On Every Street

I was persuaded, not entirely easily, that we should visit Patong as it was ‘just a few minutes’ away from where we were staying. The world famous Bangla Road (of which I had never heard) I was told, was a must see experience. Our lovely hotel, being somewhat reclusive and wise enough to be within walking distance of absolutely nowhere, did offer a twice-weekly courtesy bus, out at five and back at seven. If we enjoyed the experience we could stay to eat and taxi back instead. So, off we went…

The ten-minute bus journey actually took close on an hour, most of which was spent in the stationary traffic of a permanent rush hour, whilst thousands of mopeds flew by on both sides and across left to right and right to left and back to front… I am not a great fan of humanity en masse and outside the bus’s windows a large proportion of this poor benighted planet’s eight billion floated by.

Eventually we de-bussed in what appeared to be the bin-yard of a supermarket – probably the only place we could disassociate ourselves from the hubbub – and followed the river of humanity onto the traffic-free Bangla Road: a solid crush of tens of thousands of people and the noise of even more. Each bar (and there were many) had several board-bearing touts outside endeavouring to tempt the guileless in – ‘Single beer 70 bahts. Five for 350’ – bargain! I love live music and preferably loud, but within the confines of a relatively narrow street the cacophony of competing volumes was disorientating at best and at worst bloody annoying. The road consisted almost entirely of ‘Weed Shops’, ‘Massage Parlours’ and bars.

The bars had either live music playing or a line-up of scantily clad ‘ladies’ (many of which, even to my untrained eye, did not appear entirely female) dancing on the counters. These bars were generally populated by sweating, middle-aged men with a posture that cried out for massage. The massage parlours themselves had ‘open’ and ‘closed’ beds. On the open beds men (predominantly) were having their bumps felt, whilst on the closed beds other ills (I presume) were being cured by masseuse who were chosen on entry. I wondered if they had loyalty cards, like Costa’s. The ‘Weed Shops’ all had queues but, oddly, no smell of weed. I know what customers thought they were buying, but I couldn’t help but wonder what they actually got. Possibly actual grass from the (lack of) smell. I wasn’t tempted. I could smoke the lawn back at the hotel if the whim took me. There were also a number of pharmacies, all of which – I am sure – had a cream for it. There was little else. Nobody smiled.

I presume that I am either forty years too old for it – or not yet desperate enough – but I could not get away from it quickly enough. On the bus back to our hotel, less than an hour later, there were no absentees. I counted them all out and I counted them all back in. An hour was more than enough…

N.B. In fairness, I should probably say that later in the holiday we met a couple who had spent three days in Patong, staying close by Bangla Road, and they loved it, but this is my blog and if I never go there again (and I won’t) I will still consider that I wasted two hours of my life doing so in the first place…

A ladykiller, regulation tattoo
Silver spurs on his heels
Says ‘What can I tell you, as I’m standing next to you
She threw herself under my wheels’… One Every Street – Dire Straits (Knopfler)

Here in Heaven

We are (or, by now, were) in Thailand. A three-stop trip: a beautiful, tranquil hotel in a ‘jungle’ surrounding; a very plush tent out in the actual jungle, and finally a traditional beach-front hotel – although itself no less peaceful and beautiful. The first thing that you notice when you arrive here is that the people are incredibly patient, helpful and friendly. I’m sure that they must, as all nations do, have their grouches, but I have yet to meet them – even amongst their taxi drivers, who in most countries, are obliged to take a course in ‘Surly’ before getting the badge. The women are incredibly beautiful (as, indeed, are some of the men, but that is a whole different story) and everyone appears genuinely quick to laughter. What could possibly be wrong with that?

Generally on holidays I am unbothered by mosquito bites, but I have discovered that Thai mosquitoes are quite another story. They are Ninja beasties, completely unaffected, it appears, by DEET and they laugh in the face of a citronella candle. The only real answer is a very cheap repellent sold in every shop here. What is in it, I have no idea – and I care even less – because the mozzies definitely do not like it. My poor, ravaged legs, initially a mass of angry, raised red lumps are now a series of deep purple blotches and, thanks to the locally recommended white tiger-balm, the itching appears to have subsided substantially – thankfully before I have scratched all of my skin off, although it has been a close run thing…

The wildlife is stunning and a trek through the jungle reveals a breathtaking array of 2,4,6 and 8-legged creatures, as well as a goodly number (best avoided) of beasts that do not require limbs to get around – but do require large anti-venom centres for you to attend if you should catch one unaware. The native fauna all seems to co-exist (eat one another) quite happily, and being woken in the early morning by a troupe of gibbons overhead is a gift I never anticipated receiving.

On a more prosaic note, the toilets here are beyond reproach – far cleaner, certainly, than almost any Public Convenience you might encounter in the UK – although they do have a tendency to attract the kind of wasps that look as though they might be perfectly capable of carrying off an average-sized toddler. There are so many hungry lizards around here – from tiny geckos to massive Water Monitors – that they must present some kind of restraining challenge to insect numbers. Serves the buggers right, I say.

Always a disciple of the local beers I have, a little disappointingly, discovered only two so far – probably tourist brews – with Singha far more to my own taste than Chang (and I have discovered that Thai whisky is far from the worst thing I have ever had in my mouth). As a veggie I am always offered Thai Green Curry and fortunately it is delightful. I could (and actually pretty much have) live on it for weeks – and if you like Mangoes, a word of caution, they are everywhere and they come sharp if they fall on your head. They are not the greatest threat to life here, but almost certainly the sweetest….

Here, there are lots of things to do
And a panoramic view
Of the Universe completely surrounding you… Here In Heaven – Sparks (Mael)

Questions

The more perceptive amongst you (let’s be honest here, in comparison to me, all of you) will have realised that I have been away for nearly three weeks now. This is the first post I have actually settled down to write while I’ve been on holiday (although I’ll be back by now – you know how it works). You will get something that comes as close to a travelogue as I can muster over the next few days, but for now I’d like really to just take a little look at the general logistics of holiday-making in general. You see, I have so many questions…

We live alone and so have three bedrooms that, except for when we have visitors, are unoccupied for most of the year. I find it very difficult to understand why we need to clean-sheet all of the beds before we go away. Does my wife want to ensure that, should we be burgled in our absence, the felons will have somewhere clean to rest from their toils and a nice fresh pillowcase in which to transport the loot? I have tried to ask, but the answer, in the form of an extended dismayed stare, is not one that readily translates into manspeak.

I also do not understand why, for weeks before we travel, the cases have to fill with more toiletries and medications than the storeroom at Boots. By the time we are ready to actually pack, we cannot fit the clothes in and I cannot lift the bloody things. “We won’t have to carry most of it back,” says my wife, perfectly aware that whilst away I will use the hotel-provided gels and potions, and return with half of what we are taking intact. Sun cream disappears from bottles, but merely soaks into clothes which, like myself, weigh twice as much for the return journey. The one great consolation of a beach holiday is the realisation that most people I encounter have bodies at a similar degree of decrepitude to my own…

In a world full of questions, those related most directly to holidays are amongst the most difficult address. Why, for instance, does my wife, knowing that we get fresh, clean towels every day, insist that I use her wet one to dry myself after a shower as ‘there is no point in getting them both wet’? I struggle to think of too many other uses for a fresh, dry towel. And why is a sunbed in exactly the right position until my wife lays on it, when it is in exactly the wrong one: too shaded, too sunny, too close to the pool, too far away from the pool, millimetrically misaligned to the compass? Why is the SPF of a suncream always the wrong one? Most puzzling of all, why does my wife object quite so strongly to me cleaning my teeth naked with the bathroom door open?

I suppose that some things about holidays I am destined never to understand…

Why do we never get an answer when we’re knocking at the door
With a thousand million questions about hate and death and war?… Questions – The Moody Blues (Hayward)