KO TAO, Thailand - Mr. J is fond of slogans. They are plastered around his storefront. Some are practical. "Mr. J has the best condoms in the world! Buy 10, Get One Free." "Buy one book from Mr. J, get a free chocolate." Some are whimsical. "Mr. J flight from Ko Tao to Alaska. First flight free!"
Mr. J looks Thai, about 60, with half-grey, half-black cropped hair and a button-down shirt kept open on the chest. When customers enter, he usually shouts at them.
"Hello! Welcome! Buy one book, get one free chocolate! On vacation, spend money no problem. Make Mr. J happy, spend money!"
Mr. J's store and bungalows are the logical place to begin a tour around the tropical island of Ko Tao, a place where white-sand beaches and perfect coral formation have transformed a tiny fishing village into a tourist destination, but not yet enough development to drive the eccentrics out.
Zach, Katy and the rest of our growing cadre of friends went on a snorkel tour today. Snorkeling for me means leaks, salty eyes and desperate attempts to save my glasses from falling into a sea urchin, so I stayed on shore.
I walked out of my cabin on Sairee, the island's biggest and most developed piece of sand. I passed the restaurants where for the past three days I've woofed down chicken basil and fried tofu triangles and peanut sauce. Further on are the bars, where at night I sit propped up by a triangle-shaped pillow with a large bottle of Chang Beer in my right hand, listening to either reggae, jazz-inflected hip-hop, or urban techno and debating whether dreams contain "real" emotions. After a pair of palm trees that craned for nearly 100 feet toward the beach, I was in virgin territory.
I came to the police station, its three desks deserted and the front door unlocked. It's located curiously away from the island's main population centers and nightlife, as if the Thai police would rather not know how the tourist baht is pumped into their country's economy. Next door a general store was open, and a grabbed a strawberry Italian Ice, and I arrived at Mr. J's just in time to throw the wrapped in his wastepaper basket.
I didn't want to be weighed down on my journey, and Mr. J's cheeky calls for money weren't persuasive - "On vacation, spend money no problem! - so I left.
My original aim was to reach to ferry port of Mae Ham and enquire about chartering a longtail boat for an hour, but I followed a concrete road toward the island's interior. Here, as elsewhere on the island, the businesses are a mixture of Thai and European, the foreign ownership always proudly noted in the sign out front. "Livres francais," a creperie boasted; another restaurant claimed to serve Fish n' Chips and "Danish Specialities." Two days ago I had my second terrible oyako donburi - a simple Japanese dish of chicken, egg, onion and rice - of the trip, so I kept walking. Most countries don't export their finest chefs to small Thai islands.
After about a mile I toured onto a small dirt track that promised to reach a beach in 1.5 kilometers. It started flat but soon I was panting and gasping up a steep headwall that separated the main basin of the island from the shore. This road appeared at one time to have been paved but now that had been replaced by coarse sand with deep ruts. After I reached the top and started to descend I ran into a middle-aged American wearing a "Vermont Isn't Flat" T-shirt. He was on a bike ride, and appeared to have reached to the point in the ascent of the hill where one wonders why they are spending their well earned vacation from a high-pay, high-stress job in Maryland (something in finance) to push a set of wheels up a third-world road. Presumably his wife is having a better time back at the hotel pool, cocktail with umbrella in hand.
She wanted to know about China. Is it nice, is it exciting? Yes, but in its own, laid-back way, so is this place.
