Forgotten Island

Forgotten Island

After a quick stint in Bangkok I was called to duty and just returned from an island off the coast of Krabi, Thailand. An Australian gent told me if I wanted peace and quiet, not a party scene, to go to Koh Jum (Jam) Island. I followed his instructions loosely and landed on Koh Jum.

I’ve been coming to Thailand since 1988 and have seen the changes as the country morphs into its contemporary state. My original memories are of Koh Chang Island on the Cambodian border where I spent a month in a bungalow with an Australian girl friend before we ventured into Burma, back when Ne Win open fired on civilians demonstrating before it became the Rangoon massacre. I paid 200 baht/night and the U.S. dollar was 48 baht/1 USD, basically $4/night for a bungalow within 10 feet of high tide waves and phosphorescent algae. Today that same price is hard to find but available if you know where to look.

From Krabi town, Koh Jum is about 40 kilometers south by truck taxi, 100 baht, and a forty-minute boat ride to get you there, 70 baht. The Australian told me of a place to stay that was only 200 baht/night; I was instantly taken back to the old days of cheap lodging and good Thai food, I had to go.

The dock and harbor are nothing more than a speck on the shore between mangroves, rubber trees and red earth. There was one truck taxi, several motorcycle taxis and a store. The red dirt road headed off into the interior and to the west coast of the island where all the bungalows hide between palms and trade winds. It’s a steady breeze of 10 knots and keeps the bugs and mosquitos at bay. Clouds roll by and lightening lights up the night sky and the breeze embraces you. I knew instantly that this island had been forgotten and now I know why.

As suggested I went to a bungalow place called Bodaeng. There is no advertisement; there is only one humble sign at the entrance. I walked in as a carpenter hammered on a new bungalow of hardwood set back in the trees. A couple of skittish dogs let the owner know that a stranger was approaching and they scampered off into the under brush. The place, like all the others on the island, was disserted. Palm leaves had fallen to the ground or hung limp on the trees after a recent storm, leaves rolled by with the breeze, it was ghostly. All in all, the island seemed abandon and silent. I put my meager bag down at the restaurant and walked to the sea only 20 meters away. The trees held the bank and the ocean took the rest.

The woman was as round as an apple with a contagious laugh and the heart of a giant. She showed me to a bungalow for 200 baht/night and I gladly accepted. She asked if I had eaten and she made me lunch on the spot. Historically, she is a Thai gypsy from Langkawi and all the other islands to the south and loves the king of Thailand for all he is and has done for her people. So do I.

The world stopped around me. There is no Internet, no power during the day, just the crash of the waves and a steady breeze to remind you that you’re alive. I read a couple books and I walked the entire beach with a stray dog chasing crab on the low tide as a companion; 5 km. Kite birds glide on the wind above the trees and the churning sea. The breeze remains steady at this time of year. This is the best Thailand has to offer and I am grateful to be apart of it.

 I walked the length of the island the next day. I went out to find a store and didn’t come back for most of the day. I walked the road that took me through a town and then miles of rubber trees. There were very few locals on the road and if they were they were on motorcycles and disappeared into the green down trails or up onto the mountain. I saw 10 farang (Foreigners) in 3 days. I had the best food offered in Thailand. The ocean was wonderful and clear. I won’t forget this forgotten island. I’ll be back.

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The Women Of Cho (Desperation) Another Rough Chapter.

The wind howled through the streets picking up debris and randomly whisking it into the night sky. The shops had closed and the people had packed up their carts and vanished into the camouflage of the surrounding concrete jungle. Seoul was an empty shell of human existence except for Rayman who stood in the shadows near a corner with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets watching the night deepen. Up the road a concentration of bright lights near the hospital entrance illuminated the adjacent ten-foot stonewall of the Changgyeong Palace and faded into the over hanging trees. Rayman watched a singular silhouetted figure wrapped in a heavy coat stagger against gusts under wind shaken street lamps. He watched as she drew closer and knew she was elderly due to her stride and stammer. She walked to the transverse corner and stopped. She stood looking into the shadows at a western man in the dark in the middle of Seoul in the middle of the night. She glanced back the way she came and finally spoke, ‘Rayman Stell?”

Rayman stepped part way out of the shadows, “Yes.”

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.” Young-ja turned and crossed the road and disappeared down a narrow alley towards her house.

Rayman backed into the shadows and watched as leaves blew over the brick wall and down the street. It was below freezing and the ground below Rayman’s feet was firm and crunched with ice as he moved his feet. A siren sounded in the distance and drew closer. Rayman took another step back into the shadows as an ambulance raced up the road and turned into the emergency hospital side entrance up the street. Across the street the lit up trees moved in waves as the wind pushed along the wall and through the branches and leaves.

  

A few minutes past before Youn-ja returned, “I am Lyin’s wife, Young-ja. Monica called me and told me you might need help with a place to stay. I can help you stay safe and silent but we must get rid of all of your belongings and your backpack, everything. The Won already have pictures of you and your clothes so we will change them. I’ll get you clothes tomorrow. Please follow me. My relatives have just arrived from Mongolia and I will be your interpreter. They speak no English and little Korean. I am their voice and I am yours. Do you understand you must remain humble and it’s best not to show any emotion? For them it’s a sign of weakness.”

“Yes.” Rayman followed her down a narrow red brick alley to a small neighborhood of quaint brick houses with a traditional curved tile roof with the corners turning back towards the sky. On the eves stood seven different animal figurines to the edge. A dim light shown through an old four pain window with bubbles in the glass. Young-ja opened her heavy door and inside the dimly lit room stood four men in quilted Mongolian coats near a fireplace that had just been lit. A low center table separated them and two couches and a recliner chair cozily surrounded them. Rayman followed Young-ja silently into the living area and bowed to each of the men before him.

The four men bow simultaneously. Their strong facial features and clothes flickered with golden firelight.

Young-ja came to Rayman’s side and did a loose introduction pointing at Rayman with two open hands and looking at her relatives, “Rayman.” Young-ja then looked at Rayman and explained, “Rayman,” again pointing with open hands, “This is Lyin’s father and uncle, (2) Mongolian names, and this is my father and my oldest brother, (2) Mongolian names. Please, sit with them. I’ll be right back.”

The Mongolians sat down on the couches and Rayman sat in the chair. A moment of awkward silence followed as Young-ja went into the kitchen to bring out Ghinggas Khan Vodka and glasses. As she returned she said, “This could be a long night for you because these men want to hear the whole story of Lyin’s death and the Won involvement and everything up to now. I will help you explain.” Young-ja brought out a tray with a bottle of vodka, a bottle of water, and 5 glasses and put it on the table. She quickly grabbed a chair from the wall and sat down next to Rayman and asked, “Is there anything you have that would show good faith and a mutually honorable ending for all seated here?”

Rayman nodded, “I do, but I also have a request of a similar nature. Is it possible to hear your historical story on how it came to this?”

Young-ja looked at Lyin’s father and translated into Mongolian.

He looked at Rayman and nodded in agreement.

Rayman reached into his pocket and pulled out the small collection of photographs from Cale’s dining room table. As he stood up, he took off a rubber band and displayed the pictures of the Won’s map of vaults and placed them on the small table for them to see.

The picture at the top is photoed by a friend, I can't spell her name. :) Met her on Bunekan Island Sulawesi.

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