Tennis in Pattaya and a Tornado in Reading

Sunday morning saw me wrenching myself from the wonderful world of sleep, donning a tennis skirt, and hitting the courts with The Husband. All seven courts at the Royal Cliff Sports & Fitness club, of which we're members, were booked on Saturday at the time we wanted to play so, to stop his sulking, I agreed to play for two hours on Sunday morning. Two hours isn't that long, I hear you all scoff. Perhaps not in colder climes, but in 30 degree centigrade heat and under a blazing sun in a cloudless blue sky, it is rather draining (especially with a slight headache from the previous night's activities!). At one stage, towards the end, my head was radiating so much heat that I thought it might be about to explode, but we ended our three sets with our bodies (just about) in one piece. I have to admit, it was fun (especially as I won all three sets!), and it was a great feeling to think that we still had most of the day to play with - our free time is even more precious than ever here as The Husband works six day weeks. We spent the rest of the day lazing by the pool at the club, just reading, swimming, chatting, listening to our iPods. Bliss. The weekly Skype with The Parents took place at 5.30pm, then I enjoyed a delicious roast cooked by The Husband. All in all, a pretty perfect Sunday.

This morning, I was eating my breakfast whilst reading my emails when I came across a link to an article on the BBC News website sent to me by The Mother. It appears that Caversham, the ... in which our ‘proper’ home is, was hit by a mini-tornado on Sunday, causing some damage to a primary school and a few houses. My interest piqued, and starting to feel a little worried now, I researched further. It appears that this freak tornado was only a couple of streets away from our house. From the little I know about tornados, they only cause damage to buildings in their direct path so hopefully our little house is still intact, but I’m sending an email to the letting agents just in case!

The Case of the Back-to-front Cardigan (And Other Stories from Last Night)

Last night The Husband and I went to the cinema. I love the cinema, especially here, and not just because the tickets are a tenth of the price they are in the UK, with double the leg room and reclining seats. For a couple of hours I get to wear clothes normally out of the question in a city which is perpetually warm. Thanks to the arctic conditions in the cinemas here (it seems to be common in South East Asia to jack up the air-conditioning in cinemas to frostbite levels), it is necessary to pull out the winter clothes getting moth-eaten at the back of the wardrobe. I pity the unsuspecting tourist who enters wearing just shorts and t-shirt. The upshot is, I got to wear jeans, a short sleeved t-shirt and a beautifully soft cardigan given to me on my birthday and previously worn just once (in the cinema, of course). The irony! Back in England I long for the days (which normally can be counted on my fingers) I can wear skirts and strappy tops and leave the house without it being necessary to take a coat, let alone a cardigan. I live in jeans there and they can become very boring, worn day after day. Here, jeans are a treat!

Speaking of cardigans, I seem to have discovered a phenomena unique to Thailand. In the course of one evening, I clocked two women wearing their cardigans back-to-front, with the buttons at the back. In both cases, the buttons were not done up, leaving their cardigans to flap at their backs like wings. I was obviously doing it all wrong and was probably deeply unfashionable, walking around with my buttons at the front of my cardigan. How embarrassing.

Before going to the cinema, we ate at a Japanese restaurant where I tried my first hot sake. I think it is safe to say that it will also be my last. I have had cold sake before, and quite enjoyed it, but somehow the heat brings out the strength of the alcohol and it was like drinking a neat spirit. It was more like an endurance test than an enjoyable drink with dinner and I found myself recoiling with each sip. It was strong. Very strong. And felt like I was sipping at a shot from the tiny thimble-like cup. I think I'll have an Asahai next time.

Day 4 on Samet: Do, a Deer

Other than the crystal clear waters, fish swarming around me as I swim over multi-coloured coral, and velvety soft sand cushioning my feet, it may surprise you to know that my overwhelming memory of Le Vimarn will be The Sound of Music. Yes, the classic musical film set in Austria featuring the Von Trapp family and Maria, the sweet and innocent young postulant. Why? Well, from morning to night the main restaurant in the hotel, where breakfast was served and which was situated next to the pool and a few steps from the beach, played the same music over and over again. Their only CD consisted of a lot of old jazz numbers, plus 'Do-Re-Mi'. Of course, a song taken from a film made in the 60s and set in Austria at the brink of WWII is an obvious choice to play in a five star resort in Thailand. It was rather surreal to be lying by the pool, looking out at palm trees and the tropical waters of the Gulf of Thailand, and hearing the inimitable voice of Julie Andrews singing 'Do, a deer, a female deer, ray a drop of golden sun, me a name I call myself, fa, a long, long way to run...' We did have a good sing-along to begin with, but upon hearing it for the tenth time (not counting the number of times it ran through our heads), it did start to become slightly irritating.

Snorkelling on the final day was better than ever, and I emerged as the Pied Piper of the sea. After encountering a huge shoal of black and white striped fish, I noticed that they were following me as I swam away. Each time I swam past fish, they joined the growing group of marine life keeping a close tail behind me. Eventually, I even noticed that fish were swimming towards me, only to join the crowd. As I took one last look behind me before swimming towards the shore, it seemed that every fish in the area had joined the party. It was incredible; a seething mass of multi-coloured fish of varying shapes and sizes following me wherever I went. It must have been the bright yellow flippers.

Later on, showered, changed and packed, we checked out and headed to the beach-side bar for a last drink before taking the speed boat back to the mainland. There was a cool breeze and I felt very relaxed as I sat back against the cushions and sipped my nicely chilled Chardonnay. Then out of nowhere, came a whistling sound and I was hit on the back by an unidentified object that exploded upon impact. Immediately came the distinct stench of vomit. I screamed and jumped up (careful not to spill any of my wine though, of course). "What is it? What is it? Have I been pooed on?" The splattered remains of the torpedoed object did look suspiciously like some sort of animal dung. As The Mother tried furiously to remove the pungent splatterings from my back, one of the waiters, presumably alerted by my screams, came over and asked us if we were OK. Once he clocked the brown substances on the cushions, sofa, and me, he informed us that it was in fact an over-ripe fruit which had fallen from one of the towering trees around the bar. "It smell very bad," he added, somewhat needlessly, as the whole area now stank of sick. The Mother managed to remove the offending splatterings from my top and, smelling slightly less of vomit now, I gratefully glugged my wine down. It wasn't the best end to an otherwise fabulous holiday, but then again, I've never had a tree poo on me before.

Day 3 on Samet, Part 1: All Hail the Hose!

Another day, another buffet breakfast. As I walk away from the fruit station with my carefully portioned pieces, I pass a table laden down with plates of food. There are only two people sitting at this table but they seem to have gone round the buffet and loaded multiple plates with everything they want, all in one go. Did they think that there might be a sudden rush of guests, like a plague of locusts, swarming over the food and leaving only crumbs in their wake? Or perhaps they felt that it would be too much effort to get up between each course? I like to think that the little bit of exercise I get walking to and from the buffet table might offset some of the calories consumed with each plateful. Plus, I don't look so greedy by having it all spread out before me. Pacing myself means that no-one really knows how much I've gorged. I find it helps in fooling myself too.

During breakfast we were yet again entertained by Le Vimarn Staff (they really should think about going on tour, they'd be a sell-out!), this time by a group attempting to clean one of the paths, or at least one rather small section of path. This task apparently required ten people: four women on their hands and knees diligently scrubbing away at the cracks, five men standing around doing not very much and one man directing them. Well, when I say directing, I mean sitting on a chair and glancing over at them now and again. The women were working incredibly hard and doing a fabulous job, not even pausing for breath. God only knows what the men were doing. Four had long-handled brushes and were half-heartedly sloshing the water around on one paving stone, whilst the other poured water from what appeared to be a child's bucket. This clearly wasn't working. The size of the bucket meant that probably only a cupful of water was poured onto the path at a time and as soon as the four men descended on it with their brushes, the water was gone.

Then came another Eureka moment, not from one of the path cleaners but from the gardener, who had obviously been watching this spectacle from the grass. He walked up to the group carrying his hose and the men watched on in amazement as water gushed forth and soaked the path. From the looks on their faces, we half expected the men to drop down on their knees and bow to the gardener as a God. It was almost as if they had never seen a hose before in their lives. Of course, this momentous event meant that work ceased for several minutes as the men stood gawping in awe so I'm not entirely sure the hose actually helped in the end. The women paid absolutely no attention to the hose or the gardener and carried on with their work. I'm sure there's something to be learnt from that.

Day 2 on Samet, Part 2: Snorkelling, Sandflies and a Seriously Funny Spectacle

Bikini donned, belly sucked in, I reconvened with The Parents on the beach. We settled ourselves on some sunloungers on a raised wooden platform (to keep that pesky sand away presumably!)and ensured that book, ipod, water and suncream were easily reachable so that movement from said sunloungers could be kept to a minimum. Well, The Mother and I did so anyway. The Father can sit still for approximately five minutes before he gets bored and looks around for something to do. The Husband is the same; it must be a male thing. He was quite content to sit still for a while however, as we were unexpectedly entertained for the first 20 minutes or so by a performance group known to us as Le Vimarn Staff. They had obviously decided that 10am, when many people were already on the beach, was the best time to deliver the aforementioned wooden platforms to their allocated spots. Of course, they had to move the sunloungers that were in those spots out of the way before placing the platforms down and moving the sunloungers onto them which, as you can imagine on a full beach, caused mayhem.

The couple next to us came back from a swim to find their sunloungers in the bushes as five men (three watching and two actually doing the work, as is usual in Thailand)scuttled around, trying to work out the best way to get the platforms off the tractor used to transport them onto the beach. At least they were actually away when the men moved their beds and belongings out of the way. Guests further down weren't so lucky. They were asked to get up and move away when the platform construction team moved in. The whole fiasco wasn't helped by the fact that they spent about five minutes each time scratching their heads and trying to work out the best way to get the platforms off the tractor, which angle at which to put them down on the sand, and then how to get the sunloungers onto the platforms. Safe on our platform (there when we arrived), we thoroughly enjoyed the show.

The rest of the day was spent reading, sunbathing, swimming and snorkelling. Previously too terrified to do so, I cleared a hurdle by snorkelling on my own for the first time, something of which I am very proud. I was startled a few times by some thin pointy fish swimming near the surface that, from the corner of my eye, looked distinctly like sharks but, other than that I was perfectly fine and discovered I actually preferred going out on my own. For one, it feels like more of an adventure, like you're discovering a whole unchartered underwater world for the first time (yes, I knew that I had only swum a few minutes out from the resort beach and many guests would have done the same but it felt unchartered to me!). It also meant that I wasn't in danger of being kicked in the face by the flippers of the person I had gone out with as I followed them meekly round the coral. The snorkelling was good, very good as a site that you could swim to from the beach. The resort had the best of both worlds really. A large sandy-bottomed area of calm sea to swim in without worrying that you are about to step on a giant sea urchin, and a few metres out, a large area of coral teeming with fish.

The afternoon concluded with a prematurely halted game of beach tennis. The Father, after having sat down for at least ten minutes, had been pestering the Mother and I to play with him and I finally relented. Unfortunately, not two minutes into the game, my ankles started to itch. Then my arms. Then the tops of my thighs. Sandflies. As soon as the sun started to lower in the sky, the sandflies came out in their droves. Of course, they only seemed to attack me; The Parents were completely unaffected, which meant that The Father was even more disappointed when I announced that we had to stop and go in. He said that it reminded him of the time when, as a child, after spending hours trying, he at last convinced his parents and all of his four siblings to play French cricket. His youngest brother was then promptly sick and the game was over before it began. At least we managed a few hits before retiring to our rooms.

Day 2 on Samet, Part 1: Just a Little Bite to Begin the Day

I woke early after a fairly restless night - it felt strange to be in a big bed all on my own, without The Husband there. I imagine he, however, probably slept brilliantly, able to fully stretch himself out in the middle of the bed, as he is not allowed to do when I am there. I met The Parents on the beach for a pre-breakfast stroll and was greeted with glorious sunshine, blue skies and a light, cooling breeze. The tide was in so we ducked under the low branches of trees normally far from the water, stepped over kayaks tied together at the top of the beach, and dodged the murmuring sea, creeping up to our toes. The sand was soft and cool under our feet and only our rumbling tummies convinced us to take the few steps from the beach up to the restaurant where the buffet breakfast was laid out.

We sat at an al fresco table and were immediately served fresh cups of steaming coffee, which we drank whilst looking out at the sea. Well, that lasted for about 30 seconds before the lure of the tables groaning with food was too much to resist and I undertook the preliminary sweep, calculating in my head what I would have and when. These things have to be thought out very carefully to ensure that you have room for as much as possible and don't spoil your hunger on a big bowl of cereal. I have seen many a person fall at this first hurdle. Rookie mistake. I pick up a small bowl and place a few pieces of pineapple, papaya and cantaloupe melon in it, topping it off with a spoonful or two of bircher muesli. The fruit is fresh and bursting with flavour, and the muesli is packed full of coconut slivers. A perfect starter. Time for course 2.

On my initial reccy I noticed a sushi station with an assortment of different types on five platters. A tad unusual for breakfast maybe, but then again I have on various occasions had fried rice, noodles and dim sum at this time of the day before. I do live in Asia, after all. So I selected four different types, spooned a small amount of wasabi onto the side of the plate and took it back to the table. The Parents weren't convinced that sushi at 9am was a good idea and declined to try any. It was absolutely delicious though, and a perfect breakfast dish. After all, the English have kippers and smoked mackerel for breakfast so why not sushi? Other than a couple of dangerous wasabi moments, which left me with tears streaming down my face and my nose close to exploding, it was possibly the most enjoyable part of my breakfast. So, to course 3.

I thought I would continue with the fish theme and order scrambled eggs from the egg station, topped with some smoked salmon, served on a slice of toasted crusty bread. Perfection. I just had room after this for course 3, or what I like to call 'a little sweet something' (this makes it sound less naughty than 'pastries and cakes'!). Accompanied by a second cup of coffee, I indulged in a pineapple pastry and a pan au chocolat. By now I truly was full but it was worth it. The only problem now was that I had to get my bloated breakfast belly into a bikini!

Day 1 on Samet: Eureka!

The Parents and I spent a very relaxing four days on Koh Samet, an island not far from Pattaya, during the week they were visiting us. We had an easy journey down there, being dropped off at the pier by our driver, A (yes, his English name is just the letter A, though I suppose it is better than some of the names we have encountered - fancy being called Porn, Turd, or Bum?), and then ferried across to the island on the hotel's speed boat. The first views of the small bay in which Le Vimarn Cottages & Spa is nestled amongst lush forest, promised a chilled few days on a secluded, powdery white sand beach.

Upon disembarking from the boat we were led to a cool reception area and handed sweet iced lemongrass and pandan tea as we were swiftly checked in. All good so far. We had booked two different room types, one a deluxe cottage and one a spa villa, the latter of which was more expensive than the former. We had requested the two rooms be as close to each other as possible but realised that they probably wouldn't be right next to each other. We therefore thought it a little odd that the two rooms they led us to were 603 and 604. Inevitably, we soon found out that they were both deluxe cottage rooms. We had not been given the more expensive spa villa at all.

Upon questioning this, the receptionist told us brightly that she had thought the most important thing was that we were together. She had obviously thought long and hard about finding a solution to the vexing problem of giving us adjacent rooms when the rooms we had booked were in fact on separate sides of the resort. Perhaps it was ridiculous of us to think that somone might have emailed to inform us of this rather than take the decision to give us a different room to the one we had booked. Nevertheless, it was sweet of her to give it so much thought. The problem was that she obviously hadn't give much consideration to the fact that we had actually already paid for the more expensive spa villa. She thought she had come up with a brilliant solution though, and seemed bewildered when we weren't quite as pleased as she. This was to be the first of what I termed the 'Eureka moments' of which the staff at Le Vimarn had so many.

We went to the resort's beach-side Thai restaurant to wait for a spa villa room to be cleaned and we saw the funny side of it all after a few beers and some delicious food. When we were eventually given the keys (after being shown a room in an entirely different resort - another 'Eureka moment') the room proved to be lovely, with a large terrace facing the sea. With everything now as it should be, we were able to begin the arduous task of lying on the beach, swimming and snorkelling.

The Corpse in my Bed

The Parents have gone. I've said my goodbyes and waved them off in the Mercedes booked to take them the hour and a half trip to the airport. The Husband has not said goodbe to them. Indeed, right now he probably does not even realise they have left, as he is currently dying a slow and painful death in bed following a rather large night out with the boys last night. After crawling into bed at 5am he mananged to leave the now rather fetid smelling bedroom at 9.30am for a sausage and egg sandwich but, frankly, he was far too sprightly. When he started dancing round the kitchen, shaking a carton of mango juice like a maraca it became quite clear that he was still drunk. After wolfing down his man-size butty he sheepishly slunk back to the bedroom and, three hours later, still hasn't re-emerged. The Parents and I went out for a walk down to the beach earlier and, upon attempting to ask The Husband whether he wanted to come with us, received only grunts.

We had a lovely night last night, beginning with drinks at the flat. The Husband geared himself up for his big night out by polishing off two very strong rum, lime juice and sodas in quick succession, whilst still assuring us that he would be absolutely fine to play a couple of sets of tennis in the morning. A freak cold spell last night forced me into a cardigan for the first time since arriving in Thailand (other than when in the ridiculously over-air-conditioned cinemas). It was a chilly 20 degrees centigrade! How I'm going to cope when we return to the UK, I don't know. We dined at a restaurant by the sea called Sunset and feasted on fish cakes, chicken with pepper and garlic, stir-fried prawns and asparagus, kale in oyster sauce and deep-fried mixed seafood, washed down with ice cold Singha beers. The Husband then went on to meet the boys in a bar on notorious Walking Street. The Parents and I walked back in the cool night air, ending up in an Irish bar for Baileys, hot chocolate pudding, the rugby and a read of The Daily Mail. It's amazing what seems exotic when you live in the tropics!

It's all for charidee folks

It's the event of the Pattaya calendar, the night the creme de le creme of Pattaya society ditch the shorts and flip flops and don their finest. The annual Pattaya International Ladies Committee charity ball was held last night, complete with Champagne reception, five course dinner, a live band and free flowing wine, lubricating many a wallet during the live auction. All the proceeds go to worthy causes in and around the Pattaya area, as the American auctioneer reminded us again and again during his hour long performance - and a performance it was. Whoever this guy actually was, he took to the role of auctioneer with gusto, enjoying being the centre of attention so much that he only upped the bids by about £10 at a time. Luckily, someone had the sense to remove him from the floor just as most of the ball-goers were about to find a creative use for their cheese knifes.

As there was nothing in the live auction that we particularly wanted, we instead participated in the (most) silent auction (in the world). We didn't realise at the time that they were being literal when they called it a silent auction. When we enquired at the end of the evening how The Parents should pay for the antique Buddha head that they had successfully bid for, we were informed that their name had been read out and as no-one had come forward, the Buddha had gone to the next highest bidder - some £80 less than the £100 we had bid. No doubt that bidder was one of the 'Pattaya Ladies' from the afforementioned committee as, unless the names were whispered at the back of the ballroom, The Parents' names were certainly not called. It is a shame that the no doubt incredibly worthy charities couldn't benefit from the extra £80 that our bid would have provided but then, I suppose, they do say that charity begins at home.

Despite all this, and the fact that the wine was pretty terrible (whoever was responsible for selecting it should get a full tastebud check-up), we had a fantastic evening - the food was delicious, the Champers was a rare treat in a country that imports so much import duty that even wine is a luxury, and we rarely left the dance floor.

Tomorrow The Parents and I are off to Koh Samet, a nearby island, for a three day jolly, sadly without The Husband who has to work. Being a small island, gaining internet access may prove difficult, so please forgive me if I am amiss in my blogging regularity over the next few days.

Beach Safari

The Parents are here. One way in which I differ from a typical Expat Wife is that when we relocated to a distant and foreign country, I actually moved closer to my parents and my brother. They live in Hong Kong, previously a hellish twelve hour journey of cramped legs, screaming children and three day jet lag, and now a mere three hour flight and one hour time difference. We've seen more of them this year than we have in the previous five years put together.

Today we took a walk along Dong Tan beach, just down the bottom of the road from our apartment, an outing that proved to be more like a safari. A people safari. Creatures not often seen openly in society seem to climb out of their holes and flock to the beaches of Pattaya, creating fantastic people watching opportunities. Everywhere we looked, we saw middle aged men turned beetroot by the sun and the heat, sweat running down their wrinkled brows and forming pools in the folds of their stomachs bloated by alcohol. They were slumped in their deckchairs, beer in hand, gobbling down bowls of fried rice. We looked on with perverse fascination, unable to tear our eyes away from the circus acts before us.

Tonight we're off to one of those quintessential expat events, the annual charity ball. We shall don our finest attire, drink Champagne, eat fabulous food and dance into the night. Now though we are headed for the tennis courts, to fit in a set or two before we begin to beautify ourselves in the cool of the air-con. On days like this I can't believe how lucky we are.
   

Adapting to Life as an Expat Wife

I have to admit, my first few days in Pattaya were hard. Don’t get me wrong, we were put up in a very nice hotel and given a generous living allowance to provide for daily meals out – a necessity when we were in the hotel (my spendthrift nature ensured that I stuffed myself at the hotel’s huge buffet breakfast each morning so that I didn’t need to eat lunch. That saved, well, probably a couple of pounds a day. Unfortunately, it also meant that I gained quite a few pounds in weight during the two weeks we were there!) – but it took a while to get used to the city. Not just because it was new and I didn’t know my way around but because I had never been anywhere where the sex industry is thrust in your face quite so often or so openly. Go-go bars line most streets and even the seemingly innocuous beer bars are staffed by scantily dressed women who expect any man that enters to buy them drinks. Down the infamous Walking Street, to which we ventured one night, menus were shoved at us by skinny Thai men with shrewd faces – not menus for food or drink but sex shows. Judging by what was advertised on those laminated pieces of card, you’d be amazed (or perhaps shocked) at what some of these girls can do! Even walking down streets away from the bars, it is impossible to forget where you are as old men with ruddy complexions hold the hands of young, slim, pretty Thai women everywhere.

I barely notice all this now, and I gradually realised that it is easy to avoid that whole scene if you want to, but to the uninitiated it is quite a shock. It didn’t seem like a very female-friendly place at all. Back then, I wondered again and again how I was ever going to be able to feel at home here. This probably wasn’t helped by the fact that I was doing most of this exploring on my own, as The Husband was, of course, at work – our entire reason for being here. I worried that I was never going to get used to the sight of half-naked women dancing around poles in clear view of anyone walking past on the pavement, but I also worried about the things all expats must upon first arriving in a new and strange country. How was I ever going to know my way around all these streets? Would I be able to pick up any of the language? Would I be understood if I spoke English? Would I be able to find the foods that I was used to back home? Would I fit in here? I had that horrible feeling of being twelve again, having just moved to Hong Kong with my family, walking into my new school for the first time. I had left the top year at primary school to start in the third year at secondary school in Hong Kong – the school seemed huge to me, everyone was already in tight friendship groups and I fretted that I would forever be the outsider that didn’t know her way around. Of course, I made friends and learned to navigate my way around, but on that first day I was petrified. It was odd to realise that, however old you are, you can still feel like a child when encountering the new and unfamiliar.

Those first two weeks were spent trawling the streets of Pattaya, trying to get my bearings. I was convinced that it would be easier for me to start to remember where things were if I shunned the baht buses (sort of semi-covered pick-up trucks that operate a circular route of Pattaya) that tootled past me every few seconds and walked everywhere. That was a good idea in theory, anyway. What I came to realise pretty quickly however, was that no-one walked anywhere in Pattaya, and for good reason. 1: Pavements don’t really exist. They either end abruptly and for no reason after a few feet or they have been appropriated by street sellers and their carts, forcing you to walk in the road to avoid them. 2: You don’t really appreciate just how hot and humid it is until you start to put one foot in front of the other. Unless you’re Thai, in which case you will be able to wear jeans and jackets and still be perfectly comfortable, you will start to sweat after a mere few minutes. My reward after every exploration was therefore a swim in the hotel pool... and perhaps just a quick spot of sunbathing... ok, maybe I’ll just have a cool drink... and get to the end of the chapter of my book. And therein lies the biggest draw of living abroad in a tropical country. You may encounter language barriers, homesickness, and difficulty adapting to the different cultural and societal mores but you have the sun, the sea, and, for an expat wife, the time to enjoy it all.

Near-death by mini-van

You wouldn’t have thought that the man driving as if he was in a Formula 1 race was the same who had only minutes previously slouched in a chair at the airport and lumbered off to fetch the van as if he’d just run a marathon. At the beginning of the journey, feeling the effects of jet lag, I almost drifted off to sleep a couple of times but on each occasion was jolted into consciousness by the sharp movements of the car. I soon realised that attempting sleep would be futile on this journey. The driver’s earlier relaxed attitude had vanished the moment he had sat behind the wheel, to be replaced by his inner speed demon as he sped along the road at top speed, dodging in and out of lanes and cutting up a number of vehicles as he did so. As we were in fact in a 12-seater mini-van and not a specially designed F1 car, you can imagine what that must have felt like for a passenger. At one point he had to brake hard as the traffic suddenly slowed ahead and my stomach flipped as I thought I was going to go through the front seat. “Oh my God!” I exclaimed, eyes wide and hands clutching the seat in front. The driver merely laughed, obviously finding it very funny. Mai pen rai, mai pen rai, mai pen rai, I chanted under my breath.

The drive took a couple of hours along a monotonous stretch of highway, with only paddy fields and an occasional dilapidated building to gaze at, though I missed most of this as I diligently kept my eyes shut to avoid seeing every near-miss and to keep myself from feeling nauseous as the mini-van accelerated, braked and swerved. I was both relieved and amazed when we managed to reach Pattaya in one piece and, although I felt exhausted and slightly dazed from the theme park ride of a journey we had just made, a rush of adrenalin surged through me as we neared our home for the next year or so.

Late afternoon had turned into early evening and the light was fading fast as we passed row after row of shops and restaurants, as well as roadside food carts and night markets just beginning to open, all advertising their wares with the aid of blazing lights. Our driver dodged dozens of men on bicycles selling everything from feather dusters and brooms to toys from their side carts. I gawped at the sights flashing past my window - Pattaya was far bigger than I thought it would be. I’m embarrassed to admit that, despite knowing that it was a city, I had the naive idea that Pattaya would consist of unpaved dirt streets on which you had to dodge the elephants that would slowly lumber past, kicking up dust.

The mini-van had barely drawn to a halt outside the Amari Orchid hotel when my door was opened by a uniformed bellboy, who then took our bags and placed them on a trolley. As The Husband and I approached the doors of the hotel, we were greeted by a beautiful Thai woman wearing traditional dress. She lifted her hands to her face, placed her palms together in a prayer-like gesture, bowed her head slightly and said with a smile, “Sàwàt-dii khâ, hello and welcome,” before leading us over to a plush sofa in the lobby. Immediately, two ice cold drinks were placed on the table before us. Now this was more like the legendary Thai service I had heard so much about. Check-in was swift and done from the comfort of the sofas and, before we knew it, we were being taken up in a lift to our 15th floor room. From our balcony we could just make out the sweep of Pattaya Bay to the left and the bright lights of the city to our right. We were here, and I couldn’t wait to explore our new home the following morning.

Further Lessons in Mai Pen Rai

The heat and humidity hit me like a train. We had left snow in England, boarded a heavily air conditioned plane – why are aeroplanes always so ridiculously cold?? – and, stepping into Suvarnabhumi airport, we could have been forgiven for thinking that the plane had taken a wrong turn and ended up in Alaska. So we were not prepared for what lay outside the automatic sliding doors of the airport.

It was 5pm in what was supposed to be the cool season and yet the air was still incredibly warm and thick with moisture. Attired in jeans (which were destined to see the back of our wardrobe for the length of our stay in Thailand) and multiple layers on top, I quickly began to feel oppressively hot and sticky. Back in the UK, which was already beginning to feel like another life, I had needed the singlet, long-sleeved shirt, cardigan, jacket and pashmina; now I felt like I was swathed in some sort of heated wrap in which you stew in your own juices to aid weight loss. As that thought entered my mind I decided to leave myself wrapped up as if I were in a snowstorm, in the hope that I might actually lose a few pounds. That lasted approximately two minutes (although it felt like twenty), until I thought I might either pass out or find myself melting to the ground like an ice-cream. I furiously peeled off layer after layer, flinging items of clothing on top of our cases, until I was left in just my singlet and jeans. It was only when I felt a modicum more comfortable that I realised we had been out at the pick-up area for ten minutes. Where was our driver?

“Don’t worry, he’ll be here soon,” said The Husband, attempting to soothe me. In response I fear snapped at him, voicing my opinion that the driver hadn’t exactly proved himself to be very reliable so far. The combination of heat, jet lag, and the enormity of what we were doing had left me feeling rather emotional and my fuse had become very short. I definitely needed to work on the whole mai pen rai thing. The Husband’s promises of good food and a comfortable bed as soon as we reached Pattaya didn’t help either, as that was exactly why I was getting antsy in the first place – the longer we were kept waiting in this natural steam room, the longer it would be until I was fed and tucked up in bed.

When the mini-van eventually pulled up in front of us, the driver stepped out and, still smiling, nonchalantly strolled over to help The Husband load the luggage into the boot. Mai pen rai, mai pen rai, mai pen rai, I chanted under my breath, hoping that the incantations would somehow flood into my body by osmosis and allow me to react to frustrating situations in the same way the Thais do. Hot-footing it into the cool of the van, I was finally able to relax as the air conditioner blasted blissfully over my body. The Husband and the driver climbed in and the engine roared into life. We were on our way to our home for the next year.

Thailand Beckons...

“...so the long and short of it is, we’re moving to Thailand. In 1 month.” Those were The Husband’s words to me on one of those miserably cold, damp, grey days that November can often bring in the UK. The engineering company he works for had assigned him to a project in Laem Chabang, a couple of hours south of Bangkok on the Eastern Seaboard, and they wanted him there ASAP.

Let me paint the scene for you: sales pitch over, list of all plus points of moving to a foreign country where we know nobody complete, he looks up at me, nervously awaiting my reply. “So, let me get this straight,” I begin solemnly, staring him straight in the eye, “you’re trying to tell me that this January, rather than being stuck in post-Christmas blues, recession-mired, freezing cold England, we will be in the hot, sunny climes of the Land of Smiles?” At this, my mock serious expression softens and I break into a huge grin, barely able to contain my excitement. In turn, his anxious face quickly morphs into a look of pure joy as he realises that I am actually happy about this monumental life change. Happy? I am more than happy! I am over the moon! I can’t wait! I want to pack up my bags and jump on a plane to BKK this very instant.

You see, having grown up in Hong Kong I have always wanted to live in Asia again and, from numerous holidays in Thailand I know what a fantastic country it is. Admittedly, the timing wasn’t perfect. We had bought a house only two months previously and I had just been promoted at work. Still, this was the opportunity of a lifetime and there was no way I was going to pass it up! So, one hectic month of packing our lives into boxes, arranging for our house to be let, wrapping things up at work, and saying goodbye to loved ones later, and we were watching Bangkok unfold outside the tiny cabin window of the plane.

We sailed through Immigration, partly because, as we had both forgotten to fill in our landing cards on the plane we had to stand outside the toilets in the terminal scribbling away, so by the time we got there everyone had already gone through. Genius really! A brief moment of panic ensued when our bags were nowhere to be seen on the practically empty carousel. I quickly spotted them though – they were so heavy they had been thrown in the naughty pile with the other ridiculously large items of luggage.

With a carry-on bag over each arm and hauling my oversized case behind me, we staggered through to the arrivals hall, looking out expectantly for the driver who had been sent to pick us up and take us to our hotel in the seaside resort of Pattaya. He was nowhere to be seen so we waited. And we waited. And we waited. The Husband went to look for him outside, quickly scurrying back in to the safety of the air con after being hit by a wall of heat. Eventually we went over to the information desk to ask them to put out an announcement on the loudspeaker for us and there we found our driver, sitting next to the pretty girl behind the counter, chatting away. “Ah, Mister Matthew,” he exclaimed after we told him who we were, “I been here long time. You no see me?” Considering he was sitting behind a raucous congregation of taxi touts, with the sign bearing our name on his lap, I’m not entirely sure how he expected us to see him. Having only just landed, we were already having to learn to master mai pen rai, the Thai attitude of not worrying about anything, a skill we continue to attempt to hone every day!

So that’s how we ended up here, in this land of crazy taxi drivers, even crazier motorbike riders, stray animals of every species, food that will blow your head off, strange and intoxicating smells assailing the nostrils, and massage parlours around every corner. And, for the most part, I love it!