Not look like picture

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…..finally, after 3 years of battling my way through literally the greatest annual human mass migration on earth, China's Spring Festival holiday, or the Chinese New Year, I succumb to the temptation to go somewhere with fewer people & much more sun. After all the “Spring” Festival is actually in winter & even southern, tropical China is not all that warm, as we discovered last year in Beihai, in Guangxi province. The Gulf of Thailand, a tropical island recommended by a Canadian couple working at our school who went there last year, then to Australia, that sounds better.....

…..the trip starts, bizarrely enough, with a gig to celebrate Australia Day at a pub in the Chinese city of Wuxi, about halfway to Shanghai from Yangzhou. After leaving the school early enough to catch the bus to the west bus station, as the chances of getting a taxi out here on the far side of the Grand Canal are minimal, one stops before I've even crossed the road. The driver is a lady from Anhui province. I can understand her Chinese, unlike the local Yangzhou people, & have a great chat all the way. The day goes pear-shaped when the bus to Wuxi is held up in the fog & arrives in Yangzhou over 2 hours late.....

…..a quick rehearsal of some Australian songs we have excavated from the archives, & with my friend Danny, (from the UK), an Italian percussionist, a Filipino guitarist& Les, the manager, who belts out a spirited rendition of ACDC's, “Long Way to the Top” later in the evening, we celebrate Australia Day, to an enthusiastic crowd from a number of countries plus the Chinese customers. I get a good meal, a hotel room for the night & ¥400 for my trouble, oh, & an not unsubstantial quota of Guinness.....

…..chatting with the guy at the tiny La Mian noodle house over breakfast, while we swap pictures of our children on mobile phones, & with the taxi driver to the railway station, I am convinced my Chinese is slowly improving. Too slowly though.....

…..on the Gaotie, the 300kph train service that runs 90 times a day, (that's not a misprint!) between Beijing & Shanghai, past smoke-stack factories on the outskirts of Wuxi, white smoke against a uniform, light grey sky. Sun, sea & colour. I can't wait.....

…..Shanghai, a beautiful blue sky day, cool but not cold. No big sandals available at the big shoe shop, (a shop that specialises in big shoes, not a big … you get the picture). Of course, it's winter here. I meet Mike & George at the Le Tour hostel, not far from the Jing'an temple on Nanjing road, Shanghai's main shopping street. Mike suggests, no, insists, that we go to Hooters for dinner. He gets indignant, thinking for some reason I'm going to insist on a Chinese restaurant. Maybe a vegetarian one or something. It hasn't even occurred to me. I'm thinking, you only live once.....

…..the food is pretty average at the price but of course the staff are all charming, as it is their job to be, & after a couple of pitchers of beer, another unit of measure I find a lot in China, George is smitten by the avid attention of YoYo, our designated waitress & a formidable marketing aid. Another waitress, Helen, joins in & I think another pitcher might have seen him propose marriage. All good, clean fun & I think they were happy to have a real conversation with three really nice guys, albeit all of us on the wrong side of 30, (make that 50).....

…..next morning a late breakfast doesn't turn out so well. A little cafe-restaurant on the way to the Bund offers a western style breakfast menu that appeals to Mike & George, even though it's already after 11am. Upper floor, nice room, ornate spiral staircase in the corner & the Holy Grail of Chinese menus, photos. The waitress speaks almost no English so her reference to, “9 to 11” is lost in translation & anticipation of eggs, sausages, bacon, toast & coffee. I order ban fan, a rice dish in a stone bowl.....

…..Mike's breakfast finally arrives. The fried eggs are scrambled, the “sausage” is a kind of unappetising, pink hot dog. The toast is, luckily to Mike's taste, lightly warmed bread. The bacon is some sort of soggy, thinly sliced pork. “Fuwuyuan”, I call on Mike's behalf “ni you nai you ma?”, (“Do you have butter?”). “You”, (“have”). Mike's getting edgy. The eggs are getting cold. I ask again. The waitress is getting flustered, says “You”, (“Have”), but returns without any. “Mei you”, (“Not have”)! The cold eggs have already reluctantly been put on the cold toast.....

…..George is already disgusted by the time his breakfast arrives. They're both a little envious of my ban fan &, by the time I get to the crispy bits at the bottom, definitely so. George petulantly empties the milk & sugar sachets one by one over his largely uneaten breakfast, dropping the wrappers onto the mess with a flourish before we go downstairs to pay. George's, “Food bad, food no good”, even this level of English is incomprehensible to the poor waitress, however many times it is repeated, though the body language is unmistakeable.....

…..¥166! What?! It turns out the “9 to 11am breakfast means the very small cup of lukewarm coffee at ¥30 or $5, isn't included in the price after 11 o'clock. George hits a new level of indignation. “Man-a-ger. Want speak your MAN-A-GER!” I feel I should step in. “Ni de jing li zai ma?”, (“Is your manager here?”). A slim, shy young woman in a black suit confirms she is the manager. I tell her that George & Mike are not happy with the food, the coffee or the price. George adds, “Food no good, food bad!”. She stares sadly but implacably at him while Mike, for the sake of peace & harmony, pays the bill. George yells, “Don't pay”. He's looking frantically for a menu, remembering an earlier observation, “It doesn't look like the picture. NOT LOOK LIKE PICTURE...”. George leaves vowing always to go to MacDonalds for breakfast in future because, “at least you know what you'll get.” I mutter that it's why I never go there. But yes, it does at least bear some resemblance to the picture.....

…..George is packed off to the airport the following morning. Mike & I arrive at the Jinjiang hotel near Pudong airport at almost exactly the same time as Alex, Krista & their two friends from Manitoba, another Mike & Joanne. An even more amazing coincidence, it's the same wrong hotel, Jinjiang Hotel no.1 not no.2. A quick shuttle bus trip sorts that out.....

…..after wandering round a quaint tourist area in Shanghai that evening we fly to Bangkok in the morning. I change ¥6,000, (less than Au$1,000), at the airport & receive 28,000 Thai Baht in return. Will it be enough? The hostel is cheap, & very clean, but other things are not as cheap in Thailand as you might expect & there are plenty of traps for tourists. At least after I have walked around with Mike, in my 360 Baht, or $12, flip-flops, we are both ready for a foot massage. For $11 an hour, watching the street outside through the big plate-glass window as feet, back & shoulders are brought to a welcome relaxation, that at least seems like a good deal.....

…..it's “winter” but still around 30C & after a humid day of street food & Buddhist temples encrusted with porcelain decorations & insanely precipitous steps, by 3.30pm it's time to get a shuttle bus to another area of Bangkok, almost a hour away from the hostel, past innumerable large photos & other representations of the revered royal family. We are led through a maze of streets to wait for a very ornate coach. When we finally get on it's comfortable enough &, on the bottom deck, Mike & I have seats on either side of a table. A table, on a bus, luxury. A woman & her husband sit next to us. It turns out they are Chinese tourists & I manage to have a great conversation in Chinese before we arrive at the Chumphon boat terminal at around 3.30am. Mike has already said he would never have agreed to go had he realised it was so far....

…..sorry Mike, we have to wait for the sunrise then it's another 5 hours by boat to Koh Pa Ngan, our island destination. We are sitting outside, warm, a little dazed, but breathing fresh, sea air.....

…..only in Thailand? On the boat, watching the sunrise. A man with brochures for diving trips introduces himself. “Ladies, gentlemen & ladyboys....”.....

…..the roughly constructed concrete road around the coast of Koh Pa Ngan is an endless vista of blue seas, palm trees, small, open air bars & restaurants, ramshackle huts & holiday accommodation. Our stilt huts are huddled on the hillside, overlooking the sea behind a little roadside restaurant bar. Slat floors through which the ground below is clearly visible, a little verandah with a hammock, a bedroom with one window containing a bed & ….. well, just a bed, a basic bathroom with gaps left in the brickwork for ventilation & toilet flushed with a green bucket under the sink. Ah, what you can get away with in the tropics, except maybe for the mosquito net with a hole big enough for a pterodactyl to fly through.....

…..after 10 minutes in the warm, tropical waters of the Gulf of Thailand I limp across the golden sands past innumerable European tourists & spend almost 2 hours removing the spines from the sea urchin I stepped on. I think there's still a part of one left in.....

…..Bella, our Mâitre D', doesn't have any spare hire scooters so Mike & I go down the road & find a small bar with some for hire. The young Thai guy who gives us the forms & then the keys appears to be in a dope-induced haze. We have grave misgivings about leaving our passports as surety but it seems to be the only way to hire a scooter.....

…..after filling up from one of the ubiquitous informal filling stations, where petrol is kept in whiskey bottles in a stand at the front of a corner shop or restaurant, we take a ride along the coast. After a while every rudely constructed timber & thatch hut, restaurant, bar or fruit shop looks the same as the next. Palm trees are not great individualists either & Paradise begins to assume a monotonous, messy uniformity. An attempt to find a waterfall mentioned on the map is abandoned for fear of damaging the bikes on the dirt track. Mike isn't feeling well so, after stopping for a foot massage, a misnomer as they end up twisting legs, neck & back, relaxing in a BDSM kind of way, we go back to the huts.....

…..Mike & Joanne, from Manitoba, are amazingly well prepared. In the half light of Bella's dimly lit restaurant they provide alcohol swabs, a safety pin & a flashlight, so that I can dig out the remnant of the sea urchin spine that my nail clippers could not, in time for a serving of Bella's amazing Thai garlic pepper fish.....

…..you have to take your shoes of to go inside ANY place in Thailand it seems, even the outdoor restaurants, shops, bars. It's sometimes a struggle to find your own shoes on the way out, though my size 48's facilitate that task....

…..English is spoken much more widely than in China but often so heavily accented it might as well be Chinese....

…..Bella gives you a notebook when you arrive. It has your room number on it. It's up to YOU to list all your purchases, meals, drinks, scooter hire, washing, to be added at the end of the trip. After 3 bottles of Chang or Singha beer, which I discover are, at 6.4%, about 3 times the strength of some Chinese beers, I'm not sure my maths is impeccable.....

…..Bella tells me he's a bad sort &, when her teenage son comes home from school in Bangkok she doesn't want him anywhere near this character. Unfortunately Mike & I already hired scooters from him & he has our passports. When we return them the skinny, glassy-eyed dope smoker insists there are scratches on the side panel & mudguard of my scooter & I should pay for repairs. I didn't think to take photos before I hired it. OK, I'm not going to get angry about it, how much, (to get a few scratches touched up)? He's a little more alert now. He brings the signed sheet over. “This one 4,500Baht, this one”..., (the mudguard), ...”1,500Baht”. These are the prices for new parts. I point out, as clearly & calmly as possible, that you don't replace whole panels on a scooter for a few scratches. I offer 1,000Baht, (about $35) to get them repaired.“Not same colour. 6,000Baht”..... I get irritated & so does he so finally I go to cool off & get some local advice, from the nearby scuba hire shop & from Bella.....

…..negotiate appears to be the only option. I resolve myself to paying somewhat more. He agrees to talk but won't go below 5,000Baht. “OK, 5,000”, I concede reluctantly, “but I want my passport”. “Money first, then passport...”. Finally we end up staring each other down over the counter, I with my hand on the money, he with his hand on the passport, sliding them gingerly in opposite directions until we both make a simultaneous grab. I inform him, in no uncertain terms that I'll tell everyone I see not to do any business with such a duplicitous little creep, (though not exactly in those terms).....

…..by this time I'm not really that concerned when he does a rather effeminate little dance of victory behind the counter. I'm over it by now. You would think that, to someone who has just made 5,000Baht for the simple act of holding a passport to ransom, the simple gesture of a raised middle finger & the inference of his resemblance to an undersized male member would be a mere trifle. However it has struck a chord & the girlish dance is interrupted as he suddenly reaches behind the bar for a bottle & brandishes it while yelling at me. “Why you speak like this to me?”.....

…..I am walking backwards, my right arm shielding my head, reluctant to make any move to be considered the assailant under Thai law, equally reluctant to get hit by a dope-crazed, mortally offended, highly motivated individual. In the end his friend holds him back &, as I reverse onto the street, the people in the shops nearby have formed an audience & encouraging me to make a getaway. He makes one more desultory attempt at an intimidating charge, difficult when you only weigh about 50kg, before his mate ushers him back. In his haste to screw as much as possible from me he has forgotten to charge me for the bike hire. I wonder if a Pyrrhic victory is better than being totally screwed.....

…..when I get back to JB Huts the story is already old news, knocked off the front page by Alex, who proposed to Krista earlier on the beach. She accepted, as evidenced by her permanent grin & proudly displayed engagement ring. It couldn't happen to a nicer couple. Congratulations.....

…..Alex also has to pay 5,000Baht for damage to a scooter that was knocked over when he parked his on soft ground near the diving shop & it fell, creating a pretty spectacular domino effect on nearby bikes....

…..up early the next morning, hoping that Paradise might redeem is tarnished image with a snorkelling trip around islands about 2 hours away by boat with gear & instructors hired from the snorkelling shop. A United Nations trip, with tourists & instructors from all over including a Canadian keen to share his knowledge on every subject known to man, a tall German guy dressed in a kind of post-modern hippy style clothing made from carpet offcuts, a chatty French couple & a Dutch diving instructor, still chain smoking while 7 months pregnant. My main aim is to see as much as I can in the surprisingly murky waters. Only around 5 metres of visibility, enough, at least, to avoid stepping on any more sea urchins.....

…..did you know the way to prevent the mask from fogging up is to spit on the perspex, rub it in, then wash it off? After multiple applications I am still trying to spot the fish through the few remaining clear spots in the goggles, wondering who used them last & whether I should buy rather than hire next time.....

…..after 4 days my time in Paradise is at an end. What's Paradise really like? A compact, hilly, palm covered island in the middle of a glassy-calm sea. A roughly built concrete road circles the island for around 160km, a tedious procession of roughly built open-air bars, restaurants, souvenir & refreshment shops, vast numbers of often colossal Europeans of all ages, in all shades of white, from my pale Chinese winter chic through alarming shades of pre-holiday artificial orange tan through to several shades darker than the “black” people I knew in South Africa. Young women displaying heavily tattooed arms, legs & backs, men sporting bellies that dwarf the speedos beneath. The beaches are often short, thin strips of sand separated by rocky outcrops & often accessible only through the resorts & tangles of holiday huts that have sprung up behind them. These few days have been, (mostly), great but I get the feeling that eternity here could very well seem like hell.....

…..by fast catamaran, (only about 3 hours to Chumphon rather than 5), my bus ticket approved by the blatant ladyboy at the desk, with a rather too pronounced jawline & baritone voice, then back to Bangkok. My neighbour on the bus is a young Belgian guy called Ilam. He's going back to sort out insurance for his bandaged hand, the result of picking up something he dropped on the beach only to be bitten by a stray dog. He also pointed out a scar under his bottom lip where, as he was discussing with a friend where to go next, one of a group of Thai bouncers walking along a Bangkok street casually punched him in the jaw on the way past, knocking him out! Thailand seems increasingly edgy. I share a beer with him before we both go to the Saphai Pai hostel. Next morning I'm up early & catch the Skytrain, Bangkok's elevated alternative to a subway to the Mochit coach station. A ticket on a VIP bus is 450Baht, or about Au$15, for the 6 & a half hour trip to my next destination, Kohn Kaen, north east of Bangkok. The station is on the same scale as Chinese stations, this time there are no signs in English! I manage to find the correct platform & settle onto the very comfortable, air conditioned top deck in my individual reclining seat, with flip-round screen & a great view of the Thai countryside.....

…..why Kohn Kaen? An old mate from Oz, Wazza, has been there for 5 years & hasn't had any visitors from Adelaide. To cut a long story very short, he made a clean break after a painful separation from a certain singer I worked with for a number of years. He is happy with his Thai partner, Pla. She has 2 kids from a previous marriage, she & Wazza have a small corner shop &, if he can get a few health problems resolved, he'll be set, mate!.....

…..it's a low-rise city, with none of the frenetic construction I'm used to in China. It's flat but they use motorbikes instead of electric bikes, which doesn't help air quality but still, it's better than in China. Wazza tells me, as we travel to his street in an English mate's car from the station, that the huge metal grates over the otherwise open sewers don't improve the ambience, particularly during the monsoon season.....

…..I meet Pla & her kids, Pham & Phanta. They're a bit shy but slowly warm to me. At least they're used to Australian's strange sense of humour. Pla brings out dishes of Pad Thai as we sit in front of the shop in the warm evening & Wazza tells me about the last few years, between waving to all & sundry, blessings from a cheery, Ocker Buddha as they walk past or speed by at ludicrous speeds on small motorbikes.....

…..two neighbours come to observe the new, foreign curiosity. Giat, who works at a hairdressing salon across the road & Yuan, who has a small & not very profitable looking eatery next to Giat's place. There's a lot of giggling, pointing & Pla leaves a lot untranslated so Wazza & I continue to talk about philosophy & stuff.....

…..it's the main administrative centre for the north east of Thailand but not really a tourist centre. After a stroll around the markets & a visit to a couple of temples I find myself back at the little table at the front of the shop, being given a running commentary on a slice of Thai life in the Australian vernacular, with occasional interruptions from Pla, Giat or Yuan when there are no customers.....

…..a man & woman on a motorbike come to fill up from the petrol in the whiskey bottles in the stand at the front. “Bloody dickhead, look at that, filling up while he's bloody smoking”. Wazza is indignant but remains seated. “Pla, tell this bloody idiot not to smoke while he's filling up” He turns to me, concerned but unmoved, “got my shop & my bloody family here. Pla, tell this prick we don't need his bloody money”. The cigarette lasts until after the transaction is completed.....

…..Yuan isn't busy & comes over to chat with Pla. “O'course, if she bloody well got up earlier she'd get the breakfast crowd in the morning & do a lot better, but you can't tell her...” Yuan has 2 strapping sons & a puppy, part German Shepherd, part road safety hazard on a street where youngsters in particular fly past at indecent speeds. “.....bloody students & university types. Bloody thugs most of 'em. Never know what they're up to. No, don't stare at 'em you'll just encourage them”. “to do wh...”. I never find out. Giat is also at a loose end & comes to join Pla & Yuan while we continue to observe the street.....

…..”that fella there owns the apartments down the road where you're staying & he.....oh, bloody hell.....”. An old woman rolls unsteadily round the corner on a motorbike. “.....pissed from dawn 'til dusk. Look at her, blind as a welder's dog, shouldn't be on the road in that.....well, helloooooo!.....”. This is Wazza's unencrypted code for a long-legged Thai girls on scooters. Pla follows his swivelling neck, which is getting more exercise than the rest of his body, & raises her eyebrows. Giat & Yuan shake their heads & giggle.....

…..a young guy arrives to buy a bottle of water. “Nice boy, really quiet. Dumb as a bag full o' hammers though”. Phanta, the daughter, is doing here homework at the next table. “School all bloody day then she's doing homework until it's time to go to bed. No time to be a kid”. “Same in China”, I observe, “a lot of kids.....”. “Well, hellooooo!” Another long-legged beauty scoots by. Yuan disappears for some family get together....

…..the landlady passes & points something out to Pla. “She no like water run to street from here”. Pla points to the overflow from the water purifier. “Jeeeesus bloody Kerrroooist! If we moved the machine up there, like I bloody suggested, I could pipe the water into that drain over there!”. He turns to me. “All the bloody same, the Thai way or my way. Never bloody listen..... Would you look at that!”. He points out an overweight Thai girl labouring along the street in the still hot & humid tropical air. “Look at the size of her. You'd have to dip her in flour & get her to fart, just to give you a clue....”. It's as well the Australian vernacular is not well understood in Thailand.....

…..Wazza, Pla & Yuan, back from the family gathering, escort me to the airport. Back to Bangkok's Suvarnabhumi airport with a slice of the real Thailand fresh in my mind. Not the tourist traps down south but an ordinary street in an ordinary town. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't necessarily want to live there but for a day & a half it was a great experience. I hope I paid for the beer I drank while watching Thailand pass by on a typical tropical evening in the little street of Soi Wattaram. Thanks Wazza, I wouldn't have known what was going on without your commentary.....

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Comments

[Tony Schick]

Wazz...
Glad to see you caught up with Wazza Dave.

[Peter]

Thailand
Hi Dave, Thanks for sharing your Thailand trip experience. Always good to hear from you. Peter

[Laotou]

Thanks to you too...
for reading it, & for sharing your blogs, which I also read, even if I don't always comment!