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
Raaaaarrrrr!
It’s the last day in Kanchanaburi and we are on the trip which really led us to this part of the world in the first place.
Last year my pal Jonny came back from Thailand with hundreds of photos of him sitting with a tiger lolling about his lap. Within a day of seeing these photos I had scheduled a trip to The Tiger Monastery on our Thailand itinerary. The deal is here at the Tiger Sanctuary is that these are tigers that have been rescued. They’ve maybe been rescued from illegal poachers,found injured or are cubs found abandoned after a mother has been killed. They are looked after by a group of Buddhist monks and rangers. Most have been reared from cubs in the sanctuary to adulthood.
Any tiger cubs born in the sanctuary are not allowed contact with the visitors as they are released back into the wild as soon as they are able to fend for themselves. At the moment there are only thought to be about 250 tigers in Thailand. Apparently a lot of the poaching (read, “killing”) is for the Chinese medicine market, where a tiger’s penis can fetch thousands of dollars as it is believed to have virility enhancing powers, if you know what I mean. Get some bloody Viagra over to Beijing quick!
My boy and a real tiger…..
Oh my God, someone’s put my girl onto a real tiger’s belly…..
You don’t really need anything more do you?
Look at my boy rolling about with a fully grown tiger! Look at my girl sitting on a tiger’s belly! The chief monk made a bee-line for her, and took her straight over to meet the tigers. Mum and Dad had to wait in line with all the other Muggles. Mum and Dad look on, terrified. Eve’s thoughts on the matter?
“The tiger was itchy.”By comparison, look at John and I tentatively touching a tiger…..
I really wanted to touch its head but they wouldn’t let me. Something to do with the big teeth, I think.
In reality you only got about two seconds with any of the tigers. The monks or rangers chaperone you and are understandably nervous as hell. You only get enough time to pose with the tiger as your photo is taken. Of course, you also have to sign a document on the way in that more or less says, “Tigers may eat you, don’t hold us responsible. You went in of your own free will.”
No matter how tame these beasts seem to be, you’d best never forget that tigers are wild animals. They have a tendency to take your face off.
The tigers are kept in large cages and are trotted out once a day for about an hour to see the visitors, and you can get a chance to lead the tamest one (seen below) back to her pen.
This is the first tiger reared from cub to adulthood in the Monastery
I was slightly disappointed you didn’t get more time with the beasts but there were about fifty people there. It was great just to watch them, though. I’ve got more photos of the tigers than my own kids.
But look at this…this is one of the monks being asked for some cat food (a cooked chicken) by doing the same thing our cat Harleyboy does when he’s hungry…by being a big sook. This enormous beast rubbed its face up against the monk’s like a big moggy. This photo kind of captures it.
Later on we share our pickup truck back to Kanchanaburi with a London backpacking couple of physiotherapists called Laura and Dan and a German couple called Melanie and Robert. They are all staying at the Apple Guest house where we had planned to eat for our last night.
The Apple runs a Thai cooking school and food is supposed to be great. So that night we head down and meet up with our fellow tiger fanciers. We have a great night and I even speak a smidge of German again. Little point other than some practice for me, as Melanie’s English is as good as mine, but the two of them seem to like the fact that I give it a go.
So goodbye Kanchanaburi . Quite possibly the best two days of the trip so far.
Tomorrow we’re off back to Bangkok and one night of extreme luxury in the Davis Hotel before heading home….Oh and it just happens to be “Songkran”, Thailand’s New Year.
Raaaaarrrrr!
It’s the last day in Kanchanaburi and we are on the trip which really led us to this part of the world in the first place.
Last year my pal Jonny came back from Thailand with hundreds of photos of him sitting with a tiger lolling about his lap. Within a day of seeing these photos I had scheduled a trip to The Tiger Monastery on our Thailand itinerary. The deal is here at the Tiger Sanctuary is that these are tigers that have been rescued. They’ve maybe been rescued from illegal poachers,found injured or are cubs found abandoned after a mother has been killed. They are looked after by a group of Buddhist monks and rangers. Most have been reared from cubs in the sanctuary to adulthood.
Any tiger cubs born in the sanctuary are not allowed contact with the visitors as they are released back into the wild as soon as they are able to fend for themselves. At the moment there are only thought to be about 250 tigers in Thailand. Apparently a lot of the poaching (read, “killing”) is for the Chinese medicine market, where a tiger’s penis can fetch thousands of dollars as it is believed to have virility enhancing powers, if you know what I mean. Get some bloody Viagra over to Beijing quick!
My boy and a real tiger…..
Oh my God, someone’s put my girl onto a real tiger’s belly…..
You don’t really need anything more do you?
Look at my boy rolling about with a fully grown tiger! Look at my girl sitting on a tiger’s belly! The chief monk made a bee-line for her, and took her straight over to meet the tigers. Mum and Dad had to wait in line with all the other Muggles. Mum and Dad look on, terrified. Eve’s thoughts on the matter?
“The tiger was itchy.”By comparison, look at John and I tentatively touching a tiger…..
I really wanted to touch its head but they wouldn’t let me. Something to do with the big teeth, I think.
In reality you only got about two seconds with any of the tigers. The monks or rangers chaperone you and are understandably nervous as hell. You only get enough time to pose with the tiger as your photo is taken. Of course, you also have to sign a document on the way in that more or less says, “Tigers may eat you, don’t hold us responsible. You went in of your own free will.”
No matter how tame these beasts seem to be, you’d best never forget that tigers are wild animals. They have a tendency to take your face off.
The tigers are kept in large cages and are trotted out once a day for about an hour to see the visitors, and you can get a chance to lead the tamest one (seen below) back to her pen.
This is the first tiger reared from cub to adulthood in the Monastery
I was slightly disappointed you didn’t get more time with the beasts but there were about fifty people there. It was great just to watch them, though. I’ve got more photos of the tigers than my own kids.
But look at this…this is one of the monks being asked for some cat food (a cooked chicken) by doing the same thing our cat Harleyboy does when he’s hungry…by being a big sook. This enormous beast rubbed its face up against the monk’s like a big moggy. This photo kind of captures it.
Later on we share our pickup truck back to Kanchanaburi with a London backpacking couple of physiotherapists called Laura and Dan and a German couple called Melanie and Robert. They are all staying at the Apple Guest house where we had planned to eat for our last night.
The Apple runs a Thai cooking school and food is supposed to be great. So that night we head down and meet up with our fellow tiger fanciers. We have a great night and I even speak a smidge of German again. Little point other than some practice for me, as Melanie’s English is as good as mine, but the two of them seem to like the fact that I give it a go.
So goodbye Kanchanaburi . Quite possibly the best two days of the trip so far.
Tomorrow we’re off back to Bangkok and one night of extreme luxury in the Davis Hotel before heading home….Oh and it just happens to be “Songkran”, Thailand’s New Year.
The Swiss Family Martin
The war aspect of Kanchanaburi is everywhere, and I suspect that the bridge and the railway are the reason why a lot of Europeans come here. However the area surrounding Kanchanaburi is also a national park and has some amazing scenery and areas of natural beauty.
We’re not normally ones for organised trips but we went on a cracker of one on day two of our stay here. First of to Erawan National Park with it’s seven waterfalls.
The Erawan park rangers have cottoned on to something- tourists leave rubbish. I have ranted about this in the past. So you are only allowed to take drinking water into the park, and you must check in your bottles, sign for them and leave a deposit. Each bottle is numbered, so they can check discarded bottles against names, and presumably find you wherever you are hiding and then beat you to death with them.
We are told by our guide Mu Mu, an extremely confident but fast and impenetrable English speaker, that we are welcome to swim in the pools of Erawan and that the little fish will give you a firm Thai massage. In actual fact, the buggers bite you, constantly and are not afraid of splashing or shrieking, despite my efforts to frighten them off.
I adopt the technique of swimming like a Olympic champion to outrun the little beasts but they are everywhere and to be frank, they are not little. It seems weird that the other day I was snorkelling in amongst the beautiful Koh Phi Phi Nemos and trying to touch them, but now I am frantically swatting away the biting brown leviathans of Erawan and shrieking like a girl.
Anyway here’s a pic of what I suspect is Louis’s highlight of his holiday…sliding down a natural rock flume like a good ‘un.
Safe to say eve didn’t go in any of the pools and whined the whole time, asking where lunch was and wanting to go home. She likes a good dash of ceramic tile and chlorine with her swimming water.
Next up, we go for a walk with some elephants. Here we are with Bunta (22 years old) and Seesaw.
Will work for bananas.
Unlike our previous Elephant walk on our Sri Lanka trip we were able to send some time with our Elephants afterwards. Here’s me speaking to Bunta and apologising for running out of bananas and making her walk in the hot sun.
And we saw one of the babies, who snotted all over my white trousers and rooted about my person for anything edible.
Our mahout was a cheeky one too. He ate two of the bananas meant for the elephant.
Next up we went rafting which was fantastic.(No pics, unfortunately.) With life jackets on, Mum, if you’re reading… Louis and John jumped off the the raft and swam most of the way downstream. John in River swimming shocker. See, I told you it was a ll a bluff..he was like flipping Tarzan. And I went in fully clothed but hung onto then raft so that I could be in earshot of Eve’s whining lunch enquriry and pleading to go home.
One of the other rafts had an unwelcome visitor in the form of a water snake. A deadly water snake. We might not have been so keen to jump in the River had we known. Yikes!
The Swiss Family Martin
The war aspect of Kanchanaburi is everywhere, and I suspect that the bridge and the railway are the reason why a lot of Europeans come here. However the area surrounding Kanchanaburi is also a national park and has some amazing scenery and areas of natural beauty.
We’re not normally ones for organised trips but we went on a cracker of one on day two of our stay here. First of to Erawan National Park with it’s seven waterfalls.
The Erawan park rangers have cottoned on to something- tourists leave rubbish. I have ranted about this in the past. So you are only allowed to take drinking water into the park, and you must check in your bottles, sign for them and leave a deposit. Each bottle is numbered, so they can check discarded bottles against names, and presumably find you wherever you are hiding and then beat you to death with them.
We are told by our guide Mu Mu, an extremely confident but fast and impenetrable English speaker, that we are welcome to swim in the pools of Erawan and that the little fish will give you a firm Thai massage. In actual fact, the buggers bite you, constantly and are not afraid of splashing or shrieking, despite my efforts to frighten them off.
I adopt the technique of swimming like a Olympic champion to outrun the little beasts but they are everywhere and to be frank, they are not little. It seems weird that the other day I was snorkelling in amongst the beautiful Koh Phi Phi Nemos and trying to touch them, but now I am frantically swatting away the biting brown leviathans of Erawan and shrieking like a girl.
Anyway here’s a pic of what I suspect is Louis’s highlight of his holiday…sliding down a natural rock flume like a good ‘un.
Safe to say eve didn’t go in any of the pools and whined the whole time, asking where lunch was and wanting to go home. She likes a good dash of ceramic tile and chlorine with her swimming water.
Next up, we go for a walk with some elephants. Here we are with Bunta (22 years old) and Seesaw.
Will work for bananas.
Unlike our previous Elephant walk on our Sri Lanka trip we were able to send some time with our Elephants afterwards. Here’s me speaking to Bunta and apologising for running out of bananas and making her walk in the hot sun.
And we saw one of the babies, who snotted all over my white trousers and rooted about my person for anything edible.
Our mahout was a cheeky one too. He ate two of the bananas meant for the elephant.
Next up we went rafting which was fantastic.(No pics, unfortunately.) With life jackets on, Mum, if you’re reading… Louis and John jumped off the the raft and swam most of the way downstream. John in River swimming shocker. See, I told you it was a ll a bluff..he was like flipping Tarzan. And I went in fully clothed but hung onto then raft so that I could be in earshot of Eve’s whining lunch enquriry and pleading to go home.
One of the other rafts had an unwelcome visitor in the form of a water snake. A deadly water snake. We might not have been so keen to jump in the River had we known. Yikes!
