Food with a Side of Climbing

\

When a waking life consists of only two major events, patterns form easily. Life is not complicated. My routine is solely constructed of eating and climbing. Everything else is merely a distraction. Both activities are bountiful, delightful and far more valuable than the cost. Days consist of 4 meals, 3 out of an open air kitchen at the back of a local ladies house. Lovingly called, Chicken Mama, a 5' tall Thai woman filled our empty bellies between climbs. Through nourishment and smiles, Chicken Mama became the mother of an eclectic group of strangers brought together only by a sense of adventure and a passion for scaling rocks. The dinning room consisted of two picnic tables and a small, tattered umbrella. She continually slow roasted barbecue chicken, sending comforting smells wafting across the beach. Food was cheap, portions were large, customers were happy.

Each night, we would break from our regular daily meal spot and pull 3 tables together at a curry shack and eat, drink and tell tails of the cliff. Our conversations would travel the world. From sunset till late after dark, we would dine, converse, learn, drink, argue and flirt. Table talks would always start with the biggest falls and tales from the day.

Early mornings and late nights were magic at Tonsai. The perfect weather boasts a light breeze starting at night sustaining through till early morning. This pushed most of the mosquitoes back into the jungle giving you just enough peace to drift to sleep. The mosquito net became the single most important material item, after my climbing gear. My first night in a beach bungalow was an experience of skin patterning. I went to sleep with a very perforated mesquito net. I woke the next morning to find my body covered in 100's mosquito bites. After that evening, Tiger Balm also ranked very high up on my most appreciated goods. This elaborate body art was only topped by the night I inadvertently shared my mattress with an ant colony. While I slept, they dined. I quickly conditioned myself to sleep through anything. Even with a speckled back comparable to a bad case of measles, the possibility of a bad day was far from achievable.

The following evening, it happened again. The ten hours of climbing each day was just not enough. This is how I found myself 4 pitches up a climb called Humanality, tapping my feet to the Bob Marley blaring from the bar 300 feet below. An LED light from my headlamp was barley noticeable from the moonlight being cast on the rock from a full moon. Finishing the last pitch and lowering off into the night from 360 feet above the ground, I was a happen climber. Only 24 hours had passed since my arrival in Tonsai. 24 hours in paradise.