What Lisa Did Next: Escape From Canouan

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!!

Feel the love HERE!

http://web.mac.com/miss_behavin

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.

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

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.

Setting a sunny scene...

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!

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.

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. :)

Me when I've had a few

Several more drinks along...

IDC Group Photo!

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.

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...

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!

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!

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)

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!

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!

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.