Tasche Off!
Ms Lattes and Funk has cheekily challenged me to post a pic of my moustachioed mug. In fact, she has claimed that she is the Queen of Tasches in an effort to get me to tasche-up once again in public on this very Misssive.
I want points to be given in the following categories:
1. Moustache wearer that inspires the most bewildering lustful impulses
2. Moustache that looks like it could have been grown organically
3. Moustache you most want to run your fingers through
4. Moustache wearer that makes you want to grow a tasche of your own
5. Moustache wearer most likely to pass herself off as the dictator of an oppressed country
Here we both are:
Mousssy Misssy
Latte with the Lipfuzz
In the name of Tom Selleck, let the best ladyman win!
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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….
