Barefoot in Burma Part I

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I hurried into the waves with CoCo, the golden retriever, splashing at my heels.  The rest of the Hornbill Bungalows crew joined me, helping to lift my luggage onto the return boat to Ranong.  Parting with the paradise of Koh Chang Noi, its golden sands, and the new family I found there distracted me; it wasn’t until halfway to Ranong that I realized I’d jumped on the boat without my shoes.  In my ephemeral time on this tiny Thai island, footwear became utterly irrelevant.

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From Ranong, I was to board The Flying Carpet, on which I’d spend seven days diving in Burmese waters.  The dive boat owner, Mr. Frank, was a Koh Chang resident and one of many friends to my Hornbill Bungalows host, Mr. Ao.  A German, Mr. Frank retired from his career as a businessman to run a dive shop on the island.  Applying for a visa to Myanmar is still a difficult process, but, through some unspecified connections, Mr. Frank is granted 7 day dive visas for patrons of his boat.  With The Flying Carpet, I was given the opportunity to witness reef and sea life that has been primarily unseen by foreign divers for decades.  Not only was I new to diving, but I had also never lived on a boat before; once again, an irresistible adventure presented itself!

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I docked, barefoot, in Ranong with the dive master and three divers I would be sharing the week with.  All were German apart from my Belgian dive buddy, Ruel.  Our gang of Europeans spent the sweltering day waiting for this infamous, illusive Mr. Frank.  He finally showed up, hours late, looking like a pirate in cargo shorts, a faded T-shirt and a gold hoop earring visible through his long, scraggly hair.  This was not the way I imagined a German financier to dress for a meeting with Thai government officials, and I began to wonder what kind of rag-tag crew I had thrown my lot in with.

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We finally arrived at the pier in the late afternoon, abandoned apart from The Flying Carpet. Our captain, the austere Captain Wat, docked the boat at an impossible angle, so that boarding became impossible.  He told Mr. Frank that he would build steps for us while our group waited to be released by Thai officials, who were to meet us at the pier with our stamped passports.  Walking the long, deserted dock made me imagine I was a Burmese prisoner of scuba, crossing the border back into Thailand, while officers stood with guns at my back.

Eventually, the four customs officers appeared in a silver SUV, opening and closing each of the doors in unison.  Without much ceremony, and certainly without use of firearms, we were free to go.  The “steps” Captain Wat promised in fact consisted of a wooden plank, leaned at a precarious angle, a 50 meter drop from the dock to the ship’s sun deck.  At this moment, I knew exactly what kind of rag-tag crew I was dealing with, but my excitement mounted.  We all crossed safely into the arms of our crew: pirate-fashioned Thai men who were to help us with our dive gear and catch fish for the captain in their downtime.  The Flying Carpet itself is a very charming boat, with blue and yellow painted panels and a flower offering to Buddha at the captain’s bow.  I felt at home the moment I stepped on board.  Even our tiny cabins, which consisted of small, stacked cubbies that only fit a full mattress, charmed me.

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Before we could sail off into the Burmese sunset, however, we still had to make it through customs at the Myanmar border.  As we entered Burmese waters, I watched a group of four men approach us in their dinghy.  Why so many customs officers always seemed necessary in these situations was beyond me, but I presume it was for intimidation factor.  We waited on the sun deck while Dani, our dive master and guide, spoke with the officials at our communal table.  After a few minutes, Dani came to speak to us, informing that we’d all have to go ashore.  The Burmese government was already keeping our passports, would they be keeping us as well?

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To read about part two of the dive trip, keep following Chomp Around the World!

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