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Land lovers

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The sky was a beautiful blue, the water super turquoise, and we were green. We had breakfast on our live-aboard snorkeling boat, which ended with our guide passing around a Dramamine, even taking one himself to emphasize this was a good idea. We went along, but an hour later wondered if we’d received placebos or expired pills.
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Though the crossing to the Similan Islands left an impression, the islands themselves were more remarkable. We saw moray eels, cuttlefish, sea stars, a flirtatious sea turtle or two, barracuda, needlefish, parrotfish, angelfish and many colorful more. I missed my parents who are snorkeling aficionados, and when I tried to take pics for them I nearly killed my iPhone. Seems waterproof cases require more careful closing than what my excited state allowed.
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Our boat held 17 passengers and 5 crew. Had my father seen our sleeping berths, he would have said “like hell!” and swam to the luxury yacht at the next mooring. But he might have liked chatting with the four Swedish grandparents there with their children and 4 grandchildren, one of whom was a young Brigitte Bardot.

The Similans reportedly means 9 islands in Yawi, a Thai/Malaysian language. Three islands are closed for conservation, which is wise given the boat traffic at some others. Island four belongs to the Thai princess and is closed to the public when she is in residence; perhaps she heard the Mosquitos were in residence, so we were allowed to visit and see the whitest beaches, fruit bats, and more crystal clear water.
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No demo was needed for Dramamine on the way home; T doubled down. Though we looked forward to a long shower and just land, we were glad for our sea adventure.

The scary, hairy spider…

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…climbed up our cabin wall.

“Can you come over here?” The jellyfish incident should have told me that a calm request was his version of a distress signal. Armed with a basket and paper, he would take it out and my job was to man the door to make sure nothing else got in. Yet I found myself distracted thinking of the Brady Bunch episode with the scary tarantula in Hawaii.

The experience taught me Eco cabins aren’t for us. Bear Grylls will have to wait a while. But who knows, maybe we will be eating that spider fried up later in the trip.

Our Eco stay was a one night stand before a 3 day snorkeling tour. Snuggled into our insect repellent liners, we got some zzzs.

No jellyfish vaccine

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I wavered in the morning. I’d been back and forth on booking a tour to a nearby lake. The main tour went through the jungle and then to an elephant park, and the more obscure tour went to the lake, was a longer drive and a bit pricier. Plus the sudden rains of yesterday made me question being on a raft in the lake.

My groundhog felt a repeat was the way to go. The private cabana called him and the prospect of an all you eat sushi lunch in town. Sold. We may end up being terribly boring to follow if we keep doing the same things, but there’s something freeing about not needing to see everything. And as our innkeeper pointed out, there will be plenty of new experiences open to us when we come back!

After a long walk on the beach, we returned to the cabanas and a wave riding adventure. Then it was off to lunch, and though unlimited, the chef put such care into each sushi that T almost ran out for a snack between orders! Fresher seafood couldn’t be found, and the restaurant included the fancy Japanese toilet experience in their bathroom, no extra charge.

The day still had new experiences to offer. On our third dip in the sea of the day, we opted for more of a swim. Fifteen minutes in, T calmly mentioned he thought a jellyfish got him, so he was getting out! On the shore, we found several whiplash marks and sought help at a resort. Resort 1 had few English speakers and resort 2 had an angel who announced: “Ah, jellyfish. You need vinegar, have a seat.” She came back and blushingly showed me how to use a drink coaster to scrape T’s abs to make sure stingers were out and apply vinegar. But the glass was more than half full as it was happy hour at the resort bar with 2-for-1 specials, so we were able to get pain medication of the mojito variety. Very soothing. And upon returning to the inn, WebMD validated everything the young lady did (though no specific mention of mojitos). Contrary to your inevitable advice, web MD said I was not to pee on T, not just because of the twister game which would have been required.

All about new experiences. I knew I’d learn a few things on this trip, and good to know one is that the husband is quite calm in distressing situations. As I’m likely up next, I warned him I will be swearing up a storm when the jelly dares approaching.

Like rabies, I’m confident everyone has a jellyfish story, and now T is in the game.

To market, to market

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While we had admired many a BBQ lobster at local restaurants, we weren’t looking to become ones ourselves. So we sought the beach and shade, and found heaven at a little restaurant/bar which seemingly does less daytime business. In other words, we had a near private shaded cabana, beers and private swimming at the Andaman sea. No German tourists nor clouds in sight, and no complaints from us.

With a few lunch options in mind, we ended up with late lunch at a yummy spot featuring cuisine from Northeast Thailand. This has made us excited well in advance for Laos, as it was delicious. A knowing waitress advised us on two rather than three peppers, and suggested the other dish may be more salty than we were accustomed to having. Though T was thoroughly pleased with his meal, he found a second stomach when he saw the market setting up.

The Saturday market is for locals and foreigners, and sells prepared foods, fruits, clothes, spices and probably much more. “Let’s just look,” I heard, and a pork satay, coconut water and mango sticky rice later, there was a plan of attack laid out for later. A power nap was needed between meals, and the tragedy of our day came when downpours prevented the return to the market. At least we had our sticky rice. Gather ye roses while ye may. Seize the day, boys.

Just Phuket

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A SIM card, a seafood dish and a humid summery night marked our arrival in Phuket. The next morning started with a swim and a second forray to street restaurants. We’ll have what they are having, we told ma, plus an omelet to be safe.  A stroll around the area revealed coffee shops, construction of a fancy charter flights terminal, and a vendor driving with literally a pig’s face on offer.

We were suppose to be off to a remote island, but we read it might rain and read a review of a fellow traveller having to wade with their bag through the mangroves; suddenly we were rebooked to Khao Lak whose past weather made it famous as the tsunami survival town.

Turns out Thais drive on the left, which I associate with having been colonized. But this kingdom has its own ways, its own king and his picture around to prove it.  We arrived in the middle of the three Khao Lak towns to a lovely auntie with a warm manner to match the warm day.  Her inn has been here 4 years, the tsunami was here 10 years ago, and aside from the tsunami warning signs, I’m not sure I would have known.  An English newspaper had an article on how the tsunami warning app is still only available in Thai, which I relayed to T as his potential volunteer project.  I still had questions about how the large trees survived, whether there was a Thai FEMA that facilitated the regrowth and how locals viewed their present safety.  But I always have questions.

T had answered his own with the help of his friend Google. Apparently, the prophet Mohammed deemed dogs unclean and those who touch them as needing to wash seven times, which was why we enjoyed cats’ company in Dubai.  However Buddha seems to have no such concerns, and T walked with some vaccination confidence as dogs followed, including a mom with 5 pups.
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I will leave out beach details today out of respect for the readers in the deep freeze!

Accounting for taste

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After early morning (4:30? 5am?) reading and a failed FaceTime home, breakfast beckoned. We re-upped the cost analysis game. We could have the hotel breakfast buffet, get street food for breakfast (which proved elusive at 7am) or go back to the lemonade art hotel. When we arrived, the waiter asked what room we were in as we seemed so familiar. Indeed we had been back for lemonades yesterday, and their cat even knew us. I’ve been told you can’t step in the same river twice, and yet here I was at the banks.

What we saved in breakfast we are losing in airport transfers. When T heard our friendly auntie innkeeper-to-be’s voice, he could not say no to her offer to arrange transport though he had an email with a cheaper quote. In the calculus of ahead and behind, we are still ahead as we are healthy, exploring and not in zero degree weather. And I have a husband so brilliant that he made me believe it was the potential long lines in lieu of my actual fear of heights (thanks Dad) that took the Burj Kalifa off our must-do list.

Our last Dubai stop was the museum just opposite our actual hotel. It represented Dubai perfectly, with a made to look old section visible above, and a gleaming modern, high tech, exit through the gift shop below. It suggested the prior ruler’s efforts to dredge the creek to allow larger and larger boats paved the way for his son’s modernization plans. We were tempted by the camel milk chocolates at the gift shop, but T was saving his dirhams for more date almond chocolates at the airport (with his supply having disappeared magically last night).

Since I started out mentioning accounting for taste, allow me to digress on the fashion here in the boarding area for a 8 hour flight. Though we are flying from 70 degree climate to the 80-90 degree zone, some are still glued to winter jackets. Others feel jean shorts are the most comfortable attire for 8 hours on a plane. Eyeglasses are in, murses seem to be making a comeback and rolling bags are out. Plus there are a lot of lucky children racking up passport stamps. I am praying Frozen is available on the flight, ideally cycling through three times before we land. And I would be willing to bet all our breakfast gains that there is not a single Emirati national on this plane. Emirates airline seems to have embraced Dubai’s style, hiring its own muezzin to perform the call to prayer in its terminal, while also requiring its flight attendants to wear the reddest lipstick.

Thailand awaits….

Something fishy

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We decided to try the souk markets as they are more traditional than the malls. And the most traditional of the souks? Why the fish market of course! Blue crab, red crab, lobster, shrimps of every variety. “Come, boss. Try this!” Vendors kept approaching T, but as the only woman in sight I was the fish out of water. An eager handshake of a vendor left us wondering how Purell hadn’t been a part of our outing. There were easily 10 rows with 20 salesmen each, and a second section where 40 men waited to slice and dice your fish. And they wonder why there might be 2x as many men to women here in Dubai. The adjoining fruit and date market was less intimidating, so allowed me to get my camera out.

A gold souk and a spice souk later, we caught an abra, a traditional wooden shuttle ferry. Men jumped on and off with ease, I claimed my seat paying 1 dirham (about a quarter) for our shuttle. A pretty efficient system, minus a few fumes.

I led us on a wild goose chase for a lunch that turned out to be mostly oil and some chicken. T balanced things out with a new found Arab delight – and almond wrapped in a date wrapped in chocolate. Oh my!

To reunite with the fish and to redeem my lunch pick, we had a seafood dinner. Our last dinner in Dubai, as Thailand calls.wpid-img_20150108_012444.jpg

Lemonade

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The minaret chants woke us up, calling many to prayer and having us recall we were far from home We started our day a skip away from our hotel, with breakfast at an art hotel in the historic old Dubai. In a peaceful courtyard with refreshing mint lemonade, we contemplated ditching our mall plans for our Kindles and countless lemonades. But as our time to explore was limited, we pressed on.

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Thanks to a speedy, clean metro with Chihuly-like chandeliers, we arrived at the Dubai mall readily. The metro offered to drop us at over 5 different malls in its main line, but as this mall was near the Burj Kalifa skyscraper, the fountains and had the indoor aquarium, it seemed like the “must see.” Turns out as suspected, we aren’t mall peeps. We had no room in our backpacks for the offerings from Dior kids, Kate Spade, the Cheesecake Factory, and the infinite designer stores at our disposal. At a glance, the children’s play space was doing the best business. That is until you went outside where fellow tourists engaged in all sorts of yoga to capture their companions and the whole Burj skyscraper. No selfie stick was long enough for this challenge! From here we forged forward with must sees, making the decision to head over to Palm Jumeirah, the man made island which indeed looks like a palm
tree from the sky. From our monorail view, it looked like more construction in this Vegas/Disney land. So we did what one would expect – got Starbucks, Wi-Fi, and briefly chilled until the next monorail back.

Back at old Dubai and our hotel, we realized we are more suited for Kindles and lemonades than Karl Lagerfeld and cheesecake.

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No stamp for Iran

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After a literally bumpy start on an otherwise smooth 787, we were finally off. We drifted between old TV shows (Original Battlestar Galactica) and naps. By 3 pm Dubai time (6 am Boston time), we decided it best to stay up, and wished a snoring neighbor had the same idea! We opened the window for a stunning mountain view which went on and on. Our plane map indicated we were over Iran, and indicated Erbil and Tabriz weren’t far off. Later, we were able to identify Urmia, Iran as the lakeside town we’d admired from above. Some call it The Paris of Iran. No wonder I liked it!
As fate would have it, we strolled from our Dubai hotel to a nearby Iranian restaurant where we were ushered to a back family dining area. We dined on delicious grilled meats, breads and yogurt sauce. It made Urmia seem even more intriguing.

But since we are in Dubai, we’ll hit the malls and buildings tomorrow, and leave Iranian dreams on hold until Pardis or Mojdeh give a green light.

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