Where Trees Sink and Rocks Float

Let me tell you about the waterfall. It was my first time in Thailand, and my first time on the islands. I had chosen Koh Chang, East from Bangkok and close to the Cambodian border. The hotels and villas there were all clustered around a single ring road that didn’t even loop all the way around the island. The middle of the island was mountainous, covered in dense jungle that loomed over the small pockets of development and tourist activity.

I had rented a motorbike and was riding around, looking for somewhere to buy a few beers. I saw a shop and pulled over, enjoying the blast of cool air from the air-con as I walked inside and escaped the glare of the late-afternoon sun.

At the back of the shop, I was greeted by shutters pulled down over the refrigerator and a sign reading “All alcohol are allowed to sell from 11:00-14:00 and 17:00-24:00.” I had forgotten about the Thai alcohol laws.

As I turned to leave, the old woman behind the counter smiled at me and tapped the clock on the wall behind her, which showed the time 4:30pm. 

“You come back, 30 minutes, I can sell.” She said with a grin.

“Can you sell now?”

She tapped the clock again. “30 minutes, I can sell,” she repeated, this time without the smile.

I left and jumped back on my scooter, hoping to find something, anything, to kill 30 minutes. Within a few minutes of driving, I saw a sign for the Klong Plu Waterfall. I had seen pictures online, and had intended to visit it at some point, so on an impulse I made the turning and decided to try and find it. The road led me uphill and away from the developed beach roads and into the mountainous interior of the island. The jungle trees on either side of the road pressed in the higher I climbed and the shaded cool air, plus the elevation, meant that the temperature started to drop. The road deteriorated in quality the further I went and forked several times without any road signs. I soon lost confidence in this detour. I had left my phone back at the hotel and so, with no road signs and no internet, I decided to turn back.

As I turned the bike around, I realized that I must have climbed several hundred feet in elevation on this road, and in the process gained a vantage point to survey the island. Through a break in the trees I could see a sweeping view of deep blue ocean edged by white sand beaches. Just between the border where the jungle met the ocean I could make out the ring road and the narrow strip of buildings, a thin dash of humanity, caught between two worlds.

After pausing for a moment to enjoy the views, I began my descent. Almost immediately, I saw a sideroad with a small wooden sign that said “waterfall, this way -->.” I was sure that I hadn’t seen it on the way up, and it didn’t specify which waterfall, but I decided to try my luck. I had driven all this way, why not?

The road to this waterfall could hardly be called a road; it looked closer to an animal track than anything man-made. Thick tree roots snaked across the ground at regular intervals and monsoon rains had carved deep rivulets through the track, making the path uneven and treacherous for the thin tyres of my cheap rental scooter. 

I followed for as far as I could until the path was swallowed by the jungle, with no end in sight. Disappointed, I cut my engine to stop and reassess my situation. As soon as I did so I heard it - the unmistakable sound of crashing, flowing water. I popped out the kickstand on my bike and started to push my way through the undergrowth towards the sound. After a minute or two of fighting through the foliage, I emerged into a large clearing and was shocked by what I saw.

There in front of me was the waterfall, gushing forth from the rocks and dropping at least 30ft down into a deep and clear plunge pool below. It looked different to how it had looked in the pictures though, with a larger drop and a deeper pool. 

What surprised me, however, was that all around the waterfall were groups of people, talking, sunbathing and swimming in the plunge pool. I hadn’t seen any other parked motorbikes or signs of human life as I approached. I must have taken a disused road here, or maybe there was a hiking trail that led here that I had missed. Either way, I was sure that nobody else had taken the same route that I had for quite some time.

The people gathered around here looked unusual too, they were an odd mix. Some looked like they had walked straight up from the beach today, others looked like they had come straight out of central casting for a film about the Hippie Trail in the 1970s. Something about the style of their clothes, it was like they had bought their entire outfit from a vintage market. In the spot closest to the waterfall there was even a local man in what looked like Thai traditional dress. Probably some tourist trap idea - get your picture taken with a local in a traditional outfit for 200 baht. 

As I scanned the scene, a woman noticed me, one of the Hippie Trail crowd. She made eye contact with me from across the clearing and then walked towards me, looking deep into my eyes the whole way without so much as a glance to the side. She stopped in front of me, a warm smile on her face.

“Hey there, so you found us.”

“Yeah… I guess so. What is this place?”

“The waterfall,” she said.

“Klong Plu Waterfall?”

“I’m sorry I don’t know the name of it, it’s just the waterfall to me. You should come and join us though.”

Before I could protest, she took me by the hand and led me over to her group of friends. The warmth of her hand in mine, and the sudden familiarity, took me by surprise. Her manner, as if this whole interaction was the most natural thing in the world, had me convinced that maybe it was. 

I was introduced to the group, a round of names and pleasantries exchanged. Someone passed me a cold beer as I sat down on the rocks to join their circle, listening as the conversation returned to their travels. A guy in their group with long ginger hair and a shaggy beard was describing his journey through India to get here. Dheli and Benares in the North, down to Bombay and Goa on the West Coast, then finally to Alleppey and Pondicherry in the South. Then he had caught the ferry from Madras over to Penang and hitchhiked from there all the way up into Thailand. Something about the place names struck me as odd, but I didn’t want to interrupt the story.

Sitting here on the rocks, drinking beer and talking, with the mist of the waterfall cooling the air, I felt a deep sense of relaxation. The white noise of the crashing water, combined with the enclosed setting of the waterfall clearing, created a sense of privacy. It felt like a protected space, like the rest of the world had been shut out and all that existed was this clearing, and this waterfall, and this unusual mix of people.

We sat and talked for what seemed like hours, trading stories from our travels. Somebody suggested that we go for a swim and within seconds everyone was on their feet. The woman who had led me over to the group grabbed my hand once again and nodded her head towards the water. I allowed myself to be led to the water’s edge and watched her jump in first, then stripped off my top and jumped in after her. 

I dropped into the dark pool and plunged deep underwater without my feet ever touching the bottom. I gasped as I came up for air. The water wasn’t particularly cold, but it was a stark contrast after sitting in the heat of the Thai sun for a few hours. After the initial shock, the cool water felt amazing on my sunburnt skin. I swished my limbs through the water to enjoy the sensation, closing my eyes to focus on the feeling.

We spent what seemed like a long time doing this, jumping into the water to cool off, then going back in the sun to dry off again. Alternating between the two as people talked and laughed and swapped stories of their travels, of home, and of life. 

After my third or fourth dip in the water, I clambered out onto the rocks and sat down next to the man with the ginger beard who had been talking earlier. He smiled and nodded in recognition as I sat down next to him.

“So, how long have you been here?” I asked.

“It’s hard to tell mate,” he said with a laugh.

“Yeah, I understand. It’s easy to lose track of time when you’re travelling.”

He nodded but said nothing. As we sat there, I picked up a stick from the ground next to me. Without thinking, I threw it into the water. It sank like a stone to the bottom.

I turned to the guy next to me and saw that he had been watching. He smiled at me and then picked up a small stone from the ground and threw it into the water. It dipped briefly below the surface, before floating back to the surface. I looked at the stone for a long time, confused at what I had just seen. I turned to him for an explanation, but he was looking straight ahead, his demonstration now finished.

I tried it myself, picking up a larger stone than the one he had thrown. I checked it over and hefted it in my palm to check the weight. It was just a normal rock, with a satisfying heaviness to it. I threw it into the water and watched as the process repeated itself. The rock crashed into the water, bobbed below the surface, and then floated back to the top.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“Where trees sinks and rocks float,” he said. He tilted his head back and laughed, then patted me on the shoulder and walked away.

As I began to follow him back towards our group, I caught the attention of the Thai guy in the traditional clothes. As soon as our eyes met, he began to walk towards me. He was wearing three quarter length trousers that billowed out at the thighs, and a shawl of some sort that wrapped over one shoulder and covered half of his upper body. He had a large staff in one hand that he tapped on the rocks with each step. He reminded me of the Thai men I had seen working on the boats in the island fishing village, with dark skin and sinewy muscles from a lifetime of working outdoors. But this man had a full head of white hair, he must have been at least in his 70s, if not older.

It wasn’t until he was standing right in front of me that I noticed the knife in his right hand. He saw me glance at it and smiled. I know that I should have felt threatened, but something about his demeanour put me at ease. He repositioned his staff into the crook of his elbow and then started to mime something. He pointed at me, pretended to slice the knife across his now free palm, and then pointed towards the waterfall.

“You want me to…?” 

He nodded but said nothing, just smiling again. I thought I understood what he was asking me to do, but it didn’t make sense.

I looked around for support, and the woman from earlier saw me and approached us. Before I could ask her anything, she held up her hand to show me her palm. Across the middle of it was a small, straight scar. Once again, she put her hand in mine, pressing the scar against my palm, letting me feel the warmth of her touch.

“Do I have to do it?” I asked her.

“Only if you want to stay,” she replied.

“And what if I want to leave?” 

She furrowed her brow and said nothing, as if she didn’t understand the question. Just as I was about to speak, she answered. 

“I’m… I’m not sure. Nobody has ever tried to leave.”

Indecision had me temporarily paralyzed, like the small lag that happens sometimes between waking from a dream and regaining control of your body. The warmth of her hand and the loud noise of the flowing water seemed to be overloading my senses, dulling my ability to think clearly. Then, I took back control, and carefully removed my hand from hers.

“I think I have to leave.”

Before I could say anything further, she had turned and walked away. I saw her whispering something to her group while they all looked over at me. The Thai man had also lost interest in me. He left, tapping his way back towards the waterfall, to resume his position there.

Although nothing had been said, I knew that I was no longer welcome. I wasn't sure why, or what that meant, but I had no intention of finding out what the consequences would be. I turned and started to walk away without looking back, my footsteps quickening as I walked.

I fought my way back through the bushes and returned to my scooter. Just as I was about to turn the key I paused; something wasn’t right. It took me a few seconds before I realized what it was - I could no longer hear the sound of crashing water. I had certainly heard it when I first arrived, but now it was gone. The background hum of the jungle insects was the only thing I could hear now. I thought that I knew what this meant, but that same instinct that had told me to leave was now telling me not to go back and check. 

I started up the scooter and took off as quickly as the rough path allowed me to. As I drove back downhill, I tried to memorize the twists and turns of the road, making a mental note of which forks in the road I took and committing various small natural landmarks to memory, in the vain hope of navigating my way back here tomorrow.

After a short drive, I found myself back on the main road, and back at the shop I had been to earlier. I parked up outside and went in, glad that I could now get some beers and try to make sense of what had just happened.

I stepped in to the shop and immediately heard a loud banging noise. I turned to see the same Thai lady from earlier slapping her hand against the clock.

“You come back later, I can sell. Not now.”

I looked at the clock – it was 4:35pm.