Our last full day in Chumphon. We rented a motorbike and drove up the coast to a beach town called “Running Cow Field.” I swam for a while in the ocean clean water, though the “Beware of Jellyfish” sign on the beach spooked me. Had a couple of cups of coffee with a guy who could have been my brother, a retired professor from America. I didn’t envy him his loneliness. He had been sitting at a table with a couple of bossy women our age who wouldn’t make eye contact with me, probably because I was with a Thai woman younger than me. They were glad to see him move over to our table.
It turns out we had both been here the same amount of time, and we both had made an effort to learn Thai, which is rare among expats. He got around by bicycle, lived alone, cooked for himself.
Running Cow Field is a pleasant spot, full of inexpensive restaurants and motels that I’m glad I didn’t stay at, because there’s nothing happening up there. A couple of cups of coffee and a swim was enough for me. The beach is OK, like the rest of the gulf of Thailand, it’s as boring as the Gulf of Mexico. No wave action. A bath tub. It was a pleasant drive up from the city on a small road that was made for light traffic only, bicycles and motor scooters.
You can see where all this is headed, though. Palm Oil plantations and tourism. Not a place I’d want to visit in twenty years, even though I’m old enough now not to worry about such outcomes.