by Kyle James
9/15/15
Ko Samui, Thailand
Our morning was spent on the beach, floating in the shallows of the gulf. We talked about our plans for the rest of the trip and our plans for the rest of life. We reminisced on our days in Denver and in Eastern Europe. We promised ourselves things we would do when we got home and things we wouldn’t. The warm waters of the Gulf of Thailand were a great place to make plans.
After showering off sweat, salt, and sand, we decided to do something different tonight. There was a famous Buddha statue on the island of Ko Samui, and after our powerful experience in Chiang Mai, we were interested in seeing it. It took some negotiating, but we found a taxi that would take us there for six dollars. We were about halfway there and, like clockwork, the rain showed up. The truck was covered with a makeshift tarp, but it didn’t even come close to keeping us dry.
The driver must have put two and two together and asked us if we needed a ride back. We said yes, and he agreed to wait for us.
The temple area was set up like a courtyard, with meditation altars and small temples on both sides. In front of us was a golden staircase that led up to a forty-foot gold Buddha statue sitting cross-legged. The cold rain poured down on us, but we were mesmerized by the beauty of this forty-three-year-old relic. It was almost eerie in the darkness, but we felt safe with the large Buddha looking down on us. I heard a noise and turned to see an old monk sweeping one of the altars. He looked over at us and we locked eyes. He gave me a smile that could only be described as pure peacefulness. The aura of positive energy he put off warmed me in the cold rain, and I smiled back. He continued to sweep, and I could tell he was happier sweeping rain off these temple steps than many people were ever. I bottled up as much energy as I could, and we raced back to the taxi, avoiding as many puddles as possible.
The taxi driver waved when he saw us and started the truck once again.
“I am glad you got to see the Buddha. Would you like to see another great temple?”
Normally, I would think he was just trying to extend our fare, but for some reason, I trusted this guy, and the people of this country in general. “Sure, that sounds awesome,” we said in unison—for once.
He drove us across the island to a temple next to a Buddha. Both were on a platform out over the water and had a long walkway leading up to them. We walked in the pouring rain out to the large majestic Buddha, where we heard a sound coming from the temple. I looked across the water and saw dozens of monks singing in prayer inside. Standing in the cold rain, the dark, stormy sky sitting closely above, and listening to monks recite a prayer was beyond powerful and very spiritual.
This was a moment I would never forget. The combination of the monks’ prayers and the rain bouncing off the water produced a natural music that put me into a deep trance. I let the music take me away and stared at the massive Buddha in front of me. I felt wholesome, I felt positive, and I felt cleansed. It was as if my life were starting from this point forward, and everything that had happened up until now was simply to get me to this moment. The small things disappeared, and the clouded space in my mind clogged with meaningless media and social norms was pushed away by this feeling of pureness. I was refreshed and energized. Then the monks stopped praying. The rain stopped moments later.
I opened my eyes. Ash was staring at me, intrigued by my absence and asking if I was okay.
“I’ve never been better,” I told her.
9/16/15
Ko Samui, Thailand → Ko Pha Ngan, Thailand
Packing had become an excruciating assignment this late in the trip. Ash was our project manager, and she assigned me the task of staying out of her way. Once we had every inch of our backpacks loaded, we went to check out. We noticed that the rain was not only coming down in waves, but it was whipping the trees back and forth. Not ideal for travel by boat.
Our travel day started with a taxi that inevitably got us wetter than we wanted. When we reached the port, we got our tickets and squeezed under the small awning to try to stay dry. Our ferry arrived; it looked a little out of its league in the rough waters. I asked the lady at the desk if the boat was still going to make the trip in this storm and she said, “Oh yes, it will be fine.”
When it was time to board, we were ushered to the front of the boat where we walked downstairs and sat in seats under the cabin. When it was time to set sail, I felt the boat jerk as the anchor was lifted, and we started backing up slowly in the choppy, angry sea. We had windows on either side of us that showed water splashing up to meet them. This ferry wasn’t going to make its way to Ko Pha Ngan, though; we had to turn around.
As the boat rotated slowly, we found ourselves in the exact spot we didn’t want to be. All of a sudden, people around us began to scream; the ship had reached that purgatory zone directly between the waves. They slammed the boat, and one side of the ship raised high in the air as the other sank to the sea. My stomach lurched, and I grabbed on to Ash. We looked out the windows. To the left I saw nothing but water, and to the right I saw nothing but sky. We were about to flip and everyone on the boat knew it. Then the boat came rocking back to the other side, and everyone held on to something to avoid falling. This was a helpless feeling. I couldn’t move because we were swinging down to our apparent demise and gravity was pinning me down. Even if I could have moved, what could I do?
Just as fast, the boat straightened out. It was back to the choppy bumps coming head on and water splashing the windows. Everyone on the boat who was previously crying or screaming was silent and looking around at one another with horrified faces that could only ask, Do you think it’s over?
A few people laughed nervously. I wiped my forehead, which was absolutely coated with sweat. The thing that scared me the most was everyone else’s panic. When you are on an airplane and there is extreme turbulence, there are always people who are afraid; however, there are also many more calm passengers who ride the bumps and never even look up from their Kindles.
The ferry began heading north, and before we could all catch our breaths from the teetering terror episode, we started bouncing. Our choppy ride became bumpy, and the boat settled into a uniform terror. Every three seconds it felt like we were being propelled off a wave and sent airborne. After only a few minutes of the gut-wrenching bouncing, complete chaos ensued.
We had reached deep water, and our vessel rose up the large swells with enough speed that the front of our boat, and our current seating location, took off like we’d hit a ramp. Then we would free-fall for three seconds to the sounds of shrieking passengers until we smashed into the concrete-like water. My concern turned to terror, and I stood up to try to help. I didn’t know why I’d stood up; there was nothing I could do from the bottom of this boat. I just felt like I was sitting and waiting to die down there.
Standing up was the wrong decision, as the next free fall threw me onto the floor. I got up quickly as the adrenaline took over, and crawled back into my seat as we were tossed again. The trend continued over and over. Rise, rise, rise, screams, and then a three-second free fall as everyone tried to hold on, then crash.
I had read numerous reports of ferries capsizing in Southeast Asia, but I’d never understood how that had happened. They had not run into anything—how did they capsize? It all made sense now; they ventured out into a storm with waves they were not equipped to take on. Our ferry had absolutely no business being in these waters. It had been storming all week, and today was the worst yet. I was furious at myself for allowing us to be in this position. As I looked around the boat, I felt like time had stopped. I watched as women cried and held their children close to them, I watched as people were now throwing up onto the ground that was now quickly taking on water, and I watched as crewmembers screamed orders in Thai at one another. I decided if this ship was going to capsize, we weren’t going to be sitting down here waiting for it.
I told Ash to stay put and hold on while I tried to survey the situation to see if there was a better place for us to sit. The la
st place I wanted to be when we blew open the boat was in the holding cell at the bottom of it. I had to time my dismount with the pending slam of the boat. We rose up into the sky, and I braced for impact as we flew down and crashed into the sea. As soon as I had held on long enough not to fly into the seat behind me, I burst up the hole like Barry Sanders, and ran to the back of the seating area, grabbing the handrail just as we lifted off again.
I put a death grip on the stair railing and was able to see the entire front of the boat from this perspective, similar to looking up the aisle on a plane. The nose of our ferry rose up with nothing but a view of the dark sky and then fell in violent fashion, assaulting the sea with a brutal slam. This was when I truly understood the magnitude of how dire our predicament was.
The waves outside were colossal, and the sight of the rolling white caps thrashing about filled my mouth with vomit. I guess I do get seasick. These waves were not only much larger than our boat, but moving in all different directions. It was two in the afternoon, and it looked like it was midnight outside. We looked like a rubber toy boat in a bathtub that a two-year-old was thrashing in. I had a sense of blackness with no noise. My panic had blacked me out, but when it switched to survival mode, I came to.
Focus, Kyle. First, I had to get Ash out of the lower cabin. If we didn’t capsize by tipping over, we would surely sink with the amount of water we were taking on. That lower cabin was going to fill up first. I got back to the stairwell after carefully timing the crashing of our boat on the waves and motioned for her to come up here immediately. I wanted us to be right next to the door so that we could get out if we had to.
“Kyle, what are we going to do?” Ash asked in a surprisingly calm tone as she reached me. When Ash gets really freaked out, she shuts down. I kind of like that about her. I prefer it to a frantically screaming person.
“Ash, I am about”—holding railing for impact—“sixty-five percent sure we are going to capsize. In the event that this happens we are going to”—holding railing for impact—“have to swim.”
“Swim? Okay, swim where?” Her calmness was borderline concerning.
We both turned as a girl threw up in her lap right next us. The entire boat was in distress because we were enduring the stomach-dropping feeling every five seconds.
The waves were growing larger as we got to the deeper water, which meant the gut-wrenching stomach feeling was getting worse. Our stomachs lifted as a wall of water showered the boat. The crew was rushing around the cabin with anything they could find to try to get water off the boat. The crewmember next to us on the stairs was using a dustpan.
I pointed out the only island in sight to Ash and told her that was where we were going to swim if this thing went down. We had no life jackets, but it couldn’t have been more than a few miles if I could see it through the rain. As I was pointing out the island, I saw her approaching: the queen of the sea—the rogue wave. She was slowly rolling toward us and growing every one hundred feet. I blacked out with fear and felt a shot of adrenaline unlike any other. This was what it must have felt like when you knew you were about to die but there was nothing that could save you.
I grabbed Ashley’s hand and wrapped it between the railing and mine. I wanted to have her hand in mine in case the boat went underwater or we flipped upside down. The boat began to rise, and it seemed like everyone had figured out at the same moment that we had risen much higher in the air than on any previous wave. Normally we would be starting our descent, but we continued to rise for two more seconds. We reached the top, and there was a euphoric moment where nothing mattered. We were airborne and free, and I had never in my life been more afraid of the fall.
I heard a blood-curdling scream from below as we fell headfirst into the outstretched arms of the angry sea. I held on to the rail and Ashley with all my power as we free-fell for what felt like ten seconds. The bang that ensued had to have been the bow of the ship being obliterated by the water. Water poured down the stairwell as we bounced off the surface and then stabilized beneath the behemoth wave. The next few seconds were like the climax in a horror movie. I heard multiple people throwing up. At this point, I was becoming more nauseous from the sound and smell of vomit than from the waves. The crew rushed down into the cabin to try to get their buckets full of water. Meanwhile, my 65 percent capsize rate had risen to 90 percent, and I told Ash to be ready to swim and to stay with me no matter what. At this point, we had no phones, no wallets, and no backpacks. I wasn’t sure if the boat had broken in half or if we were taking on water from below as well as from above.
We went over the game plan one last time in between swells: get away from the boat as fast as possible. This thing would be a death trap once it stopped floating, eager to take us down with it. The open water was rough, but we could swim in the water—we couldn’t escape a sinking boat. As we prepared for the worst, I felt the engine slow down. This must be it. I looked out the other window and saw heaven on earth. I saw our island. Well, I’ll be damned…. We’d made it.
We rocked back and forth into the bay at a level that before today would have concerned me, but we were no longer getting air time. I was ecstatic. Ash and I hugged each other and laughed at the fact that we had survived. I would have kissed the dock when we stepped foot off the boat, but someone had just thrown up on it.
When we arrived at our next resort, I was reminded that we’d booked a deluxe suite. This essentially means we paid an extra eighteen dollars a night for a “dirty bed.” I wish it’d meant what you are thinking, but I meant it in the literal sense. I am a neat freak when it comes to our bed. I hate when there is any sand, dirt, or crumbs in it. Our room had a queen bed for us to sleep in and a dirty bed for Ash to keep her clothes on and for us to nap in after the beach. We both took a dirty nap in the dirty bed and slept the stress of our trip away before heading to the beach village for dinner.
At dinner we met an Israeli couple who I could tell we would like. Sivan told us how her husband, Yoav, had stayed up until 3:00 a.m. nightly on this trip to watch his fantasy soccer team. My fucking man. Yoav and Sivan were easy to talk to, and we had great conversations about Israel and the United States. They knew a lot more about the US than we did about Israel, but that is usually how it goes. If the countries of the world were TV shows, the US would be Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Nobody likes their antics, but everyone knows about them.
We taxied home with a sweet Thai woman whose shop sign read GROCERIES, GAS, CLOTHES, AND TAXI. She was an all-purpose lady. Her taxi was simply her personal pickup truck, but we didn’t mind whose car it was. We trusted these people with our lives (which almost came back to bite us in the ass today). When we got home, she didn’t have any change for our large bills, so she smiled and told us to just pay her tomorrow.
Today was probably the most polar day of our trip. We had the absolute lowest of the lows on that ferry, but then we made great friends, experienced kindness and trust in its purest form, and had a resort suite with a dirty bed to come home to. This was what traveling was about: no day was ever the same, and our comfort zone was constantly being blown up. We appreciated life more than usual tonight. We showered and crawled into the clean bed for a good night’s rest.
9/17/15
Ko Pha Ngan, Thailand
I woke up to what I thought was an alarm but was in fact a steady rain hitting our window. Our suite was up on stilts in the jungle with a large porch overlooking the lush island. I never wanted to leave this moment in our comfortable bed in the jungle, receiving a concert from the clouds above.
The jungle rain was a drug for me. It helped me think, it soothed my mind and soul, and it seemed to lower my stress levels. I know some people say that constant rain depresses them, but it has the opposite effect on me. The rain heals me and provides steady background noise for me to calm my thoughts. Ash and I took this opportunity to plan our last week, as there was nowhere else we could go but this breakfast hut on the beach.
Ko Tao would be our last
island, and it was supposed to be the best one. The smallest of the three and the farthest from shore, it was truly a slice of earth in the middle of nowhere. We decided to spoil ourselves and book a really nice place for our final destination. The idea of this being the end depressed Ash immensely. She started to break down a little at the thought of only booking one last Airbnb, so we decided to get off the resort and venture into town.
Our trek required going up a very steep hill in the beginning and then down a steep hill right into town. We could have taxied here, but it was two hundred baht; we preferred to just get two big Changs at the 7-Eleven halfway there for one hundred baht and get some exercise.
It didn’t take long for us to discover that these were some of the strong Changs, and we would be drunker sooner than we wanted to be. You see, Chang Beer, like many other things in Thailand, is unregulated. This means that despite the twenty-one-ounce bottle saying it is only 5 percent alcohol, many can be even twice that amount. With beers in hand, we looked for places to eat. We read restaurant signs until we saw the word hacienda in big letters. My god. Mexican food.
More than burgers, BBQ, steaks, or Bojangles’, we missed Mexican food. I was salivating like a hungry dog as I looked over the menu of quesadillas, nachos, tacos, and burritos. The lone white guy sitting at the bar on his MacBook came over to take our order. He then walked back into the kitchen, relayed the message to a woman, and went back to work on his laptop. I assumed he was the owner.
It wasn’t the best Mexican food we’d ever had, but it still hit the spot and gave us the fix we needed. After dinner, Ash decided to get a pedicure, and I left to get a massage at a different establishment. We split off across the street from each other and pampered ourselves. I say pampered because it had been at least three days since our last massage. This was a long stretch for us. Not compared to the twenty-six-year stretch I’d had before that.