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
Attack of the Basking Swedes
We had a day off today- what I mean by that is we put the tuc-tuc back and hung around the bungalow and pool. After touring the island yesterday I realize that we’ve actually chosen the nicest place on the island to stay.
Certainly the beach is superclean, the sea is clear and it’s relatively quiet. I can’t believe how lovely that picture of the beach looked in yesterday’s blog. The beach really was dirty. There were plastic bottles everywhere, as well as some broken glass ones. Not really what you’d expect. It depresses me that people can’t pick up their rubbish and stick it in a bin.
Mind you, we were responsible for a teeny bit of littering yesterday. Eve was TOLD to hold on tight to her crisps whilst sitting in the tuc-tuc (Eve always likes to have a snack handy). She’s hosing into a family pack of crisps and at full tuc tuc speed (a terrifying 20 mph) she lets go of the bag, which (still mostly full) hits the motorcyclist in the chest behind us. Poor guy, what a fright he got. Being Thai, of course, he doesn’t think to go completely radge and start fisticuffs with anyone…he slows down to check he can’t help us by retrieving whatever it was that hit him in the chest at full velocity. John hasn’t quite mastered the emergency stop and can do nothing but wave apologetically. Eve starts howling; after all she is now snackless and bereft….
We christen our tuc tuc Matilda, as it goes well with the Flying Martinis. And she does us proud getting us all the way from North tip to South of the Island.
I tell you, being in Thailand makes Western women feel massive. All the Thai ladies and sub size zero, no clothes in Thai shops will fit even a size ten western woman, and to add insult to injury, sometimes I have to get out of the tuc-tuc as my weight is stopping it from moving over a bump or as yesterday, from stopping the whole thing sinking into sand. I get pretty good at nipping out, pushing the thing up a hill and then hopping back on as John accelerates.
The photo of John and the kids in the tuc tuc was taken on one of these occasions. Feeling the thing sinking into the sand, I hop out, but embarrassed by the admission that my 9 stones is too much for Matilda to take, I pretend to the people behind us that I was getting off anyway, to take photos….
You might be surprised that I have time to blog whilst on my hols but I tend to do it at around midday, when it is just too hot to go out. We all have a break around now. The kids go and watch a DVD and John starts cocktail hour. However, in this resort the pool is still pretty crowded. Well not the pool, but the loungers anyway. No it’s not the Germans as Stan Boardman would have it, but this place is 90% occupied by Swedes.
I don’t get why a race of blondies can be impervious to UV rays. I have never seen people basking in the full glare of the midday sun like this lot. They are all dark brown and seem to be lying there from well before we surface in the morning til about 3pm. I am, today, delighted that I have managed to procure one remaining sun lounger as they are always occupied by blond tanned Swedes. I can’t believe it. I’m not even on it now- I’ve germanically put my towel down like a dog marking her territory and will leave it there the whole day. I’m nothing if diplomatic.
I can only stand sitting in the sun for ten mins at a time, I have along way to go til I can reach Swedish National Basking Standards. I want to know the skin cancer rates in Sweden- someone find out for me now! It’s not fair.
By the way, the Misssymartin Misssives has a guest blog from none other than Jack Martin later on. I believe he’s going to tell you all about his night out at the Thai Boxing Championships last night. Not to be missed!
The Motorcycle Diaries
It’s day 3 in Koh Lanta and it’s been a day of excitement and danger. Today is the day we rent a tuc tuc for the day. The Lanta tuc tuc doesn’t look like this though
Those are the cosmopolitan tuc tucs. The Thai island tuc tuc makes no pretension to luxury or design, it is the tuc tuc unplugged; it is the tuc tuc stripped bare and visceral. What no-one ever admits to is this- a tuc-tuc is a moped with a bench attached.
The second you make the decision to rent a tuc tuc an alarm goes off in the headquarters of your travel insurance brokers, rendering your policy null and void. But we have made sure that should the worst come to the worst, we have a system already in place. It’s the “A big boy did it and ran away” system. Should we crash and limbs go flying we quickly empty all out of the tuc tuc and say we were merely crossing the road when this guy crashed into us in his tuc tuc. A guy who has now run away. German probably.
Now the last time that we rented a suspect vehicle was John’s and my first holiday together in Corfu. At that point in our relationship, John did not have a drivers licence. In fact John hadn’t even had a driving lesson. I doubt whether at that point John had even sat his cycling proficiency test. He books a moped for three days and is very excited. The insurance broker alarm does not go off as on this particular occasion as we have spent all our money on actually getting to Greece and have decided to use remaining cash on eating and drinking rather than wasting it on travel insurance.
John wakes up super early to collect the bike and I realise that I’m not going to get a look in. I’ll be lucky if he lets me ride pillion.
I’ll keep the rest of the story short as you don’t particularly want me going on about something that happened 15 years ago, since I’m supposed to be writing about Thailand. Here’s the abridged version:
John crashes bike
John doesn’t let go
Force of John’s grip presses accelerator handle
John loses flesh of entire knee on tarmac as he is dragged along
Gill gets to drive the bike for rest of holiday!
But John has redeemed his self. Here he is in action in Thailand!
So we tour Koh Lanta and end up on this beach. It looks nice in the photos but it isn’t- it’s full of rubbish. If the beach doesn’t have a resort attached it seems it doesn’t get cleaned. Real shame. I feel like getting a black bag and going back and cleaning it up. Even though I hate cleaning up.
We stop off at another and it’s worse, but me and John meet our fantasy future selves in the shape of Johnny and Shelley from Tazzie (that’s Tasmania to you and I). I wish I had taken a photo (will do better next time). Johnny and Shelley are around sixty and have sailed from Tazzie to South East Asia. They’ve been everywhere- Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia. They’ve been away for over a year and they don’t really have any intentions of going back anytime soon. These people have sailed into Singapore harbour alongside tankers!!! They are our new personal heroes. I am suddenly looking forward to my retirement (who am I kidding- I have always been looking forward to my retirement). I ask John if I can start calling him Johnny from now on. He says no, he’s holding out for “Jack”.
Anyway, here’s some pics of us drinking and a little recipe for a Mojito, which is my drink du jour. Not very Thai- it’s Brazilian but what’s a continent between firneds?
White rum (as much as you can stand)
Any way here’s some pics of Kaw Kwang resort where we are staying. Oh and the first one includes my new best friend, Melina. Melina has a Thai mum and a German dad and she and Eve have been playing. I have been translating. If anyone told me that I would be speaking German 50% of the time of my Thai hols not only would I be surprised, I would also have not believed it possible. I have a German degree but haven’t spoken German for 15 years. I can still do it- well good enough that a five year old can understand me! See mum and dad, that money you spent sending me to Uni wasn’t a complete waste! In fact I have added to my vocabulary; I now know the phrases for “Hide and Seek” and “Tig and Tag”. Useful.
By the way- love the suggestion from some of my Readers on the Heaven/Helen song titles. The M People one, “One night in Helen” in particular, made us laugh, as it’s a bit rude….Keep them coming.
The Motorcycle Diaries
It’s day 3 in Koh Lanta and it’s been a day of excitement and danger. Today is the day we rent a tuc tuc for the day. The Lanta tuc tuc doesn’t look like this though
Those are the cosmopolitan tuc tucs. The Thai island tuc tuc makes no pretension to luxury or design, it is the tuc tuc unplugged; it is the tuc tuc stripped bare and visceral. What no-one ever admits to is this- a tuc-tuc is a moped with a bench attached.
The second you make the decision to rent a tuc tuc an alarm goes off in the headquarters of your travel insurance brokers, rendering your policy null and void. But we have made sure that should the worst come to the worst, we have a system already in place. It’s the “A big boy did it and ran away” system. Should we crash and limbs go flying we quickly empty all out of the tuc tuc and say we were merely crossing the road when this guy crashed into us in his tuc tuc. A guy who has now run away. German probably.
Now the last time that we rented a suspect vehicle was John’s and my first holiday together in Corfu. At that point in our relationship, John did not have a drivers licence. In fact John hadn’t even had a driving lesson. I doubt whether at that point John had even sat his cycling proficiency test. He books a moped for three days and is very excited. The insurance broker alarm does not go off as on this particular occasion as we have spent all our money on actually getting to Greece and have decided to use remaining cash on eating and drinking rather than wasting it on travel insurance.
John wakes up super early to collect the bike and I realise that I’m not going to get a look in. I’ll be lucky if he lets me ride pillion.
I’ll keep the rest of the story short as you don’t particularly want me going on about something that happened 15 years ago, since I’m supposed to be writing about Thailand. Here’s the abridged version:
John crashes bike
John doesn’t let go
Force of John’s grip presses accelerator handle
John loses flesh of entire knee on tarmac as he is dragged along
Gill gets to drive the bike for rest of holiday!
But John has redeemed his self. Here he is in action in Thailand!
So we tour Koh Lanta and end up on this beach. It looks nice in the photos but it isn’t- it’s full of rubbish. If the beach doesn’t have a resort attached it seems it doesn’t get cleaned. Real shame. I feel like getting a black bag and going back and cleaning it up. Even though I hate cleaning up.
We stop off at another and it’s worse, but me and John meet our fantasy future selves in the shape of Johnny and Shelley from Tazzie (that’s Tasmania to you and I). I wish I had taken a photo (will do better next time). Johnny and Shelley are around sixty and have sailed from Tazzie to South East Asia. They’ve been everywhere- Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia. They’ve been away for over a year and they don’t really have any intentions of going back anytime soon. These people have sailed into Singapore harbour alongside tankers!!! They are our new personal heroes. I am suddenly looking forward to my retirement (who am I kidding- I have always been looking forward to my retirement). I ask John if I can start calling him Johnny from now on. He says no, he’s holding out for “Jack”.
Anyway, here’s some pics of us drinking and a little recipe for a Mojito, which is my drink du jour. Not very Thai- it’s Brazilian but what’s a continent between firneds?
White rum (as much as you can stand)
Any way here’s some pics of Kaw Kwang resort where we are staying. Oh and the first one includes my new best friend, Melina. Melina has a Thai mum and a German dad and she and Eve have been playing. I have been translating. If anyone told me that I would be speaking German 50% of the time of my Thai hols not only would I be surprised, I would also have not believed it possible. I have a German degree but haven’t spoken German for 15 years. I can still do it- well good enough that a five year old can understand me! See mum and dad, that money you spent sending me to Uni wasn’t a complete waste! In fact I have added to my vocabulary; I now know the phrases for “Hide and Seek” and “Tig and Tag”. Useful.
By the way- love the suggestion from some of my Readers on the Heaven/Helen song titles. The M People one, “One night in Helen” in particular, made us laugh, as it’s a bit rude….Keep them coming.
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.
