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The following recounts a month on tudong in Thailand (backpacking, walkabout, camping). Most of the text follows my walk from Nam Tok train station – the end of the line, north-west of Kanchanaburi – heading west to a small hermitage on the Myanmar border deep in the Sai Yok National Park forest. It was just 8 days of walking, about 80km, but was probably the most challenging tudong I have done and more than once during those days I wondered – why??? I do love a good adventure but they can be had heat, rain, sweat and leech free.
On the 'Why?'
A, or perhaps the, core teaching of the Buddha is on anatta; non-self, impersonality. It poses the question of identity. Who am I? Over the years, especially the early ones, we accrue multi-layered conditioning that sees us carrying an enormous array of very solid-seeming perceptual references defining who I am. Add to this all the physical 'stuff' I posses. The aggregation of all this can appear to answer the question; that… I am all of that. And then so much of the world we meet daily reinforces those references and they gradually harden our feelings of self-identity… I am a (real) man (or not), likeable (or not), I am intelligent/stupid, handsome/ugly, rich/poor, tall/short – and the list is endless; and… I have a mass of documentation, paper and digital, to prove that all of it is mine and it is indeed me! Except, that as a monk, I don't have so much 'stuff' and Ajahn Kusalo has no legal existence – none. And yet… here I am :)
The busyness of daily life and persistent exposure to the signs and symbols that consolidate our fabricated identity makes it very difficult to get a clear overview of the many forces at work in the mind. By stepping away from the busyness, removing ourself from 'the world', we enter into somewhat of an identity vacuum; there are few familiar signs to confirm who I am. In a foreign country with almost no language, in a simple rural area with no money, no documents and few possessions what is it that defines me; that tells others who I am. Well, I am a monk and in Thailand the robe and the haircut creates a strong contextual perception. There are certainly times that I am required to 'be a monk' – notably in the morning when collecting alms food. However, most of the time, especially on tudong, I am alone – with the ants, monkeys, birds, snakes… and the dogs – who just bark at me… consistently failing to identify me as a monk; I am just 'foreign'. I am nobody. Walking – nowhere – carrying all I have, with the range of distractions very limited. I have a small gas stove and a nice hot cup of tea is about as sensually exciting as it gets. A big part of tudong is learning to be comfortable being nobody, with nothing, nowhere.
I sometimes define the goal of Buddhism as: 'Freedom from suffering'. Peace. What is it that stops me from being peaceful? Ants, snakes, etc.? And so much energy in the world, our life, is expended making sure that my world is made up of only pleasant things. This goal is impossible. The world is a mix of pleasant and unpleasant. This is a pity but – it just is. 50/50(ish)? If I can truly be at peace with unpleasant feeling then I can truly be at peace. Being on tudong is observing and working with my denial of, my avoidance, my distraction from unpleasant feeling. Walking and camping in wilderness environments provides a lot of opportunity for that.
Bangkok… a massively vibrant sprawling city with everywhere you might want to go to being somewhere else that inevitably involves dealing with the road network and all the humanity upon it. I arrived on Friday evening, the 24th of December 2025, and everything went incredibly well – pleasant feeling :). As a monk I get priority immigration service, my bag came surprisingly quickly and my pickup person appeared within minutes… and then, the traffic. Eventually we arrived at Dhammaram, a beautifully appointed transit accommodation for monks. I had a train booked for Sunday morning so Saturday was a free day. After the meal and some discussion a tour was organised. My guide was a delightful young fashion designer who spoke good English and we talked through the options as to where to go – with Buddhist temples being the usual default suggestion for monks. We discussed her work and I shared my enthusiasm for making things and interest in seeing things being made. Cutting the story short we ended up in Bahn Baht; bowl village. About 500 years ago there was a migration from Ayutthaya to what is now Bangkok. A group of artisans brought their craft skills with them and have been making monks' bowls continuously ever since. Through the guide and driver we met some people and got a grand tour of work places dotted through what is now a very tight labyrinth of streets and dwellings and shops and… human life compressed into a pretty dense area. My Western perception might even call it a slum? It would be easy, and a colourful delight for me to write a whole chapter or four on the details of this incredibly rich and varied time but… the journey West! My raison d'être. Let's crack on with that.
Day 1:
It is early Sunday morning on the 26th of October and I am all packed and keen to be away. A driver arrives nice and early but I am expecting Khun Saiwaroon, a long time supporter – both to say farewell and for her to offer me a bag lunch – and a gas bottle and a loan-phone; she is very generous. While I am waiting other ladies arrive and offer me various kindnesses. Drinks and snacky things are consumable but the cashmere shawl is a carry on… as are various other gifts I have been given both here and in Singapore. If I was sure I was returning I could easily leave a package to collect later; however, this, like much in life, is uncertain. Gifts are wonderful to receive and in turn make great gifts. I can't abandon them so I will take them with me – despite concerns that my bag weight is more than I would prefer; this ageing body does incline to moan. Finally the dear lady arrives and transactions are transacted and we all take our respective, respectful leave.
The drive to the train station seems interminable and at one stage the (fleeting) thought occurs that perhaps he is driving me to Kanchanaburi… no, it is just that Bangkok is big – perhaps even bigger than big – and, unfamiliar to me. I have zero points of reference to orient myself in terms of direction or distance. After various highways, on-ramps and off-ramps we snake through a tangle of construction hoardings and a clutter of orange road cones then stop-start along the boundary road of a large marketplace. I see rail tracks to my right which brings a surge of confident optimism. I wonder if produce is brought to the market by rail from outlying districts? It certainly is busy with commercial volumes of fruit, vegetables and other goods being wheeled about and loaded into vans. And there, directly ahead, is what can only be called – a railway station. This being Bangkok… I guess I had imagined something larger, but perhaps the Western line is a small branch? Without language and a map I could feel a few variables flapping loose but… I had a ticket and there was a train next to the only platform. Looking good. As a consistently early arriver I used my best, but limited, Thai to suggest that perhaps I should board the train. As in: "Let's go!" My driver, with almost no English, countered by asking what kind of coffee I would like. And off he duly went to the coffee cart to procure said same. Okee dokee… go with the flow. Relax. While waiting for coffee there were various announcements in Thai – which of course I did not understand – and then the train left. Breathing in… relax… and then I notice that there is another (platformless) train a couple of tracks over. My concerns are eventually alleviated by a young man who approached me and after some brief conversation, in excellent English, confirmed that he was going to Kanchanaburi and that he was a law student and that he wanted to give me two bread rolls. And life rolls on. "All aboard." At least that's what I assumed the announcement said so I bid farewell to my driver and literally went with the flow – of people – crossing the tracks and climbing aboard. The train would have been new once but was likely built a good many decades ago – it reminded me somewhat of my travels in India. I lucked out first time and got a coach with aircon; that is to say, one with all the windows open. I had a seat opposite a gentleman from Middlesborough, U.K., and we had some pleasant conversation prior to departure but once underway the noise of the train was so great that we gave up. My bag lunch was yummy and was twice supplemented by offerings from vendors who plied their wares up and down the aisle between stations. We rattled our way west with the scenery pleasant and rural. On arrival I was surprised, but not unexpectedly so, to be met by Kaerk who drove me about 3km to 'a bridge' over the river Kwai – as opposed to 'the bridge'. He offers me water, chocolate and candies and I begin my walk – by walking for a while. It is hotter than I expected. Perhaps it would be more honest to just say "it is hot". A few kilometres further down the road it is still hot. After about 9km I thought that perhaps I had sweated enough for the cause so started looking for a resting place and possible campsite. I was still somewhat in an urban/rural transition area where I have, from experience, learnt that discreetly 'disappearing' nicely avoids attention. People are so incredibly generous and helpful but the only help I wanted at this point was from a patch of horizontal ground to lay my sweaty body on.
A downward sloping tapioca field invited me in. I was a bit tired and a rest turned into a nap – disrespectfully disrupted by 'the dogs' – barking. They are ubiquitous and generally of the mindset that anything not familiar, ie. foreign, warrants loud and prolonged barking. Exploring a bit further down the hill I find the tapioca sharing space with some kind of fruit trees which offer some nice open ground for camping – and a bit more distance from the dogs. A little tea, a little meditation, a little cooler evening air and a little less light becomes darkness and… good night one and all.
Day 2:
The day dawns brightly and it is relatively cool. Packing up 'my worldly belongings' takes about 20 minute and once complete I thought it best to head directly out to the road and start walking while the day is still cool. Once on the road I was delighted to see a couple of stalls/shops just a few hundred metres further down the road. The magic of going pindapat (collecting alms food) as a monk is that it requires not much more than standing still, being proximate and visible. Within a fairly short time the food offerings were sufficient for a meal. I chant a blessing and walk on. It is already beginning to warm up. After wandering on for a few kilometres my sweat soaked shirt confirms that it is indeed by now, without a doubt, hot! and that it would be good to find a good place to take a break and eat my meal. Following a small track into a palm plantation I feel sure of finding some shade. I spread my ground sheet and lay out the various offerings on it; rice, bread, meat, apples and a few interesting but unfamiliar food items.
Food unfamiliar to me perhaps but not to the ants. They arrive in significant enough numbers that attempting a discussion about 'who was here first' or suggesting that 'I will put some food for you over there, off to the side' seems futile. It is easiest for me to just move elsewhere; there are plenty of palms to choose from. Having eaten and taken a short rest – the road ramble resumes. I am using my phone with GPS and offline maps to confirm my route and give some indication of the distance travelled. After a few kilometres of shaking down the lunch, I see, just visible through the trees but not marked on the map, a glimpse of water. Keeping an eye peeled I eventually spot a likely access way through the bush and cannot resist the possibility of immersion. I pick my way through the relatively open undergrowth and… Bingo! A surprisingly largish lake cum reservoir. The water is not that cold but it is incredibly refreshing and bids me to linger longer. Alas, my sketch of the day still has some distance yet to go. Despite having draped my robes in the sun over various bushes and branches before bathing it is pretty much the same sweaty robes to be put back on again. This deflates the coolness slightly but there is definitely an added, lighter spring to my step. I use a combined reckoning of 'how many km shall I walk' and my rough guestimation of where I might stop for the night; and today the map shows a good sized lake set fairly well back from the main road. The other consideration is a thought for tomorrow's pindapat. I passed by a few house groupings, that could be called villages, but the lure of a cool water immersion pulled me onward. The side-road to the lake was located easily enough and I confidently strode forth, already fantasising forthcoming delights; yes, that's me, the tough renunciant monk on tudong… wrapped in sticky heat… and it was surely only compassion for my body that lead me on. The road turned into a track, which turned into a trail, which turned into the lake. Dead end – there was no lakefront, just the end of the trail in the bush. The trail end had just enough space at the water's edge to set up my tent, so I did. I find a spot to bathe, have a cup of tea and sit meditating, enjoying the view across the lake.
There is some light rain but it is gently vertical and I have my big tarpaulin spread over the tent so am not so concerned about keeping my loosely scattered gear dry. My general 'joy in nature' and the tea uplift slowly fade and weariness makes itself felt and I eventually slide into the horizontal. Meditation in this posture has its variables with sleep being the most obvious, however I am not sleepy and use the body as an object of investigation and reflection. Being able to completely relax is a boon and exploring the various sensations through the body is very calming and focusing. The feet are not that sore and hold a glowing, warm-to-hot energy that I would consider as pleasant. There is a dull ache in both calves and thighs but again with a pleasant feeling-sense of a healing energy flow within the relaxation. Hips hold a relatively neutral moan. Most of the upper body is asking for a massage. The overall sense of being is held in a state of relief, a smooth and gentle out breath. Resting in calm repose content to be doing nothing, to be going nowhere. And then… vehicle lights swing through the dark, off in the distance. There is the muted sound of voices, car doors opening and closing, various bits of gear being banged about. Huh? Then, torch light, swishing fabrics and footsteps approaching down my little trail. Huh? Again. I have no idea what he/she/they did but it happened in the shallow water just beyond my tent for about half an hour. Fishing? I had no idea… I was too tired to enquire and… I will never know… and… sleep.
Day 3
It is wonderful how mornings so conveniently arrive – with a gentle, pre-dawn knock on the tent flap. All that is missing is a quiet, butlerish inquiry: 'Will Sir take tea now… ?' No matter. I have my routine and eventually I was ready – having done my meditation, tea, teeth, etc…. sort & pack… somewhat in that order, and I have arrived at the point that feels like readiness. A good look around my campsite to be sure nothing was left behind, heft the pack and head out with my bowl and robe. There was no village marked on the map so I just walked. And then I walked some more. There were a few houses set back from the road but no sign of people so I was gradually steeling myself for a day without food but then, as is often the case, a letting go of desire brings a change. There is a Thai word of invitation, used exclusively for monks, that anglicises something like 'nimun'. Walking on alms round one's ear is always cocked listening… and, there it was, loud and clear. "Nimun Tan Ajahn, nimun". I followed the call to meet two ladies and a man in the ground floor of their house which was partly set up as a small shop; in the sense that there were a few items on display. Once the good folk realised that I had not yet been offered anything at all they were enthusiastically generous – with Mama noodles being the principle offering, along with a couple of cake-buns. Beggars can't be choosers, but they can be grateful. I walked on for a bit hoping that there might be supplementary offerings but, there were fewer houses and I eventually accepted that I had as much as there was to have and found space and shade sitting in a palm grove. Noodles… set up the stove to boil some water. I prepared 3 (out of 9) packets and with a couple of buns I was happy to call this a meal.
Back on the road I bundled my surplus offerings into a plastic bag and hung it on the bars of a motorcycle parked on the edge of a field. I presumed the bike belonged to a worker somewhere nearby and that they would appreciate the food if not know where it had come from. It is only 7k to Wat Thung, my planned destination for the day. It is quickly hot but I arrive at the Wat sooner than I expected and was welcomed and given a kuti. After three days my laundry was a fairly high priority and it was great to wash some clothes and take a 'normal' shower. Some weeks ago I had been invited to attend a European Elders Council zoom meeting in relation to the leadership changes at Bodhinyanarama so thought that being in a Wat would guarantee me having a phone signal. The meeting was to be at 10pm. The kutis are quite close together so wandering about during the afternoon I had earmarked a spot at some distance away so as to minimise the noise overflow to my neighbours. I even confirmed that I could get a phone signal there. I had a pleasant early evening abiding and arrived at 'the spot' with time enough to spare but… I had not allowed for the dogs. The dogs. I sat down and a great canine racket ensued. In the first teaching that the Buddha gave (the Dhammacakka Sutta), the news of his enlightenment was spread to ever higher celestial realms… "And the cry went up from the earth devas to the realm of the four kings… to the Brahma devas…" and, in my current case, the cry was first taken up by the brown dog with the bent ear, then to the black & white dog… and so forth. I sat still, patiently waiting for it to end. It didn't… I waited longer… and finally returned and took refuge in the kuti. The meeting went well enough and it now seems that I have basically resumed leadership at Bodhinyanarama. Only time will tell how that unfolds.
Day 4
I am feeling rather flagged from the day/night before and decline an invitation from one of the monks to go on pindapat. The body/brain is unguiltily happy to continue in repose for a while longer. There was heavy rain through the night and it continued on into the morning. I was pleased to be under a roof. There was a really bad leak between the main kuti roof and the porch roof with water cascading in front of the doorway. I was in the kuti and to reduce my wetting I quickly dived through the water onto the porch. Unfortunately there was a very low porch roof-beam that obstructed the rapid, forward movement of my head. WHACK! There was a serious amount of blood – everywhere… oozing, flowing… I am going to die; but perhaps just not yet. Fortunately the bathroom is not far away and it has a well extended roof so I can clean up my nut in relative dryness. Half a roll of toilet paper later I am able to dress properly and one of the monks, who had been helping me with my nut-fixing, took me over to the meal sala where the rest of the Sangha is gathered. Another monk sees my head and is quite concerned. He swabs and cleans, applies alcohol, hydrogen peroxide and a couple of other fix-it liquids to my head. The biting sting of each application feels healthy – at the least it is antiseptic.
The rain continues and the monks and I have an interesting, sometimes very comical, discussion using my limited Thai, their almost zero English and the phone translator. While our literal understanding is somewhat questionable it is nice to be a part of a hearty shared space with brother monks. The meal is at 10:30 and not long after we finish eating and tidying up the rain finally stops. Very timely. I tidy up the kuti and head out with warm and welcoming invitations to stay longer echoing behind me. As I walk I notice that the roads seem to be less built up and that dwellings are a bit more rustic. I also notice that rivers are running much cleaner. It really is, for me, so incredibly hot and I find my energy quickly drains. My robes are, within just 10 minutes of walking, absolutely saturated with sweat and I have taken to using a technique that I learnt from Ajahn Khantiko; dispensing with the jivorn (outer robe) and using a bathing cloth to cover both shoulders. I am constantly looking out for signs that might lead me to bodies of water in which I could cool off. After a couple of failed forays into the increasingly forested landscape I eventually find a lovely forest stream running clear, but not very deep. I jump in and start building a dam using rocks and dredging the stream bottom, pushing its sandy gravel up against the rocks. It seemed a bit futile at first but gradually the water level began to rise, finally adding about 20 centimetres to the depth of the pool.
I languished luxuriously. But, all pleasant feeling comes to an end and… I was still cool and the forest was a delight. I happily enjoyed and was distracted by the tropical variations. Superb, sublime. But, heading back to the road through the trees and tangled undergrowth, I began to wonder whether I was going the right way. This was not the first time that off piste adventures had brought such thoughts. How easily my sense of direction might fail me; and who would know I was lost? At 73 I wondered if I was being a bit reckless? Breathe in.., cool it, and, needless to say, the way was found and, within 10 minutes of resuming walking, I was back to being a steaming, sweaty lump on legs. Plod, plod… And GPS is absolutely brilliant – a constant delight. This fluctuating mixture of pleasant and unpleasant feeling that life permanently holds… If we focus too much on the dominant feeling it can seem as if we just bounce back and forth. It is always a mix. Not every cloud hides a silver lining; some are simply full of rain. Accepting both light and shade allows us to rest now. I try and conserve the phone battery-charge but keeping track of my progress and being sure that I am on the right road is a regular confidence-bringing uplift. And the heat — and the legs, and the chafing sandals, and the pack on my back… stopping my back from breathing. And… with streams clean and clear there is plenty of water to splash on my head, to tip down my throat, to scatter about the land as a blessing! As I sift the emotional mix – I am happy.
I have been walking well inside the jungle for a couple of days now and the last village lies not so far ahead. My plan is to go pindapat there tomorrow morning. Usually I start looking for a place to camp two or less kilometres before my destination for the day; ideally with an accompanying water feature. My GPS location indicates I am within the zone so I am scanning either side of the road looking for… Starbucks. I come to an area that seems a likely prospect; about an acre that looked like a bulldozer had cleared it so the ground itself was quite a mess. I imagine that coffee shop construction might be a few years away? And, while I am just being silly, it does present the question of encroaching 'civilisation'. Where there are people – there will eventually be Coca Cola; either literally or metaphorically. The trees had been roughly pushed well back but on climbing over a slightly less tangled spot I could see that there was a stream behind the debris, although somewhat inaccessible. Skirting around I found an entry point to the forest that was largely undamaged and which provided Kusalo friendly access to the stream. Sold! Tent, bath, tea and, a bit later in the evening, a visitor… A friend had mentioned Khun Oo but there had been no arrangement made to meet him. It turns out that driving past on his motorbike late afternoon he had seen my robes hanging on the line; the monk's flag.
He has a small sala on the edge of the village and invited me to go there but where I already was seemed such an ideal spot so I thanked him and declined – but we agreed that he would come by tomorrow morning. Sometime after dark I became aware of light… and voices. I was meditating in my tent and really didn't fancy visitors. I stayed still and silent. After a time all was quiet but the light persisted. I thought, surely they're not still waiting, and got out of the tent to have a look. Several large candles had been left lit at the forest edge. I was not sure of the exact significance but it felt like a gracious gesture. It was back into the tent and eventually sleep came… and then, the rain came. Heavy. It woke me… largely on account of my having the sides of the tent rolled up to keep cool so rain was… doing what rain does; descend… into and onto me and mine. And there was rain, and that rain continued… raining. I scrambled out to get my robes in and make adjustments to keep the rain out – more or less with success.
Day 5
It was still belting down in the morning and my unpreparedness meant that many things were quite wet. Ho hum. Oo came by just after seven and found me packed up and sitting under a tarpaulin drinking coffee. I was quite damply sodden but mostly satisfied with the state of the world. We walked together into the village and unexpectedly everyone was waiting, small clusters of people down the road ready to make offerings, patiently standing in the rain, most without umbrellas. I quickly accessed my bowl and went to meet the smiles. How joyful is generosity? Even standing in the rain. Oo and I walked up to the sala with his son and a friend and some time was spent securing a tarpaulin under a hole in the roof and replacing a rotten beam under the sitting platform.
We spent some time chatting via his son and the phone-translator and then I was alone. Before eating I felt it best to hang my wet clothing and try and find something dry to wear. The sala is fairly spacious and I ended up rigging lines everywhere, hanging out just about everything as all was either wet or damp which left me with not a lot to wear, but it was warm enough. The scene looked like a bring and buy sale with my life spread out all around. The only customer was a small black dog who sniffed about but made no purchase. Rain droppings continued quite regularly and it seemed prudent to accept Oo's invitation to spend the day here. By afternoon I had pretty much given up on making any sales and most of my gear had sufficiently dried so I was packing everything away when several very curious boys turned up. I tried some conversation but the most they could manage was wriggling about and giggling. I sat down to meditate and invited them to join… the giggling only increased, albeit muffled. In time I suggested either silence or departure – and they opted for the latter. Five o'clock and the rain continues to come and go. A cup of tea and some dark chocolate seems in order. Oo and his son came by about 6:30 and we discussed a plan for the morrow. It took a while as Oo doesn't speak or read Thai, only Burmese, so his son had to translate the translation. Bottom line, pindapat at 7am then Oo would ride his motorcycle west… carrying my bag. Sounds like a plan. Something to sleep on.
Day 6
And it was indeed a matter of what I slept on. It has been several years since I have been able to sleep directly on the ground so I have this wonderful air mat; 75mm of inflated insulation and padding for hips and ribs and shoulders. Problem is… as amazing as it is it is fading into the past tense – as in 'was amazing'. Over time it has developed a very annoying tendency to slowly deflate through the night with the ground and various of my body bits meeting at least twice a night. I have regularly considered over the years the difference between sleep and rest with 6 to 8 hours of the former usually being sufficient. This walking about lark definitely burns a bit more juice and asks for more on the rest side of things; I happily and horizontally complied until the minimum minutes required to present myself down town.
The rain has stopped and walking through the village on pindapat was a delight. There is a lingering part of my conditioning that still, after over 30 years as a monk, finds open begging awkward. The subconscious prompt suggesting that work is not only necessary but virtuous and that idleness is immoral; measuring my social value against productivity. While I have had these arguments from Christians in the West this whole spiel is irrelevant in Thailand but… these people are poor, really poor and here they are giving me so much. This line of reflection, if nothing else, amplifies a very soft humility and a deep feeling of gratitude in my heart.
Having collected enough food and drink for at least three monks I head back to the sala and sort out what I thought I would eat and set the rest aside figuring that it would recycle back into the community. The food was generally to my liking with not too much chilli and a good mixture of meat and vegetable but not a great deal of fruit. Here we are in the jungle. Pineapples? Mangoes? Not so likely. At 8 o'clock in the morning I find that my appetite is still not acclimatised for a full meal and I find it difficult to pack in as much as I feel is needed for a day of walking. One nice touch was that a small bottle of soy sauce had been offered and I splashed it liberally over almost everything. I was packed and ready to go by around 8:30 and Oo arrived shortly after that and loaded my pack onto his back. Communication was a bit hit and miss and I largely had to guess my understanding of what was being said. I did my best with lots of smiling, nodding and thumbs up and Oo eventually puttered off slowly down the hill on his motorbike and took a left at the bottom – confirming my sense of direction. We played hopscotch through the day with him driving on ahead and waiting until I caught up and passed him then, after 15 minutes or so, he would pass me again… and so forth.
The distance was only 12 kilometres and could theoretically be walked in not much more than three hours however a combination of the heat, the undulating terrain and my under-charged battery required frequent rests; on a fallen log or a rock or just plonk down on the ground. There were quite frequent downpours and everything was wet. The soil is sandy (and wet) and my sandals (are wet) and the grit creeps in and chafes. Plod, plod, plod. It is mushroom season and there were the occasional, loosely assembled bamboo and tarpaulin structures along the side of the road that I presumed were temporary accommodation set up by the 'shroomers'. Quite elemental constructions, I figured mostly to keep the rain off. I am very much in the jungle with a wonderfully variegated patchwork of green resting on the eyes. It is relatively quiet with a few birds and monkeys, the odd insect and the constant water of rivers, streams and a steady drip, dripping, even when it wasn't raining. The dirt road is still moderately well formed with a few (4WD?) sedans parked adjacent to aforementioned shanties or 'shops'. Considering the very low population density I was surprised to see, every few kilometres, a retail setup – that could be called a shop. I had a feeling that this was for the shroomers – who have to eat and drink and smoke.
We left 'the last village' at about 9 and arrived about two in the afternoon. Over the 12km this calcs out at about 2.5 kilometres per hour. And arrival was at … 'the middle of nowhere' … where the road crossed a reasonable sized river with several clustered copies of the same bamboo and tarpaulin make-dos residing on either bank. The significant distinguishing factor was a small corrugated iron shed about 50 metres further down the road with a weighted wooden pole lowered across the road in front of it; a border patrol checkpoint. But there was no point at which I was checked – in fact the un-uniformed gentlemen on duty were incredibly helpful finding me a really nice camping spot by the river and then proceeding to clear the site of all vegetation for about a three metre radius. They even cut some steps down to the river; a nice touch. I found several not-quite-rotten bamboo poles and set up my large fly sheet over the tent. There was clearly more rain in the air and I was ready. Another 'scoop rocks and gravel' in the river to create a bath, followed by a nice hot cup of tea and… rest. Quietly sitting in front of the tent, gazing neutrally out into nature. Resting, meditating, being. The rain resumed in earnest just on dark, about 6, and seemed, through my intermittent consciousness, quite steady through the night. Part of my waking-awareness was the result of the hard ground rising up to meet my hips and ribs through a deflated air mat. The frequency of this 'let down' was now up to about three times through the night. Oh, huh..? where am I? On the ground… wriggle, straddle the mat (inside the small tent), find the nozzle, blow, and blow again… repeat times 'x'. Sleep. Wake… Indeed, the conditioned world has a range of… "opportunities to observe the inherent changingness and unsatisfactoriness of all things". And resuming repose on my happy bouncy-castle brought balance. Resuming relaxed reclined rest, dozing, drifting…
Day 7 - 1st November
Having passed through the temporary 'village' beside the river yesterday afternoon and being pretty clear about the road ahead I was in no great hurry to be packing up and moving on. About 7am I walked quietly back down the road to the river; down town. I wasn't standing for that long before I had enough for a meal but, part of going on pindapat is creating and maintaining an opportunity for people to make offerings. There is no hurry. I have long learnt that it is not a personal food-equation but more of a social relationship, an exchange. There were indeed more people. Eventually I chanted a blessing and walked back to the tent. Much of the food offered comes in plastic bags tied with a rubber band and I was in the middle of sorting through the various food types when I spotted two more families making their way through the trees toward me. Between them they had brought the equivalent of an entire meal which they spread out on the tarpaulin they had brought. More blessings; in joy, in smiles and in Pali. About 80% of what I have been offered is surplus and I sort it all on the tarpaulin, folding it over to cover the food as it is very clear that there is more rain coming. About halfway through eating, said same vertical-water arrives and I am very comfortable continuing my al fresco meal under a well spread fly sheet. What is missing? Not 'what is lacking' but what do I miss? In what way is this moment in my life incomplete? A list of desirables could easily be made but contentment is such a peaceful place. I enjoy being there.
There is another government 'station' about 12km further down the road and I see no reason why I can't make it there sometime mid-afternoon. The rain had pretty much stopped by the time I had finished eating and was tidying up the food remainders, bowl wash, teeth, toilet, getting ready to absquatulate. The day is already warming up and the humidity sees me sweating even before I heft my pack and start walking. Heading back to the road I see the patrol guys outside their 'office' and swing past to say goodbye. My limited Thai has me understanding almost nothing of what they say through their cheery smiles but it slowly becomes clear that one of the young lads, Kaerk, will accompany me… and… he will carry my pack. Wow! And off we go. Despite the general absence of a 'border check' it does feel as if we have crossed a threshold with the jungle density increasing noticeably and the road surface deteriorating; not that either affected walking but both amplified the feeling of a real exit from 'civilisation'.
The terrain was increasingly undulating. This deepening sense of wildness was far from "here be dragons", as I really didn't expect to see any of the reported tigers, elephants and so forth, but it brought a heightened impression of being enfolded by nature on a one way path into more of the same. More rain, more sandy grit in my sandals, more sweat and more leeches. Those care-less blood suckers with their worm-like bodies built of 32 segments with each one having its own rudimentary brain. Ten stomachs and six hearts process their blood meal procured by 100 teeth spread across three jaws which make a precise incision made painless by an anaesthetic in their saliva. The blood flow is increased by them injecting an anticoagulant that sees the wound bleeding for sometimes several hours after the slimy suckers have been spotted and… well… removal is not always so easy, especially when they are wedged between toes or underneath sandal straps. Through the course of a day maybe 20 to 40 required attention. All pretty icky sticky stuff – and certainly quite bloody.
Kaerk and I finally arrived at the government forestry station about two in the afternoon and I was surprised to find that there was nobody there. My first thought was of getting something to eat the following day but – I figured that tomorrow would come and be what it was in the time that it had. First priority was going down to the generously sized river with body and laundry to give various bits of cloth a good beating and my body a vigorous, soapy rub down. The afternoon was beginning to cool into evening and a good bath and clean clothes felt very fresh and 'civilised'. The building I was in was primarily one large room and I had it all to myself so spread all of my gear around the floor to dry. There was a wicker chair on the front porch and I luxuriated, Sahib style, with a large mug of tea made with water Kaerk had boiled on the open fire in the rudimentary kitchen out back. Insects and distant bird calls added a pleasantly exotic touch to the scene as late afternoon edged into evening. Three other young men arrived on motorbikes and I guess they had some reason for being here but – mysteries are such a nice part of tudong. It was clear that they were staying the night. Me too. Seven days of walking with varied challenges each day, was taking its toll and I was quite weary. I had the same air mat issues through the night except that the concrete floor was less obliging than the earth so sleep was not as restorative as it might have been.
Day 8 - 2nd
A new day. Despite my lack of early morning zippyness I was delighted and uplifted when not long after seven the four lads brought food around to the front of 'my' building and offered it to me. Sadhu. A combination of unfamiliar food, the earliness of the hour and the heaviness of my body has seen a gradual decline in appetite. I give thought to the energy required for the walk ahead and make an effort to eat as much as possible. After eating I wash my bowl, tidy up my scattered gear and pack my bag. With a relatively short distance ahead for the day, and it being the last leg of the journey, I am in no hurry and head out back to the kitchen building, as much as anything to see if there might be a beverage on offer. The lads are huddled – engrossed in working on a motorcycle. I indicated that I understand mechanics and that I might be able to help. The problem is immediately clear in that the gear shift lever is not securely fastened to the shaft; it spins with no effect. To call the collection of tools they have 'assorted' is an understatement. And the bike is not new so most of the nuts have rounded shoulders and a 10mm nut is too misshapen for a 10mm ring spanner. I was pretty certain that there was tinned sardines for the meal and ask "where is the can" thinking to cut strips of metal as shims to shrink the diameter of the ring spanner to better lock onto the nut. And it worked… but, hey!, where is my rewarding coffee? To get the gear lever off we had to remove the main foot stand; more shims required. Then, how to securely fasten a round hole onto a round shaft? If only I had brought my copy of "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance"… cutting a keyway or drilling a hole for a locking pin seemed the only solutions but… there are only so many things you can do with a tin can, a Leatherman multi-tool, a 2kg club hammer and assorted spanners. I apologised for my lack of skills/magic, explained my plans for the day and bid them all a fond adieu – well imagining that their limited French prevented a lucid understanding of my communication. "So long – and thanks for all the fish."
I made one last check through my room for forgotten gear, hoisted my pack and was on the road by about 9:30. It is only six kilometres to my 'final' destination so I felt in no hurry at all and allow a relaxed, leisurely pace. Part of the easy-ambling was my general weariness and while there was no negativity or aversion I was quite looking forward to just stopping, to not having to walk. Plod, plod, plod. After about an hour I heard a loud voice calling out and turned around to find Kaerk almost literally running after me. I wondered if his school boy French had finally kicked in or, more likely, he just found me gone and wanted to accompany me. Again, he made it very clear that he was going to carry my bag. Wonderful! No complaints there.
The jungle is dense with more mature trees and the terrain increasingly hilly. And… the leeches, and… the leeches. I walked and pondered a difficult conundrum – with many things to consider but… I think I prefer dogs to leeches. This is how nature is here with trees, rain, sandy grit, rocks, rivers, ups and downs and an ageing body. Despite the physical challenges there is a joy in being where I am. A crisp, vibrant reality filled with pulsing life. We stopped several times along the way to sit on a log or a rock, partly to remove leeches but generally just to rest. And I appreciatively imbibe the beauty around me. The myriad variegated criss-cross of living things leaning up toward the light; everything moving with its own quiet intention. All is very grounded. Nothing is abstract. During one of these stops, sitting with our feet in the stream washing off blood and cooling ourselves and me catching my breath, two of the lads from the station arrived on a motorbike. There was much incomprehensible (to me) chat and banter then one took off on the bike and the other stayed. So now we are three. After about another hour or more of walking we could hear the sound of a large vehicle behind us. Eventually a four-wheel drive pickup wobbles it's way up the broken, rocky hill-road-track and stops beside us. They are very keen for me to ride with them but the destination is so close and I am determined to complete the distance on foot. The one concession being that my bag is loaded onto the back of the truck; not before a photo is taken of the leeches on my leg and then a more conventional portrait of me leaning on my umbrella, hopefully not looking too haggard. Our new man also hitches a ride. So, back to the walking.
Kaerk has clearly been here before and is giving me a running commentary as to how far we have left to walk; counting down in 100 metre increments. And, of course, about 1 o'clock, we eventually arrive. The brass band was probably away, busy polishing the tuba or some such but eventually a couple of monks find us and after the greetings and salutations we went directly to the kuti I was to be staying in; built as the 'Hospital Kuti' – and I could do with some nursing. After few further warm welcomings they left me to it. I am happy to be alone… shuffling about sorting out some gear and hanging up several items to dry. The kuti has a bathroom so a delightful shower and general ablution was followed quickly by thoughts of a little horizontal not-walking. Ahhh, but… I seem to be cursed – alas, another mattress conundrum. This particular one looks Japanese, and expensive. It was not easy to tell through the cover but it felt like a collection of beautifully handcrafted rock eggs sewn into a skilfully crafted and contoured coarse cloth bag. Indubitably health-giving and revitalising – for those who would conform pliably where the mattress would not – but, that is not me. My air mat is so unreliable at this stage, barely staying useful for an hour, but I am in need of a quick fix so I set it up and gently keel over with a soporifically satisfying sigh. I will see you all… sometime in the morning.
Rain continues intermittently through the next day and I am happy to be under a roof. I am also happy to have the comforts of a toilet, shower, gas cooker and all the comforts that come with a well-built dwelling – providing succour for an ageing monk who has just completed a double marathon; or so it felt. After a couple of nights dancing with rock-eggs and a flaky air mat the benefits of domesticity faded so on the third day, the sky being relatively clear, my bag was roughly packed and I bid farewell to relative luxury to go check out a riverside camp spot.
Setting up camp is always fun. Because everything is wet I first spend some time collecting loose leaves and covering the bare earth of the tent space. And then finding a place for all the gadgets and widgets essential for jungle comfort. A plastic bucket, a rock, nestle the stove, hang the cup, string out the fly sheet, lay up the yard broom… and after a couple of days of tinkering I thought I was ready for anything… until it rained, again – a deluge. The water sluiced in a torrent off the back of the fly sheet and flooded in under the tent and around the site generally. At least it was warm. There was nothing I could do but wait for the rain to stop. It did and I remembered that a couple of hundred metres back down the trail there is a bamboo bridge across the river that had not long ago been refurbished.
The old bamboo was at least 12cm in diameter and I could clearly envision a nice organic gutter for my roof. With my multi-tool I cut one of the poles to length and used rock and blade to split the beast in half then knocked out the node membranes. Very satisfying work. Back at camp the challenge was to secure the half-section accurately under the tarp so that it would neatly catch the water. Bamboo is such a wonderfully versatile material and I so enjoyed making little shelf brackets with pegs and braces, trying to keep the use of string to a minimum. The first version was tested by chucking buckets of water onto the tarp. I felt I had proof of concept but was reasonably sure that there was still a bit of fine tuning required; in real rain. In the meantime… there is sitting by the river to be done.
Sitting by the river. And the world is in no way discounted by the sublime simplicity of just… sitting by the river. The water has a source – as do all things – and gravity has brought it to me, if only for a fleeting moment. All the elements of this moment are poised, delicately balanced… and then, the water leaps, rapidly rushing onward – across rocks… that have a quieter and more sedate relationship with gravity. There is a gentle breeze but nothing is heard by the rocks or the river over the sound of itself. Above… the leaves on the trees and on the bamboo all dance in delight to the wind-song. Some are carried away and, again, gravity directs their path – spiralling, diving, floating, drifting – some to land, some to the water. All a chaotic orchestration that embraces the flow of my own breath and blood. The sun swings slowly through the sky warming all below; a conductor's baton directing the cadence and articulated growth of us all. Breathing in and, as always, the quiet, peaceful closure that comes on breathing out.
I camped and sat and walked by the river for about two weeks. This place is about 700m above the sea in the mountains on the Myanmar-Thailand border and evenings are cool. I have a summer sleeping bag and on this particular evening the tent side is rolled up and I am resting and reading on top of my bed space – with 'my friend the air mat' not yet inflated. The book is an engaging exploration of consciousness, 'the hard problem of', and I am thoroughly engrossed… to the extent that I fail to notice that I am cold. Not just cold but, I am shivering, uncomfortably so. I had a nasty fever thing about 6 months ago and thought: 'Oh, no… not the nasty fever thing'. I abandoned the book. There was still a little early evening light so I started to gather all my cloth and clothing things and found socks and made a warm-up exercise of inflating the mat and piled into the sleeping bag and piled everything on top. Snuggle, huddle… After an hour or so I began to feel as if warmth was returning through the body. Even though there was still some shivering/fever I felt that I may have avoided the nasty.
There is no twilight here and, like a switch being thrown, it is dark; a moonless night. Despite still feeling some dis-ease I was ambitiously inclining toward some sleep. But – ain't there always something – the bladder. A bit of a fever, a bit of a headache, a bit cold, a bit disoriented. But – a man has to do what a man has to do. But – where is my torch? I lucklessly scramble about in search. I have an earth toilet some distance off but the increasing pressure to get loo-ward combined with smatterings of body-mind confusion have me thinking: 'never mind the loo, never mind the torch, just take a few steps away from the tent and… water it all down in the morning'. I vaguely headed toward the river – one step, two step… I took one step too many. The river bank suddenly, very suddenly, ceased to be a river bank. Gravity, doing what it does, promptly delivered me to the rocks below. It was only about a metre and a half but… soft meat and hard stone is not the most sociable combination. Pain, wetness, dark, disorientation… but residual awareness kicked in and, I don't remember how but, I 'came to' back on land. Where is the tent? Crawling slowly on hands and knees I groped the ground around painfully moving forward.
I had been given a lovely portable china tea set in Singapore and had used it that afternoon leaving it to drain-dry on a flat rock next to a seat rock on the edge of the riverbank. Crawling, groping, swinging my arms about I felt, heard – clatter, crash, splinter – the sound of gravity consuming porcelain on the rocks below. At least I now had a better idea of where I was. Dang! Curse! But the tent and shelter and rest took priority. Eventually I found my way home and wetly snuggled and huddled. I must have had some sleep as now there was morning light. I groaned. And groaned again. No way was I able to get up and walk to the main sala. I imagined/hoped that one of the other monks would notice my morning absence and come to see me. And so it was. Eventually I was supported in hobbling back to the Hospital Kuti – and the rock-egg mattress. I was very grateful for all the monk ministrations and a more spacious accommodation. Was it three nights? Four? It was agreed that I was not healing very quickly and that it would be best if I left and went back to Bangkok. A truck was on the way.
It was the morning of the 26th of October when I boarded the train going west and the 26th of November when I boarded the truck going back east. What a wonderfully rich and rewarding month it has been with a generous array of experiences; both pleasant and unpleasant. Life.
Back in Bangkok I was very fortunate to get some really good medical treatment. The right-side bang-up damage had calmed somewhat and the right knee remained, particularly the patella tendon. The overall good-news being that 'nothing was broken'. All's well that ends well; and this wandering tale has hopefully done that. I had a week of various treatments and caring attention before heading off to Penang on the 4th of December. And that's another story… and life goes on, until it doesn't. A fragile balance of light and shadow, growth and decay. To rest on the pivot point – the quiet fault line at the centre of shifting opposites – is a subtle space to inhabit. Peace is found when pain no longer dictates life-meaning or self-definition but is simply known as a changing condition. When any perception (of self) is not created through conditions we are not a condition, we are not enslaved by pleasant or unpleasant; we rest – at peace.