What I Talk About When I Talk About Death

I knew from Lonely Planet and chatting with other travelers that it would be all but impossible to escape South East Asia without putting my life in the hands of a motorscooter. The vehicles are ubiquitous on city streets, country roads, and even the 6 foot wide sidewalk that served as the main drag in Koh Tao. Tuktuks and expensive rides in the back of pickup truck taxis can only get one so far. So when the easiest option for visiting some of Koh Phangan's waterfalls was to rent a scooter and tool around on your own, I was apprehensive and disappointed but not surprised.

Let's be honest, all motorized vehicles are deathtraps and motorscooters are the deathi-est and trapi-est of the lot. But the Thai people are daredevils. We spotted at least one 85 year-old woman scooting around at top speed and more than one closely knit family of 5 ready to die together on the road. The car to motorscooter ratio in the country is something like 1:70. I don't know what the life expectancy rate is in Thailand, but I am near positive that the main cause of death is complications from acute scooter crashing.

Despite serving primarily as transportation for the first leg of the journey across the River Styx there is one positive thing to say about scooters: they are cheap. The shop we rented our green monster from had 2 signs outside -- one offering a snorkel and fins for 150 Baht (~$5) and another offering daily scooter rentals for 200 Baht. We rented just one scooter so Geoff could drive and I could devote all of my attention to alternately freaking out and really freaking out.

Riding on the scooter was less scary than I expected. The roads on Koh Phangan outside of the main town of Thong Sala were wide, evenly paved and mostly empty. We didn't go much faster than 40km/hour because I'm not sure the scooter could go any faster than 40km/hour. I also insisted on wearing the matching purple helmets because I like my head, and because I wanted to warn everyone on the road that people with absolutely no experience at all we're driving around town trying to kill themselves and anyone in their immediate vicinity. Also, they had a sort of mod British vibe that I enjoyed.

Our first stop was the Phaeng Falls which was actually a series of four waterfalls each higher up a sweltering mountain than the last. We found each waterfall by picking our way through tree roots grown into makeshift stairs on trails that could only be called such because of the occasional signage surprising you over and over again with the news that actually this was the trail! Though I should say that we found the remains of what once were four waterfalls because on our visit, during the begining of the dry season after at least a couple of weeks without rain, all that we really saw were piles of rocks. And at least four different types of tropical drink colored butterflies and a really stunning view of the island from the top of the mountain; even sans actual falling water it was a worthwhile trip.

After lunch we took off down the road to the other famous waterfall on the island, Noom Tok Than Sadet, which we expect will also have no actual water but which has been visited by the last 5 Thai kings all of whom have carved their initials into the rocks. Feeling the calling of greatness, I figure I too should make a visit. The road to this waterfall is much less well traveled and shoots up, up, up over and over again at daunting grades that our little scooter can barely manage. I'm reduced to hyperventilating on the back of the scooter whispering in Geoff's ear that if we don't die in the next few minutes we will most certainly perish on the return trip when we burn out the scooter's breaks trying to go back down the hill at something slower than the speed of light. Surely this whimpering inspires confidence and safe driving not just a desire to chuck me into a ravine.

The going is slow enough that my main fear was that the scooter would cease to balance on two wheels and we'd roll to a stop and then begin rolling backwards right before the whole contraption toppled over landing on my right leg. This would, of course, break my tibia in 3 places as the still spinning wheel of the scooter nicked my face permanently removing my nose, right before a truck full of tourists, still drunk from the Half Moon party the night before, came barreling over the rise of that last hill and ran over me. Squash. This is pretty much exactly what happened minus a few minor details.

We're on hill number 800 at what must now be an elevation of 400,000 feet -- I think I spot a couple of satellites cruising by -- when the road suddenly turns from sad cracked pavement to loose red sand broken open in places where water obviously flash floods over everything in the wet season. We manage to make it up and down the first few dirt hills and start down the third which is much steeper. Geoff grips the breaks to save us from the light speed decent mentioned earlier. I guess his mistake was breaking with the front brake instead of the rear. Down we went --me, then Geoff, then scooter. Thank god for the helmets, for the slow speed, for the Thai man who came out of his house to help us push the bike back up the hill when our white person arms and legs proved too weak/shaky.

Of course, then we had to make it back down the mountain. I quickly changed my mantra from "oh god we're going to die" to "you are doing such a good job! We are going to be JUST FINE." You can tell when I'm really positive that death is about to tip me over the side of a cliff because that's when I start lying.

But we made it down and we're mostly ok. When we crashed I'd caught myself with my right calf and the palm of my hand and both we're scraped up and bleeding but hardly gushing blood in the way I'd imagined. Reality never lives up to your fantasy -- remember that next time you act out your own death wish.

Something Here Will Eventually Have to Explode

If you've ever had the pleasure of riding in a car with me as a passenger then you know that I am perhaps the most annoying person on the planet. I spend most trips sling-shotting between forcing all occupants to *enjoy this song right now* and trying not to pee my pants while quickly reviewing all of the life events that I'll be missing out on after I die in the car crash that is about to happen. While traveling in a car (much like while doing anything) I am incapable of shutting off the background noise of my brain and all spare neurons are so devoted to freaking out about their impending death that I cannot help but occasionally (every 40 seconds or so) grip the door handle, sharply inhale and slam my foot down on the floor in mock brake slamming (the fact that I am alive to write this post proves that all of these are effective ways of tricking the Grim Reaper). Because as a New Yorker with no car of my own I very much do not want my friends with wheels (Hi Joe!) to take away my access to Target I try to hide my certainty that the driver is steering the car and its occupants into the afterlife. This is very difficult because no matter what Disney says I'm all but certain that cars want to kill me.

For the record none of this is my fault (turns out this statement is true about all of my flaws). Growing up my mother was an ER nurse with very little fore site when it came to scaring her children for life. She would come home from a hard day of life saving/bring home the bacon and while frying it up in a pan describe holding some poor schmuck's brain in her hands. This displacement of gray matter was almost always the result of the combination of icy roads, stupidity, fast speeds and God's sick sense of humor. Somehow this resulted in a son who purchases cars for the sole purpose of crashing them into things and a daughter (me!) who cannot get into a vehicle without wondering who will show up at her funeral. This means that in addition to worrying about my livelihood I have no choice but to also put in some heavy worrying time trying to avert my brother's certain death (see: here).

This past weekend I was in a car with a number of coworkers (aka people who I would like to convince that I am sane) and had to work extra hard to hide my fear of the driver slamming the vehicle into another car or the guardrail or that Duncan Donuts up ahead (though in this last case my ejection from the vehicle might be cushioned by piles of fluffy french crullers which would be pretty awesome). This was made extra difficult by the fact that the driver was busy DJ-ing and getting us lost. At one point he suggested that someone jump out at the next light and get the directions that he left "somewhere in the trunk." Because everyone else in the car was apparently not concerned about our eminent doom I was left with no choice but to blurt out, "Oh my god I'd prefer that no one DIE on this trip, pull over like a normal person." I may be insane but at least I'm alive.

Thank God I live in New York City where one can limit her car exposure to once a week otherwise even if I somehow managed to avoid death in a fiery wreck the ulcer from worrying about such things would certainly have done me in by now.