Wow. It’s been a whirlwind of weeks on the beach. Or at least it was. We’re currently in Cambodia nowhere near the beach, but we’re a bit behind on the blog so we’re playing a bit of catch up. We’ve pretty much been on the road, or the sea, or the dirt track, or the train track for that matter for the last 2 months. In fact we’ve almost been on every mode of transport imaginable (bar anything that flies or hovers).
From Khao Sok we took a local bus to Krabi Town and then a long tail boat to a beach called Raileh. It’s on the mainland, but you can only get there by boat. That and the fact that it’s surrounded by magnificent karst formations help to create a bit of an island illusion which is really cool.
Raileh is a strange little place. It has two sides to it, East and West. We had heard that East belonged to the backpackers and West, the flashpackers, and when our boat dropped us off 100 meters from dry land, and we had to wade through a muddy mangrove marsh to get to shore trying with all our might not to land in it, it was easy to see why.
Fortunately enough West Raileh is blessed with a pristine beach and turquoise water and we knew the 2 sides were only separated by a 5 minute palm-shaded stroll. So when our eyes locked on what looked more like’ The Swamp’ than ‘The Beach,’ it didn’t worry us too much.
What East Raileh does have going for it though is its chillaxed rusta bars that line the water’s edge. Cushion-covered wooden platforms jet out into the brown ocean which is deceptively beautiful under the night’s sky. We lost many an hour sprawled out sipping cold beers and cocktails listening to Bob tell us “every little thing was gonna be alright”.
Our sun hours were mostly spent frolicking on West Raileh and every other day a beach called Princess, or Kayaking and snorkelling around the karst formations. These arduous activities were only really interrupted by hungry bellies wanting to go in search of giant seafood kebabs. It’s a tough life.
We did on one occasion exert ourselves to something slightly more strenuous I’m sure you’ll be happy to know. The story probably deserves a post on its own, but I’m on a roll, so here goes:
If you’re sitting on a boat in the ocean looking at Raileh, you’ll see Princess Beach in the middle of East and West. You can’t walk directly from one to the other because there’s a big fat mountain in between them. You have to kind of walk around the mountain. It’s on this mountain that I discovered my fear factor.
As you come around said mountain before you get to Princess there sits a rather innocent sign saying “view point & lagoon” with an even more innocent looking arrow pointing up. Thinking about it now, the vertical mud “path” with the knotted rope hanging limply beside it should have been a warning sign that screamed DANGER, not for the inexperienced, short legged, rather uncoordinated mountain climber. Or simply, everyone BUT Kate Royce allowed.
But it didn’t, or at least not then.
It was only after I got half way up, one hand clutching desperately to the root of a tree, the other clasped tightly around the rope and my feet scrambling to find something, anything solid enough to save me from plummeting to my death, that I thought, oh shit, perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. But it was too late. Turning back wasn’t an option. Looking down wasn’t an option. There was only up, and I was going to have to deal with the down part when there was only down to contend with.
I’d love to say that at that exact moment I had one of those so often talked about adrenalin rushes and I Spidermaned up the mountain and concluded the climb with a Rocky ‘Yeah’ at the top, but that’s not how it happened, not at all. Every bolder was a struggle. And I’d love to say that when I got to the top the view made it all worthwhile. But it didn’t, because when I did eventually make it up there, all I could think about was how the hell I was going to get down.
And down for me is just a whole different ball game.
You see, I have this thing about going backwards. My body just won’t do it. It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that I can’t. It’s not in my DNA. I spent many an athletics meeting being ridiculed for the fact that I had to somersault over the high jump pole. But Marc managed to convince me there was no other way.
And so the decent began. One tiny step at a time, with Marc practically placing my feet for me. Pathetic really, but If it wasn’t for him I’d probably still be up there, a mountain woman in the making grunting at passersby and foraging for food.
I can’t remember when last I’ve been frozen with fear like I was that day, if fact, I can’t remember when I’ve ever been that hands shaking, teary-eyed scared before in my life, but we made it, and I have my mud stained clothes, a couple of scrapes and my life to prove it.
No more rock climbing for me.
Despite my little incident, we really enjoyed Raileh, enough to stay longer than anticipated. But unfortunately it seems someone let the Raileh secret out of the bag so long ago that even the Americans seem to have heard about it. Needless to say, if and when we decide to go back, it’ll be out of season.
A long tail boat, minibus, ferry and another long tail boat took us to our next destination, an island called Koh Jum. It’s between mainland Karabi and Koh Lanta, and unlike Raileh, is off the beaten track.
There’s no direct transport to Koh Jum. Yet. You have to take the Koh Lanta ferry and tell them where you’re heading. Half way to Lanta the ferry stops in the middle of the ocean and long tail boats come from Jum to pick you up. Everyone with backpacks in hand looks at you with this “what do you know that I don’t” look as you wave them away with a know-it-all smirk. It’s a random yet satisfying experience.
What can I say about Jum? I shouldn’t actually be saying anything. It’s only because I like you people so much that I’m spilling the beans on this little piece of undiscovered paradise.
It’s absolutely incredible. Rustic little log cabins hidden away in tall palm trees give the impression that there’s nothing there, no one there. And there practically isn’t. We stayed in what can only be described as a gorgeous little wooden wendy house on stilts with big windows that let the cool outside breeze in. There’s no electricity, so gas lanterns help you guide your way back from the bar at night. By day the beach could be solely yours for hours.
I don’t have much to say about what we did here, because we literally did nothing. And it was bliss. Unfortunately the lack of an ATM forced us to move on, and as we were already half way there, we made Lanta our next stop.
Check out some photos here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/43679192@N07/sets/72157622953896043/
Stay tuned.
M&K
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