Same Same, But Different

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Ao Nang

Now, the plan had always been to depart Krabi the next day for one of the islands a few hours offshore. Krabi itself is pretty soulless, lacking as it does a beach, so it functions more or less as a transport hub for would-be island-hoppers en route to Ko Lanta and Ko Phi Phi. Having said that, plenty of travellers pass through it - in fact, within five minutes of arriving in Krabi, our heroes had seen more westerners than they had in the whole of the previous month in Malaysia. What a joke then that the very first people they conversated with went on to play such a central role in what was, by all accounts, a very enjoyable week and a bit.

Two Englishmen walk into a bar - stop me if you've heard this one before - and ask to play a game of doubles pool with two other Englishmen. It turns out that these two Englishmen were with three other Englishmen, giving a total of - yes, that's right, maths fans - five Englishmen, from London, no less, and Wimbledon, to be precise. For realism's sake, let's say their names were Paul, Mark, Ben, Stuart, and Lacey. They were a likely bunch of lads if ever there was one, and, having been out to reconnoitre the surrounding area that day, they had settled on nearby Ao Nang as a suitably, well, likely location. Our heroes were hankering after a quick fix of sun, sea, sand and other sibilant pleasures too numerous to be listed here, and sure enough, it took little more than the promise of a beautiful beach ramming with what the lads called "tearing birds" (which Louis and Jamie rightly took to mean fitties) to turn their heads. Bidding what they thought (erroneously) to be farewell, the duo retired for the night, having resolved to investigate this Ao Nang place for themselves.

The next morning, our heroes boarded one of those weird van-cum-taxi things called Sawngthaew (there are supposed to be a whole load of accents on there, but mastering the Thai keyboard is frankly beyond your humble narrator's limited comprehension). The name means "two benches" (because they have two benches in, unsurprisingly enough) and they're cheap, popular with the locals, and pretty much ubiquitous in Thailand. Some 15 minutes and 50 baht or so later, the duo alighted in Ao Nang.

Imagine a British beach resort town migrated to some foreign clime where they actually have half-decent weather, and you wouldn't be far off. Ao Nang basically consists of one long strip of road which follows the coastline before winding its way inland, along which is an endless procession of overpriced restaurants serving western food, bars, shops full of cheap fakes and assorted tat, tour operators, internet cafes, and cashpoints. In other words, it was just what our heroes were looking for.

Well, maybe not quite. The ratio of travellers to tourists weighed a little too heavily in favour of tourists, and the prices of the eateries were set accordingly, but tucked away in a corner just off the main drag was a little hawker stand with bamboo seating that served up fried rice and pad Thai for a very reasonable 50 baht. The other issue was accommodation - most of the Planet's recommendations such as P.K. Mansion (alas, the initials don't stand for Pizza King) were in one courtyard, and most of them were either full or demanding an extortionate 1,000 baht per night for a double, which, as you might imagine, our penny-pinching explorers balked at. As they exited the courtyard, one of the innumerable tour operators, whose desk was right there on the roadside, in the open air, asked if they wanted a room. The price? 400 baht. The duo were sceptical, seeing as he didn't even have an office, never mind a room, but a few short steps away was an unmarked doorway, behind which were a couple of clean, bright, and tiled lodgings. Result.

The beach itself was perhaps average by Thai standards, but seeing as Thailand is home to some of the world's very finest beaches, that's no bad thing: fine, white sands, and clear, blue water come as standard, with a backdrop of crumbling limestone outcrops. And it was here, would you Adam and Eve it, that Louis and Jamie met the boys from London via Krabi once more. Maybe they'd see each other out on the town that night, but what would be the chances of that happening, hey?

There's an old Thai saying: "Same same, but different". Well, actually it's a saying that the Thais have in English. But anyway, it's not until you come to somewhere like Ao Nang that you appreciate its true meaning. Every shop sells the same stuff, but in a slightly different layout. All the restaurants have the same menu, but in a slightly different order. All the bars are the same, but... well, no but. Set back from the beachfront was a small complex of pretty much indistinguishable bars - same same - and our heroes wound up drinking in the appropriately named Rocky Bar, which boasted little to recommend itself aside from bad live music and a pool table.

Avoiding the seedier dives at the back, where hordes of Thai women (well, they looked like women from a distance) waited to pounce on unsuspecting sex tourists, our heroes made their way towards the Irish bar - it's a legal requirement in Thailand to have at least one Irish-themed pub or bar in every township. Lo and behold, who should they come across, but the boys from Krabi! Who'd have thunk it? These guys were headed to a party at Hippies' Bar with a fire show and everything, our heroes asked if they could tag along, and the rest, as they say, is history. Buckets of whisky, coke, and Red Bull (containing seven banned substances, apparently) were imbibed, the dancefloor was dominated, and lifelong friendships were formed.

Sadly, an attempt to rehash the same successful formula the next night only proved that lightning rarely if ever strikes twice. Hippies' had the same music, same drinks promotions, and the same (lame) fireshow, but lacked that vital spark - same same, but different. Louis and Jamie bade farewell to the boys - again (pattern is forming, pattern formed).

Ko Lanta

Getting to Lanta was typical of most journeys in Thailand: a minibus to one depot, hanging around for an interminable period of time, followed by another bus which eventually takes you to where you want to go, but not before detouring to another tour operator's office so that they can try and pimp you some accommodation. Now, our intrepid Durham graduates had earmarked The Sanctuary in the Planet as their first-choice destination, although they hadn't booked ahead, and when they told the tour operators as much, they very kindly (yeah right) offered to phone them on our behalf. After a brief (and unintelligible) conversation in Thai, they informed us that The Sanctuary was, tragically, full - and besides, it was old anyway. Why didn't we stay at one of these other places instead, for which, conveniently, they just happened to have leaflets to hand? Thankfully, before you could say "scam", one of their fellow passengers (in fact their only fellow passenger, which, looking back, was an early indicator of what Lanta would be like) put in a call to his friend who happened to be staying at The Sanctuary, and it turned out that they did have a room after all. How strange.

The Dutchman in question, the mellifluously-named Jacques Bonneur, was possessed of Roman good looks and two tickets to the gun show, not to mention being far too stylishly attired to be a lowly traveller, and it transpired that he ran his own security firm, part-owned a bar, drove a limited edition car and used to date a model - not that he wanted to be the big man or anything. But seriously, Jacques was a great guy who'd done very well for himself (clearly), and his Reiki-practising friend Mica was equally lovely. The Sanctuary itself meanwhile was a small collection of wooden huts in a tropical garden setting, which opened out onto another beautiful, and, this time, relatively quiet Thai beach. Scenic is not the word. They also have an intimate little beachfront bar with candle-lit couches for evening lounging, and a cafe that operates a tab system for guests, which is not only wonderfully convenient, but also encourages you to buy all your food and drink through them. Not that there's anywhere better around, mind you.

If you want to lie back in a hammock, get dreadlocks, and watch the days drift by under a cloud of weed smoke, then Lanta is the place for you, and there were more than a few long-termers (and even families) ensconced in The Sanctuary. For our shallow, pleasure-seeking heroes however, Lanta was a trifle quiet. Having said that, on the first night they went to a party at the next beach down, featuring a performance by Thailand's number one reggae group, Job 2 Do, and the next night Jamie and Jacques went (unadvisedly perhaps) on the latter's scooter to a half-moon party and then a club with Celia, Beth, and Johnny, who they'd met outside 7-Eleven, so maybe it wasn't as quiet as all that. Oh, and they were in a tuk-tuk crash, which ripped the wing mirror off a pickup coming in the opposite direction. But they only almost nearly died, so it's all good.

Ko Phi Phi

According to the Planet, Ko Phi Phi is so beautiful "it will evoke tears". A little excessive perhaps, but if the landscape doesn't do the trick, the prices certainly will. Cynicism aside, Phi Phi is absurdly picturesque, but that beauty comes at a premium. Having said that though, it's a price well worth paying.

If you're after the definitive, postcard-worthy beach, Phi Phi would make the shortlist without question. In fact, when Trainspotting director Danny Boyle filmed the Leonardo "ladyboy" Di Caprio-starring adaptation of Alex Garland's cult backpacker novel The Beach, he plumped for Phi Phi's secluded Maya Bay. Phi Phi is actually two islands, Phi Phi Don and Phi Phi Lei, the latter home to the now famous Maya Bay and a protected national park to boot. What this means is that there is no accommodation or indeed buildings of any kind on Phi Phi Lei, and so you have to take a longtail boat over to it from Phi Phi Don, which is what Louis and Jamie did one morning, accompanied by some Swedish girls called Anja and Kiki and a Canadian called Jeremy. More importantly, Phi Phi Lei's national park status also means that Thai officials will charge you 200 baht a head for the privilege of stepping onto the sands of Maya Bay, which is now not so much secluded as absolutely rammed with tourists on a daily basis - the bay itself has enough boats at any given time to put most harbours to shame. Go and see it, but stay on the boat, save the baht, and have the helmsman ferry you afterwards to the relatively private (and almost as beautful) Long Beach on Phi Phi Don instead.

Most of the accommodation and nightlife on Phi Phi Don meanwhile is clustered around the Ton Sai pier. Average prices are around 1,000 baht a night; some (very) basic beachfront huts could be had for as little as 600, and Alex and Rose from the Cameron Highlands, who our heroes ran into again, were paying a paltry 300 some 20 minutes out of town, but Louis and Jamie were prepared to pay 800 baht a night to be in the centre. The Ban Thai Guesthouse might have been better named the Banter Guesthouse, and most of it emanated from the irrepressible hostess, Mrs Lee. Mrs Lee is a real card - a joker - and the wallpaper of postcards addressed to her from previous guests is testament to the impression she makes, her best trick being the way in which she learns your name straight away and then uses it every time she speaks to you: "Hello Jamie! Hello Lewis! How are you? Where you been? Take your shoes off, Jamie!" Most of the rest of the banter at Ban Thai (and everywhere else on Phi Phi) was in Swedish. The island must be twinned with Sweden or something. It's like being in Brett Easton Ellis' novel Less Than Zero: everyone is totally blonde, everyone is totally fit, everyone is totally tanned. They must clone them or something.

Our heroes dumped their bags and stepped out into the street, when who should they see strolling towards them, but the boys from Krabi! This is the other thing about Phi Phi: the main area around Ton Sai is so concentrated that you can't help but meet people, and Louis and Jamie across so many acquaintances that they'd previously met elsewhere on their travels it was untrue. Socially, Phi Phi was a lot more traveller-oriented than, say, Ao Nang, and the scene was set for a few fun-filled days and nights with the boys that number amongst the highlights of the trip so far. A typical night went as follows: two-for-one buckets in the Irish bar, another bucket (or two) at the Reggae Bar, then down to the waterfront at one of Apache's or Carlito's before ending up on the sand at another Hippies' Bar.

A particular favourite was the enormous Reggae Bar, in the middle of which was a boxing ring. Aside from the coreographed, WWF-style exhibition Muay Thai fights, the main attraction was that anyone from the crowd could get up and go head-to-head (or indeed toe-to-toe) against anyone else over three rounds, and each would get a free bucket in return for entertaining everyone else. On their second night there, Jamie was challenged to a bout by a garrulous Englishman called Oliver they'd just run into, an offer he couldn't really refuse. Oliver boasted a considerable height (about a foot) and weight (several stones) advantage, but he was a big softy really and gave up after the first round. While he was there, all gloved up and all, Jamie thought he may as well fight someone else, and one of the Krabi boys, Mark, stepped up for proved to be a proper ruck.

Mark had the height but was lankier and more athletic, and came out swinging; Jamie took a lot of hits to the face in the first round without offering much in return, on account of Mark's superior reach, before realising that kicking might be a better alternative, and he dropped Mark to the deck with a patented Millar reducer on the sound of the bell. Mark threw and landed a lot of punches, but Jamie took them on the chin (or rather the nose) and put him down on more than one occasion with a well-placed kick, and overall it was a hard-fought draw: first round Mark, second even, and third round Jamie. There are some photos which will of course be Facebooked as soon as the Finnish girl whose camera they're on gets round to sending them. Other souvenirs included a pretty crippled leg for Mark, while Jamie enjoyed a black eye and a suspected broken foot that thankfully turned out to be only really swollen instead. Oh, and a flattened nose that he still can't breathe through properly. On reflection, maybe he should have waited to fight after doing the Muay Thai kickboxing training, rather than before. Silly boys.

Phuket

Phuket, pronounced poo-get, is so called because it smells of poo. Fact. Everywhere our heroes went, their nostrils were filled with an alluring whiff of faeces. Walk over a drain (of which there are many) and you almost get a mouthful. Yum. Thailand's biggest island is dirty and brash, and our heroes suspected that, on reputation alone, it wasn't going to be the sort of place they were at all interested in. But it's also notorious, so they figured that they owed it to themselves to go.

The Planet describes Phuket Town as "underrated". There's a reason why it's underrated: no one goes there and there's absolutely nothing going on. Suffice to say our heroes passed a quiet night amidst the faded (almost evapourated) splendour of the On-On Hotel, Phuket's first hotel, which posed as the Khao San flophouse where Di Caprio comes into possession of the map in The Beach. Louis and Jamie stayed in the room next door. Wow.

The next day they upped sticks and moved to Patong, the undisputed epicentre of Phuket. The best way to describe Patong is as Bangkok-On-Sea. The beach is decidedly average, littered as it is with sun loungers and older holidaymakers against a typically Asian backdrop of drab concrete structures and neon signs. The town itself follows the familiar Thai pattern of same same t-shirt shops, restaurants, hotels and guesthouse, with the addition, that is, of go-go bars.

The main drag in Phuket has more normal bars than you could shake an improbably large stick at. If that wasn't enough, there are two or three little streets leading off that are lined with go-go bars and form something of a red-light district. Most are open plan, and sat around are a motley crew of prostitutes and ladyboys who attempt to entice (nay force) you in, while others have music and girls dancing around poles. It's still very much a touristy area though, so you have the unusual spectacle of couples and even families mingling with the usual compliment of dirty old men. Ultimately though it too full-on for the boys to be entirely comfortable.

If the world was a bar, and countries were women, while the rest were sat demurely in a corner giving you the eye, Thailand would be right up in your face and grabbing you by the balls. Which, coincidently, is what happened to Jamie (but not Louis, for some reason) on more than one occasion as they tried to pass by the entrances to various bars. It's too much effort even just to be a disinterested observer, which is what our heroes were (honest). They ended up in the aptly-named Seduction, a not-too-shabby club with a reasonable number of westerners that had been recommended to Jamie by a tearing Dutch girl called Journey (?!) he met on Lanta.

Oh, and the best (i.e. cheapest) room they could find was above a massage parlour which may or may not have been a brothel (they couldn't tell, and didn't think it polite to ask). Kind of says it all really as far as Phuket goes. No happy endings though.

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Photos

Ao Nang
Twinned with Blackpool. Probably.

Ao Nang Beach
Note tearing bird in foreground.

The Beach At Lanta
Serene.

The Sanctuary
Tranquil.

Our Hut
Cosy.

Double Bed
Too cosy.

The Main Beach At Phi Phi
The only (slight) downside is that you have to walk about twenty minutes to get deep enough to swim, but who's complaining?

The Boys From Krabi
They loves their football.

Longtails
Tuk-tuks of the sea.

Maya Bay
Secluded.

Water
See-through.

Viewpoint
Panaromic.

Mrs Lee
Banterful.

The On-On Hotel
Glamorous. Once.