Medium format on the neck and Thailand underfoot
A fierce yellow dot is grilling you from above, and you don't know when crocodile, tiger or souvenir seller will jump out of the bushes. We ran out of beer, the roads are winding off into the unknown and scenes from Coppola's Apocalypse Now come to mind. And to top it all off, as if that wasn't enough, you're a photographer. And that means only one thing - throwing out useless things like clothes or food and stuff your gear instead.
If you're sane, you'll naturally pack the most basic, lightest and most versatile gear available for a photo shoot.
But...
Nope!
Since suffering harden character and one of my ancestors was probably a flagellant, I decided many years ago to abandon 35mm film and travel exclusively with the medium format Mamiya M645, a time and habitat-tested indomitable machine. Of course, I would prefer to carry 8x10" large format, but I'm not really going to fuck with that at the airport and then somewhere in the jungle. So my most basic setup for getting through the wilderness consists of:
- A Mamiya M645 camera with a waist level finder and two lenses (in this case a Sekor C 35mm f3.5 N and a Sekor C 110mm f2.8 N - a proven duo covering all the focal lengths I like). Then a compact and lightweight carbon tripod (Rollei Compact Traveler No.1 ), a bunch of roll films (exclusively black and white), a polarizer and ND1000 filter, an exposure meter (Gossen Profisix) and a few little thingies more - a sun hood, a wire shutter, a spare battery, a cloth, a tripod allen, a plate, a strap and God knows what else and of course some sort of shoulder bag to carry the damn things.
If you manage to defend the films at the airport from being X-rayed and untangled by nosy staff (and not get a rectal exam while grumbling), you can continue to the real fun. The joys and sorrows of one such trip can be soak up from my excerpt below. Grab your beer and have fun with the suffering of others.
First grief
- ความโศกเศร้าประการแรก
You wander like a slug through the jungle from left to right and around and around, with a bag, another back, a camera, a lens, another lens, a tripod, it's hot enough to die, you're sweating, tigers are circling around, mosquitoes are eating you, vultures are above you, leeches are below you - and you wonder if you're not an idiot.
Why don't you get yourself a nice, small, lightweight digital, you can't handle it anyway, so why bother. And then you'll see something nice, like a waterfall. You unpack your shit, load the film and after an hour of preparation you'll shoot it and move on.
And after developing it at home, drying it, scanning it - just fucking with it for half a day - you find out that it worked. Not because you got lucky, of course, but because you're a cool bro. And suddenly you don't want to turn your tripod into a lamp and your camera into a mushroom steamer any more. At least until the next day.
Second trip
- การเดินทางหมายเลขสอง
So far the usual scenario - suffering me, covered with cameras, tripods, junk, going up, down, sun, heat, thousands of stairs somewhere to the jungle.
But suddenly some news - before the final and worst climb, comparable perhaps only to the ascent to the last metres of K2, a sign warning the faint of heart and will that this is really not a good idea. The fact that the sign is exceptionally written in English adds to its credibility, so it's clear that this is no fun. However, I was assured by my escort that I am neither a cardiac nor a weakling, but just a plain lazy pig, so the attempt failed and we move on.
And then, after conquering the last bit of the section lined with the bleached bones of the unfortunates who took the wise sign lightly, we're there. Phraya Nakhon opens up before us.
A series of caves, stone bridges and tunnels leading to a breathtaking and truly gargantuan dome whose monstrosity I won't even attempt to put into words. And above it all, a single source of light, a giant hole lined with jungle on the surface. And we're there just in time - a few minutes later, the sun reaches a position where it illuminates the inside of the dome through the hole, its rays falling directly on the gold-encrusted monastery in the centre.
What I have to say, it was worth it again. Just a good hole, 9.5/10. I'm saving the last half-point for tactics for the next cave.
Suffering number three
- การต่อสู้ครั้งที่สาม
First snorkeling!
We set sail for the open sea and the Koh Phi-Phi archipelago - but as the boat moves more from top to bottom and left to right than forward, breakfast soon starts to wonder what the party is like up there, and wants to take a look too. When some of the crew start puking in the trashcan and others ask for life jackets, I start to feel like I should have stayed on the beach and scared the crabs. Anyway, we arrive and off to the coral reefs we go!
Due to the lack of warning that there may be water on board the boat, I somewhat undignified and unplanned slide into the depths. Naturally and quite unerringly, I also get a single leaking mask and snorkel, so while the others are enjoying the beauty of underwater life, I willingly undergo waterboarding with every attempt to submerge my face and breath, and I sounds like the filming of Deep Throat.
After half an hour of arousing general merriment among all the beautiful creatures below me, who I couldn't even see despite the salt in my eyes, we set sail again and land on Coconut Island. Not a single coconut anywhere. But I scared some crabs atleast. On land, I'm the boss, crabbies.
Fourth act
- บทที่สี่
Ranger station, deep jungle not long after dawn. As central Europeans used to deer, grass snakes and squirrels, we take the ubiquitous signs warning of tigers and crocodiles with a grain of salt and go to wipe the last white spots off the map. A couple of rangers point their fingers at us, shake their heads and smile, the few tourists who are afraid to get out of the car in the parking lot just shake their heads. Sawat Dý Khrab, you cowards, we'll see you again.
After about five metres, we both undignifiedly wash out in the first stream we cross, the aura of conquerors sinking, the water in our boots rising, the laughter from the campsite growing. Crabs the size of a hand, spiders the size of a foot (big foot, about number 46) and monkeys about the size of a monkey line our path. Only people are nowhere to be seen. Crocodiles too, thankfully. We're already in the heart of the rainforest when we hear something big up ahead. A really big one. Definitely a lot bigger than a size 46 spider. I tighten the strap on my tactical field hat to keep it from flapping as I escape and bravely climb another metre and a half. When the predator makes a second sound right in the thickets ahead, my courage slowly leaves me and a second later, with the words "fuck it, I'm getting outta here", so does my escort. I realise that I will not be able to beat the tiger with a tripod and I start a tactical retreat.
But why worry about a female escort? Why would a tiger be chasing a lettuce leaf when there was me, a greasy double cheeseburger who would get a twinge in my side after five yards of running? Easy beast breakfast. Still, we return to camp like wilderness conquerors. No one's laughing anymore. The white spots on the maps remain, the brown in our trousers has been added. Well, bye bye, cowards.
Fifth time and the end
- ห้าและสิ้นสุด
We set out with a rickety kayak for the wide horizons, specifically finding it an irresistible idea to choose an island on the horizon as our destination. What could possibly happen, right. But after the waves start to sort of get bigger, the sphincters tightens and I start humming the soundtrack from Jaws, we turn around and decide to circumnavigate the coast.
Steep, implacable cliffs, lined with gnarled trees rising out of nothing, rock overhangs and gates, waves crashing against the rocks - and suddenly, amongst it all, a glimpse of a hidden, lonely beach. We land. White-glowing sand, clear water, all enclosed by a crescent of impenetrable jungle. Okay!
On the way back we pass the Emerald Cave, where there is only one way to go - leave the boat, jump into the depths and swim in absolute darkness (okay, we had a headlamp) for a few hundred meters before we stand on another beach, surrounded by rocks and accessible only from the sea and at low tide. 9,6/10.
We sail in with the sunset, whose colours we can't believe (which I'll immortalise for you on a black and white film, you're welcome), and it's off to dinner. Christmas Eve. We sit surrounded by the jungle amongst the beautiful 120dB screeching of cicadas in the local "restaurant." We swap the schnitzel for Massaman Curry, the Potato salad for Tom Kha and top it off with Mango Sticky Rice. The power is out, so we finish our meal between the Christmas lights and roll back across the island through the dark wilderness. That was good.