At the north end of the island, we visit "Big Buddha," a towering golden figure seated at the top of a hundred or so steep stairs, the requisite serpent down each side of the stair, its head raised in fiery breath at the bottom, reminiscent of the style of the Myan temples of the Yucatan in Mexico. The elaborate mosaic tilework is elegant, the figure outsized and impressive, yet the simpler Wat has the great charm of its use; classrooms of schoolchildren, monks in meditation and the busyness of daily life going on, with its attendant conversation and the ever-present cooking of food. Thailand it seems, is a land where more people cook than eat---food is in constant public preparation.

On our way back we come upon two elephants at the side of the road with their handlers and swing off to take pictures. Lovely and serene animals, one handler offers Misha a ride and one of the elephants gracefully kneels, offering its leg as a step-up onto the neck. He stands and nonchalantly wanders down the side of the road, Misha with one leg behind each ear and the look of someone who can't quite believe where they are. Kneeling once again, he lets her down and we are off once more on the bike.

We have the opportunity to test this seaworthiness at close hand, as such boats are used to ferry us from excursion boat to the various beach-landing points, where we jump into thigh-high surf and wade ashore---all of us, even the grandmothers, who I'm sure never expected such an adventure, but take it all in stride and good humor. At each anchorage we are dreadfully overloaded to the waterline and not a lifejacket to be seen. Shore is close enough to swim, but it would be a near thing in a panic. All in all, a delightful day on the water.

Christmas has come and gone in this Buddhist country with little fanfare. In the restaurants and shops, there are occasional Christmas trees and glittery foil "Merry Christmas" greetings across an occasional doorway, but on this first Christmas away from a traditional cold climate Christian country, it all seems comfortably remote and not at all strange that it should be that way. The frantic, last-minute hustle is a half-world away or so it seems and it's very peaceful to be away from that for a change, to listen to the gentle lapping of waves.

The staff at Lamai Beach laid out a special Christmas dinner for their guests, perhaps twenty-five of us made up of Germans, a few Brits, Australians, Americans and Misha, the lone Czech representative. Red-clothed, candlelit tables have been set on the beach, along with an elaborate Thai buffet that features spitted roasting chickens, fruit punch and a wide array of side dishes. We're one day past the full moon, but this one seems as full as yesterday, rising about eight o'clock and hanging like a huge orange disc over the palm-lined peninsula. The resort's resident Thai-dogs are attentive, the rooster has long since gone to roost and it's an evening suited to a postcard. There is a modest fireworks display, set off with much running from the lit fuses and creeping back to wonder if they'll really go off and more running when they do. Down the beach in both directions, similar activity pops up here and there and we linger at tables, long past the normal nine o'clock closing, then wish everyone well and spend the next two hours hammocked between beach palms. We watch the light ripple across the water from the moon and the several anchored night-fishing boats.

Koh Samui has played itself out and we've seen what there is to see on the island, hammocked and swum and walked the beaches, made the almost nightly walk to town for the pancake-man's banana pancake dessert, watched the moon swell and grow to its fullest, then begin diminishing, scratched the beach-dogs ears and seen the tides and fishing-boats come and go. It's time to move on to the northwest mountains near the Burma border. Either that or admit the laziness of this island and stay only here---languish in the sun-drenched paradise of this lone island. It's tempting, but Thailand is a long way to come and we'd like to see the other face of this fascinating country, the north, with its hill-tribes and cities, it's jungle forested mountains and terraced rice-paddies.

We make reservations for the night-train to Bangkok, but are unable to make either a train or bus reservation to Chiang Mai and decide to take our chances. We are able to book a hotel in Chiang Mai, but only for a single night. Christmas begins high season in Thailand we are told hotels and guesthouses are full. So we'll be off without expectations, other than whatever adventure brings.

Saturday, late afternoon, January 4th, Galare Guest House, Chiang Mai

Ah yes, adventure seemed like it might begin at the ferry to Surat Thani. After lunch at Lamai Beach, having said our good-byes to staff and rooster, we lugged our stuff to the end of the driveway. We soon caught a pickup-taxi to Nathon, arriving at a pier full of passengers and stacked luggage. Two fine big car-ferries stood at the end of the pier, but it seems they were not for us and our hearts sank as we watched a single launch-ferry of the type we had come on, slide into the pier as overloaded as any Indian bus one could imagine---decks and topside awash with people, most of them backpackers obviously headed to Surat Thani as we were.

I have this thing about overloaded ferries. Every time I read of some sinking in a third-world country with huge loss of life, I wonder how people can be so careless as to board such a boat. But of course the answer is, that is what there is. Get on or don't get on, but that is what there is. Apparently faced with such a choice, I've decided that we'll go back to Lamai Beach and try another day, perhaps try each and every day, before I'll cross two and a half hours of open Gulf on such a boat.

The ferry unloads and adds its number to the already crowded pier. Another, larger ferry pulls into view just as we are about to haul our stuff back to the cabs. As it's loading, still another pulls up and snubs itself off to the first and we are told all train passengers are to board the second boat. Scrambling across the one ferry to the other, we find a great place to sit on the bow deck and enjoy an almost glassy-calm crossing on a half-filled boat.

My back to the Gulf, I watch the captain on the glassed-in bridge, his bare foot comfortably up against the window, sitting behind the big wheel. He is agreeably middle-aged and experienced, sober and placid of demeanor, a man with wife and family waiting at home and the engines throb powerfully. God is in his heaven and Buddha is reclined and at his ease.