Koh Tao, Part I : Koh Tao

I've been to the Samui islands at least a half-dozen times since my first trip down from Chiang Mai on my birthday seven months ago, but the awe in that initial jaw-dropping peek outside my plane porthole as I descended to paradise still hasn't and will never diminish. A 100-ft. tall, Indian-legged albino Buddha welcomes all travelers from the apex of a tall, slender limestone mountain overlooking the piers and airport. Just past his hospitable gaze and precipitous perch lies Samui, a jungle-covered nexus to white-sand beaches, swaying coconut trees, and coral reefs covered by liquid turquoise; an eye-friendly onslaught of blues and greens. I couldn't wait to get off the plane and frolic, but I still had the landing to get through.

I don't doubt the aptitude of Thai pilots up in the air, but when that landing gear comes down, all bets are off. It's like the landing strip becomes just another Thai highway, and the plane just another tuk-tuk. In other words, balls to the pedal, and very little brake until the very abrupt end. I don't think they even bother using those little flaps that come up on the wings to slow the descent. Anyhow, my bitching aside, we landed unsafely and sound.

I think I mentioned earlier that I was meeting a Spanish woman, named Amelie, who I met in Santitham. She's a thirty-something physical therapist from outside of Madrid, who was in Chiang Mai to get a leg up in the massage industry. She was a nice enough woman, though because of her all day classes at the massage school we didn't spend a whole lot of time together past chance encounters at the breakfast table and whenever she needed someone for homework. We took separate flights down to the islands, and as I saw her waiting at the taxi stand for me, I already regretted agreeing to accompany her. A few mornings before we flew south, we were eating breakfast together in Santitham's main house, watching the Presidential debates, and discussing our foreign thoughts on the state and future of the human plight. And as we talked at length, our conversation inevitably turned into a comparison of the American people with those of the rest of the world (namely Europeans), and her particular views seemed particularly callous towards Americans, despite the fact that there was a very polite and quite humble (if I do say so myself) American sitting right in front of her, who contradicted most, if not all, the negative things she had to say about America (disrespectful, self-righteous, pretentious). And as I came upon her at the airport, here she was spewing vehement Spanish and English with short, frustrated bursts of attempted Thai at the attendant, over something that seemed completely out of the attendant's control or concern. At this point, I don't remember thinking, "Let me go be of assistance," but instead that maybe I should've just kept walking by, uninterested in throwing in with a traveler who lost her cool so readily. But she caught sight of me and beckoned me over; I asked her what was up. Turns out the dive resort we had checked out online failed to send us the transportation it had promised on its website. I'm sure she thought my rolling eyes were intended for the missing cab, or maybe the attendant she just spit out of her mouth. "Well," I told her,"I'm sure they just haven't shown up yet. We can either wait or just grab one of these songtaews like everyone else." Then I asked the attendant how much they were to the pier.
"100 Baht."
"You're kidding? Well, I don't know about you, Amelie, but I can afford a ride for $3 right this second," I said, sweat already dripping down my butt-crack, just from standing out on that curb.

I started walking in the direction of the nearest truck, and she reluctantly followed. I slung my pack up to the driver on the roof and scrambled into the back with six other people. After a bumpy ride along a dirt-road that criss-crossed goat farms and coconut groves, we made it to the pier just in time to catch the boat to Koh Tao, about forty miles away from the main Samui island. An hour and a half later, as I stood at the bow of the belching ferry that took us that last stretch, cold can of Leo grasped firmly, and the much smaller island of Koh Tao came into view, I saw dozens and dozens of teak wood bungalows scattered slip shod over every jungle-covered hillside, overlooking tiny villages at every half-mile of beach, home to fire-twirlers who were starting to practice their ludicrous dance for bbq later that night, the huge fires from which they borrowed, at that moment grilling copious amounts of shrimp, tuna, serpent-fish, snapper, shark and New Zealand steak, multi-colored lanterns coming alight overhead and women frolicking in the lackadaisical surf below. But nothing from that sense-orgy could keep from looking straight down, at the wraith-like reefs and blue-green depths I would soon be plunging.