CHIANG OF FOOLS
I recovered from my illness and felt like a born again Christian, minus the Christian part. It's amazing how good you feel after being ill for a few days - I actually jumped off the roof of the guesthouse in the belief I could fly. Fortunately I managed it.
I began slowly to explore Chiang Mai. It's cooler, in temperature, than the steamy South. It is crammed with peaceful wats (Buddhist temples) each with their particular sense of calm serenity as soon as you enter their courtyards. The breed of farang (foreigners, money burners, tourists, slags) is more shaven headed and vegan, and they do all manner of cookery courses and hikes and other horizon broadening activity. The Thai people who live there seem a little more trendy. The book shops are immense in scope, if not size.
Hannah from Bangkok stopped by. We spent a couple of days together sniffing spices in a market and getting drunk with ladyboys.
RAY'S PLACE AND THE LADYBOY ARMY
Dan, Hannah and I went to a covered marketplace where the stalls were in fact tiny bars looking into the centre space, which sported a Muay Thai boxing ring. Most of the bars were overflowing with prostitutes and white haired fat men (latter not for sale), but one place was clear. We played pool there and talked to Ray, the English tattoed proprietor, who resembled a former boxing manager. He only has to sell ten beers a day to keep his place running. We sat out front and watched Thai boxing matches. We bet each other the equivalent of 30p on each fight. The fights seemed tired, and a little staged. After the fights the boxers do a lap of the marketplace with a tipbox. That always gets 'em up off the mat.
When we'd had enough of the boxing, we went next door to a ladyboy bar and drank shots of tequila with the ladyboys, who responded by playing deafening cheesy music and dancing with us and vigour. The boss, a stout (wo)man with a stout face, pulled out a variety of coloured wigs and silly hats, and the photos rained down in their thousands.
Ray foisted some sachets of viagara jelly on us. Hannah and I tried a sachet each. It tasted like bitter colgate. Both of our last memories were throwing the empty sachet into the bin, before we woke up fully clothed 7 hours later. Must have been good stuff.
AND HE'S OFF... OR I AM
Dan left Chiang Mai on a rainy Saturday evening with Louisa from Cambridge to head to Borneo via Bangkok. He was heading for the Mecca of diving, Pulau Sipadan, where whalesharks abound, and 5 metre Manta Rays embrace you with their majesty. I had missed my bus that morning which gave us the chance to go through every detail of our journey together, over a chicken tikka lunch on the veranda. We said goodbye, and I waved as his open backed taxi trundled off down the rocky back street to be enveloped in darkness. Strange to be without someone to whom I can babble my endless stream of repetitive anxieties. Somehow anyone else saying 'Shut your fat yap' just isn't the same.
It was fantastic travelling with someone with a perfect understanding and complete absence of issues. It was sad to part and I felt a little lost and alone that night. What I miss the most is being able to discuss and process the variety of bizarre events that saturate each day. Now I feel like I am losing experiences like the brown water that oozes down the Mekong. I feel a bit weaker without the endless strength of Dan, but will adapt I'm sure. Dan, wherever you are, eat a Manta Ray for me. With rice and salad.
I rose early the next morning and was politely shoehorned aboard a tiny hot minibus with 8 other travellers to drive to Chiang Kong for the night; and thence to Laos down the Mighty Mekong River.
MEKONG
The bus wound up and down the tree covered hills and sloping valleys of Northern Thailand and deposited us at a guesthouse in Chiang Kong, where I glimpsed for the first time the Mekong River, and, on the other bank in the guise of lush greenery and ramshackle houses perched on the hillside, the country of Laos.
The river is as wide as the Thames, and is the orange brown colour of earth in this part of the world. The river is swollen with the rains and rushes in creases and ripples through Indochina, carrying Himalayan rocks to the South China Sea. The brown is hypnotic, inscrutable. It dominates the landscape with its rich opacity.
OVER THE BORDER
I bonded with Cameron, an Ozzie drummer on an indefinite trip towards Europe, over a few games of pool on a snooker table and we ended up in a Cowboy Bar which advertised 'Food, drink, disco'. What else is there? Inside it was empty except for four Thais at a small table. A live band was nonetheless earnestly playing the cheesy love pop that Thais adore.
The next morning we ferried across the river to Laos immigration. I changed my 2500 Thai bart into over 600,000 Lao Kip, which they could only give me in 5000 notes (worth just under 20p each). The money came in several bricks bound by elastic bands. I was forced to turn immediately and wop the girl next to me on the head with a brick of kip. Then I stuffed it all into my bag. Shortly afterwards I discovered Lao people prefer to take Bart or Dollars.
We boarded the 2 day slow boat to Luang Prabang. It was packed already. Not bad, benches just big enough for two people on each side with an aisle down the middle and a distinctly okay toilet at the back. They also sold Beer Lao, the Dom Perignon of South East Asian beers (in quality not price). Some people had been sitting on the boat for 3 hours already. We waited around for an hour for no particular reason. Perhaps we were waiting for the engine to be delivered. A man in a smart shirt inched down the boat in slow motion taking tickets. Time creaked. We set off.
SLOW BOAT
The cliffs hang over the river as it passes into Laos country. Occasional huts perch on inconceivable inclines. Wild cows graze on the banks. Even at one point, a solitary elephant, tossing its trunk, oblivious to our wonder.
You chat to a few people when you're shoulder to shoulder on a boat for two days. I had fantastic conversations with two Quebecoise women, the kind of chat you can only have in French. I asked them to help me translate a few parts of Ne me quitte pas, by Jacques Brel, that I didn't understand and we moved onto talk of Love and Fate, Buddha and Eternity. Was Romance dead? Well, Jacques Brel is. Sylvie was an activist with a message for the pope. She also leads seminars on personal improvement. Helene was a graduate of Sylvie's course to her own salvation, and a university professor. Sylvie had a theory that the world was moving from the masculine principle, embodied by the Church's perversion of Christ's teachings, to the feminine principle, encapsulated by Buddha and to be instigated by China's impending domination of the world. She drew me diagrams and told me I was a genius. I liked her.
We stopped for the night in Pakbeng and divided off into various guesthouses. The proprietor of my guesthouse offered me weed and opium before saying hello. During the night a large rat scrabbled around under my bed making unspeakable noises. The lights didn't work but I caught a glimpse of him in the bathroom before shrieking and locking the door in terror. He was the size of a cat and seemed to be dragging something. Possibly my rucksack. The next morning he'd vanished. I discovered a chewed open packet of malaria medication with a few of the tablets gone and one half eaten. I like to think I've contributed something to the global problem of enormous rats with tropical diseases.
The next morning the same number of people were stuffed onto a boat half the size with tiny hard wooden benches and no cushions, for a six hour journey. The boat stopped roughly every half an hour to pick up more Lao people who came free with enormous sacks of gravel and massive dead fish. By the end of the journey my arse was singing with pain. I wished for the first time that I had a prosthetic bottom. I had bought Heart of Darkness to read for that authentic Apocalypse Now Mekong sensation, but the noise of my backside screaming obliterated my concentration. It's still grumbling even now, though that might be the Lao sausage.
LUANG PRABANG THANK YOU MA'AM
We were greeted on the bank by a host of boys wearing only briefs. My new Ozzie pardner Cameron and I took a room together. I have taken to calling him Steve and speaking in a comical Australian accent. The whole of Laos shuts down at 11:30pm. Half an hour better than London. Even the few places that stay open have to turn off their music and keep everyone quiet. I went exploring with Dutch Iris from the boat and we ended up back outside our place. The whole town was dark and quiet, except this outdoor restaurant on a veranda over the Mekong. They were pumping out a looped mix of 5 brash hip hop tunes incredibly loudly. It was the 18th birthday party of the proprietor's niece. Iris and I were invited to join all the Lao teenagers. Their hospitality bordered on torture when it came to drinking shots of whiskey and eating sickly birthday cake. I had a chat with a French guy who laid the blame squarely on my shoulders for the English bombing of the French countryside during World War II. It was good to see 18th birthday parties are the same all over the world.
I think I'll stay in Luang Prabang another day. It is charming, and at times like a village in the Loire valley. The architecture is somewhere between French and Buddhist. Last night I ate a 'Pizza Lao' which had Lao sausage and Mekong seaweed pressed into large square cards embrailled with sesame seeds. When paying for dinner, I remove an enormous wad of kip and peel off fifteen to twenty 5,000 kip notes. I feel like a big man.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Sunday, June 12, 2005
Laughter and Disease
Thais, especially the women, of whom at least 70% are fit, tend to laugh in all sorts of unlikely situations. Sometimes I can just walk into a shop to be greeted by fits of giggles, though that may be the clown's wig and floppy red shoes I've taken to wearing of late. The laughter is in no way intended to be rude, and can actually make you feel at ease, though it clashes sometimes with my uptight Western sensibilities.
For example the nurse who took my temperature at the hospital burst out laughing when she told me I had a fever. Imagine if I'd had a terminal disease - she'd have been rolling on the floor in hysterics.
McCormick Hospital is Christian although 90% of Thais are Buddhist. I didn't notice this until I looked on the back of the sachets containing my drugs:
'We prescribe medicine, but Jesus Christ is the healer.'
Guess I'm fucked then.
Thai hospitals have a reputation for overprescribing. Four types they gave me: cough syrup, kick arse paracetemol, runny nose pills (hardly seems worth it) and ...fanfare... ANTIBIOTICS! - which let's face it is the only shit that matters.
For the last two days everything I've eaten has come rushing through me at 100 mph bringing with it 40% of my body's water. After throwing up on the floor of my guesthouse restaurant last night I went back to the hospital and proudly received another set of pills to add to my collection. If I were in prison I'd be a rich man. Add to this optional valium, pepto bismol, rehydration sachets and various Chinese concotions from the angels at my guesthouse and I'm getting dangerously close to Paula Yates territory.
However I still feel like a sack of mouldy potatoes with bowel problems. I have a golf ball protrusion on my neck and I look 40 years old. I move in slow motion as if wading through fudge and have only just been able to have a intelligible conversation with some Australians. Although that might have nothing to do with the illness.
Libra guesthouse are angels - checking on me, mixing me up pungent Chinese herbal remedies, giving me umbrellas when I go out, in case it rains, giving me plain rice soup. In fact it was the plain rice soup which made a quick getaway onto their floor. When I was grovelling in shame to the girl who laid down paper on it, she just laughed - which made me feel much better.
For example the nurse who took my temperature at the hospital burst out laughing when she told me I had a fever. Imagine if I'd had a terminal disease - she'd have been rolling on the floor in hysterics.
McCormick Hospital is Christian although 90% of Thais are Buddhist. I didn't notice this until I looked on the back of the sachets containing my drugs:
'We prescribe medicine, but Jesus Christ is the healer.'
Guess I'm fucked then.
Thai hospitals have a reputation for overprescribing. Four types they gave me: cough syrup, kick arse paracetemol, runny nose pills (hardly seems worth it) and ...fanfare... ANTIBIOTICS! - which let's face it is the only shit that matters.
For the last two days everything I've eaten has come rushing through me at 100 mph bringing with it 40% of my body's water. After throwing up on the floor of my guesthouse restaurant last night I went back to the hospital and proudly received another set of pills to add to my collection. If I were in prison I'd be a rich man. Add to this optional valium, pepto bismol, rehydration sachets and various Chinese concotions from the angels at my guesthouse and I'm getting dangerously close to Paula Yates territory.
However I still feel like a sack of mouldy potatoes with bowel problems. I have a golf ball protrusion on my neck and I look 40 years old. I move in slow motion as if wading through fudge and have only just been able to have a intelligible conversation with some Australians. Although that might have nothing to do with the illness.
Libra guesthouse are angels - checking on me, mixing me up pungent Chinese herbal remedies, giving me umbrellas when I go out, in case it rains, giving me plain rice soup. In fact it was the plain rice soup which made a quick getaway onto their floor. When I was grovelling in shame to the girl who laid down paper on it, she just laughed - which made me feel much better.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Bangkok Nights
KHAO SAN ROAD
is a crazy maelstrom of tourists, market stalls, food vendors, unbelievably loud techno and bucket vendors. It's like nothing on Earth.
TUK TUK
Tuk tuks are ridiculous three wheeled motorized rickshaws. The drivers have deals with shops and brothels etc to bring tourists there in exchange for gas coupons. The first day Dan and I were taken to several temples and things for free because we agreed to stop in a tailors, a tourist bureau and a jewellery shop. Tuk tuk drivers are fearless and completely mad. If you get them going then they'll even do a wheelie. That night after drinking on Khao San Road we piled into a tuk tuk and asked to go somewhere we could dance. We were of course deposited at a brothel. It did have a 'club' upstairs with shit music and expensive drinks. Steve got on very well with the Madam. I had a drunken shouted 'conversation' with an English girl called Hannah about literature. We arranged to meet in Boots the next afternoon, and she was half an hour late, which gave me the unique experience of being stood up in a chemist.
SUNGLAZED AFFAIR
Chatachuk weekend market is an incomprehensible labyrinth. You can walk in any direction for upwards of half and hour and only find more and more corridors with stalls selling everything from snakes, to fake labels, to bad hats. I went with Hannah whom I'd met in the brothel. We ate noodle soup. She bought two pairs of extraordinarily sexy sunglasses, and I bought the most ridiculous pair I have ever seen, yellow goggles with suction padding that make me look like a superhero or twat.
The heavens opened and parts of the market hurriedly packed up. We continued through the covered section and finally decided to go. We had to walk about 30 minutes to get out of the market. Trying to get a cab we were soaked as if we'd been dipped in a vat of ice cold water. Hannah looked hot with her pink dress clinging to her and her hair slicked back. When we got back she came up for a hot shower. We both agreed we were commitment phobes. She accused me of being a player. I denied it and kissed her. Later on she called me a 'Gay Pig'. I like that actually.
LADYBOY SHOW
Classy cabaret in a posh hotel. The ladyboys mimed and danced to ridiculous choreography. Dan was pulled onto stage. Some were beautiful and some were hideous. At one point they all came on dressed as Marilyn Monroe, then Tina Turner, then Michael Jackson. Hilarious. No ping pongs though, it was a classy affair.
STAR WARS III
We paid over the odds to see it in a luxury cinema. About 8 pounds, but we were in massive armchairs that reclined into beds, with blankets, socks and pillows. I think I would have thoroughly enjoyed Digby the Biggest Dog in the World in that cinema. The film was an epic tragedy with bad acting. Loved it.
KING'S PALACE
Met a Thai woman Thom who took us around the Palace grounds with a couple of Spaniards. Most Buddhist temples allow photographs, but I discovered after taking one of the Emerald Buddha in Wat Phra Koew that it was an exception. The guide threatened to turn me into the police unless I sent her a copy. Corruption is rife.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO STEVE
After considerable effort we managed to get a t-shirt made for Steve to wear as he cycles 4000km through Asia. On the front it says 'Trans-Asian Express', with 'TEAM STEVE' on the back. Who wouldn't be thrilled! I also found him a cake. We went to a couple of shit Thai clubs. If you go to a club with Thai people, they tend to order themselves drinks and food and then follow you round with the bill. Dan and I responded by singing My Way karaoke.
Steve was insistent we find the brothel we'd been inadvertently taken to on the first night so he could try to shag the Madam. Somehow we did. Fortunately Dan and I had the presence of mind to board the night bus to Chiang Mai before we were forced to open a bordello and start firing ping pong balls out of our asses.
Since leaving BK I am committed to a life of moderation. I have tattooed the word on my penis to leave this in no doubt.
THAI MATRIARCHY IN GUEST HOUSES
is a crazy maelstrom of tourists, market stalls, food vendors, unbelievably loud techno and bucket vendors. It's like nothing on Earth.
TUK TUK
Tuk tuks are ridiculous three wheeled motorized rickshaws. The drivers have deals with shops and brothels etc to bring tourists there in exchange for gas coupons. The first day Dan and I were taken to several temples and things for free because we agreed to stop in a tailors, a tourist bureau and a jewellery shop. Tuk tuk drivers are fearless and completely mad. If you get them going then they'll even do a wheelie. That night after drinking on Khao San Road we piled into a tuk tuk and asked to go somewhere we could dance. We were of course deposited at a brothel. It did have a 'club' upstairs with shit music and expensive drinks. Steve got on very well with the Madam. I had a drunken shouted 'conversation' with an English girl called Hannah about literature. We arranged to meet in Boots the next afternoon, and she was half an hour late, which gave me the unique experience of being stood up in a chemist.
SUNGLAZED AFFAIR
Chatachuk weekend market is an incomprehensible labyrinth. You can walk in any direction for upwards of half and hour and only find more and more corridors with stalls selling everything from snakes, to fake labels, to bad hats. I went with Hannah whom I'd met in the brothel. We ate noodle soup. She bought two pairs of extraordinarily sexy sunglasses, and I bought the most ridiculous pair I have ever seen, yellow goggles with suction padding that make me look like a superhero or twat.
The heavens opened and parts of the market hurriedly packed up. We continued through the covered section and finally decided to go. We had to walk about 30 minutes to get out of the market. Trying to get a cab we were soaked as if we'd been dipped in a vat of ice cold water. Hannah looked hot with her pink dress clinging to her and her hair slicked back. When we got back she came up for a hot shower. We both agreed we were commitment phobes. She accused me of being a player. I denied it and kissed her. Later on she called me a 'Gay Pig'. I like that actually.
LADYBOY SHOW
Classy cabaret in a posh hotel. The ladyboys mimed and danced to ridiculous choreography. Dan was pulled onto stage. Some were beautiful and some were hideous. At one point they all came on dressed as Marilyn Monroe, then Tina Turner, then Michael Jackson. Hilarious. No ping pongs though, it was a classy affair.
STAR WARS III
We paid over the odds to see it in a luxury cinema. About 8 pounds, but we were in massive armchairs that reclined into beds, with blankets, socks and pillows. I think I would have thoroughly enjoyed Digby the Biggest Dog in the World in that cinema. The film was an epic tragedy with bad acting. Loved it.
KING'S PALACE
Met a Thai woman Thom who took us around the Palace grounds with a couple of Spaniards. Most Buddhist temples allow photographs, but I discovered after taking one of the Emerald Buddha in Wat Phra Koew that it was an exception. The guide threatened to turn me into the police unless I sent her a copy. Corruption is rife.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO STEVE
After considerable effort we managed to get a t-shirt made for Steve to wear as he cycles 4000km through Asia. On the front it says 'Trans-Asian Express', with 'TEAM STEVE' on the back. Who wouldn't be thrilled! I also found him a cake. We went to a couple of shit Thai clubs. If you go to a club with Thai people, they tend to order themselves drinks and food and then follow you round with the bill. Dan and I responded by singing My Way karaoke.
Steve was insistent we find the brothel we'd been inadvertently taken to on the first night so he could try to shag the Madam. Somehow we did. Fortunately Dan and I had the presence of mind to board the night bus to Chiang Mai before we were forced to open a bordello and start firing ping pong balls out of our asses.
Since leaving BK I am committed to a life of moderation. I have tattooed the word on my penis to leave this in no doubt.
THAI MATRIARCHY IN GUEST HOUSES
The whole rack of Thais can be divided by my arrogant and generalising eye into various designs. Bold paisley is the elder woman who without fail seems to run each joint. Her lightly checked husband usually stands about with a faraway look in his eye, rubbing his swollen belly that always seems to be hanging out. There are usually one or two unbelievably quiet and effeminate guys of light pastel, and some young, beautiful, extrememely shy girls sporting bow ties. The mouthy matriarch is an endless pisstaker, and if you goad her then she smacks you, in a nice way.
FEVERISH
I was sitting at the back of a beer garden when I saw a tall, sandy haired and pointy chinned girl approach me holding a smooth wooden sphere, slightly larger than a basketball. I took the sphere and played around with it to make her laugh. It was much lighter than I'd expected, and I could even do a few keepy-uppies with it. I asked her where she was from and she lowered her eyes and quietly said Suisse. I tried to talk to her but she babbled unintelligibly. Then she hit me in the face. Pretty hard. She moved her face into mine as if for a kiss, and then hit me again. Is this some kind of sadistic come on? I tried to grab her arms but she kept hitting me, and then kissing me. I looked around, embarrassed. Maybe we should go somewhere private? Because I liked it at first. But at some imperceptible moment, her blows became painful. I tried to hold her arms, but she was too quick, and she seemed to be hitting me harder and harder. I became uncomfortable. 'I'm going to leave now,' I said. I wasn't sure if she could understand me but she continued her barrage, and there was something else in her eyes, a cold intensity that terrified me. I stood up and she pulled me to the ground and pummelled my face. No-one else in the bar seemed to notice or care. Somehow I wriggled away and ran out of the bar and back to my room. I pushed the button on the door to lock it and then went to lock the backdoor, when I was seized by uncertainty about whether I had successfully locked the front door. I went back to it and pushed the button - and it unlocked. At that moment she burst in, smacking the door against my face, a whirlwind of hate and violence.
Dan came in at the point and I woke up. Feverish and ill, I considered the dream. Maybe it was some kind of revenge for my crimes against women?
Turns out I have tonsilitis. That means no hill trekking or elephant riding or Thai cookery courses for me. Five days of antibiotics and no drinking. Just as well perhaps.
Friday, June 03, 2005
Extreme Moistness
FERTILITY
The Thai National Park of Khao Sok is draped with curtains of mist across its insane limestone cliffs and every leaf of the endless trees seems fit to burst with life. The trees around our bungalow were weighed down with juicy fresh rambutan and mangosteen that you could pluck off, peel and devour before debonairely chucking the rind into the sodden earth.
The residents of the area move in slow motion. Food tends to come about two hours after you order it, and is often completely different. We made friends with many of the locals, especially a guy at our place called Pu, with a shapely face and a lackadaisical wit.
Our grand ideas of conquering the forest dissolved in a bottle of whiskey. We taught some lovely Canadians Israeli dancing. Dan attempted to teach me to ride a bicycle with a little success. I am no Frenchman yet, but ça vient.
THE ONLY BAR
There is only one bar in Khao Sok and fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your level of puritanical hypocrisy, it opened on our first night there. We read this as an omen and found our way back there every night. The owner, Dang (Shadow) adored our endless guitar and invited us for bongs underneath the bar. Before we left, we presented him with a visitor book for comments. It was just so we could get on the first page. On our last night we stayed up til morning with a pair of crazy Engleesh, one of whom ate an entire pack of ritz crackers, while the other put a frog the size of basketball on his face. Mr Ritz Cracker also coined the immortal line (in the normal course of conversation):
You don't have to know about topiary to know when you are fucked.
After this extravaganza, Dan and I donned some cagouls (binbags with hoods) and headed down to monkey corner. The relentless rain had burst the river's banks. The bank had been two metres up the day before and now the whole plain was a wade of browning water. It was extraordinary. We stood and gawped. The immense cliffs leaned over us and sighed.
A SEGUE WAY TO MALAYSIA
I have already mentioned that Malaysians have a particular greeting for between 11:30 and 1:30, selamat tenga hari, as opposed to selamat patang (good afternoon). This specificity causes a slight delay – when you say selamat tenga hari, Malaysians tend to turn around to look at a clock before responding. Does this mean Time is more of a concern in their society? Londoners tend to know the time from their phone, computer and watch. Perhaps it’s better to need a look.
HOW DOES THE WATER FALL?
We finally entered the rainforest in Khao Sok along a path big enough to drive a Soviet tank. We would have plunged through the foliage but hoards of armed leeches squelched hungrily among the leaves.
Eventually we found a waterfall. It was not a high waterfall, like the Angel, nor a large one like Niagara. It was low and wide, with two cascades of water forking down either side of a boulder cluster.
We plunged in at the bottom and swam against the current to the rocks at the side. With natural agility we scaled the rocks of the waterfall, dipping into the ferocious flow to guzzle freshly delicious, ice cold water. We bathed in various pockets and plunge pools to feel the power of the water crashing on our heads. In the middle, there was a hole where three streams united in a churning vortex. Dan lowered himself in, arms straining against the boulders on either side. The force of the water yoiked his shorts back between his legs giving him a backwards wedgie. His yelps were obliterated by the roar of the water. I went in next and the river almost stole my pants. Saucy bitch.
KEEPING TABS
In these homely out of the way places, with chalets and a central restaurant, tabs can be dangerous things. I’ll have chicken with cashew nuts, rice, yes why not some fried chicken as well just in case, a banana milkshake, a large Chang, oh and some water, and shall we get some of those little- actually make it two banana milkshakes. It’s all right, it’s free. For now...
We felt like family there after a while. They stopped taking our orders and we almost had to go and cook for ourselves. Imagine! I tended to feel awkward asking for things because the restaurant is essentially their lounge. The extended family all sit around, chatting, smoking, watching TV, playing with their extremely cute little kids, and I feel bad for disturbing them to ask for my fourteenth banana milkshake of the day. But you don’t understand. It must be the potassium, and that freshly picked juicily ripe succulence - I HAVE TO HAVE IT. It’s the taste of pulped Nature and it drives me on!
BANGKOK
After the otherwordly moistness of Khao Sok we have descended on the unruly bustle of Bangkok. A kaleidoscopic hungover nightmare. It’s hot and crazy and I LOVE IT.
The Thai National Park of Khao Sok is draped with curtains of mist across its insane limestone cliffs and every leaf of the endless trees seems fit to burst with life. The trees around our bungalow were weighed down with juicy fresh rambutan and mangosteen that you could pluck off, peel and devour before debonairely chucking the rind into the sodden earth.
The residents of the area move in slow motion. Food tends to come about two hours after you order it, and is often completely different. We made friends with many of the locals, especially a guy at our place called Pu, with a shapely face and a lackadaisical wit.
Our grand ideas of conquering the forest dissolved in a bottle of whiskey. We taught some lovely Canadians Israeli dancing. Dan attempted to teach me to ride a bicycle with a little success. I am no Frenchman yet, but ça vient.
THE ONLY BAR
There is only one bar in Khao Sok and fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your level of puritanical hypocrisy, it opened on our first night there. We read this as an omen and found our way back there every night. The owner, Dang (Shadow) adored our endless guitar and invited us for bongs underneath the bar. Before we left, we presented him with a visitor book for comments. It was just so we could get on the first page. On our last night we stayed up til morning with a pair of crazy Engleesh, one of whom ate an entire pack of ritz crackers, while the other put a frog the size of basketball on his face. Mr Ritz Cracker also coined the immortal line (in the normal course of conversation):
You don't have to know about topiary to know when you are fucked.
After this extravaganza, Dan and I donned some cagouls (binbags with hoods) and headed down to monkey corner. The relentless rain had burst the river's banks. The bank had been two metres up the day before and now the whole plain was a wade of browning water. It was extraordinary. We stood and gawped. The immense cliffs leaned over us and sighed.
A SEGUE WAY TO MALAYSIA
I have already mentioned that Malaysians have a particular greeting for between 11:30 and 1:30, selamat tenga hari, as opposed to selamat patang (good afternoon). This specificity causes a slight delay – when you say selamat tenga hari, Malaysians tend to turn around to look at a clock before responding. Does this mean Time is more of a concern in their society? Londoners tend to know the time from their phone, computer and watch. Perhaps it’s better to need a look.
HOW DOES THE WATER FALL?
We finally entered the rainforest in Khao Sok along a path big enough to drive a Soviet tank. We would have plunged through the foliage but hoards of armed leeches squelched hungrily among the leaves.
Eventually we found a waterfall. It was not a high waterfall, like the Angel, nor a large one like Niagara. It was low and wide, with two cascades of water forking down either side of a boulder cluster.
We plunged in at the bottom and swam against the current to the rocks at the side. With natural agility we scaled the rocks of the waterfall, dipping into the ferocious flow to guzzle freshly delicious, ice cold water. We bathed in various pockets and plunge pools to feel the power of the water crashing on our heads. In the middle, there was a hole where three streams united in a churning vortex. Dan lowered himself in, arms straining against the boulders on either side. The force of the water yoiked his shorts back between his legs giving him a backwards wedgie. His yelps were obliterated by the roar of the water. I went in next and the river almost stole my pants. Saucy bitch.
KEEPING TABS
In these homely out of the way places, with chalets and a central restaurant, tabs can be dangerous things. I’ll have chicken with cashew nuts, rice, yes why not some fried chicken as well just in case, a banana milkshake, a large Chang, oh and some water, and shall we get some of those little- actually make it two banana milkshakes. It’s all right, it’s free. For now...
We felt like family there after a while. They stopped taking our orders and we almost had to go and cook for ourselves. Imagine! I tended to feel awkward asking for things because the restaurant is essentially their lounge. The extended family all sit around, chatting, smoking, watching TV, playing with their extremely cute little kids, and I feel bad for disturbing them to ask for my fourteenth banana milkshake of the day. But you don’t understand. It must be the potassium, and that freshly picked juicily ripe succulence - I HAVE TO HAVE IT. It’s the taste of pulped Nature and it drives me on!
BANGKOK
After the otherwordly moistness of Khao Sok we have descended on the unruly bustle of Bangkok. A kaleidoscopic hungover nightmare. It’s hot and crazy and I LOVE IT.
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