Footloose and Foodist

Beach It!

A long, long stretch of whitish beach, the waves rhythmic and almost hypnotic, the waters disappearing into the horizons and everything so mystical and magical. Hands up, I confess that there I was - a confirmed hilly-billy who snatched and snatches every opportunity to run off to the hill - loving every moment at The Khao Takiab (Chopstick Mountain) beach at Hua Hin, around three hours drive from Bangkok. And wanting more of it!

Thailand has always been one of the favourite family destination, not too far, yummy food, fantastic seasides, gentle people, great shopping and more. We have been fortunate to have made several visits and apart from the regular Bangkok, Pattaya, Phuket, Ko Samui, the tigers at Kanchanburi etc; there have been visits to other quite not well known places including Surathani ( The road side dish of steamed rice and pork curry still makes me salivate). Ko Samui was where an exasperated daughter pointed out to us that as parents we were not supposed to be taking her to pole dance shows. My feeble explanation that they were lady boys and not the real McCoy or real women, cut no ice with her and I had to leave abruptly with her and take parenting tips from her! Hua Hin was one place that somehow never featured in our itinerary. This time it was a solo visit, a work related one which was however more of an indulgence thanks to the special invitation from The Barai at the Hyatt Regency, Hua Hin. The luxurious resident spa fronts the beach and so there I was- armed with an umbrella, the only one sporting it- alone on the beach.

The Khao Takiab beach, I'm told, stretches over 12 km. In comparison to other hot spots in Thailand, Hua Hin is much quieter and peaceful, maybe sedate as those who crave the throng, frenzy and exciting night life might say. I loved the fact that Hua Hin is totally unlike and away from it all. The King and the Queen live mostly in Hua Hin and that could be the reason why it is different, or as we Indians say hat ke! In fact, there was a ship anchored in the Gulf of Thailand which turned out to be royal property, the rest were usually small boats. To walk that entire beach and not have people asking you if you wanted to try some water sport was bliss. The tourists, not too many either probably because it was off season and the weather somewhat hot and humid, were mostly whites. There were some few Thai visitors too, mostly families and then there were some locals working on the beach - combing for shells and rock lobsters. Apart from a few restaurants - all housed in private properties- and a handful abutting the base of the Chopstick Mountain at one end, the beach was uncluttered. The beach had more private properties than hotels and some of them were really wow. All of them sported boards making it very clear that no intruders were welcome. So be it.

Thanks to the monsoon season, the colour code of the sky over the Gulf of Thailand, the clouds and even the sands on the beach changed several shades. At one moment the sky would be a deep grey, the clouds looking ready to burst into a frenzy of rain, the few trees around would sway madly and the humidity shoot up; a few minutes of light drizzle and the sky would clear, turning blue, the clouds sparse and white, and the sun rays would filter through the clouds turning the water a shimmery silver carpet, difficult to wean ones eyes away from. It was as if someone up there was fitting in different slides into the kaleidoscope.

I didn't realise when I had fallen in love with it all! It didn't take me long to kick off my shoes and go bare feet, huge black umbrella tucked under my arm. Though I would have given anything to have the family or friends around, I must admit that being all alone on a long, lovely beach was indeed a different experience, one that I was beginning to like. There were some brave joggers; a huge bunch of school kids (study trip?) from Europe where the teenage girls spread themselves out on their brightly coloured beach towels, sporting chic bikinis, the boys seemed somewhat gangly, awkward and not-man yet; leisurely walkers; serious swimmers and having-fun-dipping-in-the-water and having-fun-trying-to-avoid-the-waves kind.

What I was doing was trying to ensure that I didn't step on any of the tiny crabs - really tiny, think miniature- and their even tinier babies crawling all over the sand, popping out one minute from one hole and disappearing into the other. There were thousands and more all around and my attempt to keep staring at one particular spot and count as many as I could was a failed disaster from the word go. It made me cross eyed and crabby. (How could one resist that!)

Crab holes all around- don't bother looking for them, they are really really teeny weeny!

While the myriad crabs had the run of the place, the story of the shells were something else. There were quite a few of shell hunters on the beach with their indigenous contraptions, each would push the contraption in a straight line as if raking the beach and then at a point, if they were successful, pull up the contraption and empty the shells in the net bag strung at one end of a pole. The shell seekers usually worked at the edge of the water, some in ankle deep water, some calf deep and some knee deep. If you kept watching them, it seemed both robotic and meditative. There were some fishermen too, waist deep or more into the water, patiently latching on their fishing rods. It was a bit sad too, that is certainly no way to make a living.

The Shell Seekers

The sight that will stay with me forever is the father and his little son hunting for rock lobsters. From a distance I couldn't figure out what the man was doing while his little boy either sat down beside him and watched what his dad was doing, or like all little boys ran around playing on his own and at one point even took off his orange shorts to attend to nature's call. Language was the hindrance but the man finally realised I wanted to see a demonstration of what he was doing. Armed with a metal fork in one hand and a tiny cylindrical roll of polythene in the other, he would squat on the sand, gently push in the fork into the sand and at the other end, barely two inches away, he would touch the sand with the polythene roll and suddenly, he would lift a rock lobster and put it in his blue plastic jug, half filled with water. For the life of me I couldn't figure out what kind of fishing that was and how on earth he could make out that there was a rock lobster beneath that particular point. Later the beautiful, pleasant butler of my suite at The Barai, Amy told me that rock lobsters were usually not sold in the market either because after cooking it becomes somewhat glutinous, so that would be for private consumption.

Rock Lobsters - Wouldn't want to try them

At at the right extreme right side of the beach was one of the chopstick mountain that looked like a giant rocky boulder, three fourths covered with greens. There's a small road that ascends from the beach to the temple and the monastery at the top and right at the beginning, on the left is a humongous golden Buddha statue, that too me seemed incongruous, a little out of place because of its size. A much smaller version would have looked better, at least that's what I feel. The setting for the temple and the monastery is however perfect and I am sure that the view from up there of the Gulf of Thailand would be stunning but, thanks to the dozen of monkeys, I hurriedly cut short my planned visit and scooted down. As I had made my way up slowly, taking in the changing sea view at every step, I thought I heard some chattering nearby. There were not much tourists around, except a few hanging around the giant statue and the small shanty like shops at the base of the road climbing up were all shut. Admiring the view all the while as I slowly climbed up, I failed to pay attention to my immediate neighbourhood and then, as the chattering increased I realised that there were quite a lot of monkeys perched all around, all eyes on me. I made an abrupt stop, turned around and somehow stopped myself from both screaming and running away as fast as I could. Sending frantic prayers upstairs, I walked down as fast as I could. It was then I thanked myself for tugging along the giant umbrella. if anyone dared to come close it would be a handy tool. Thankfully, I didn't have to use it.

One of the small restaurant, right at the end of the beach and a little away from where the small roads climbs up the hill, is open. There's no coffee/tea, its water, cold drinks or good old Thai food. The two women, one elderly and one very young, are totally lost with English. Smiles and sing languages work beautifully. There's a stray dog seated languidly nearby. After some time he decides, its time for a dip and casually starts walking into the water. He sits for sometime and decides that he needs to walk further. He strolls like he has all the time in the world, getting deeper and deeper into the water and in the distance I can see him all but his head submerged in the water.

As the sun dipped into the grayish bluish horizon, the water indistinguishable from the sky, sitting at an outdoor table at McFarland House, the two floored pavilion restaurant of The Barai, it struck me suddenly that the beach where I spent practically the whole day had disappeared and the water was gently lapping the boundary wall. The tide had done its bit and the entire beach was now under water. It was surreal, the whole day the beach lay there and hey presto it was gone!