We rented motorbikes to explore the island of Ko Pha Ngang. We sped through winding roads past palm trees, bungalows, internet huts, taxi cabs stuffed with backpackers cruising to Hat Rin, a western beach.
A curious bike passed as Brian and I stopped to take in the emerald green of the beach.
A Monk held tight to his driver. His orange robes blew with the wind, and his shaved head bobbed with the shocks of the bike as they passed.
We followed along the dirt road twisting inland through the valley in the heart of the small island. I thought of Buddha with his calm smile and rested eyes clinging to the back of the small vehicle. The engine cut through the jungle, and still we followed. Shacks sat in the sun. We slowed with hand breaks to navigate around holes filled with water.
The bike ahead stopped and the old man dismounted, resting on a cane, adjusting the folds of bright cloth shrouding his shoulder. We stopped and smiled. The monk turned and bowed, touching palm to palm.
He had led us to a Wat in the Jungle. The buddhist monostary was secretly tucked away in the the vally off the main road. We surveyed ornate buildings, and mindfull men sitting in lotus, medatating.
The island itslef had led us there, turning the key to shut the engine, giving deep quite breaths like waves on the nearby beach, like the breeze through the bush.
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