Expat Wife would like to apologise profusely for the lack of blogs over the past week. There is, however, a fairly good reason for this. The project on which The Husband has been working for the past fifteen months is coming to an end and we are leaving Thailand. I am currently packing up the flat and getting ready to bid farewell to Pattaya in a couple of days. There is so much we will miss - the inexpensiveness of pretty much everything (except for wine - the one drawback!), being able to walk down to the beach, having a sea view (well, if you squint!), the year-round wonderful weather, the friendliness of the people, the fabulous holidays we have enjoyed in this country... the list is long and I could go on. Of course, there are things that I won't miss, and if you regularly read my blog you will know what they are, but more often than not they are more a source of mirth than anything else. At the end of the day, we have been visitors in their country - there are certain things you just have to grin and bear. Mai pen rai and all that!
The good news is that our departure from Thailand does not signal the end of the adventure, for we are on to pastures new. I shall soon be Expat Wife in Australia! This may not seem much of an adventure - after all, the national language is English, it's a first world country and I actually have a large amount of family there. We will not be living in any of the cities, however. In fact, we will not be anywhere near a city. We are moving to Karratha, over 1500km north of Perth (the nearest city), pretty much in the middle of nowhere. It is a town built purely to house workers mining iron ore and, later, other big companies using the region's natural resources - before 1968 it was a remote cattle station. The town has grown and modernised over the years but it is hardly a bustling metropolis. Expat Wife likes her shops, restaurants and bars so it will be interesting to see how she adapts to life in remote Western Australia. At least the wine will be cheap!
Monday, March 29, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
Maid In Thailand
Most expats in Thailand employ cleaners to come in once or twice a week. Labour is so cheap here compared to the UK that it just makes sense. Why clean your flat yourself when you can get someone to come in and do a better job than you for a few quid a week? At least, that was the idea when we signed up to have the resident maids clean the flat twice a week and change our towels and sheets once weekly. In the fourteen months we have been living in the flat, a plethora of maids have trooped in and out with their mops and buckets. A couple of them left in the high season in search of jobs in the big hotels but most of them have been fired for being, quite frankly, hopeless.
When we first moved in, a two-woman act were in force, cleaning our flat with military efficiency. As soon as they walked in, each knew exactly what they had to do. They had assigned themselves different rooms and would sweep through, leaving not a mite of dust nor a speck of dirt. They got on with the job and cleaned for a good hour between them without faffing or calling up their boyfriend, mum and twenty of their closest friends. Unfortunately, they left after a few months, off to a big, shiny, new hotel. The woman who replaced them had obviously never heard that Thailand is the Land of Smiles. She managed not to crack a smile the entire length of her employment (which was, thankfully, fairly brief). I have never met a grumpier Thai than she. Upon opening the door to her, she would indicate the bucket beside her feet with a brief flick of her eyes and a grunt. I would smile, greet her in Thai and beckon her in. Her expression would not alter from the permanent frown that unattractively pulled down both sides of her face, presumably from decades of grumpiness. In her gloom, even picking her feet off the floor would be too much and so she would shuffle in, ignoring me, and proceed directly to the back bedroom where she would slop a dirty mop around the floor a few times, change the towels and sheets and leave.
The owners of the flats quickly realised that her employment was a mistake (though you would have thought they would have noticed her sullenness when they first met her, unless of course she forced all the cheeriness she allocated herself for the year into that interview) and got rid of her promptly. Her replacement was her antithesis. Bubbly and friendly, she would grant me a huge smile each time she saw me and would ask me, in her gradually improving English (she was trying hard to speak it as often as possible in order to become more fluent), how I was. She was in her mid-twenties and would quietly hum to herself as she worked, occasionally asking me questions about my family, my background or my job. One day, as soon as she walked into the flat, she excitedly burst out, "Emily, Emily, guess what? Guess what?" She had a new boyfriend and wanted to tell me all about him. She used the same opening before telling me about a part-time job she'd been hired to do, working in a restaurant in the evenings. It didn't take much for her to practically burst with excitement. She would laugh and smile and her enthusiasm for life in general was infectious. She was also an expert in the art of towel creations, something she'd learnt in a hotel. A couple of times she came bounding out from the bedroom, saying she wanted to show me something, a grin wide across her face. The first time she had made a rabbit and the second a pair of swans, facing each other as if they were kissing. She was too much of a people person to stay here, working alone, and eventually she too left to work at a hotel at which she would be amongst lots of other hotel workers with whom she could gossip to her heart's content.
When she left, a mother and daughter team stepped in. The daughter looked as if she was thirteen at most so she had probably just left school - in Thailand compulsory, government-funded schooling ends at age twelve. She clearly did not want to be cleaning other people's homes with her mum and I can't say that I blamed her. She followed her mum around with a scowl but, unlike, the grumpy shuffler, she didn't look like the world had defeated her, she merely possessed a healthy adolescent condescension of everything and everyone but her friends. I don't think she really did very much and her mother would regularly berate her for this and that. In fact, I think she spent more time telling her daughter what to do than actually cleaning. As a consequence, our flat was rarely cleaned well. They lasted about three weeks.
The girl that took over from them was only a few years older than the one she replaced, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, and was more interested in ensuring her hair was smooth and falling prettily over her face than mopping a floor and wiping down a table. She dressed in skinny jeans and an assortment of different baby tees and strappy tops, co-ordinating them with beads and jangly bracelets. Hardly appropriate attire for scrubbing and mopping and spraying and wiping. Unsurprisingly, not much of any of that was actually done. Whereas the two women who first cleaned for us spent an hour between them and the bubbly girl would often take a couple of hours before she was finished, this girl was in and out within half an hour (having chatted to her friends on her mobile for probably half of that time), leaving tables and counter tops untouched and the floor only quickly mopped. On the day she left (I scarcely need mention that she was fired and did not leave of her own accord) she brought in a friend to help her who, amazingly, was even worse. She had no idea what she was doing and picked up bottles of cleaning fluid with two fingers, scanning the labels with a bemused expression as if she'd never seen cleaning products in her life before. She insisted on carrying around a tiny handbag across her body which must have dangled irritatingly whenever she bent over to scrub something. Which probably meant she didn't. Most frustrating was when I asked her to change the sheets, pulling them off to illustrate my point. She looked puzzled but nodded her head and said yes. I had to go out and I returned to find that the sheets had not been changed. She hadn't understood a word I had said but, rather than admitting that, she indicated that she had. It's a face-saving device that many Thais adopt and that drives me up the wall.
The two current maids wear loose polo shirts, which I have taken to be a good sign. They know what the job entails, are there to to do it properly, and dress appropriately. The sheets and towels were changed on their first visit which is also a step in the right direction. It remains to be seen whether they will be be fired or will be here for a while!
When we first moved in, a two-woman act were in force, cleaning our flat with military efficiency. As soon as they walked in, each knew exactly what they had to do. They had assigned themselves different rooms and would sweep through, leaving not a mite of dust nor a speck of dirt. They got on with the job and cleaned for a good hour between them without faffing or calling up their boyfriend, mum and twenty of their closest friends. Unfortunately, they left after a few months, off to a big, shiny, new hotel. The woman who replaced them had obviously never heard that Thailand is the Land of Smiles. She managed not to crack a smile the entire length of her employment (which was, thankfully, fairly brief). I have never met a grumpier Thai than she. Upon opening the door to her, she would indicate the bucket beside her feet with a brief flick of her eyes and a grunt. I would smile, greet her in Thai and beckon her in. Her expression would not alter from the permanent frown that unattractively pulled down both sides of her face, presumably from decades of grumpiness. In her gloom, even picking her feet off the floor would be too much and so she would shuffle in, ignoring me, and proceed directly to the back bedroom where she would slop a dirty mop around the floor a few times, change the towels and sheets and leave.
The owners of the flats quickly realised that her employment was a mistake (though you would have thought they would have noticed her sullenness when they first met her, unless of course she forced all the cheeriness she allocated herself for the year into that interview) and got rid of her promptly. Her replacement was her antithesis. Bubbly and friendly, she would grant me a huge smile each time she saw me and would ask me, in her gradually improving English (she was trying hard to speak it as often as possible in order to become more fluent), how I was. She was in her mid-twenties and would quietly hum to herself as she worked, occasionally asking me questions about my family, my background or my job. One day, as soon as she walked into the flat, she excitedly burst out, "Emily, Emily, guess what? Guess what?" She had a new boyfriend and wanted to tell me all about him. She used the same opening before telling me about a part-time job she'd been hired to do, working in a restaurant in the evenings. It didn't take much for her to practically burst with excitement. She would laugh and smile and her enthusiasm for life in general was infectious. She was also an expert in the art of towel creations, something she'd learnt in a hotel. A couple of times she came bounding out from the bedroom, saying she wanted to show me something, a grin wide across her face. The first time she had made a rabbit and the second a pair of swans, facing each other as if they were kissing. She was too much of a people person to stay here, working alone, and eventually she too left to work at a hotel at which she would be amongst lots of other hotel workers with whom she could gossip to her heart's content.
When she left, a mother and daughter team stepped in. The daughter looked as if she was thirteen at most so she had probably just left school - in Thailand compulsory, government-funded schooling ends at age twelve. She clearly did not want to be cleaning other people's homes with her mum and I can't say that I blamed her. She followed her mum around with a scowl but, unlike, the grumpy shuffler, she didn't look like the world had defeated her, she merely possessed a healthy adolescent condescension of everything and everyone but her friends. I don't think she really did very much and her mother would regularly berate her for this and that. In fact, I think she spent more time telling her daughter what to do than actually cleaning. As a consequence, our flat was rarely cleaned well. They lasted about three weeks.
The girl that took over from them was only a few years older than the one she replaced, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, and was more interested in ensuring her hair was smooth and falling prettily over her face than mopping a floor and wiping down a table. She dressed in skinny jeans and an assortment of different baby tees and strappy tops, co-ordinating them with beads and jangly bracelets. Hardly appropriate attire for scrubbing and mopping and spraying and wiping. Unsurprisingly, not much of any of that was actually done. Whereas the two women who first cleaned for us spent an hour between them and the bubbly girl would often take a couple of hours before she was finished, this girl was in and out within half an hour (having chatted to her friends on her mobile for probably half of that time), leaving tables and counter tops untouched and the floor only quickly mopped. On the day she left (I scarcely need mention that she was fired and did not leave of her own accord) she brought in a friend to help her who, amazingly, was even worse. She had no idea what she was doing and picked up bottles of cleaning fluid with two fingers, scanning the labels with a bemused expression as if she'd never seen cleaning products in her life before. She insisted on carrying around a tiny handbag across her body which must have dangled irritatingly whenever she bent over to scrub something. Which probably meant she didn't. Most frustrating was when I asked her to change the sheets, pulling them off to illustrate my point. She looked puzzled but nodded her head and said yes. I had to go out and I returned to find that the sheets had not been changed. She hadn't understood a word I had said but, rather than admitting that, she indicated that she had. It's a face-saving device that many Thais adopt and that drives me up the wall.
The two current maids wear loose polo shirts, which I have taken to be a good sign. They know what the job entails, are there to to do it properly, and dress appropriately. The sheets and towels were changed on their first visit which is also a step in the right direction. It remains to be seen whether they will be be fired or will be here for a while!
Friday, March 19, 2010
Stray Cat Boarding House
In true Thai style, our building has adopted two cats, a big ugly tom called, appropriately, Tom, and a skinny female called Pinky. At least, they are the names given to them by the owner of the development, a bubbly middle-aged American who dresses every day in one of an assortment of floaty floral shirts and co-ordinated trousers. Good-intentioned Buddhists often 'adopt' stray dogs or cats, leaving food out for them and petting them but unfortunately that only deepens the problem by allowing the stray population to grow. The stray animal population in Thailand is massive - millions of dogs and cats endure a miserable life on the streets, scavenging and often fighting for food. Many of them end up diseased, with open sores and extreme hair loss, or they are hit by motorbikes or pick-up trucks and die slowly and painfully from untreated injuries.
Luckily for Pinky and Tom, Jill has stuck by them for years, feeding them regularly and playing with them in her little office on the ground floor of our apartment block. She has had them both neutered so that they won't breed and contribute to the growing population of strays and they now live at Butterfly Garden pretty much permanently. Tom, however, does have a habit of wandering off for days at a time, only to come back covered with scratches and bite marks. He acts all macho and tough but, if his injuries are anything to go by, seems to be a terrible fighter. Then again, maybe he's thinking, "you should see the other tom!". Pinky is a permanent fixture and can often be found sleeping on the roof of one of the cars in the car park. As soon as she sees us, she stretches out onto her back, paws in the air, ready for a stroke. She also enjoys playing with bikini strap tops, as I found to my detriment one sunny day by the pool. I was lying on my front, straps untied and dangling down, when Pinky came meandering along, hiding in the shade under my lounger. Spying one of the bright red straps, swaying gently in the breeze, she pounced and began pawing one of the straps, obviously thinking it was a great game, before attempting to by walk off with it her mouth. I grabbed it from her just before I became known as 'that flasher from England' and she slunk off underneath the lounger again, indignant that her game had been curtailed. She then immediately noticed the strap on the other side and jumped at it, biting down on it, walking away and then pinging it back at me, as if as a punishment for ruining her fun.
Cats may be cute but they can be little terrors.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Just Because I Am White Does Not Mean I am Russian
I have today been pondering a question I have asked myself many times before; why do so many Russians in this city assume that all other white people are also Russian? Despite the hordes of Russian tourists and menus and signs written in the Russian script, we are in fact in Thailand. At any one time, Pattaya will be teeming with Non-Thai tourists and residents from across the globe. You just have to walk down the street, hearing a multitude of different languages being spoken, to appreciate how varied the nationalities in this seaside resort are. I can only presume that it is the general feeling of superiority that many of the Russians here seem to possess that leads them to talk to everybody they come in contact with in Russian. Although much of the time, from the surprise in their expressions and voices when I answer them in English, I do genuinely think that I am mistaken for being Russian, I have often seen them speak to Thai people in Russian. They just expect everyone else to be able to speak their language, despite the fact that it is far from widely spoken outside of their own country. What's worse is the frequency with which they get angry and impatient with the poor Thais for not being able to understand them when they bark an order in Russian at them.
I have lost count of the number of times that someone has stopped me and said something very quickly in Russian, clearly assuming I will understand what they are saying. At the beach, on the street, by the pool and, today, in the supermarket. I was at the check-out, waiting for a poor student cashier to work out exactly what he was supposed to do when someone gave him cash, when a plump middle-aged woman in a sack of a dress turned to me, rolled her eyes and said something derogatory, motioning her head to the teenager so I was left with no doubt who she was talking about. He was wearing a badge that informed shoppers that he was a student so it was probably his first day on some sort of work experience programme. He was completely flustered and clearly embarrassed about not knowing how to open the till and this horrible woman was alternating between huffing and puffing and laughing at his expense. You didn't need to know Russian to understand what she was saying. I tried to ignore her but she would not stop talking to me in Russian, her conspiratorial manner communicating that she clearly assumed I was one of her fellow countrymen and therefore of the same opinions as her. All I could do when the young cashier scanned my shopping was smile a lot, thank him profusely at the end and hope that he didn't think I had anything to do with that nasty woman.
I have lost count of the number of times that someone has stopped me and said something very quickly in Russian, clearly assuming I will understand what they are saying. At the beach, on the street, by the pool and, today, in the supermarket. I was at the check-out, waiting for a poor student cashier to work out exactly what he was supposed to do when someone gave him cash, when a plump middle-aged woman in a sack of a dress turned to me, rolled her eyes and said something derogatory, motioning her head to the teenager so I was left with no doubt who she was talking about. He was wearing a badge that informed shoppers that he was a student so it was probably his first day on some sort of work experience programme. He was completely flustered and clearly embarrassed about not knowing how to open the till and this horrible woman was alternating between huffing and puffing and laughing at his expense. You didn't need to know Russian to understand what she was saying. I tried to ignore her but she would not stop talking to me in Russian, her conspiratorial manner communicating that she clearly assumed I was one of her fellow countrymen and therefore of the same opinions as her. All I could do when the young cashier scanned my shopping was smile a lot, thank him profusely at the end and hope that he didn't think I had anything to do with that nasty woman.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
A Little Afternoon Entertainment
The complete lack of Health & Safety in this country never fails to amaze me. Sometimes though I really think it's more to do with laziness than lack of knowledge. It's just so much easier not to have to bother with all the extra hassle involved in ensuring that someone doesn't maim themselves or die. The Thais are generally a very laidback people who would far rather have a good gossip with their mates or a sleep in a hammock (these ingenious sleeping aids can be found all over the country, strung up between signposts, tree trunks, wooden posts, wherever possible) than do something as strenuous as work.
I was at a friend's house the other day when a few labourers wandered in to brick up a gap in the top of the wall bordering the garden. Their 'scaffolding' consisted of a few thin planks of wood and a bench which needed to be somehow nailed together. The young Thai guy, wearing jeans slung so low they rested just below his bottom (luckily, unlike the Russian woman on the escalator, he was wearing underwear) and a beanie, looked at all the offcuts with a slightly bemused expression on his face before picking a couple of planks up at random and nailing them together. My friend and I, on sunbeds facing the wall and thus with a with a prime position to watch this spectacle unfold, glanced at each other with knowing looks and barely concealed smiles. This was going to be interesting. The poor man probably felt more than slightly self-conscious knowing that we were watching his every move but he acted like it was all a breeze. Or perhaps he just really didn't care.
The scaffolding slowly went up, looking more precarious with every hammered nail. It was when he grabbed the wobbly bench-type-thing and proceeded to nail it to a couple of pieces wood, creating a platform that sloped at an angle more suited to a child's slide, that our laughter bubbled up and escaped from our mouths. Even Lily, my friend's two year old daughter, pointed at it and said "uh oh!" He seemed non-plussed, evidently considering his creation a success. Until, that was, the two female workers he arrived with returned, saw the mess he had made, pointed at it, said something in Thai that sounded very like an admonishment and then laughed themselves. He then proceeded to sheepishly take apart his hastily nailed together death-trap before putting up something slightly safer under the strict supervision of the women.
Perhaps I need to amend my earlier statement - Thai men can be rather work-shy at times but the majority of the women pull their fair share of the weight, and often rather more than they should of the men's.
I was at a friend's house the other day when a few labourers wandered in to brick up a gap in the top of the wall bordering the garden. Their 'scaffolding' consisted of a few thin planks of wood and a bench which needed to be somehow nailed together. The young Thai guy, wearing jeans slung so low they rested just below his bottom (luckily, unlike the Russian woman on the escalator, he was wearing underwear) and a beanie, looked at all the offcuts with a slightly bemused expression on his face before picking a couple of planks up at random and nailing them together. My friend and I, on sunbeds facing the wall and thus with a with a prime position to watch this spectacle unfold, glanced at each other with knowing looks and barely concealed smiles. This was going to be interesting. The poor man probably felt more than slightly self-conscious knowing that we were watching his every move but he acted like it was all a breeze. Or perhaps he just really didn't care.
The scaffolding slowly went up, looking more precarious with every hammered nail. It was when he grabbed the wobbly bench-type-thing and proceeded to nail it to a couple of pieces wood, creating a platform that sloped at an angle more suited to a child's slide, that our laughter bubbled up and escaped from our mouths. Even Lily, my friend's two year old daughter, pointed at it and said "uh oh!" He seemed non-plussed, evidently considering his creation a success. Until, that was, the two female workers he arrived with returned, saw the mess he had made, pointed at it, said something in Thai that sounded very like an admonishment and then laughed themselves. He then proceeded to sheepishly take apart his hastily nailed together death-trap before putting up something slightly safer under the strict supervision of the women.
Perhaps I need to amend my earlier statement - Thai men can be rather work-shy at times but the majority of the women pull their fair share of the weight, and often rather more than they should of the men's.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Shopping Centre Flashers
Pattaya is home to two beach-front shopping centres, providing a cool respite for over-sunned holiday makers and locals alike. It's the air conditioning that draws many of the Thais, which is why you'll see lots of people wandering about but hardly anybody actually in the over-priced shops. Some won't have air-conditioning at home so flock to one of the shopping centres for a hit of cold air. Others fancy a bit of gentle exercise without the sun blazing down on them, though at the speed at which they meander and the fact that they refuse to walk up the escalators (and often infuriatingly stand two abreast on the same step, completely blocking the way for anybody who doesn't consider loitering on escalators a fun way to pass the time), I can't imagine they'll see a massive rise in their fitness levels.
The tourists often hit the shops when they've had a bit too much sun, evidenced by the vast numbers of severely sunburnt shoppers hobbling around in the blissful cool of the air-conditioning. Upon discovering that they resemble a cherry tomato after applying oil without SPF and frying themselves in the Thai sun, all the blistering tourist has to do is walk the few steps from the beach to the shopping centre. Unfortunately, it is this close proximity to the beach that has given so many farangs the mistaken belief that is perfectly acceptable to walk around half-dressed. It is not uncommon to see women dressed in hotpants so tiny they may as well just be wearing a pair of French knickers. I have witnessed more wobbly thighs bounding out of impossibly short, hideously tight dresses than anybody should ever have to see. When will women learn that white Lycra is not anybody's friend? And just because you're wearing a G-string rather than a full pair of knickers does not make wearing transparent clothing acceptable. In fact it makes it so much worse. No-one wants to see that.
The prize for the most inappropriately dressed person in a shopping centre goes to the Russian woman we saw at the weekend. She was clothed in what can only be described as a long t-shirt. Unfortunately for us, standing below her on the escalator, it wasn't long enough. The fact that she was either sporting the skimpiest thong known to mankind or was going commando didn't help matters. From our position several steps down from her, we had a clear view of two bare, rather saggy and wrinkly buttocks poking out of the bottom of her 'dress'. It was not a pleasant sight. Perhaps because she has to wear ten layers for the majority of the year in Russia, she felt as if she had to make the most of being able to show her bottom and not get hypothermia. Whatever the reason, I really wish she hadn't.
The tourists often hit the shops when they've had a bit too much sun, evidenced by the vast numbers of severely sunburnt shoppers hobbling around in the blissful cool of the air-conditioning. Upon discovering that they resemble a cherry tomato after applying oil without SPF and frying themselves in the Thai sun, all the blistering tourist has to do is walk the few steps from the beach to the shopping centre. Unfortunately, it is this close proximity to the beach that has given so many farangs the mistaken belief that is perfectly acceptable to walk around half-dressed. It is not uncommon to see women dressed in hotpants so tiny they may as well just be wearing a pair of French knickers. I have witnessed more wobbly thighs bounding out of impossibly short, hideously tight dresses than anybody should ever have to see. When will women learn that white Lycra is not anybody's friend? And just because you're wearing a G-string rather than a full pair of knickers does not make wearing transparent clothing acceptable. In fact it makes it so much worse. No-one wants to see that.
The prize for the most inappropriately dressed person in a shopping centre goes to the Russian woman we saw at the weekend. She was clothed in what can only be described as a long t-shirt. Unfortunately for us, standing below her on the escalator, it wasn't long enough. The fact that she was either sporting the skimpiest thong known to mankind or was going commando didn't help matters. From our position several steps down from her, we had a clear view of two bare, rather saggy and wrinkly buttocks poking out of the bottom of her 'dress'. It was not a pleasant sight. Perhaps because she has to wear ten layers for the majority of the year in Russia, she felt as if she had to make the most of being able to show her bottom and not get hypothermia. Whatever the reason, I really wish she hadn't.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Something to Break Up the Journey
Over the time I have been here, I have learnt that any journey can be transformed from the mundane to, well, something to blog about, if you keep your eyes open rather than surrender to sleep. Just looking at the coaches that trundle past is an interesting enough activity. You're probably worrying now that I have become some sort of geeky coach-spotter, complete with tea cosy bobble hat, trousers pulled up to my chest and ever-present notebook to scribble down number plates and coach types. Fear not, the reason is not quite so tragic. Tour buses and coaches in Thailand are often covered in colourful Manga-style artwork, each one unique. Often in garish pinks, blues, oranges, reds and greens, in a multitude of different designs, they're certainly more interesting than your standard white bus with a single coloured line across it or the name of the coach company stencilled at the front and sides. I'm not sure why they do this, probably because it's hard to miss them, but it makes a welcome distraction from the monotony of a long journey.
Another source of interest on the roads, which can keep a bored passenger occupied for hours, is spotting the often frightening road safety violations. The most shocking I have seen recently was a pick-up truck racing down the highway. The speed at which it was tearing up the road was cause enough for concern, but what was more shocking was the presence of three children, all under twelve, standing up in the bed of the truck, holding onto the top of the cab. Sudden braking or a quick turn and they would be sent flying, not to think of the consequences of any sort of accident. I've mentioned other dangerous, yet worryingly commonplace, sightings on the road in previous blogs but they never fail to amaze me. Families of five, plus pets, all squashed together on one scooter, usually all helmet-less. Dogs are often plonked in the basket at the front of scooters but I did once see a small child getting blasted by the wind in a front basket. Babies are often held under the arms, squished in between driver and passenger at the back or, if it is a particularly full scooter, even held above someone's head.
Driving in Thailand is certainly an experience. More fun but also significantly more frightening. I can't say I'll miss fearing for my life several times in a single journey but it does make for some interesting journeys.
Another source of interest on the roads, which can keep a bored passenger occupied for hours, is spotting the often frightening road safety violations. The most shocking I have seen recently was a pick-up truck racing down the highway. The speed at which it was tearing up the road was cause enough for concern, but what was more shocking was the presence of three children, all under twelve, standing up in the bed of the truck, holding onto the top of the cab. Sudden braking or a quick turn and they would be sent flying, not to think of the consequences of any sort of accident. I've mentioned other dangerous, yet worryingly commonplace, sightings on the road in previous blogs but they never fail to amaze me. Families of five, plus pets, all squashed together on one scooter, usually all helmet-less. Dogs are often plonked in the basket at the front of scooters but I did once see a small child getting blasted by the wind in a front basket. Babies are often held under the arms, squished in between driver and passenger at the back or, if it is a particularly full scooter, even held above someone's head.
Driving in Thailand is certainly an experience. More fun but also significantly more frightening. I can't say I'll miss fearing for my life several times in a single journey but it does make for some interesting journeys.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Retail Therapy on the Beach
On the beaches of Pattaya, you can buy almost anything without even leaving your sunbed. Hungry or thirsty? The obligatory ice cream vendors of course trudge up and down the beach but there is so much more to choose from than just Magnums and Cornettos. Ice cold beers, fizzy drinks and fruit juice, including that Thai favourite, coconut juice sipped straight from a hollowed-out coconut, are all just a wave of the hand away. Once the thirst is at bay and the tummy is rumbling, there's even more choice. There's the corn-on-the-cob man (my favourite), carrying a huge steaming bowl of corn which he will then sprinkle with white pepper and salt. Then there's the spring roll, chicken nugget, deep fried prawns man, who lugs a big basket of the stuff on his shoulder, little packets of sweet chili sauce dangling from his belt. If you're after something a bit more substantial you only have to call to one of the umbrella and sunbed owners, who will run to a nearby restaurant and bring you fried rice, noodles, dumpling soup, pretty much whatever you fancy. Later in the day, when you're in need of something more refreshing, some tropical fruit might be in order. Simply flag down one of the vendors selling mango, pineapple, cantaloupe melon, watermelon, papaya and starfruit.
Besides food and drink, there are plenty of other shopping opportunities. Women wearing the colourful hats of the Karen tribe sell all sorts of jewellery, from beads to jangly bracelets. Men bearing mirrors will show you how great you look wearing one of their pairs of sunglasses, while others will try to convince you to buy one of a myriad of lighters. Beach toys, sarongs, kaftans, hats, bedspreads, wooden carved elephants - you can find it all from the comfort of you sun lounger on the beach. And if you're not interested in any of it? Just don't make eye contact and they shouldn't bother you. I find pretending you're asleep also works.
My favourite beach vendor is one I've only seen once. She seemed to be selling the entire contents of a joke shop. Wearing a multi-coloured Mohican wig and announcing herself by squeaking a rubber chicken, she carried an overflowing bag from which I could just see an electric blue Afro, something that resembled a whoopee cushion and a clown mask. She was also wearing a pair of baggy leopard-print trousers. Unfortunately though, I don't think these were for sale.
Besides food and drink, there are plenty of other shopping opportunities. Women wearing the colourful hats of the Karen tribe sell all sorts of jewellery, from beads to jangly bracelets. Men bearing mirrors will show you how great you look wearing one of their pairs of sunglasses, while others will try to convince you to buy one of a myriad of lighters. Beach toys, sarongs, kaftans, hats, bedspreads, wooden carved elephants - you can find it all from the comfort of you sun lounger on the beach. And if you're not interested in any of it? Just don't make eye contact and they shouldn't bother you. I find pretending you're asleep also works.
My favourite beach vendor is one I've only seen once. She seemed to be selling the entire contents of a joke shop. Wearing a multi-coloured Mohican wig and announcing herself by squeaking a rubber chicken, she carried an overflowing bag from which I could just see an electric blue Afro, something that resembled a whoopee cushion and a clown mask. She was also wearing a pair of baggy leopard-print trousers. Unfortunately though, I don't think these were for sale.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Death of the Urinal Accessories
Walking past the nearby police post recently, I spotted something relating to a previous blog (Indecent Exposure, Jan 31st). The outdoor urinals built behind the post, giving those walking, riding and driving past a perfect profile view of men urinating, have been stripped of their flower pots. Some rather fetching baskets of orchids had been hung above the urinals but have now, for reasons unknown, been removed. Perhaps the men using the urinals had too good an aim, leaving the flowers unwatered. I have not once seen a female police officer at that post (hence, I suppose, the complete lack of a toilet) so I don't expect the orchids were ever watered with actual water and therefore probably withered and died. Of course, hanging a couple of baskets of pretty flowers above the urinal never really detracted from the hideousness of the sight of men weeing in full sight of the road and pavement in broad daylight, without even a partial fence/bush/wall ( anything would have been better than nothing) to hide their bits. It's really no different to a woman squatting above a hole in the ground. We wouldn't though.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Off to Market
The Thais love their markets. They pop up pretty much everywhere - by the side of the highway, on a scrap of wasteland, on the pavement, in front of a shopping centre, in a park, even on the river with the vendors selling their wares from little boats. New ones appear regularly, whenever a piece of land is vacated in fact. An army of people rock up, tables, fold-up chairs, racks and rails all tucked under their arms, and set up en mass. Soon the (normally very loud) sounds of (normally very bad) Thai music will be heard, along with the aromas of a variety of food sizzling and bubbling away. Anything from row after row of socks and briefs to kittens and baby hedgehogs might be sold at these markets, which is why they're always worth a visit. You just never know what you might find.
We went to the mother of all Thai markets yesterday - Chatuchak Weekend Market in Bangkok. It is immense. It covers over thirty five acres, contains some fifteen thousand stalls and receives several hundred thousand visitors a day. There is nothing that this market does not sell. Clothes, household items, food, pets (and animals that look like they’d rather kill you than cuddle up and play ball with you), antiques, religious paraphernalia, CDs and DVDs, gardening equipment and plants, Thai handicrafts, art, furniture... I could go on but I won't as that would make for a rather boring blog. Of course, the sheer size of the place provides a challenge for even the most dedicated shopper. It is essential to be organised and have a plan of attack, tackling the warren of lanes in a logical order. That, however, is rarely achieved as it is all too easy to be sucked into the cavern of narrow lines of stalls and shops and, before you know it, you're at the other side of the market and have missed whole sections. In a way though, the beauty of markets is just wandering around and coming across new and unexpected stalls.
We started off in the handicrafts section and I was wandering down a lane, looking at bronze Buddha statues, incense holders and paintings of temples, when I was startled to find myself looking down at a large tub of mice. Raising my eyes, I stared into the eyes of a lizard, then looked round to see a large snake in a glass case. Evidently we had stumbled into the live animals section. Again, pretty much anything goes here. We spotted monkeys, turtles, exotic birds, rabbits, guinea pigs, iguanas, spiders, scorpions, and lots and lots of gorgeous puppies and kittens. Unfortunately, many were kept in cramped conditions but they seemed to be alert at least, unlike at other markets I have been to where the puppies had clearly been drugged to keep them from making too much noise. I’d read that smugglers illegally selling endangered animals operated in some of these shops so I wasn’t about to give them any of my money and anyway, The Husband didn’t seem to want to let me take a baby Basset Hound home.
Moving on from the virtual zoo that made up the pet section, we emerged into an Aladdin’s cave of clothes stalls. There were of course the beer and fake designer t-shirts you see everywhere but there was also stall after stall of original, independent clothing. I was in heaven. We wandered up and down the lanes, popping into little shops, honing our bartering skills and picking up some bargains. It didn’t take long though before the heat and humidity started to take their effect, but I brought out my trusty hand-held fan acquired for free at the tennis event we went to last month, used my travel towel to mop my brow and gratefully gulped down the bottles of water stored in the pocket of my bag . Like any serious shopper, I had come prepared and was glad that I had. It would be all too easy to give up after an hour or two, the heat and dehydration simply becoming too much. The Husband started to become cranky a few hours in but, for a man, I will admit that he did fairly well. Unfortunately, he made the mistake of going into an air-conditioned shop as it was only upon leaving its cool interior that he realised just how hot and sticky it was outside. It was then that the grumpy faces started, accompanied by lots of sighing and I knew it was time to leave. We jumped into the blissfully air-conditioned car with many exciting purchases, none of which, I can assure you, had fur, scales or spikes.
We went to the mother of all Thai markets yesterday - Chatuchak Weekend Market in Bangkok. It is immense. It covers over thirty five acres, contains some fifteen thousand stalls and receives several hundred thousand visitors a day. There is nothing that this market does not sell. Clothes, household items, food, pets (and animals that look like they’d rather kill you than cuddle up and play ball with you), antiques, religious paraphernalia, CDs and DVDs, gardening equipment and plants, Thai handicrafts, art, furniture... I could go on but I won't as that would make for a rather boring blog. Of course, the sheer size of the place provides a challenge for even the most dedicated shopper. It is essential to be organised and have a plan of attack, tackling the warren of lanes in a logical order. That, however, is rarely achieved as it is all too easy to be sucked into the cavern of narrow lines of stalls and shops and, before you know it, you're at the other side of the market and have missed whole sections. In a way though, the beauty of markets is just wandering around and coming across new and unexpected stalls.
We started off in the handicrafts section and I was wandering down a lane, looking at bronze Buddha statues, incense holders and paintings of temples, when I was startled to find myself looking down at a large tub of mice. Raising my eyes, I stared into the eyes of a lizard, then looked round to see a large snake in a glass case. Evidently we had stumbled into the live animals section. Again, pretty much anything goes here. We spotted monkeys, turtles, exotic birds, rabbits, guinea pigs, iguanas, spiders, scorpions, and lots and lots of gorgeous puppies and kittens. Unfortunately, many were kept in cramped conditions but they seemed to be alert at least, unlike at other markets I have been to where the puppies had clearly been drugged to keep them from making too much noise. I’d read that smugglers illegally selling endangered animals operated in some of these shops so I wasn’t about to give them any of my money and anyway, The Husband didn’t seem to want to let me take a baby Basset Hound home.
Moving on from the virtual zoo that made up the pet section, we emerged into an Aladdin’s cave of clothes stalls. There were of course the beer and fake designer t-shirts you see everywhere but there was also stall after stall of original, independent clothing. I was in heaven. We wandered up and down the lanes, popping into little shops, honing our bartering skills and picking up some bargains. It didn’t take long though before the heat and humidity started to take their effect, but I brought out my trusty hand-held fan acquired for free at the tennis event we went to last month, used my travel towel to mop my brow and gratefully gulped down the bottles of water stored in the pocket of my bag . Like any serious shopper, I had come prepared and was glad that I had. It would be all too easy to give up after an hour or two, the heat and dehydration simply becoming too much. The Husband started to become cranky a few hours in but, for a man, I will admit that he did fairly well. Unfortunately, he made the mistake of going into an air-conditioned shop as it was only upon leaving its cool interior that he realised just how hot and sticky it was outside. It was then that the grumpy faces started, accompanied by lots of sighing and I knew it was time to leave. We jumped into the blissfully air-conditioned car with many exciting purchases, none of which, I can assure you, had fur, scales or spikes.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
People-watching Heaven (and a mysterious tree)
Whilst on the beach, I observed many little oddities and quirks that made me chuckle, and I’ll mention a few of them here.
Multi-coloured Luminous Wetsuit Man – this was what I wrote in my notebook and I thought it summed him up nicely so I have kept it. What more is there to say really? He had arrived in a speedboat with a group of people who only stayed for about twenty minutes and, after a quick walk down the beach and back, spent the rest of the time in the shade of a palm tree. He was never even close to the sea, other than when he got back into the speedboat, preferring instead to remain at the back of the beach. Quite why he was wearing a full-length wetsuit was therefore rather a mystery, though perhaps he thought that the t-shirt he wore over the top made it suitable for a day trip. At least the baggy shirt partially covered the brightness of the wetsuit which, in the sun, was almost blinding.
His & Hers T-shirts – these seem to be currently storming Samet. During the course of one day I spotted two couples wearing matching t-shirts, something I thought was limited only to unfortunate siblings dressed by their parents. Luckily, The Parents never subjected The Brother and I to that (and, if you’re reading this, for that I will be forever appreciative!) but I have seen it many a time. Why do parents feel the need to dress their children identically? Is it in case they forget who they are? “Uh oh, I’ve done it again, I’ve completely forgotten what our kids look like. Ah, they must be the ones in the matching purple tracksuits and ‘I love Thailand’ t-shirts.” As cringe-worthy as it is to dress your children identically, it doesn’t come close to the horror of adults wearing matching outfits. We can see you are a couple, you are holding hands, you do not need to wear identical polka-dot t-shirts, as one of the couples I spotted (no pun intended!) did. To be honest, just one of them wearing this hideous multi-coloured t-shirt would have been bad enough but they obviously thought they were so nice they would each buy one. And then wear them at the same time. Perhaps worse than this fashion disaster was the couple wearing t-shirts that read ‘This is my boyfriend’ and ‘This is my girlfriend’, each with an arrow pointing to the other. One or both of them has serious possessiveness issues.
The Crying Tree – we discovered this strange tree on our first day, as we were sat next to it whilst by the pool. Every few minutes it appeared to shower water from its branches – in fact, The Husband at first thought that it was raining but, looking up into a bright blue, cloudless sky, we quickly dismissed that theory. We then had the thought that perhaps its leaves were simply wet from recent rain and were dripping when the branches swayed in the breeze, but it hadn’t rained in a few days. The following morning, we passed the tree on our way to breakfast and noticed that there was a circle of damp on the decking around the tree, indicating that it drips regularly. We never did find out why or even what type of tree it was. I tried Googling it today but found nothing. The mystery continues...
Thai Posers – this is a strange little quirk that I actually think is a far broader Asian thing. Despite the fact that many Thais are normally very shy, as soon as a camera is brought out they lose all their inhibitions and start posing as if they were on a photo shoot. Of course, they really are on a photo shoot, albeit one of their own making. Often this will involve a tripod and an umbrella to shade themselves as they pause in between snaps. Hugging a tree, lying on a rock, kneeling in the sea, every part of the landscape is utilised. If it is a couple, the man, who will always be taking the photos, will instruct his girlfriend or wife to pose this way, then that, looking back at the photos on the screen, then telling her to change her position slightly or flick her hair back. If it is a group of friends, the model will run back to look at the camera and will then flatten her hair, straighten her sunglasses, adjust the straps on her dress and re-pose. I lost count of the number of groups that would appear on the beach, take hundreds of photos of every possible pose and then disappear, probably to another beach to do it all over again.
I always think that it’s memories like this, that will be laughed about over a glass of wine with friends in years to come, that make a holiday.
Multi-coloured Luminous Wetsuit Man – this was what I wrote in my notebook and I thought it summed him up nicely so I have kept it. What more is there to say really? He had arrived in a speedboat with a group of people who only stayed for about twenty minutes and, after a quick walk down the beach and back, spent the rest of the time in the shade of a palm tree. He was never even close to the sea, other than when he got back into the speedboat, preferring instead to remain at the back of the beach. Quite why he was wearing a full-length wetsuit was therefore rather a mystery, though perhaps he thought that the t-shirt he wore over the top made it suitable for a day trip. At least the baggy shirt partially covered the brightness of the wetsuit which, in the sun, was almost blinding.
His & Hers T-shirts – these seem to be currently storming Samet. During the course of one day I spotted two couples wearing matching t-shirts, something I thought was limited only to unfortunate siblings dressed by their parents. Luckily, The Parents never subjected The Brother and I to that (and, if you’re reading this, for that I will be forever appreciative!) but I have seen it many a time. Why do parents feel the need to dress their children identically? Is it in case they forget who they are? “Uh oh, I’ve done it again, I’ve completely forgotten what our kids look like. Ah, they must be the ones in the matching purple tracksuits and ‘I love Thailand’ t-shirts.” As cringe-worthy as it is to dress your children identically, it doesn’t come close to the horror of adults wearing matching outfits. We can see you are a couple, you are holding hands, you do not need to wear identical polka-dot t-shirts, as one of the couples I spotted (no pun intended!) did. To be honest, just one of them wearing this hideous multi-coloured t-shirt would have been bad enough but they obviously thought they were so nice they would each buy one. And then wear them at the same time. Perhaps worse than this fashion disaster was the couple wearing t-shirts that read ‘This is my boyfriend’ and ‘This is my girlfriend’, each with an arrow pointing to the other. One or both of them has serious possessiveness issues.
The Crying Tree – we discovered this strange tree on our first day, as we were sat next to it whilst by the pool. Every few minutes it appeared to shower water from its branches – in fact, The Husband at first thought that it was raining but, looking up into a bright blue, cloudless sky, we quickly dismissed that theory. We then had the thought that perhaps its leaves were simply wet from recent rain and were dripping when the branches swayed in the breeze, but it hadn’t rained in a few days. The following morning, we passed the tree on our way to breakfast and noticed that there was a circle of damp on the decking around the tree, indicating that it drips regularly. We never did find out why or even what type of tree it was. I tried Googling it today but found nothing. The mystery continues...
Thai Posers – this is a strange little quirk that I actually think is a far broader Asian thing. Despite the fact that many Thais are normally very shy, as soon as a camera is brought out they lose all their inhibitions and start posing as if they were on a photo shoot. Of course, they really are on a photo shoot, albeit one of their own making. Often this will involve a tripod and an umbrella to shade themselves as they pause in between snaps. Hugging a tree, lying on a rock, kneeling in the sea, every part of the landscape is utilised. If it is a couple, the man, who will always be taking the photos, will instruct his girlfriend or wife to pose this way, then that, looking back at the photos on the screen, then telling her to change her position slightly or flick her hair back. If it is a group of friends, the model will run back to look at the camera and will then flatten her hair, straighten her sunglasses, adjust the straps on her dress and re-pose. I lost count of the number of groups that would appear on the beach, take hundreds of photos of every possible pose and then disappear, probably to another beach to do it all over again.
I always think that it’s memories like this, that will be laughed about over a glass of wine with friends in years to come, that make a holiday.
Underwater World
The following day we awoke to glorious sunshine, the sound of crickets and the complete absence of a hangover in The Husband. The one good thing about having the hangover from hell is that it makes you feel amazing when it finally leaves you. He leapt out of bed, opened the slats on the wooden blinds, put his hands on his hips and a grinned inanely. "Let's make the most of the day," he declared. It seemed he had spent quite enough of the previous day in bed and he was determined to spend as little as possible of it there today. Which is how, just before 8am (ridiculously early when on holiday if you ask me), we left the room and, on my insistence (I needed to prepare myself for the buffet breakfast ahead of me - I do not take such challenges lightly, the prospect of all that food to be tried is a serious matter in need of careful planning), took a pre-breakfast stroll down the beach. The cool of the early morning was already beginning to dissipate as the sun drew higher in the sky but there was a welcome breeze and it was wonderful to scrunch my feet in the sand. Ao Prao beach is just what might come to mind when conjuring up an image of a tropical beach - powdery soft, white sand, gentle sea lapping at the shore, palm trees lining the fringes. With no-one yet in the sea or on lying on a lounger, we had the beach to ourselves and it made for a lovely walk.
Following a hearty breakfast (for a detailed account of how I approached this buffet breakfast in November, see Day 2 on Samet, Part 1: Just a Little Bite to Begin the Day - it was a similar scenario this time around), we wasted little time in heading down to the beach, and nabbed ourselves one of the last remaining sun lounger pods. Feeling in need of some exercise after the breakfast gorging, I grabbed my snorkel, mask and flippers and waded into the sea. I didn't look quite as expert as I might have wished, thanks to my snorkel being tied to my mask with one of my hair elastics - this due to The Husband breaking it last year in an incident dubbed Snorkelgate which is best left forgotten - but I was looking forward to the first snorkel of the trip and swam off excitedly, with just a smidgeon of trepidation. This latter emotion was due to my love/hate relationship with snorkelling. I love the feeling that you are exploring a previously undiscovered world - of course, I know that hundreds of people will have swum over this coral before but when you're there it doesn't feel like that. It's that feeling that you just don't know what you might see next that is so exciting, and it is like another world down there, teeming with life. It is just that, however, that also makes it so scary. Who knows what you might encounter? Just because a shark may never have been spotted in these shallow waters doesn't mean that one won't appear on the day I decide to go snorkelling. That is exactly what those sort of films are based on - the complete unexpected. As I'm swimming around I can't help but hear the Jaws soundtrack, and the tagline to Jaws 2 pops into my head - 'Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water'. This happens every time I go snorkelling - I get that little pit of fear deep in my belly and constantly look around to ensure some deadly creature of the deep isn't approaching me from behind, or about to attack from the gloom when the sun disappears behind a cloud.
I also do that completely irrational sucking in of the stomach when swimming over sea urchins, of which there were many. They are too far below me to ever be a threat (although, again, I might swim over that rogue sea urchin that decides to shoot out a spine, puncturing a leg and causing pain to engulf me - that sort of thing would definitely happen in a film) and besides, it's not like it would help me. It's like ducking in the car when a low-flying bird flies overhead. These sea urchins were the biggest I have ever seen though, with huge spines and something that looked distinctly like an eye in the centre, hence the fear that they might suddenly, and without provocation, spear me. Of course, all was fine and I returned to the beach without injury.
Following a hearty breakfast (for a detailed account of how I approached this buffet breakfast in November, see Day 2 on Samet, Part 1: Just a Little Bite to Begin the Day - it was a similar scenario this time around), we wasted little time in heading down to the beach, and nabbed ourselves one of the last remaining sun lounger pods. Feeling in need of some exercise after the breakfast gorging, I grabbed my snorkel, mask and flippers and waded into the sea. I didn't look quite as expert as I might have wished, thanks to my snorkel being tied to my mask with one of my hair elastics - this due to The Husband breaking it last year in an incident dubbed Snorkelgate which is best left forgotten - but I was looking forward to the first snorkel of the trip and swam off excitedly, with just a smidgeon of trepidation. This latter emotion was due to my love/hate relationship with snorkelling. I love the feeling that you are exploring a previously undiscovered world - of course, I know that hundreds of people will have swum over this coral before but when you're there it doesn't feel like that. It's that feeling that you just don't know what you might see next that is so exciting, and it is like another world down there, teeming with life. It is just that, however, that also makes it so scary. Who knows what you might encounter? Just because a shark may never have been spotted in these shallow waters doesn't mean that one won't appear on the day I decide to go snorkelling. That is exactly what those sort of films are based on - the complete unexpected. As I'm swimming around I can't help but hear the Jaws soundtrack, and the tagline to Jaws 2 pops into my head - 'Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water'. This happens every time I go snorkelling - I get that little pit of fear deep in my belly and constantly look around to ensure some deadly creature of the deep isn't approaching me from behind, or about to attack from the gloom when the sun disappears behind a cloud.
I also do that completely irrational sucking in of the stomach when swimming over sea urchins, of which there were many. They are too far below me to ever be a threat (although, again, I might swim over that rogue sea urchin that decides to shoot out a spine, puncturing a leg and causing pain to engulf me - that sort of thing would definitely happen in a film) and besides, it's not like it would help me. It's like ducking in the car when a low-flying bird flies overhead. These sea urchins were the biggest I have ever seen though, with huge spines and something that looked distinctly like an eye in the centre, hence the fear that they might suddenly, and without provocation, spear me. Of course, all was fine and I returned to the beach without injury.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
A Towel Elephant and a Half Dead Husband
The hotel office at the pier was far busier than when I was last there, mid-November, with The Parents. Back then peak season was just about to start and there were only two or three other groups of people waiting to board the speedboat. This time, still just about in peak season and on a public holiday weekend, I entered the building to a wall of noise and what appeared to be complete chaos. Piles of suitcases covered the floor and large families, including numerous over-excited children, had positioned themselves over every available chair and sofa, as well as much of the floor not taken up by luggage. I started to feel concerned that this wasn't going to be the relaxing mini-break we had planned. I handed our suitcase over to a harassed looking woman who gave me a ticket and crossed our names off a sheet of paper. I then wasted no time in hot-footing it outside to a bench in the shade and to relative peace and quiet. The Husband joined me after parking the car and we spent a pleasurable ten minutes or so debating whether the man travelling with two women and two children did indeed have two wives.
To take us the few hundred yards or so down to where the boat was moored (we couldn't possibly have walked that distance, obviously), we all boarded a sort of train on wheels which looked just like those that theme parks have to ferry the really lazy people around. Five second later, we hopped on the boat - I knew from last time when I am certain that I flashed several of the boatmen that shorts are advisable here - and made our way to the front, where only one person was sat. I presume this was because it was the only part not in the shade but I always think the front is the most fun. It was fairly gentle until we left the marina when the boat picked up speed, bumping over several waves, the wind lashing at our faces. I was having a great time. The Husband kept a grin on his face, though I suspect this journey wasn't too kind on his hangover.
We checked in but, as we had arrived early, our room wasn't ready yet so we had to amuse ourselves for a couple of hours. We strolled down the beach and noticed that it definitely looked busier. Not I-can't-see-the-beach-because-it's-covered-with-deckchairs-and-people busy but it was certainly livelier than it was in November. Ao Prao Beach lies in a little inlet which is home to three hotels and is far quieter than many of the other beaches on the island. The section of beach in front of our hotel is never too busy, thanks to the individual platforms they place each set of two sunbeds, an umbrella and a table on. This way you'll never be too close to your neighbours on the beach. Genius.
After our walk and a very welcome swim, our room was ready so we followed the porter up to our villa set on the hillside, amongst lush rainforest. One of the things I love about holidaying in Asia is the attention to detail. On the bed they had arranged a purple silk runner into a fan and scattered it with flowers. On top of that they had fashioned an elephant out of towels, with petals for his eyes and nails. Even the bath mat had been fanned and a flower placed in the centre. We carefully moved the elephant onto the chaise longue rather than dismantle it when we went to bed that evening, which they must have noticed as the following morning a towel dog appeared on the dressing table and two towel rabbits had been placed amongst the toiletries by the sink.
After a spot of lunch - chicken fried rice and pad thai, both delicious - we retired to loungers by the pool, overlooking the beach. Well, I did anyway. The Husband's hangover seemed to have intensified and he passed out on the bed, for "just an hour". Two hours later he sheepishly made his way down to the pool, before realising he had left his book in the room. An hour after that, I decided that I had better go and find him in case he had tripped in a hangover haze and was lying amongst the trees with ants crawling all over his unconscious body. I found him asleep on the bed and did not hesitate to wake him. It was by now 5.20pm and so I dragged him up for a sunset walk along the beach. The fresh air seemed to revive him somewhat and we spent the evening engaged in a tense game of Travel Scrabble before a delicious meal of barbecued seafood on the beach. The highlight for me though was dessert, which I almost didn't have. I was looking at some platters of fruit when I heard someone call, "banana fritter". I paid the voice no attention, assuming it was for the attention of someone else. Then I heard it again, slightly louder this time. "Banana fritter!" I looked around to see one of the waitresses by the chef's station. She was smiling at me and pointing to a plate. "It very good," she cajoled. I relented. I took the plate from her and she looked pleased as punch. Two banana fritters lay on a lattice of chocolate sauce and I had to admit to myself that it did look good. I shared it with The Husband and it was incredible. In fact, it was so good that I had to order another one. What? I was on holiday!
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
The Road to Samet
Thailand celebrated a public holiday yesterday so The Husband and I decided to make the most of the extra day of freedom and spent the weekend in Koh Samet for three days of total relaxation. The Husband went to a leaving do the night before and managed to get horrendously drunk, falling (literally) into bed at around 4am (although the time is a complete guess as he himself admits that he can't really remember getting into bed at all). That gave him approximately four hours to sleep off his inebriation before I dragged him out of bed to shower, pack and get something in his stomach. For reasons unknown to anyone but himself, he decided that cornflakes would be a good idea for breakfast. I have always thought that milk and hangover do not a happy partnership make, and unsurprisingly, it wasn't long before I heard something that sounded like a cat coughing up a hairball emanating from the bathroom. It was about then that I started to feel very smug for feeling fantastic, having decided not to go out with him, knowing that a my-head-hurts-so-much-I-want-to-die hangover was inevitable.
I eventually managed to get him into the car and we were on our way out of an already busy Pattaya and onto the highway shortly after 9am, speeding south down towards the coastal town of Ban Phe where we were due to board a speedboat to the island. Highways in Thailand aren't like motorways in England. Black Box Recorder sang, "the English motorway system is beautiful and strange", though I would suggest that the line is actually more applicable to Thai highways. Nothing ever really happens on English motorways, other than the occasional mooner in a car carrying several university students in the neighbouring lane. For the most part, journeys on English motorways are monotonous, the very point of them being to allow a continuous flow of fast traffic to enable longer-distance journeys to pass more quickly. In Thailand, the majority of highways have junctions, which is slightly annoying but allows men and women to run in between the lanes, waving lottery tickets, newspapers and garlands of jasmine and orchids tied with ribbon to hang in your car for luck. They can still be seen weaving in and out of lanes as the traffic zooms off down the road. Their life insurance premiums must be through the roof!
The Thais also don't see the point of keeping food and drink vendors to appointed service areas - the side of the highway provides an excellent opportunity for trade with all those weary people pootling along in their cars and they make the most of that. We could have bought spit-roasted chicken, a variety of fruit and bottles of fruit juice if we had pulled up on the hard shoulder, although I'm not sure I fancied chicken marinated in diesel fumes. At one point we passed a group of monks, donned in their saffron coloured robes, walking along the side of the road. I don't think they were trying to hitch a ride, but I did wonder if we should pull over and ask if they needed a lift. Figuring they were probably on some sort of journey to enlightenment, we kept going, probably covering them in dust as we did so.
Rest stops here are far more, well, restful, than those in England. We passed a beautifully designed sala on stilts overlooking the paddy fields and mountains in the distance. Far more agreeable than sitting in a crowded Burger King with a child screaming for more chips beside you. I almost wanted to stop the car myself, even though we had only been travelling for about half an hour.
We arrived at the pier with plenty of time to spare and sat outside in the shade of an umbrella, waiting to be taken to the boat...
I eventually managed to get him into the car and we were on our way out of an already busy Pattaya and onto the highway shortly after 9am, speeding south down towards the coastal town of Ban Phe where we were due to board a speedboat to the island. Highways in Thailand aren't like motorways in England. Black Box Recorder sang, "the English motorway system is beautiful and strange", though I would suggest that the line is actually more applicable to Thai highways. Nothing ever really happens on English motorways, other than the occasional mooner in a car carrying several university students in the neighbouring lane. For the most part, journeys on English motorways are monotonous, the very point of them being to allow a continuous flow of fast traffic to enable longer-distance journeys to pass more quickly. In Thailand, the majority of highways have junctions, which is slightly annoying but allows men and women to run in between the lanes, waving lottery tickets, newspapers and garlands of jasmine and orchids tied with ribbon to hang in your car for luck. They can still be seen weaving in and out of lanes as the traffic zooms off down the road. Their life insurance premiums must be through the roof!
The Thais also don't see the point of keeping food and drink vendors to appointed service areas - the side of the highway provides an excellent opportunity for trade with all those weary people pootling along in their cars and they make the most of that. We could have bought spit-roasted chicken, a variety of fruit and bottles of fruit juice if we had pulled up on the hard shoulder, although I'm not sure I fancied chicken marinated in diesel fumes. At one point we passed a group of monks, donned in their saffron coloured robes, walking along the side of the road. I don't think they were trying to hitch a ride, but I did wonder if we should pull over and ask if they needed a lift. Figuring they were probably on some sort of journey to enlightenment, we kept going, probably covering them in dust as we did so.
Rest stops here are far more, well, restful, than those in England. We passed a beautifully designed sala on stilts overlooking the paddy fields and mountains in the distance. Far more agreeable than sitting in a crowded Burger King with a child screaming for more chips beside you. I almost wanted to stop the car myself, even though we had only been travelling for about half an hour.
We arrived at the pier with plenty of time to spare and sat outside in the shade of an umbrella, waiting to be taken to the boat...
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