Describing her impressions of their time in Thailand (01-2224 Dammarell v. Iran)

In our fourth and final country, Thailand, we finally found the tropical paradise, unblemished by rain, that we had been searching for. On the island of Koh Lanta, the beaches go on for miles, literally. Since there is so much sand and so few people, many beaches are deserted in the off season. By day, we had Ao Klong Jark, or Waterfall Bay, all to ourselves (left), and our view of Klong Nin Beach, from Diamond Cliff restaurant, was completely person-free (right).

Even the beach at the island's key attraction, Mu Koh Lanta National Park, was bare for a while (top left). We took a dip in its water and some shelter in its shade after a sweaty hike to the defunct lighthouse (top right). The lighthouse wasn't much to look at, but the view back toward Krabi Town on the mainland was worth carefully picking footholds on the precarious path (bottom).

As if Koh Lanta isn't beautiful enough, the "thing to do" while staying there is take a 4 Islands Tour, which takes you to other, mostly smaller, islands farther out in the Andaman Sea. Even though there were plenty of snorkeling boats at Koh Chueak, they didn't scare away the sharks and eels (left); in fact, the former scared the bejesus out of an elementary-school girl on our trip, and the latter did the same for a 38-year-old woman from Ohio. Koh Ngai was a much more relaxing place, where we ate lunch and I waded out to snorkel again at the drop-off of the reef (right). I saw some more eels, but they weren't as scary on a full stomach, for some reason.

Before lunch, we snorkelled at another reef rock, Koh Ma, but our fellow tourists were obviously ready for a respite, so it was a short stop. But I think everyone wanted to linger longer at Emerald Cave, or Morakot Cave, on Koh Mook (top left). The water was so clear and the cliffs so steep that it looked like a movie set (top right); actually, it is a place where pirates hid out from their pursuers because in high tide, the cave is undetectable. Morakot can be accessed only during certain times of day by swimming through small channels with strong currents, thus the need for life jackets (bottom).

As much fun as we had during the day, the beaches were even more blissful by night. Our first night we were treated to a spectacular sunset as we strolled the beach outside our bungalow on Kantiang Bay (left). From there, we hiked to the viewpoint at Noon restaurant to see the sun fully sink beneath the sea. The view there was so nice, our last night we watched the sunset from Bamboo Bay, around the corner from Kantiang and down the hill from Noon (right).

As if the heavens were rewarding us for our perseverance, we also saw a wonderful sunset from Diamond Cliff restaurant (left), which only got better as we rode back to our bungalow on our rented motorbike. The colors were so stunning that, although we preferred not to be on the road at night, we had to stop for just a few more photos (right).

After Koh Lanta, it was hard to appreciate the bustle of Bangkok, especially the tourist hustle on Khao San Road, where vendors pitch everything from scorpions spiked on sticks to designer suits sewn on demand (left). So we escaped to the riverfront, including the less frenzied and pressurized Soi Rambuttri and Phra Sumen Fort (right). 

Our hotel provided us with nice views of the river, including its old-fashioned teak houses and the much more modern Rama VIII bridge (left). The bridge provided an excellent landmark for our ferry stop. In fact, many landmarks, such as Wat Rakhangkhositraram Woramahawihan, are viewable from the ferries, especially the Chao Phraya Express, the blue-flagged route with stops geared toward tourists (right).

Other attractions were best seen on foot. We wound through the avenues and alleys of Chinatown, dodging scooters to see all the market stalls (left). At the end of Chinatown's main drag, Charoenkrung Road, lies the neighborhood's colorful gate and Wat Traimit, home of the Golden Buddha, the largest solid-gold statue in the world (right).

On the Metro from Chinatown to Sukhumvit, we transported ourselves from the Far East to Great Britain. In this district, home to many international residents, we dropped in for pints at The Black Swan, with a draft selection straight out of Sheffield (left), and The Londoner Brew Pub, a microbrewery with a less than spectacular bitter on tap (right).

Our last stop in Bangkok before boarding the plane back to Pakistan was one connected to the ol' U.S. of A. The Jim Thompson House pays respect to a former CIA agent who contributed to the tourism and silk industries in Thailand (left). On the property, craftsmen demonstrate the art of silk making, starting with the delicate pulling of thread from boiling cocoons (right). 

With one train ride to the airport, we shed our protective shell of travel and entered the "real world." Possibly, I didn't fully emerge, as within 48 hours, I was already planning a return to Southeast Asia for our next R&R.

Activists reported more progress in women's rights than in other areas (SPrt112-40)

Another digression, this time on a more negative tradition in Southeast Asia: the disrespectful treatment of women. Starting with a little reflection on the female condition in Central Asia as well.

Generally, "feminist" doesn't figure largely into my self-identity, even though I don't wear make-up and avoid high heels whenever possible. I believe many segments of the population are treated unfairly for certain reasons and at certain times; women deserve encouragement and support in those times as much as any other group. But of course, after living in Pakistan for a while, I have been forced to think more about unfairness toward women in particular.

I had planned to try to follow social norms of gender in the country, and I had no intentions of challenging the prevailing cultural view with my actions. At first, I wore conservative clothing, covering up all but my head (many Pakistani women do not follow full purdah for dress); only went out with TJ, walking behind him when possible; and avoided eye contact with everyone, even children.

But after it was obvious that I was going to be out of place, no matter what, especially when we were walking Sage, I decided to stop trying so hard. Whether the attention was from my being a Westerner, a dog walker, or a woman, it just wasn't worth the effort. I still don't show my calves or cleavage in public, but I no longer cast down my eyes or step slowly behind TJ. I still receive more attention than I would like, but it doesn't bother me as much, considering I am not so focused on modifying my own behavior.

Nonetheless, it was refreshing to have stop thinking about myself as a female in public while we were in Southeast Asia, where in some places I was witness to a stronger status for women. I no longer had to act demurely (a difficult feat for me, to be sure). I could even take charge in social interactions, such as asking for directions or making purchases. It was especially acceptable because in many cases the people I was talking to were women.

Indeed, local businesses seemed to depend heavily on women. In Vietnam, lots of establishments, even the majority-male draft-beer stands, had female proprietors. Women literally seemed to be fueling the economy in Laos, where many scooters were being driven by females, recognizable by long hair under the helmets and high heels on the footpads. In Cambodia, the matriarchal market took a bit of a turn. We met a couple of male business owners from abroad (New Zealand, United States, France) who were married to local women. Apparently, in Cambodia, only citizens can rent or own property and therefore operate businesses.

Of course, that doesn't mean the marriages are shams, but it was hard not to be suspect when at one of our accommodations, we saw a young British guy being doted upon by what appeared to be an even younger Cambodian girl. Sure, it could've been a holiday fling, but the interaction was just a bit too forced, prompting me to wonder what the girl was getting out of it. The guy, of course, was getting flattery in the short term, and if he played his cards right, he might even get an anchor for a long-term business opportunity. Not that she lacked motivation; she might have been in it for dual citizenship or investment capital. If so, I somewhat admire her ambition, but I can't really appreciate the need to use one's sexuality to get ahead in life -- or a society that helps promote that path.

In Phnom Penh, it was obvious that both foreign men and local women help proliferate the "sex trade." One waterfront bar was lined with three older Western-looking men drinking alone. Two remained hopeful -- or hopeless, depending on your opinion -- while only the oldest managed to lure a lady to his table by sharing his drink with her. After about an hour and one draft beer, he went on his way, possibly to find female accompaniment at another establishment. After all, the streets near the waterfront are lined with girlie bars, and the internet is loaded with blogs about how to find the best girls and deal with their tactics.

After the first man left, his lady friend joined the table of two obviously old hands, who quickly had a handful of women laughing at their jokes and kissing their bald heads. Disgusting as this was, I managed to ignore their antics, until one of the men got a young street urchin, probably 7 or 8 years old, to join his table by buying her a Coke. As her young boy colleagues gazed longingly at her soda, she only had eyes for the older women at the table. She was getting some up-close and personal training in how to be a bar girl. The female veterans did nothing to discourage her, and in fact, the only person who seemed to care about her welfare was a well-meaning waiter, who never took his eyes off the girl, even escorting her safely to and from the bathroom. 

I feared for the girl's future, even more so when we left a bar a while later and continued down the waterfront, where we nearly stepped on a baby left abandoned on the sidewalk. Despite the language barrier, we managed to learn from a nearby book vendor that the mother had headed into the market for some food. TJ and I perched ourselves nearby, waiting for her return; when it didn't come quick enough, TJ went in to complain to the hotel right next to the baby. While he was trying to get some help for the baby, to little effect, the mother returned -- with another toddler. The book vendor gave her a talking-to, and it was clear that was all that was going to be done, so we went on our way.

Sadly, I do not think the woman would've cared if she had returned to find her baby gone. Her only regret might have been not to cut a deal. It's quite likely that by the end of the night, she had a little more cash and one less child. But as much as I could envision the beggar girl's future, I could imagine this mother's past. Possibly, she was a bar girl making a life for herself until she got pregnant, suddenly prompting her nightly shifts to be less profitable. How will she feed herself with these two kids, and their two more mouths, hanging around?

Thailand, especially Bangkok, takes the bar-girl culture to the ultimate level. As you walk through the night market in Patpong district, the pitches for sex shows are unavoidable. The ping-pong acts are the most famous, but as the "menus" thrust into your face by the hawkers prove, you can indulge just about any fetish. It's stunning just how many things can be done by a pussy and how many live snakes can be involved. At least in Patpong, the sex for sale is gender neutral; a handful of ladyboy bars are mixed in with the go-go clubs.

Our last stop in Thailand was on the Muslim island of Koh Lanta, where my survey in Southeast Asian feminism came full circle. The women there dressed conservatively, much like the women in Pakistan, and they otherwise practiced their faith by prohibiting alcohol in their restaurants, quite a feat on a resort island. But unlike Pakistan, the women were definitively in the public eye without any ogling or glaring. Like in Vietnam, they operated coffee, tea, and food-to-go stands that served mainly a male clientele. To be honest, after seeing all the ways women would get money from men, this seemed like the best way to go -- even if it meant wearing a headress in a tropical country.