2008: Kho Phayam (Thailand)

2008 Kho Phayam

It is the hottest part of the day. We walk into one of the mini marts for a cold drink but we can't find the refrigerator section. Turns out that's because there is none. We've obviously forgotten where we are. Refrigeration requires electricity, and we are on an island.

No problem, we grab a cold-ish bottle of water from an ice chest and I watch our stuff in front of the store in the shade while Logan goes off in search of a motorbike.

He comes back ten minutes later looking hot and irritated. This doesn't look good, I'm thinking. "A guy tried to take my passport!" he says.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I was going to rent a motorbike from him. I thought he just wanted to look at it for the paperwork and then he grabbed it out of my hand and stuck it in his safe. He didn't want to give it back!"

He says a few other choice words which I won't repeat here.

"I went to another one and they tried to do the same thing. I'm not giving them my passport." We sit in silence a moment.

Hmm, I think. This is not going well. We agree to take motorbike taxis instead. Maybe tomorrow we'll rent one from there. We grab two guys on motorbikes, pile our stuff on, and start putting down the street. I can't help but laugh as Logan looks warily at his driver. The seat is pretty small for the two of them. I'm guessing that guys don't like riding on the back while another guy drives. "I promise not to take pictures," I call out to him.

"Thanks," he says, and we go putting off down one of the two roads. The artificial breeze does wonders for our morale. We ride slowly along a pock marked slab of concrete about six feet in width, passing below lush green canopies full of exotic flowers, past orchards of asian pears and jackfruit trees. I snap as many pictures as I can of Logan clinging on to the rear hand hold. We come to the end of the paved road and keep going right into the sand, pulling out onto a gorgeous four kilometer long sweep of white sand beach. Our drivers ride side by side just off the edge of the surf where the sand is solid until we arrive at a perfect grove of tropical trees with a perfect assortment of bamboo bungalows nestled discretely within them. Never mind the warm drinks and passport thieves, we are completely restored