Brain does no work

Trip Start Mar 11, 2006
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18
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Trip End Aug 01, 2006


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Flag of Thailand  ,
Friday, April 21, 2006

We rolled into Surat Thani, the main hub for transport down south, at 8AM and caught a public bus to town, minibus with large German family to Krabi, and arranged transport to Railay Beach, inhabited by cheap young backpackers and two killer beaches. Boatman jetted us to East Beach, not as nice as the main two but muuuch cheaper to stay in and a very short walk from our bungalow to white sand and crystal blue water.
The next several days are impossible to provide a chronology for, both Ryan and I needed to shut off from the exciting yet frenetic pace we'd been maintaining and were just tropical bums for a little while. Typical day would be: got up late, went to beach, got massage there, had a swim and climbed a big rock, came back to read, nap, and play guitar with a few friends we met. Between lazy days and fun nights, I'll just let the pictures day the rest though there weren't a whole lot of those either because the camera just looked too heavy.
Just a few things of note:
-Ryan and Kym's 2nd anniversary was on the 23rd; Kym emailed me (with suspicious Ryan over my shoulder asking "Why is Kym writing to you?!") to ask me to be stand-in girlfriend. Most I would agree to was a card with a message from her written in the sand and a serenade of their song, The Turtles' "So Happy Together".
-We were honored with a few opportunities to hang our with Mr. Mic Man himself, Big Benny Azevedo who's doing a bit of travelling himself! Between dinner in Railay and frisbee, pool, and a great unexpected conversation about meditation and mindfullness in Ao Nang, I finally got the answer to what does C-A-L spell.
-I got the mother of all weird tanlines while lying out in Railay due to a combination of intense sun and sloppy sand/sunscreen mixture application. Accenting my cherry red belly (or a six-pack of Coca-Cola as I liked to call it) were two jaundiced vertical yellow stripes like thick clown suspenders attached forever because the cool traditional H'mong villager weaved shirt traditionally bled the dye all over my skin in the humidity to leave me between burn, dye, and tan looking like another traditional item from that time of year: an Easter egg. Or a beautiful sunset for the poetic-minded.

Moral of the story: Never trust a H'mongolian weaver
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