Phuket - Beach-slapped


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Asia » Thailand » South-West Thailand » Phuket
September 13th 2010
Published: May 11th 2011EDIT THIS ENTRY

Monday, 13th September
We got picked up at 6pm last night for the second last long bus ever. Well hopefully not ever, admitting that right now might as well admit to killing myself. As standard for these things we got less than a pill-popping rave monkey. Neither did the woman in front of me because she knocked our big painting off the windowsill and it hit me in the face. So I kicked her chair for four hours solid. I doubt she learned anything.

The bus stopped at 3 and 5, and then had another 2 HOUR stop at Surat Thani - the complete other side of Thailand to where we are going. Some sort of Amores Perros moment where all the characters are in one place then split off into a million places. Kinda feels like a car crash.

We were the only two heading to Phuket (Poo-get you children) (heh heh, poo). We got picked up in a sweet air-conditioned minibus. And dropped off five minutes up the road in an estate agents which was just a desk in an empty room. We sat on the floor not knowing what the f**k was going on. No one said anything. "Eight thirty" they said after an hour. When 8.20 came he said he could take us direct - for about the cost it cost NASA to put a man on the moon.
"We're okay with the bus stop."
Silence.
"Nine thirty."
You. Filthy. F**k.
I walked off in sight of another bus and struck gold with one leaving in ten minutes. I walked back and grabbed Hayley to the man's confusion. Confusion which was lost with a swift "f**k you".

We eventually arrived at 3pm. 21 hours into a 12 hour bus journey.

S*d it. A rant. Thais just dropped right down the list. It seems that the closer you get to tourism the greedier they become. It's like the Communist propaganda of why imperialism will destroy the World in one tiny, very real example. Do I have mastercard written on my forehead? No. You can't read English. It says "p*ss off, I'll find you if I want something." I wrote it myself. The woman who taxi'd us was a real d*ck because we didn't buy a tour from her.

Finally finally finally we got to Hat Karon, a beach just to the South of Patong. Patong the famous. Patong the biggest sleazehole in the whole World. You wouldn't waste bullets on its standard clientele. Karon is much quieter and perfect for a couple of weeks relaxation. Holy sh*t I start work in three weeks. Don't think about it.

Football. Football. Auditing a football. Dammit!

We checked into Legends, a little guesthouse owned by Sheffield Dave and his lovely local wife whose name I forget. Typical friendly Northerner living his dream life where he could do as he pleased. Fair play.

We decided to explore Karon. It didn't take long it's only about three streets. Each little bar and restaurant like a mock UN adorned with flags outside. As if that will get our custom. They're flags not magnets. What might get us in are the free pool tables, except those are being used by Thai women whipping the cr*p out of old English men who have to then buy them a drink. A drink which cost $8 because Thais love Red Bull and because the bar has to cover its lack of pool money somehow.

We barely made it 2 yards without being stopped by an Indian trying to sell us a suit. Your fake interest in my life hurts me sir. They shake your hand but do not let go, like a Chinese finger trap. Only Indian. I thought I was golden with the line of buying loads of things in Bangkok but it's always "just one more suit?" I reckon this will last for a few days until I stop looking like every other white boy.

The weather can only be described as "scorchy scorcher."

Tuesday, 14th September
First full day on a beach-front town, had to hit the beach. It's sublime. White sand and a clear sea. The waves are good though - the surfers are just about as content as they can be without knocking seven shades out of each other for stealing each other's waves. We got ourselves a couple of loungers for a reasonable price and set about frying ourselves in the morning sun.

We haven't been to a beach - or place probably for that matter - where someone hasn't tried to stick some home-made instrument into one of our nostrils whilst we dozed in the sun and then charge us for it, and here is no different. Apart from the bogey covered flutes they've got sarongs, paintings and stools? What the f**k would I do with a stool? How would I even take it on a plane? They have seats.

We both got a little burnt, but it's important with limited time until we catch that plane.


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