Wind in the hair

Yesterday was a good day. It started out fairly plain- we rented a moped, went to the market, hit some beaches…all pretty standard stuff. Then out of the blue we got pulled by the cops whilst whistling along on the moped, who took my license and told us that we had made three mistakes. First mistake- “you must not have more than two people on a bike”- we had three and this was extremely naughty despite the fact that you commonly see families of 6+ on a bike and 8 year olds heading the wrong way up the highway on the mobile eating a spring roll. Second- “you must have international license” despite the fact that hundreds of companies are renting hundreds of bikes to foreigners every day. Third- “your bike has no number plate”. Whoops, didn’t even notice. Surely this is not our responsibility.

All this is going great until one cop pulls out a form and tries to fine us. At this point we start to explain to him that we are not going to pay the fine and start backing away scowling and making wild hand gestures.

We cannot blatantly load up three on the bike under their noses, so I ferry Ben  just down the road out of sight and go back to fetch Ajax. On returning and trying to ‘do a runner’ one cop blows his whistle and states that we must leave the bike with him. A little more shouting, scowling and hand gestures later we are down the road picking up Ben and continuing as before thrilled at our rather improvised and lucky escape from the law.

So we head for a temple on the hill, on a very random piece of advice, where monks and monkeys co-exist in relative harmony. On arrival we are greeted with an army of orphans who turn out to be some of the most magical, joyful and energetic kids I have ever met. One high five leads to 20 more, swinging one kid around means you have to swing 20 more around and so it goes on, some of them getting so excited that they scream and pogo madly on the spot.

We have time to kill before the sunset views so we drive into the hills and come across a small open air locals market. At this point it is necessary to explain that my nose is blue. Due to the extreme and unrelenting sun, normal sunscreen doesn’t seem to work so I’m using a zinc stick. I catch a ladies eye who is amazed at my colourful face, I smile at her and she sees this as a cue to laugh. Not knowing how to react I cover my face with my hands and fain shyness. This provokes hysterical laughter and soon the entire market (maybe 80 people) are roaring with laughter at my blue nose. Suddenly an elderly lady comes skipping up to us trying to sell us waffles…we refuse her politely so she’s starts kissing us each in turn- more hysterics all round. Finally we buy all her waffles and leave delivering them to the orphans who act as though this is the best day of their lives and continue to climb all over us as the suns sets over a mesmeric scene.

To top it all off we go to the market and buy 3 baby barracuda and a kilo of baby squid for 3 dollars, fashion a grill out of some wire, cook them on the beach on an open fire and serve with salt, pepper and lime. I nearly cried.

KO'd

One would imagine that after 15 hours on a cramped, sauna, fairground ride of a bus journey there is nothing better than to check in to a guest house and collapse onto the bed. Ill advised. Approximately one in ten beds in South East Asia has a special mattress designed by someone who’s forte is definitely not intelligence. To the untrained eye it looks like a normal mattress- pink and blue with a floral pattern, but inside something sinister lurks.

I still don’t know what exactly it is inside these mattresses, but it has the consistency of concrete and collapsing onto it would undoubtedly lead to severe bruising and probable unconsciousness.

The New Regime

Poem By Sarith Pou in Corpse Watching

No religious rituals.
No Religious Symbols.
No fortune tellers.
No traditional healers.
No paying respect to elders.
No social status.No titles.

No education. No training.
No school. No learning.
No books. No library.
No science. No technology.
No pens. No paper.

No currency. No bartering.
No buying. No selling.
No begging. No giving.
No purses. No wallets.

No human rights. No liberty.
No courts. No judges.
No laws. No attorneys.

No communications.
No public transportation.
No private transportation.
No traveling. No mailing.
No inviting. No visiting.
No faxes. No telephones.

No social gatherings.
No chitchatting.
No jokes. No laughter.
No music. No dancing.

No romance. No flirting.
No fornication. No dating.
No wet dreaming.
No masturbating.
No naked sleepers.
No bathers.
No nakedness in showers.
No love songs. No love letters.
No affection.

No marrying. No divorcing.
No martial conflicts. No fighting.
No profanity. No cursing.

No shoes. No sandals.
No toothbrushes. No razors.
No combs. No mirrors.
No lotion. No make up.
No long hair. No braids.
No jewelry.
No soap. no detergent. No shampoo.
No knitting. No embroidering.
No coloured clothes, except black.
No styles, except pajamas.
No wine. No palm sap hooch.
No lighters. No cigarettes.
No morning coffee. No afternoon tea.
No snacks. No desserts.
No breakfast (sometimes no dinner).

No mercy. No forgiveness.
No regret. No remorse.
No second chances. No excuses.
No complaints. No grievances.
No help. No favours.
No eyeglasses. No dental treatment.
No vaccines. No medicines.
No hospitals. No doctors.
No disabilities. No social diseases.
No tuberculosis. No leprosy.

No kites. No marbles. No rubber bands.
No cookies. No popsicle. No candy.
No playing. No toys.
No lullabies.
No rest. No vacations.
No holidays. No weekends.
No games. No sports.
No staying up late.
No newspapers.

No radio. No TV.
No drawing. No painting.
No pets. No pictures.
No electricity. No lamp oil.
No clocks. No watches.

No hope. No life.
A third of the people didn't survive.
The regime died.

Manky

On the second night of the jungle trek we were lucky enough to have the company of a rather hairless mangy, old mongrel whom we named Manky. His only companion in the village of bamboo huts was a white cat with a pronounced ‘Z’ kinked in his tale. If the two crossed paths there would almost certainly be a scrap.

Manky enjoyed the attention we gave him by the fire in the evening, but was clearly a dog with very little self-confidence and his paranoia often got the better of him.

It transpires that Manky used to belong to the Long Neck Tribe who abandoned him when they left to set up camp nearer a main road (for business reasons) and when we arrived at the tribe’s village we discovered that Manky had been replaced by a number of cute, soft, cuddly puppies- poor old Manky.

 

Street dogs the world across have a hard time of it- no one to feed them, groom them, no drop in clinics, always getting your ear chewed by the bigger dogs from round the corner. They end up looking, like Manky, pretty manky….and when you don’t look good the chances are that you don’t feel very good either.

Some thoughtful person has taken it upon themselves to travel around the country providing the street dogs with funky threads to spruce up their appearance and to cover their pooch nudity- a stripy tank top here, a designer jacket there.

These dogs can roam the streets in style and stay warm at night.

Ze Fronch

I was taking a shower this morning when a French girl in the next cubicle asks me “How is your shower working?” to which I had to reply “Really not very well”…after a short while she asks ”Yes, but how is your shower working?”.

Taking a shower in Thailand regularly requires a good deal of problem solving- numerous combinations of tap turning, delicate temperature control, rewiring the power unit etc etc. I could only advise the girl in the next cubicle to “Try turning some taps?” trying hard not to sound patronising. It worked.

Bangkok- no joke

Bangkok’s actual official name is Krungthep mahanakhon amonratanakosin mahintara ayuthaya mahadilok popnopparat ratchathani burirom udomratchaniwet mahasathan amonpiman avatansathit sakkathattiya witsanukamprasit. Ok well done whoever came up with that one then.

Wed 14^th January was supposedly a good day to arrive in Bangkok- “National Lucky Day” a beaming Thai bloke smugly told ….a likely story…..but managed to get one rickshaw driver to take me to about ten of the best sights in the city, which took most of the afternoon, for just 20 baht (40 pence). All the sights were free to get in too.

I’m staying on the Khao San Road, a fairly hideous tourist quagmire where, of an evening, one will regularly be persued by a gang of Thai guys wearing sandwich boards that read ‘VERY STRONG COCKTAILS’. Enough said.

The food here will not stop jumping into my mouth. So many marvellous things; meals, and often in between meals, are exciting times.

On sale so far in Bangkok- several sets of second hand rather dirty dentures with a lot of teeth missing, a ‘digital perm’ (!!?) to go with some ‘permanent make-up’ and a scotch egg type device the size of your head.- people eating these can, for a short time, look as though they do indeed have a giant scotch egg for a head.