There are many ways to break the law in Thailand. And many infringements come with long sentences in hideous jails. But I've found a fairly unique way of contravening the law of the land: twice in an anarchistic 24 hours. What's unusual for me, is that in both cases it was inadvertent.
I'm looking for a camera bag. The cheap bag that came with my new camera featured a lacerating/sandpaper effect on the neck strap which was not at all suited to human flesh. I can only assume these were tested on rhinos. Therefore, a bit like Guy Ritchie, I'm now on the market for something with fewer abrasive qualities.
I found a suitable store with a plethora of different bag-carrying equipment. A most helpful assistant helped me to tie myself in knots for twenty minutes as I attempted to trial various belt systems, backpacks and over-the-shoulder arrangements. There were times when the assistant had to step back sheepishly as he observed me trying to wrestle these contraptions back off again; Harry Houdini I ain't.
I left, disillusioned, having failed to master even the most simple camera carrier system and left to visit another mall.
You may imagine my surprise, when on arrival at the next mall, twenty minutes later, I lifted my t-shirt to adjust my iPod only to discover one of the camera belts still attached round my waist. Ha! The perfect crime. I even fooled myself. I've nothing to attach to the belt – it requires some sort of lens or camera case before it serves any useful photography function – but, true to form, I've only two buttons left on my shorts and it may come in useful when the top one inevitably goes.
Of course, this gives rise to one of the greatest moral dilemmas of our time. What should I do? Should I keep the belt or should I allow my trousers to drop to my ankles and give it back?
Well, I'm writing this post in a coffee shop about two minutes from the scene of the crime with the belt still fastened around my lumber. My fate hangs in the balance (so do my trousers).
I'll let you end this story yourselves with suggestions and comments in the comments section below.
The second crime has less comic potential, so I'll keep it brief. I got a good deal on my camera. A very good deal. I was extremely proud of myself and my arch-negotiating skills. It wasn't until I tried to register the camera the next day on the Nikon website that I realised something was afoot (the thing at the bottom of my leg, I'm sure Chick Murray would interject). It turned out my camera was an illegal alien and had been imported from Japan. Therefore, it was a “grey market” camera. Quite a cool and mysterious title, but rendering the warranty useless. It's not a knock-off, so providing it doesn't develop any problems (no pun intended), it should be OK. But I'm hoping for no awkward questions at customs.
Tune in to the next exciting episode to find out if I return the belt and end up with my trousers round my ankles or if I get stopped at customs and end up with my trousers round my ankles.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Steamie
The sound of the three tenors came drifting through the suite into the bathroom. There, in the surroundings of the marble interior, I soaked in a luxurious bath. Every little plastic bottle of smelly, colourful stuff had been emptied into the water to produce foaming mountains of bubbles.
There I lay, relaxing, humming along to some Puccini opera, sharing the tub with a week's worth of dirty boxer shorts, socks and t-shirts.
It's hard to find a cheap laundry this end of town.
In southern Thailand, I could get my clothes cleaned for about 80p a kilo – and I don't have many kilos of clothes. But in my hotel, you pay per item! £1 a sock! £3 for a pair of jeans! I mean, come off it. So I reacquainted myself with the childhood joy of having a bath with one's socks on.
It was, admittedly, a strange scene. A fly on the wall would have puzzled over the sight of a naked man in the bath giving each newly washed article the scientific sniff-test (much used by the male gender for quality control purposes; not so much the females).
Bloomin' hard work as well: scrubbing, rinsing, ringing. It's the first bath I've got out of so hot and sweaty that I had to have a shower.
So the clothes are now hung up on my 23rd floor balcony. I look forward to breakfast tomorrow with the locals wearing my clothes if the wind gets up tonight.
To celebrate my new clean wardrobe and self, I put on the only two things that had escaped my impromptu steamie and set off to a local food stall. I'd walked past it today and was determined to have some of the grub there. Problem was, my Thai isn't quite fluent yet and they'd not a word of Scottish. I hovered around the cooking area until they could ignore me no longer and bravely pointed out a few bits and pieces that were stewing, frying or roasting.
“Chicken?”, I said, pointing at some ambiguous looking meat.
“aaaahhh”, she replied, nodding.
Unsure if I'd been understood I tested with, “Pork?”.
“aaaahhh”, she replied, nodding. I'd pointed at the same thing. Mmm.
“Irn Bru?”, I said. “aaaahhh”, she replied, nodding.
But I gamely sat down and watched with interest and genuine surprise as each dish was placed in front of me. It was a cracking feast, and enough chili to power a nuclear sub. Best meal of the week.
And all for less than the price of one laundered sock.
There I lay, relaxing, humming along to some Puccini opera, sharing the tub with a week's worth of dirty boxer shorts, socks and t-shirts.
It's hard to find a cheap laundry this end of town.
In southern Thailand, I could get my clothes cleaned for about 80p a kilo – and I don't have many kilos of clothes. But in my hotel, you pay per item! £1 a sock! £3 for a pair of jeans! I mean, come off it. So I reacquainted myself with the childhood joy of having a bath with one's socks on.
It was, admittedly, a strange scene. A fly on the wall would have puzzled over the sight of a naked man in the bath giving each newly washed article the scientific sniff-test (much used by the male gender for quality control purposes; not so much the females).
Bloomin' hard work as well: scrubbing, rinsing, ringing. It's the first bath I've got out of so hot and sweaty that I had to have a shower.
So the clothes are now hung up on my 23rd floor balcony. I look forward to breakfast tomorrow with the locals wearing my clothes if the wind gets up tonight.
To celebrate my new clean wardrobe and self, I put on the only two things that had escaped my impromptu steamie and set off to a local food stall. I'd walked past it today and was determined to have some of the grub there. Problem was, my Thai isn't quite fluent yet and they'd not a word of Scottish. I hovered around the cooking area until they could ignore me no longer and bravely pointed out a few bits and pieces that were stewing, frying or roasting.
“Chicken?”, I said, pointing at some ambiguous looking meat.
“aaaahhh”, she replied, nodding.
Unsure if I'd been understood I tested with, “Pork?”.
“aaaahhh”, she replied, nodding. I'd pointed at the same thing. Mmm.
“Irn Bru?”, I said. “aaaahhh”, she replied, nodding.
But I gamely sat down and watched with interest and genuine surprise as each dish was placed in front of me. It was a cracking feast, and enough chili to power a nuclear sub. Best meal of the week.
And all for less than the price of one laundered sock.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Koh Phi Phi
I awoke in the night to the sight of my flip-flop floating past my face. A spider and a cockroach were clinging on to the makeshift life raft for dear life as the water rose above knee-level.
OK, it was an ant's knee-level, but Koh Phi Phi (pronounced ko pee pee) was living up to its name as the water gushed through our room. It was the end of a biblical 24 hours when we had experienced a near death experience amongst 30 ft waves; a pilgrimage of pain to see the island's famous Maya beach (made famous by the film, The Beach); a plague of blood thirsty mosquitoes; the attack of a great sea creature just off a deserted island as the rain lashed down in sheets; a mighty fall onto rocks off the coast of Koh Phi Phi; and the great flood to finish off the epic 24 hours.
It started as the leaden skies delivered their promise of tumultuous sea conditions that tossed our 30 tonne day-trip ferry about like a leaf in the wind . A cloak of grey darkness enveloped us and all around were hungry, towering waves that could devour us at will. The boat pitched almost 90 degrees, as those leaning over the sides vomiting came into close contact with the surface of the sea (and the deposits they had left there).
After thirty minutes of these ocean oscillations - amidst a scene of chundering, praying and repenting - the storm finally relented and the much relieved passengers and crew made their way toward the day's first stop: Maya beach.
On arriving at, “The Beach”,we were informed we had to enter round the back of the island. This involved doing the penance of three tests to complete our pilgrimage. Firstly, we had to swim choppy waters to get to the shaky ladder that led us up the cliff. Swimming in the water was challenging, but it was when the waves and currents dashed us against the rocks at the bottom of the ladder that caused most consternation (and bleeding). Then up the slippy, slimy steps, with the other pilgrims impatiently close behind, to meet the second test. With flip flops left on the boat due to the the swim, only bare feet could transport us across the scarred rocks, and glass-like coral that welcomed us on the other side.
Hundreds of thousands of years of evolution regressed in seconds as bipedal Homo sapiens quickly reverted to all fours - looking like drunk spiders - to negotiate the brittle terrain. (Meanwhile, our Thai guides happily hopped by like mountain goats, laughing merrily.)
Finally, we had the 100 yards dash up the path on our shredded feet dodging the flying, blood sucking creatures that devoured our very flesh. No amount of DEET seemed to repel this hungry swarm.
But then, at the end of our torturous journey, suddenly in front of us opened up the breathtaking scene of Maya beach. Breathtaking in the way that wind takes your breath when it blows at 40mph in your face. If you had stuck a few slot machines and a fish and chip shop there and it could have been Blackpool: grey, wet and cold with a few hardy (read stupid) people persevering in bikinis in the waves.
Thailand in the low season.
Was it worth it? Risking life and limb; injury and bleeding; lacerating feet; being eaten alive; all for what felt like Millport in September? Well, try running through Ibrox with a Celtic strip; playing keepie-ups with a boulder; dancing barefoot on thumb tacks; and putting on cheap aftershave and braving a Liverpudlian nightclub - all for a free day-trip to Scarborough. Then you'll know the answer: the destination was disappointing, but it was fun getting there.
We'd become slightly fey at this point with a sort of blitz mentality setting in. We were rolling with the punches and finding the whole thing hilarious. So when Mary was attacked by some unknown creature of the depths leaving a nasty whip scar around her arm, we weren't overly shocked (although she wasn't enamored by my explanation of the traditional cure for sea stings – Phi Phi featuring heavily again).
Later, after being dropped off back at the pier, we were informed there were no taxi boats to take us back to our beach as the waves were too high. This left us with the only option of picking our way around the island via the rocks. More drama awaited us. These rocks had been polished smooth with centuries of waves and a slippery layer of scum applied to them. There were numerous looney tunes-esque can-cans as I tried to keep balance and I almost made it there in one piece. But after forty minutes of this baby giraffe on ice impression, I finally succumbed to the very last stone. As I landed on it, my feet skited up to head height as quickly as the rest of my body flipped in the opposite direction give the impression of poorly performed back-flip in fast-forward. Needless to say I was stoic in dealing with the pain and humiliation as I dusted myself down before slowly greetin' for my mammy. The bruising was extensive, but you should have seen the state of the rock...
I've blethered for too long, but as most of the action of our holiday was squeezed into this 24 hours, I had to do it justice.
So to our final chapter. Your two heroes slowly limped home in tatters back to the sanctuary and safety of their beach-side bungalow. We were grateful that they made it home just as the heavens were opening again for another almighty downpour. After the many exciting adventures, it was time for bed and a good night's sleep. But this day was not done with us yet. As we slept, the torrential rain continued to pour and through the night, the water started to build into streams rolling off the steep hills behind our bungalow. So it was then, that I awoke in the night to the sight of my flip-flop floating past my face....
OK, it was an ant's knee-level, but Koh Phi Phi (pronounced ko pee pee) was living up to its name as the water gushed through our room. It was the end of a biblical 24 hours when we had experienced a near death experience amongst 30 ft waves; a pilgrimage of pain to see the island's famous Maya beach (made famous by the film, The Beach); a plague of blood thirsty mosquitoes; the attack of a great sea creature just off a deserted island as the rain lashed down in sheets; a mighty fall onto rocks off the coast of Koh Phi Phi; and the great flood to finish off the epic 24 hours.It started as the leaden skies delivered their promise of tumultuous sea conditions that tossed our 30 tonne day-trip ferry about like a leaf in the wind . A cloak of grey darkness enveloped us and all around were hungry, towering waves that could devour us at will. The boat pitched almost 90 degrees, as those leaning over the sides vomiting came into close contact with the surface of the sea (and the deposits they had left there).
After thirty minutes of these ocean oscillations - amidst a scene of chundering, praying and repenting - the storm finally relented and the much relieved passengers and crew made their way toward the day's first stop: Maya beach.
On arriving at, “The Beach”,we were informed we had to enter round the back of the island. This involved doing the penance of three tests to complete our pilgrimage. Firstly, we had to swim choppy waters to get to the shaky ladder that led us up the cliff. Swimming in the water was challenging, but it was when the waves and currents dashed us against the rocks at the bottom of the ladder that caused most consternation (and bleeding). Then up the slippy, slimy steps, with the other pilgrims impatiently close behind, to meet the second test. With flip flops left on the boat due to the the swim, only bare feet could transport us across the scarred rocks, and glass-like coral that welcomed us on the other side.
Hundreds of thousands of years of evolution regressed in seconds as bipedal Homo sapiens quickly reverted to all fours - looking like drunk spiders - to negotiate the brittle terrain. (Meanwhile, our Thai guides happily hopped by like mountain goats, laughing merrily.)
Finally, we had the 100 yards dash up the path on our shredded feet dodging the flying, blood sucking creatures that devoured our very flesh. No amount of DEET seemed to repel this hungry swarm.
But then, at the end of our torturous journey, suddenly in front of us opened up the breathtaking scene of Maya beach. Breathtaking in the way that wind takes your breath when it blows at 40mph in your face. If you had stuck a few slot machines and a fish and chip shop there and it could have been Blackpool: grey, wet and cold with a few hardy (read stupid) people persevering in bikinis in the waves.
Thailand in the low season.
Was it worth it? Risking life and limb; injury and bleeding; lacerating feet; being eaten alive; all for what felt like Millport in September? Well, try running through Ibrox with a Celtic strip; playing keepie-ups with a boulder; dancing barefoot on thumb tacks; and putting on cheap aftershave and braving a Liverpudlian nightclub - all for a free day-trip to Scarborough. Then you'll know the answer: the destination was disappointing, but it was fun getting there.We'd become slightly fey at this point with a sort of blitz mentality setting in. We were rolling with the punches and finding the whole thing hilarious. So when Mary was attacked by some unknown creature of the depths leaving a nasty whip scar around her arm, we weren't overly shocked (although she wasn't enamored by my explanation of the traditional cure for sea stings – Phi Phi featuring heavily again).
Later, after being dropped off back at the pier, we were informed there were no taxi boats to take us back to our beach as the waves were too high. This left us with the only option of picking our way around the island via the rocks. More drama awaited us. These rocks had been polished smooth with centuries of waves and a slippery layer of scum applied to them. There were numerous looney tunes-esque can-cans as I tried to keep balance and I almost made it there in one piece. But after forty minutes of this baby giraffe on ice impression, I finally succumbed to the very last stone. As I landed on it, my feet skited up to head height as quickly as the rest of my body flipped in the opposite direction give the impression of poorly performed back-flip in fast-forward. Needless to say I was stoic in dealing with the pain and humiliation as I dusted myself down before slowly greetin' for my mammy. The bruising was extensive, but you should have seen the state of the rock...
I've blethered for too long, but as most of the action of our holiday was squeezed into this 24 hours, I had to do it justice.
So to our final chapter. Your two heroes slowly limped home in tatters back to the sanctuary and safety of their beach-side bungalow. We were grateful that they made it home just as the heavens were opening again for another almighty downpour. After the many exciting adventures, it was time for bed and a good night's sleep. But this day was not done with us yet. As we slept, the torrential rain continued to pour and through the night, the water started to build into streams rolling off the steep hills behind our bungalow. So it was then, that I awoke in the night to the sight of my flip-flop floating past my face....
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