Bad Case of Wanderlust (My Trip Around the World): Khao Sok (May 2-4th)

I took a bus from Khao Lak to Khao Sok and with the change of two letters in the name and several hours on a bus, I went from beach sands to karst-peaked jungle. I hunted out a Lonely Planet-recommended guest house. Unusual for me, but I thought I'd give it a try. And as expected, a drastic price hike had shortly followed the LP recommendation, and I couldn't afford it. Since I'd walked so far, however, and since the restaurant was perched so prettily on the riverbank, I decided to stay.

From my table, I had a lovely view of the watering hole where several people, locals and foreigners alike, sought relief from the punishing heat.

After a tasty lunch, I headed back to the sole main road in the town and found a cozy collection of stilt bungalows around a charming restaurant/lobby, for a bargain basement price, and settled in.
From the porch of my little cottage, I had an excellent view of the limestone peaks less than a mile away. And from the open-air restaurant, where I could sit anytime regardless of appetite, I could take in the smells and sounds of the jungle in which I sat. I'd made a good choice.

Shortly after my arrival, I tried a short hike in the National Park-- the raison d'être of the town itself. The fact that a light thunderstorm had begun didn't deter me. I threw on my sneakers and a poncho and decided to tough it out. A small fee and my signature were all that were required to enter, and soon I was on one of the half-dozen trails open to hikers.
I use the word "trail" loosely. Beyond the first 200 meters, the way became barely discernible. Fallen leaves and trees covered the paths, where live foliage hadn't overgrown it already.

At first, the sense of adventure invigorated me. I charged ahead, a stupid grin on my face and a bounce in my step. The rain pelted my poncho and water ran down my face and bare legs. The path cut back and forth across creeks and wound through bamboo groves, and signs warned of wild elephants. If only, I thought hopefully.

I scrambled over fallen tree trunks often and balanced on slippery rocks to cross the creeks, sometimes landing with a splash in the water. I thought little of the soaked state of my feet until an hour and a half into my journey. It had been sometime since I had seen a sign confirming my route, and I needed some water anyway, so I took a quick rest. Glancing down at my foot, I saw a glistening greenish-brown lump sticking out of my sock.
Already knowing what I would find, I pulled the sock down and saw a half-sated leech affixed to my ankle. Pushing the ick factor out of my head, I racked my brain for the correct means of removing a leech in the wild, and nothing came, despite my having read up on such measures before my trip. I was fairly certain that you weren't supposed to simply rip them off, but I had no alternative, and-- handle myself calmly though I may-- I couldn't stomach the thought of walking on with it still attached. I grabbed a leaf, used it like a napkin, and tore the sucker-- pun intended-- off.
I feared that where there was one.... well, you know the saying. The thought repulsed me. I removed both shoes, and my fears were confirmed: 10 more slugs of varying degrees of engorgement clung to my feet. I removed the smaller ones in the same way I had the other, but the last one perplexed me. Clearly, he had arrived first at the party. He was huge. I couldn't believe there had been room for him in my shoe. Or that he had started out so incredibly tiny. Positively minuscule, in fact! I stared with morbid fascination. He had maneuvered his way into the space between my big and second toes and gone to town. When I finally found a leaf with which I could get a good grip on him, I yanked hard, and must have squeezed as well, because he exploded like a squib, splattering my foot and the ground with blood. So much blood!
So much blood erupting from all of the suction sites, actually! I knew that leeches secreted a blood thinner, but I had no idea how the resulting free-flow would appear when coming from 11 wounds in a limited area. I looked like I had suffered from rare tropical disease causing me to bleed from my pores or something.
As I stood marveling at the scarlet rivers running over my feet, I saw a new leech attempting to claim some of the territory. I sprayed him to death with my insect repellent, pulled my shoes back on, and continued walking.
Not 15 minutes later, I fell on my ass. The section on which I'd fallen was no slipperier than any other. In truth, some of the other tracts had merited signage, warning of the danger:

But I suppose the leeches had taken my focus, and I hadn't paid enough attention.
After I'd raised myself up off my rump and walked on a hundred meters or so, it occurred to me that I was quite lucky not to have injured myself beyond a few scratches. I also realized that I hadn't seen a single other person the entire time on the trail, that only the park ranger knew that I had even entered the park and not even which route I'd taken, that I had no cell phone, and that I wasn't even sure if I was still on an actual trail. Suddenly, the "No one knows I'm here" scene from "127 Hours" flashed through my brain, and I decided to turn around.
As I walked, I noticed more tiny leeches determinedly climbing the sides of my shoes. I sprayed most of them to death, holding the trigger down as I sprayed, heedless of how wasteful I was being. The revulsion I had suppressed while removing the early colonists emerged with a vengeance as I fought off their disciples. I walked twice as fast as I had in the other direction, wanting nothing more than to get safely out of the damp.
When at last I reached the park entrance, I dumped my sneakers into the trash. (They had all but fallen apart already anyway.) Then I returned to the cosy sanctuary of my accommodation, vowing to remain there for the rest of my time in Khao Sok.
I spent the next two days writing, catching up on rest, doing yoga, and hanging out with the bungalow owner's dog, who followed me everywhere and would wait outside my door when I went into my little cottage.

He would snuggle up at my feet while I ate or worked on my blog on the porch. On one occasion, when I must not have paid him enough attention for his liking, he hopped up onto the table beside mine, sat down, and stared at me from eye level.

My other regular dinner companion was a toad the size of a softball, who would hop around my table, but then hop just as quickly away if I turned in his direction.

On my last morning in Khao Sok, I took a pic of my usual collection of used, left-behind water bottles-- and this only for 3 days!-- which made me feel terribly wasteful, but I left Khao Soak feeling healthier, hydrated, more rested, and generally ready for whatever came next on my trip.