Ooh that’s sticky.

I was dimly aware of the relief I felt as I stepped out of the airport into a wave of Bangkok’s heat; all doubt as to whether I should be travelling swept aside.  My life in my backpack, there’s something primal about it – temporarily shedding the layers of our lives that are least crucial.

Abiding by my travel-blog induced sensibilities I sit in the stinking heat and calculate where it is my hostel is located. Then eat. And then calculate some more. I’m relaxed. I’m fresh. But the Taxi driver still gets the best of me and my wad of Thai Baht. Let’s be honest, the bloke’s been in the game a little longer than me – full credit to him. I even feel a semi-racist nostalgia for my Thai companion as he ducks and weaves at break-neck speed through the traffic, at once displaying some of the best and most appalling driving I’ve seen in years. Since I was last here, in fact.

Hustling up some food for the train, more rip-offs, the meat on the hooks, the flies on the meat, and the locals’ eyes on me if I slowed to examine their wares. The train living up to its namesake, the Death Railway was no first class bullet. The way the track cut unabashedly through walls of sheer rock was testament to  the cruelty of the Japanese and the determination of their World War 2 captives. Thousands died here laying down sleepers and iron. The grinding halts as passing trains ejected  and swapped cars,  and the yarns this sparked with the French couple across from me.

Leaving the train, I stride past some monks taking collections and I’m struck by how leisurely they move before me – but not enough to slow down my racing feet and curiosity, my desire to get to where I’m going; Not enough to see the great, leering irony of rushing to a meditation retreat…

Well enclosed in the jungle and not far from the Burmese border lay the Daen Maha Mongkol  Meditation Centre. I greeted the white-robed nuns who stood in front of a big pedestrian bridge that seemed to lead over into the temple grounds. The sole European nun (and English speaker) politely asked me if I was there to cross over and see the temple and seemed a little surprised when I asked to spend a few days, let alone that I actually knew where I was. Upon discovering I was serious, however, they happily confiscated my possessions for me. I’d anticipated the fasting being the biggest challenge for me and in a show of unkempt western gluttony, I devoured the left over nuts I’d stowed from Bangkok, provoking a look of bemusement on the nun’s features. As I stuffed my face, the thought crossed my mind that I’d need my phone on me to organize meeting with friends  back in Bangkok but, content I’d make it work, I handed my phone over with the rest of my electronics.

The first evening I sat outside in my new white robes and let the feel of the place soak in. Squirrels tiptoed along branches as lizards moved on the lawn, pausing only to listen to insects whirring and the evening prayers in broadcasted monotone.  As the chanting petered out into silence, a downpour abruptly set in. The beauty of this in-land island (almost fully surrounded by a river) was striking and I became aware of how blissful this place had me feeling. The whole God thing is a pretty convicting human experience I guess. We have these windows where we come up for air from the depths of routine and wonder if there might be a spiritual element to what we’re doing. And for the first time in a long time, the atmosphere of this place had me open to it.

The rain stopped as suddenly as it began with someone coming to fetch me for evening chanting. This would be a trend for my stay –wanting nothing more than to arrive on time, but never being able to on account of my meandering around; mouth wide open with either awe or lack of sleep. The bowing was uncomfortable. With an English transcription of the prayers laid before me, I tossed and turned to try and persist through a sitting pose I’d never before been expected to hold. To start, I was in such a sweaty, irritable state that it was all I could do to focus on the translation as I bumbled along in Thai with the others (about 50 of us). Enormously, I came to relax mentally, even with my hips and knees screaming for attention. It became easier for me not to give in and be mindful of what I could gain from the ritual in spite of the discomfort.

The religiosity of the prayers was a little surprising . The words were pretty doting and suggested Buddha as being a deity though of course in life he started as a prince. I guess I had a pretty typical White-Boy understanding of Buddhism (Namasteee!) but there you have it. There are certainly superstitious and worshipful undertones – at least in the Thai doctrine.

At one stage, I experienced a reluctance to bow to the immense golden Buddha and then it passed. Something to do with learned Catholic instincts perhaps. My quest, though,  was understanding – a notion hopefully shared by all spiritual folk and one I think any true God would get behind!

I found the walking meditation easier than the seated variety. Freed from the trappings of my thunder thighs and butt, the catharsis I felt was more than just mental – added to it was the release of stretching, an indicator of why droves of people are turning to yoga these days. Meditation had always been a bit of a chore for my compulsive mind but the controlled walking had a way of occupying my extra thoughts, as we ambled, hands clasped in silence, around the candlelit hall.

Before bed, I shared broken-Thai banter with my companions but quickly got used to the fact that I would be alone here. It was apparently for the best though – excess chatter was discouraged by temple doctrine. Our open forest bungalows consisted of a sewn mat of reeds, on a wooden base and tin roof. I set to work laying the provided mosquito net down for my back and hips. I’d sleep on my sack of clothes, and drench myself with water periodically as the night went on. I must’ve slept at some point but the 3am bells were ringing much too soon. I got up in a daze, and instinctively walked to the tap to brush my teeth. The snake was halfway to my pillow by the time I was close enough to my bungalow to see it. It retreated at its own pace as I determinedly shone my head lamp on it, heart hammering in my chest. Though I knew it wasn’t poisonous, it was alarming to see it sliding over my sleeping stuff and  the possibilities this boded for my next two nights there. The constant refrain cycled over in my head:

“If I’d seen it on the final night, I might’ve actually got some fucking sleep”.

But in my hunger for adventure, the development also kind of thrilled me. I couldn’t wait to tell the others when we finally met up.

And it wasn’t the last snake we found, or by any means the biggest.

Part of the deal of free accommodation and food was an expectation that you’d help out with chores around the temple grounds. For our batch of retreat-ing Buddhists this meant dismantling the older bungalows – an admittedly great deal – except that slumbering in the insulated heat of the straw roofs, were the larger brown snakes, which were quite the hoot when one is reaching into the depths of said roofs to remove the panels of straw. After collective panic and general un-Buddhist words shared, it would be left to a couple of the lads to flick our serpentine friends into the neighboring jungle with sticks.

I found this was the only time I managed to hang out properly with the other people there. The guys and I got nonverbal joy from seeing who was tough enough to dismantle the steel framework quickly and with the least injuries. A lot of the girls weren’t so meek themselves as we all inadvertently tipped bungalows onto each other. It was hot going in our robes –but through this too, was a sense of satisfaction brought about by the work we were sharing in.

Later, we sat and meditated around a sole tree atop a circular, grassy mound. The tree had been grown from a seedling of the great tree under which Buddha attained enlightenment in India. There I learnt about the wheel of life and death; the symbol of reincarnation I’d seen raised on flags around the vicinity. I was also encouraged by some of the elders to walk around the grassy knoll 40 something times, reflecting on those I loved.

I told them I’d get round to it.

While fasting from midday, breakfast and lunch will obviously be a highlight. I learnt that patience and humility were expected when it came to food. Everything was locally sourced and grown by the nuns on the island, which, in itself commanded an amount of reverence. We would line up moments before the bells tolled, signaling the time for the men – and then women – to approach the eating hall (Who said Buddhism was perfect?!).

Barefoot, and with eating bowls held out before us, we made our way down to the entrance before washing our feet from a giant cauldron of water and equally large ladle. Then, seated respectfully on the floor in front of a steaming vegan buffet, prayers were said – and in no short order. Considering you’ve spent nearly 20 hours without food, one might expect to feel a little fidgety at this stage – and you’d be damn right. But a lot of it was to do with my flexibility more than anything. The task of fasting in itself wasn’t horrid. No doubt my feelings about it were brought on by a kind of hungry delirium, but I felt pretty relaxed about it.

My state of mind was definitely different those four days. I spent most of the time in the seat of my mind, doing all a Generation-Y kid could do to quell his racing thoughts and anxieties. Physical distractions were kept out of the picture at least, and I adapted uneventfully to life without wifi. Admittedly, I had the advantage of knowing I was out of there in all of 4 days, with the prospect of raging it up at the Full Moon Party if the whole ‘spiritual component’ of my trip didn’t end up being for me!

The food itself was spicy, but I obviously ate it, ass aching like nothing else, cross legged on the floor, tears and snot streaming down my face like the hot mess I was – but most importantly I was fed. And I had a new appreciation for food – almost a reverence – that hasn’t been shaken since. Admittedly we were allowed sugary drinks and milk during the evening which I made the most of if it was available. Water was obviously chugged in earnest in the 35 degrees of sticky Thai climate.

A final highlight of my stay was getting to climb to the temple at the top of a nearby mountain. Every morning until that point, I’d heard chanting  from on high as it glistened in the morning sun – a white pearl atop scores of steps and hillside jungle. Someone noticed my fascination with it and a request was put in for me by Pud (like ‘pudding’), a university student and English speaker my age who became my best and only real friend during my stay. I think he had a word with his mum who belonged to the convent and the sisters decided a special allowance could be made for me to climb, provided that I listened to the corresponding tapes to prep myself.

An older Thai man accompanied me up the mountain. He was a merchant from Pai – chronically unfit – but an enigmatic talker the way any good businessman will be.  I wasn’t initially sure whether I liked the guy or not but he grew on me as he determinedly huffed and puffed his way up the hundreds of steps, apologizing for his years of smoking with each increasingly luxurious break we took. Above, small monkeys leapt in the branches as we made our ascent, while a myriad of insects screamed religious frenzy.

The temple was magnificent. Allegedly handmade by the sisters themselves, we walked in silence up its marble staircase that wound its way through ponds full of goldfish and lilies. With the exception of a Sister silently sweeping the vicinity, we had the place to ourselves. It felt good there. I was stirred by it as I had been during the first afternoon’s peacefulness in the garden. We looked in at the ornate interior on various floors before admiring the view awhile atop the temple. My companion showed how we could see  into the peak-laden horizon that was Myanmar. I meditated on the view for a bit (When in Rome!) and when we came down we bowed to a tapestry of the king and a single golden Buddha in the Thai likeness. My older companion was keen to get moving, and after delaying him as long as I could; we wound our way back down the mountainside.

A few hours later I was asleep on a bench in the jungle, waiting for the next train to take me onto Bangkok and my next adventure – the party islands in the Gulf of Thailand – a destination about as far removed from this peaceful place as was possible. Though perhaps there’s something to be learned from the full range of human indulgences.

And now I wasn’t in so much of a rush.