A Vague History of Some Time Ago Part 1

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A while ago, somewhere between weeks and months, but definitely not a year and probably around about the time Angkor Wat was built, I wrote the first installments of a travelblog. Then I went some other places and engaged in a mixture of activities falling into the category of “stuff” and “things”...

Having forcibly removed ourselves from the simple but addictive life in a wooden bungalow on a secluded beach (in part encouraged by a downturn in the weather) we hauled our relaxed and unevenly tanned selves up the coast to Sairee Village, the busiest town on the island of Koh Tao. Once there we reverted to our original plan and set about learning to Scuba dive. Which we did, successfully, completing both the basic Open Water and the advanced courses in 6 days (9 dives) and accumulating a whole new assortment of foot injuries to add to my already impressive collection of bruises, sunburn and mosquito bites. Our dive group consisted of myself and my good wife Sylvi, and Nicola and Gareth (who have become good friends and evil tempting detour devils) and Koh Tao’s most enthusiastic dive instructor, Justin.

Prior to starting the course I discovered it was a prerequisite to have the ability to swim 200 metres and remain afloat, static, in the water for 10 minutes. Recalling only vaguely the last time I swam more than a few feet to the edge of a pool, combined with the certainty that I had never swam 200 meters in my life, I had a little panic and subsequently practiced almost daily, under the expert and patient supervision of the seemingly part-aquatic Sylv. I had no idea how rigorously these skills would be tested and by day 3 of the course I was pretty sure that I would not have to demonstrate my flailing and inefficient front crawl to crowd of young, tanned and fit 20-something divers.

Alas no. Justin announced that it was time for 2 laps of the boat (in the water, 20m deep, in some disconcertingly rough conditions) followed by a 10 minute float. Without pausing I joined the others and fearlessly dived from the rear of the craft into the significant swell of the sea. My bravery, and loose logic (“i’ll be fine, some basic skills and a healthy dose of adrenaline will see me through”) were purged from me by the wave that crashed into my side, as I turned my head to take my first breath. Abandoning my stroke I was slightly heartened by the sight of the others reevaluating the situation and turning their backs to the swell and changing stroke. I followed their lead and crept round my 2 laps using an unfamiliar and possibly never before seen stroke, accompanied by the ever patient and encouraging Mr Dave Divemaster. The floating was straightforward, but had almost no impact on the knowledge that in front of a boat full of divers and nearly divers, I looked like a proper tool.

But it was worth the humiliation. Life in the sea is good, swimming with the fishes pleases me, I think i’ll do it a lot.


Time came to leave Koh Tao, and we didn’t fight it. We took a ferry to Chumporn and an overnight train back to Bangkok dropped off passports at the Vietnamese embassy and caught another train to Kanchanaburi, or ‘Kan’ as is it is referred to by the locals (I remember this from the guide book and it stuck in my head as it is the single dullest fact I have picked up in 2 months travelling). Kanchanaburi is where the bridge over the river Kwai was built and where a whole bunch of people died horribly. We visited the Thai-Burma railway centre, which was informative, moving, sobering, but disappointingly the free coffee at the end left a lot to be desired.
The bridge itself was....well, a bridge. Any resonance of past pain and suffering was overshadowed by the fun holiday atmosphere brought along by Japanese tourists, grouping together, adopting awkward unnatural poses, and firing cheery smiles and double peace signs to cameras. Seemed a little tasteless to me. Maybe they missed that history lesson. We were rewarded for persevering and crossing the bridge by an elephant. We were not presented with a trophy by the animal, we were merely allowed to gaze upon him, with our eyes.

As we headed back to the guest house Sylv suggested we go to another museum nearby. Normally one a day is my limit, but seemingly infected by the jovial holiday spirit of the Japanese, I agreed, and I thank Sylv every day for taking me to that place.

The exhibits were loosely based on the subject of war (apart from the ceiling murals depicting Thai proverbs, and the display of buffalo skulls with a plea underneath to stop killing buffalo). There were models of POWs (thats prisoners of war) made from papier mache (similar to those made for my GCSE coursework, pre Rollins period). They were dressed in loin cloths but they weren’t in the correct 'jap-happy' style, they were more like little aprons which from behind (the side that pointed to the onlooker) you could see all the care and attention the modellers had afforded to the genitalia of the POWs. Stunning work.

Another exhibit nearby supposedly represented the accidental bombing of POWs by allied forces, but instead it took on the form of the most awesome waterslide south east Asia has ever seen. Party on dude!
 
The remainder of the museum was packed full of anything vaguely connected to war, even if that connection was simply its existence during a wartime period. Murals around the walls crudely depicted great leaders throughout history; Hitler, Stalin, Mussollini etc, glass cases kept us cheeky western visitors from spoiling the rusty remnants of all the old shite salvaged from the scrap yard and placed on display. Upstairs lurked floors dedicated to all the outfits worn by Miss Thailand throughout the ages, and some stamps, and probably some more stuff that had no place in any museum due to its complete lack of interest to any man alive.

Then I went home and went to bed.

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Comments

[bill]

Jealous
I may have to stop reading these blogs as makes very depressing very reading as we have snow and its alwasy very cold back in ecosse. i wish you had a video recording of your swimming - sounds very amusing. as for your museum visits i can see them becoming less frequent during your travels, you will slowly get to saturation point and hate all things that resemble a gallery/museum etc. Are you finally getting to leave the country or are the gypos still barricading the airport "rouge"