A Walk Through The Wild Side

Despite the ongoing bad weather, I didn't want to be deterred from smaller activities, that was unfortunately not possible. But hanging out on the porch all the time was making me restless and annoyed. Only movement could help.

As soon as the weather allowed, I hopped on the scooter and drove towards Mae Haad, parked the scooter about a kilometer before the turn to the sea on the main road, and hiked up the hill. I had checked this path on the map before, it should take me directly to my old resort through the countryside, like a back entrance. The unpaved and heavily eroded, rocky path could also be driven with a jeep or a decent off-road vehicle, but it was not recommended with a scooter. Besides, I wanted to keep moving and as long as it stayed dry, this was the best weather for it, cloudy and not too hot.

At first, the climb was quite steep and I quickly ran out of breath, but gradually the slope decreased and I made good progress. On the right-hand side, the view was mostly open over the Mae Haad valley to the hills on the opposite side. I could hear the Wangsai waterfall well, which must now have had much more water than when I visited it some time ago. The sound now had a rushing quality and radiated strength. I knew that somewhere up here, there must be a path that would lead me to the waterfall from above - I had always come from below. When a narrow path actually opened on the right side, I didn't hesitate and followed it down the slope towards the sound of the waterfall. After a few minutes, I was surprised to come across a parked moped, which was parked under a makeshift roof. Further down, I could even see a completely intact hut. Who in the world lives in this wilderness?

The sound was now unmistakable, and below the hut, I could even make out the now foaming and roaring mountain stream. It was no longer a babbling brook. I was even more curious to see the completely changed river, but I was confused by a sign in front of the hut, "Waterfall 20 Baht." I had expected all sorts of things, but certainly not an admission fee. 20 Baht is not much, about 60 cents, but I don't like the attitude at all, not at all, so I immediately turned around. I didn't even know if the hut was inhabited or if the resident was home, but I didn't feel like finding out. Besides, anyone who lives so remotely in the wilderness surely has a dog, and I definitely didn't want to make acquaintance with it. Rather annoyed than disappointed, I marched back up the slope to the actual path, which I continued to follow, and which hardly climbed anymore, but rather ran parallel to the slope. I passed a spot where the slope on the left-hand side had slid down on a wide front, and where now bare rock appeared, almost like a quarry, but it wasn't. The rain had carved deep grooves into the terrain, a stony desolation. On the right side, I passed an unusually large building that was obviously inhabited. Laundry was hanging on a clothesline, mopeds were parked in one corner, and miscellaneous stuff was scattered around, even a concrete mixer like the ones you see on every construction site. But I didn't see or hear anyone and continued on at a brisk pace.

I had picked up a big stick that I happened to find on the ground, which now set the rhythm of my walk. I was now slowly going downhill, and the stick was a good support because I could lean on it. I was now above the beach of Mae Haad and was sure I was on the right path.

I came across a small house that someone had built here in the jungle, high above the beach. The door was locked, but it was clearly abandoned and had not been used for quite some time. I walked past it to the back into the neglected garden, where I could look into the interior through the panoramic windows, everything was empty. The builder had even installed a small whirlpool in the garden, with a view of the sea. However, all the pipes were cut and everything was in a state of disrepair. I left this bleak place and continued on my way, which now went steeply downhill, it couldn't be far now. After one last bend, I caught sight of the huts of my old resort, and I was looking forward to seeing Shantaram, my dog friend, again. But he was somewhere else and I greeted the two resort managers from Myanmar first, who, as almost always, were sitting in front of their hut and looking at their phones. So, the man was quite amazed that I had walked the whole way on foot, but he was glad for the little change and we chatted a bit about how many squids he had caught in the past few days. The woman, as usual, showed no emotion and just nodded briefly in greeting.

Finally, I went in search of Shantaram and immediately found him on the beach, where he was closely watching the two neighbor dogs as they spread out on his beach. I called out to him, and he looked around in confusion, saw me, looked back at the intruders, but then turned around and walked towards me. The closer he got, the faster he became, and finally, he jumped up to greet me and we frolicked around a bit. I stroked him extensively and greeted him happily, which he responded to with flattened ears and licking sounds. We played around on the beach for a while, but that is still difficult. He seems to quickly lose interest in it or doesn't understand the game. Soon, he retreated and resumed watching the two neighbor dogs.

I went back to the resort and greeted the Russian man standing in front of his bungalow, the last remaining guest in the resort, along with his invisible wife. We had spoken briefly a few times before, and during my last visit, I had observed that he had also become friends with the dog, and vice versa. He vehemently complained about Putin's invasion of Ukraine and how ashamed he was of it. He worked for an American company, half of whose employees were Russians and Ukrainians, who all got along wonderfully. He hasn't lived in Russia for many years and doesn't want to go back. Somehow we started talking about meditation, and I learned that he and his wife regularly participate in a Vipassana retreat in Hof, Germany. I told him about Osho's active meditations, which he didn't know about yet. He had already heard of Osho himself, though. We talked for a while longer until he disappeared back into his bungalow, and I unpacked my camera to photograph the river breakthrough on the beach. A short time later, he approached me again, this time accompanied by his wife, whom I had never seen before and who he now introduced to me. At the same time, they handed me a small portion of Siberian honey in an empty plastic bottle that they had brought from home. I was completely blown away and felt very honored. Katharina, his wife, asked me where I live in Germany, and when I answered Heidelberg, she surprised me by saying that she had been on a student exchange in Heidelberg and really liked the city.

How small the world can be sometimes...