The problem with waterfalls is that their romance is undercut by their terrible cost: crisp mountain waters that deliver a cold shower more life-threatening than bracing. As much as I long to stand in the pool directly under the falls and let my soul be cleansed by the healing waters, ouch. I don’t think my soul has ever been properly cleansed while shivering. Thus, my dirty, dirty soul.

Would I be able to live the dream, letting the warm waterfall flow over me in a rhapsody of jungle bliss? Yeah, mostly.

But first, never let it be said that I am unwilling to humiliate myself for your entertainment. Because this tour was my second attempt at the hot springs waterfall, not my first.

One of the big questions many of you had as I embarked on solo travel was, “Is he smart enough to keep himself alive without his Jiminy Cricket?” We now have the answer to that question. Barely. Just barely.

The day before my scheduled tour I went swimming and had lunch at my usual beachside café. I’d been eating pretty native, but decided to treat myself to a comfort burger. I’d barely swallowed the first bite when I felt my stomach churn. “Well, that’s an odd coincidence,” I thought. “It can’t be the burger. That’s way too fast a response for food poisoning. Weird.”

So I finished the burger. Which ended precisely where you’d expect.

The next morning I’m waiting for the van in front of my hotel thinking, “Ooh, I don’t know.” Retching in the bushes was, thankfully, dispositive, and I called it off.

I rescheduled for a couple days later, figuring that should give me enough time to recover, and also because it was the last practical opportunity for me to take a day trip before I left Krabi for Chiang Mai. Once again, I’m waiting for the van downstairs, thinking, “Maybe I shouldn’t.” Which is confusing, because “Maybe I shouldn’t” occurs to me so rarely.

Maybe I shouldn’t, but I did. And it was fine. A little fraught, but fine. Still, you don’t miss your water ’til your well runs dry. I’m certain I’m safer with Jiminy along.

Namtok Ron

Namtok Ron starts with a lovely jungle walk before you reach the hot springs.

There are three distinct areas: the hot spring falls themselves and then two spa pools. The spa pools are filled from the same source, they’re just constructed pools instead of the natural falls.

Each of the three areas is also a completely different temperature. I’m not entirely sure how that works, but the waterfall pool is just a degree below body temperature, and the two spa pools are 104° and 113° (!) respectively. Or simmer, parboil, and rolling boil.

I started with the mildest, the waterfall pool, and discovered that it wasn’t quite what the word “waterfall” evoked. It was more spillway than falls, but it was delightful to cozy up in a stone nook and let the warm waters rush over and around me. Even though it wasn’t what I’d imagined, my inner curmudgeon was wet, warm, and pacified.

My intention had been to do them in ascending intensity, but I got the two spa pools mixed up and went in the 113° first. I was terrified of the last one, thinking that it was going to be even hotter, so I was relieved to find out that it was actually the middle pool.

This was not our first hot springs/hot air adventure, having dipped in Cleopatra’s Pool in Pammukale in Turkey. In that case the air temperature was a near-death 107°, as opposed to Krabi’s ~ 90°. Still, all three pools performed the neat trick of making the air seem cool on exit.

Emerald Pool

Like Namtok Ron, the Emerald Pool is part of the Khao Nor Chu Chi national park, so it was a short drive to our next stop. It started with a buffet lunch of flavorless hot-table food, for which I was profoundly grateful. The last thing I wanted was activity down there.

There were two additional pools besides Emerald: Crystal Pool and Blue Pool. Emerald was the only one of the three that was swimmable, and it was already a full kilometer walk from the entrance. I decided that the additional photo ops weren’t worth the risk. I bobbed in the Emerald Pool, held pretty still, and stayed close to a toilet.

The bobbing was excellent. Emerald Pool was only cool compared to our previous stop. The water temperature was like the beach at Ao Nang, where you could just walk in without that moment when you’re waist deep and you hold your breath and dunk yourself to get it over with quickly. I stayed in for pretty much the full hour we had there, without regrets. Warm water an impossible green. What’s to regret?

Wat Tham Suea

Our last stop was Wat Tham Suea, a temple complex that includes the temple and grounds, a Buddha on the Hill, and Tiger Cave. This didn’t sound as bad as the concentration camp that was added to the Bangkok waterfall tour as enrichment, but it also seemed a little off the mark. Like that Bangkok tour, the bulk of our day was spent swimming and hiking, so sure, toss in a temple. Knock yourself out.

Imagine my surprise (I’ll wait a moment while you do) when it turned out that Wat Tham Suea is one of my favorite temples that we’ve visited. I am going to have to retire the phrase, “The Liberace of churches,” but there’s a reason I keep using it. I’ve used it to describe the Guzman in Oaxaca and the San Cayetano in Guanajuato, and in both cases I was describing a kind of overwrought turducken of architectural ornamentation.

That’s less the case at Wat Tham Suea, which seems almost subtle in comparison, but is still utterly ridiculous in a way that warrants the Liberace callout. I’m prone to clown clothes, so it should be no surprise that architecture of the If-Some-Is-Good-More-Is-Better school would sing to me.

The first and most obvious attraction is the ground level temple. There’s also one up at the top of the mountain that everyone is happy to remind you is 1,260 steps and you’re probably not up to it. That temple is fairly new at about fifty years old, but the one at ground level is so new it’s still being worked on. Unlike Bangkok’s 300 year-old temples, which are just maintained so they look freshly built, Wat Tham Suea legit just opened to the public.

The interior lived up to the exterior’s promise.

I don’t know whether there had been a complex at ground level that had been razed or whether this was all sui generis new construction, but practically the entire site seemed like hard hats should be required. But they weren’t. No tort lawyers!

Where not under construction, the grounds offered ample eye candy.

Stairway to Heaven

I obviously wasn’t going to assay the 1,260 steps to the summit. Had I been tempted, the signs to that route were labeled Mountaineer, so yeah, no.

This warning was at the very foot of the steps.

While I didn’t see any monkeys (I think they’re mostly on the path to the summit) I kept a weather eye out for the little bandits. No one wants their stuff snalched. Least of all by thrieving monkeys.

And before you’re all, “It’s insensitive to mock people for making typos in a foreign language,” I will submit to you that if I made a sign in Thai and it contained errors, Thai speakers would be fully within their rights to mock me. I would even say that they were obliged to do so. And I would join them heartily.

Our guide, by the way, offered a long list of things we weren’t supposed to do with the monkeys. “Do not feed them, fight them, eat them, or Thai box them.” Among others. Those are the admonitions that stuck with me, at least, probably because they seemed the most important to remember.

Tiger Cave

Tiger Cave is several distinct features. The first is this antechamber, before you reach Tiger Cave itself. I’m not sure about the vintage of these pieces. I suspect they’re closer to the fifty years of the summit Buddha than the just-unwrapped temple, as the site itself doesn’t have any significant history prior to Big Buddha.

Then there’s Tiger Cave itself. There are conflicting stories about why it’s called Tiger Cave. One has the monk who founded the temple in 1975 entering the caves to meditate only to find tigers roaming about. Which I would find an impediment to meditation, but that’s why I’m not a monk. That and the vows of chastity and poverty. Please comment below: Top ten reasons Mark isn’t a monk.

Another explanation is that there are tiger paw prints on the cave walls. Another is that tigers roamed those caves long before a monk found them in the 70s. However it got it’s name, Tiger Cave presents as the world’s weirdest gift shop.

The cave system is all throughout the mountain that holds the Buddha, but only parts of it are accessible. Getting to the backside of the caves requires walking around the base of the mountain and taking some steps. Quite a few less than 1,260. 137 steps up, 89 down, 25 up, and 12 down. I counted, because I hadn’t spilled any matches, so there was nothing else to do.

It’s not clear exactly what’s on the other side. This did not clarify matters.

I think it was referring to this?

I sat on a bench and waited for this photo. I think this is the best picture I’ve ever taken. It’s certainly my favorite.

There truly wasn’t much else behind Tiger Cave. Caves and Buddhas. Go figure.

137 steps down wasn’t so bad.

And that was the end of an epic day. I hiked, I swam, I sight saw, I took several long bus rides, and I did not shit myself! You define victory however you like. I’m taking the W.

Verdict: 100% improvement over Four Islands. No crowds and the focus was squarely on snorkeling, a full hour at each of the islands, followed by lunch in a secluded cove with a delightful beach. Was it the most spectacular snorkeling we’ve ever done? Not even close. That would be Ambergris Cay in Belize back in the day, and Jemeluk Bay in Bali, where you could walk into the water from the beach and swim five minutes to a colorful coral reef full of amazing fish. Just for accessibility, Jemeluk takes the prize.

There was both coral and fish in abundance, but not the kind of eye-popping colors you get at the prime swimming-in-an-aquarium spots. There was something I hadn’t seen before, though: huge schools of small and medium fish you could swim with and through. Add in enough warm water, and you have the ingredients for an outstanding day.

I’m sure you’ll be grateful to know that there aren’t very many things to say about snorkeling, so I’ll flip my typical words:pictures ratio, and give you mostly pictures.

You’re welcome.

Taking Off

I booked a teak long tail boat, like I did for the Four Islands tour, rather than a speedboat. It’s entertaining to watch them maneuver with the super powerful engines and the propeller at the end of a two meter long tail.

The Andaman Sea’s topography seems a little similar to Vietnam’s Lan Ha and Hạ Long Bays in the Gulf of Tonkin, rocky outcroppings of limestone karst. It’s a pretty, atavistic landscape. You would be unsurprised to see pterodactyls circling their peaks. OK, you have more sense than I do. I would be unsurprised.

Our guide mentioned that we were coming up on Chicken Island, which concerned me, as that had been the sole snorkeling spot on the Four Islands tour, and it had been bleak. Thankfully, it was a drive-by photo op.

Yawasam Island

Here we are pulling into Yawasam. Hard to believe it has a formal name. Yawasam is probably Thai for Rock In Water.

The setting was stunning.

Truthfully, all the action underwater was the schools. Individually, meh, fish. The kind you’d see in a tin, and even then, the “Oooh” is for the sauce. But collectively, wow!

Talu Island

And here’s the second pile of rocks masquerading as an island.

Schools of fish. It was the whole story.

Talu was where I figured out I could swim with them, and not just hold still and watch.

Buya Beach

Buya Beach is a cove on Koh Poda. It featured white sand, warm, turquoise waters, and only two other boats when we pulled in. Plenty of space, even in this small cove, for lunch and swimming, without feeling like you’re in a scrum. There was an extra lunch, so our guide threw in balls of rice, and the little yellow-with-black-stripes guys churned the water like piranha.

And back to the dock to be picked up and delivered to my hotel. It’s good to be king.

I know that everyone’s calling themselves an “ethical” elephant sanctuary these days, but I also know that the devil is in the details. If they let you interact directly with the elephants in any way, that’s entertainment. No feeding, no bathing, certainly no riding. A truly ethical sanctuary respects the elephants’ agency and autonomy, and doesn’t force them into interactions.

I did my homework, first on what constitutes ethical treatment in the first place, and second on how well the options near me hewed to those standards. One stood out in particular: Following Giants, whose tag line is “Letting elephants lead the way.” I signed up for their half-day tour, which included pickup and delivery at my hotel. I was looking forward to an awesome day of close, but not too close, contact with these magnificent beasts, who had all been rescued from their lives of toil to a well-deserved retirement on 85 acres optimized for their material and emotional needs.

I was not expecting to have my heart broken.

It turns out that there’s a lot more behind “rescued from their lives of toil” than I’d accounted for. Every one of these poor animals had a tragic, Dickensian backstory, although they all seemed to be variations on a particularly gruesome theme. It starts with some sort of backbreaking physical labor, mostly logging or hauling, both of which cause unnatural stress on their legs and backs.

When they can no longer work due to injury they have two paths: chained up without food and left to die, as it no longer makes economic sense to feed them; or, if they are healthy enough, converted to entertainment, offered the opportunity to enjoy direct interactions with humans.

That might sound like an improvement over the elephant chain gang, and I suppose it is. But I’m not sure it makes much difference to the elephants. They don’t like interacting with humans. How much don’t they like it? Following Giants had a helpful placard describing the training regimen required to get an elephant to accept human interaction. It’s called The Crush.

They separate young calves from their mothers, keep them in isolation, deprive them of food and water, and beat them until they are broken and can be controlled by fear. That fear is the only reason they tolerate close contact interactions. One assumes that the older elephants who convert to entertainment have gone through a similar process. It’s not like they lined up to volunteer to drag logs through the jungle.

Also, elephant vertebrae point upward. Instead of round, smooth disks, elephants have sharp, bony protrusions extending upwards from their spine. It’s obviously worse with a howdah, but even with a blanket, imagine what riding an elephant does to their spines. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

Deformities and a lifetime of pain. That’s what elephants get in exchange for letting humans ride them. No wonder they don’t like us.

If you ever have an opportunity to visit an elephant camp, here are things to keep in mind. If you are riding an elephant, you are causing it physical and emotional harm. If you are interacting with it directly in any way, feeding it, bathing it, petting it, you are engaged in a painful, non-consensual interaction. Elephants who interact with humans do so because they’re forced. They will never choose to have anything to do with you.

As we walked the grounds it was emphasized over and over how smart and emotionally perceptive the elephants are. We were cautioned to not say negative things, as they can pick up on tone, to mind our body language, as they would pick up aggressive cues from us. They said they were careful never to use the names they’d had before coming to the sanctuary, as hearing their slave names triggered them. You’re basically looking at 10,000 pounds of PTSD that has had enough of your shit.

They have physical problems and emotional problems. Some of them are afraid of everything, some act out aggressively, some seek solitude, some need companionship. At least one of them is bisexual and another is a committed lesbian. They’re like fucking people. So it’s hard to hear about their histories, to realize the horrific abuse they’ve endured. I had trouble simply appreciating them for the majestic creatures they are.

One fell down a hill carrying furniture and broke a hip. One, carrying a rider after injuries from logging, had had enough. She grabbed the rider with her trunk and threw him off her back, killing him. One is afraid of loud noises after working as a parade elephant, and runs in fear when she hears loud cars. Several are blind, among their other injuries, from having been whipped in the eye by their mahouts.

When people talk about how travel is broadening, sometimes I think that’s true only in the sense that I am constantly learning new reasons to hate people, discovering new depths of depravity that humanity can plumb. The whole experience was kind of like touring historic plantations in the South. If they’d been turned into retirement communities for freed slaves.

Following Giants is an old business, the current owner being the sixth generation of his family to run the elephant camp. In the beginning it was like any other, using the animals for labor. In more recent times, the camp was in the entertainment business. The current owner, Ray, started to offer educational programs on mahout culture and elephant behavior, but he couldn’t transition fully to that model, as rides were the only thing people would reliably pay for to keep the camp open.

He met with World Animal Protection in 2017, and they’ve partnered together to move Following Giants to a fully elephant-friendly business model. The current camp in Krabi houses fourteen elephants, with another eleven at their camp on the island of Koh Lanta.

But I hear you. Elephants are cool. Can’t we just enjoy the elephants without the sermonizing? Are you even capable of unalloyed pleasure?

Yes, we can. And no, apparantly, I’m not.

Line up everyone who knows me and poll them for the Top Ten Things About Mark. Feels Deeply would be on exactly no one’s list, my own included. This isn’t fun for me, either. If I’d wanted feelings I’d have been having them all along.

So, elephants all around, barkeep.

It started with orientation and booting up. We were told to bring socks, but the only socks I have are no shows. So now I have blisters on my ankles from a half day trekking in rubber boots.

The first elephants we met were Pumpkin and her eight-month old daughter, Carrot, who is still nursing. They’re in a wooden-fenced pen until Carrot is ready to deal with the rest of the herd.

Elephants at many camps, by the way, are kept in enclosures with electric fences, but those have a habit of frying other critters. Following Giants uses wooden fences, which the elephants could easily knock down. All of the elephants are penned at night, to keep them from wandering off. Providing enough food and water in the enclosures keeps them from being motivated to bust loose.

Here’s some adorable baby elephant trunk action, courtesy of Carrot.

We were introduced, from a safe distance, to the elephant who had killed her rider. We were encouraged to look into her eyes (no thank you) and keep a safe distance (a completely unnecessary admonition).

Here’s some typical elephant hijinks. In this clip, the banging of the leaves shakes off insects and dirt, making the treat ready to eat. Plus, a pair of cute younger elephants. One is the adult’s daughter, and the other is an orphan she’s taken in.

This elephant is spraying itself with red dirt, which acts as a natural sunscreen and keeps them from getting burnt. The second half of this clip is just about how very close we were able to get to the elephants. They were fine with being near us, so long as we didn’t try to force some interaction.

A few more examples of how very close we were able to get to them. It felt like a walking safari. The absence of predatory carnivores was a nice touch.

Here’s the lesbian and the bisexual (I apologize for not representing them properly, but I don’t know which is which) enjoying a spa day together.

At the end we wound up at a little open air lodge for lunch. It had an excellent overlook of the grounds.

While we were waiting for the buffet to be delivered, we were brought this.

Lunch was even better than anticipated, since it wasn’t a mud loaf. Nothing like grading on a curve. “How was lunch?” “Great. Not mud!”

While we were dining, one of the young’uns did her best to get around her mahout and into whatever we were doing. Which apparently looked fascinating. Here’s the little scamp.

Her mahout did his best to distract her with water games, and she did her best to get around him. If we’d wondered whether elephants were as smart as claimed, here was our answer.

And then the short hike back to the beginning to deposit boots and inspect blisters.

It was good. I’m glad I did it. Elephants are objectively amazing. Sometimes I wish I could just have an enjoyable experience without the shadow of one form of colonialism or another tainting it. But I’m not actually convinced that it’s some failure on my part.

I suppose what I’d really like is for there to be spaces that haven’t been tainted by one form of colonialism or another. I thought maybe Thailand, as one of a handful of nations that have never been actually colonized, might offer that experience, but I’d forgotten how low we’re willing to sink to impose our will on others, however many legs they might have.

Four Islands

I should have been suspicious… I should probably just stop there. I just should have been suspicious. Anyway, I should have been suspicious when I asked if they had fins available and they said no, just masks and snorkels. I’ve never been on a snorkeling trip that didn’t offer the full kit, so that was odd.

And mask and snorkel weren’t required, as at this point I travel with my own set. Poor fit and comfort can ruin an otherwise great snorkeling trip. I even have my own flotation vest. That probably sounds like overkill, but it isn’t. I’m not a strong enough swimmer at this point to go without flotation, and life vests suck as swim aids.

It’s right in the name: they’re meant to preserve your life. They are designed, with flotation front and back, to keep you upright in the water. Until you can be rescued. So if you’re wearing one to swim horizontally, with your face down in a mask, they will constantly be attempting to pull you up. You’re working against them.

Instead, I have a small lightweight vest that inflates with air, but only in the front. Put your face in the water and the vest will keep you in that position, so you’re never fighting against it. I also travel with my own pillow. It’s interesting what qualifies as essential when you do this long term.

I looked around Ao Nang to see if I can rent or buy a set of flippers, but since there’s no snorkeling in town, there aren’t any dive shops with gear. That’s fine. I’ll make do.

The van picks me up and delivers me to a churning sea of island hoppers. The seven people in my van are instantly absorbed into the chaos. Both speedboats and long tail boats leave from this zone. I’m on a long tail boat which seated 17 for my group. I can’t headcount a group this large and spread out, but it adds up to a lot of boats.

A trainee picked us up from the van and gestured vaguely towards a series of tables with people lined up to check in. I somehow found the correct line, checked in, and was given a colored rubber bracelet, which identified my group. This is how they wrest order from the chaos.

I was reminded of nothing so much as the tiffin wallah system in Mumbai, where over 5,000 people deliver over 200,000 bespoke lunches every day using a completely manual color-coding system. If you ever want to see a technology consultant cry, and who doesn’t, just bring up the tiffin wallah system.

This whole arrangement was a huge red flag: too many boats, too many people, too few islands. Maybe we were all going different places. But no. Another red flag I missed was that the Four Island Tour was offered by multiple tour operators, all going to the same places. This machine was on rails, and I was just a cog. Might as well relax.

Railay Beach

Railay Beach was confusing. For so many reasons. First, we landed at one end of a little crescent bay. There was no beach there, as it was just where the boats pulled up and dropped anchor. I naturally assumed the beach was at the other end of the harbor, so I walked there and found nothing but more boats anchored.

I asked one of the workers where the beach was, and he pointed me back the way I came and told me to turn right when I got to the end. In order to get to the beach, you have to take a path that leads… away from the water. How did I miss that? So obvious.

And that was obviously the beach experience, as well.

I swam. Because that’s what I came to do, until there was snorkeling. But that is legit the most crowded beach I have ever been on. There were also enrichment activities, which I thought was sweet.

I noticed a white sand beach a ways off that looked like it had fewer people. It was back in the direction of the dock, so I figured I’d head down there and then return.

What I didn’t reckon on was my complete absence of anything like a sense of direction.

The path from the dock basically cut across the narrow part of the island to get to the beach on the other side. But the other beach wasn’t in that direction at all. By the time I got there and realized I’d have to retrace my steps to get back to the dock, there was no time left to swim. I had to hustle to get to my boat on time.

Fine. The grapes were sour there anyway. Almost as many people as at the main beach.

Railay feels like one of those places people go to because people go there, until there’s so little reason to go that everyone has forgotten what the original appeal was. Like places named for the natural feature that was destroyed to build it.

Like the lovely development of Twin Oaks. Go ahead, look for the oaks. I’ll wait.

Right?

Chicken Island

We bid farethewell, less than fondly, to Railay…

And head to our first snorkeling stop, Chicken Island. Or, as I later learned, our only snorkeling stop. I was gutted to learn that it wasn’t an island full of chickens. If someone took you to Monkey Island and there were no monkeys, you’d be pissed, right?

Chicken Island boasted more than just an absence of chickens. It also enjoyed a near complete absence of sea life. Allow me to quote the tour listing: “Snorkel with a colorful coral reefs and fish at Chicken Island.”

I submit to you now, the evidence.

OK, I’m swimming in the Andaman Sea on tropical islands off the Thai coast and I’m all, “It was crowded. There were no fish!” So, asshole. We can all agree. But I also think we can all agree that Chicken Island was a grim snorkeling experience for a tour that touted colorful reefs and fish.

It was also just as crowded as Railay Beach. All the boats dropped anchor in the same spot next to one another, so the flailing snorkelers were all shoulder to shoulder. I ran into other swimmers constantly, like slow-moving cars bouncing off each other in an ice storm. We were offered a generous fifteen minutes of snorkeling, because, really, who would want more than that?

I asked our guide about it, and he confessed that if I wanted snorkeling I was on the wrong tour. Then take it out of the fucking name of the tour.

At least I now understood the absence of flippers. What would have been the point?

Koh Mar & Koh Tub Islands

I suppose after all the carping I should acknowledge a bonus island, as island #3 was two islands, connected by a narrow white sandbar at low tide. Which would have been lovely and magical if every one of the people who’d been at the previous stops wasn’t also there. It felt like a Disneyland ride all thousand of us were on together. That’s one crowded roller coaster.

I know that complimenting people, especially women people, on their appearance is gross. “Nice rack” may be objectively true, but even I know it’s not ok. “Nice ink” seems like a different matter, though. Ink isn’t an inalienable attribute that says nothing about who you are as a person. Ink is a choice, a reflection of taste and values. So while I don’t do it often, I will occasionally be moved to call out an especially fine example (looking at you, Urnaburga).

I saw this particular piece on a woman who was being photographed by her boyfriend for the Gram (I saw them taking pictures at the next island and she was wearing a different bathing suit).

I was taken not only because it’s objectively amazing, but because it appeared to be Sak Yant, like the one I got in Cambodia. So I wasn’t just moved to compliment her, I also wanted to ask her if it was Sak Yant, because I didn’t know they could be executed with color. The monk doing mine didn’t offer, it was just black ink for you, farang. I was prepared to feel gypped.

What I wasn’t prepared for was being asked if I wanted a picture with her. Sure? I stood there awkwardly and he told me “Ok to touch her.” That didn’t seem like his call, so I checked.

I don’t think that made it less awkward.

It was Sak Yant, by the way. So, yeah. Gypped.

Koh Poda

Island #4, Koh Poda, was both the longest stop, about two hours, and the longest beach. We were able to spread out a bit, so it didn’t feel quite so rush hour. We were fed an entirely plausible lunch before returning.

So let’s put this in perspective. It’s not so much that the day sucked as that it was unnecessary. I’m a fifteen minute walk to Khlong Muang beach, which offers the same warm, wet water without the crowds. I took the tour to do something I couldn’t do at Khlong Muang, which was snorkel. Which only occurred in the technical sense.

I mean, I did my due diligence. They said snorkeling at a colorful reef with colorful fish. Again, technically correct, but wildly misleading. I think my takeaway from this is to look at the itineraries more closely. If multiple tour operators are offering precisely the same itinerary, you’re being offered a canned tourist experience. Which is why, for the most part, we don’t do tours, which is maybe the larger learning.

For example, there are elephant sanctuaries here, many purporting to be “ethical.” There were lots of tour operators offering identical tours, but I found one of the sanctuaries that would pick you up and take you back if you booked their half-day experience, which I did. I am 100% certain that I had a better experience than if I’d booked with a tour operator.

On the other hand, 4 Islands Day Trip With Snorkeling cost all of $24.01 for a day on and in the water. So I should probably just shut the fuck up.

I know I complained that my Bangkok apartment only had hot water coming out of the shower head. As it happens, that’s one more hot water source than my current lodgings offer. I am retroactively grateful.

To be fair, I’m not truly in an apartment. I’m in a hotel room with a refrigerator, so I don’t need hot water to cook or clean. I only have breakfast and snacks en suite, which is easy to clean up. And the climate doesn’t exactly argue for hot showers.

Still, some hot water, anywhere, kind of feels like table stakes for housing. Like you shouldn’t have to check with your outcall beforehand that she boasts a full complement of limbs. You just assume some things. At your own peril, apparently. It makes for an awkward greet.

Krabi is both the province and the nearby town. I’m staying in Ao Nang, which is a little beach town, not unlike our location in Bali. The beach in question is Khlong Muang, which is a convenient fifteen minute walk from the hotel. I’m even closer to the Main Street for shopping and eating, although there are good eats right nearby. The hotel is called Amanah Mansion, so I can only assume that Amanah translates as Gilding the Lily. It is a mostly serviceable hotel room, which may be the definition of mansion here.

Per my host, the disco light machine was the room’s highlight, and it’s hard to disagree with that assessment.

The Neighborhood

Like Bangkok, there are a wealth of weed shops here. I don’t know if Thais are smoking all the weed or if the clientele is primarily farangs. There seem to be too many to be supported by farangs alone.

My host pointed out where I could rent a scooter nearby, and I actually considered it, as the traffic here isn’t like Bangkok. There were tons of farangs on scooters, so that made it look plausible. Although that’s the clever observation that got me stranded on top of a pyramid. Twice.

Then I took a ride on, or clung to, a Grab scooter, which picked me up and delivered me to the supermercado in Krabi Town. And I have to say that nothing about that experience made me think, “You know, this would be way better if I was in charge.”

Then there was this sign, which was all over. The authorities seemed to feel that this message was important, which gave me pause. Although I can’t for the life of me figure out why it’s only in English.

Hilariously, this sign was always on the left side of the road. So if you were driving on the wrong side, you’d never see it.

Another reason not to rent a scooter, as if I needed one, is that the whole gas situation here is opaque. I’ve seen one actual gas station, but mostly it’s this:

These are just scattered about. It seems straightforward, but that’s what I thought about the Bangkok train system’s ticket machines. First you had to find your destination on a touchscreen interface that assumed you knew how the different lines were structured. When I finally worked my way through that, I stumbled through to payment to learn that it wouldn’t take a credit card or bills. Coins or a local payment app only. Leaving me reasonably confident that I’d never figure out how to make the gas pumps work.

This guy was just a few doors from my lodgings. I’m not out all hours soaking up the nightlife here, as if there were any, but I have yet to walk past this business when they weren’t actively processing coconuts. All day and all night. The mound never seems to get any smaller. I think they add to their stores at about the same rate as they process them.

Or they’re witches.

Shopping

The only stores right in Ao Nang are convenience stores. There are, unaccountably, multiple 7-11s. There are supermercados in Krabi Town, a short but harrowing scooter ride away. The other shopping venue is the Ao Nang Landmark Night Market, which is open every day of the week from 5:00 – 11:00, and completely lives up to its name. No groceries, but everything else your little heart could desire.

If you’re a farang, that is. I’d say 90% of the clientele was farang. That’s OK, it’s our job to contribute to the local economy.

There are sit-down restaurants, but also a dense warren of takeout stalls offering a mind boggling selection. There are clothing shops and kiosks, handicraft stalls, and every form of entertainment known to man.

When it was my turn to tip this delightful creature I handed my 100฿ note to the little girl in the clip, so she could deposit it for me. And I wasn’t arrested!

There was even a poorly regulated Muay Thai bout, with mats for the ring and no referee. This lent the affair even more of a street fighting ambiance than the arena bouts I saw in Bangkok.

The Beach

Of course, my entire point in being in Ao Nang is the beach, and it did not disappoint. It’s not one of those tropical beaches that travel writers lose their shit over, but it has everything you’d want. Clean white sand, warm, calm, turquoise water, colorful teak longtail boats, cheap delicious food from stalls lining the beach, and no crowds. It’s perfect. I’ve been swimming (bobbing, to be more precise, since swimming is actual work) twice a day.

So I’m waiting for a smoothie at one of the stalls, in a line that’s not moving very quickly, to be fair. Just ahead of me is an Aussie who can barely contain himself. Finally, he walks up to the front to inform the proprietress that she should hire another juicer, as it’s taking so long that people are leaving and she’s losing business.

That is wrong on so many levels. First, you’re waiting for a smoothie on a beach in Thailand. Dude, it’s ok if the operation isn’t running at peak Western efficiency. That’s almost the point. It’s a feature, not a bug.

Second, White Savior much? Do you honestly think that without your prompting it would never have occurred to the owner to explore the pros and cons of scaling up? Thank goodness you were there to calculate her run rate, factor in the cost of a new hire, and assure that the marginal revenue increase produced a positive ROI. All that, just from standing in line. Thank goodness the poor dear had you there to rescue her.

I was praying he’d turn to me for farang solidarity, but, sadly, I had to keep my opinions to myself. Like you’re supposed to.

The only thing missing from my perfect beach is snorkeling. That requires boat trips, and boat trips there will be. In the meantime, there are other interesting things to do here besides swimming, and I intend to do them. And write about them. I have two weeks to fill, and don’t think I won’t.