LIMESTONE LAZINESS – THAILAND TO BURMA

I’ve always loved the feeling of a new book. Sitting on the floor of the bland Bangkok departure lounge, the cloying recycled airport air sticking to my dirty clothes, I ran my fingers up and down the spine of the Lonely Planet guide to Myanmar (Burma). My flight was in an hour, and I needed a plan.

Ten days ago, fresh from Everest base camp, I’d settled back into a routine of drinking and socialising on the streets of Thamel. Having said a sad goodbye to Richard, Carlos and Tek, I was at a bit of a loss over what to do next. I visited the sights of Kathmandu, taking in Durbar Square, enjoying the relative peace of the majestic world heritage towns of Pattan and Baraktapur, and being harassed by chimps and hawkers at the towering Monkey temple. The next few days were spent quietly relaxing in Thamel. I had some massages, ate a lot of good food and met up with some friends from the trek, all the while trying to think of the next step. In the end I opted for Thailand. I’d heard about a rock climbing course from my sister that sounded like an ideal way to spend a week at sea level, and had vague plans to meet with a friend from work who was in the country at the time.

I flew back to Delhi, willing to fork over the £70 rather than endure the 28 hour overland journey, and fought my way through the daily chaos of Kathmandu airport, touching down into the oppressive Delhi summer heat, before arguing and bullying my way to my sister’s flat. Two days of sleeping, story swapping and packing later, and I was on the plane to Bangkok, there to catch a connecting flight to Phuket.

I spent two days on Phuket, the majority of them on the back of a hired scooter. When asked by the nervous vendor whether I’d ridden one before, I laughed the question off confidently, before immediately driving off into oncoming traffic, screeching to a halt just before a parked car on the opposite side of the road. The vendor came running over and talked me through the controls once more, before sending me on my way with a concerned smile and a pat on my oversized helmet. Despite this mishap, it was a great way to see what there was to see on Phuket. I rode to some tourist beaches and resorts, watching the Russian merry makers enjoying the beer soaked fun, before heading up to the Giant Buddha visible from pretty much the whole Island. The roads were relatively quiet and easy to navigate, and the idyllic beaches and bustling towns created a rich scenic experience that was worlds away from India or Nepal. The tension seeped out of me, and the oxygen rich, sea level clean air was a revelation. Sunburn aside, it was a great way to spend the day!

My hostel was in Old Phuket, rather than a resort, which turned out to be a great choice. The colonial era buildings and up-and-coming, young vibe was ideal, and there were lots of good food choices. This, combined with a lack of tourists made my stay very enjoyable, especially once I’d found a pancake house across the road from my hostel.

Rising early on a clear morning, I left Phuket by ferry. Hiding my surprise that the online ferry and taxi booking service had worked, I climbed into a seven seater and dozed my way through the quiet dawn streets of old Phuket. The long jetty was dotted with nervously yawning, waiting would-be passengers, amidst the disconcerting lack of jetty numbers, signposts or directions. I settled down on top of my rucksack, leaning against a friendly pillar in my by now usual “waiting for transport that may or may not turn up in possibly the wrong place to be waiting for said transport” pose.

The sun rose somewhere out of sight, reflected in the slow moving river in front of me. Slowly, reluctantly, the jetty came to life. Tour Attendants set up their desks and fended off questions, and cheerfully singing dock hands went about their morning duties. Eventually I was asked for a ticket, and ushered across three moored ferry decks to the waiting boat. An hour later, packed to the gills with camera toting passengers, we chugged off into the azure Andaman Sea.

Towering rock spires, coated in vegetation, rising like ruined towers from the impossibly blue waters. Silent sentinels guarding the waterways, keeping watch over the picturesquely silent fishing skiffs that glided in between them in search of the morning’s catch. The sun warmed the top deck, turning oppressive within an hour, so I retreated below deck to the seating area, and stretched out on three empty chairs watching the breath-taking coastline through the open window as Tango and Cash showed loudly in the background.

The ferry pulled up short and dropped an anchor, around four hundred yards from Railay beach. The rock towers and cliffs formed a stunning amphitheatre, the shining white beaches bordering the scene. I grabbed by rucksack from the appropriate pile on the deck, and made my way to the stern. Here I jumped onto a waiting long tailed skiff, rolling in the water as everyone climbed on. We sped off towards Railay with a shudder, running right onto the beach until the sand stopped us. I jumped into the warm, clear surf, shouldered my rucksack and strode up the beach. Finding some convenient shade, I sat and drank in the view.

Eventually, the sand and sun finished absorbing the last traces of tension from my body, and I thought about getting to Tonsai beach, about a kilometre away. Rather than clamber over the rocks at the far end of the beach laden with my rucksack, I decided on another longtail. Hailing one, we made it fifty yards off the beach before the motor gave out. The pilot helpfully called a colleague, who brought his skiff alongside. I hopped over precariously, and was on my way.

First stop was the climbing centre, Base Camp Tonsai. I dumped my bags and introduced myself. I handed over some cash and was soon signed up for a three day course. I got direction to the nearest available accommodation and twenty minutes later I reached my bamboo hut, home for the next five days. Set back in the jungle away from the beach, balanced neatly on twelve foot poles, swaying in the moist jungle air. I climbed the rickety stairs, avoiding the gaps and cracks, and unlocked the door. A mosquito net covered the king size double which took up the majority of the wooden room. A shelf unit stood in the corner below a cracked mirror, and a small wet room with toilet was hidden behind another door. The steps leading up ended at a private balcony with a jungle view of chattering monkeys and colourful, exotic birds.

The five days passed in a blur of limestone rock face and tiredness. I’d forgotten how hard rock climbing was, and it had been a few years since my last crack at it. As much as I enjoyed the experience, and will definitely go back, it completely drained me. Early rises to climb in the cool mornings, followed by a quick break for lunch, and then more climbing until the evening. I learned to lead climb with confidence, and will be going back to complete the multi pitch course next year. The evenings were short affairs of chicken sandwiches and mango juice from the Pyramid Café, before passing out under the mosquito net. On my days off, I was at a bit of a loss of what to do. The scenery was spectacular, but there’s only so much time I can spend on a beach. I explored what there was to see of Tonsai and Railay, but was soon wishing that it was a climbing day.

My instructor, Ion, slowly thawed as the days ambled by. To begin with, we were climbing with a group of half day and full day climbers, and Ion looked as though he was going through the motions. We all ate lunch with him, and one of our group asked him about his love life. She was an English teacher from the US, living and working on mainland Thailand. She confidently looked at Ion and asked how many girlfriends he had, and how many were Western girls. We all smiled nervously, but Ion was visibly uncomfortable. He mumbled something indistinct and the topic was dropped. A few days later, Ion and I were sat on the cushioned bamboo floor of a café on Railay’s headland, enjoying ice cold juices and watching the fishing life out on the green waters, beyond the half submerged mango groves. Bringing up the incident, he explained how angry it made him; having tourists think that he is only here to meet women and hit on Western girls. He came from a poor farming family, and had worked hard to get where he was. His ambition was to climb in Europe, and worked constantly and tirelessly to realise this dream. I listened to him in silence, taken aback by his openness. He smiled, and pointed at the mango groves, explaining that they reminded him of home, when his father built him a tree house in the mango grove branches. There he used to hide his motorbike, far enough away from the house so his mother couldn’t hear him coming and going in the night. We finished our drinks and headed back to the rocks.

During these lulls, I planned my next move, already feeling restless. My friend was heading for a half moon party on Ko Phan Nang, and I’d had a vague plan of island hopping down to Malaysia and reaching Borneo, but my head was turned by an American climber who had just returned from Myanmar (Burma). Listening to her description (and discovering the high price of national park fees on Borneo), made up my mind. I hastily booked tickets from Bangkok to Rangoon, and found to my relief that I could apply for a visa and collect it on the same day in Bangkok. After my course was complete, I collected my certificate, bade a fond farewell to Ion and the towering cliffs of Tonsai, before heading to Krabi airport; destination Bangkok.

After a short flight I pitched up in Bangkok, heading straight for the pre-paid taxi stand. I’d booked a hostel as close as possible to the Myanmar Embassy to stay in for two nights, but no one at the stand seemed to know where it was. After much deliberation and a few phone calls, the address was located. The Bangkok high rise skyline twinkled and sparked like man made stars against the heavy blue Asian night. An hour later I was tucked up in my hostel dorm room, ready for the early morning visa run.

At 06.30 the temperature was already high. I arrived sweating at the visa application entrance to the embassy, a 2km walk. I sat down, third in line, behind a friendly couple from the US. The embassy wouldn’t open for another two hours, so I happily held their place while they took their documents to be photocopied in a shop down the street. I plugged in my earphones, picked up my book (A Suitable Boy), and waited it out. The doors opened some two hours later, and I was back on the streets in 15 minutes with instructions to return for my Visa at 15.00. The friendly and efficient staff at the embassy really came into their own, and I now had a free day to spend in Bangkok.

I used the day for personal admin, rather than sightseeing. Running dangerously low on serviceable underwear and t-shirts, and with feet battered by the rocks of Thailand and sandals that had disintegrated, I headed to the mall. Following the elevated path of the sky walk high above the traffic soaked streets, I grabbed some breakfast at a crepe house. The mall seemed innocuous enough from the outside, but as I pierced its depths I became surrounded by t-shirts, shorts and anything-you-can-think-of-really’s for $1 apiece.

Bags bulging, I headed back towards the general direction of the Myanmar embassy. A few hours early, I collected a western union transfer, exchanged it for dollars and grabbed a coffee while I waited. The heat was almost unbearable. I read somewhere that Bangkok was one of the hottest cities on earth, which was easy to believe as I scuttled from one air conditioned haven to another, sweating heavily in the humid air.

Retrieving my passport and visa was even quicker than applying for it, and I was soon back in the hostel enjoying a cold beer. I had an early morning flight, and spent the night packing. My dorm mates weren’t the most talkative bunch, so I got a lot of writing done, which I’d been putting off for a while.

So that’s how I found myself in Bangkok airport, waiting on a flight to Yangon, new lonely planet guide in hand. As I knew next to nothing about my destination, I came up with a vague itinerary right there in departures, and boarded the flight with the serene happiness of the spontaneous adventurer.