During a crisis period of my life almost 17 years ago I stumbled across this quote:
Be prepared
To risk everything you hold dear
For the truth within you.
For to speak the truth
Is to face the fear of death;
And on the other side of Hell lies... Paradise.
Yesterday I was reminded of the reverse: On the other side of Paradise lies... Hell.
We left Koh Samet with only a sketch of a destination. Chiangmai was no longer an option. The air quality had reached crisis proportions; burning forests and farmland created an air pollution index that has reached the red zone (according to the World Health Organization). Residents were encouraged to stay indoors; respiratory ailments were up 40% higher than normal. We placed calls to the local Chiangmai health department and a hospital and were told (in no uncertain terms) NOT to visit. A local paper reported:
In Europe and the US, the air pollution in an urban area is considered “serious”
if PM-10 levels reach 50 micrograms per cubic meter. On Tuesday, PM-10 dust
particle levels hit 181.4 in Chiang Mai, 243.7 in Chiang Rai and 236.1 in rural
Phayao district.
Bangkok was out of the question for all the previously described reasons, but about 40 miles north is the ancient capital of Ayutthaya, where there were purportedly ruins similar to Angor Wat along with excellent museums. So, GPS in Amira's competent hand (it had, after all, gotten us this far in Thailand), we set out from southeastern Thailand for the approximately 3-4 hour drive (or so we thought) to Ayutthaya (pictured below in a Google image).
You will recall the insanity of Thai traffic. Conditions only worsened. Our destination on GPS was the address for the lodging we had paid reservations for. Following the final GPS instruction to our destination, seven long hours later, we found ourselves on a narrow, completely rural road that not only had crater-sized potholes but huge pieces of construction materials idly stacked along the narrow shoulder, jutting into our "lane" (there were, of course, no road indications whatsoever). The only signs of human habitation we had seen for miles were ramshackle hovels, a random child in a dirt yard, and the ever-ubiquitous stray dogs. (Well, that, and the occasional sudden oncoming auto barreling down the road, swerving toward us to avoid potholes on their side, as well as the random bicycle or motorbike, their dusty, weary riders mere blurs as they passed us on the wrong side of the car or drove head-on toward us on the shoulder.)
When we reached the precise place where the lodging was supposed to be, we found exactly...nothing. It was a trip to oblivion, as Mark so aptly put it. This was an area of rural Thailand so remote, so impoverished, so desolate that at one point the only creature on the road (besides us) was a crocodile scurrying (insofar as they appear able to do so) across.
Bear in mind, we had already been following very complicated directions for over 7 hours on a series of similarly chaotic roads. By the end of those 7 hours we were exhausted, frustrated, and completely confused. Plus, it was a moonless night with no visible lights.
So there we were: no idea where we were or how to get where we wanted to go. Ayutthaya may as well have been another planet. The only thing we knew to do was turn around, which, after our Close Encounter with a Crocodile, we determined to do, making the first left we saw.
Life is what happens while you're making other plans, as John Lennon so famously said.
The "road" on our left took us 50 ft. over a deep, swamp-filled ditch on a dirt path just barely wide enough for the car. We inched along until, with a bump and a crunch, we realized we had ploughed right into a house.
I am not making this up.
We braked, panicked. Instantly the surprised and disgruntled Thai husband came out of the house, his shocked and dismayed wife following.
We have "hello, goodbye, thank you, how are you, and how much" down pat in Thai, but how do you say, in Thai, "I am so sorry we just drove into your house tonight, knocking down the antenna mast supporting the overhanging roof of your shed, in the middle of what is no doubt your dinner?"
The Thai couple, however, were so much more on top of things. Gesticulating wildly and declaiming incoherently (at least to us) the husband indicated that he would guide Mark in backing up the car while the wife indicated we couldn't leave because we had crashed their antenna. In the meantime their bare-chested, twenties-something son came out and gestured that Mark should get out of the car so that he could back it up for him over the swamp-filled ditch.
However, it was not in park or neutral when Mark got out. This was a rental car and these were trying times: it was in reverse. Amira, in the front seat, and I, in the back, panicked as the car proceeded to back up toward the swamp-filled ditch... with no driver. Fortunately it was doing so slowly enough that Mark reached in and quickly placed it in park (thereby avoiding a Jessica Savitch-like end to his family) at which time I got out of the car, tearfully trying to apologize to the wife.
Their son then got in the driver's seat as Mark and I stood helplessly by, watching him back up the car to just before the main "road" (I use the term advisedly), along with all our possessions and, oh, that's right, our number one daughter over the swamp-filled ditch (hmm, wasn't that where the crocodile had emerged from?).
To our relief, rather than making the break with the cute chick, the young fellow stopped just before the "road" and got out. Mark then got back in the driver's seat as I continued to babble my tearful and clearly incoherent apologies to the couple. I was beside myself with panic and remorse at that point.
The wife suddenly turned to face me, took me by my shoulders, stared into my eyes intently, and, speaking incomprehensible Thai softly the entire time, hugged me tightly.
All I could say, over and over, was kop kun ka, thank you. Thank you.
We had no words in Thai for we are so incredibly sorry. Not to mention, we have no idea where we are or where we are going.
We could only hope the 1,000 baht Mark gave them covered the cost of the damage to their house and antenna.
All hostilities diffused, the family waved warmly as we resumed our travels.
The car back on the road, we retraced our steps and, miraculously, ended up on an identifiable road. The GPS seemed to reorient itself, and within just over an hour we had checked in at the Novotel Impact, a brand-new Japanese owned hotel more modern and hi-tech than any we have ever seen, complete with a remote-control opaque screen that descends over the glass wall separating the bathroom from the sleeping area.
Within just over an hour we had left what seemed like the equivalent of 19th-century existence (apart from the television antenna) and were in what appeared to be the 22nd century. "Thaime" travel at its craziest.
Well, we have a new plan. We're turning in the rental car (scratched and dented from a motorbike on the side panel and with a bumper that will probably need to be replaced, along with who knows how many other yet-to-be-identified car parts) and from here on we're only hiring transportation - enough of this National Lampoon Thai vacation.
And as long as we can get to the airport without incident I will never ever complain about a single thing for the rest of my life.
In Europe and the US, the air pollution in an urban area is considered “serious”
if PM-10 levels reach 50 micrograms per cubic meter. On Tuesday, PM-10 dust
particle levels hit 181.4 in Chiang Mai, 243.7 in Chiang Rai and 236.1 in rural
Phayao district.
Bangkok was out of the question for all the previously described reasons, but about 40 miles north is the ancient capital of Ayutthaya, where there were purportedly ruins similar to Angor Wat along with excellent museums. So, GPS in Amira's competent hand (it had, after all, gotten us this far in Thailand), we set out from southeastern Thailand for the approximately 3-4 hour drive (or so we thought) to Ayutthaya (pictured below in a Google image).
You will recall the insanity of Thai traffic. Conditions only worsened. Our destination on GPS was the address for the lodging we had paid reservations for. Following the final GPS instruction to our destination, seven long hours later, we found ourselves on a narrow, completely rural road that not only had crater-sized potholes but huge pieces of construction materials idly stacked along the narrow shoulder, jutting into our "lane" (there were, of course, no road indications whatsoever). The only signs of human habitation we had seen for miles were ramshackle hovels, a random child in a dirt yard, and the ever-ubiquitous stray dogs. (Well, that, and the occasional sudden oncoming auto barreling down the road, swerving toward us to avoid potholes on their side, as well as the random bicycle or motorbike, their dusty, weary riders mere blurs as they passed us on the wrong side of the car or drove head-on toward us on the shoulder.)
When we reached the precise place where the lodging was supposed to be, we found exactly...nothing. It was a trip to oblivion, as Mark so aptly put it. This was an area of rural Thailand so remote, so impoverished, so desolate that at one point the only creature on the road (besides us) was a crocodile scurrying (insofar as they appear able to do so) across.
Bear in mind, we had already been following very complicated directions for over 7 hours on a series of similarly chaotic roads. By the end of those 7 hours we were exhausted, frustrated, and completely confused. Plus, it was a moonless night with no visible lights.
So there we were: no idea where we were or how to get where we wanted to go. Ayutthaya may as well have been another planet. The only thing we knew to do was turn around, which, after our Close Encounter with a Crocodile, we determined to do, making the first left we saw.
Life is what happens while you're making other plans, as John Lennon so famously said.
The "road" on our left took us 50 ft. over a deep, swamp-filled ditch on a dirt path just barely wide enough for the car. We inched along until, with a bump and a crunch, we realized we had ploughed right into a house.
I am not making this up.
We braked, panicked. Instantly the surprised and disgruntled Thai husband came out of the house, his shocked and dismayed wife following.
We have "hello, goodbye, thank you, how are you, and how much" down pat in Thai, but how do you say, in Thai, "I am so sorry we just drove into your house tonight, knocking down the antenna mast supporting the overhanging roof of your shed, in the middle of what is no doubt your dinner?"
The Thai couple, however, were so much more on top of things. Gesticulating wildly and declaiming incoherently (at least to us) the husband indicated that he would guide Mark in backing up the car while the wife indicated we couldn't leave because we had crashed their antenna. In the meantime their bare-chested, twenties-something son came out and gestured that Mark should get out of the car so that he could back it up for him over the swamp-filled ditch.
However, it was not in park or neutral when Mark got out. This was a rental car and these were trying times: it was in reverse. Amira, in the front seat, and I, in the back, panicked as the car proceeded to back up toward the swamp-filled ditch... with no driver. Fortunately it was doing so slowly enough that Mark reached in and quickly placed it in park (thereby avoiding a Jessica Savitch-like end to his family) at which time I got out of the car, tearfully trying to apologize to the wife.
Their son then got in the driver's seat as Mark and I stood helplessly by, watching him back up the car to just before the main "road" (I use the term advisedly), along with all our possessions and, oh, that's right, our number one daughter over the swamp-filled ditch (hmm, wasn't that where the crocodile had emerged from?).
To our relief, rather than making the break with the cute chick, the young fellow stopped just before the "road" and got out. Mark then got back in the driver's seat as I continued to babble my tearful and clearly incoherent apologies to the couple. I was beside myself with panic and remorse at that point.
The wife suddenly turned to face me, took me by my shoulders, stared into my eyes intently, and, speaking incomprehensible Thai softly the entire time, hugged me tightly.
All I could say, over and over, was kop kun ka, thank you. Thank you.
We had no words in Thai for we are so incredibly sorry. Not to mention, we have no idea where we are or where we are going.
We could only hope the 1,000 baht Mark gave them covered the cost of the damage to their house and antenna.
All hostilities diffused, the family waved warmly as we resumed our travels.
The car back on the road, we retraced our steps and, miraculously, ended up on an identifiable road. The GPS seemed to reorient itself, and within just over an hour we had checked in at the Novotel Impact, a brand-new Japanese owned hotel more modern and hi-tech than any we have ever seen, complete with a remote-control opaque screen that descends over the glass wall separating the bathroom from the sleeping area.
Within just over an hour we had left what seemed like the equivalent of 19th-century existence (apart from the television antenna) and were in what appeared to be the 22nd century. "Thaime" travel at its craziest.
Well, we have a new plan. We're turning in the rental car (scratched and dented from a motorbike on the side panel and with a bumper that will probably need to be replaced, along with who knows how many other yet-to-be-identified car parts) and from here on we're only hiring transportation - enough of this National Lampoon Thai vacation.
And as long as we can get to the airport without incident I will never ever complain about a single thing for the rest of my life.
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