January 5, 2009
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Bangkok Eight. Phuket Sevens.
After flying in to Bangkok Rob and I headed to the hotel, just a few minutes drive from the airport. We headed to the 7-Eleven where a ladyboy refused to sell us alcohol, as it was past midnight. 3 minutes past, apparently. So we went to get some food from one of the stalls nearby, and got a couple of bottles of ice cold Singha to wash it down. Instead of my usual Thai vegetable curry, I had some noodles – managing successfully to explain that I do not eat meat or fish. The noodles were so good, I ate some more. I was stuffed. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last.
The next morning we got up fairly early and headed over to the airport on the hotel shuttle, before checking in to the Bangkok Airways flight down to Phuket. We picked up some brekkie – Rob eating, but your humble scribe settling for a coffee – and then headed to the gate. The old 717-200 was a relic from yesteryear, and I wondered if it would make it to the destination of Phuket. Initial concerns seemed grounded as we got close to the runway and then turned back because of a “problem”. But it was nothing like the problem that hit Bangkok airport later that day.
The plane took off after a quick return to the terminal building, and after a sandwich on the plane (meaty one, so the sandwich was solely for Rob), we landed in Phuket. We took the taxi over to the hotel in Patong Beach, and checked in. Wow – what a class choice. The Deevana Patong resort is awesome. We may not have the best rooms in the house, but the whole place is simply fantastic. Full of trees, green spaces, hummingbirds and ponds.
We unpacked, and took the laptops to the front lobby so we could get on to the net. We watched a little TV, and saw pictures of Bangkok airport.
“Look,” I pointed, “we were just there. I wonder what that’s all about.”
We had no idea that it was going to affect everything quite as much as it did. Protestors took over the whole of the airport, grounding flights, and demanding the resignation of the government. And at the same time, paralysing the country’s economy – the tourist industry – by not allowing flights in or out. The Thai government screwed it all up as well, by not acting decisively.
And it completely bollocksed up the football tournament. With Dave and Dave stuck in Bangkok – they decided to play a round of golf – and the rest of the Mongrels supposed to fly in through the Thai capital, the core of the Mongrels team was not able to make it. Apparently around 20 teams of the 44 which entered the 7’s tournament were unable to field a team, and so pulled out. Rob and I were in contact with Dave, who told us we could play for another team, but we decided not to.
What we did do though was have a quick tour of the south of Phuket island, which was when it decided to rain. We headed to the beach, and swam a while, saw a sea eagle, tied to a pole, its’ new purpose in life to entertain tourists by having its’ photo taken with them, no longer allowed to soar over the ocean and catch fish.
We went out for dinner on the first night, and found a place that was ok, but not fantastic. On the way in we were accosted by some rather attractive Thai women, asking if we wanted massage. We did, but we wanted a couple of sherbets first, so we told them we would return. Like they have not heard that one before. But return we did.
After a nice, relaxing oil massage, we were suitably ready for some more sherbets, so we had a couple whilst browsing the net, the issues of Bangkok becoming clearer and clearer. By the Thursday we had found the best place in town to eat, which was a street place close to the hotel, and we also realised that we were not going to be playing football, so instead opted to go diving.
Walking along the road we found a tourist place with a load of brochures, which was where I saw the dive literature. Nice one.
“Where’s this mucker?” I asked. The guy pointed the shop to us, which was a mere 50 metres from where we were standing. Off we went, where we were greeted by some bloke from Stevenage who had sold his house in England some time ago, made a killing on it, and moved with his wife to Asia where taxes are low, standard of living is high, and the weather great. Add to that the fact that being a diving instructor is a hell of a lot less stressful than working in the City, and you have several reasons to move away from the UK and over to Thailand. The fact that there are also many beautiful women had – in this guy’s case at least – absolutely nothing to do with it.
We booked a day of diving for the Friday, Rob saying he would not touch a beer that evening, and the instructor laughing at him, saying it’s ok for “one or two”. This obviously was enough for Rob to change his mind, and so – after another excellent meal at our favourite roadside stall – we headed back to the hotel, where I watched some TV and Rob went back to the lobby to get on the net.
Alas this was his downfall. The next morning at 7:15 I knocked on his door, and it was plain to see that beer had been his companion the previous evening. And not just “one or two”. One or two dozen is much closer to the reality of things.
“It was happy hour, and the girl kept bringing me beers,” Rob tried to explain. Yes mucker – I am sure you tried so hard to tell her no, you didn’t want any more.
The dive shop picked us up at 7:30, and we drove down to the harbor, where we got on the boat, Rob not looking good at all. Some would say he is an ugly bastard at the best of times, but I would not personally make such suggestions. My personal point is that the alcohol did him no favours.
Having never been diving before, he had chosen the “discover diving” course, whereby newbies would get 2 dives in shallow water, whilst the more experienced of us would head to the deeper waters. Whilst Rob went off for a quick schooling on the basics of diving, your humble scribe started talking to the guy sitting next to him, a Dutch guy by the name of Gerard. We seemed to get on like a house on fire, and so it came to be that he became my dive buddy for the coming day.
We were dropped off first, and having checked all the equipment, and jumped in, the dive master gave us the let’s go sign, and so down we went. 2 metres below, I was getting a lot of water in through my breathing apparatus, so I told my dive buddy I needed to go back to the surface. Once up, I tried the other octopus, and down we went again. Only to have the same problem.
Back up to the surface, the dive master came over to me and checked – thinking obviously he is dealing with a fooking amateur. Yes mucker, there is certainly some amateur around, but it’s not me. My equipment was found to be faulty, and so we had to call the boat back. The diver in distress signal was made, which would – in any normal circumstance – be enough to make sure that a boat came to rescue or at least see what was going on. Phuket, however, is a place where normal circumstances fail to apply. It took 15 minutes before a boat actually came over to us, and another 5 before OUR boat came to get us. They changed out my apparatus, and finally we were able to dive.
And very awesome it was too. Big bastard fish, an even bigger bastard eel, and lots of the usual suspects. Some fantastic colours, beautiful corals, mackerel schools…
We headed back to the surface, for once my air was not the first to run out, and boarded the boat. Rob was already dressed, having had enough. It wasn’t his thing.
Gerard and I had lunch, then got ready for the second dive. This time there were no hitches, and we got to see an octopus, which I had never seen before. On the 2nd dive my air was the first to run out, despite my attempts to stay at lower depths than my comrades. Back on the boat it was beer o’clock. Except for Rob who at this time expressed that he was quitting beer.
Gerard and I arranged to meet up for dinner that evening, and we also had another guy from the Mongrels team who had arrived, driving in from Malaysia, so he also joined us. We met in the hotel lobby and went out to the place we always went for dinner. I called Rob and told him I had booked his favourite – spicy clams – and suggested he got his ass out there now. He did. Then he went back to the hotel to sleep it off, as Gerard, Jon and I went out to party.
With Gerard’s birthday being on the Saturday, I made sure that we saw his day in with a bang, the boss of the bar buying a round for everyone. Around 1 or 1:30 it was time for me to get back to the hotel, so off I staggered. Gerard and I met up again the next evening, to celebrate his birthday in style, getting a massage at the oily massage place, and having another nice dinner before going out for a few sherbets, and then heading to a night club where we boogied the morning in. We then headed back out for an early morning snack – snack being a full blown meal – before he jumped in to a taxi for his ride home, and I walked back to the hotel.
Sunday was the day Rob and I decided to see if we would be able to make it out of Thailand on the due date of Monday, and so we headed in to the airport. All flights that could take us somewhere from where we could get a connecting flight to Taipei were fully booked for the next 10 days, and despite the fact that we were confirmed on the EVA flight out of Pattaya the following evening, getting there (to Utapa, actually) was a seemingly impossible task.
I called up bus companies – full, taxi companies – too expensive, car rentals – no car coming in on time for a one way rental. Finally Rob got bored with the whole thing, and went for a lie down. I was not going to let this country beat me, and so went out for a walk to see if inspiration would hit me. I passed a travel agent on the way in to town, looking for a solution. I passed the same travel agent on the way back, not having found a solution.
“Dammit,” I thought to myself. “What have I got to lose?”
So in I went. The guy told me there was a flight for stranded passengers leaving the following day and suggested we got to the airport around 10:30 to be sure to get on. Nice one.
The next day at 9, Rob and I arrived at the airport, got on the flight with Bangkok Airways, which meant that the tickets we had with that airline were cancelled, and so we had to repay.
“The refund will be in your account in 45 days,” said the unhelpful lady at Bangkok Airways.
“How about I pay you in 45 days then?” I retorted. “Or you can pay me cash now, and I can give you the cash you give me for the flight for today.”
I knew it was futile, but sometimes a man has to let out his frustrations in such ways.
We had some time to kill, so we went in to the Thai Airways restaurant, ordered up some food and drink, watched TV, played on our respective laptops, and basically did bugger all for the next 5 hours until it was time to get on the plane.
We left Phuket, and touched down in Utapa just as it was beginning to get dark, the sun setting on another day, definitely shedding no light on the chaos that was waiting for us. An international flight had landed before us, and the passengers from that flight were standing in line as we pushed through them to the domestic arrival line. It was a disaster waiting to happen, as we were simply shepherded past the line of people waiting and in to the luggage claim area.
It was here that I saw an EVA Airways girl, so I told Rob to wait for the luggage, whilst I went to sort out the flight onwards. Soldiers guarding the so-called secure areas let EVA through, and I simply motioned I was with her, so they let me through too. After waiting in line for a while, and being told that we “SHOULD” be ok with getting on the flight (whereby I suggested to the ladies involved that I have a confirmed reservation on this flight, and so there is no “SHOULD” about it), I headed back the way I had come to help Rob with the luggage. Some time later it finally arrived, and so we headed over to EVA once more to sort out the boarding cards.
Now at any normal airport you have check-in counters, computers, luggage belts and so on. Not Utapa – a military airbase that also has merely a sprinkling of domestic flights each day. There was a hastily installed X-ray machine, where several hundred people were queueing. Some guy saw us looking at getting in to the line – after all, our flight was deep in preparation – and politely told us that the end of the queue was back that way, which was a long long way. Thankfully at that time another EVA girl walked past, so I asked her for assistance in getting through, and so we were brought to the front of the line, which I can only assume pissed all those we had just by-passed off immensely. But you snooze, you lose.
Finally we got through, and after waiting 30 or 40 minutes we were handed our hand-written boarding cards, and we were now told to wait in another line to get through in to security and passport control. Guarded by 2 unarmed Thai soldiers, they were completely unprepared for half of India and mainland China, the Indians first of all charging their way through, and cutting in line, and then – just as Rob and I made it to the front – the Chinese all deciding that whereas Thailand was perhaps the Land of Smiles, it was most definitely not the Land of Politely Waiting in Line, and thereby launching a mass offensive by pushing through the double doors, the Thai soldier caught completely unaware.
Thankfully though, I was at the front and stopped myself from being pushed through the doors, so I turned around and told the mainlanders – with absolutely no effect – to slow down; they would be back in their thieving, Communist homeland soon enough. As I got through the door, the floodgates opened, as the rude mainland tossers not so much streamed through the doors as gushed. For several seconds the Thai authorities were overwhelmed, but soon enough the holding room as was full as a mainland China city, so no-one else could actually get in anyway.
Through the security checks, through the passport control, and in to the waiting room. A thousand people, all waiting for their planes, in a room that should ideally hold no more than 400 – 500. The trash was piled in to a corner, and a hastily arranged duty free shop catered to those who needed alcohol, and lots of it, in a short time to help them recover from the ideal they had just been put through. Rob and I got some Pringles, and something to drink before looking in vain for a place to sit,
We needn’t have worried though – not long after we had got through to the holding room, we were asked to board (no announcement, you understand) and finally we were on the plane. Apparently the plane had been on the tarmac for around 5 to 6 hours, with the passengers on board not allowed to get off (not that they would have wanted to, of course, had they known what awesome deals were no longer available at the duty free shop). Pity them most of all.
We took off, we landed, and finally I made it back to my Suzuki which had been parked at the airport for the previous 10 days, turned on the ignition and it fired up first time! Got to love the Skywave. Half an hour later I was cuddling a very dribbly kitty who was very, very pleased to see me. And not 20 minutes after that, I was showered and in bed for sleep, the kitty curled up next to me, purring loudly.
