After the serenity of Bhutan Bangkok was hell. Without directions and only partial maps in Thai it took Mac and I an entire day to navigate our way out of the city. The sun was setting when we finally found the highway we were searching for. The suburb we were in looked like Thailand’s take on New Jersey.
We stayed at the only place we could find: the New Friend Hotel. The New Friend was obviously made with trysts in mind given its name, hourly rates, lack of windows, and remarkably dull adult channels. Escaping the atmosphere of the low end hideaway we walked out our motorbike-induced backaches and sore asses. We couldn’t help but notice that the entire town smelt of dog food.
The next day we made our way south. The industrial yards around Bangkok slowly turned into the beautiful hills and picturesque rice patties that we were used to seeing. Despite the scenery though some drivers seemed pretty hell bent on killing us. I didn’t take my eyes off the road often.
As we got further down the peninsula we were once again close to the Burmese border. But, despite it’s proximity, the conflict in Burma couldn’t have seemed farther away. While Burmese intelligence assassinated Karen leader P’Doh Mahn Shar in Mae Sot and the Junta insulted the international community’s intelligence by announcing that they would hold democratic elections in 2010 Mac and I were griping about the fact that towels cost more in southern Thailand than they do in San Francisco. If the suburbs of Bangkok are Thailand’s take on New Jersey than the beaches of the south are the country’s impression of the Jersey shore. Except with big red Danes looking to ride elephants.
But southern Thailand was just a price we had to pay. We were shipping out to the Andaman Sea, a hard thing to achieve from the landlocked Chiang Mai or Mae Sot. Mac, a long time scuba diver, had decided that it would be fun to submerge me in about one hundred feet of shark infested water. I, a longtime lover of boats but also of Earth’s convenient atmosphere, decided to disregard the latter for the chance to stare down an octopus. And there weren’t any scuba instructors in Mae Sot. Or octopi.
The four days we spent at sea were incredible. Scuba diving surpassed sky diving as the closest I’ve ever come to flying(sky diving is much more like falling). The scenery on the ocean’s floor around richelieu rock made up for all the sites I missed while on the road. On top of a leopard shark, sea turtles, and many other creatures I got to stare down not one, but two, octopi. Considering that I left and they’re still in the ocean I’d say they won.
But while on the boat I couldn’t help thinking about everything I had learned about Burma while working in Chiang Mai. I missed it. I missed driving medical supplies to the border. I missed playing with children in villages and IDP camps. I missed feeling like I was actually helping people.
But it’s something I am going to have to get used to for now. After Mac and I docked on dry land we headed back stateside. We’re currently back in San Francisco safe and sound. It’s great to be in the city by the bay. But I can’t help looking in the Chronicle’s classifieds every now and again hoping to come across someone thats looking for a border jumping medical supply smuggler. So far nothing, but I’ll let you know.

