or, they simply do not see anything at all. A few though, they see something else. They see a canvas and an opportunity to become the creator.

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These manmade outcasts make the perfect playground for a fox and a rabbit to tread curiously, to think quietly and to imagine a story of what was and what could have been.

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There is a protectiveness felt in the shade of the geometric shapes and a coolness of bare skin against the gritted stone mash of concrete.

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Depressed gray becomes a chromatic insanity, scattered beams of light reveal pink lips pulled back over ivory teeth and unintended holes become empty eyes that bleed gold.

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Here, I am either a grown woman making stupid decisions with dangerous consequences or…

I am a fluff-tailed fox in a forest dome, surrounded by moss covered conifers and I rush past damp open spaces of musky earth and snarled pine cones and there are flowers in my ears and soil between my toes and I leap over the glacier bred brook because I cannot and do not desire to stop.

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There is something soothing about perfect rectangles and a gentle reflection. I’d also like to know who the monkey-footed artist is?

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Stairways that turn into corridors, corridors that turn into bedrooms, bedrooms that lead into closets, closets where they are hiding.

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FullSizeRender 2 Here, where attempted dreams perish, they sit half life half dead and with friends they watch the sun rise and sink over and over, forever and ever.

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Look to the sun and look to the moon and always be entranced with eyes un-lidded.

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adventure, backpacking, Southeast Asia, Thailand, travel, Uncategorized

The Ghost Ship of Koh Chang

January 9, 2016January 10, 2016 Courtney

It was unlike any abandoned place I’d ever explored. Despite being completely deserted and open, everything was clean and in its place. Nothing was trashed or overgrown and graffiti wasn’t sprayed across the crisp wood walls.

But, something didn’t feel right. A heavy foreboding hung in the warm air.

It was like gazing at a historic battlefield. The wildflowers and green rolling hills are lovely, but at one time, it cradled the blood and bones of hundreds. The rain is sporadic and the humid air cooled by soft breeze on Koh Chang. My best friend Desiree and I had been staying on Lonely beach for a couple of days and quickly became rooted to life on this quiet island in the Gulf of Thailand. It’s one of those places that feeds your sins in a way that renders not an ounce of guilt or regret.

An island of secrets and hushed whispers, this is a tropical paradise where the moon is worshiped with howls; where the poi dancers aren’t local entertainers, but sorcerers of orange heat and blue magic, scorched skin and ember eyes. They watch like a predator watches its prey; arrogant grins as they paint the night sky with swirling flames. On Koh Chang, you dance with the devil late into the night and never leave. 10357816_10101372539516852_1542511673168511861_n Des and I had stumbled upon a bizarre discovery while exploring the island on scooters one day. A dirt road had brought us to a deserted beach and bay. It was a picture out of a luxury travel magazine, complete with a wide stretch of crunchy pink sand and mop-topped palms. A small inlet had been cut out of the bay to make an aquatic parking space. It’s inhabitant was a monstrous floating cruise ship. We pulled over and stared at the curious thing for awhile. We had stumbled upon a flying saucer of the sea, crash landed upon the island of Koh Chang.

It looked as if the abandoned ship had been turned into a floating hotel of horrors. The afternoon storm clouds rolled in, bringing out the black slime that blanketed its drab white walls like leprosy. The towering body was pock-marked with dozens of dark cabin room windows. I rested my eyes upon each pane, half expecting a ghostly face to stare at us from one of them.

But no one else was here on this beach. This pristine beach scarred by this spooky vessel. Only the lonely palms swayed like dancing slaves around its dominating figure as the wind began to pick up.The quiet stillness was not expected and the air smelled of old wood. An unfamiliar electricity clung to the hairs of our bodies. The decor was dated yet modest, dusty yet protected from the harsh tropical weather due to the ship’s dense exterior. A reception desk greeted us and long narrow hallways ran down either side. The corridors were dark save for a milky bright light at the end of each outstretched hall; cabin doors casting shadows in the eerie interbreeding of light and dark.

We ascended the staircase to a higher deck with cat-like steps, pretending to be invisible to whoever was watching from the shadows. We stepped into one of the hallways that tunneled the length of the room like a stretched spine, and the unearthly feeling intensified. I shook the brass knob of one locked door after another, daring one to open, and said suddenly, “Let’s go back downstairs.”

Below the initial reception area we had entered through, there was a room. It was dirty and the bowels of the ship had been breached by the air here. Windows were salt slicked and a depressed moan seemed to echo as the wind shook its bones and black waves stung its hull. We decided it was time to leave. 1549215_10101372534057792_3197797350221788827_n As we headed towards our escape, what stood out in magnificent splendor was the most divine Spirit House I had ever seen.

Spirit Houses are found throughout Southeast Asia. In Thailand, you will see them perched outside any and every establishment, from the most prominent skyscraper in Bangkok to the small village or the forests and mountains. These ornate structures resembling houses or temples represent the ancient spirit worship and rituals that have survived for centuries. The purpose of a Spirit House it to provide shelter and appease spirits that have remained on the earth, in a particular place.

A Brahm priest skilled in astrology, chanting and Hindu rituals is the master of this age old tradition. They also communicate with the spirits. The Brahm priest uses his wisdom to choose the proper location, cardinal position, height, and color of a spirit house. The overall construction and the offerings of various foods, drinks, statues and the burning of incense reflect the whims of the spirit that has been invited to stay.

This particular Spirit House stood boldly on a sturdy dias, placed in its own quiet nook of the ship. Shimmering with brilliant mosaic glass pieces and slick gold paint, the grand palace glowed; picking up any trace of sunlight and reflecting the intricate details of the palace roof and windows.It was a valiant shield lifted against the discomfort of this bizarre ship. There were neat glasses of water with straws and plates of sweet smelling blossoms and snacks. Not a speck of dust was found on the spirit house, in fact, it looked as if it was the one object in this place that radiated life and color.

11700954_10101354916448622_8934844892621938516_n — An example of a Spirit House/Desiree Jomant

When we arrived back at Lonely Beach, Desiree and I couldn’t stop thinking about that creepy ship. The few locals we asked seemed reluctant to speak about it. As Des Googled furiously on her phone, I asked the Thai woman whom we had rented the scooters some questions. Why was such a beautiful beach so desolate, why the ship?

She didn’t smile and there was a slight trace of fear in her voice.

“People have died there. Someone jumped from the roof and the hotel closed,” she murmured, as her eyes darted and she busied her hands. “It only opens during high season if every other hotel on the island is full.”

Note: We were told that there had been deaths, but I couldn’t find any sources to back up the claim. Regardless, this place is scary and weird. If you enjoy exploring abandoned places- the ghost ship and its beautiful hidden beach will captivate you.

adventure, backpacker, backpacking, Southeast Asia, Thailand, travel, travel memoir, Uncategorized

Chasing the Sun in Phu Chi Fa

November 17, 2015November 17, 2015 Courtney

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There is a quaint, quiet corner of northeast Thailand where the mountains rejoice at the awakening of the sun. They stretch with glistening green peaks past a creamy sea of clouds in sleepy greeting each and every morning.

My boyfriend, Joram, and I decided to rent motorbikes and head to Phu Chi Fa mountain and forest park located at the east edge of the Thoeng District, Chiang Rai Province, just bordering Laos. We embarked on the trip for one sole purpose: to witness Phu Chi Fa’s famed sunrise.

My phone blinks 5am and the clammy cold stings my skin, goosebumps prickling along the nape of my neck. It is still dark as we shiver together under a thick blanket and wait. When you are on top of the world, plans no longer matter, time stands still and you are simply humble. Engulfed in the freshest air of the land, where the poisonous creeping fingers of pollution fail to reach, and where giant black masses rise silently on all sides and the city lights of Laos are faint specks of stardust sucked into the loins of the earth below, you realize something. You realize just how small we as humans are on this fantastic planet, and that to think we have control of everything is pointless and unnecessary.

Despite the early morning chill, I suck in as much of the pure oxygen as I can muster. Up here, my allergies from the burning haze of Thailand have vanished. I feel cleansed as the sun begins its ascent, cutting gold and pink straits across the eastern heavens. I let the breath out steadily, and I am a child dancing in a candyland of strawberry milk streams, golden caramel coins and overflowing puffs and curls of lavender cotton candy.

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Witnessing the Phu Chi Fa sunrise is a travel delight that is out of the way for most backpackers, and it is a treat that is earned. She makes you work for it, but it is well worth the effort. By motorbike, the roads are for the most part smooth and free of potholes, until you start the final steep ascent to the actual park. If you are a lover of curves and flying down hillsides, then this ride is a dream come true. Let go of your inhibitions and soar as the crisp mountain air awakens and exhilarates your senses. Extraordinary views await you at every beck and bend.

It is all coffee plantations and rice terraces, green corn and cabbage fields and small mountain villages that will take you away from crowded, dirty cities. The people here live the simple life of a Thailand stuck in a past time. Naked children splash in giant buckets of cool water. Lazy mountain dogs with gleaming coats wallow in the road, lying just out of reach of dangerous wheels. The stares are shy and curious. The toothless smiles are friendly and genuine. For me, this is what Thailand is all about.

Getting started

The best time to visit is during the high season starting around November. One-way, the trip takes about 3-4 hours depending on speed and rest stops. Joram and I rented manual bikes in Chiang Rai. Prices range from 100- 200 baht per day, and I wouldn’t pay anymore than that. Once you start on the highway from Chiang Rai, the route is easy and enjoyable, taking you out of the congestion and into the pristine countryside. From the highway, you begin to climb into the mountains, steadily pushing up and then rolling down the never ending hills. What I liked most about the drive was the lack of traffic. There are no tourist buses careening around curves like madmen. It allows you to soak up everything the drive has to offer without being on edge or getting punched in the face by nasty plumes of exhaust smoke.

Gasoline

Fill up before you go, of course. Once in the mountains, there are no gas stations, but you can find old fashioned petrol pumps at random general stores in the villages. If you run into bike trouble, there are a couple of shops to be found. Joram experienced a flat tire at one point, but luckily the misfortune struck just a few meters from a lonely shack laden with rusted half-built motorbikes, old tires and mysterious scrap parts. The old Thai farmer fixed up the flat in a jiffy while we played with the the farm puppies and waited.

What to bring

It gets chilly in Phu Chi Fa. Bring a jacket, socks, pants and sturdy shoes for climbing.

Take it easy

If you are expecting reggae bars and late night backpacker parties, then you will be disappointed. It’s peaceful up here, in fact, we only saw one other small group of foreigners. The majority of visitors are Thai. The small stretch of shops next to the park consist of a handful of guesthouses, camping spots, a couple of restaurants, general stores and souvenir shops.

Joram and I arrived in the evening time and secured a camping spot nestled amongst coffee bushes brimming with pale red berries on a hillside terrace overlooking the mountains and valleys. It is easy to find camping spots since the village is so small. All equipment, bedding and individual fire pits are offered for 500 baht a night. There are showers and toilets available to campers as well. Eat cheap Thai food in town and warm up with some hot Jasmine tea, then sit by the fire and become hypnotized by millions of shimmering stars. It’s so dark and clear on top of Phu Chi Fa, that you can glimpse the wondrous Milky Way spilling over the edges of an indigo sky. To not speak, to not think and to instead just watch; you become part of the mountain and helpless to her wild whims. All of a sudden, a white fire comet streaks across a soundless horizon, illuminating the sky for a brief second, then leaving you to stare in awe while massive rust brown Hercules moths flit on paper wings, playing in their star-dappled darkness.

The sunrise

Set your alarm for 5:00 am the next morning for sunrise. When the time comes, hop on your bike and head up the park entrance road. It is steep and dark, so use every precaution. Don’t fret about navigation, you will see the signs and parking lot to leave your bike. Then, it’s another steep trek by foot up to the tippy top of Phu Chi Fa mountain. Grab a spot and wait for the sunrise to transform the land and your life.

The best way to begin your day….

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Uncategorized

An Ode to the Bum Gun

May 26, 2015August 18, 2020 Courtney

I would like to take a brief moment to pay homage to one of mankind’s most extraordinary inventions: the butt blaster, the bum gun, the incredible bidet.

We westerners sit daintily upon our porcelain thrones amidst the spicy aroma of potpourri bowls and lavish lemony sprays, quietly going about our most intricate business of the day. Each and every trip to the loo ends the same way- reaching for that thick, fluffy roll of toilet paper, swiping and wiping to no avail, and hopefully doing so from front to back.

In America, toilet paper is life. There is no other way to clean one’s tootie, and if there is another way….just, no.

Meanwhile, in Asia and Europe, the bum blaster stands tall and confident over its WC kingdom…a rather simple tool that reigns with an iron grasp and deftly conquers any booty no matter how big or how small. You find these nozzled hoses faithfully positioned and ready for battle beside almost every squat and sitting toilet throughout Asia; a lethal cobra ready to nip at the dingiest behind with a most powerful and unrelenting water pressure.

You never forget your first time

My first experience with one of these mysterious contraptions was a mental challenge peppered with nerves and buts and what ifs. I eyed the leery pistol. It sat there, a beckoning metal mouth filled with multitudes of minuscule anticipating holes. I gulped. Coming from a country where toilet paper is seemingly the only way to deal with dirty matters down there, I was perplexed, my mind boggled.

“Nope, ain’t using it.” I thought, and reached instead, for toilet paper. Only problem is, 90% of the time you aren’t gonna find that powdery soft goodness at any restroom in Thailand. And when you have food poisoning from feasting on that suspicious street meat on a stick, things can get, well…shitty.

I eyed the butt blaster nervously. It looked like it would wrap it’s cold, plastic coils around my neck and strangle me at any moment. This sitting squat position was starting to kill my legs. I needed to make a decision immediately.

Quickly, I glanced around, first right, then left, as if onlookers were hiding, watching, waiting for me to grab hold of the hose so they could jump out, point and laugh at me in my vulnerable state. This isn’t the norm, I don’t do this back home…no one does wtf.

But alas, I had no choice. After successfully avoiding every bum gun in the beginning of my travels through Asia, we finally met for the first time. Gingerly, I extended my hand in greeting, and took hold.

It was like two pimple-faced 16-year-olds sharing a first kiss on a first date. I pushed down on the nozzle and instantly lost control as an overwhelming jet of cool water coated the bathroom walls, my legs, and fuck…my pants.

“Easy girl…easssy,” I coaxed the bucking bronco, a single bead of sweat trickling down the side of my face. Now what. Do I stand? Do I lift one leg? If I do it this way, I soak my pants. If I do it that way…I soak my pants.

I won’t go into the nitty gritty details, but damn, was it awkward. After what seemed like ages, I flung open the tattered stall door in victory, gasping for breath. I had survived! I had succeeded in using the bum gun! The old Thai woman collecting baht at the restroom entrance just stared at me indifferently with pursed lips. Somehow, I had managed to soak my entire outfit.

But, it didn’t matter. I was reborn- a changed woman. A luminous beam of light descended down from the heavens upon my weary derriere and I threw up my hands in infinite glory. Like a caterpillar, I had shed the soft toilet paper skin I knew and loved to rise from the messy tissue scraps a clean- a squeaky clean butterfly.

Where it all began…

The bum gun had revolutionized my life, changed my toilet escapades forever. Why the fuck don’t we have these in America? It’s a question I ask myself every time I experience the joyful cleansing of a butt blaster.

The original bidet was invented by the French in the 1700s. By the early 1900s, it had evolved from a crude hand pump and chamber pot to a tidy ceramic bowl with knobs and hoses. One simply straddled the thing like riding a pony, and washed away all of the day’s worries.

The Japanese further enhanced the bidet after WWII when they began importing sitting toilets from America. Modern plumbing brought the party into the bathroom, a hose attached to a nozzle.

Today, the modern bum gun is used throughout Asia and Europe, but hasn’t yet become a thing in the good ol US of A. Many Americans have never even seen one. The thought of a bum gun brings smirks and giggles- an alien idea. But, this is ignorance, because that damn water hose is a gift of the gods.

Besides the obvious sanitation benefits, the bum gun reduces the use of paper waste, saving money and the environment in the long run. It’s also handy for those with less mobility, such as senior individuals and young children.

It may take some getting used to, but once you embrace this foreign phenomenon you’ll never go back to toilet paper ever again. There’s nothing more exhilarating than walking out of the restroom with a bottom as fresh as spring daisies.

I’ve counseled a handful of westerners on my travels that confided their anxiety when it came to butt blasters, and I continue to offer advice to anyone that seeks it. Here are some of my personal tips for using the legendary bum gun.

How to Become a Bum Gun Wizard

If you’re sitting on a toilet seat, spread your legs. If you are using a squat toilet….hold that squat a while longer and work them glutes.
Grab hold of the bum gun, right hand or left, depending on what feels most comfortable.
Take a deep breath and get over the fact that you are spraying down your privates. There’s no need to be bashful.
Hold the nozzle downwards from the front and position accordingly.
Squeeze that nozzle like your life depends on it.
Spray thoroughly. Get every nook and cranny. Take your time, pace yourself…slow and steady wins the race.
Finished? Breathe easy, my friend. The hard part is over.
Actually, now you have a new dilemma. I like to call this: Wet Butt Syndrome.
Don’t fret! If you are one of those individuals that is prepared for any situation in life, you probably have some tissues handy. If you don’t give a fuck, you might use your socks. Or, you can just give your bottom a swift little shake to rid yourself of excess water droplets. Everyone has their own unique drying method- get creative and have fun with it.
Rejoice! Your tush is sparkling like a fresh martini after a hard day’s work. Say goodbye to toilet paper fragments, and, well, pesky poop particles.

Now, you’re ready to conquer the world, one well-directed blast at a time!

backpacking, chicken, cooking, eating, expat, food, Southeast Asia, Thai food, Thailand, travel

The Chicken Place

May 7, 2015May 7, 2015 Courtney

A plate clatters to the floor, clanging, banging, startling….everyone stops their work to glance at the mild ruckus. The older Thai woman behind the counter with kind eyes and a warm smile makes eye contact with me, and we both burst into a fit of giggles.

I’ve been living in Chiang Rai, Thailand for over a week now, and eating at- what I call- the chicken place has become part of my daily routine. Here, no one speaks English, except for me and my farang friends. But the language barrier doesn’t matter. The family that runs the restaurant- Mr. Art’s- know us, chattering away in Thai. I nod in agreement, pretending to understand, wanting so badly to understand.

Every morning, I savor the 15 minute walk from my tiny studio apartment to have breakfast and coffee. The heat is starting to creep as I pass the highway, and beads of sweat cluster on my forehead and lip. On the bridge, I stop, as usual, to enjoy the spectacular view.

The Kok River is all amber glass and sheen, draped with a lush backdrop studded with never-ending rows of slumping limestone mountains. An enormous white Buddha statue sits peacefully above the peaks, the stone giants bow down respectively from North, East, South and West.

This is home.

Upon arrival at Mr. Art’s, they know my usual order of chicken, rice and hot espresso, and no longer serve my chicken with the skin on it. They’ve noticed that I always peel off the tender strips before digging in.

Service is quick. I sip ice cold water after my hot walk as a plastic plate is laid gently before me. My eyes, nose and mouth are met with a mound of steaming white rice, topped with thick strips of white-meat chicken, encompassed with neat cucumber crisps. A pink bowl of fresh chicken broth accompanies the dish.

But, I eye the brown ceramic bowl before me. There is one on each table. The lid comes off and the rich aroma overwhelms my nostrils. A homemade sauce consisting of chunky ginger, diced chilli peppers and a sweet and spicy medley of flavors creates the most addicting condiment my taste buds have ever savored.

“Always fresh. Cook with no MSG,” chef and owner, the one and only, Mr. Art explains enthusiastically to me in broken English.

I’ve never seen such passion for food, and Art’s dedication and love for his restaurant is obvious. The little chicken place on the dusty outskirts of Chiang Rai is constantly busy. Helped by his wife, aunts, mother, father, brother and daughter- it is one big happy family affair.

All work together doing whatever it takes to keep customers satisfied and the business running smoothly. But, at the same time, smiling and joking with each other, cherishing each day they share together and with their customers.

Belly full of chicken, rice and ginger, I enjoy a pot of jasmine tea and observe the family in the light of a busy new day. I watch with a smile as Art takes a minute from putting together delivery meals to kiss his small son or the women chuckle together as they prepare meals. Art’s young daughter always runs up to us with menus, eager to practice her English with my friend Ale and I.

“Special menu… red curry,” Art whispers shyly, sliding over a small sampling of pork marinated in a delectable blend of coconut milk and bright, red spices. Every day there’s something new he lets us try, free of charge. He simply loves cooking and wants others to enjoy it as much as he does.

Not only is the food delicious, but it’s the heart-warming atmosphere Art and his family have created that keeps me coming back. Their positive attitude and genuine kindness is the perfect start to my day, and I always look forward to it. They don’t treat you like a customer- they make you feel as if you’re part of the family.

Mr. Art’s is open early each morning from 7am to 3pm, with fresh, tasty Thai food and impeccable service that has made it a popular dining choice for locals.

A small sized dish of chicken and rice- their specialty, costs a mere 30 baht. Other chicken and pork dishes are offered, changing daily. They also serve yummy bubble teas and fresh, strong coffee. This is a must try spot when visiting Chiang Rai if you want to get away from the typical tourist joints. I’ll see you there 🙂

Bon Apetit!