JAZZY'S TRAVELS

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Throughout my entire journey in Thailand I've wanted to find a secluded island beach, pitch a tent, hang a hammock and spend the next few days sunning, reading and grilling fish over an open fire.

I've pictured it the same my entire life; it was my favorite thing to draw as a child. A simple hump for the island drawn with a "Canary" yellow crayon. Two palm trees, criss cross bark patterns in "Gingerbread" brown, and of course a nice red - sometimes blue if red was broken- hammock, like a smile stretched between. Often a round sun with beams jutting straight out, a few black "V" shaped seagulls, and a repetitive line of turquoise "U's" serving as waves would top it all off. As I grew older I stopped drawing, minus the occassional doodle, but never failed to imagine. The white sand would be as fine as baking flour, palm trees at perfect hammock intervals would line the shore, and the water would be warm as a summer bath and clear as those brouchures for Bora Bora.

As we walked out onto the fine sands of Ao Son beach on Tarutao Island, I thought I had found my paradise. The beach stretched out 3 kilometers ahead of us, a bit bigger than my ideal paradise island, but better, I thought to myself, seeing we didn't want to be too close to the other two couples who had arrived with us. We had gathered our supplies in a frantic rush that morning on the way to the ferry: two bottles of thai whiskey, a bunch of mangos and bananas, a few limes, tomatoes and herbs, some pork and spicy canned fish, half a loaf of Thai Wonder Bread and a bottle of mayo, just like home. We had of course not failed to buy a small styrofoam cooler for 80 baht off a lady at the ferry terminal and filled it with ice and mixers which Jared now carried without so much as a sigh in addition to the fruit, veggies and 2 gallons of water packed somewhat snuggly into the top of his pack.

We began our long trek down the beach in hopes of finding a nice little cove with some shade under which to set up camp. As we walked further down the 3km stretch of sand, we noticed the few scattered pieces of trash increase to small piles and finally into mounds. Plastic water bottles, soda cans, mangled fishing traps, 7-11 plastic bags, empty rice sacs, hundreds of single flip flops and enough foam to make a thousand of the "disposable" coolers that Jared now carried. Our excited strides soon turned into weary shuffles as we realized that we were probably going to have to clear a spot of trash in order to camp. Giving into this, and the realization that there was no shade to be had, we finally shrugged off our packs midway between the water and the treeline near a lagoon at the end of the beach. While we set up camp it began to rain and we welcomed it with open arms and upturned faces as it washed away some of the fine white sand that had begun to feel more like a thin layer of sandpaper rather than the powdery baking agent I'd hoped for.

As we sat in the tent, sheltered from the rain, snacking and chatting, I couldn't help but realize that this was not my paradise. I understand that the situation could have been better, the trash, crabs and rain gone, the tent replaced with a bungalow, but even with that I knew this wasn't it.

I wanted a plush couch with a big fluffy down comforter in a room with large windows looking out on a rainy street; the slosh of tires faintly heard over the hum of the heater. I wanted a cup of hot chocolate in my hand and a good movie only just beginning on the television, and the option of a hot shower or a kitchen full of food only a few feet away.

I was wishing for my mom's house in Santa Barbara, for Dave's house in Tahoe, for the Oakes house in Washington, maybe even the house I will someday build. I was wishing for Home.

Now a few days later, sitting here in the hard blue plastic seats of the ferry taking us back to the mainland, I know myself a little bit better and have realized a few things. Paradise is relative. It depends on where you are and where you've been. If you've been working or on vacation, if you're in love or single, old or young, hot or cold. It's relative to how you feel about where you are at the moment, and right now I'm tired.

I'm tired of the bug bites. After camping on Tarutao for two nights I have close to 100 (or maybe more, I refuse to count) bites on my body. I'm tired of taking cold showers in dingy cement bathrooms that smell like sewage where I don't feel clean until I'm dressed and back outside. I'm tired of squating over toilet seats or holes, afraid of what I might catch or what might bite me as I relieve myself. I'm tired of being scared to sit and watch the sunset because it's the worst time for mosquitos. I'm tired of eating crappy Thai and Western food at backpackers cafes. I'm tired of itching. I'm tired of Thai chilli sauce. I'm tired of sand in my flip flops. I'm tired of missing cheese and peanutbutter and healthy wheat products. I'm tired of warm milk. I'm tired of water that tastes like plastic. I'm tired of not being able to workout. I'm tired of beaches. I'm tired of not wanting to lay down because I'm afraid of what might be in my bed. I'm tired of the clothes in my backpack. I'm tired of hotel envy. I'm tired of feeling rich and useless. I'm tired of looking at over-tanned bodies with blinding white hair and skin like leather. I'm tired of it being too easy, of feeling like part of a herd. I'm tired of feeling like I'm ruining Jared's trip as I whine about being tired (1). I'm tired of feeling cliche.

But I'm also excited. Excited to see new cities, meet new people, cross new borders, work in Australia, see family, try new foods, ride motorbikes along hilly jungle roads, the wind cool and refreshing. I'm excited to see other continents, bounce along in jeeps on a safari, trek through the jungle in search of Ugandas gorillas, to hear an orchestra in Sydney's Opera House, to sip espresso at a cafe in Paris, to party until dawn in Spain and twirl with the Dervish in Turkey. To island hop in Greece, to see the view from atop KL's Petronus Towers, to tube in Luang Pruabang, to wine taste in Chile, to sip hot chocolate in a Swiss chalet, to eat a mustard slathered hot dog in the stands of Fenway stadium. To watch The ball drop in Time Square, to trek along the snowy trails of Nepal, to stand in the daunting shadow of Giza's pyramids, to say a prayer on Mount Golgotha and avoid karyoke in Tokyo. To raft down the Colorado River, bungy jump over Victoria Falls, to ride in a truck full of chickens along the dusty roads of Central America, to chat over a basket of fish and chips in a London pub, to sit on a grimey sidewalk in India...

It's hard to be tired when you're so excited about traveling. I'm like a 2 year old too exhausted to realize it's time for a nap.

Today Jared and I head into Malaysia and I couldn't be more excited, although my slow steps and heat-induced sighs might make you think otherwise. I've been in Thailand for 2 months, double the time I spent in any other country, and it's my least favorite (2). I'm excited to get off the beaten track, to find something more like the PCT and less like the 405. I'm interested in hearing what Malaysia has to say because to be honest, I haven't got a clue what to expect. We're both hoping that it will be cheaper, as Thailand has taken a nice chunk of our budgets, and maybe, just maybe, when we arrive in Georgetown late tonight we'll be able to afford a room with hot water, and if I'm really lucky, A.C.









(1) Yes Jared and I are back together. What can I say, we love each other's company, and if we don't travel together now, we might not see each other for another year or so. Live for the moment...

(2) I think it's tied with China. China was hard, Thailand was too easy and had too many tourists. They both have their positives and negatives.