I may have been a bit disingenuous with this whole travelog story I have appeared to be setting the stage for over the past several posts. Other than a few shout-outs to some of my stops, the whole story seems to be mostly devoid of anything approaching actual stories about my eighteen days on the road. But, as usual, there is method to my madness. Or half of that.
While there may be no mention of the Norwegian biker gang with which I shared a ferry ride across Lake Sirikit where the leather-clad, Harley-ridin’, putative leader of the group was sorely disappointed when he found out that the fish restaurant at one end of the route served, not without irony, only fish. (As a side note, it was a truly nasty, boney, flavorless fish.) The exchange between the biker and the kitchen was reminiscent of the Monty Python Cheese Shop skit from an earlier millennium. Nor were there mentions made of the tour groups who, when they found out I was traveling alone, immediately decided that one of their group would be someone I should get to know. Luckily, those putative penpals and I realized that “traveling alone” was both a pretty low bar for compatibility and so festooned with red flags to appear a poisonous caterpillar. I’m sure upstanding citizens like the Teds Bundy and Kaczynski and Charles “the Serpent” Sobhraj were also solo travelers. There were no mentions of all the friendly and helpful people who translated menus, provided directions (wanted or not), sold me coffee in the jungle or were there to make sure that my travels were more than just a trip.
Here’s why. If I spelled out the details of my ride in detail enough to make you think “I gotta do that.” then you would end up sorely disappointed. And, while disappointing you is kind of my job, I prefer to do so without forcing you to spend any money.
The reason comes down to noetics.
Noetics – AKA: noetic sciences – is kind of a new-age catch-all for all sorts of unexplained phenomena. Everything from prodigious talent to Elon Musk can be rationally explained by noetics. (Another side note: In my research I still have not seen “noetic”, etc. capitalized outside of when it’s the first word in a sentence. Clearly the noetics crowd does not take their study as seriously as practitioners of Chemistry, Physics, Geology, Witchcraft, Christianity, or any of the other proper-noun fields of study.) Anyway, one of the nearly infinite number of “oh, wow” things that have been tossed in the noetic crucible is the phenomenon of manifestation. The belief, as yet unproven, that someone creates their own reality from what they think, or hope, might happen. This happens regardless of whether those thoughts and hopes are consciously considered or merely sloshing around in the synaptic bucket of sludge leftover at the end of a day with eight and a half hours of screen time.
Now clearly, as compelling is the idea that we all create our own realities, there have to be some unbreakable parapsychic guardrails, similar to the speed of light in Physics. If we could all manifest our own realities, then there should be a much larger number of lottery winners than there are and they all would have won the prize every week they played. Given that that particular scenario, along with many other high desirability, infinitesimally small probability occurrences, aren’t happening more statistically frequently than they are proves that point. Try as we might, we will never be able to bend our reality into beyond that which the Universe has in store for us without eventually failing and being exposed as the frauds we were trying to be.
Fortunately, I learned long ago that anything I could wish, hope, or plan for myself pales in comparison to the truth is stranger than fiction life that the Universe has set out for me. That’s where I place my bets.
So, while I may know where I’m going to be on any given day, I don’t have a freaking clue as to what might happen. I set out without expectations beyond “this is where I’m going” and let the rest unfold however it may, always keeping that old rubric in mind: Some days you eat the bear, and some days the bear eats you.
As I mentioned in passing last time, in Thailand there are ten provinces, out of seventy-seven, that are on the foreign tourist path. They are, Bangkok, Phuket, Chiang Mai, Chiang Rai, Chon Buri, Prachuap Kiri Khan, Surat Thani, Phang Nga, Krabi, and Songkla in the deep south. There are also several provinces – Kanchanaburi, Phra Nakhon Si Ayutthaya, Sukhothai, among others that are one-hit wonders. They contain one important site that draws in people to see it, and then leave.
Which, as a quick glance at a map will demonstrate, leaves a lot of territory that is fully in the “hidden gem” category. Because Thais love to travel – domestic tourism is roughly five times the size, in terms of person-trips, as foreign tourism – so anywhere, absolutely anywhere, you go off the beaten path you will find nice places to stay, restaurants to eat at, and things to do. Just not with very many, if any, foreigners in the mix. And every single one of those places is waiting to surprise you.
Within twenty minutes of the Phuket airport – Thailand’s third busiest – I can point you to multiple places where you will have kilometers of beach all to yourself. I know of places where the sign might as well read: “Hey, you. How would you like a national park all to yourself?” That sign would be read (assuming they look up from their phones) by many hundreds of tourists each day as they zip by from Point A to Point B but never stop. Because, while Point A and B are on the tour they paid for, no place else is.
This situation is not unique to Thailand. A dozen plus years ago I wrote of my adventure in Smith County, Kansas in the USA. “In the USA” being completely redundant as nothing screams “America!” more than “Smith County, Kansas”. Despite being at the antipode of the tourist trail in the US, I had gone there to see, enroute, The World’s Largest Ball of Twine. Said ball, was protected in its own little shrine as its, presumably, once spherical shape had devolved into a very oblate spheroid under the pressure of gravity, time, and the persistent activity of whatever tiny life forms find twine to be digestible. Cawker City, the ball’s residence, was cold, snowy, and – apparently – completely uninhabited during the few days I spent in the area.
While I was whiling away my time, as one does in Kansas at the best of times, I discovered that the Ball of Twine title was in an ongoing battle with one, up in Darwin (reported without irony), Minnesota claiming to be the World’s Largest Ball of Sisal Twine Made by One Person. Clearly, this is a competitive opportunity waiting for some clear-thinking investor with way too much money and a sense of the absurd.
But, I digress.
The moral of this story is that adventures happen to those who don’t sit and wait. While I was contemplating the steadily subsiding giant ball of twine, I learned from a two sentence “Things to Do In and Around Smith County, Kansas” info-board at the town park that my other option was to visit the Geographic Center of the Contiguous United States. (Annoyingly referred to as the “Geographical Center of the Lower ‘48’ States” on the sign at the site. A statement which is wrong on both grammatical and geographical levels.) In any event, I took this unexpected side quest as a sign from the Universe that since I was at the center I had to pick an exit. A choice I’ve been paying for, as we do with all our choices, from then until now.
As with my recent ride with its floods, cold temperatures, slippery jungle mountain passes, elephant shit, and Norwegian Biker Gangs, you may get to bite off more than you care to chew – especially if you choose the local fish. But, all in all, it’s not the relaxing, mundane days that provide the stories. It’s the extremes.
So, here’s wishing you an extremely Happy New Year, with all the stories you can handle. Whether or not you choose to share them, well, that’s up to you.
