the star said…

[This is a story written by one of my Grade 1 (Grade 7 in North America) students for our annual English Speech Contest. I have copied it exactly as it was written, all errors included---but, impressively, there are very few. I not only liked the story and its theme of environmentalism, but she also performed it very well.]

Have you ever heard a star talking? Well, I did and I want to talk about it. Are you ready? I’ll begin.

When I was six or seven, my family went to a beach for vacation. The beach was beautiful; soft sand, white waves, lovely trees nearby. We played there like anyone else. We swam and made sandcastles during the day. We ate delicious food and slept peacefully at night. It seemed a lovely and ordinary holiday.

However, it was different. My parents woke me up at midnight and piggybacked me to the shore. I didn’t realize anything except they were carrying me to some place until mom said,

“Sumin*, look up!”

Stars embroidered the sky’s black cloth. The lights dancing against the black, coal-like sky. I just stared at them in silence. The only think I could hear was the cool sound of the waves lapping.

We walked by the shore, using the star lights as our lanterns and the waves and background music. That stroll by the clean and silent beach is one of the happiest memories of my life.

After some years, my family and I visited the same beach again. I remembered the bright stars and beautiful beach. But, it had changed. The shore was dirty and even made dangerous by debris of glass bottles, Styrofoam plates and paper cups. People had thrown junk onto the beautiful pristine sand and ruined it! I cursed an hoped those people never come to that beach again.

At that moment, I heard someone say,

“Who did you blame? Look at the sky and see how beautiful it is, just as in the past, But look at that shore, all ruined and dirty. While this shore was getting dirtier, what were you doing? Look. The skies, where human hands can’t reach, are the same as ever but the place where human hands have reached has been ruined.

Who was it that said this? There was no one at the shore except me. There was only a star staring at me. Yes, it was a star that just spoken to me.

“Who did I blame? Is it wrong to blame those people? “I wanted to answer the star’s question, but I couldn’t answer. I had done nothing for the beach. Does this mean that someone who has done nothing is the same as those people who made the Earth dirty?

That was it. I am the same as them. Sometimes I littered anywhere even though there were trashcans nearby. I was a part of the mess, even a small amount on this Earth made me complicit.

Now I realized the true meaning of the star’s words and felt remorse.

I made a promise in my heart, to clean up after the places where I stayed. Even now, when I go back home from institutes late at night, I stare at the star of Seoul in silence and believe it was the star who spoke to me. I try to keep the promise I made long ago with the star.

I hope you try to listen to the stars an promise them,

“I will help too.”

————–
* Name has been changed

on the islands

I ended my vacation with a relaxing couple days on the beaches of the Perhentian Islands. I went to the smaller island, Pulau Perhentian Kecil, where I stayed in a dorm room with a group of other backpackers. It was the first time I my trip that I got hang out with people my own age. We snorkelled in the tourquoise water, drank on the beach, and soaked up the sun.

a walk in the woods of taman negara

Sunburned after my day on the beach in Cherating, I decided a retreat to the forest was in order. Taman Negara, a national park, is one of the oldest rainforests in the world and one of Malaysia’s biggest attractions. After a taxi ride from Cherating to Kuantan, a bus ride to from Kuantan to Temerloh, a bus ride from Temerloh to Jerantut, a speedy cab ride from town to the dock, an angry cab ride back to town because there was no accommodation available near the dock, a few phone calls to book a tour, and an overnight at a hotel in Jerantut, I was finally en route.

I booked a tour through the hotel I stayed at in Jerantut, and the man who booked the tour for me, Addy, also turned out to be my guide. He and his friend drove me to the park in their card, speeding the whole way. Despite the sharp corners, wild passes, near-miss with a bus, and interesting maneuver where the driver lit a cigarette as he steered with his knees, we made it to the boat in one piece. We met up with the others members of our group: a French family with two children, aged 5 and 8, and an older German man who was also travelling alone.

The tour started with a boat ride down the river, and the view was fantastic. I, unfortunately, didn’t learn my lesson in Cherating at added some more colour to my legs. The forest, at the start of our hike, was similar to those in Canada, with ferns, big trunks, and open skies. Four kilometres in, we stopped at a small cave for a meal break. My backpacked, although emptied (I left most of my clothes in storage at the hotel), was heavy due to the three litres of water I was carrying, and my shoulders craved a rest. After the break, we continued on our way to the big cave, where we would spend the night.

The landscaped quickly changed; it began to look more like a rainforest. The undergrowth became thicker, the canopy above closed up, and the sun disappeared. I saw “Tarzan vines” that, for me, identify a true rainforest. The hike was difficult. There were lots of downed trees on the path that we had to pass over and under, and our footwork was further complicated by the mud.

The day was supposed to be long but easy, but having two young children in our group made the day even longer, and I certainly didn’t find it easy. “This area has many tigers,” Addy said when the sun started going down. “We must arrive before dark or…” He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t need to.

We got out our flashlights and soon they became a necessity. It wasn’t until 7.30 that we finally arrived the big cave—and, boy, was it big! There were several groups already there, but there was plenty of room for all of us. Addy made dinner for us while we relaxed on the mats and talked. After dinner, we went outside to a nearby stream to brush our teeth and “shower”—the whole time I was checking for animals with my flashlight. Soon, all the flashlights were turned off and we all settled in for a night of camping in a cave.

I woke up to sunlight streaming through the cave opening. It was one of those scenes that make you think, Wow. This is why I travel. With the sunlight, I got a good look at the cave. It was one big “room” that was about 40 metres tall and could handle about 300 people at a time. There were two openings: the bigger, higher one (near where we slept), which was almost at the ceiling, and a smaller one to the left that served as the main “door.” A big rock sat in the middle and divided the room; people used to rock for privacy when it came to changing clothes and using the “toilet” facilities. Someone, somehow, managed to put a Malay flag high up on the cave wall. It smelled of dampness, fire ashes, and moss inside the cave. I loved every minute of it.

During breakfast—bread with Malay jam: coconut with egg—Addy told me he couldn’t sleep because he thought he heard animals. I thought I heard animals during the night, too, I said. “It sounded like bats to me.”

“Not bats,” Addy said. “I think tigers.”

After talking with the other guides, Addy seemed convinced tigers were out last night. I doubted it, but the idea certainly added some excitement to our upcoming hike through the woods. Since it rained during the night, mud would be more of a problem, plus leeches would be out, and maybe tigers, too.

The day was supposed to be shorter but more difficult than the day before, and the difficulty part was certainly true. The hike was a challenge. The mud was a mess, twigs scratching my legs burned my rosy legs, and there was always something to crawl over or squeeze under. We crossed rivers on fallen logs, and trailblazed our way through thick underbrush. Biting pain on my ankles or spots of blood on my shorts alerted me to that fact that leeches had decided to join me on the hike. It was so much fun. But, with two small children, the day was not short. The little girl, aged 5, had a lot of problems, so her dad carried her as much as he could. We took a lot longer—maybe twice as long—as we could have without the kids. I didn’t mind, though; I liked being in the woods.

“May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.”
~ Edgar Abbey

on khao san road

I left Korea again at the beginning of February for a week in Thailand, or rather, for a week in Bangkok. Okay, fine—a week on Khao San Road.

Before its current life as a backpacker’s paradise, Khao San Road (also spelled Khao Sarn) was a major rice market in Bangkok. In 1982, after the Thai government decided something needed to be done to get more visitors to the country, it increased the number of cultural festivals in the area. But the current number of hotels couldn’t handle the influx of new tourists. Because Khao San Road is just one kilometre from Grand Palace, the location of many of these festivals, some backpackers started to pay locals living on and around Khao San to rent a room. These impromptu “hotels” suddenly found themselves making a lot of money and decided to take it on as a full-time thing. And with time, “backpacker’s ghetto” was created.

With the publishing of Alex Garland’s paradise-lost classic The Beach in the mid-nineties, more and more backpackers swarmed the country and the street—despite the book asserting an obvious negativity about backpackers who group together and don’t even attempt to indulge in Thai culture. In the book (which I read during my week on Khao San), Garland describes the street as “backpacker land [that operates] as a compression chamber for those about to leave or enter Thailand, a halfway house between East and West.”

I arrived in Bangkok late in the evening and arrived on Khao San at midnight. I was unknowingly dropped off at the end of the street opposite from my hotel and, needless to say, I was overwhelmed walking through the swarm of tourists. I luckily only had a small backpack with me; I’m not sure there was room for a rucksack in the crowd. Feeling my heart begin to race and my mild claustrophobia begin to set in, I attempted to pick up my pace, and in doing so, I managed to elbow several other travellers who were already well into their Saturday night parties. Fortunately, the street is as short as it is crowded. I arrived at my secluded hotel in one of the alleys off Khao San and was able to breathe again. Garland certainly had it right; Khao San is a wonderland of tourists from all over the world. People with varying degrees of backpacker-ness, from hard-core hippies to families with small children, come here.

Everyone I met over the course of the week, not to mention my friends here in Korea, thought I was crazy for spending my entire vacation on a one-kilometre-long street—especially this one-kilometre-long street. Khao San apparently is supposed to be just what Garland described: an entry/exit “halfway house”. No one actually comes here for their Thai vacation, except me. It was already a cliché backpacker hotspot in the nineties, and it’s reputation has only gotten worse since then. But with only a week, I thought racing to the beaches down south would be more stressful than relaxing, and I wanted to enjoy the company of two great friends who were also staying here—on their way out of and into Thailand, of course.

What I found is that Khao San Road has multiple personalities, different moods at different times of the day. And since I arrived at night, I’ll start with its night-time portrait:

After dinner, hundreds of visitors spill onto the streets and as drinking-time starts, thirsty tourists start looking for their first drinking spot. Will it be in a restaurant-bar that overlooks the street, on a plastic stool on the road at an improvised bar, or on the dance floor of a club? Restaurant bars offer a relaxed and comfortable place for a few easy drinks and a good place to actually hear the conversation you’re having with your friends. Plastic-stools-only sidewalk bars, with their cheap “bucket” drinks, are enjoyable, easy spots for meeting new party friends. They also have a fun game for patrons to play, one where the drunkies have to help stack stools every time the police drive by, everyone acting as if there isn’t alcohol being served on the street. Because, of course, the police aren’t aware of the popular “sidewalk + stool + bucket” combo. No, not at all. Along the street, a mix of bars and clubs, ranging from taverns to dance clubs, tempt the increasingly drunk crowd.

Besides drinking, the darkness also brings out a desire to shop. Need a fake degree or press pass? Khao San’s got it. Shirts, skirts, dresses, T-shirts, bathing suits, CDs, DVDs, jewellery, shoes, bags, books—it’s all here. Thai ladies circle around party-goers with beading hats, offering tourists a chance to try them on. There’s a constant chorus of “ribbit” sounds in the air, not from a nearby pond, but from these Thai women demonstrating the fun of the little ribbed frog toys they’re also selling. Little girls loaded with charm sell flowers, or challenge boys to rock-paper-scissors games with cash as their prize. Ladyboys strut their stuff, looking for a new friend or two. Collections of colourful balloons for sale by a local man totter above the thick crowd of visitors, as if the multitude of neon signs lining the street weren’t colourful enough. A mix of hip hop, dance, and pop music from the bars and restaurants compete for listeners. A blend of smells floating from street-food stalls overwhelm the nostrils.

Very late at night—or rather, early in the morning, Khao San turns quiet, still. It’s eerie. The bars have (finally) closed and most partiers have headed back to a hotel room. The music has stopped, except for one quiet song somewhere in the distance. The street is mostly deserted, minus a group of stragglers who don’t realize it’s way past their bedtime. As claustrophobic as the crowds were the night before, the emptiness just doesn’t feel right.

The energy arrives back on Khao San Road with the arrival of the sun. The Skittle-coloured taxis also arrive and line the street, ready to annoy everyone who’s lucky enough to pass by. “Taxi? Where are you going? You need taxi? Taxi?” As daylight comes, so do the people who are ready for a day of sightseeing and shopping. So-called backpackers flock to the many tour offices along the road, looking for a cheap deal and and comfortable air-con ride to various tourists spots around Bangkok and the rest of the country. Sidewalk shopkeepers set up their racks and tables for another day of business, making the street feel like a sidewalk sale at a suburban mall. During the day, a mix of pop, country, oldie, hip hop, and rock music floats around the street.

As I sit in a restaurant eating dinner, I watch the other tourists strolling along the street, trying to absorb the flavours of Khao San before they inevitably move on to other locations around Thailand. I look up again, and suddenly the streets are packed. The sky is darker, the music suddenly seems louder, the neon signs glow brighter. The night-time carnival is ready to begin again…

*  *  *

Minus a few semi-interesting day-trips out of the city (in one of those comfy air-con vans I mentioned) to see drowsy tigers, ride elephants for twenty minutes, and look at some train bridge over the River Kwai, I spent an entire week on and around Khao San Road. Its reputation for dirty backpackers and dirty parties hasn’t stopped backpackers and other travellers from coming to the area; in fact, that’s become its attraction. There’s some unwritten rule that says everyone must arrive with a cynical opinion, enjoy the parties, and then leave with the same pessimism. But at some point during my stay, my opinion changed. I have great memories of all the fun adventures and new friends I met in this chaotic one-kilometre-long world. I’ve never been in a place that was so open to everyone and anything; it was refreshing, candid, exciting.

As I walked down the street one final time on my last day, I saw the looks of amazement and disorientation on the newbies faces. I wondered what they think of this world-on-one-street, tourist maze, party paradise. I wondered if they would ever admit they enjoyed their time on Khao San Road.

on phu quoq island

Looking out the ferry window, I finally saw something more solid than a cloud on the horizon. We had finally arrived to the island of Phu Quoq.

Phu Quoq doesn’t need a lot of words. It was beautiful, peaceful. Spending two nights in a thatched-roof cabin and two days on the vacant beaches was the perfect way to end our vacation.