I saw my first ever seahorse - seepferdchen in German - while diving a Karst wall near Ao Nang in the Andaman Sea a couple of days ago. Renate Schoenbach and her daughter Julia - pronounced Yoolya - from Deutschland have joined us in Thailand. They've decided that my German language skills need some work and have placed me in a course of study. I've found over the past week that this sometimes gets in the way of what I'm trying to write or say. The seepferdchen, I mean seahorse, I encountered and photographed had to be 12cm - 14cm long. 

That same night we were all sitting outside when I heard a helicopter-like sound right there on our tiny cabina porch. I looked up and something buzzed my eye lash, then landed on my forefinger. We all nearly messed our trousers. It was a bloody flying kakerlaken, cockroach I mean, and it had latched on tight. I tried to shake it off, but its grip was stronger than my shake. Soon the fear subsided, we all settled down, and just stared in wonder at the massive creature. After a short while we three did what comes naturally, got out the google devices and photographed every centimetre of the kakeroach.

The night before Renate and Julia arrived we hooked up with our amigos Dennis, Krystina and their son Dennis Jr. from Eastern Ukraine. They were flying from Bangkok to Koh Lipe, near the Malaysian border to do some diving and decided to make a pitstop in Krabi so we could share a few bottles of beer together. Elenka and I met Dennis and Krystina two years ago on an live-aboard dive boat. Since that time 12 year old Dennis Jr. has also become a proficient certified diver and has logged 75 dives - maybe 100 by now. 
 
It's ten-thirty in the morning. Elenka and the Schoenbachs are off hiking; the Ukes are likely on a sea bottom somewhere and I'm typing my notes as I sit by a river that flows slowly along a massive Karst cliff in Khao Sok. We're all very happy.

Part Deux:

A couple of days ago we did something completely crazy. Actually, Elenka and I did something crazy, the Schoenbachs were our life-savers. Here's how our day went: 


A one hour mini-bus ride to Chiaw Lan Lake
A one hour long-tail boat trip to a far off shore
A one hour fast hike to "the cave"
A one hour hike through the cave which is almost one kilometre in length
A one hour boat ride back to where we started
And a one hour mini-bus ride back to our cabinas

  
We were supposed to bring bug spray, comfortable shoes and a headlamp. No problem, we had all three. At the cave entrance we turned on our lamps and advanced. That's when it all went south. Renate and Julia had super-duper models, Elenka and I had the Eddie Bauer specials, good only for reading in bed or making your way to the toilet at night in electricity challenged zones. 


The cave was pitch black, we were walking through a river that's filled with boulders of all shapes and sizes, and our lights couldn't penetrate the surface. So Elenka and I both got a Schoenbach to guide us through. At times the space was so narrow we had to turn sideways to get through the crevices. At other times we were up to our chins in water. But what scared Elenka the most were the thousands upon thousands of giant fruit bats that hung from the cave ceiling. Fruit bats can have a wingspan of 1.7 metres, about my height, and they poop while they sleep. So it's wise to wear a hat, eye glasses and to keep your mouth closed while watching and photographing them. 

 
Yesterday, Julia asked me if I wanted to go and wash elephants with her. 
My "no" was swift and curt. 
She fired me a loud sulk and a big angry stare, "You are a lazy, old American." 
I was taken aback. I'd never been called an American. So right then and there I decided to give her a lesson in 'the American way' by getting jobs for the two of us. See the first photo.
  
       
Last night, as the gals slept, I revelled in happiness. We were on the night train from Surat Thani to Bangkok. There isn't anywhere I like sleeping more than in a soft comfortable bed on a train. And Thai train tracks are far more pleasant to travel on than the European and North American systems. In the Western world tracks are smoothly welded together producing an almost motionless ride. The Thais still use the old system where rails are bolted to ties and thereby produce a chuga, chug somewhat bouncy ride as the train wheels cross the bolted sections. It's nostalgic and romantic, a feel and sound I've long cherished.

  
In the morning, as I attempted to greet the still sleeping Elenka with a kiss and smile my nose barely missed her sweeping hand. 
"Never again, Buster. If you ever even speak about your bloody night train fetish you'll be out on the street. At two in the morning there was a bang and a bounce, I was sure this damned thing had fallen off the tracks and was about to roll over. I was frightened to death. You owe me big-time," she paused for a moment, nostrils flaring, then repeated, "Big-time."
 
   
Elenka wants to go on an African lion safari. I'm not into big crowds of tourists. She also wants to go to Sulawesi. That could work for me. When she cools down I'll consider my approach.
When I turned there were a pair of Schoenbachs glaring at me. I spread my arms and nodded my head up and down as if to say, 'wasn't that a wonderful ride?', then hurried off to the toilet.  






 Julia provided the attached youtube video which demonstrates the beautiful sound of the German language: https://m.youtube.com/watch?feature=youtu.be&v=sbUuMW-vIY8