Sai Yok National Park
The bus dropped us off along the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. The only things around were a couple of roadside food stalls and a sign announcing in English and Thai the entrance to our destination: Sai Yok National Park. We had no hotel reservations, no map of the park, and barely an idea of where to go. A brief and largely uninformative passage on this place in our guidebook warned of limited availability of food and little in the way of English language information. We were in short, woefully unprepared.
Several weeks before leaving Seattle I had seen a travel blog that made mention of raft bungalows that rested alongside the river in a national park near Kanchanaburi. The authors description had peaked my interest, and an accompanying photograph of this riverside gem sealed the deal. I simply had to find this place. I was unable to relocate the source of my inspiration no matter how dutifully I Googled pertinent words and phrases. A phone number in my Lonely Planet guidebook for similar sounding accommodations was a dead end as well, as the line had been disconnected. But like Ahab for his whale I would not give up the hunt. Which was how we found ourselves, against my better judgement, standing beside a long and lonely strip of foreign highway.
We lugged our heavy packs across the road and entered the park. It wasn't long before a couple of older Thai men rode up towards us on scooters.
“Taxi? Taxi?” they called in short staccato voices. For once I welcomed the intrusion.
I read them the name of where we wanted to go to off of a crumpled piece of paper: 'naam tok sai yok yai.' I still don't know what it means, but I was encouraged when one of the men nodded indicating comprehension. Across fractured language barriers we agreed upon a price. Then Amanda and I each climbed on the rear of one of their scooters. Our heavy packs pulling us backwards, we held on for dear life with no helmets to protect our idiot brains.
The ride was slow, smooth, and most importantly, brief and without incident. We stopped twice. Once to pay an entrance fee to the park and another time to have our tickets checked. When we reached our agreed destination point it looked not unlike the parking lot of any average National Park back home in the States. Mercifully we saw that there were food stalls selling hot Thai dishes, cold bottles of water, and the ever important Beer Chang. We balked at the requisite V.I.P. buses towering over us nearly as tall as the strong, slender teak trees they were parked next to.
Off in the distance we spied the Ranger Station and figured it might be worth a shot to see if there was any relevant information inside. As is customary, we removed our shoes before entering the facility and approached the information desk. We were amused to find it occupied by two local children one around eight years of age, the other probably no older than three.
I smiled and greeted them in their language, “Sa-wat-dii-kraap.”
They giggled shyly, no doubt amused by my clumsy pronunciation, and then the oldest called out to someone in the next room. A moment later a woman walked out in a park ranger uniform. She spoke no English, and unfortunately, but not unsurprisingly, my phrasebook does not contain an approximation for the term raft bungalow. The woman was kind, but I could tell she did not understand what it was we were looking for. She supplied us with a pamphlet that contained a map, and an English summary of the parks services, but no mention of any riverside accommodations. It did however show us where the water was so we set off on a short jaunt to see if we could locate our destination from it's shores. We had not gone far when we saw a sign pointing down a small path that said River View Bungalows. We quickly followed it down.
The path led us down a wooden dock and around a corner. Our spirits lifted as we saw a gorgeous, wide stream of water with wood cabanas bobbing gently up and down along it's sides. The accommodations were lovely with tall glass windows laid into the doors and small porches with wooden benches where one could lounge around and watch the river flow. We spied one colorful long-tail boat parked along the edge of the buildings, while another zipped past us on the river leaving the platform we stood upon bouncing in it's wake. In the distance a waterfall spilled its way down a tall stack of boulders where it joined the gentle river and begun it's journey downstream. A casual glance in the other direction revealed a tall wooden suspension bridge that spanned the water. It was just as I had imagined it. Better perhaps.
It took a little trouble to find a room. The lodgings we had stumbled upon appeared empty, but we were told they had all been reserved. A kindly young Thai woman who spoke some English called out to another older woman across the riverbank. They exchanged a few quick words and we were told that though the lodgings on this side were spoken for there was plenty of room in the guesthouses on the other side. Even from here we could see that the lodgings she spoke were more shabby than these, but faced with the alternative of renting a tent from park services we quickly agreed.
A long-tail boat was arranged to carry us along to the other side of the river. The journey required little use of the motor, mostly skillful navigation on the part of the driver augmented by an occasional burst of the combustible. We were very thankful for the ride as this small kindness saved us the trouble of lugging our backpacks across the bridge and along the narrow cliff side that led to the accommodations.
A quick shower cleared my mood and I took a rest on the porch of the cabin to watch the world go by. Traffic buzzed up and down the river. A young boy jumped into the water, letting it carry him downstream, climbing out a few yards later. A quick convenient way to clean up and cool off.
I began to wonder what it must be like to grow up here. Having been born and raised in the suburbs of the Pacific Northwest I had never considered before what it must be like to live ones life with a powerful and defining natural force, like this river, at it's center. This river served as highway, bathtub, playground, and less spectacularly, sewage system for the people that live here. It supplied economy in terms of the tourism it brought. And though I loath to imagine due to the waste going into it, this river more than likely served as a source of food to some extent as well. These people knew this piece of water inside out. Respected it in their own way. There is nothing back home in my neighborhood that could possibly equate to it's importance to them.
The luxuries of modern life have isolated us from the natural world, making us to numb to the importance of the resources that surround us. So much so, that we've begun to see the grocery stores, retailers and other companies that we patronize as the suppliers of these goods rather than the rivers, oceans, and vast tracts of land that truly sustain and support our lifestyles. Our entire eco-system has become virtually invisible to us. This powerful world that we live in has lost the mythic properties we once attributed it to it, and with that loss we have forgotten a way of life.
We have replaced it with the Bull, the Bear, the Dollar and the Dow. These are our modern myths. The Invisible Hand of the Marketplace. “It's the economy stupid.” A way of life built not on the world that surrounds us, but on intellectual ideas that have become our reality.
It is however, this very framework which has allowed me to come here. Enabled me to see all of this. Without the high-tech economy that feeds my bank account I wouldn't be sitting here halfway across the world romanticizing poverty, naively waxing for a “simple life.”
The sound of a overworked engine snapped me out of my thoughts and brought me back to where I was. Looking up I saw a long-tail boat struggling to pull a large floating platform down the river in our direction. There were around a half dozen or so foreigners on the platform, sipping cocktails and sunning themselves in their Speedo's. In the distance, coming up swiftly behind them, were another two dozen pasty white bodies bobbing up and down in the river. Life jackets keeping them afloat they were clearly headed to join the platform.
A young man, probably their tour guide, blew a loud metal whistle, and shouted a warning at the group in what sounded like Russian. The platform docked at the waterfall, and as the floating bodies pulled themselves up onto it, they began one by one, to stand underneath the strong spray of the waterfall. The women screamed their heads off. The men stood grim, macho and stoic in that way Russian males have perfected after decades of cold weather and existentialist philosophy.
I was angry. After working so hard to find this nice, quiet place, after going so far out of the way, it seemed cruel to have my contemplative quiet ruined by this loud and unruly mob of package vacationing tourists. I was frustrated and disappointed. But mostly I was jealous because it looked like so much fun.
As the day progressed it began to seem as if the whole of eastern Europe was here. Group after group of former Soviets came bobbing down the river like ripe Red apples. It turned out that they had booked all the rooms across the river.
That night we ate at a buffet dinner at their guesthouse's restaurant. We were too shy, outnumbered as we were, to approach any of them and start a conversation, but sat in the corner our voyeuristic eyes watching them eat and drink themselves silly. They held raffles giving away cowboy hats, stuffed animals and Thai whiskey. They blasted disco, took shots of alcohol, hugged each other and drank some more.
From what we gathered this was the last night of their trip to Thailand and in a couple of days they would return to the cold winter of their mother country. Figuratively chained behind their desks, they would dream of the feeling of freedom and the sunny weather that I'd still be here experiencing. Long after I went to bed I could still hear them partying across the river, and for once, I could hardly blame them.
The bus dropped us off along the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. The only things around were a couple of roadside food stalls and a sign announcing in English and Thai the entrance to our destination: Sai Yok National Park. We had no hotel reservations, no map of the park, and barely an idea of where to go. A brief and largely uninformative passage on this place in our guidebook warned of limited availability of food and little in the way of English language information. We were in short, woefully unprepared.
Several weeks before leaving Seattle I had seen a travel blog that made mention of raft bungalows that rested alongside the river in a national park near Kanchanaburi. The authors description had peaked my interest, and an accompanying photograph of this riverside gem sealed the deal. I simply had to find this place. I was unable to relocate the source of my inspiration no matter how dutifully I Googled pertinent words and phrases. A phone number in my Lonely Planet guidebook for similar sounding accommodations was a dead end as well, as the line had been disconnected. But like Ahab for his whale I would not give up the hunt. Which was how we found ourselves, against my better judgement, standing beside a long and lonely strip of foreign highway.
We lugged our heavy packs across the road and entered the park. It wasn't long before a couple of older Thai men rode up towards us on scooters.
“Taxi? Taxi?” they called in short staccato voices. For once I welcomed the intrusion.
I read them the name of where we wanted to go to off of a crumpled piece of paper: 'naam tok sai yok yai.' I still don't know what it means, but I was encouraged when one of the men nodded indicating comprehension. Across fractured language barriers we agreed upon a price. Then Amanda and I each climbed on the rear of one of their scooters. Our heavy packs pulling us backwards, we held on for dear life with no helmets to protect our idiot brains.
The ride was slow, smooth, and most importantly, brief and without incident. We stopped twice. Once to pay an entrance fee to the park and another time to have our tickets checked. When we reached our agreed destination point it looked not unlike the parking lot of any average National Park back home in the States. Mercifully we saw that there were food stalls selling hot Thai dishes, cold bottles of water, and the ever important Beer Chang. We balked at the requisite V.I.P. buses towering over us nearly as tall as the strong, slender teak trees they were parked next to.
Off in the distance we spied the Ranger Station and figured it might be worth a shot to see if there was any relevant information inside. As is customary, we removed our shoes before entering the facility and approached the information desk. We were amused to find it occupied by two local children one around eight years of age, the other probably no older than three.
I smiled and greeted them in their language, “Sa-wat-dii-kraap.”
They giggled shyly, no doubt amused by my clumsy pronunciation, and then the oldest called out to someone in the next room. A moment later a woman walked out in a park ranger uniform. She spoke no English, and unfortunately, but not unsurprisingly, my phrasebook does not contain an approximation for the term raft bungalow. The woman was kind, but I could tell she did not understand what it was we were looking for. She supplied us with a pamphlet that contained a map, and an English summary of the parks services, but no mention of any riverside accommodations. It did however show us where the water was so we set off on a short jaunt to see if we could locate our destination from it's shores. We had not gone far when we saw a sign pointing down a small path that said River View Bungalows. We quickly followed it down.
The path led us down a wooden dock and around a corner. Our spirits lifted as we saw a gorgeous, wide stream of water with wood cabanas bobbing gently up and down along it's sides. The accommodations were lovely with tall glass windows laid into the doors and small porches with wooden benches where one could lounge around and watch the river flow. We spied one colorful long-tail boat parked along the edge of the buildings, while another zipped past us on the river leaving the platform we stood upon bouncing in it's wake. In the distance a waterfall spilled its way down a tall stack of boulders where it joined the gentle river and begun it's journey downstream. A casual glance in the other direction revealed a tall wooden suspension bridge that spanned the water. It was just as I had imagined it. Better perhaps.
It took a little trouble to find a room. The lodgings we had stumbled upon appeared empty, but we were told they had all been reserved. A kindly young Thai woman who spoke some English called out to another older woman across the riverbank. They exchanged a few quick words and we were told that though the lodgings on this side were spoken for there was plenty of room in the guesthouses on the other side. Even from here we could see that the lodgings she spoke were more shabby than these, but faced with the alternative of renting a tent from park services we quickly agreed.
A long-tail boat was arranged to carry us along to the other side of the river. The journey required little use of the motor, mostly skillful navigation on the part of the driver augmented by an occasional burst of the combustible. We were very thankful for the ride as this small kindness saved us the trouble of lugging our backpacks across the bridge and along the narrow cliff side that led to the accommodations.
A quick shower cleared my mood and I took a rest on the porch of the cabin to watch the world go by. Traffic buzzed up and down the river. A young boy jumped into the water, letting it carry him downstream, climbing out a few yards later. A quick convenient way to clean up and cool off.
I began to wonder what it must be like to grow up here. Having been born and raised in the suburbs of the Pacific Northwest I had never considered before what it must be like to live ones life with a powerful and defining natural force, like this river, at it's center. This river served as highway, bathtub, playground, and less spectacularly, sewage system for the people that live here. It supplied economy in terms of the tourism it brought. And though I loath to imagine due to the waste going into it, this river more than likely served as a source of food to some extent as well. These people knew this piece of water inside out. Respected it in their own way. There is nothing back home in my neighborhood that could possibly equate to it's importance to them.
The luxuries of modern life have isolated us from the natural world, making us to numb to the importance of the resources that surround us. So much so, that we've begun to see the grocery stores, retailers and other companies that we patronize as the suppliers of these goods rather than the rivers, oceans, and vast tracts of land that truly sustain and support our lifestyles. Our entire eco-system has become virtually invisible to us. This powerful world that we live in has lost the mythic properties we once attributed it to it, and with that loss we have forgotten a way of life.
We have replaced it with the Bull, the Bear, the Dollar and the Dow. These are our modern myths. The Invisible Hand of the Marketplace. “It's the economy stupid.” A way of life built not on the world that surrounds us, but on intellectual ideas that have become our reality.
It is however, this very framework which has allowed me to come here. Enabled me to see all of this. Without the high-tech economy that feeds my bank account I wouldn't be sitting here halfway across the world romanticizing poverty, naively waxing for a “simple life.”
The sound of a overworked engine snapped me out of my thoughts and brought me back to where I was. Looking up I saw a long-tail boat struggling to pull a large floating platform down the river in our direction. There were around a half dozen or so foreigners on the platform, sipping cocktails and sunning themselves in their Speedo's. In the distance, coming up swiftly behind them, were another two dozen pasty white bodies bobbing up and down in the river. Life jackets keeping them afloat they were clearly headed to join the platform.
A young man, probably their tour guide, blew a loud metal whistle, and shouted a warning at the group in what sounded like Russian. The platform docked at the waterfall, and as the floating bodies pulled themselves up onto it, they began one by one, to stand underneath the strong spray of the waterfall. The women screamed their heads off. The men stood grim, macho and stoic in that way Russian males have perfected after decades of cold weather and existentialist philosophy.
I was angry. After working so hard to find this nice, quiet place, after going so far out of the way, it seemed cruel to have my contemplative quiet ruined by this loud and unruly mob of package vacationing tourists. I was frustrated and disappointed. But mostly I was jealous because it looked like so much fun.
As the day progressed it began to seem as if the whole of eastern Europe was here. Group after group of former Soviets came bobbing down the river like ripe Red apples. It turned out that they had booked all the rooms across the river.
That night we ate at a buffet dinner at their guesthouse's restaurant. We were too shy, outnumbered as we were, to approach any of them and start a conversation, but sat in the corner our voyeuristic eyes watching them eat and drink themselves silly. They held raffles giving away cowboy hats, stuffed animals and Thai whiskey. They blasted disco, took shots of alcohol, hugged each other and drank some more.
From what we gathered this was the last night of their trip to Thailand and in a couple of days they would return to the cold winter of their mother country. Figuratively chained behind their desks, they would dream of the feeling of freedom and the sunny weather that I'd still be here experiencing. Long after I went to bed I could still hear them partying across the river, and for once, I could hardly blame them.
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