Cameron highlands in Malaysia are famous for the tea estates that an industrious scotsman created almost a century ago. These little bushes were originally planted through his vision, rising only two feet or so, and rolling over the hillsides like little waves of deep green tea (sea?) leaves. The hills are covered by the mists, only interrupted by the stray strawberry grow-op. The plantation makes all things tea, for example tea"cino" like a cappucino only milder. There are zip lines hanging over the estate, for workers to send bloated bags of leaves down the hills to the factory, where the equipment from 80 years ago still chugs and spits the leaves into fine powder.
Koh Chang is a small island in eastern Thailand, with roads like a ride at the exhibition grounds. The idea to rent a scooter initially conjured statistics about how more tourists die in MVA than any other cause, but realizing these leggo vehicles can go only 40 km/h at full throttle alleviated those fears quickly. or should I say not so quickly... Our helmets were like eggshells in bright easter shades of pink and blue, and not much thicker. We grabbed a quick ice coffee for the road and head down. and then up. and then down. The twists of the pavement are so complex, the mirrors at the pinnacle of the turn simply confuse the driver straining to complete a greater-than-ninety degree curve. But the reward is the most spectacular sunset, dropping like a red chinese lantern over the small islands in the distance. With the added bonus of a few hours away from the europeans who have descended in shiny blond (Timotei? do they still make that stuff?), tatooed droves to our paradise.
Bangkok never sleeps. or at least it sleeps in shifts, and the call schedule is not so desirable. We have arrived back into the smoggy parade after a long bus ride. There is a line of mattresses with mismatched frayed towels stretching across the parking area of a Shell gas station. The station itself has become a bar, with a bright pink VW van with its roof hacksawed off selling cheap liquor. Jack Johnson, the new Bob Marley of the gringo set, hums in waves over Kao san road. We lie on adjacent mattresses, and young thai girls plaster orange-smelling whipped concoctions over our face, apply a mud mask, and finish it off by spooning cucumbers over our fresh complexions. The facials take almost an hour, including the rubbing and pulling of our tired features, and cost less than eight dollars. The tuktuks putting by with neon brakes at eye level, the fake Victoria Beckham jean stalls, the massproduced dredlocks that can be applied to any length hair, the beer tubs that stand three feet tall, the banana pancake skillets (or mango with sticky rice, more my taste), the young thai girls with their old white men, the constant chatter of indian teens trying to entice you into their tailoring shops which promise "armani" suits in 24 hours... all of it melts away for a time. Then it all accosts you in bleats and whines when you leave the incongruous gas station. Time to eat. that will cost about a dollar, and is certain to be one of the best meals you've ever had, with lemongrass, basil, and ginger lingering on the tongue for hours.
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