Island Number Five
Bryson and I arrived on Phuket, Thailand's largest island and most touristy, yesterday afternoon. The boat we'd voyaged in on turned out to be an enormous tour boat, peopled by vacationers who had only come to Phi Phi for the half-day and were then returning to their resorts on Phuket. Thus, the port we docked upon turned out to be small and specifically oriented towards these richer tourists. There were no songtaews, the pickup taxis, or anything of that sort. Only expensive taxis and busses pre-filled with tour groups. We were being accosted from every side, and for a stressful half-hour we even considered finding a boat to take us to another island.
But there weren't any leaving from that stupid port, and so at last we relented and climbed in a taxi to one of the big beaches, Patong. This was an American-caliber taxi, and its cost was comparable as well. In Central America, me and my posse rode in shuddering jalopies with springs poking out of the cushions, swaying crucifixes, and machetes under the seats. Not that I prefer that, but we're budgeting here, dang it.
Patong turned out to be quite lovable, however, and I'm glad we didn't hightail it out on a boat to wherever. It was also crash-banged by the tsunami, most devastatingly, because there's so much crammed right onto the beach. Beautiful bungalows, high-rise resorts, seafood restaurants, pushcarts selling deep-friend you-name-it, and everywhere, tourists and Thais, on beach towels, beach chairs, wandering.
Most of the seafront buildings are in stages of part-built, but the beach itself is as lively as ever. We happen to be here during a tsunami-art celebration weekend, and all the grass beside the beach is decorated by sculpture. Some of it's odd and even questionable, but some pieces are thought-provoking. All the onlookers seemed jarred by the abstract collage of tsunami photos, thick with gesso and shades of brown, and by the clips from post-wave emails on the other side.
Today, after spending an unforgivable fifteen dollars on last night's meal, decided to try and only spend 500 baht today on food. Combined. That's about $12.50. Six bucks each. And you know what? it's ten-thirty in the evening now, and I thing we made it. Patong may be touristy, but among the resorts and tourist pubs there's a bustling local sphere that's even more enticing. It's like reading between the lines.
All day we doffed the restaurants for the pushcarts, and we tried many things we might never have. Plus, we gave our money to the people who need it most. Many of the people touting fare on the beach don't even have pushcarts; they balance a contraption on a wooden beam across their shoulders, with something heavy on either side, even the women. It must be horrendous. Over the course of the day we ate boiled peanuts, fresh mango with salt and sugar and chile, cream corn pastries, Thai pancakes, Tom Yam soup with fish, and an eclectic seafood-noodle salad. Bryson also ate chicken sausage, and a grilled chicken thigh with the foot still attached.
Tomorrow, I have no desire to go back to the restaurants. Our culinary adventures are too much fun, and much cheaper too.
Bryson and I arrived on Phuket, Thailand's largest island and most touristy, yesterday afternoon. The boat we'd voyaged in on turned out to be an enormous tour boat, peopled by vacationers who had only come to Phi Phi for the half-day and were then returning to their resorts on Phuket. Thus, the port we docked upon turned out to be small and specifically oriented towards these richer tourists. There were no songtaews, the pickup taxis, or anything of that sort. Only expensive taxis and busses pre-filled with tour groups. We were being accosted from every side, and for a stressful half-hour we even considered finding a boat to take us to another island.
But there weren't any leaving from that stupid port, and so at last we relented and climbed in a taxi to one of the big beaches, Patong. This was an American-caliber taxi, and its cost was comparable as well. In Central America, me and my posse rode in shuddering jalopies with springs poking out of the cushions, swaying crucifixes, and machetes under the seats. Not that I prefer that, but we're budgeting here, dang it.
Patong turned out to be quite lovable, however, and I'm glad we didn't hightail it out on a boat to wherever. It was also crash-banged by the tsunami, most devastatingly, because there's so much crammed right onto the beach. Beautiful bungalows, high-rise resorts, seafood restaurants, pushcarts selling deep-friend you-name-it, and everywhere, tourists and Thais, on beach towels, beach chairs, wandering.
Most of the seafront buildings are in stages of part-built, but the beach itself is as lively as ever. We happen to be here during a tsunami-art celebration weekend, and all the grass beside the beach is decorated by sculpture. Some of it's odd and even questionable, but some pieces are thought-provoking. All the onlookers seemed jarred by the abstract collage of tsunami photos, thick with gesso and shades of brown, and by the clips from post-wave emails on the other side.
Today, after spending an unforgivable fifteen dollars on last night's meal, decided to try and only spend 500 baht today on food. Combined. That's about $12.50. Six bucks each. And you know what? it's ten-thirty in the evening now, and I thing we made it. Patong may be touristy, but among the resorts and tourist pubs there's a bustling local sphere that's even more enticing. It's like reading between the lines.
All day we doffed the restaurants for the pushcarts, and we tried many things we might never have. Plus, we gave our money to the people who need it most. Many of the people touting fare on the beach don't even have pushcarts; they balance a contraption on a wooden beam across their shoulders, with something heavy on either side, even the women. It must be horrendous. Over the course of the day we ate boiled peanuts, fresh mango with salt and sugar and chile, cream corn pastries, Thai pancakes, Tom Yam soup with fish, and an eclectic seafood-noodle salad. Bryson also ate chicken sausage, and a grilled chicken thigh with the foot still attached.
Tomorrow, I have no desire to go back to the restaurants. Our culinary adventures are too much fun, and much cheaper too.
posted by Kirsten Hubbard at 8:21 AM
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