Thailand, part 2 - Tattoos, Elephants and Rainforest

Firstly, let me continue from where I left off by saying every meal aboard the rafthouses was an event. Thai food is so amazing, and authentic, home-cooked Thai food is even better. Spicy as hell though - never EVER ask for it as hot as they eat themselves, or you'll be the proud owner of a new ulcer. From coconut with green curry to fried rice with prawns, they fed us so much I'm amazed we could waddle back to our huts each night. To pass the days we alternated between swimming in or kayaking on the lake, to drowsing at the floating bar in a hammock, to playing cards or (strangely enough) Connect 4. I beat the pants off of our tour guide. At night there was drinking (oh, was there drinking), fireworks, music, dancing, a whiff or two of some special tobacco, and poi.
What are poi, you ask? Don't be impatient, I was just getting to that. Poi are basically a set of weights (like tennis balls) on chains, that loop around your fingers. These are twirled around yourself at high speed, and occasionally are set on fire to wow the gawking tourists. One of our hosts, Mr. Bao (the guy I whupped at Connect 4) was even nice enough to teach me how to use these, and Victoria helped teach as well, as she's a bit of a virtuoso with them herself. This has rapidly become one of my favourite useless skills, and the kids have a shit-fit when I bring them to school.
So anyway, we left our rafthouses after a few days of boat rides and jungle treks, saying goodbye to all our new friends, and we made our way back to a tourist town just outside of park headquarters. This was a cool spot too, with a Rastafarian bar, a fantastic restaurant and a great staff. From our base here, we went out to ride elephants through a local rubber tree plantation, which took us to a tropical waterfall, where we went swimming in the pool below. Later, we went tubing down another river, through some amazing rainforest, and spent that night drinking with the locals and some other tourists at the Rasta Bar.
The next day, Vicoria and I would return to the same place, owned by this really intense guy named Phillipe. His friend was a tattoo artist, and he proceeded to talk us into getting tattoos, but we really didn't need much convincing, as we both wanted Thailand to leave some mark on us. Now these were not just any tattoos either - they were traditional tattoos done with bamboo, the most excruciating thing I've ever exprienced aside from country music. His friend did great work though, and in the end we were all happy. In the picture you'll see me, getting my ink done on my ankle...what you don't see is me wincing and begging for him to be done.
I got a symbol that represents, in the Buddhist faith, connection to the universe. It is read as "ohm", and is what Buddhist monks tend to chant when they meditate. Victoria got this gigantic star design on her foot, and it still amazes me that she didn't pass out from the pain...I was three sheets to the wind and could barely stand it. But then I'm a huge pussy.
The next day, we gathered our belongings and once again stuffed ourselves into a van as we made our way to our next destination, Ao Nang. Our time at Ao Nang was to be split - the first night at a Muslim homestay on a rubber plantation, the second at a hotel near the beach.
After arriving in town, we were given some time to wander around and have lunch (a fantastic roadside Pad Thai, if you're curious). Then we were driven outside of town, into the jungle, and finally onto the plantation. There, we were introduced to our host, a very nice man with a wonderful family, and whose name was far too long for me to have any chance of remembering. Anyway, we got the tour, and watched as his wife and mother cooked us a fantastic meal (sans alcohol, due to the Muslim thing, much to our distress). After dinner we were offered a real treat - our host was going to a Muay Thai boxing match, and the second he asked us along, I was all over that like a fat kid on a Smartie.
The stadium was packed, the fighters were in great shape, and their technique was amazing. The fighters ranged in age from about 8 years old (child protection laws, what are they?!) to about 30. I won't bore you with a blow-by-blow, but as a martial artist I was impressed, and at least one guy had to be dragged from the ring. Unfortunate, but still kind of neat.
Then, it was back to sleep in our bungalow. Sleep however, was not in the cards, due to the rave going on in the jungle next door. The music was good enough, but after lying there all night, wide-eyed and listening to rats scurrying past my bed, I was in what you might call a "murdering mood". As we left our homestay behind I heard the music fade into the distance, but not for the last time...Victoria and I had learned that it as still going on the next night, which just happened to be New Year's Eve...
Stay tuned (again). This was almost three weeks folks, trying to compress it into easy-to-digest chapters takes a bit of time. And yes, the memories are a bit fuzzy. If beer was a dollar a glass, you'd drink too.