Krabi

So, despite my reservations that i was far too old to properly enjoy a gap yah! , Thailand has fully lived up to expectations. Not only do they understand tea: 

But I have also had a near-flawless record run with my passport, other than a brief ten minutes where I handed back a rented moped, skipped off down the road, bought an ice cream, posted a postcard and then remembered that poor little passport was still stored safely in the seat of the previously mentioned moped. Luckily, my 'check-the-passport' prompts are becoming more frequent, thus reducing the likelihood of a repetition of the Canada or Borneo Affair.

Now, when you think of Thailand, I am sure that many of you think of this:

Or this:

Happily, this is also what I think of when I think of Thailand, and despite a nightmarishly long train and bus journey from Bangkok to Krabi, this is the Thailand I saw. In Krabi, I checked myself into a suitably 'Robby-Carlyle-dies-of-the-plague-at-the-beginning-of-The-Beach' hostel and decided that now was the time to take matters into my own hands. So successful has my relationship with Little Moto been, that I decided to have a transport affair with Thai Moto, and quickly zipped off to see sunset at this beach:

Overjoyed with this picture-perfect success, I proceeded to plan an epic adventure to Koh Lanta, the island that had refused to offer me accomodation. So at 7am the next day, I rode off into the sunrise, stopping for a Twilight Zone visit to Tesco Lotus, thinking of Amy at every suspicious step round the aisles, and then on into rubber and palm oil plantations until I reached the ferry that took me to Koh Lanta Noi, and this entirely deserted beach:

I had the actual, entire beach to myself, yo! It was also Frenchie's birthday that day. I could have spent my money flying to where he is, but I'm a selfish and heartless cow, so I made him this instead:

Not quite the same as human contact, but to spoil him would be to ruin him.

Zipped onwards to the second ferry and Koh Lanta Yai where all the development is, and popped into a set of bungalows for the sheer fact that there was rhyming in their name: 'Time for Lime'. Who can resist such poetry? Not me! Turns out that the bungalows also double up as Koh Lanta's only official animal shelter! This was great! I love cats, and don't feel that dogs should be abused without due cause! Luckily, 'booked up' meant that they had one room left, so I spent an afternoon and morning here:

Oh, and moved on a day later to the sunset here:

Me lying on the beach burning, writing my next bestseller and collecting really stinky shells is boring to read about but here are some amusing highlights:

- I got bitten IN MY BELLYBUTTON and on the SOLES OF MY FEET, despite repellent, proving that we must wage aggressive, merciless and immediate war against the whole mosquito race.
- Shells really, really stink, and I'm currently sitting on my own row in the airport lounge, I think because of the stench coming from my bag, but they are, like, way impressive and pretty.
- Always put suntan lotion on your feet, yo! No matter how sticky, sandy and annoying. They have feelings, too.
- On the way to the airport an awesomely huge dragon-lizard crossed the road. My camera was packed, so I can assure you that it was a whole lot bigger than MY FACE - almost as big as me. Maybe bigger than the car, for sure. It was enormous. Like a dinosaur.
- Stupid people don't understand how tides work. Some stroppy tourist rocked up at high tide and lamented long and hard that she was 'so disappointed with the beach' as there 'was none'. Idiot. Two hours later: lo and behold! The beach!

So far two people have moved away from my row because of my reeking shells. I don't know how I am going to control my gag reflex with them in a confined space...

Bangkok

So.  Yes, 'so'.  As good a way as any to continue with a blog of awesomeness.  Bangkok, hey?  Why not, I thought.  Those chaps in those films seemed to enjoy themselves and have a jolly old laugh, so why not me?  Those who know me, however, may be surprised to hear that I have not had exactly the same experience as Fitty McCooper Bradleyson.  I know: shocker.  'Ladyboys' and 'Emma' just seem synonymous with each other, don't they?  Well, I decided to resist my never-harboured urges and instead spent time visiting all the Buddhas in Bangkok in order to decide which was my favourite.

Those who know me will also be aware that I very much enjoy walking.  It's like running, all you healthy, sportsbods out there, except less traumatic and slower, which is very important in 34 degree Thai heat.  So, in effect, my 3 hour stroll through China town to the 5.5 tonne solid gold Buddha at Wat Traimit, and then to the hiatus of the jade Buddha at the Royal Palace, finishing with the awesome lying-down enormous lazy Buddha at Wat Pho was like a Buddha pilgrimage.



Solid GOLD!



Jade Buddha: you're not allowed to look directly at it.

Would the Vietnamese market ladies dare tell Buddha that he was a 'vey big laydee'?

Conclusion: can't argue with an enormous, sleeping Buddha with mother-of-pearl feet.  Awesome.

Along the way, I also discovered that Thailand has a royal family, and do many things that appeared very familiar to me.  Now I love a good royal family, especially when there is a museum dedicated to them with portraits showing family resemblances and family trees and royal barges and... wait a second... I became increasingly suspicious about this - the list of strange, deja vu prompters went on: pruned gardens, changing of the guard, charity work... I couldn't quite put my finger on it until I walked a very long and unnecessary way to what the Thais call Ananta Samakhom Throne Hall, which is, in fact, Buckingham Palace.  When I manage to upload photos, I will dare you to argue with me.  Having seen this building, I realised that the Thai royals are just Windsor Wannabes.  I'm sorry to say it, but they are.  Not that imitation isn't the purest form of flattery, but I wish somebody had just come out and said it to me instead of leaving me to spend a weekend feeling increasingly creeped out: I saw ugly demons guarding a gold-leaf temple - definitely Thai.  Then I saw a pristine lawn, and a sign saying 'Keep off the Lawn' and I drank two of the best cups of Earl Grey that I've had since Christmas... wha...  where... who?  Odd, twilight zone...



Look familiar?

In short, other than the mosquito bites, and haunting voice reminding me that I laugh in the face of anti-malarials, Bangkok has been fun!  I'm off to lie on a beach for four days this evening, and seem to have regressed to my 20-year-old self, except without Lizzie to egg me on in foolish decision making:
Me: can I get a ticket for the 10 hour, overnight journey to Krabi tomorrow, please?
Train ticket man: there are only sitting seats left.
Me: no berths?
TTM: no.  Air con?
Me: yes, air con, please.
TTM: sitting?
Me: yes, sitting, please.
TTM: for ten hours, between 10:30pm and 8:30am?
Me: yes, sounds great!  How much?

Should be able to upload photos upon my return to Vietnam in a week, if not sooner.  Shall ensure that I take some good 'look how tanned I am, is it still raining in England?' photos.  Because I know you'll appreciate them.

Tragedy!

No!  This is not a reference to my previous search for the Christian names of the Bee Gees, it is something much, much worse.

Today, as I was skipping home merrily from work (because why would one skip if one was not merry?  And why would one not be merry having taught lessons, marked books and planned yet more learning?) having discovered that the new Ye Olde Koreanee Shoppee in our building sells MobiPhone credit (bonus!), I found myself on the small bridge that crosses the Lily Trench Orphanage, leading to my apartment block.

I stopped.

Something was not quite right.

A strange, eerily cold wind blew through my hair.

Somewhere near me, a child screamed.

The.  Lily.  Trench.  Had.  Been...

DRAINED!

I searched frantically around for some sign of Jesus, Mary, Joseph, John the Baptist, Romeo, Juliet and the Nursemaid!  Maybe they were flapping around in a small, still-filled area patiently awaiting the replenishment of the trench?  Maybe there would be a sign in Vietnamese explaining that the fish had been scooped out and were being housed in reception whilst the trench was cleaned?

Nothing.

Nothing!

Alas, Risk or Death doesn't know anything yet, as she is cycling to the North Pole, blindfolded.  Hopefully this, and the short-lived iPhone battery will mean that she won't have a chance to read this before I can break it to her gently.

Poor fish.  I wonder if it is any consolation that the remainder of their lives were spent in luxury, bliss and abandon?

Epitaf For Fish:

Your lives were brief,

Your memories short.

I'm sorry to see that

In the end, you were caught.

RIP Fish

... none of our fish were called 'Doug'.

The Lily Trench Orphanage

Last week, Risk Or Death and I decided to blow away the cobwebs of conformity and do something reckless!  First, Risk Or Death suggested leading a revolution in Burma, but I told her that was so Aung San Suu Kyi, and we didn't want to look like copy-flatterers, because that could be, like, way offensive to a 21st Century feminist icon whose name I have to Google for the correct spelling every time I reference her.

Then, RoD suggested that maybe adopting all the street children in Vietnam and housing them in our apartments could be worthwhile, but I reminded her that she spends almost eights hours a day with 5-year-olds and she doesn't really like small children, so this was out.

Instead, whilst zipping along on Little Moto, we stopped as we came out of town next to a man with a bicycle like this:

And we purchased three fish, who were originally called Jesus, Mary and Joseph, because we couldn't remember the Beegees' names, or the names of the three tenors, and we wanted to consolidate their identity as a trio.  As it was a Sunday, this was the only trio I could think of.

Sensing the urgency in our mission, we zoomed home to the Lily Trenches at our humble apartments, and released them from the bag, elated that we had given the gift of freedom to three worthy candidates, and encouraged their fish trafficker to continue to ruin the fishy lives of many for a small profit from guillable Westerners.

A day later, after we had been crossing out fingers tightly, hoping that the change in water temperature/environment/fact that they had been living in a plastic bag for some days/shock would not result in the deaths of J, M&J.  Great excitement overcame us, therefore, when we saw all three swimming around quite calmly in the water with a fourth, white goldfish, who obviously stole the name of Jesus, and whichever one had been Jesus before is now John the Baptist.  We also saw three smaller fish, whom we have named Romeo, Juliet and the Nursemaid.  So others must be freeing fish as well!

We plan to make this a monthly occurrence and continue to populate the Lily Trench Orphanage with lost, abandoned and neglected fish.  Please address any charitable donations for the fish to 'Emma and RoD's Holiday Fund, PO Box 2049, Vietnam'.