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.
Friday, March 12, 2010
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!
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