I am swept up in a veritable whirlwind of emotion as I begin to write this (short) blog entry. There is a bottle of Verve Clicquot at my side (unopened) and a wild mischevious grin on my face.
Tomorrow I leave Canouan. Finally. Dramatically. Oh so Miles & Boon esque?
PLOTLINE: Wild but kind hearted single girl is left jobless and alone on isolated paradise island. Dashing French yacht captain pops by for a cup of tea on route to Pacific Mexico and next thing you know, bob's your uncle, and lonely female adventurer is taken on as crew, destined to sail off into a perfect sunset and live happily ever in Accapulco...
E.T.D. is 12 NOON.
I am anxious, excited, terrified and desperately estatic.
The next time I have access to the internet I will have been at sea for 10 days or more, facing the wild open ocean and encountering amazing sights and sounds, such as breaching whales and dolphins or the ominous slick trail of an shark fin following the boat...(hopefully?!)
WATCH THIS SPACE!!
BON VOYAGE!!
Monday, December 25, 2006
Friday, December 08, 2006
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Quick photo in the shop!
Here's a photo of me and my friend Susan and the internet cafe guy, Devern, just so you all know I'm alive and happy!
A taste of local DIY
Union island is only 40 minutes from Canouan by ferry, however it is considerably more developed, with the tiny bustling fishing village of Clifton at its centre. It lacks the perimeter of golden sandy beaches offered by Canouan, but makes up for it with civilisation in the form of small hotels and bars, and a variety of modest grocery stores and gift shops. One crucial element that I appreciate more than I can say is the freely available running water. Canouan has no natural water available on the island, so all water must be delivered in large vats at some expense and piped into houses through mostly medieval plumbing systems. Most of the inhabitants do not even have this ‘luxury,’ and use outdoor plastic bowls for all mundane water-related tasks such as washing, bathing and cleaning.
It is with relief then, that I sip my glass of iced tap water straight from one of Union’s underground fresh water wells and consider a cool shower in a moment to refresh myself before bed.
Today I watched three generations of a family, all female, building a house from foundation up with basic shovels and bare hands. The grandmother helped mix the cement with sand and quarry stones, the mother was doing the brunt of the foundation laying and a five year old girl splashed water into the cement mix at intervals. I stood uselessly in the shade of a brick wall, sheltering my sensitive skin from the merciless midday equator sun, and watching in awe as this family built their future with blood, sweat and sheer determination. The husband, and loving father of three (plus three more 'adopted' children) is necessarily absent, working on another island for minimum wages of no more than £330 a month, which must cover the needs of the family, including every precious bag of sand, stone, and brick used on their home building project.
Did you think that a visit to Home Base or Do-It-All for a self-assembly shelf was DIY? Sorry guys, but THIS is the real shit!
These people have almost nothing, however, everything they do have they share with each other, and the neighbours, and the neighbours' kids, and the neighbours' kids' dog, not to mention myself, a stranger in paradise, but accepted nonetheless as family and treated with humbling kindness and warmth.
It is with relief then, that I sip my glass of iced tap water straight from one of Union’s underground fresh water wells and consider a cool shower in a moment to refresh myself before bed.
Today I watched three generations of a family, all female, building a house from foundation up with basic shovels and bare hands. The grandmother helped mix the cement with sand and quarry stones, the mother was doing the brunt of the foundation laying and a five year old girl splashed water into the cement mix at intervals. I stood uselessly in the shade of a brick wall, sheltering my sensitive skin from the merciless midday equator sun, and watching in awe as this family built their future with blood, sweat and sheer determination. The husband, and loving father of three (plus three more 'adopted' children) is necessarily absent, working on another island for minimum wages of no more than £330 a month, which must cover the needs of the family, including every precious bag of sand, stone, and brick used on their home building project.
Did you think that a visit to Home Base or Do-It-All for a self-assembly shelf was DIY? Sorry guys, but THIS is the real shit!
These people have almost nothing, however, everything they do have they share with each other, and the neighbours, and the neighbours' kids, and the neighbours' kids' dog, not to mention myself, a stranger in paradise, but accepted nonetheless as family and treated with humbling kindness and warmth.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Oh the drama!
Oh the drama! My life is anything but boring. I had a fatal clash of personalities with my employer on Canouan island. We had a disagreement about the duties involved with the job, not to mention a few other incompatibility issues which only added to an overall sense of wrongness with the situation. After a few glasses of whisky (him, not me) and some tears (me, not him) I went for a late night walk to work out my options. Never being one to ignore intuition or gut instinct, I got the feck out of there the very next morning. I am currently in a secret location, somewhere off the coast of...err...Venezuala? I have even more secret plans to tour the Caribbean and end up somewhere lovely by early next year.
I have decided not to tie myself down to any dive job until I can be sure of my compatibility with both the owner and the general area. As I am an independant woman of means, I have no problem taking my time to think carefully before I commit to any offer in the future!
If I'm good, I might even get paid for my next job. :P
I have decided not to tie myself down to any dive job until I can be sure of my compatibility with both the owner and the general area. As I am an independant woman of means, I have no problem taking my time to think carefully before I commit to any offer in the future!
If I'm good, I might even get paid for my next job. :P
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Island Life
I have been here for a little over two weeks, and have deliberately waited for this interval before a writing a new update. Two weeks could still be considered ‘holiday’ time after all, even if my new boss has been working me like a dog. Ha. (wink)
The truth is that it has been much more difficult to settle in here than Thailand, indeed, I am still finding my feet and learning more each day about the subtle nuances of island culture and politics. The combination of a busy city, modern conveniences and a ready made mass of friends made my introduction to Thailand a sugar-smooth whirlwind experience, and one that cut my ambilical cord to England in such a way that I woke up one day 3 months into my internship wondering suddenly where all the time had gone. Here, when I am not busy diving the days become long balmy affairs; lazy afternoons in the office (if not out diving) stretch out into the heat-hazed distance, and activity is a minimum. Perhaps I am still so much the city girl, as I feel the time pass as tangibly as a traffic queue, and expect something dramatic to happen at any moment, feeling puzzled when it does not. In my previous fast lane life there wasn’t time to sit around and read a book, or to entertain melancholy thoughts about homesickness. Everything was, “WHAM! BAMN! YESTERDAY MAN!” Now it’s, “Tomorrow man, or whenever yeah.” Can you take the city out of the girl? Can this girl become Island material? Questions I am still wondering tonight as I sit here in the house on the hill and look out over to the other side of the bay. All the lights are on, and everybody is home. After all, where else is there to be? Canouan’s social possibilities for the enthusiastic young are limited slightly to happy hour at one location on Wednesday, BBQ at another on Thursday, Karaoke at a hotel bar on Friday, and drinks at the Sailing Club on Saturday.
Certainly a world away from Pattaya’s voracious no–holds-barred nightlife. If Pattaya exists on one side of the coin, then Canouan exists on the other, dramatically contrasting in almost every way, except for a similarity with climate and it’s tendency to be over-populated with stray dogs and cats!
Here the ocean is turquoise and pristine. Unlike some dive sites in Pattaya there is no danger of finding yourself face to face in the water with the widely-feared Floating-Brown-Poo fish. The customers here are cheerful affluent Americans for the most part, and indeed, considerably richer than ‘yaw’. They are without exception (so far) courteous to the Nth degree, exuberant and trigger happy when it comes to monetary tips. (Not complaining) When I compare these guys to some of the chumps we had to take diving in Pattaya, I shake my head in wonder and thank the heavens above! I can’t deny that diving here is a real treat, but can I cope with the silence after the work day is over? In fact what may be a more appropriate question is, can I cope with the noisy late night TV's and sound systems which regularly compete with each other in the hills, converging film soundtracks, soca, hiphop and reggae beats on the house like a sound tsunami?
Actually I don’t mind it. Especially not after a dosage of something strong and alcoholic. I find it vaguely comforting knowing there’s some party going on out there somewhere, even if I’m not invited yet! I'm sure it’s a matter of time.
Time. There it is again. So much time. Time that has passed and time that is passing. I just hope that I am spending mine with the care that it deserves.
The truth is that it has been much more difficult to settle in here than Thailand, indeed, I am still finding my feet and learning more each day about the subtle nuances of island culture and politics. The combination of a busy city, modern conveniences and a ready made mass of friends made my introduction to Thailand a sugar-smooth whirlwind experience, and one that cut my ambilical cord to England in such a way that I woke up one day 3 months into my internship wondering suddenly where all the time had gone. Here, when I am not busy diving the days become long balmy affairs; lazy afternoons in the office (if not out diving) stretch out into the heat-hazed distance, and activity is a minimum. Perhaps I am still so much the city girl, as I feel the time pass as tangibly as a traffic queue, and expect something dramatic to happen at any moment, feeling puzzled when it does not. In my previous fast lane life there wasn’t time to sit around and read a book, or to entertain melancholy thoughts about homesickness. Everything was, “WHAM! BAMN! YESTERDAY MAN!” Now it’s, “Tomorrow man, or whenever yeah.” Can you take the city out of the girl? Can this girl become Island material? Questions I am still wondering tonight as I sit here in the house on the hill and look out over to the other side of the bay. All the lights are on, and everybody is home. After all, where else is there to be? Canouan’s social possibilities for the enthusiastic young are limited slightly to happy hour at one location on Wednesday, BBQ at another on Thursday, Karaoke at a hotel bar on Friday, and drinks at the Sailing Club on Saturday.
Certainly a world away from Pattaya’s voracious no–holds-barred nightlife. If Pattaya exists on one side of the coin, then Canouan exists on the other, dramatically contrasting in almost every way, except for a similarity with climate and it’s tendency to be over-populated with stray dogs and cats!
Here the ocean is turquoise and pristine. Unlike some dive sites in Pattaya there is no danger of finding yourself face to face in the water with the widely-feared Floating-Brown-Poo fish. The customers here are cheerful affluent Americans for the most part, and indeed, considerably richer than ‘yaw’. They are without exception (so far) courteous to the Nth degree, exuberant and trigger happy when it comes to monetary tips. (Not complaining) When I compare these guys to some of the chumps we had to take diving in Pattaya, I shake my head in wonder and thank the heavens above! I can’t deny that diving here is a real treat, but can I cope with the silence after the work day is over? In fact what may be a more appropriate question is, can I cope with the noisy late night TV's and sound systems which regularly compete with each other in the hills, converging film soundtracks, soca, hiphop and reggae beats on the house like a sound tsunami?
Actually I don’t mind it. Especially not after a dosage of something strong and alcoholic. I find it vaguely comforting knowing there’s some party going on out there somewhere, even if I’m not invited yet! I'm sure it’s a matter of time.
Time. There it is again. So much time. Time that has passed and time that is passing. I just hope that I am spending mine with the care that it deserves.
Friday, November 24, 2006
Sunday, November 12, 2006
And so it begins...
I'm writing this from my fabulous new place of work! I lean on the counter and look out into the bay; turquoise waters dotted with elegant yachts set against a background of lush cliffs. If you look closely you can see pastel-coloured houses clustered up the hillside like candy treats within the jungle!
This is my second day, and I still feel like I'm dreaming. I have been diving three times already, and I am trying to absorb as much as possible before next week, when I will be with 'real' customers from the oh-so-exclusive Raffles resort.
The visibility here is incredible. I have only seen water so clear in national marine parks in and around Thailand. Already I have met some of the local residents: a barracuda, several moray eels, a snake eel, and of course the wondrous and beautiful reef fish. The turtles are hiding from me at the moment. They are probably shy of new faces!
It's very hot and humid here at the moment, and I already have a collection of mosquito bites to be proud of! Do I care? No. It's a small downside to what is the most exciting opportunity I have ever had. This is truly a place where dreams are made.
I will get some photos and more stories very soon!
This is my second day, and I still feel like I'm dreaming. I have been diving three times already, and I am trying to absorb as much as possible before next week, when I will be with 'real' customers from the oh-so-exclusive Raffles resort.
The visibility here is incredible. I have only seen water so clear in national marine parks in and around Thailand. Already I have met some of the local residents: a barracuda, several moray eels, a snake eel, and of course the wondrous and beautiful reef fish. The turtles are hiding from me at the moment. They are probably shy of new faces!
It's very hot and humid here at the moment, and I already have a collection of mosquito bites to be proud of! Do I care? No. It's a small downside to what is the most exciting opportunity I have ever had. This is truly a place where dreams are made.
I will get some photos and more stories very soon!
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Autumn Days
Ahh, the crisp smell of autumn in the cool fresh air.
Bright winter sunlight and baby blue skies.
Ochre, gold and crimson, gleaming everywhere.
Oh look! I'm back in England! What a nice surprise!
It's really lovely being back in the UK, even though it is only for a short interlude before I jet off to another tropical island in the sun. (It's a hard job, but someone's got to do it ;) Maybe that's the reason I am enjoying myself so much at the moment - because I am aware that my time here is limited. As a result I am much more tolerant of everyone around me. Dad's jokes, which are often rubbish, I find myself laughing at quite genuinely. My brother and I usually communicate with monosyllabic grunts and awkward silences:
Me: Uh, alright?
Him: Yea... you?
Me: uh huh.
But recently we had a whole conversation over dinner. It was fantastic.
And, yesterday evening when I went to the newsagents, and saw all the little pikees hanging outside bumming fags from strangers and drinking cider, (it's half term) instead of pointedly ignoring them, and thinking "kids today," I smiled at them directly and thought, "aw bless those little hooligans." In response one lad nudged his mate and said, "arr, she wants yaw!" And so I tried to maintain grace as I walked away to a chorus of catcalls and graphic suggestions which should never have come from boys so young! I was shocked! I thought, "kids today!"
We celebrated my dad's birthday a couple of days ago. We had a family outing to our favourite local restaurant. It's one of those proper English pubs, with old oak beams and roaring fireplaces. The kind of place you dream about as summer fades, and you look ahead to festive winter evenings spent cradling a glass of your favourite tipple in a cosy corner.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Parting is such sweet sorrow...
I'm writing this from a swanky hotel in Bangkok. Not as exciting as it sounds, as I'm staring outside at the smog that sluggishly drapes itself around Bangkok's cityscape like a sticky shawl. In one direction the mud-flavoured river snakes into the distance, dotted with long tail boats and river cruisers, some of which sport trendy Thai style roofs. In all other directions the city spreads it's fingers infinitely, slums and luxury high rises living side by side, fighting for available space and light like plants competing in an overcrowded urban garden.
I am weary and emotional. I feel that I have had my fill of Thailand in this particular chapter of life. I look ahead, and yearn for the moment when I can feel my parent's deep pile hall carpet in Alzarin Crimson under my beach worn toes. I look back, and feel a lump in my throat as I see the faces of my friends I exchanged the most poignant goodbyes with earlier.
It's 5.30pm local time, which means I left Pattaya 5 hours ago, in a mini bus packed full of my worldly possessions, Bangkok bound. This also means that I am due in the bar within the next few minutes, to sip a Singapore Sling with my dad (a.k.a. Big Jeff), beat him at cards (again), and cheer myself up with a plate of fresh ravioli stuffed with spinach and ricotta, drizzled in a basil and green pesto dressing.
Our flight leaves tomorrow morning from Bangkok International Airport, so I shall endeavour to behave myself this time, and avoid suspicious behaviour around bins, unlike last time. I've over-stayed my visa and will have to pay extra, so I fully expect to be manhandled from the passport control queue, in fact I'd be horribly disappointed if I wasn't. :)
I am weary and emotional. I feel that I have had my fill of Thailand in this particular chapter of life. I look ahead, and yearn for the moment when I can feel my parent's deep pile hall carpet in Alzarin Crimson under my beach worn toes. I look back, and feel a lump in my throat as I see the faces of my friends I exchanged the most poignant goodbyes with earlier.
It's 5.30pm local time, which means I left Pattaya 5 hours ago, in a mini bus packed full of my worldly possessions, Bangkok bound. This also means that I am due in the bar within the next few minutes, to sip a Singapore Sling with my dad (a.k.a. Big Jeff), beat him at cards (again), and cheer myself up with a plate of fresh ravioli stuffed with spinach and ricotta, drizzled in a basil and green pesto dressing.
Our flight leaves tomorrow morning from Bangkok International Airport, so I shall endeavour to behave myself this time, and avoid suspicious behaviour around bins, unlike last time. I've over-stayed my visa and will have to pay extra, so I fully expect to be manhandled from the passport control queue, in fact I'd be horribly disappointed if I wasn't. :)
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
I PASSED!!!
Aaaah. The sweet taste of my first beer in 2 weeks!
Feeling happy and glowing on the way to town after a few cheeky beverages at dinner.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
A Day In The Diving Life
It's been 5 months since I landed upon this distant shore, and you may wonder what the more mundane side of life is like, when I am not swinging Tarzan-like through the jungle, riding elephants bareback or wrestling sharks.
A typical day in the 'diving' life is as follows:
I wake up around 7.15am, crawl bleary-eyed out of bed and gulp down a bottle of water to compensate for the dehydrating effects of a night spent beneath my uber-powerful air conditioning unit.
I leave my condo, greeting the security staff with the usual "Sawadee Ka" and make my way down the long drive, valiently ignoring the motorbike taxi men who continue to harrass me for business, just as they have done every day for 5 months. They are without a doubt the most tenacious sales men I have ever met. The image of a dog and bone springs to mind. Don't they ever give up?
"Where you go? Where you go?" They call out.
I smile and shake my head. That's the only English they know, thus any detailed response is pointless. I say nothing and walk by. Or I point in a random direction and say "I go there." It doesn't matter where "there" is. The other day I pointed at a Go Go Bar. Before that, I waved towards a building site. It's all gravy, baby.
I flag down a Song Theow, also known affectionately as a Baht bus, which are effectively pick up trucks with benches in the back for you to sit down on. When you want to get off, you ring the bell, and pay your 10 Baht.
As we drive along the beach road at alarming speed, I look out for the large red PADI sign which signals my turn to ring a ding ding that bell. I hit the button and we lurch to a shuddering halt, barely missing three Thai girls, one baby, one dog and one basket all sharing the same scooter.
I amble up the side street, blinking in the bright morning sun, and pass a couple of interns on their way past - no doubt paying a visit to the 7 Eleven for cigarettes and cheese and onion pasties. As I approach Mermaids there are groups of interns hanging around outside the shop, discussing last night's festivities on Walking street (sin central), and comparing hangovers. I say hello to everyone and make my way into the kit room, where we all store our equipment in large metal cages. When it rains heavily, the room leaks, forming puddles on the floor, thus it's well-deserved namesake, 'The Swamp'.
I join the other interns outside, having deposited my gear in the correct pile for the correct boat. (Usually...although mistakes can be made easily enough; I have previously sent my kit south and sent myself north). I engage in some social time over a cup of tea and a bacon buttie until the Baht bus arrives to take us to the port.
It's time to flex my non existent muscles as I help with the loading effort, carrying tanks and boxes in all shapes and sizes, before finally loading myself onto one of the trucks. At this point a slightly frantic Dive Master** or Dive Master in Training calls out names and points stragglers to the correct bus, some people jump off again at this stage, if they have left their bag on the steps, or forgotten to collect their egg sandwich from the bacon lady. (who must be raking it in, charging 50 Baht for just 1 bacon bap?) Eventually, the correct people are squeezed onto the correct bus, and off we trundle. The driver speeds to the pier as usual, occasionally ignoring the fact he has a bus load of people and a few hundred kilos of equipment on board. (particularly over the speed bumps - I think he does it on purpose, and chuckles wickedly to himself?!)
There is orderly chaos as we exit the bus, and we form a line all the way down from the top of the steps to the boat as we load up the equipment boxes and tanks. The acting DM that day does a role call and a boat brief, and off we go.
(Will complete this story on my next session...sorry about the delay!)
** Mermaids does not employ any Divemasters as permanent staff on the pay role...so this role is performed by volunteer interns when they have the inclination to help out... obviously, when an experienced DM goes home or moves on to be an instructor, the role may filled by a less experienced intern, who may continue volunteering until they become experienced and then also move on or away, and so it continues...
A typical day in the 'diving' life is as follows:
I wake up around 7.15am, crawl bleary-eyed out of bed and gulp down a bottle of water to compensate for the dehydrating effects of a night spent beneath my uber-powerful air conditioning unit.
I leave my condo, greeting the security staff with the usual "Sawadee Ka" and make my way down the long drive, valiently ignoring the motorbike taxi men who continue to harrass me for business, just as they have done every day for 5 months. They are without a doubt the most tenacious sales men I have ever met. The image of a dog and bone springs to mind. Don't they ever give up?
"Where you go? Where you go?" They call out.
I smile and shake my head. That's the only English they know, thus any detailed response is pointless. I say nothing and walk by. Or I point in a random direction and say "I go there." It doesn't matter where "there" is. The other day I pointed at a Go Go Bar. Before that, I waved towards a building site. It's all gravy, baby.
I flag down a Song Theow, also known affectionately as a Baht bus, which are effectively pick up trucks with benches in the back for you to sit down on. When you want to get off, you ring the bell, and pay your 10 Baht.
As we drive along the beach road at alarming speed, I look out for the large red PADI sign which signals my turn to ring a ding ding that bell. I hit the button and we lurch to a shuddering halt, barely missing three Thai girls, one baby, one dog and one basket all sharing the same scooter.
I amble up the side street, blinking in the bright morning sun, and pass a couple of interns on their way past - no doubt paying a visit to the 7 Eleven for cigarettes and cheese and onion pasties. As I approach Mermaids there are groups of interns hanging around outside the shop, discussing last night's festivities on Walking street (sin central), and comparing hangovers. I say hello to everyone and make my way into the kit room, where we all store our equipment in large metal cages. When it rains heavily, the room leaks, forming puddles on the floor, thus it's well-deserved namesake, 'The Swamp'.
I join the other interns outside, having deposited my gear in the correct pile for the correct boat. (Usually...although mistakes can be made easily enough; I have previously sent my kit south and sent myself north). I engage in some social time over a cup of tea and a bacon buttie until the Baht bus arrives to take us to the port.
It's time to flex my non existent muscles as I help with the loading effort, carrying tanks and boxes in all shapes and sizes, before finally loading myself onto one of the trucks. At this point a slightly frantic Dive Master** or Dive Master in Training calls out names and points stragglers to the correct bus, some people jump off again at this stage, if they have left their bag on the steps, or forgotten to collect their egg sandwich from the bacon lady. (who must be raking it in, charging 50 Baht for just 1 bacon bap?) Eventually, the correct people are squeezed onto the correct bus, and off we trundle. The driver speeds to the pier as usual, occasionally ignoring the fact he has a bus load of people and a few hundred kilos of equipment on board. (particularly over the speed bumps - I think he does it on purpose, and chuckles wickedly to himself?!)
There is orderly chaos as we exit the bus, and we form a line all the way down from the top of the steps to the boat as we load up the equipment boxes and tanks. The acting DM that day does a role call and a boat brief, and off we go.
(Will complete this story on my next session...sorry about the delay!)
** Mermaids does not employ any Divemasters as permanent staff on the pay role...so this role is performed by volunteer interns when they have the inclination to help out... obviously, when an experienced DM goes home or moves on to be an instructor, the role may filled by a less experienced intern, who may continue volunteering until they become experienced and then also move on or away, and so it continues...
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Pattaya lives & young Thai wives
Now that the after-glow of my recent success has finally faded away, (as it was certain to do), I have returned to my usual past-time of alternating diving days (which are busy and physically strenuous days of slipping and sliding around boats and fiddling with equipment) with 'leisure' days (which are *supposed* to be for study and relaxation, possibly combined with an attempt to embrace some of the local culture, finished off with several laps of the pool and a healthy dinner.)
Ha.
The people in this town think culture is a band from the 80's, and that if they're wearing the t-shirt (cheap rip off guaranteed to shrink to barbie size on the first wash) then that must result in entry to the club? Sorry but no cigar. Not even a cigarette. And while I am on the subject, smoking a marlboro that has a white filter instead of your common garden variety brown tip does not make you look cooler, more elegant or more cultured; the fact remains that you will still smell bad and die.
Oh, see, I have done it again. I digress from my topic almost as much as J. R. Tolkien does in his fat arsenal of shelf tremblingly weighty epics.
Going back to the subject in hand...
If I was to embrace some of the local residents here in Pattaya too closely, I may catch something. That’s a fact. Quite possibly even the door-to-door pizza delivery man wears protective gloves against the miscreants who may open their door to him, offering a crumpled Baht note from a sweaty palm while young Thai girls cavort within, enthusiastically awaiting his return so they can fulfil all his sick fantasies while professing undying love and stealing his wallet, which is almost as fat as him.
There’s a t-shirt sold locally here:
Good guys go to heaven,
Bad guys go to Pattaya.
(They wish)
The only guys I have seen wearing this are bald and beer-bloated. They buzz around triumphantly on 50cc scooters proudly sporting their latest fashion statement, a Thai girlfriend, and they invariably accessorise their look with those high waisted golf shorts (is there anything sexier?), a classic pair of M&S sports socks, and Jesus sandals, courtesy of The Next Catalogue Spring Summer 06.
These guys are bad alright. Bad to the core. So bad that at age 40 they still live in England with their mom, who irons their jeans and gets them up in the morning for their 9-5 desk job. They are so bad that they eat at least 4, no, even 5 donuts every morning, and break all company regulations every lunchtime by looking at hardcore photo-shopped online photos of Angelina Jolie. After work, they drink pints and make pornographic suggestions about the gorgeous copy girl, who is utterly oblivious to their existence. Later, they continue their wild spree with a few hours of online gaming, during which they battle warlocks, ride around on horseback flexing their cyber muscles and talk dirty to a young elf, until mom interrupts their fantasy with a reminder that they have to be up in the morning for work, and isn’t it time for bed now?
I apologise for being a little harsh :) There are, of course all kinds of men here from all walks of life...I am simply picking on the most amusing group for the benefit of my blog!
Pattaya is a place where dreams are made - specifically male fantasies! I'll be pleased to leave here, but I am also glad to say that I saw this and lived here, and of course it has provided me with endless amusing anecdotes that will entertain friends for years to come, and no doubt inspire my writing in a way that living in Birmingham never could!
That's Pattaya.
Next blog will be all about diving here!
Ha.
The people in this town think culture is a band from the 80's, and that if they're wearing the t-shirt (cheap rip off guaranteed to shrink to barbie size on the first wash) then that must result in entry to the club? Sorry but no cigar. Not even a cigarette. And while I am on the subject, smoking a marlboro that has a white filter instead of your common garden variety brown tip does not make you look cooler, more elegant or more cultured; the fact remains that you will still smell bad and die.
Oh, see, I have done it again. I digress from my topic almost as much as J. R. Tolkien does in his fat arsenal of shelf tremblingly weighty epics.
Going back to the subject in hand...
If I was to embrace some of the local residents here in Pattaya too closely, I may catch something. That’s a fact. Quite possibly even the door-to-door pizza delivery man wears protective gloves against the miscreants who may open their door to him, offering a crumpled Baht note from a sweaty palm while young Thai girls cavort within, enthusiastically awaiting his return so they can fulfil all his sick fantasies while professing undying love and stealing his wallet, which is almost as fat as him.
There’s a t-shirt sold locally here:
Good guys go to heaven,
Bad guys go to Pattaya.
(They wish)
The only guys I have seen wearing this are bald and beer-bloated. They buzz around triumphantly on 50cc scooters proudly sporting their latest fashion statement, a Thai girlfriend, and they invariably accessorise their look with those high waisted golf shorts (is there anything sexier?), a classic pair of M&S sports socks, and Jesus sandals, courtesy of The Next Catalogue Spring Summer 06.
These guys are bad alright. Bad to the core. So bad that at age 40 they still live in England with their mom, who irons their jeans and gets them up in the morning for their 9-5 desk job. They are so bad that they eat at least 4, no, even 5 donuts every morning, and break all company regulations every lunchtime by looking at hardcore photo-shopped online photos of Angelina Jolie. After work, they drink pints and make pornographic suggestions about the gorgeous copy girl, who is utterly oblivious to their existence. Later, they continue their wild spree with a few hours of online gaming, during which they battle warlocks, ride around on horseback flexing their cyber muscles and talk dirty to a young elf, until mom interrupts their fantasy with a reminder that they have to be up in the morning for work, and isn’t it time for bed now?
I apologise for being a little harsh :) There are, of course all kinds of men here from all walks of life...I am simply picking on the most amusing group for the benefit of my blog!
Pattaya is a place where dreams are made - specifically male fantasies! I'll be pleased to leave here, but I am also glad to say that I saw this and lived here, and of course it has provided me with endless amusing anecdotes that will entertain friends for years to come, and no doubt inspire my writing in a way that living in Birmingham never could!
That's Pattaya.
Next blog will be all about diving here!
A belated post for my long lost 2nd cousin!
During my excursion to Malaysia I mentioned briefly that I met up with my second cousin, Mark, whom I have never met before, and none of my close family has ever had the opportunity either. So, I went forth to the heart of Johor Bahru as an ambassador for my side of the clan and made the connection! He's happily married in Kuala Lumpar with a couple of young children, only a sprinkling of years older than me, and great fun to hang out with! We had a real giggle (I was doing most of the giggling, he was a chuckler) and I promised that I would post up our photos so everyone could share our meeting! So here we are, in JH, in July!
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
DIVE MASTER!
Hooray!! I have survived an arduous two weeks of physical and mental exertion, and I am proud to say that I am now a Dive Master! (Photo of me and Mark - friend and instructor)
(Here I am celebrating with the compulsory initiation into professional dive ranks ... the dreaded "snorkel"! While wearing a mask and a snorkel, you take a breath and then people tip various alcoholic beverages into the top! You continue until you can't drink anymore or your breath runs out, and then the surrounding crowd cheer and give a round of applause as you splutter in a puddle!)
(Later in the night ... I am making a fashion statement of sorts...men's boxer shorts make a delightful hat, and roses set off the neckline a treat)
Sunday, July 16, 2006
The Jungle Adventure
A long boat takes us to our destination in the heart of Tamara Negra, the national park in central Malaysia.
The misty jungle beckons. (Tarzan, top left)
I'm a celebrity Diver, Get Me Out Of Here! (er, where's Ant and Dec?)
The brave adventurer returns from the jungle trek triumphant, and wearing..er...brown rubber shoes with pulled up men's socks? Somebody call the fashion police!
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Singapore
Even though the city of Johor Bahru is no more than a kilometre across the river from Singapore, the differences between the two are startling. Predominantly Muslim, Johor Bahru is absolutely filthy; a large building site that in truth has seen its better days.
Singapore by contrast is a city that sparkles from top to bottom as if Mr Sheen Shine nips around every night, polishing every window, each lamppost, and even individual gutters, all in time for rush hour.
Singapore is known as The "Fine City" due to its Orwellian government, who dole out social behavioural fines to its residents and visitors like one might dole out candy to children.
1000 Dollar penalty for neglecting to cross the road within designated crossing lanes.
500 Dollar penalty for eating or drinking in public.
500 Dollar penalty for unauthorised dancing.
A "fine" city indeed!
Friday, July 07, 2006
We arrived in Johor Bahru, the Malaysian gateway to Singapore, late at night, and checked into our slightly swanky hotel (my choice) where I hoped to be united with my second cousin, who has lived in Malaysia for years with his wife and children. The hotel was within a compound designed for westerners and duty free shopping, but everything was shut at that late hour, so we decided to walk out a little way along the main street.
It was a little bizarre walking along that dirty pavement at 1am. We stuck out like a sore thumb; two young european girls in western clothes wandering around unescorted looking for a place to get some food. Local men sitting at plastic chairs and tables stared blatently at us, and so we sat down at the nearest cafe and tried to blend in!
Nobody spoke a word of English, and the menu was in malaysian, so ordering was a little tricky! We ended up randomly pointing at an item and hoped for the best! The man brought over a wicker basket full of what looked like banana leaves, and something was inside that looked a little like red gelatin. Emily suggested that we try it, in order to embrace the local culture.
It was utterly hideous.
It had a slimy mousse-like texture and tasted of sour chemicals that was not unlike mosquito repellent. Suddenly a dawning realisation hit me. I looked around to see if anyone else was eating their funny baskets of goo, and noticed that no other customer had touched this strange fragnant offering.
"It's mosquito repellant!" I hissed. "We just ate the mosquito repellant!"
"Oh god." Said Emily. "It does taste and smell exactly like mosquito repellant."
We looked furtively around.
"Why didn't they stop us, oh, I'm so embarrassed." I whispered.
We attempted a quick escape, but a man came running over to us holding the banana leaf basket of mush, and was saying something about paying for it. I was a little confused to say the least. I turned to a table near the exit and saw it's occupants tucking into the peculiar parcels as if it were completely normal.
Anyway, to cut a long story short. The funny parcels were actually maashed up fish guts, which is a Malaysian delicacy, (albeit a very gross one) and the reason they smelt specifically of mosquito repellent is because we both had liberally sprayed ourselves 30 mins earlier with strong DEET and forgotten to wash our hands. All in all a culinery disaster, but a well-deserved learning curve, in which I learnt to always wash my hands before eating fish guts.
It was a little bizarre walking along that dirty pavement at 1am. We stuck out like a sore thumb; two young european girls in western clothes wandering around unescorted looking for a place to get some food. Local men sitting at plastic chairs and tables stared blatently at us, and so we sat down at the nearest cafe and tried to blend in!
Nobody spoke a word of English, and the menu was in malaysian, so ordering was a little tricky! We ended up randomly pointing at an item and hoped for the best! The man brought over a wicker basket full of what looked like banana leaves, and something was inside that looked a little like red gelatin. Emily suggested that we try it, in order to embrace the local culture.
It was utterly hideous.
It had a slimy mousse-like texture and tasted of sour chemicals that was not unlike mosquito repellent. Suddenly a dawning realisation hit me. I looked around to see if anyone else was eating their funny baskets of goo, and noticed that no other customer had touched this strange fragnant offering.
"It's mosquito repellant!" I hissed. "We just ate the mosquito repellant!"
"Oh god." Said Emily. "It does taste and smell exactly like mosquito repellant."
We looked furtively around.
"Why didn't they stop us, oh, I'm so embarrassed." I whispered.
We attempted a quick escape, but a man came running over to us holding the banana leaf basket of mush, and was saying something about paying for it. I was a little confused to say the least. I turned to a table near the exit and saw it's occupants tucking into the peculiar parcels as if it were completely normal.
Anyway, to cut a long story short. The funny parcels were actually maashed up fish guts, which is a Malaysian delicacy, (albeit a very gross one) and the reason they smelt specifically of mosquito repellent is because we both had liberally sprayed ourselves 30 mins earlier with strong DEET and forgotten to wash our hands. All in all a culinery disaster, but a well-deserved learning curve, in which I learnt to always wash my hands before eating fish guts.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Close Encounters of the Shark Kind
I'm pleased to let you know that I escaped the clutches of Bangkok's most heinous security force, and jetted far far away to the otherside of Malaysia, to a tiny desert island where dreams are made. It is a tiny uninhabited jewel in the Celebes Sea, a small forested interior framed by ivory white sands that drop gently into perfect pale turquiose water. The water drops away only a few metres from the beach into a deep rich coral ecosystem dazzlingly vibrant and brimming with rainbow painted fish, huge turtles, and occasional sharks in deeper water (if you're lucky)!
The truth is that my life is forever changed since my diving adventure to Sipadan island. I have experienced the more unusual and extreme side of recreational diving, and in doing so have come closer to the awesome beauty of mother nature first hand.
Imagine if you will a city office block, so tall at 60 metres that you are little more than a tiny insect at its base. Now imagine the same sense of distance underwater, where you are hovering a few metres off a steep vertical drop of a seemingly infinite reef wall. When you float on your back and look up to the surface you can see misty sunlight far far above. To look down is to stare into the mouth of an inky dark void, stretching endlessly down for hundreds and hundreds of metres. On your right side, the open ocean is huge and blue and dizzying.
My maximum depth was digitally recorded as 60 metres, and at this depth the spell of nitrogen narcosis was powerful and intoxicating. In effect, I felt the world going by in slow motion, my bubbles sounded metallic and echoing, I found myself impulsively giggling out loud and I felt a huge rush of euphoria. (Please note however that I was aware that this was narcosis, and reacted with caution to my own impulses!)
Suddenly I became aware of my dive buddies shrieking loudly enough for the sound to reach me. Our dive leader began to rap on his tank rapidly with his dive knife.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I turned my head towards the open ocean.
Time stopped. I'm sure I forgot to breathe.
Not 30 metres from us, and in slightly shallower water swam a shoal of large hammerhead sharks too numerous to even begin to count. I would estimate hundreds - maybe even a thousand. These magnificant creatures moved as a cloud, momentarily blocking out the sun.
Stop. Breathe. Think. My dive training kicked back into my awe-struck mind and I remembered to breathe! At this point half the group started chasing the sharks at top speed, and I thought about it for just a second before I joined in the chase! Of course we could never keep up with them, and it wasn't long before I watched the last of these graceful gorgeous creatures disappear back into the deep blue sea.
There are many divers out there with years of experience who have never had the opportunity to get so close to so many sharks in the wild, and this is a moment I will take with me for the rest of my life!
The truth is that my life is forever changed since my diving adventure to Sipadan island. I have experienced the more unusual and extreme side of recreational diving, and in doing so have come closer to the awesome beauty of mother nature first hand.
Imagine if you will a city office block, so tall at 60 metres that you are little more than a tiny insect at its base. Now imagine the same sense of distance underwater, where you are hovering a few metres off a steep vertical drop of a seemingly infinite reef wall. When you float on your back and look up to the surface you can see misty sunlight far far above. To look down is to stare into the mouth of an inky dark void, stretching endlessly down for hundreds and hundreds of metres. On your right side, the open ocean is huge and blue and dizzying.
My maximum depth was digitally recorded as 60 metres, and at this depth the spell of nitrogen narcosis was powerful and intoxicating. In effect, I felt the world going by in slow motion, my bubbles sounded metallic and echoing, I found myself impulsively giggling out loud and I felt a huge rush of euphoria. (Please note however that I was aware that this was narcosis, and reacted with caution to my own impulses!)
Suddenly I became aware of my dive buddies shrieking loudly enough for the sound to reach me. Our dive leader began to rap on his tank rapidly with his dive knife.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
I turned my head towards the open ocean.
Time stopped. I'm sure I forgot to breathe.
Not 30 metres from us, and in slightly shallower water swam a shoal of large hammerhead sharks too numerous to even begin to count. I would estimate hundreds - maybe even a thousand. These magnificant creatures moved as a cloud, momentarily blocking out the sun.
Stop. Breathe. Think. My dive training kicked back into my awe-struck mind and I remembered to breathe! At this point half the group started chasing the sharks at top speed, and I thought about it for just a second before I joined in the chase! Of course we could never keep up with them, and it wasn't long before I watched the last of these graceful gorgeous creatures disappear back into the deep blue sea.
There are many divers out there with years of experience who have never had the opportunity to get so close to so many sharks in the wild, and this is a moment I will take with me for the rest of my life!
Monday, June 12, 2006
Fear and paranoia in Bangkok
I have just completed the most bizarre ritual in and around Bangkok airport. I am seriously questioning my own sanity.
There is, of course, that niggling anxiety whenever one has to spend anytime in the centre of operations of Bangkok's meanest police and customs department. Any bother here, and you are almost certainly on a one way train to a life sentence in the Bangkok "Hilton", forever destined to spend the rest of your days covered in rats; trading sexual favours with the local wildlife in return for the last drag of a dirty cigarette. Or at the very least, trouble in this place will result in several hours imprisoned in a hot little room where many men will shout in your face and ask questions in languages that you don't understand, before subjecting you to a unpleasant full body search and chucking you onto the sidewalk, dazed and confused, with your wallet a lot lighter than it was before.
When you mix this level of media-born paranoia with the additional worry that you are carrying around with you a piece of paper, upon which is written, clearly, in bold print, every pertinent detail of your whole life - everything from passport number to credit card details, home address and bank sort codes. Well, as you can imagine, this can make a person nervous. You would want to destroy this piece of paper as quickly as possible, wouldn't you. However the mode of destruction is key: screw it up and put it in the bin, tear it up and put it in the bin, burn it, scribble over it, or eat it?
I began to burn it, but stopped myself in horror. Start a table fire in Bangkok airport? Am I crazy? That would draw far too much attention.
Tear it up and put it in the bin? Obvious, but too obvious. Someone may be watching and retrieve the pieces later in order to steal my identity!
So I decided to tear up 1cm - squared pieces and go for a walk around the departure lounge, posting each piece of paper in a different bin.
When I reached the conclusion of my secret mission, it suddenly occurred to me that my military bin operation may have appeared at best, odd, or at worst, suspicious, to anyone watching.
Thus I sit here, with a head full of fear and paranoia, loathing and indigestion (Burger King) swirling through my mind and my small intestine. In a moment I will pay the lady at the internet cafe reception, and I will walk back to our table as if I am a normal person - a person who does not indulge in weird rituals with waste paper bins, or fantasise about eating note paper. (looking around furtively) See you on the otherside, fair readers. (Cue spy music) (Fade to black)
There is, of course, that niggling anxiety whenever one has to spend anytime in the centre of operations of Bangkok's meanest police and customs department. Any bother here, and you are almost certainly on a one way train to a life sentence in the Bangkok "Hilton", forever destined to spend the rest of your days covered in rats; trading sexual favours with the local wildlife in return for the last drag of a dirty cigarette. Or at the very least, trouble in this place will result in several hours imprisoned in a hot little room where many men will shout in your face and ask questions in languages that you don't understand, before subjecting you to a unpleasant full body search and chucking you onto the sidewalk, dazed and confused, with your wallet a lot lighter than it was before.
When you mix this level of media-born paranoia with the additional worry that you are carrying around with you a piece of paper, upon which is written, clearly, in bold print, every pertinent detail of your whole life - everything from passport number to credit card details, home address and bank sort codes. Well, as you can imagine, this can make a person nervous. You would want to destroy this piece of paper as quickly as possible, wouldn't you. However the mode of destruction is key: screw it up and put it in the bin, tear it up and put it in the bin, burn it, scribble over it, or eat it?
I began to burn it, but stopped myself in horror. Start a table fire in Bangkok airport? Am I crazy? That would draw far too much attention.
Tear it up and put it in the bin? Obvious, but too obvious. Someone may be watching and retrieve the pieces later in order to steal my identity!
So I decided to tear up 1cm - squared pieces and go for a walk around the departure lounge, posting each piece of paper in a different bin.
When I reached the conclusion of my secret mission, it suddenly occurred to me that my military bin operation may have appeared at best, odd, or at worst, suspicious, to anyone watching.
Thus I sit here, with a head full of fear and paranoia, loathing and indigestion (Burger King) swirling through my mind and my small intestine. In a moment I will pay the lady at the internet cafe reception, and I will walk back to our table as if I am a normal person - a person who does not indulge in weird rituals with waste paper bins, or fantasise about eating note paper. (looking around furtively) See you on the otherside, fair readers. (Cue spy music) (Fade to black)
Saturday, June 10, 2006
The Similans
On May 24th I jumped on a plane to Phuket (in the south) with a few fellow divers, and upon arriving there we were taken to the local port where our live-aboard boat was waiting to whisk us away into the Andaman Sea. There I hoped we would witness the wonders of unspoilt reefs, underwater colour palettes beyond my widest imaginings and lots and lots of sharks!
Our destination was a group of fairly spread out islands called The Similans. The boat travelled overnight that first night to get us there, and upon awaking at 7am I was greeted by a beautiful sunny morning; glorious golden sunlight rippled blindingly along the surface of the vibrant blue water, which was calm now. Last night had been a little rough – I had been rolling around in bed with the swell of the waves! Lucky I don’t get seasick!
I went upstairs to the middle deck and had a cup of tea with everyone. I was still half asleep. (Anyone who has ever had to see me at 7.00am would vouch for the fact that I am most certainly not a morning person!) However, sleepy eyed or not, I plodded onto the wet deck and peeled myself yawningly in my wetsuit, managed to attach my weight belt without dropping it on my toe, and got upright with my BCD (jacket) and tank on without falling over. Amazing. My giant stride entry into the sea was more of a giant roll, however, in the moment of hitting that gorgeously refreshing water, my senses were suddenly awakened and, floating at the surface I blinked at my surroundings as if I had just woken up! My dive buddy, Crowley (a Similans Veteran) smiled and said, “look down.”
I dunked my mask into the water, and immediately choked on a mouthful of seawater as I gasped in utter awe at the scene below me. Letting out an excited shriek which was half bubbles half sound, I turned back to Crowley with a huge grin, “OH MY GOD! Have you seen that…I can’t believe…WOW…that’s AMAZING…seriously, WOW!”
“Shall we?” He signalled to descend.
I emptied the air out of my BCD, put in my regulator and slipped below the surface. The scene below me was laid out like something from my dreams. As if looking through glass, I could see directly to the bottom, which was about 31 metres deep. Large shoals of tiny silvery fish swam through mid-water, and brighter species were further down, darting in between rocks and hiding in soft coral beds. Looking up at the surface, the sunlight appeared to explode on the surface, so bright that I had to look away, but the clear water allowed the light to reflect straight down to the white sand bottom with illumination that clarified every tiny detail of the marine life surrounding me. Tiny shrimp no bigger than my finger could be seen scuttling around on hard coral. Majestically coloured angel fish swam around in pairs as if involved in some ritual of courtship, and the striped squirrel fish kept close together under a rock, wide-eyed and swimming frantically but, (comically) going nowhere. We even saw a number of prickly-looking lion fish, which have a multitude of fins that look like black and red and white butterfly wings, and are extremely venomous. Needless to say, we kept a polite distance from those particular residents.
As we moved through the site, some divers gathered around a rock set apart from the rest, and as I swam over I saw a giant moray eel gaping out from his cave. Head stuck up, eyes roving round, and displaying his razor sharp teeth every few seconds, this was not one of the friendlier locals. I could see that the length of his body coiled through the entire rock…and at a guess he was well over a metre long! We took photos and then left him to his breakfast hunting.
Upon surfacing 47 minutes later we were all chattering in delight, and I practically leapt out of the water, feeling energised and impatient for the next dive. I followed my nose upstairs and saw breakfast laid out: eggs, sausages, toast and fruit. Having worked up such an appetite with my early exercise I tucked in and spent the next 2 hours relaxing with a book, before jumping in the water again for our next dive.
The first dive of the following day (Elephant Head Rock)was undoubtedly the peak of my entire adventure so far. I had been following our dive leader through a system of swim-throughs (areas where rocks had fallen or hollowed out to create short tunnels), and as I swam out of one tunnel formation, the dive leader turned around to get my attention, giving the underwater sign for ‘shark’. My heart immediately started beating more rapidly in excitement, and I finned faster to catch up with him in case the shark disappeared. As I came to the edge of a large, flat granite rock, and peeked around the wall to my left, I caught my first glimpse of the shark – a creature that I have dreamed of seeing in the wild since I was a child. It was a white tip reef shark, probably only 2 metres in length, and swimming a few metres away at the same depth as me. I was struck by how fluid and graceful it was; lead grey in colour, tight and sleek and muscular, with a flat hard line for a mouth like a grimace, and an almost two-dimensional cold dead stare, giving it a look of being in a bad mood. Yet, I have never seen anything look so grumpy* and so beautiful at the same time!
*(To give him credit, I’m sure he wasn’t grumpy, that’s just an example of my need as a human to personify other animals with human characteristics in order to better relate to them as individuals!)
That dive we saw 3 more white tip reef sharks, and I was heartbroken when we had to begin our descent. I watched them on the way back up and saw them circling far below and I thought, “Bye for now, but I’ll be seeing you again…”
(And I definitely will. This is only the beginning of my shark-chasing days!)
The days meandered along in a relaxed manner: 4 dives a day, meals in between, and nights spent at leisure, listening to music, drinking beer, playing cards, not to mention our late night guitar sessions spent on the upper-deck under an infinite starry sky. It was an incredibly spiritual experience to sit up there under the heavens, knowing that we were somewhere in the middle of the ocean, miles away from any civilisation.
Next stop is Borneo, and Malaysia. Watch this space!
Sunday, May 21, 2006
The rain in Pattaya stays mainly in the roads...and on the pavements...and inside the bars...and on my head...
The word "torrential" has evolved into a whole new meaning for me in the last week or two. Never again will I be able to take my father seriously when, standing in the conservatory, he looks out at England's attempt at a rain shower, shaking his head in contemplation, and declares unequivocally that the weather today is utterly "torrential."
What just happened to me however, is the very definition of "torrential." Halfway through my last paragraph I frantically scooped up my laptop and my beer and joined the stampede of interns all headed for the safety of a non-leaking roof (a rarity in this place).
Damn, I just straightened my hair earlier...what in hell was I thinking.
Anyway, when it rains here, it floods. Noah would be jealous if he was still alive, or if, indeed he ever existed. But that's another debate, and I'm getting dripped on.
What just happened to me however, is the very definition of "torrential." Halfway through my last paragraph I frantically scooped up my laptop and my beer and joined the stampede of interns all headed for the safety of a non-leaking roof (a rarity in this place).
Damn, I just straightened my hair earlier...what in hell was I thinking.
Anyway, when it rains here, it floods. Noah would be jealous if he was still alive, or if, indeed he ever existed. But that's another debate, and I'm getting dripped on.
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Girls, they got girls, gorgeous girls! Very Nice! You wanna see em?
Gin and Tonics ---> Bus full of drunken interns ----> Pattaya central Go Go street ---> More Gin and Tonics ----> Girls naked everywhere ---> Ladyboys...I think...(have to look twice - they are very pretty) ----> More naked girls writhing on poles ---> More drinks ---> Loud music ----> Girls in cages with whips ----> More bars ---> Bright lights ----> Old fat men with adolescent Thai girls ----> Naked Thai girls in a jacuzzi ----> More drinks ----> Kebab ----> Stagger home, and collapse in hot dirty room, no sign of cockroaches. The end.
Friday, April 14, 2006
The First Hours
"What's this?" I hear you cry. "One week in Thailand already and no blog?"
Well, I have been entirely too confuddled, muddled, puzzled, dazed, and confused to utter anything other than a prehistoric "Ugg" for the best part of these past few days. To quote Coldplay:
Nobody said it was easy.
But nobody said it would be this hard.
Now that I have recovered a small part of my sanity, I will attempt to take you on a literal excursion through the events of the last 7 days.
**********************************************************
The flight, although it was comfortable enough, was unusually for me, a terribly anxious journey. The source of my unrest was not so much the turbulence (although there was a fair bit of that), or the lengthy duration, but instead, this panic that had been festering in my gut for days like the frightened flapping of a caged bird, and I had until now done a great job of holding it back. However, it was doomed to surface at some point, and surface it did, in these sickening waves that were my constant companion throughout the entire journey. I maintained a stiff upper lip though, (hitting yourself in the mouth tends to stiffen up the whole area nicely).
Bangkok wasn't what I expected, but then I am unsure what I expected to begin with. Possibly brighter Sahara style sun, beating down on streets full of chickens and people in hats shaped like fruit bowls. To my bemusement, Bangkok looksexactly like parts of any UK city centre, but with a leaden sky that presses down upon you like a hot soggy blanket. Of course, the faces, the signs, the images are all alien, but I was relieved to find out that Thailand is a left-hand-drive country, grasping as I was for the familar in the midst of so much that was unknown.
Smiling and nodding was the best policy I found, when attempting to respond to my driver's attempts to communicate. He would point energetically out of the window every now and again, and say "you loo, you loo", and I would scan the horizon to find his point of reference. Occasionally I would notice a beautifully architectured building in the far distance, but mostly I just saw endless palm trees, roadside stalls, and huge bill boards advertising things like "50 SPF, SKIN WHITENING CREAM, FOR WHITEST SKIN EVER!" This particular board had a beautiful pale Thai woman in close-up, beaming with her perfect oh so white smile. In comparison to the people I saw on the road sides and in surrounding vehicles (crammed into the back of pick-up trucks), there was nobody even close to being that pale. Hell, I don't think even I was that pale then, and I was the FNG* freshly off the plane! How strange that we aspire to be tanned in Britain, and pay good money for bottle tans, sunbeds, skin bronzer, you name it, and here they aspire for the exact opposite, and pay good money to achieve what we cast away with contempt.
But I digress. I arrived in the evening, about 6pm local time. The driver took me to my hotel, called "Jomtien Long Stay" (I later found out that it was referred to as the long stay penitentary by the diving interns), and I was left there to check in, suddenly alone, and very very hot. A Thai man assisted me with my luggage, and let me into a room on the 2nd floor. As we turned on the lights, it became immediately apparent that this was almost certainly not my room - there were articles of men's clothing strewn around and a tangled bed sheet lying on the floor. I raised an eyebrow at my porter, and he shrugged and back-tracked out of there with my case. Momentarily abandoning me in the corridor while he returned to reception for further instructions, I fanned myself with my passport, and wondered what the hell I had let myself in for. As if in answer to my prayer, the door opposite opened at that exact moment, and a tall blonde tanned muscular surf dude type bloke stepped out of his room wearing a towel. He didn't look very old, I guessed about 21.
"Ahh, hey there, you just arrived, yeah?"
I sagged with relief to find a capable-looking English speaker. I could tell from his accent that he was South African, and that fit pretty well into that whole traveller surf dude concept I had already invented for him. We chatted for a minute or 2, and I discovered that he was not only a neighbour, but also a fellow scuba intern with Mermaids. Over the next hour, I got into my (hot dirty dusty) room, flapped my arms at a cockroach (which Carl - the neighbour - dutifully removed), had a shower, unpacked some things, and accepted Carl's invitation to go out for a beer.
**************
(I will continue the story later, I am almost finished with my internet time!)
Well, I have been entirely too confuddled, muddled, puzzled, dazed, and confused to utter anything other than a prehistoric "Ugg" for the best part of these past few days. To quote Coldplay:
Nobody said it was easy.
But nobody said it would be this hard.
Now that I have recovered a small part of my sanity, I will attempt to take you on a literal excursion through the events of the last 7 days.
**********************************************************
The flight, although it was comfortable enough, was unusually for me, a terribly anxious journey. The source of my unrest was not so much the turbulence (although there was a fair bit of that), or the lengthy duration, but instead, this panic that had been festering in my gut for days like the frightened flapping of a caged bird, and I had until now done a great job of holding it back. However, it was doomed to surface at some point, and surface it did, in these sickening waves that were my constant companion throughout the entire journey. I maintained a stiff upper lip though, (hitting yourself in the mouth tends to stiffen up the whole area nicely).
Bangkok wasn't what I expected, but then I am unsure what I expected to begin with. Possibly brighter Sahara style sun, beating down on streets full of chickens and people in hats shaped like fruit bowls. To my bemusement, Bangkok looksexactly like parts of any UK city centre, but with a leaden sky that presses down upon you like a hot soggy blanket. Of course, the faces, the signs, the images are all alien, but I was relieved to find out that Thailand is a left-hand-drive country, grasping as I was for the familar in the midst of so much that was unknown.
Smiling and nodding was the best policy I found, when attempting to respond to my driver's attempts to communicate. He would point energetically out of the window every now and again, and say "you loo, you loo", and I would scan the horizon to find his point of reference. Occasionally I would notice a beautifully architectured building in the far distance, but mostly I just saw endless palm trees, roadside stalls, and huge bill boards advertising things like "50 SPF, SKIN WHITENING CREAM, FOR WHITEST SKIN EVER!" This particular board had a beautiful pale Thai woman in close-up, beaming with her perfect oh so white smile. In comparison to the people I saw on the road sides and in surrounding vehicles (crammed into the back of pick-up trucks), there was nobody even close to being that pale. Hell, I don't think even I was that pale then, and I was the FNG* freshly off the plane! How strange that we aspire to be tanned in Britain, and pay good money for bottle tans, sunbeds, skin bronzer, you name it, and here they aspire for the exact opposite, and pay good money to achieve what we cast away with contempt.
But I digress. I arrived in the evening, about 6pm local time. The driver took me to my hotel, called "Jomtien Long Stay" (I later found out that it was referred to as the long stay penitentary by the diving interns), and I was left there to check in, suddenly alone, and very very hot. A Thai man assisted me with my luggage, and let me into a room on the 2nd floor. As we turned on the lights, it became immediately apparent that this was almost certainly not my room - there were articles of men's clothing strewn around and a tangled bed sheet lying on the floor. I raised an eyebrow at my porter, and he shrugged and back-tracked out of there with my case. Momentarily abandoning me in the corridor while he returned to reception for further instructions, I fanned myself with my passport, and wondered what the hell I had let myself in for. As if in answer to my prayer, the door opposite opened at that exact moment, and a tall blonde tanned muscular surf dude type bloke stepped out of his room wearing a towel. He didn't look very old, I guessed about 21.
"Ahh, hey there, you just arrived, yeah?"
I sagged with relief to find a capable-looking English speaker. I could tell from his accent that he was South African, and that fit pretty well into that whole traveller surf dude concept I had already invented for him. We chatted for a minute or 2, and I discovered that he was not only a neighbour, but also a fellow scuba intern with Mermaids. Over the next hour, I got into my (hot dirty dusty) room, flapped my arms at a cockroach (which Carl - the neighbour - dutifully removed), had a shower, unpacked some things, and accepted Carl's invitation to go out for a beer.
**************
(I will continue the story later, I am almost finished with my internet time!)
Friday, April 07, 2006
Livin' it up at the airport
I can happily say that I am presently sat in utmost comfort in one of Heathrow's business class lounges. I am feeling smug, which negates my previous feelings of sadness and loss after saying goodbye to my family. It was pretty awful, to be honest, a real emotional rollercoaster. However I soaked up my tears in the taxi with a piece of Bounty kitchen roll, which I can now confirm *does* actually perform better than any other leading kitchen towel.
I talked at length with my driver, Bob. We discussed the benefits of globe trotting, why I should definately visit San Fransisco, and I finally sang the theme tune to "The Littlest Hobo" as I felt it was appropriate at the time.
I skipped all of the economy class queues, (which serpentined far into the distance) and checked in at Business Class (airily named 'Premium Laurel'), where I made a joke about the weight of my non existant shoe collection in order to distract the check in guy from the fact my case was over the weight restriction. Apparently it worked, as he beamed at me, attached a sticker on my case stating "Priority Load", and it was whisked away by a super efficient attendant - no doubt to its own luxurious lounge to have it's zippers polished.
I made my way through endless security checks and rows of shiny cosmetics counters - all claiming to change your life, make body beautiful and give you lips like Angelina Jolie. I valiently ignored their attempts to spray me on the way past. After all I am a human, not a cat.
Finally, joyously, I entered through some tinted glass doors and flashed my ticket to the reception staff. Breathing a sigh of relief I headed straight for the refreshment zone in the far corner, where I was delighted to find self service beer taps, of which I availed myself immediately. (What did you expect?)
Thus, here I am sitting in a cosy work station, writing this tale of sorrow and joy; highs and lows. The only thing that I am certain of is that I can only get higher. Like 4000 feet higher.
Now I am going to carry on being brave and strong, with my friend in the corner. His name is Carlsberg.
I talked at length with my driver, Bob. We discussed the benefits of globe trotting, why I should definately visit San Fransisco, and I finally sang the theme tune to "The Littlest Hobo" as I felt it was appropriate at the time.
I skipped all of the economy class queues, (which serpentined far into the distance) and checked in at Business Class (airily named 'Premium Laurel'), where I made a joke about the weight of my non existant shoe collection in order to distract the check in guy from the fact my case was over the weight restriction. Apparently it worked, as he beamed at me, attached a sticker on my case stating "Priority Load", and it was whisked away by a super efficient attendant - no doubt to its own luxurious lounge to have it's zippers polished.
I made my way through endless security checks and rows of shiny cosmetics counters - all claiming to change your life, make body beautiful and give you lips like Angelina Jolie. I valiently ignored their attempts to spray me on the way past. After all I am a human, not a cat.
Finally, joyously, I entered through some tinted glass doors and flashed my ticket to the reception staff. Breathing a sigh of relief I headed straight for the refreshment zone in the far corner, where I was delighted to find self service beer taps, of which I availed myself immediately. (What did you expect?)
Thus, here I am sitting in a cosy work station, writing this tale of sorrow and joy; highs and lows. The only thing that I am certain of is that I can only get higher. Like 4000 feet higher.
Now I am going to carry on being brave and strong, with my friend in the corner. His name is Carlsberg.
Friday, March 17, 2006
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
For every action there is a reaction
Upon hearing the news of my spontaneous adventure, different people reacted in a number of different ways.
The majority of friends smiled, shook their heads, and gave their best wishes, in the same way that one might pat an adorable child on the head who keeps stealing biscuits, and say,
"Ahh, run along now, I should have known you were the biscuit thief."
Evidently I am all too predictable in my unpredictability. (Ask Mr Cobblers)
One guy became quite anxious, but I was unable to work out if he was more anxious about my journey, or my absence.
One girl hooted down the phone in what was a startlingly brilliant impression of a parakeet, and was quite beside herself with amused hysteria for the best part of 5 minutes. I later understood that, at the time, she thought I was joking. Maybe the build up to my revelation was somehow lacking?
ME: Oh, yes, I'm fine thanks, are you feeling better?
HER: Yeah, I'm good thanks, ...so what you been up to?
ME: Oh, well, I'm leaving the country, hopefully forever, to be a scuba diving instructor in Thailand.
HER: What?!
One guy on msn messenger, with whom I was making rather forced small talk, responded to my news with, "You're in fucking cloud cuckoo land, you are." I blinked at his fairly abrasive comment, and then reminded myself that I don't like him anyway, and that he is probably just envious that I have the freedom to start a new life of travel and adventure on the high seas, with only the wind in my hair and a pink flamingo on my shoulder.
Of course, several people beamed at me when I delivered the news to them, and before the day was out, they had checked their holiday allowances for the year ahead, and researched flights to Bangkok.
A good friend from Holland responded by emailing me the following quote, which I thought was just perfect, and obviously, so did he.
"You can waste a whole lifetime,
trying to be,
what you think is expected of you,
but you'll never be free."
He didn't need to say anymore.
And neither do I...
The majority of friends smiled, shook their heads, and gave their best wishes, in the same way that one might pat an adorable child on the head who keeps stealing biscuits, and say,
"Ahh, run along now, I should have known you were the biscuit thief."
Evidently I am all too predictable in my unpredictability. (Ask Mr Cobblers)
One guy became quite anxious, but I was unable to work out if he was more anxious about my journey, or my absence.
One girl hooted down the phone in what was a startlingly brilliant impression of a parakeet, and was quite beside herself with amused hysteria for the best part of 5 minutes. I later understood that, at the time, she thought I was joking. Maybe the build up to my revelation was somehow lacking?
ME: Oh, yes, I'm fine thanks, are you feeling better?
HER: Yeah, I'm good thanks, ...so what you been up to?
ME: Oh, well, I'm leaving the country, hopefully forever, to be a scuba diving instructor in Thailand.
HER: What?!
One guy on msn messenger, with whom I was making rather forced small talk, responded to my news with, "You're in fucking cloud cuckoo land, you are." I blinked at his fairly abrasive comment, and then reminded myself that I don't like him anyway, and that he is probably just envious that I have the freedom to start a new life of travel and adventure on the high seas, with only the wind in my hair and a pink flamingo on my shoulder.
Of course, several people beamed at me when I delivered the news to them, and before the day was out, they had checked their holiday allowances for the year ahead, and researched flights to Bangkok.
A good friend from Holland responded by emailing me the following quote, which I thought was just perfect, and obviously, so did he.
"You can waste a whole lifetime,
trying to be,
what you think is expected of you,
but you'll never be free."
He didn't need to say anymore.
And neither do I...
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
The infinite wisdom of the key cutter man
The other night I was overwhelmed by the desire to radically change my hair. Cutting it wasn't an option as I've decided to grow it again now, to go with that whole 'I'm a beach hippie' look that I intend to master by the time summer rolls around. But still this inimitable force drove me to do *something* different. So I dyed it bright red. Shocking? Yes. Successful? Not very.
I was just casually strolling down my local village high street yesterday, when I decided to pop into "The Hagley Cobbler" - a place of many wonders, including lightbulbs, shoe re-heeling and key-cutting. I enjoyed this shop so much at Christmas, (when many light bulbs blew, and many extra plugs were needed), that I even sent the key cutter man a card. It read:
Dear Mr Cobblers
Thankyou so much for all my home appliances and accessories over the last few months. Thanks to you, the lights are on, even though quite often nobody is home.
Merry Christmas!
From, that girl who lives up the road, who always makes you laugh!
Well, I walked into the shop again yesterday afternoon, in dire need of another light bulb, no less. The key cutter man (a.k.a. Mr Cobblers) looked up sporting his usual kindly frown, and broke into a grin when he saw me.
"Nice hair." He says, still smiling. "I almost didn't recognise you."
"Yeah, well, I fancied a change." I say.
He laughs a great big belly laugh.
"What?" I ask, suddenly aware that my hair is a slightly unsuccessful shade of red.
"So you finally gave that good for nothing boyfriend of yours his marching orders, then!" He starts chuckling again.
At this point, I am most bemused, because, that is exactly what I did do. Just 2 or 3 weeks ago in fact. In the aftermath I sorted out my wardrobes, chucked out old clothes, (shopped for new clothes), changed my kitchen around, and booked a life changing one-way flight to Thailand.
"How did you know I did that?" I ask the key cutter man. God, am I really that predictable?
Still smiling, he pronounces, "That's what women do. Break up with a boyfriend, change their image."
Oh my god. This man is a genius. I have new-found awe and respect for Mr Cobblers. He will come to be known in history as the wise man who took keys, and gave answers.
I was just casually strolling down my local village high street yesterday, when I decided to pop into "The Hagley Cobbler" - a place of many wonders, including lightbulbs, shoe re-heeling and key-cutting. I enjoyed this shop so much at Christmas, (when many light bulbs blew, and many extra plugs were needed), that I even sent the key cutter man a card. It read:
Dear Mr Cobblers
Thankyou so much for all my home appliances and accessories over the last few months. Thanks to you, the lights are on, even though quite often nobody is home.
Merry Christmas!
From, that girl who lives up the road, who always makes you laugh!
Well, I walked into the shop again yesterday afternoon, in dire need of another light bulb, no less. The key cutter man (a.k.a. Mr Cobblers) looked up sporting his usual kindly frown, and broke into a grin when he saw me.
"Nice hair." He says, still smiling. "I almost didn't recognise you."
"Yeah, well, I fancied a change." I say.
He laughs a great big belly laugh.
"What?" I ask, suddenly aware that my hair is a slightly unsuccessful shade of red.
"So you finally gave that good for nothing boyfriend of yours his marching orders, then!" He starts chuckling again.
At this point, I am most bemused, because, that is exactly what I did do. Just 2 or 3 weeks ago in fact. In the aftermath I sorted out my wardrobes, chucked out old clothes, (shopped for new clothes), changed my kitchen around, and booked a life changing one-way flight to Thailand.
"How did you know I did that?" I ask the key cutter man. God, am I really that predictable?
Still smiling, he pronounces, "That's what women do. Break up with a boyfriend, change their image."
Oh my god. This man is a genius. I have new-found awe and respect for Mr Cobblers. He will come to be known in history as the wise man who took keys, and gave answers.
Monday, February 20, 2006
The flamingo and the list
Tying up loose ends is never an easy job. In fact I have so many loose ends trailing around me at the moment, that I have cats chasing me wherever I go. It's quite a distraction.
I confess I have become addicted to making lists. At first I began with the solid, important things, like:
1) Rent apartment out
2) Sell car
3) Re-direct mail
(Next to each item is a box, with a specially designated pink pen for that all important tick)
Unfortunately these solid, important things are not easily attainable in the immediate future, and I became quickly frustrated when my special pink pen (with a flamingo on the end, no less) sat unused, unwanted, and unloved in the corner of my desk, glaring at me in that way that only feathered flamingos can.
So, I have since added what I like to think of as "more achieveable" goals, such as:
4) Organise paperwork
5) Clean microwave
6) Book a facial (in case you're questioning this entry, this is technically an important part of my preparation...my skin needs to be conditioned for that harsh climate)
Some of these have already given me that smug satisfaction that results from a big pink tick from my big pink pen.
Yes, I think. I am an achiever.
It has come to my attention, however, that I *may* have got a little carried away with my list-making. Upon confirming my trip, I was all action and enthusiasm, and was thus able to award myself more ticks than a stray dog. However, my positive achievements have begun to dwindle in number, and now I find myself extending "The List" just for the sake of another tick. You may call this procrastinating, a waste of time and paper, or simply ludicrous. I call it positive thinking.
13) Make bed
14) Brush teeth
15) Get dressed
16) Eat
Don't blame me. The flamingo made me.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Insomnia
As usual the night continues to seduce me with it's fragmented activities, half thoughts, dreamy inspiration, and alcoholic indulgence. I cling to my insomnia, as I cling to my keyboard, hoping to make great discoveries, achieve something fantastic, or research into the wonders of the universe. So far tonight, in my online adventures I have learnt all about the mating habits of common snapping turtles, and found out that DEET (the active ingredient in bug repellant sprays) can have a detrimental effect on neurological systems. I have also smiled at a picture of a monkey smoking a pipe.
All of this has a purpose, I assure you.
I am moving to Thailand soon, and need to fully equip myself for all eventualities, animal or otherwise. So far I have learnt that you should not wave your feet in a Buddhist person's direction, interrupt procreating turtles, or bathe in 100% DEET... and you should never, ever, give tobacco to a monkey.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
