Google Can Only Help So Much: My Spanish Train Fiasco

I am a firm believer in the saying that the best adventures are those unplanned. However, I've have come to realize that there can be an alternative meaning that saying. The best adventure stories come from unplanned disasters. These fiascos may hilarious and entertaining after the fact, however I can tell you that finding yourself lost in a country where you don't speak the language is one of the most frustrating and stressful situations you will experience while traveling.

My day was set out to be a simple and flawless transition between Tarragona and Valencia. I laid at the beach for a few hours before grabbing a light salad lunch; I had leftover paella in the hostel fridge that I was eager to finish later on the train. After lunch I searched up train times to Valencia and found that there was a train leaving in 40 minutes, at 3:49, that would put me in Valencia at roughly 7:00, just in time for dinner. Since I still had some time to kill I treated myself to a couple scoops of gelato before heading back to the hostel to pick up my backpack. I left my hostel with less time to spare than I had planned, but I made it to the train station with enough time to buy a ticket and grab my train. Or so it seemed.

The man at the first window I went to told me I needed to go to the other window next to his. I waited in line for this second window and practiced asking for a ticket in Spanish, "Me quisiera una boleta a Valencia por favor." I reached the window and asked the man, but as soon as I said Valencia he began speaking in rapid Spanish, gesturing that I couldn't have one. Flustered, I spoke back in English trying to clarify what he was saying. He repeated himself, I think. When I still didn't understand he crossed his arms and gave me a look of disgust. I can't say that was much encouragement to practice my Spanish, but that was another can of worms I could deal with later. I returned to the first window and asked the man if he spoke English, "A little." I told him that the other man had not sold me a ticket, and asked what I needed to do. He sent me around the corner to information.

My planned itinerary

There were four people in front of me and only one lady working as slow as a snail through peanut butter; the departure time for my train came and went. When I finally reached the woman I explained my problem; she informed me that I would not be able to take a train to Valencia because there was vandalism to the tracks at one of stations along the way. Ends up that's what the overhead announcement had been saying, I just hadn't recognized the station name. The only thing I could do was wait for them to fix the tracks. Since there was no place for me to stay in Tarragona and I already had a place ready in Valencia I was determined to get there. I suggested a bus to Valencia, or better yet a bus to a train station past the vandalized one. She looked at her papers and sent me back to the first window to buy a ticket for a bus to a train station, where I would switch to a regular train. I returned to the first window to be told yet again by the man that he could do nothing for me and I needed to talk to information. I had already been to information though and was suppose to get a ticket for a bus to somewhere to catch a train. He called the lady at information, punched numbers and letters into his computer, charged me €22 and sent me on my way in the general direction of the doors, telling me I needed to take the 5:28 bus and switch to a train. Simple enough. Or so it seemed.

I waited with a crowd in front of the bus stop. When the next bus arrived it was mass chaos to get on. From what I could understand of what the bus driver was saying was that you needed a ticket to be allowed on. I sought out the help of a security guard, explaining I had a ticket and questioned if that meant I could get on. Ends up I was at the wrong bus and needed to hurry across the roundabout to another set of buses; I had minutes before it left. I rushed over and was greeted by a chuckling guard gesturing me to slow down. The bus didn't end up leaving for another 20 minutes. It was fine by me though, at this point I was finally able to relax knowing I was on the right bus on my way to Valencia. Or so it seemed.

Ends up the train didn't
just keep going south...

When we arrived at the train station everyone that had been on the bus loaded up onto the train without hesitation. I showed my ticket to a train employee to check to make sure that I was on track. They showed another employee who shrugged, chuckled and said in simple Spanish I actually understood, "It is that way to Valencia." Good enough for me. I found my seat and settled in for a longer ride than I had originally anticipated because I was on a "normal" train, not the express train. Even though everyone had been telling me I was going in the correct direction, I still had a feeling I wasn't going the right way. I pushed the feeling aside though; the train was heading south and that was good enough for me. Valencia was south right? So it was bound to reach there eventually. Or so it seemed.

I checked Google Maps, curious when I would get here and it showed me switching to the express train at L'Aldea station. Which happened to be the next station we arrived at. I was unsure, hesitated and missed my chance to get off. I figured I'd only missed my chance to catch the express train, but the train I was on would get me down south eventually. I settled in again until the train stopped for an extended period of time and I overheard someone say that the train was heading back towards Barcelona. I quickly hopped off and found that I was at the end of this particular train line in Torosa. I thought of getting back on, but hesitated and missed my chance. I went inside the station to figure out where I needed to go. Ends up the train didn't continue south, it turned inland at the exact station where I had hesitated the first time. I would need to catch the next train back in 40 minutes, at 7:46. Google Maps put my ETA at 11:30. With nothing to do I sat down to wait. At least I knew what station I needed to change at and what train to catch, I would be in Valencia soon enough. Or so it seemed.

I got on the train knowing I needed to get off on the next stop. When the train paused the doors didn't open and there was no announcement. I looked out the window it did not appear as if we were at a station. I figured that we were waiting for a train to move so we could go forward. When the train started to move along the tracks I saw the sign for my stop come in and then out of view. Yet again I had missed the stop! I had been in Spain for almost two weeks, taken dozens of trips on the Barcelona underground and ridden the train to Tarragona a few days earlier and had been riding it for hours that day. It was the first time they didn't announce a stop. I grabbed my stuff and went to stand next to the door, eyes glazed over with tears threatening to spill over, ready to jump off at the next stop. I stood there waiting for around 10 minutes. When I got off I frantically checked Google Maps again and found out the next train back to that station wouldn't get me there until after the last express train departed. I wouldn't be able to catch one until 6:30 in the morning. I spent the next three minutes freaking out because I was now stuck in a town I had no idea about and had no way to get to Valencia. Or so it seemed.

Once I finally calmed down, I looked at all my options. I first considered a car rental, but it was 8:20 pm and by that point everything was closed. Which was unfortunate because the train station I needed was only a 15 minute drive away; plenty of time to drive there and catch the train to Valencia. Then it clicked, there are these cars called taxis that you can hire to drive you places. Why that hadn't occurred to me in the first place, I have no idea. I quickly went down to the street to see if someone could help me get a cab. I approached two waiters at an outdoor restaurant and inquired where I could grab a taxi. They sent me inside to have the bartender call one for me. After a quick phone call, the bartender let me know that one would be there in five minutes. Looked like I would make that last train after all!

I reached the station without a problem and found that my train would arrive in 20 minutes, at 9:15. I hadn't eaten since my light salad lunch almost seven hours before. Unfortunately there was nowhere to buy food and since I had forgotten that wonderful paella in the hostel fridge,  At 9:10 a train pulled up, and as if by fate the cafeteria car pulled up right in front of me. A woman train employee came off and I immediately showed her my ticket asking if I had finally found my train. No, her train was heading north, back towards Barcelona. Lovely. She suggested that there may not be another train so late; a man who had gotten off the train to smoke seconded that option. The man in the station had confirmed there would be a train so I was only slightly worried. I took the chance and went aboard to buy food on the train. However, in the middle of ordering my food, another train going the other way pulled up. I rushed out, ready to board. However the employees coming off said it was not my train. I walked away in shock, close to tears. The lady from the first train had continued discussing with the others, then called after me that this was in fact my train; it was going to Valencia! I thanked her repeatedly as I scrambled on. Conveniently I ended up in the cafeteria car again. After getting my food I settled down for my hour and half long train ride. This time I checked with the woman at the cafeteria before my stop, making sure I didn't miss it again. As I got off the train I turned on Google Maps to find my way to my hostel. It was only going to be 15 minutes using public transportation; ETA was 11:20. It decided to have me take the metro system; which was fine, I had become a master of the metro and would be at my hostel in no time. Or so it seemed.

Where I started: Joaquin Sorolla

Where I ended up: Machado

Where I needed to be: Colon

However, Google Maps decided I still had not had enough transportation fiascos for the day and chose to give me very bad, very wrong directions. First off, it told me to take a line from that station that didn't actually run thru the station. Fine, I got to the line it wanted and got off at the station it told me was only a five minute walk from my hostel. Wrong, that station was a 27 minute walk to my hostel! I looked at map manually and saw that I had yet again passed the station I actually needed. This time though I took no fault, in my mind Google Maps was entirely to blame. I went back down to see if and when the next train back to the station I needed would arrive, 25 minutes. I had three options at that point: wait the 25 minutes then walk the 5 minutes or so to my hostel; walk 27 minutes in the dark, carrying two backpacks, through who knows what kind of neighborhood; or grab a cab. Well, there weren't any taxis outside, and I'd already spent enough on transportation for today. I also wasn't keen on risking my safety for saving three minutes. So I settled in on a bench and waited for the next train. I was finally on my way to the hostel, this was finally going to be the end. Or so it seemed.

I was right this time. I managed to finally make it to my hostel, eight and a half hours after leaving my old hostel in Tarragona. Although life decided it needed one more shot and tripped me up on the doorway into the hostel. I've never quite understood the reasoning behind having an extra piece you have to step over to get through a doorway.

There you have it, the two and a half hour simple train ride that turned into an eight and a half hour fiasco of language barriers, missed stations and treacherous doorways. All of which because some hooligans decided it would be funny to mess with the train tracks. I on the other hand did not find it so humorous. That will change in time though, I am sure of it.

A Day With Gentle Giants

When I first started planning my trip to Thailand I knew I wanted to ride an elephant. It had been on my bucket list for as long as I could remember. When I first started my research I was overwhelmed by the number of places in Thailand where you can spend a day with elephants. Many of the places had pictures of happy guests riding through the jungle in baskets on elephants’ back. I knew that this was bad for the elephant’s health so that option was not an option at all. Others promoted a day of just spending time with elephants. Unfortunately choosing that option would mean not being about to fulfill my wish to ride an elephant. I continued my search, determined to find a way to balance getting the experience I desired and the well-being of the animals.


Along the way I stumbled on the website for Patara Elephant Farm, and its Elephant Owner for a Day program. At first glance it didn’t sound promising. The words “farm” and “owner” were far from comforting considering that these are intelligent, wild creatures. After reading through the program my feelings did a 180. Only 12 people are allowed each day, making sure there are always more elephants in the sanctuary than there are guests. Each person is paired with a single elephant and its mahout, the elephant’s life-long caretaker. Guests spend the day experiencing what it means to be a mahout.

There is no online reservation, only an email address to send an inquiry to. A couple days after sending an email I got a response requesting my preferred date and the location I need to be picked up from. I was informed that the cost would be 5,800 Baht in cash at the conclusion of day. At roughly $180 this was by far the most expensive elephant experience I had found. Still, it didn’t take long to decide that a day one on one with an elephant was well worth the money.

Three months later I stepped out of the Patara car and walked over to an elephant and her baby that were waiting to greet us. They took my breath away. From the first time she looked at me I could see the intelligence behind those eyes. While we waited for the rest of the guests to arrive we took turns feed the elephants while the mahouts took pictures with our cameras. When the mahouts brought out sugarcane for us to feed the elephants the mother kept taking it away from the baby. It quite resembled a human mom not wanting her kid to get a sugar high. That or she just wanted it all to herself, hard to say.

Off to the left a mahout dropped a bundle of sugarcane he had been carrying onto the ground. Behind him a male elephant nonchalantly made his way up the hill towards the pile of tasty greens. When one of the mahouts asked if I wanted to go see him I could barely contain my excitement. As we got closer to the male my excitement turn into a slight nervousness. Here I was, a small, frail human getting closer and closer to a huge beast with tusks almost as long as I was tall. The feeling dissipated quickly though. He didn’t even blink an eye as stroked his trunk. I had never seen, let alone touched anything that was made of ivory. I knew it would be smooth, but the feel of his trunk still astonished me. The mahout who had walked me over took a picture.

Once the last of the 12 had arrived and gotten pictures, the lead mahout called us over to a gazebo and gave us a briefing of the day. We were given special serapes so that the elephants would recognize us. We were split into two groups and headed out, each group in a different direction.

Each of us were specially paired with an elephant based on the lead mahout’s perception of our personality. I was paired with Ka, who was my mahout trainer, Mena (pronounced men-ah), my paired elephant, and her baby, Tara. Mena was a sweetheart; however I soon came to realize that Tara was quite the trouble maker.

We started off OUR bonding by feeding them, bamboo at first and then sugar cane. There was another younger baby elephant belonging to the elephant positioned next to us. She was the cutest little thing; quite presumptuous too. I wasn’t expecting or really interested in a full frontal kiss, but got a couple none the less.

We learned the different ways to monitor an elephant’s health, including smelling their poop, as well as the words we would need to know when directing our elephants. The words were simple; the application was not. Directing Mena to the river was a slow interesting process; Ka had to help out quite a lot.

Washing an elephant is much different than washing a dog or horse, the two types of animals I have experience washing. Some of the dirt came off her skin easily, other chunks not so much. When our elephants were nice and clean we took a group picture. The elephants returned the favor of cleaning them by spraying us with water from behind. As if we weren’t wet enough.

There are three ways to mount an elephant: have her lay down and climb on from the side, have her lift her leg and hop on, or scramble up her trunk as she lifts you up. The last one was actually the mahouts’ method of choice. Hearing that made it that much easier to choose the seemingly unorthodox technique. It was a lot harder than he made it look, especially since Mena lifted me up faster than I expected. Then there was turning around since once up I was facing the wrong way. Everyone knows elephants are big. What isn’t as well-known is how much taller they seem when you are up there.

I thought it was difficult directing Mena while I was walking next to her. It was just about impossible to do while I was riding her. Luckily she seemed to know where she was going. Getting the elephants to go when there were tasty treats all around was a futile battle. There’s little anyone can do when a creature as big as an elephant has other plans. We went at a slow steady pace, which was perfectly fine because there isn’t the most stable seating on the back of an elephant. While continuing up the river Tara, Mena’s baby, decided she wanted some attention and threw herself into the middle of another elephant’s path. For several minutes she playfully rolled in the water as our mahouts tried to get her moving.

Lunch was delicious! There were so many tasty treats, some I hadn’t tried before. The array of things was rather amusing: fried chicken, dragon fruit, sticky rice wrapped in leaves, fruit cupcakes, fried bananas, and even donuts. There was so much that the six of us only managed to finish about half of it. None of it went to waste. Once we were finished with our meal, we took out any non-edibles components and had the elephants help clean up. Feeding them was more fun this time because we could only give them small pieces that they have to curl their trunks around.

Before heading off on the last leg of our journey we washed our elephants again, they need it twice a day. This time they laid in the water and we sat on top to get the higher parts. Even though I already knew that elephants can breathe through their trunk, it was still fascinating to be washing Mena while she was underwater for such an extended amount of time.

The ending part of day was much slower going due to a combination of our elephants being hungry and the correlating abundance of food on the side of the trail. My Mahout had the brilliant idea of giving me a bundle of sugar cane to have on my lap for when Mena decided it was snack time. I even shared with one of the other elephants.

The experience I had with Mena, Tara and Ka at Patara Elephant Farm was without a doubt one of the major highlights of my month in Thailand. I recommend this to anyone and everyone going to Thailand. You will need to get your spot well ahead of time because they fill up fast. It may have been the most expensive elephant experience offered, but it was worth every Baht!

The Forgotten Roman Playground

Tarragona. I'm guessing most, if not all of you have never heard of it; I hadn't. I learned about the small coastal city while I was on the Sandeman’s free tour in Barcelona. We were looking at the four Roman columns that still standing when the guide mentioned an amphitheater down the coast where the Romans used to hold circuses. It was in a small city called Tarragona, about an hour and a half train ride south. He described the aqueducts that are still in use, the small town feel and the beautiful local beaches. I was sold.

Once I had a decent dose of Barcelona I set out down the coast by train to this forgotten Roman playground. It was easy enough to get to my hostel, On The Road, from the train station by bus. Truth be told, it would only have been a 15 minute walk, which I've done before to get to a hostel.

When I turned off the major road on to the small side street the hostel was on, there was no question in my mind whether I would like it here or not. The street was exactly how I pictured a Spanish neighborhood would look like. Tall buildings on either side with balconies lining the walls, flags and laundry hung side by side and strung across the middle were a dozen Tarragona and Catalonia flags. A few people casually walked down the street chatting and two boys were kicking around a football. The aromas wafting into the street from the restaurant below the hostel made my mouth water.

On The Road is a quaint and welcoming hostel. I was given a bottom bunk next to the window that lead to a balcony overlooking the street below. After getting settled in and getting directions I headed down to the beach. On the way to the beach there was an overlook facing the sea. The view took my breath. The saying "go the extra mile, it's never crowded there" came to mind. There were a few people strolling in the park below and I could see the beach was scattered with people, but neither were overrun with tourists. The sea was the most beautiful and pure turquoise and deep blue. It was picture perfect.

It's hard to be unbiased about the quality of sand on a beach after going to Whitsundays in Australia, but the sand on the main beach is still quite nice. Per usual the sand was hot, although it didn't burn the bottom of my feet like some beaches. It was a bit grainy at times, which is bit of a disappointment for someone who is used to the soft sands of Pismo Beach. Still, it was comfortable to lay on, especially since it didn't radiate heat like the beaches in Australia and Thailand.

One of the things I really enjoyed about this beach was the sea breeze. Often times I have a problem of getting too hot when I'm laying on the sand, but with the consistent air flow and the sand not radiating excessive amounts of heat I was so comfortable I found myself snoozing a couple times. The water though was absolutely divine. Surprisingly it surpassed Australia, not by too much though. It was the perfect temperature; cold enough to feel refreshing, no matter how long you stay in, yet it wasn't uncomfortably cold where you need to slowly adjust.

Just like Barcelona there were more restaurants than necessary, each serving its own array of delicious menus. Rambla Nova is the main street in the city; it is the typical Spanish rambla lined with restaurants and shops on both sides, and a park like strip in the middle. Plaça de la Font is not far away and is also filled with similarly priced restaurants. My first night there I ate at Piscooabis in Plaça de la Font and had a delicious California salad, ironic I know, and Adalusian squid.

However, if you are willing to go the extra mile, literally it's a mile from Plaça de la Font, you will find a line of restaurants frequented by locals with the most delicious and reasonably priced food in the city. I decided to eat at L'arrosseria.

Best decision I could have made. I walked away stuffed with the most scrumptious food and left overs for later, for the same cost as an only decently good meal in Barcelona.

There are only two hostels in the city of Tarragona, both of which are very affordable. I would recommend booking in advance during the high season, especially August, so you don't show up to a full hostel or have to cut your trip short because the hostel gets book while you are going day by day reservations.


Overall my three days in Tarragona were some of the best I have had on my travels. Between the relaxed atmosphere and the gorgeous, uncrowded beach, Tarragona is a must visit in Spain.

A Bangkok Calamity

What do a baby monkey, scuba diving, a cab driver and calamine lotion have in common? Absolutely nothing; except that each of them contributed to the chaos of my first day in Bangkok.

It started a few days before on Koh Phi Phi, an island off the western coast of Thailand. A friend invited me to go sea kayaking to Monkey Beach, a small stretch of beach inhabited by a troop of rather devious monkeys. Usually people bring food offerings for the monkey, however we didn’t get the memo. Luckily there were more than enough people who did to keep us entertained. The monkeys also accepted water bottles; we found this out when a large monkey took one of our water bottles and my friend had to trade a banana someone had given him to get it back. These particular monkeys were very forward and several of them had quite the personalities. The most notable was a male with no left hand who was by far the meanest; he would accept no gifts, but rather yell at anyone that came near him. The largest male strutted around taking anything he wanted from other monkeys, not bothering to deal with us humans.

However, neither of them was the monkey who started my fiasco. The culprit was a small, adorable baby monkey. He had the biggest, begging eyes, and politely sat at my feet waiting for a drink out of my water bottle. I knelt down and gave the little guy a drink. After a few seconds out of the corner of my eye I see a larger monkey running towards us screaming. I quickly made a move to get up and away, but there was no way I could have avoided the little monkey latching on to my leg and biting my leg. I use the term bite very loosely; the result was only two small dents, and the skin wasn't even broken. Still, monkeys are carriers for rabies and it’s highly recommended to go to the hospital if you are ever bitten. There was just one major problem: I only had an hour and a half before the last ferry to Phuket was leaving, and I had no choice but to be on it. The day before I had put a large deposit down on a three day scuba live aboard and the shuttle up to Koh Lak would be waiting for me in Phuket. At this point I'm sure it seems like the choice would be easy: take care of the monkey bite, risking my health wasn’t worth the money I would lose. The thing was, I had already had my rabies shots; I would only need a booster no matter when I went to the hospital. In the end I chose to take the ferry and head up to go scuba diving.


Over the course of the next three days I did a total of 12 deep dives, and got my advanced open wate certificate. One of the biggest topics in my study material was decompression sickness; the most common physical manifestation is a skin rash. I have never been very good at buoyancy, in fact I’d say I was the worst on the boat. I consistently had problems, especially in the last 10 meters. When surfacing in scuba diving it is vitally important to take a 5 minute break at 5 meters; which I attempted, although regularly had issues with. I disembarked from the boat with no plans of what to do next on my Thailand adventure. My scuba instructor told me there was an overnight bus leaving in 30 minutes. She directed me to the place where I could purchase a ticket. The man in the shop made a phone call and informed me that specific bus full, but I could catch another bus that left in five minutes. It would eventually catch up with the overnight bus, which I could then transfer to. I rushed back to the dive center, grabbed my pack, hurried into the grocery store, bought cookies and sweet bread for a make shift dinner, and then was ushered into the awaiting bus. The two bus rides went smoothly without issue. It wasn’t until I woke up and found a huge rash on my arm that there was a problem. Instantly my mind jumped to decompression sickness. I’ll admit, it was a bit of a far jump considering that I had done at least some time at the decompression stops at the end of each dive. Still, between the rash and the monkey bite I decided a visit to the hospital was on the to-do list for the day.

Since I had only had minutes to prepare for my trip to Bangkok I didn’t get a chance to book a hostel. Once we arrived at the bus stop I set out to find what time the hostel a friend had recommended would open. I had opted not to buy a SIM card for my trip and there was no Wi-Fi around, so I went into a 7-11 to see if someone could help. It took a little while to communicate what I needed, but eventually one of the girls found that the hostel didn't open until 8:30 am, three hours away. It seemed as though it was a good time to head to the hospital. I had the man who was organizing the taxis to tell the driver to take me to the hospital. When we arrived at the hospital I paid and thanked the taxi man and headed inside. However, as soon as I walked in I knew he had taken me to the wrong one; this was not a hospital for a foreigner. The biggest issue was only two people spoke English, which was broken at best. The hospital consisted of one big room, lined up on one of the walls were beds occupied by old and sick patients. Exams were performed behind curtains in the back of the room. My favorite part was that all of the nurses wore matching outfits and shoes. The female nurses wore nurse outfits from the 50’s, with white dresses and the hat, and the men wore white pants and shirts. Eventually I was able to communicate my situation to one of the receptionists and a nurse led me to one of the exam areas. I waited for a while for a doctor to come talk to me. When she finally arrived, she asked me how long ago I got bit by the monkey, "Three days." The look of horror and astonishment on her face was remarkable. I quickly handed her my vaccine records and explained that I already had a rabies series done back in The States. As I expected, I only needed a rabies booster shot. As for the rash on my arm, she said it was only an allergic reaction and not decompression sickness. She prescribed me an oral and a topical medications: antihistamine and calamine lotion. I had already paid by the time I realized I didn't need either of the medications. Since the whole visit only cost around $30 I just laughed to myself and headed out to grab a cab to the hostel.

In good traveler form, I had the address of the hostel and two maps with it clearly marked. I dumped my stuff into first cab I flagged down. Once I got inside I gave him the address, problem was he didn't speak English. He also didn't read English, so he couldn't understand the map. I hauled my stuff out and flagged down another, same issue. By the third taxi I stopped putting my stuff in the back of the car. Finally I decided I should stop and figure out where I was. I went to a bus stop, unfolded my large map and started asking people where we were. It took four or five people to figure out where we were because they couldn't read the map either. Once they showed me where I was on the map it was clear that the first cab driver had in fact taken me to the wrong hospital. I was way up in the top right hand corner of the map and where I needed to go, where the tourists would be, was in the bottom left. A woman patiently tried to explain how I could get to my hostel using public transportation, but I graciously told her I would continue looking for another cab. I went to the entrance of a cancer treatment center to ask the guards if they could help me. The first directed me to a second, who then directed me back to the first. Right when I thought I had run out of ideas a woman called after me; she spoke English! I showed her where I wanted to go on my map, she hailed down a cab and gave him directions. I was finally on my way to the hostel, all thanks to a very kind woman who went out of her way to help.

The cab dropped me off near the hostel and I headed in. I walked in, exhausted but still greeted the guy at the front desk with a smile and told him I was looking for the cheapest room they had. Before he could respond the grumpy man next to him rudely informed me that they only had single private room which were three times the price I would pay for a bed in a dorm. I was so frustrated with how rude the one man had been that I didn't even want to ask for the Wi-Fi password. I walked down the street hoping to find a restaurant that I could get internet at. It was still only 8:30am so next to nothing was open. Luckily I found a hotel restaurant with a breakfast deal and Wi-Fi. I searched up a good looking hostel that was only a 15 minute walk away. However, the walk ended up being closer to 25 minutes because I was so exhausted and couldn’t walk very fast. The hostel had a bed, but it wouldn't be ready for another three hours, good enough for me. I plopped down in a chair to wait.

For the next day and a half I diligently put the calamine lotion on my arm and made sure not to scratch it. After I took a shower on the second day, I touched my arm for the first time and I realize just how raised the rash had become. I did the worst possible thing anyone can do when faced with an unknown medical issue: I went on Web MD. I freaked myself out and decided to go to the hospital again, a tourist one this time though. When I walked in I knew I was in the right place. The waiting area was very open with comfy chairs and tables and there was a real reception desk with a woman who spoke English. I didn't have to wait long to talk to the doctor this time. She informed me that it wasn't decompression sickness; a rash from that would be all over my body and not raised. She confirmed it was an allergic reaction and asked to see what the other doctor had prescribed me. Ends up the calamine lotion had been drying out the rash, which was what caused it to get worse. She prescribed me antihistamine and a steroid cream. I declined the antihistamine that time, but graciously took the cream. $60 later I left a Thai hospital for the final time on that trip; the calamity was finally over.

A baby monkey takes a nibble on my leg. Scuba diving sends me into a panic. Cab drivers can't understand me. Calamine lotion makes a rash worse. The series of fiascos that ensued had such strange connections. Yet, that is one of the beauties of travel. You never know what to expect; you just need to expect the unexpected.

Mary King's Close

A street where plague victims were locked in and forced to suffer a long and horrific death is bound to create a restless spirit or two. Such is the tale of Mary King's Close in Edinburgh, Scotland. I heard about the tour from a fellow traveller while discussing my disappointing City of the Dead Catacombs tour last year. A friend of her's had gone on this "underground ghost tour" twice and highly recommended it. From that description I got the impression of an adventure filled with ghost stories. Instead I got to see how the common people lived in the medieval times. I learned the trials and tribulations they went through on a daily basis, and the devastation the plagues had on these people. It was a nice contrast to the stories about the wealthier people of the era that are much more often told.

Disappointingly we were not allowed to take any photos because we were right under a government building and they didn't want people mapping out the tunnels under them.

Our tour guide enthusiastically introduced himself as a lawyer from the Victorian Era who seconded as a civilian crime police at night. He led us to the first room where we encountered two women standing over the body of a dead man with a gaping wound in the back of his head. The story goes that a  wealthy woman, Alison Roche, offered a generous dowry to ensure her daughter Katherine found a suitable husband. An older and prosperous merchant, Alexander was the lucky man. Four years later Alison still had not paid him the dowry. He took her to court and sued her for the money she owed him. During a heated argument at home she hit him in the back of the head with a candle stick. At the time police were paid on commission for the number of arrests; so when an officer showed up he arrested both women. They were found guilty of murder and sentenced to death. Katherine was pregnant, so by law they were required to wait until she gave birth to execute her. However, after giving birth to a daughter, who she then deserted, Katherine managed to escape to Germany to live out her days. Alison was not so lucky and she was executed in the worst of ways. Back then men were executed by hanging. However if a woman was hanged you would be able to see up her skirt, and that was rude. Instead they drowned her in the loch. Which was more of a sewage plant than a lake at that point in time. Personally I'd rather have my skirt looked up than be drowned in a lake of sewage.

Going farther down to street level we entered a room about 20' x 10'. The doorway and a 2' x 3' window were the only opening to the outside. There was a bucket in the far back corner and an oil lamp on a small table. This would have been home to around 12 people of the very lowest caste. That bucket was their toilet, and the youngest of the household emptied it at 7am and 10pm, right alongside all the other waste being thrown down from upper dwellings. Even with the window and door virtually no natural light would have reached the home due to the high buildings above it. The main light would come from the lamp that burned the only oil the poor could afford, fish oil. I can't even imagine how smelly it must have been with fish oil burning, on top of the 12 unwashed bodies and bathroom bucket, with little to no ventilation to clear it out. Yuk. 

As we walked out out of the "house" we crossed a close. I would have missed it if he hadn't told us it was there. It was only about 3' wide, making it more of a hallway than a street in my eyes. Even though we were on street level for this building, I could look down through a window on my right and see that the building next door was down even father.

From there we walked into a room with six large painting, three on each side. Our tour guide began telling up about Mary Queen of Scots and her night in Edinburgh when one of the paintings interrupted him. The woman complained that he was going on and on about that Mary who only was there for a day when she herself had an entire street named after her. It was Mary King herself. Our guide and Mary King spoke back and forth for a bit before Mary began telling us a story of her own. Not long into her story the next painting interjected to brag about how he had cured the city of plague; Dr. Jon Paulitius was quite full of himself. Although I suppose when you think you are smart enough to have cured plague you have some justification. Truth be told, he only managed to do so by sheer luck. His theory about plague was wrong and his methods didn't help directly, but in the end he did rid the city of the problem. Granted he also died in the end and never got paid, so sucks for him. I never quite understood who the man in the third painting was, but he got taken away at the end for committing a political crime. 

There was a very grim scene in the next room. We learned that this was the home of grave-digger John Craig. The first thing that caught my eye when I walked in the room was a grim reaper like figure with what appeared to be a bird beak sticking out. He was standing over a sick boy in a bed, John's eldest son John. The grim reaper was none other than our doctor friend from the other room, Jon Paulitius  He believed that the plague was transmitted in the air; the long cloak was to protect his skin from the disease and the beak was stuffed with fiber and herbs to filter the air. As I mentioned previously, his theories about the plague where completely wrong, but his attire still helped him live much longer than others. Bubonic Plague was actually spread via rat fleas, so his coat protected him from the fleas jumping off his patient and the rats around him. Across the room was another bed was John's wife, Janet and their two youngest boys, Robert and Thomas, who were dying of pneumonic plague. Our guide explained that pneumonic plague was completely incurable at the time, however bubonic plague was not. To cure it the doctor would lance the boils that formed at the lymph nodes in the armpits and then cauterize it with flaming hot metal. Some people did not survive the procedure because of the pain, yet if they did their chances of survival were 50:50 rather than 1:10. Whether that made them the lucky ones is definitely up to interpretation. John Craig, was in the corner, on the floor, under a sheet. He had already died of plague. I would have missed it entirely if our guide hadn't pointed the body out. He also told us that the story of blocking in the people of Mary King's Close and leaving them to their fate was actually a myth. The truth is the close was simply an area allocated for quarantine. Definitely not quite as exciting.

The least exciting stop was a room of benches where we were told to take a seat. Our guide turned off the lights and we listened to an excerpt of a "scary" story written about the boarding up of Mary King's Close. Our guide dropped his stick partway through making us all jump. 

Next came a dwelling that would have belonged to a wealthier family. It was definitely much more preferable to the ground floor housing of the poor. It had multiple rooms of semi decent size. To be honest, I probably wouldn't be able to afford an apartment that size in San Francisco even if I wanted to. In the back room there was a pile of toys and books, and random stuff like police patches. The story behind the offerings is that a Japanese psychic came to the close to search for super natural activity, only she didn't find any. That is until she walked into that room and an apparition of a little girl told the psychic that her name was Annie. Long ago her parents told her she was sick and left her there in the house. Over the years she had lost her one comfort, a toy rabbit. Feeling bad the psychic brought Annie a toy and left it in her room. Since that time people have left other stuff for Annie to play with.

Our final stop was the actual Mary King's Close. It was the widest in the city, about 6ft wide, although back then there would have been stalls on one side which would have made the walkway still only about 3ft wide. He took a photo of each group, or individual in my case, that could be purchased later.

Overall it was an interesting tour. I would recommend it if you have the time and funds. Although there's no reason to beat yourself up if you don't make it while you are in Edinburgh.

Sleepaboard in Maya Bay

 

The Beach. It’s a movie starring Leonardo DiCaprio about...well I’m not quite sure because I haven’t watched the movie to be honest. However that is beside the point. The beach features one of the most beautiful beaches in Thailand, Maya Bay. This of course attracts heaps of tourists every day, almost to the point of not being able to even see the beach. It used to be possible to avoid the crowd by camping there overnight, but that has since been made illegal. Many people opt to hire an early morning boat to get there for the sunrise and beat the mass of tourists. That is the third best option for visiting this slice of paradise. The first and second are hosted by Maya Bay Tours. The second best option is their Plankton Tour where you arrive at the end of the tourist rush, stay for dinner and have a swim with the bioluminescent plankton. That tours big brother is the best option for experiencing all that Maya Bay has to offer. The Maya Bay Sleepaboard was one of the major highlights of my month in Thailand.

 

We left Koh Phi Phi at around 3pm. We didn’t go straight to Maya Bay though. They took us to a snorkel spot and set us on our way for a good while. The water was a tad bit cloudy, but the underwater life was beautiful as always.

 

From there they drove us around the back of the bay where there was a lookout that looked quite like a pirate’s nest. When we did reach the beach there were still a good amount of tourists around. The leaders told us to take a look around the island for some time while the day trippers cleared out. There is actually much more to the island than the beach. The walk to the other side of the island to the pirate’s look out nest is through tropical forest landscape. Granted it wasn’t as dense as some of the other walks I’ve been on in the forest, but it was beautiful none the less.

 

The lookout point was nice. Nothing to write home about, but

interesting and worth the look. On the way back I took a different path to the beach and was rewarded with interesting looking plant life that had descriptions on boards nearby.

 

The sunset was one of the most beautiful ones I saw while I was in Thailand. A group of us ended up working our way through the water to a small cave of sorts to get the best view. We all got

so many beautiful pictures as we stood there and watched as day turned slowly into night. While we enjoyed this time, our feet did not. The waves were rolling up rocks that occasionally ran into our feet.

 

 

First dinner was delicious! We had a decently spicy curry with rice. Most of the group decided to get the one free bucket that is included in the trip. I stuck with water since I can’t handle spicy to save my life. Though after dinner I joined in the fun. We all walked around talking. Getting to know each other.

 

Not long after dinner our leader gathered us around in a rather

large circle to play King’s Cup. Most interesting game of King’s I’ve ever played. Note to self, 22 people is too many for a round of King’s. It was still a blast though! Waterfalls were very confusing, but that just meant we got to drink more. After this one of the girls brought out her hula hoop and another a set of poi. The two of them gave quite the show. What was even better though were the people who gave poi a try for the first time. There are few things funnier than people flailing their arms and then whacking themselves in the head with poi balls. As I mentioned before, one free bucket was included in the tour. Each bucket after was 250 baht. I was running low on cash, but luckily they didn’t skimp on the alcohol so I managed to get by.

 

While we were all being entertained our hosts had been preparing dinner number two. For me this was the better of the two simply because it wasn’t spicy so I could thoroughly enjoy it. We feasted of BBQ meat, garlic bread and a vegetable mix. We returned to our mats and continued socializing. The entertainment resumed not long after.

 

If you have seen Life of Pi I’m sure you have an image in your head about what these bioluminescent plankton are going to look like. Every movement of your hand is going to light up the water in a beautiful neon color. Just as the rest of his story was a tall tale, so is the depiction of that experience. This is not to say that the plankton aren’t cool, especially when you use a mask to look under the water. A better description of what you will see with the plankton is that they look like shooting stars in the water. If you make fast movements you will see little glowing sparks.

 

The rest of our nighttime, that turned into morning hours was spent doing anything we liked. Some continued playing with the poi. Others picked up new drinking games. One of which was Animals, one of the easiest drinking games I have played. One by one, and couple by couple the group slowly dwindled as everyone took their mats, pillows and blankets to find a place on the beach to sleep. Usually the tour doesn’t get to sleep on the beach, but occasionally when the water is rough the coast guard allows the company to have its guest sleep in the shore.

 

6am wakeup call was far from pleasant. The rising sun however was quite nice to wake up to. We all packed up our stuff and spent the rest of our time relaxing on the still empty beach. Most of us dozing off, although one guy got in a swim. Before we left we took their token jumping picture. Well, we took about 12 jumping pictures so everyone could get one on their cameras and phones.

 

Breakfast was served on the boat; scrambled eggs, toast and fruit. Simply, delicious and perfect for a morning after drinking. We arrived back at the dock right on time and said our farewells.

 

It was such an amazing experience! Having a beach all to ourselves with just 20 people is not something you find often in such a touristy area. The people were great. The food was delicious. Our guides were a ton of fun. Overall one of the best experiences I have had in my travels thus far!