Last Thai Misssive..for a year anyway…
I’m so glad we came back to Bangkok. I wasn’t looking forward to it as I can’t say I was that enamoured the first time, and it also signifies the end of the trip. The first time, Bangkok seemed hot noisy and stinky, but I realise now that I was freaked out and jet lagged. I can confidently say I now am firmly in the camp of LOVING Bangkok. Can I go back there, please? I apologise for ever speaking badly of the place. I now wish we’d had more time there.
So it’s Saturday and we check out of the Davis Hotel.
John gets his bill for the bottle of wine he orders on Room Service that cost more than our entire food and drinks bill in our WEEK in Koh Lanta. Here’s him signing the visa bill…Old Chinese Proverb says; “Never order Room Service unless other man is paying…”
Today is our last day and we’ve got the whole day to check out more Bangkok. We need presents for our loved ones… So we head for the famed weekend market. I am so excited that I am practically foaming at the mouth. Remember my jewelry prize? Remember I painted a picture, sold it on ebay and John said he would buy me jewelry as a prize? You might have forgotten- I haven’t.
First things first, we need to check the Songkran situation. Remember we fly out tonight, we can’t get covered in flour. The hotel receptionist seems to think we’ll be fine at the market. And she’s mostly right. There’s a bit of water pistolling going on, but nothing we can’t handle. In fact the occasional cold jet of water is quite welcome as we go through the steaming labyrinth of shopping heaven.
In all we spend 5 hours here, and it’s the first time in the whole holiday that Indy complains. He is understandably disturbed by the single-minded rabid shopping psychosis his mother goes into, coupled with the fact that, like every other 8 year old boy he hates shopping. John placates him by taking him to a weaponry stall whilst I look at trinkets and baubles. And when I mean weaponry, I mean medieval type stuff. Look at this!
John buys himself and Louis a penknife as we’re guessing customs aren’t going to let this item through.
Next ,we visit animal aisle and I find this the hardest of all. It’s not that the animals are being cruelly treated; these are pet shops of the types we used to have in the UK years ago where you could buy your dog or cat from them. The animals are being well treated, most of them have fans trained on them to keep them cool and most are in airconditioned shops. When I say it’s hard to take , it’s just that I want to take every puppy home.
I’ve been wanting a dog for some time, particularly a cocker spaniel. I am now confronted with my dream golden cocker spaniel puppy and have to be dragged away from her, practically sobbing and wailing “Did you see how we connected? Did you see that? We had a wee moment!!!”
Then I similarly connect with this beautiful retriever in the next stall. Tooooo difficult! I am led away, with John trying to calm me down by reminding me of the jewelry.
Never mind the dog, look at my Brian May hair!
So here’s me minutes later making the deal of the century on two rings, one swiss blue topaz and the other peridot. I am a happy monkey. And a female stereotype, it would appear.
So fast forward four hours later and the market starts to wind down, the Flying Martinis buy a new case to take their newly acquired booty home in and Songkran madness starts again. But we are ready this time. Check Indy going all Rambo through the market. That’s my boy!
And check Indy’s Mum (unarmed I may add) getting absolutely soaked just in time for boarding the plane home.
See why you’ve got to love this place?
On the way home we plan our return trip.
I hope you’ve all enjoyed reading the Thai Misssives. And I hope even more that I’ve encouraged some of you to buy plane tickets to Thailand.
Last Thai Misssive..for a year anyway…
I’m so glad we came back to Bangkok. I wasn’t looking forward to it as I can’t say I was that enamoured the first time, and it also signifies the end of the trip. The first time, Bangkok seemed hot noisy and stinky, but I realise now that I was freaked out and jet lagged. I can confidently say I now am firmly in the camp of LOVING Bangkok. Can I go back there, please? I apologise for ever speaking badly of the place. I now wish we’d had more time there.
So it’s Saturday and we check out of the Davis Hotel.
John gets his bill for the bottle of wine he orders on Room Service that cost more than our entire food and drinks bill in our WEEK in Koh Lanta. Here’s him signing the visa bill…Old Chinese Proverb says; “Never order Room Service unless other man is paying…”
Today is our last day and we’ve got the whole day to check out more Bangkok. We need presents for our loved ones… So we head for the famed weekend market. I am so excited that I am practically foaming at the mouth. Remember my jewelry prize? Remember I painted a picture, sold it on ebay and John said he would buy me jewelry as a prize? You might have forgotten- I haven’t.
First things first, we need to check the Songkran situation. Remember we fly out tonight, we can’t get covered in flour. The hotel receptionist seems to think we’ll be fine at the market. And she’s mostly right. There’s a bit of water pistolling going on, but nothing we can’t handle. In fact the occasional cold jet of water is quite welcome as we go through the steaming labyrinth of shopping heaven.
In all we spend 5 hours here, and it’s the first time in the whole holiday that Indy complains. He is understandably disturbed by the single-minded rabid shopping psychosis his mother goes into, coupled with the fact that, like every other 8 year old boy he hates shopping. John placates him by taking him to a weaponry stall whilst I look at trinkets and baubles. And when I mean weaponry, I mean medieval type stuff. Look at this!
John buys himself and Louis a penknife as we’re guessing customs aren’t going to let this item through.
Next ,we visit animal aisle and I find this the hardest of all. It’s not that the animals are being cruelly treated; these are pet shops of the types we used to have in the UK years ago where you could buy your dog or cat from them. The animals are being well treated, most of them have fans trained on them to keep them cool and most are in airconditioned shops. When I say it’s hard to take , it’s just that I want to take every puppy home.
I’ve been wanting a dog for some time, particularly a cocker spaniel. I am now confronted with my dream golden cocker spaniel puppy and have to be dragged away from her, practically sobbing and wailing “Did you see how we connected? Did you see that? We had a wee moment!!!”
Then I similarly connect with this beautiful retriever in the next stall. Tooooo difficult! I am led away, with John trying to calm me down by reminding me of the jewelry.
Never mind the dog, look at my Brian May hair!
So here’s me minutes later making the deal of the century on two rings, one swiss blue topaz and the other peridot. I am a happy monkey. And a female stereotype, it would appear.
So fast forward four hours later and the market starts to wind down, the Flying Martinis buy a new case to take their newly acquired booty home in and Songkran madness starts again. But we are ready this time. Check Indy going all Rambo through the market. That’s my boy!
And check Indy’s Mum (unarmed I may add) getting absolutely soaked just in time for boarding the plane home.
See why you’ve got to love this place?
On the way home we plan our return trip.
I hope you’ve all enjoyed reading the Thai Misssives. And I hope even more that I’ve encouraged some of you to buy plane tickets to Thailand.
The Flying Martinis are now the Songkran rejects
Songkran (Thai New Year) Madness on the Khao San RoadThe Thais know how to celebrate New year, they really do. Unfortunately their method of celebration is one that we probably couldn’t adopt on the 1st January in Scotland as it involves throwing vast amount of cold water at people. Don’t fancy that much in Aberdeen. But in steaming hot Bangkok it works just fine. And it gives great vent to the very playful nature of the Thais.
Songkran- High-grade pneumatic waterpistol essential
The Thai New Year or “Songkran”, is celebrated mid April. We asked what year it was and got about 10 different replies, probably because we weren’t making ourselves understood, not because Thai people weren’t sure. I’m still not sure- if someone can tell me for sure I’ll be grateful. No use not knowing what year it is….
Thailand actually celebrates 3 different New Years each year which pretty much cements my emerging view that the Thais are the most fun people in the world. Why haven’t the Scots thought of that?
The Thais celebrate New Year on the 31st of December, then there is the Chinese Lunar New Year that takes normally place in February and there is the Thai New Year which is in April each year. We should MOVE New year to July and call it Scottish New Year as it will be much better, and you wouldn’t have to freeze your ass off every year going from party to party with your carry out. Take this as an official “Let’s move New Year” campaign launch.
I digress. This is how the Thais do new Year (Songkran). They get buckets of water, high powered pump action water pistols, anything that will be able to soak passers by. Then they let rip. We don’t have a great deal of photos of the utter full on madness of the Friday night as John was worried about his camera. But here they are anyway. They don’t even half represent the utter madness of people unleashing water-fight hell on the Khao San Road.
Moving vehicle an optional extra
On the Friday night, not knowing much about the reality of Songkran, we headed out to the Khaosan Road to buy presents. What a couple for chumps. Khao San Road, normally shopping mecca was packed full of Bangkok’s teenagers and young people, armed with gallons of iced water, flour paste and hosepipes. It was great at first but the kids were frightened. Eve was on John’s shoulders and the Thais made a beeline for her, pelting her with water and covering her cheeks on flour paste. She started to cry, and this only attracted more Thai teenagers to her, thinking that another dousing and pasting would help her out. She started wailing, “This is a nasty place! I don’t like it”.
Mum having a laugh; Eve having a cry…
Louis didn’t like it either. Normally he would be right into a water fight but he was completely overwhelmed and crucially, unarmed. Had we known, we would have bought him a water pistol, but by the time we made it through to the centre of the madness, the kids had had enough and we had to take them home. Louis lashed out at a guy who put just a little too much flour paste on his face, with a little too much force, ignoring Louis sense of humour failure.
Songkran looked great too. But an early Flying Martini exit was essential. So we head back through the masses and get spat out the other side of Khao San Road, a lot whiter and wetter than when we got there.
Time to find a tuc tuc that’s brave enough to take us through the hail of flour and water fire back to the Davis (where they probably won’t let us back in….)
This is us back at the hotel after finding a tuc tuc and being a moving target for flour and water.
Tomorrow: we come prepared….
The Flying Martinis are now the Songkran rejects
Songkran (Thai New Year) Madness on the Khao San RoadThe Thais know how to celebrate New year, they really do. Unfortunately their method of celebration is one that we probably couldn’t adopt on the 1st January in Scotland as it involves throwing vast amount of cold water at people. Don’t fancy that much in Aberdeen. But in steaming hot Bangkok it works just fine. And it gives great vent to the very playful nature of the Thais.
Songkran- High-grade pneumatic waterpistol essential
The Thai New Year or “Songkran”, is celebrated mid April. We asked what year it was and got about 10 different replies, probably because we weren’t making ourselves understood, not because Thai people weren’t sure. I’m still not sure- if someone can tell me for sure I’ll be grateful. No use not knowing what year it is….
Thailand actually celebrates 3 different New Years each year which pretty much cements my emerging view that the Thais are the most fun people in the world. Why haven’t the Scots thought of that?
The Thais celebrate New Year on the 31st of December, then there is the Chinese Lunar New Year that takes normally place in February and there is the Thai New Year which is in April each year. We should MOVE New year to July and call it Scottish New Year as it will be much better, and you wouldn’t have to freeze your ass off every year going from party to party with your carry out. Take this as an official “Let’s move New Year” campaign launch.
I digress. This is how the Thais do new Year (Songkran). They get buckets of water, high powered pump action water pistols, anything that will be able to soak passers by. Then they let rip. We don’t have a great deal of photos of the utter full on madness of the Friday night as John was worried about his camera. But here they are anyway. They don’t even half represent the utter madness of people unleashing water-fight hell on the Khao San Road.
Moving vehicle an optional extra
On the Friday night, not knowing much about the reality of Songkran, we headed out to the Khaosan Road to buy presents. What a couple for chumps. Khao San Road, normally shopping mecca was packed full of Bangkok’s teenagers and young people, armed with gallons of iced water, flour paste and hosepipes. It was great at first but the kids were frightened. Eve was on John’s shoulders and the Thais made a beeline for her, pelting her with water and covering her cheeks on flour paste. She started to cry, and this only attracted more Thai teenagers to her, thinking that another dousing and pasting would help her out. She started wailing, “This is a nasty place! I don’t like it”.
Mum having a laugh; Eve having a cry…
Louis didn’t like it either. Normally he would be right into a water fight but he was completely overwhelmed and crucially, unarmed. Had we known, we would have bought him a water pistol, but by the time we made it through to the centre of the madness, the kids had had enough and we had to take them home. Louis lashed out at a guy who put just a little too much flour paste on his face, with a little too much force, ignoring Louis sense of humour failure.
Songkran looked great too. But an early Flying Martini exit was essential. So we head back through the masses and get spat out the other side of Khao San Road, a lot whiter and wetter than when we got there.
Time to find a tuc tuc that’s brave enough to take us through the hail of flour and water fire back to the Davis (where they probably won’t let us back in….)
This is us back at the hotel after finding a tuc tuc and being a moving target for flour and water.
Tomorrow: we come prepared….
Pimp My Ride…
There are certain things in life that people say have happened but your whole life you’ve never seen any evidence of and you begin to think are urban myths. Here’s a few:
Getting a tax rebate;
Getting upgraded to first class by the airplane check in clerk cos she likes your face;
Winning the car you bought a raffle ticket for in the shopping centre;
Duvet day policy at work- (do you know anyone whose work has this? It’s a myth!);
Santa Claus;
Being “spotted” and made the next big thing by some Svengali;
Being upgraded from bog standard hotel room to a lux suite.
Well, smack my arse and call me Paris Hilton, we were upgraded in the Davis Hotel (our most expensive hotel room- end of trip treat) to the Ambassador suite!
In fact the way it was done was just beautiful.
Bedroom 1
Receptionist (to me): “Excuse me madam, would you mind if we upgraded you and your family to the Ambassador suite”.
Would I mind? Would I mind?!
“That’ll be fine,” I say calmly, whilst inner Gill shouts “Ambassador suite!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!We’ve made it !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Aaaarrgggghhhhh!Hahahahahahhahaha!”
So we are taken to the suite by our porter who, rather cheekily, I thought, enquires, “Did you book this suite or were you upgraded?”
He is clearly stunned that such obvious plebs are setting foot in the suite to do something other than clean it.
“Upgraded,” I confess (“What’s it to ya?” Inner Gill thinks)
“This is the best suite we have in this wing of the hotel” This guy still can’t believe we’ve been allowed in.
“Hmmm” I say (“I’m tired of you doubting our suitability to this strata of luxury, my man. Now let us in so we can all run around naked screaming, open all the free soaps, drink the mini bar and wash our undies in the Jacuzzi,” Inner Gill snarls)
I’m getting the picture here and I think back to ten minutes ago. This was the guy who met us at the door. Let’s switch on the 70’s Blake’s Seven going back in time visual effect and return to yesterday in Kanchananburi. The scene is this, booking our taxi to Bangkok from a sixty/seventy year old guy who looked like one of Magnum’s contacts with longhair, moustache, opened Hawaiian short and flip flops. He wants 1,800 Baht (about £30) for the fare which is OK considering the hotel is advertising a taxi for twice that. He wants it paid in advance. No, we may be farang but we’re not stupid farang, mate. We give him half now, say we’ll pay other half when safely arrived in Bangkok.
John checks something before handing over the cash, “This taxi is air-conditioned?”
“Yes, yes, is big Toyota, has air conditioning!” he assures us
Next morning our cab turns up. It has rope keeping the boot shut, has a need of a great deal of panel beating repair work, is not a make of car known to man, is filthy and yes, that’s right, the air-conditioning consists of…opening a window. Only one of which in the back seat actually opens.
But it does have the additional features of a taxi driver with ferociously long nails (going for that Guinness Record, I think), an array of Hindu icons of deities arranges along the dashboard, a Sistine chapel-like fresco painting in engine oil on the car ceiling (do cars have ceilings? You get my drift) and plastic seats which given the absence of ac and the fact we’re all wearing shorts, makes for a thrush inducing ride from hell.
It gets s worse and John is responsible. Figuring we’ve got 2 and a half hours in this chariot of hell, he spies a cassette. John Lennon’s “Imagine”, the soundtrack to the documentary film. He takes the cassette out of the box, examines it, but it’s written in Thai. He asks the horny fingered driver if he can put it on. The driver looks pleased. He nods enthusiastically gesturing to the tape deck (tape deck but no A/C….humpfff!).
The sound of a south east Asian warbling woman blasts out the speakers. I glare at john in a “What fresh hell is this?” kind of way. John looks back, and offers this,
“Maybe it’s a Yoko track…”
But no of course it bloody isn’t. It’s 90 minutes of Thailand’s answer to Petula Clark. So now we’ve got the stench of hell, the feel of hell, the temperature of hell, the look of hell AND the sound of hell. Hell!
We cannot offend our horned host and listen to the tape until the end of the journey. He is chuffed we like it.
So flash forward to our arrival at the Davis which is top of the range hotel-tastic. See pics if you don’t believe me. And the Flying Martinis arrive in the Thai equivalent of the Trotters Independent Trading Reliant Robin. John opens the door and bashes it on the front step and apologises to the driver. The porter looks at him and shrugs as if to say, “Don’t apologise, you’ve probably improved it.”
This is the guy that takes us up to our room.
So I’ll leave you with some pics of the ambassador suite…..and later I’ll post some of us soiling it…..
The Davis Hotel, yes they let US in…
Bedroom 2 (Before the kids went in…)
Dr Louis Cheeseman, Scottish Ambassador to Thailand, outside his suite
Pimp My Ride…
There are certain things in life that people say have happened but your whole life you’ve never seen any evidence of and you begin to think are urban myths. Here’s a few:
Getting a tax rebate;
Getting upgraded to first class by the airplane check in clerk cos she likes your face;
Winning the car you bought a raffle ticket for in the shopping centre;
Duvet day policy at work- (do you know anyone whose work has this? It’s a myth!);
Santa Claus;
Being “spotted” and made the next big thing by some Svengali;
Being upgraded from bog standard hotel room to a lux suite.
Well, smack my arse and call me Paris Hilton, we were upgraded in the Davis Hotel (our most expensive hotel room- end of trip treat) to the Ambassador suite!
In fact the way it was done was just beautiful.
Bedroom 1
Receptionist (to me): “Excuse me madam, would you mind if we upgraded you and your family to the Ambassador suite”.
Would I mind? Would I mind?!
“That’ll be fine,” I say calmly, whilst inner Gill shouts “Ambassador suite!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!We’ve made it !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Aaaarrgggghhhhh!Hahahahahahhahaha!”
So we are taken to the suite by our porter who, rather cheekily, I thought, enquires, “Did you book this suite or were you upgraded?”
He is clearly stunned that such obvious plebs are setting foot in the suite to do something other than clean it.
“Upgraded,” I confess (“What’s it to ya?” Inner Gill thinks)
“This is the best suite we have in this wing of the hotel” This guy still can’t believe we’ve been allowed in.
“Hmmm” I say (“I’m tired of you doubting our suitability to this strata of luxury, my man. Now let us in so we can all run around naked screaming, open all the free soaps, drink the mini bar and wash our undies in the Jacuzzi,” Inner Gill snarls)
I’m getting the picture here and I think back to ten minutes ago. This was the guy who met us at the door. Let’s switch on the 70’s Blake’s Seven going back in time visual effect and return to yesterday in Kanchananburi. The scene is this, booking our taxi to Bangkok from a sixty/seventy year old guy who looked like one of Magnum’s contacts with longhair, moustache, opened Hawaiian short and flip flops. He wants 1,800 Baht (about £30) for the fare which is OK considering the hotel is advertising a taxi for twice that. He wants it paid in advance. No, we may be farang but we’re not stupid farang, mate. We give him half now, say we’ll pay other half when safely arrived in Bangkok.
John checks something before handing over the cash, “This taxi is air-conditioned?”
“Yes, yes, is big Toyota, has air conditioning!” he assures us
Next morning our cab turns up. It has rope keeping the boot shut, has a need of a great deal of panel beating repair work, is not a make of car known to man, is filthy and yes, that’s right, the air-conditioning consists of…opening a window. Only one of which in the back seat actually opens.
But it does have the additional features of a taxi driver with ferociously long nails (going for that Guinness Record, I think), an array of Hindu icons of deities arranges along the dashboard, a Sistine chapel-like fresco painting in engine oil on the car ceiling (do cars have ceilings? You get my drift) and plastic seats which given the absence of ac and the fact we’re all wearing shorts, makes for a thrush inducing ride from hell.
It gets s worse and John is responsible. Figuring we’ve got 2 and a half hours in this chariot of hell, he spies a cassette. John Lennon’s “Imagine”, the soundtrack to the documentary film. He takes the cassette out of the box, examines it, but it’s written in Thai. He asks the horny fingered driver if he can put it on. The driver looks pleased. He nods enthusiastically gesturing to the tape deck (tape deck but no A/C….humpfff!).
The sound of a south east Asian warbling woman blasts out the speakers. I glare at john in a “What fresh hell is this?” kind of way. John looks back, and offers this,
“Maybe it’s a Yoko track…”
But no of course it bloody isn’t. It’s 90 minutes of Thailand’s answer to Petula Clark. So now we’ve got the stench of hell, the feel of hell, the temperature of hell, the look of hell AND the sound of hell. Hell!
We cannot offend our horned host and listen to the tape until the end of the journey. He is chuffed we like it.
So flash forward to our arrival at the Davis which is top of the range hotel-tastic. See pics if you don’t believe me. And the Flying Martinis arrive in the Thai equivalent of the Trotters Independent Trading Reliant Robin. John opens the door and bashes it on the front step and apologises to the driver. The porter looks at him and shrugs as if to say, “Don’t apologise, you’ve probably improved it.”
This is the guy that takes us up to our room.
So I’ll leave you with some pics of the ambassador suite…..and later I’ll post some of us soiling it…..
The Davis Hotel, yes they let US in…
Bedroom 2 (Before the kids went in…)
Dr Louis Cheeseman, Scottish Ambassador to Thailand, outside his suite
Bad Karma and Ladyboys
Hey everybody good news, I’ve found time to write a second blog! Why? Because the Thai equivalent of Greasy Jet (Nok Air) have conveniently moved all operations to a different airport than the one we booked to fly to the islands from. This only happened last week and even though I only booked our flights two weeks before that, they have not told us. One can only assume it was a snap decision on their part.
To explain , I buy tickets to Krabi from Bangkok Airport online five weeks ago. Great, we’re sorted! So this morning we rise early and take a taxi for our 9.35 flight. “Oooh by noon, kids we’ll be swimming in the sea!” I enthuse. Not a chance. Nok Air have moved operations from Bangkok Airport to their other “old” airport and guess what, it takes over an hour to get there. It’s like going to Heathrow only to be told that the flight you booked now runs from Gatwick. So we’re booked on the 4pm flight instead. I can’t tell you how delighted I am to be spending an extra six hours in a dilapidated old airport in Bangkok when I could be slumming it on a white sandy beach.
What’s worse, ranting, complaining, airport rage and general displays of anger are not done in Thailand. They don’t do it, they don’t like it, and they certainly can’t cope with anyone who does it in front of them. So I don’t do it.
People keep on saying “No problem!” to me and then disappearing for an hour at a time with my travel documents.
Even though it takes them 2 hours to sort out new tickets for us and absolutely nobody apologises for moving the flight to an airport the other side of town without telling anybody, making us miss a day of our holiday, I bite my lip and try my best to keep a lid on. I think I may be developing an aneurism as a result.
In the Taylor family (I used to be MisssyTaylor) we have a tradition of taking out our anger by attacking a cardboard box, (or anything inanimate that comes to hand) with a big stick out in the back garden. Actually, that’s not strictly true as only my mild mannered, unsinkable brother has ever done this. He’s a placid kind of soul and an anger management inspiration. Suddenly, I’m looking for a stick and a box to take out side the airport to beat mercilessly to save me from having a seizure. This Buddhism thing is all very well, but a nice bit of Ian Paisley protestant rage is probably more where I’m coming from at the moment.
Anyway, you don’t want to hear about that do you? I’ll tell you about Chinatown and our last night in Bangkok instead and let the rage bubble under for now. So last thing I told you was about Indiana and the stolen religious artefact (it might just be a gold painted lump of plaster to us , but let’s face it, it’s akin to chipping a bit off the Sistine chapel frescoes to take home for your gran, or drawing a bogey coming down the nose of Jesus in Da Vinci’s “Last Supper”).
From the point of Indy’s confession onwards, we head up the river in a long-tailed boat to Chinatown, home of the markets and cheap tat. The long-tailed boat costs a relative Thai fortune at about (600 BAT) £10, and we pretty much figure we’re being ripped off mercilessly but it was such a laugh, we don’t care. Every bow wave, this thing flies up in the air and splashes down spraying us with water. We try not to open our mouths as the river makes the Clyde look like a freshwater lagoon. But we’re laughing so much swallowing some filthy water is unavoidable; typhus is probably coursing through my veins as I type. The kids loved it, and the trip was over too quick. For 600BAT we should’ve asked for more time, but never mind. As one of our compatriots at the hotel said,
“Getting ripped off is all part of it, really, in Bangkok”
So we hit Chinatown which is full on Bangkok to the power of ten. Stinky and dirty and absolutely crammed full of people, dead animals hanging up, smells and tat galore. But you really don’t end up buying anything because you can’t get a handle on what there is to buy, there’s just too much crap, all crammed in to tiny shops with thousands of people squashing past you in tight little alleyways. Occasionally a moped tries to cram past you as well with the back loaded with cages full of something. I mean, these alleyways are not even the width of my hallway at home. It’s something I won’t forget, but we pretty much had to escape after an hour and a half.
Not least because, as I said before, Eve got a lot of attention and it became that she was getting manhandled a little too often by Thai ladies pinching, squeezing, hugging and adoring her. She is going to be unbearable after this- she thinks she’s the Beatles. In the words of John Lennon, “Bigger than Jesus”, (or Buddha- let’s spread the blasphemism).
So we jump in a taxi and head back to the hotel pool and have a lovely relaxing night in the Reflection Rooms which is a chilled out pop art little oasis in an otherwise mental city. John and I drink Margueritas by the pool which make us really feel like we’re on holiday. A guy puts lounge music on the stereo and we pretend we’re in the fifties.
We all play in the pool for a couple of hours and then have a great dinner of squid, prawns, spring rolls and thai curry before crashing out upstairs, watching of all things “The Beach” on TV which is set where we are supposed to be going to today. John is now worried about sharks. Forgot how graphic that scene is where the two Swedish guys get attacked by a shark. Think he’ll be sticking to the pool. He might not even come out of the bungalow. He says I’ve ruined the anticipation for him by “making” him watch the film. He’s not a drama queen, he insists.
But listen, I can’t stay too long, I’ve four fun packed hours to kill in this wonderful airport. I’m off to browse the airport’s only shop which sells only imitation bronze canons (which John informs me are actually phones) mounted on plinths of teak, cuckoo clocks, ornate ladies’ bolero jackets and portraits of Thailand’s King and Queen (but strangely no travel adaptors or batteries…) I think I’ll just get all my presents for home there. Failing that I’ll get Indy to nick a couple of Buddhas from temples for the folks back home.
PS: I’m posting this from Kaw Kwang in the Island of Koh Lanta, so we eventually made it! More of that later- internet access is available so they’ll be the odd blog coming soon.
PPS: A few folks have asked me about teh Thai Ladyboys. I have to disappoint- not see any ladyboys yet, and have stayed away from seedy areas as none of us want to have those kind of conversations with Indy yet.
One more Indy story before I go. On our first day in Bangkok a woman pointed at Indy and made two gestures: drags finger across upper lip as in “Moustache” and then cups hands on chest as “boobs”. I’m wondering if I’m going to have to go all lioness on her, since I think, “Is she offering to seel my son into some ladyboy revue show or slave trade?” No, she is asking , “Bird or bloke?”. And this is the first of many times this happens. The thais think my boy is a girl because of his hair. Thai boys have short hair. Louis unimpressed by this. Especially since I start singing Rebel Rebel by Bowie:
“You’ve got your mother in a whirl
She’s not sure if you’re a boy or a girl
Hey babe, your hairs alright
Hey babe, lets go out tonight”
He gave me a dead arm, but fair play I deserved it. Funny though….
Indiana Martinez and the Palace of Bling
Hello,we’re in Thailand! In Bangkok to be precise and I don’t know where to begin. It’s just absolutely high octane craziness. It’s about 35 degrees Celsius and humid as you like. Humidity is God’s cruel joke on the curly haired. I am like a 1970′s Blaxploitation film heroine. It can only be tamed by putting it all in a pleat whilst still wet. Anyway, enough of my hair, it’s taken up too much blogosphere already, as well as now having its own Thai postcode.
There are apparently three camps of people: those who love Bangkok, those who hate Bangkok and those who have no choice but to live there. I can’t say I love it, to be honest, and I don’t hate it either but I’m glad I don’t have to live here.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. We arrived what is officially yesterday (Sunday) but it feels like a weird time vortex ago. Jet lag is a weird thing; you’re so tired you can’t even string a whole sentence together but you can’t sleep. The received wisdom is to go with the flow- don’t go to bed until local bed time, wake up and function during a normal daytime. So we decided to veture out and about even though we had just spent 12 hours in two planes and two cigarette smoke filled hours at Dubai Airport. We showered and then went out to see Bangkok and rode the Skytrain (think Simpson’s Springfield monorail) all by ourselves! With tickets and not getting off at the wrong stop and apparent ease. How pleased with ourselves were we? The we hit the Siam shopping mall where hopes of bargain laid eastern cheapness were quickly dashed as we viewed an array of Louis Vuitton, Guess, Mulberry, Kenzo, Versace and the rest. All at standard western prices. So we ate dinner in Bangkok’s equivalent of the Bon Accord Food Hall with the great and good of Bangkok. So much for shopping til we dropped. We bought nowt. Then we headed back to our hotel, The Reflections Rooms. Check our room out:
The hotel wouldn’t be to everyone’s taste but we like it. It’s kitsch paradise. A little tatty but good fun and the people are lovely. Our room is called “The Flower of my Secret”. Every room is different and is decorated by a local artist.
This is the outside of the hotel:
Anyway, the jet lag thing works, it’s Monday and we all feel normal again after a weird night of us all waking up at about 3am and feeling ready for breakfast. The kids are fine when not being blasted by the midday sun. It is absolutely boiling here and the sun is to be avoided when you don’t have a swimming pool handy. Eve has had her face pinched so much by pretty much every adult she passes that we are having to administer cold compresses to her swollen cheeks. We went into a shop today and five or six young girl shop assistants took it in turns to get their picture taken with her. John was disappointed when they turned the offer of a photo with him down.
Now you may have been wondering what on earth my title means. Well it is in reference to my first born, King Louis, now rechristened “Indiana” or “Indy” for short. Today we did what every visitor to Bangkok has to do, and that’s visit the Grand Palace.
Talk about the “King and I”, this is “The Bling and I”. It’s a bejewelled golden labyrinth of temples, palaces and museums and it’s apparently the most holy of holy places in Thailand, housing the Emerald Buddha, which has healing properties. It was super-scorchio but we meandered round in the almost unbearable heat marvelling at the shineyness. At this point I want to quote you a paragraph from the Lonely Planet Guide to Thailand, apropos of something….
” Upon leaving Thailand you must declare any items to customs which could be viewed as antiques or items of religious or archeological importance. The Thai government are very strict about such items being taken out of the country and view failure to declare very seriously indeed…..”
So let’s jump an hour ahead to the Flying Martinis sat in a wonderful air conditioned restaurant in front of plates of amazing food that we had little clue of what any of it was. John takes Eve to the bathroom (Eve HAS to go to the toilet in every place we go to- she’s a toilet tourist) and Louis let’s Mum in on a secret.,
“Mum, look,” He pulls something gold and bejewelled out of his pocket, instantly recognisable as a piece of the wall of the Grand Palace. Literally Holy crap!
“It was already fallen off.,” he explains in answer to my dumbstruck face. Yes, my son has half inched a religious relic, he has purloined part of the Buddhist furniture, he has defiled a wonder of the world. What do we do now? My answer is straightforward, “Right, it’s done now, we’ll just hide it in the luggage.” I’m thinking Show and Tell will be amazing. If this doesn’t get that boy on the Golden Wall in Newmachar Primary, what will?
Those who know John will be unsurprised by his reaction. John is a former RE teacher, admirer of the Buddhist faith, and the most annoyingly moral and honest person I have ever met. “We have to take it back”, he says firmly. More at me than Louis.
By this point we are miles away from the palace and it is 35 degrees outside. “But it was lying on the ground” I say, turning into something akin to the Kray Twins’ mum. “Are we just going to lob it over the wall?” (we cannot re-enter without buying new tickets. I am not only dishonest but cheap.)
“OK, we’ll have to get rid of it, it belongs in Thailand and I don’t want to find out what a Thai jail is like”.says John.
Fair point….discussion over. Later that afternoon we go on a boat ride (getting ripped off in the process) and then go to Hell’s Kitchen itself, Chinatown, where apparently bargains are to be had….more of which in next blog. So we’re pretty busy. Later back at the hotel, I ask, “Oh, what are we going to do about Indy’s religious booty, I mean it doesn’t belong in a Western Museum or in a wooden box in a vault beside the Ark and the Grail…”
“I chucked it in a bush,” says Indy.
Indiana Martinez and the Palace of Bling
Hello,we’re in Thailand!
In Bangkok to be precise and I don’t know where to begin. It’s just absolutely high octane craziness. It’s about 35 degrees Celsius and humid as you like.
Humidity is God’s cruel joke on the curly haired. I am like a 1970′s Blaxploitation film heroine. It can only be tamed by putting it all in a pleat whilst still wet. Anyway, enough of my hair, it’s taken up too much blogosphere already, as well as now having its own Thai postcode.
There are apparently three camps of people: those who love Bangkok, those who hate Bangkok and those who have no choice but to live there. I can’t say I love it, to be honest, and I don’t hate it either but I’m glad I don’t have to live here.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. We arrived what is officially yesterday (Sunday) but it feels like a weird time vortex ago. Jet lag is a weird thing; you’re so tired you can’t even string a whole sentence together but you can’t sleep. The received wisdom is to go with the flow- don’t go to bed until local bed time, wake up and function during a normal daytime. So we decided to venture out and about even though we had just spent 12 hours in two planes and two cigarette smoke filled hours at Dubai Airport.
We showered and then went out to see Bangkok and rode the Skytrain (think Simpson’s Springfield monorail) all by ourselves! With tickets and not getting off at the wrong stop and apparent ease. How pleased with ourselves were we?
Then we hit the Siam shopping mall where hopes of bargain laid eastern cheapness were quickly dashed as we viewed an array of Louis Vuitton, Guess, Mulberry, Kenzo, Versace and the rest. All at standard western prices. So we ate dinner in Bangkok’s equivalent of the Bon Accord Food Hall with the great and good of Bangkok. So much for shopping til we dropped. We bought nowt. Then we headed back to our hotel, The Reflections Rooms. Check our room out:
The hotel wouldn’t be to everyone’s taste but we like it. It’s kitsch paradise. A little tatty but good fun and the people are lovely. Our room is called “The Flower of my Secret”. Every room is different and is decorated by a local artist.
This is the outside of the hotel:
Anyway, the jet lag thing works, it’s Monday and we all feel normal again after a weird night of us all waking up at about 3am and feeling ready for breakfast.
The kids are fine when not being blasted by the midday sun. It is absolutely boiling here and the sun is to be avoided when you don’t have a swimming pool handy. Eve has had her face pinched so much by pretty much every adult she passes that we are having to administer cold compresses to her swollen cheeks. We went into a shop today and five or six young girl shop assistants took it in turns to get their picture taken with her. John was disappointed when they turned the offer of a photo with him down.
Now you may have been wondering what on earth my title means. Well it is in reference to my first born, King Louis, now rechristened “Indiana” or “Indy” for short. Today we did what every visitor to Bangkok has to do, and that’s visit the Grand Palace.
Talk about the “King and I”, this is “The Bling and I”. It’s a bejeweled golden labyrinth of temples, palaces and museums and it’s apparently the most holy of holy places in Thailand, housing the Emerald Buddha, which has healing properties. It was super-scorchio but we meandered round in the almost unbearable heat marveling at the shineyness. At this point I want to quote you a paragraph from the Lonely Planet Guide to Thailand, apropos of something….
” Upon leaving Thailand you must declare any items to customs which could be viewed as antiques or items of religious or archeological importance. The Thai government are very strict about such items being taken out of the country and view failure to declare very seriously indeed…..”
So let’s jump an hour ahead to the Flying Martinis sat in a wonderful air conditioned restaurant in front of plates of amazing food that we had little clue of what any of it was. John takes Eve to the bathroom (Eve HAS to go to the toilet in every place we go to- she’s a toilet tourist) and Louis let’s Mum in on a secret.,
“Mum, look,” He pulls something gold and bejewelled out of his pocket, instantly recognisable as a piece of the wall of the Grand Palace. Literally Holy crap!
“It was already fallen off,” he explains in answer to my dumbstruck face. Yes, my son has half inched a religious relic, he has purloined part of the Buddhist furniture, he has defiled a wonder of the world. What do we do now? My answer is straightforward, “Right, it’s done now, we’ll just hide it in the luggage.” I’m thinking Show and Tell will be amazing. If this doesn’t get that boy on the Golden Wall in Newmachar Primary, what will?
Those who know John will be unsurprised by his reaction. John is a former RE teacher, admirer of the Buddhist faith, and the most annoyingly moral and honest person I have ever met. “We have to take it back”, he says firmly. More at me than Louis.
By this point we are miles away from the palace and it is 35 degrees outside. “But it was lying on the ground” I say, turning into something akin to the Kray Twins’ mum. “Are we just going to lob it over the wall?” (we cannot re-enter without buying new tickets. I am not only dishonest but cheap.)
“OK, we’ll have to get rid of it, it belongs in Thailand and I don’t want to find out what a Thai jail is like,”says John.
Fair point….discussion over.
Later that afternoon we go on a boat ride (getting ripped off in the process) and then go to Hell’s Kitchen itself, Chinatown, where apparently bargains are to be had….more of which in next blog. So we’re pretty busy. Later back at the hotel, I ask, “Oh, what are we going to do about Indy’s religious booty, I mean it doesn’t belong in a Western Museum or in a wooden box in a vault beside the Ark and the Grail…”
“I chucked it in a bush,” says Indy.
