Chaloklum: The Village of No Last Names

By Patrick Ashtre

Like John Wesley Powell’s expedition down the Colorado River, where he discovered the Grand Canyon, or Lewis and Clark’s search for a tributary to the Missouri River, where they found what is now known as Yellowstone National Park, it’s not unusual for modern-day travelers to seek out, or stumble across, a rare and special setting that leaves them with everlasting memories. Like these famous explorers, regular people can roam the world and, on occasion, find themselves surrounded by an uncommon beauty and peacefulness. A gorgeous setting with spectacular jungle-laden hills, cascading streams and waterfalls, encircled by crystal-clear waters teeming with vibrant sea life, Chaloklum fulfilled Patrick Ashtre’s need to be surrounded by nature’s beauty. This small community broke all the rules and destroyed his preconceived notions about needing to find a comfortable place populated by like-minded individuals. Its varied and unique residents balancing perfectly with Ashtre’s need for companionship, the small village of Chaloklum taught him more in a few short years, about who he really was, than he had learned in a lifetime of experiencing wondrous sites and exciting adventures.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black Opal Books
• Release date: May 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781626944558

Book preview

Like John Wesley Powell’s expedition down the Colorado River, where he discovered the Grand Canyon, or Lewis and Clark’s search for a tributary to the Missouri River, where they found what is now known as Yellowstone National Park, it’s not unusual for modern-day travelers to seek out, or stumble across, a rare and special setting that leaves them with everlasting memories. Like these famous explorers, regular people can roam the world and, on occasion, find themselves surrounded by an uncommon beauty and peacefulness. A gorgeous setting with spectacular jungle-laden hills, cascading streams and waterfalls, encircled by crystal-clear waters teeming with vibrant sea life, Chaloklum fulfilled Patrick Ashtre’s need to be surrounded by nature’s beauty. This small community broke all the rules and destroyed his preconceived notions about needing to find a comfortable place populated by like-minded individuals. Its varied and unique residents balancing perfectly with Ashtre’s need for companionship, the small village of Chaloklum taught him more in a few short years, about who he really was, than he had learned in a lifetime of experiencing wondrous sites and exciting adventures.

Chaloklum, The Village of No Last Names is about taking a chance. It’s a love story and shows how one can’t help but be influenced by Buddhism, whether or not you’re a follower, while you’re living in its cradle. It’s a tale about finding a home that came in the form of a fishing village on an island in the Gulf of Thailand.

KUDOS FOR CHALOKLUM

In Chaloklum, by Pat Ashtre, we are once again taken to an island in the Gulf of Thailand. The book is actually a prequel to Ashtre’s first book, A Distant Island, and, unlike the first one, doesn’t deal so much with PTSD, as with Ashtre’s adventures abroad and his relationship with his Buddhist girlfriend Supattra. I enjoyed the book very much and, at times, felt like I was right there with him, exploring the island and meeting the strange and fascinating people who live there. ~ Taylor Jones, Reviewer

Chaloklum, The Village of No Last Names, by Patrick Ashtre is the story of a displaced marine officer whose thirst for adventure would not let him settle down after he retired from the service to live the quiet life in his native land. As we learned in A Distant Island, he was a victim of PTSD and didn’t fit in with the people he left behind when he went into the service. Although this book doesn’t address the issue of his PTSD directly, you can still see its influence in Ashtre’s quest for peace and a quiet life--the disenchanted warrior, tired of the senseless wars and strife in the world. Chaloklum is well written, fascinating, and delightful. It fed my own wanderlust, and now I can’t wait to go to Thailand. ~ Regan Murphy, Reviewer

Chaloklum

The Village of No Last Names

Patrick Ashtre

A Black Opal Books Publication

Copyright © 2016 by Patrick Ashtre

Cover Design by Jackson Cover Designs

Cover photo by Patrick Ashtre

All cover art copyright © 2016

All Rights Reserved

EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-626944-55-8

EXCERPT

After all our time together, we were going to be torn apart by a vicious rumor...

I called Aae into the kitchen and asked her, pointblank, about her allegations. She looked at her feet with dull eyes and said nothing.

Looking at Supattra, I asked, Is it true?

No, it is not true.

Then why is Aae telling our customers that you are having an affair?

By this time, I had learned of the incredible closeness of Isaan families. Mistakes would be easily forgiven, money would be passed between family members to cover unforeseen expenses, and personal tragedies would be shared to a level unheard of in the western hemisphere.

Knowing this Isaan trait, I calculatingly lowered my voice. If you are saying this is untrue, then I must fire Aae. She has hurt us and your reputation. She cannot work for us anymore.

It was a cruel litmus test, forcing Supattra to choose between a family member or herself. There was no doubt in my mind Supattra would shield her family if the allegation had been true. As I watched her body language shift from one extreme to the other, and then back again, Supattra answered me by dropping her head and repeating her earlier claim, It is not true.

The next morning, I informed Aae she needed to leave. Supattra provided her with bus fare and Aae moved north to a city near Supattra’s sister. But it was too late. The rumor of Supattra’s unfaithfulness spread like a fire moving through a box of matches. It was as cruel and nasty as I had witnessed on any ship or any island during my tenor as a marine, with multiple claims of the younger woman cheating on her older partner. The details of the rumor grew faster than I could keep track, and I became enraged both with Supattra and the grapevine. The grapevine continued its destructive course. The village was driven by the grapevine. I was driven by the grapevine.

DEDICATION

To Alison, Amelia, Ben,

and to the expatriates of Chaloklum

A Note from the Author

While I wrote this narrative second, Chaloklum, The Village of No Last Names is the lead up to my first story, A Distant Island, an account of coming to terms with posttraumatic stress. Steering clear of PTSD as topic, Chaloklum is the untold story of my first book and describes what happened on the mysterious island of PhaNgan that became so personally life altering. Chaloklum ends as I depart the island. A Distant Island begins as I depart the island.

Most of the names in this narrative have not been altered. I have changed several in order to avoid embarrassing or angering the people I came to know on the island. My name remains a pseudonym, as does the Thai woman who is my partner. While this might seem hypocritical, the use of a pseudonym is due to the personal nature of the first book and a desire to not hurt those who could be easily identified by using my real name. When asking my lawyer friend and fellow author, Phillip, about changing names, in his usual brusque tone he replied, If the book is a flop, no will want to sue you. If it becomes a best seller, you won’t care. Even with this possibly sound advice, I passed the manuscript around the village to ensure I was not offending anyone too badly. This is as much their story as it is mine.

A special thanks goes out to Stephane, Don, and Jamesy who took the time to read the manuscript and provide insight, each adding their unique input. Stephane, building a villa on the island, had not yet moved the village and looked at the story as an outsider. His invaluable contribution created an entirely new chapter focusing on the beauty of the island and our Thai hosts. Don, having moved the village some four years before I finished the manuscript, observed it from the perspective of someone who had knowledge of current events. We argued about the chronology of the story and settings, and fought over the reasoning behind the more recent events. He felt I focused too much on the dark side of Chaloklum, preferring a tale about the village’s goodness. I, on the other hand, knew a story about perfect people living in a perfect village would be far from the truth. Jamesy examined the story as one who had also partnered with a Thai woman and been around during the early days. He verified my Buddhist lessons and added information to those events occurring long ago.

In the end, people are inherently flawed, and we all make mistakes along the way. I realize that some of the characters in this story will be upset with the way I have portrayed them, but I imagine that’s the cost of scribing one’s experiences, thoughts, and perceptions onto paper.

Finally, due to the constraints of writing a coherent and manageable story, many worthy individuals did not make the pages of this book. Coming to understand the need to limit the characters early, those I selected to write about were based on three conditions: the individual needed to be a driving force in the village, someone who personified some unique element of the community, or, selfishly, a patron of the Lost Dog Café. Using these three guidelines, I believe I cobbled together a cast of characters who accurately represent the full spectrum of the village.

Chapter 1

Mother Nature’s Beauty and Human Oddities

Like John Wesley Powell’s expedition down the Colorado River and passage through the Grand Canyon, or Lewis and Clark’s searching out a tributary to the Missouri River and finding what is now known as Yellowstone National Park, it is not unusual for modern day travelers to seek out or stumble across a unique and special setting that leaves them with an everlasting memory. Like these famous men exploring the North American Continent, regular people like you and me can explore the world and, on occasion, find ourselves surrounded by an uncommon beauty or peacefulness so striking that it becomes emblazoned in our minds and we recall it for the remaining days of our lives--a recollection that constantly beckons us to return to the site of that experience.

Growing up in the mountains of Colorado, and then having travelled the Pacific and Indian Oceans for years, I have seen places and witnessed events that will forever be inscribed as commemorations of my past. While I have had many experiences and found myself in settings that I wish to forget, the ones I most clearly and often recall have been gratifying and beautiful.

Standing atop an ice-crusted cornice cantilevered over the edge of a mountain, bordered by wind-ravaged evergreens, I studied a black icy river surging and spilling over gray boulders as it twisted its way through a valley thousands of feet below. Flanked by tall rocky ridgelines that stood so high no tree could survive at their apex, the valley appeared small, yet its beauty and significance was not diminished. The sky above me churned with dark clouds as winds whipped powder-like snow from the surrounding peaks and wrought a sight that resembled cresting swells along an ocean reef. With a frigid wind numbing my face and burning my eyes, I stood in awe of Mother Nature.

I have found myself on an untamed beach in the middle of the Indian Ocean, the surf pounding away at a shore of sand and rock, as distant waves toppled over hidden shoals and the wind punished tall palm trees on an ominous gray sky background. Long lines of fierce-looking clouds stood on a hazy horizon above an angry deep blue ocean as I turned left and then right, a fine mist of sea spraying my bare chest and face. Not one unnatural feature stood as far as I could see. Humans had yet to leave their mark on that wild beach. I felt as if I was the first person to ever to set foot on its coarse sand and jagged rocks, and it is a sight I will never fail to recall.

Leaning out over the railing of a large gray metal ship slicing across glass-like water in the South China Sea, I watched a flight of fish suddenly erupt from its surface. Above the greenish waters, hundreds of small gray torsos with fan-like wings fluttered like humming birds searching out nectar in a flower-laden garden. The squadron of flying fish soared and skimmed across the water for a hundred yards, touching the sea’s calm surface here and there, before diving back into its protective fold. It was a testament to the complexity of nature’s beauty.

I have flown a helicopter over a gigantic sperm whale and its small calf near Marianas Trench in the Pacific Ocean, their shimmering gray bodies seeming nothing more than shadows under the rough waters. With a bright blue sky clashing against the agitated bluish-gray waters of the Pacific, the enormous animal rose from the ocean perpendicularly, with its calf circling nearby, to inspect the clatter of the helicopter blades, attesting to its inquisitiveness. It is a recollection that will stay with me forever.

I have trudged down a narrow fertile valley, between hillsides spotted with gray precipices at the base of Mount Pinatubo in the Philippines, feeling as if I had somehow stepped foot onto the Hollywood set for Peter Jackson’s remake of the 1933 King Kong movie. The trees filled with colorful macaws and hornbills verbally challenging hidden brown macaques, I have stepped through slow-moving brown waters, traversing its jungle rivers, and been awed by its beauty and the sheer magnitude of our world’s sophistication.

I have been pushed by a natural current through river-like passageways that twisted between palm tree covered islands, swimming aside schools of vividly colored fish in the crystal-clear waters of French Polynesia. In its warm bathtub-like waters, I could feel small fish nibbling at my toes as I reached out and touched colorful anemone and surgeon fish before they darted away. I will always recall the emotion of amazement those sights engendered.

Those are a few of the many memories I can evoke with pleasure, but as much as I desire, I can never totally share them with others. One must be there and observe these amazing places first hand to understand their true effect. While those experiences are treasures that I will always cherish, there is more to living a full life than witnessing the natural beauty of the world around us, and more than one way to provoke memorable emotions.

Standing in midtown New York City, bumper-to-bumper cars jockeying for position in Times Square, massive colorful screens blasting advertisements or news in bright lights, store fronts radiating wealth and power, all the while brushing shoulders with a dense crowd of fellow citizens and foreigners can be breathtaking to many and generate a similar wondrous feeling. But, given its origins, New York is the extreme opposite of the natural world, a counterfeit of reality--one tailored by man, and man alone. Just as ants build anthills, humans build cities, both representing collateral damage twisted from the intricate complexity of Mother Nature. This definition does not make a vibrant city setting or an anthill less amazing or inferior, but simply identifies its engineer.

The difference between the world’s natural and manmade beauty comes down to it creator. One is fashioned by a god of your choosing or the unknown wonders of the universe. The other is produced by educated men, some who delve into structures and design, and others who politic for various followers, lending comforts to an otherwise harsh world. They are the extremes of our perception, counterfeit versus natural, manmade versus that created by something so mysterious that we can only describe its creator in the form of spirituality or not at all.

While many long to be surrounded by nature and its astonishing complexity, most of us don’t want to live alone in the wilds of the Philippine jungle, on the shores of an untamed island in the Indian Ocean, or a mountaintop in Colorado. To lead a full life there must be companionship, in the form of both intimate and platonic relationships. Most of us need company and want comfort, and that means we must find some balance between the counterfeit and natural world. For each of us there is a place where man and the wild have intertwined in a way that a pleasurable hybrid of the two successfully exists. That might lead some to an apartment in downtown Manhattan on one extreme or in a cabin forty miles outside Fairbanks on the other.

As a rule, people seek out those who share common traits or beliefs. Those similar attributes could include financial standing, physical similarities, a common culture, or mutual understanding of commerce and government. Those likenesses create a stabilizing force that allows us to understand how to function within the constraints of a community’s unspoken rules and know what to expect from those around us at any given time.

There are no surprises when the couple next door was raised in a family that shared the same values and level of material luxuries; there are no shocking revelations when your neighbor believes in the same religion; and there are no startling bombshells when the family across the street shares your views on free enterprise and democracy. We congregate with those we feel comfortable around.

As a result, neighborhoods are filled with close relationships that join in common holidays, block parties, and backyard feasts.

With this in mind, where we ultimately find ourselves is not so much a choice but rather driven by our upbringing, education, financial standing, culture, personalities, experiences, and some individual need to be surrounded by nature. We are the proverbial misshapen block of wood bouncing across a board engraved with holes of various sizes and shapes, eventually dropping into one or the other. The similarity of our shape to that of the hole we find ourselves in allows us to either fit comfortably or bounce out and rattle across the board until another cavity allows refuge.

Hailing from the Colorado mountains, amidst the wondrous beauty of that state, I am the fourth of four boys. Spending a career in the Marine Corps, I witnessed the best and worst of humanity on battlefields across the globe. I am a man driven by guilt and testosterone. I am a man who finds large crowds annoying and have learned to enjoy my solitude. Educated in business and economics, I am someone who believes in capitalism and dislikes social safety nets of any kind. While I consider religion a crutch, I talk to God on a regular basis. And, as a father of three, I have laid waste to two marriages and know that the responsibility for their demise rests squarely on my shoulders. My block of wood has many sharp edges and unusual curves. I have spent most of my life in search of an engraved hole that my block of misshapen wood could fit inside.

The following story is about finding a home that came in the form of a fishing village on an island in the Gulf of Thailand. A beautiful setting with glorious jungle-laden hills, cascading streams and waterfalls, encircled by crystal-clear waters filled with vibrant sea life, fulfilling my need to be surrounded by nature. This small community broke all the rules and preconceived notions about finding a comfortable place whose streets, alleyways, and paths are populated by like individuals. Its natural beauty balancing perfectly with my need for companionship, the small village of Chaloklum taught me more about who I really was in several short years than a lifetime of exciting wondrous sites and experiences. More importantly, this village taught me how to lay aside all those flawed and ruthless societal skills I had learned in the mountains of Colorado and while traveling across two oceans, mistakenly thinking that they were somehow important and needed in order to survive a cruel and unfair world. Living in this small seaside village, I discovered that the true fragility of mankind is not its primitivism, but the simple need to be heard and accepted. On its narrow streets, surrounded by tall lazy palm trees and with the constant sound of water gently rolling across its beaches, I learned two valuable life lessons that elude many their entire lives--acceptance and forgiveness. I have now popped back out of that hole and find myself once again dancing across the board in search of another refuge, but I will always look back fondly and value my years in Chaloklum.

Chapter 2

Koh Samui

There are times in life when we find ourselves sensing an approaching experience or insight. It might be something obvious, such as a small argument or minor accident. This sensation might also indicate that a life-altering incident or enlightenment is about to unfold. These soul-changing events and revelations are often surrounded by mystery, as if predicting its significance but not the forthcoming act or understanding itself. The only commonality to these occasions is the unknown. You feel it coming but don’t know what it will be. These mysterious emotions might be bought out by subtle changes occurring around us that only the sub-conscious mind recognizes or by enlightening thoughts, prompted by the same, attempting to breakthrough stubborn preconceived notions. Sitting in a semi-comfortable airplane seat, feeling a light turbulence on the soles of my feet and hearing the whoosh of air as it burst from hidden vents, I had a sudden feeling that an inconceivable event was about to unfold or some unbelievable fact was about to be comprehended.

At the age of forty-seven and an altitude of 32,000 feet, I was flying to a destination I had never been with a woman half my age. Looking over at Supattra sitting next to me, with her long, jet-black hair and half-cloaked brown eyes, I began pondering the powerful feeling suddenly washing over me that something was about to happen. I contemplated how this seemingly small sidetrack in my life would elicit the emotion of some unforeseen implausible incident. Watching Supattra peering out the oval window at her side, looking down onto the Gulf of Thailand, I thought about how I had ended up on this airplane headed for the unknown.

It was to be a final vacation before my return to the United States. It was to be the final holiday that I would share with Supattra, whom I had found myself falling in love with over the last year. Calling one evening from my home in Japan several weeks prior, I had asked for her to pick a spot, anyplace in Thailand that she wanted to vacation. I didn’t inform her it would be our last. Being somewhat of a relationship coward, I figured that admission should come during our final hours together. A method and timing that would ensure I wouldn’t have to suffer the confessional consequences too long.

Supattra quickly informed me that Koh Samui, an island in an archipelago by the same name, was a location she had always wanted to visit. Acknowledging her choice, I disconnected the call and began searching on the internet for a hotel to stay in. Now, two weeks later, I found myself sitting on an airplane headed for the mysterious Koh Samui with a feeling that something momentous was about to occur.

With that unsettling sensation nipping at the edges of my psyche, I felt the aircraft begin to descend. Looking over Supattra’s shoulder and out the window, I could see two islands, separated by several miles of calm bluish-green water. The northern island was filled with high tropical forested mountains speckled with gray rocky formations and cut by deep ravines.

As we crossed overhead, looking down at the island’s high peaks and narrow valleys, I was struck with a recollection from my youth. A memory I had not reflected on for years. With a white, powder-like snow falling from the sky, I remembered gazing out the window of a car while driving along a road that twisted back and forth up the eastern side of Loveland Pass in Colorado. The car had been filled with friends and strangers alike, with the common goal of skiing down one of the many narrow gullies marking the sides the pass. I couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old at the time. The car’s heater had been blasting out warm air in an attempt to keep the outside chill from penetrating the steel and glass enclosure in which we found ourselves riding. Mounds of fallen snow had been plowed off to the edges of the road, creating high shimmering icy walls with the tips of Evergreen trees just peeking over the top.

At the summit of Loveland Pass, the car pulled over to the shoulder of the road and we stepped into the frigid winter wonderland, the elevation so high that no tree could survive the thinness of the air. Pulling my skis from the top of the car, I had slipped into the bindings and, using my poles, pushed over to an icy cornice cantilevered over the mountain’s edge. I remembered examining a snow-filled rift below me whose edges were bracketed with wind-ravaged trees. I recalled studying the steep gulch’s curves and bumps, in an attempt to discern the best route to ski down. My destination had been a valley, thousands of feet below, surrounded by tall rocky ridgelines. Sitting in the airplane’s seat next to Supattra, I remembered the beauty of the sight--a dark icy river coursing and wending down the valley’s center, and the sky above churning with clouds. A gust had picked up the snow from around my skis, blowing it in a twisting and curling fashion out and over the rift as the cold burned my exposed cheeks.

Shifting in my seat thinking of that youthful moment while filled with poignant anticipation of the unknown, I wondered how the sight of the steep ridgelines and valleys of the emerald green tropical island below had evoked the vision of a snowy and frigid moment from my past. The island below and my memory of Loveland Pass were in many ways polar opposites. The common element of steep mountains seemed trivial compared to the opposing environments, tropical versus alpine, but somehow my mind had made the link.

I pondered the contrasting sights and suddenly realized it was not the similarity of mountains and valleys, or emotions engendered by the sight of beauty thousands of feet below. The two scenes simply represented the complex variety of events we experience over the course of our lives. As a young man, I could have never anticipated sitting in an airplane high above the Gulf of Thailand with this beautiful woman by my side. She had been an unexpected pleasant consequence along my chosen path. It further dawned on me, at that moment, while we all try to make decisions relevant to some goal or desired outcome, many times our next step is influence by outside forces, and those exterior powers often lead us to the unexpected. Like the rudder on a sailboat, the decisions we make do nothing more than point us toward the desired objective, while the path leading to our chosen destination is many times determined by the wind, rain, and currents affecting our journey. Like captaining a sailboat, the route to some desired goal is not always a straight line.

With the thought of decisions being affected by outside forces cascading through my mind, I questioned my choice of returning to the United States. For the first time, I asked myself why I had been keeping Supattra at arm’s length and not recognizing she had become one of those outside forces affecting my journey. She was a proverbial stiff breeze from an unexpected direction, influencing me to choose a different path to my destination. At that moment on the airplane, I realized an unpredicted and significant fork in the road was approaching. Just as suddenly, I recognized that fork was the inconceivable event or understanding I had sensed. The choice of returning to the United States, and a life that I often found boring and predictable, came into question. That admission was just as quickly interrupted by clear air turbulence that knocked the overhead storage bin door above me open.

Pushing the realization that an enormous personal decision loomed ahead to the back of my mind, I examined the island below and could see the western and southern beaches spotted with hotels and resorts. Connecting roads twisted through dense stands of palm trees along the island’s edges. A small city center stood between, with a long gray pier jutting outward into the gulf. Another smaller township was situated on a narrow peninsula to the southeast. To the north was a wide bay that sparkled under the hot Southeast Asian sun. I could detect a single narrow road, cut from the jungle, that bisected the island’s interior, coiling over ravines and through a low pass, linking the northern bay with the hotels and towns to the south. As I observed the island below, it appeared as if its eastern beaches were abandoned--seemingly never developed.

Looking ahead of the airplane’s path, across a sound of water to the south, I saw a larger island of similar shape with one bulky mountain range eclipsing its center. Lacking the steep terrain relief of the northern island, grayish urban sprawl wrapped around the large central range, nipping at its base. Side-by-side villas stood atop every small hill and ridgeline, and a single two lane road, thick with traffic, seemed to be the island’s main transportation artery. A thin ribbon of bright green tropical foliage and palm trees separated its beaches from the manmade turmoil.

The airplane bumped and rocked as it dropped down over the wide strait between the two islands and I could hear the landing gear begin whining, winding out into position. As we approached the southern island, I could make out speed boats moored along its northern shore, gently rolling from side to side with an unseen current. An almost indiscernible shutter in the aircraft’s frame told me that the landing gear had locked into position, and I could feel my blood pressure begin to rise. Another two lane road, busy with colorful cars and scooters driven by equally colorfully clad people,