Long Thoughts

Well, I think that maybe I'm ready to write about this now. I couldn't face it for a while.

On Saturday of my retreat at Koh Kood, I signed on for a snorkeling trip. I've snorkeled in Thailand before, as what is underwater is magically beautiful there, at least on the west side of the country. This was to be my first snorkel in the South China Sea. The manager of the resort told me that the coral and environment isn't as pretty on this side of the country, but the fish would still be beautiful.

The snorkeling speedboat came to pick me up that morning from the resort's dock. As I got in I noted who was in the boat: two young Thai guys to drive and spot, and about 8 Thai tourists. We stopped by one more resort up the coast, Pirate's Cove, to pick up two more snorkelers. They were a Caucasian couple with tanned and leathery skin, looking pretty spry at 65 to 70 years of age. They struck me as people who have traveled a lot, been in the sun a lot, and swum a lot. I wasn't close enough to pick up on what language they were speaking, but when they spoke to me in English, it sounded like a Scandinavian accent. So I will refer to them as such.

The speedboat took off across the water for a trip of about half and hour to 45 minutes, arriving at a little cove with a beach and several other boats anchored there. I thought this was where we would snorkel.

As they cut the engine, the snorkeling company lads taking care of us spoke in Thai to the tourists. I was getting changed into my snorkeling shirt (I burn fairly easily; dressing up to snorkel is a really good idea) and missed whatever instructions they gave in English. When I asked what was happening, the older lady said, "We learn how to snorkel here."

Sure enough, the boat guys were showing the Thai tourists how to prepare the snorkeling mask and put it on, how to use the mouthpiece, and so on. I saw the Scandinavian couple get their gear on and go right into the water and start snorkeling. The Thai tourists had put on the life jackets provided in the boat. I hesitated, knowing myself to be a good swimmer and veteran snorkeler. But administration has trained me well to over-protect against risk, so I put on the life jacket provided me, grabbed my snorkel and mask, and went in.

I didn't notice what the Thai tourists were doing during this time. I figured they were practicing and trying to get familiar with the idea of floating in the water, breathing, and so on. The older couple and I swam from the boat into the bay and were looking around at the underwater life. There were hoards of beautiful sea urchins down there with long spines and little dots on them, and some fish, but nothing as lush and rich as I've seen on the west side of Thailand.

Photo found here: http://www.theweddingtravelers.com/tag/54/index.html

At one point I noticed that the Scandinavian man who was swimming near me, was heading back. I raised my head and saw one of the boat guys beckoning to me.  Time to swim back, get in the boat, and go to where the "real" snorkeling would be.

I was feeling pretty happy, looking forward to a couple of hours with the fish and coral. This was going to be way better than a walk in a pretty park on a Saturday afternoon. It was good to be in my swimming suit and wet, good to have a snorkel and mask, good to be headed back into the water shortly.

We didn't have far to go. In just five minutes the boat inched its way to anchor near a small outcropping off the island. There were lots of people in the water from other snorkeling groups.What a fun prospect! I couldn't wait to join them.

"Do I need to wear the life vest?" I asked the boat guy, looking for permission to shuck mine.  He nodded yes. The couple hadn't put theirs on, but after the boat guy had nodded in response to my question, I figured I'd just keep it on. I gave one of the boat guys my camera to get some pictures of me in the water, grabbed my snorkel and fins, and jumped in. 

As I put my fins on I noticed a lot of stuff brushing against me and was quite startled, as you can see in the photo above (Click on the photo to get the full effect of my surprised face.). Fish were swarming all around me! Then I realized that the boat guy had just tossed them some bread, and thus the frenzy. They weren't coming for me, and I relaxed. 

Notice that the Scandinavian guy happened to be in the photo just a few feet away from me. It was the last picture of him alive. 

I swam off, looking at the fish--which were varied, colorful and plentiful--for 4 or 5 minutes. Then I heard a commotion and lifted my head. About ten meters from the boat there were people calling for help. At first it was just the sound of someone trying to get attention of the boat guys, but then the tone quickly turned frantic. I saw one of the lads throw a life preserver out to the little group of people in the water and pull someone toward the boat. Then I saw the older man being hauled into the boat, his wife climbing in next.

This was worrisome. Swimming closer to the boat to get a look, I was taken aback to see someone straddling the guy on the floor of the boat, pumping up and down on his chest. CPR. Should I go and try to help? My CPR training is at least 20 years old. I am not medical. I should probably stay out of their way. Not knowing what to do, I decided it was best to not be a looky-loo. I snorkeled off a little ways, worrying and not noticing much about the fish anymore.

Something got my attention, and I looked up. It was one of the boat lads gesturing at me to swim back and get in the boat. The other people from our boat were being called in, too. We hauled ourselves in and found our seats along the side, with the man on the floor right at our feet and a woman from another boat doing CPR. "1-2-3-4," she counted off, pausing, and then again: "1-2-3-4."  Over and over, strong compressions that were almost bouncing his body. Once or twice she hit the guy in the chest, hard. From time to time she or one of the boat guys would reach out and check for the man's pulse, and then continue. I noticed yellow gunk on the floor by the man's head; apparently they'd gotten something out of his airway before starting. There was conversation in Thai, and the lady doing the CPR handed off the task to one of the snorkeling boat lads, looking distressed, got back in her dinghy and shoved off. Our speedboat driver cranked up the engine and we sped off.

In the meantime I was worried about the man's wife, who was sitting there in shock, looking on. I took her hand and held it, trying to give comfort. "What happened?" I asked as calmly as I could.

"He drowned."

"Drowned?" I was shocked. That sounded like "dead."

"He called to me and said, 'I'm in trouble,' and then he drowned."

I didn't know what to say to that. I looked down at where the boat guy was pumping her husband's chest. "Should someone be breathing for him?" I asked.

"I don't know," she said. But shortly she got down on the floor, bent over her husband and started breathing after each count of 4.

"1-2-3-4" the boat guy would call out, and then "Breathe!" and she would breathe into her husband's mouth. Again and again. Over and over, "1-2-3-4, Breathe!" for the half hour or so that it took us to speed across the water back to our island.

We were all in shock, from the looks on the faces around me. We were trying not to watch; it was upsetting and there was nothing we could do. The woman curled around her husband's head, her head down as she breathed in on the count, and the boat guy keeping a frantic and ongoing pace with the chest compressions. Is the count of 4 correct? I wondered. Shouldn't it be a count of 5 with two breaths? Well, the boat guys must be trained, and it's a long time since I had my training, so maybe it's changed. And anyhow I don't know if 4 or 5 compressions really matter when you're trying to get someone revived. At one point I looked down and saw blood all around the man's mouth. Punctured lung, I thought. They hit him so hard in the chest, I'm sure they broke his ribs trying to shock his heart back into beating.

I think we all knew he wouldn't revive, deep down. After an impossibly long ride, we got back to Pirate's Cove where the tiny island ambulance was waiting. As they put the man on a backboard to carry him up the pier to the ambulance, I handed a bottle of water to his exhausted wife, to wash the blood off from around her mouth and nose. I didn't know anything to say, except, "There's still some on your nose, over here."  And then she was gone to accompany her husband's body to the hospital.

As the ambulance left I looked at the young guy who had been doing the CPR all the way back. He, too, was exhausted, shaking, hyperventilating. He shook his head several times, trying not to cry but not doing well. No one was talking with him. I went over and patted him on the shoulder. "You did good work," I said.  "Thank you."

"It's first time," he said, voice full of tears. "First time I do that."

"You did well," I said. "Thank you so much for trying."

And then several of us in the group, men and women, were swallowing hard and rubbing our eyes. We stood there on the pier for a minute, most of us looking down. And then the boat driver said something and the Thai tourists started getting back in the boat.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Back to resort," said the driver, apologetically.

"Thank you," I said. "That's where I want to go."

Mine was the first stop. As I stepped onto the dock I found myself waving at those who had shared my experience in the boat, and they were waving back. It seemed odd and right at the same time, waving goodbye. One of the resort workers, a woman who spoke English and who had arranged my snorkeling trip, was coming down the hill, a look of concern on her face about my early return. And then I started crying.

The resort manager called the hospital after hearing my story, and they confirmed that the man died of drowning (there's no HIPPAA confidentiality in Thailand). I suspect he had a heart attack and then went under, but I'll never know. Who knows whether wearing a life vest would have helped or not.

That evening I took a walk on the beach and watched the sunset. I thought about the man who wasn't seeing this sunset, although he woke up that day assuming that he would. I thought of his wife, and how she was suddenly alone out here on this remote island miles off the coast, having to figure out some kind of arrangements for the "what next." I thought of her replaying the scene over and over in her mind, probably frantic about what went wrong.

And I thought about what if that had been me lying on the floor of the boat, drowned and not responding to CPR. What would have been important to me if I'd had a flash of reflection before I was gone? Would I have wanted my life in the last 10 years to be spent on what I've spent it on? What is really valuable? What counts as a worthwhile life?

There is so much not worth spending one's life on, so much junk and ugliness between people that we put up with instead of demanding something better of our short lives. There are so many ways in which we just let time slide by without grabbing on, squeezing the best out of life, living for meaning rather than just existing or blithely pursuing our momentary whims and adventures. We settle for inertia rather than making a move to take care of what really matters. And what really matters is a very slim set of things indeed, considering that we are like grass that withers and blows away and is forgotten.

These are long, long thoughts. I have a different perspective after this experience, and it will strongly influence decisions I make. It must.

Trek Into the Interior

Today I thought I'd make a little jaunt toward the interior of the island. On a map I'd noted that there is a temple not too far away. About midday I folded up my little map and stuck it in my pocket, grabbed my camera, and headed out past the resort's little beach where everything was looking idyllic.

I passed the colorful kayaks waiting to be taken out to sea. They look kind of fun, but I've not availed myself of them; I'd probably be tired of paddling by the time I got to the end of the pier, especially if I didn't have company, which I don't.

Just past the kayaks you take the stairs up to the land's-end of the pier. Handy.

Turning left, I found that the road leading away from the beach is cement. Cement! I haven't been on a cement road for a very long time. The road led through a coconut grove, which contained not much other than coconut trees and ant hills.

Once through the coconut grove, the road led up a hill. Spying this big, spreading tree, I was quite certain that it must be a spirit tree. It just looked like the ones I'd seen in my childhood.

Sure enough, pinned to the tree were signs that someone believes the tree has some spiritual significance. I didn't see offerings or joss sticks, though.

A little ways further, there was the temple. I was disappointed to see that it was still being built. When it's done there will be a great deal more ornamentation and beauty to this structure, likely including a brightly colored geometric design in the roof tiles.

There's a gateway over the road near the temple. I am reminded of the pleasing whirls and flame-like shapes of Buddhist art in Thailand, showing their particular love for gold.

Entering the grounds of the temple I saw, among other things, a shrine that obviously celebrates reincarnation. I sat on the bench across from it for a while, and considered peacefully and gratefully how much more meaningful my life is because I don't believe in this endless wheel of life. The shrine was pretty, though.

Over to one side of the grounds was a restaurant, which looked empty. And in one of the buildings, by a window, sat a Buddhist monk in his saffron robes; on the steps of another mold-stained building sat another. The monk in the window tried to get my attention to come over, but I wasn't up for interaction. I thought monks were supposed to avoid, women, anyhow. What's up with that?

Across the road was the crematorium. We had a much more ornate one across from our house in Phuket when I was a little girl. This one had blackening around its metal door from the smoke of past cremations.

In another corner was a tower with a lovely gabled roof on it, and a drum and bell hanging under the eaves. I don't recall how the Buddhists use a drum of this size. I do remember the bell, though, particularly in connection with funerals.

Any good Buddhist in Thailand will have a spirit house in their yard. Walking past a house down the road, I saw this nice little collection of spirit houses and offering tables.

I was talking with someone this last weekend about how Christianity doesn't make much of a dent in Thailand. They explained that Thai people have constant rituals and daily activities connected with Buddhist belief and temple life, whereas Christianity has typically only engaged people at their church one day a week. The rituals and customs of Buddhism have put roots deep into the souls of the people here, and change is very difficult. I've found myself thinking a number of times this past week about how Christianity could or would adjust to Thai culture and become more a part of daily life. Having been gone from here for many years, it's very hard for me to imagine the answers to a question like this, in context. I continue to ponder.

Once I reached the temple, I decided to walk a little further, to the nearest town ... if it could be called that. Judging by this little billboard, they're clearly very proud of their little hospital on this island. Thailand is a country of traditions, and they have maintained the same nursing uniforms that have been around for well over 50 years. No patterned scrubs for these nurses!

The information for the resort where I'm staying says that you can pay for a massage by experts trained at the local hospital. I'm intrigued to think of the hospital as a training center for masseuses.

I was walking along very, very slowly in the heat; nevertheless, by the time I reached this gas station and shops two kilometers from the resort, I was dripping with sweat almost as if I'd been in a shower. I admit it: I stopped in at the little shop for an ice cream bar.

Outside the gas station was a billboard showing the island. The resort where I'm staying is about halfway up the left side, where you see the T-shaped pier jutting out into the water toward the southwest.

It was time to turn around. I headed back the way I came, enjoying the flora (I've left those photos out of this post) and typical Thai dwellings along the way.

It's always exciting when you get close to the ocean and catch the first glimpse of it beyond the coconut trees. I remember that delight from my childhood. The beach is simply my favorite place at which to arrive!

"Shantaa" is a Hindi word that means "tranquility." And it certainly has provided me with that. I'm so glad I came here!

Finally, back to the beach where there are breezes and blue water! This location is in front of the food stall on the other side of the pier from the resort.

I'm highly amused by the cleverness of the Thai owners of the resort; they did well with punning the name of the bar down by the beach where you can order drinks and check out your beach towels and toys.

Ordering drinks? What a great idea! I ended my trek to the interior by treating myself, at Shantaa Bar Bara, to a choco-oreo shake. Sweet!

A Few Steps on the Beach

Well, it's time for me to take you along on a little jaunt to the beach, just downhill from my Sweet.

First off, let's get the obligatory photo of moi out of the way. I had a lovely Thai lady take this while I was doing my morning beach walk today. Picturesque setting, no?

Just to the left of the resort is a long pier where the activity goes on all day. I think it quiets down at night.  There's not much beach at all between the resort and the pier; the beach begins in earnest after you walk up the stairs to the jetty, and cross the road, and go down the stairs on the other side.

But first, I must show you the sea almond leaves on this side of the pier, where the sun-worshiping guests of the resort hang out all day and turn brown, or red, as the case may be.

Early in the mornings it's been fairly overcast with a very calm sea. But the clouds from the pier were gorgeous with the morning light on them yesterday. Can you spot the little piece of rainbow on the left edge of that part of the cloud that sticks up higher? That was my gift yesterday morning.

Here. Now you can see it a bit better!

Okay, now we're on the other side of the pier. The sand is fairly course and, as a British lady observed with some umbrage as she passed me on the beach this morning, "a bit dirty." In other words, there's a  moderate amount of trash that's washed in from the sea. But not enough to spoil a morning walk for me.

See? It's really quite lovely, when you look at it in the afternoon sunlight. You can walk a short kilometer down the beach before you get to a rocky outcropping which I decided was impassable after climbing a little ways on it, barefoot. I managed to get a little cut in my heater-grill scar on the bottom of my foot. That wasn't the issue; it was the big spaces between the rocks and the amount of clambering that would have had to be done to get around the point to the next beach.

A ways down the beach are a couple of coconut groves, reminding me of the endless groves along the beaches in Phuket when I was a kid.

And this morning, there was that hard-working monkey again, heading up the tree to harvest more coconuts for his intrepid master. Or was it the monkey who was intrepid? No matter. The lively little fellows both seemed rather absorbed in their tasks.

It was high tide in the morning as I walked along. The casuarina tree needles provide a frilly frame to the point that juts out just past the resort.

Here's my turning-around spot.

And there, right in front of my turning-around spot is a guy enjoying the morning stillness from his kayak. It was still a bit overcast from last night's rain-and-lightning storm.

I looked down and saw these two little fishies mirroring each other's posture as they pointed out to sea. Yep, they're under water. At first I thought they were lizards, and they made me think of fish growing legs and walking out onto the land. Me and Darwin. Just to be transparent, I'm not one of his buds, even if I see some of his points.

Partway back up the beach I saw this guy out checking his nets. I wondered if he was fishing for tourists, for the market, or for his breakfast.

By the way, just after I saw this guy I doffed my caftan and went for a little swim. The water was never deeper than my shoulders, at least where I swam, and it was clear as could be. I noticed lots of funny little "coiled rope" formations on the sand on the bottom. Turns out it's some kind of animal dwelling. It looks kind of like they pooped out a coil of sand, with a hole in the middle, shaped like a Utah beehive (you know, the ones that are on all their road signs). I don't know if they were made by crabs, or some kind of shell, or [yikes] a water snake of some sort. Everyone was staying home this morning.

Yesterday's walk brought the gift of the rainbow in the clouds. This morning's walk brought me five more gifts. From left to right: A top shell, a pretty orangey bivalve, a cowrie, a limpet, and another cowrie. Pretty, huh? I hope it's not a crime to bring them home with me.

Coming back to where the tourists soak up the sun by the little beach at our resort, here's a long-lasting couple watching the sunset last night. So far this island hasn't dished up what you'd call spectacular sunsets, but they're not shabby, either.

And while the lamps of the night sky come on with the approach of darkness, I leave you with a picture of the pretty lamps down at the hut where you check out kayaks and towels and such. I have decided that lamps are much prettier when hung in groupings. And there's probably an object lesson in there somewhere, but I shall leave it at that.