From Koh Tarutao to Koh Lipe

I'm at an Internet on Koh Lipe now. The first one I went to requested something rather strange. Normally you leave your footwear at the door, but when she saw I wanted to upload some photos, the lady told me to bring my jandals. As she was plugging my camera cord in (I couldn't find the socket), she explained, "sometimes electric shock". Obviously she hoped my rubber jandals would keep me alive should the worst happen. Fortunately the camera didn't connect, so I had to go to another Internet cafe. At this one the camera connected fine, but I can't help but wonder if my shoes should be on my feet rather than at the door.

So going back to Tarutao, on my last afternoon I rented a kayak and went up the river. I didn't have time before dark to go up and see the crocodile caves, but nor did I feel like at least two hours of kayaking. One hour was fine, and it was a really beautiful area. The river was wide and ringed with mangroves. It was silent and majestic. Of course, I did wonder about the safety aspect. As the ranger walked towards the kayak I was renting, he picked up a life jacket that had fallen on the ground and placed it on a railing, next to eight or ten others. We then proceeded to walk past the lot of them and pushed my kayak in the water, and he left me to it. It reminded me of the bicycle I'd hired earlier – no helmet there either.

The next morning it was time to go to Koh Lipe. While all the other islands round here were part of the National Park, Koh Lipe was not. This meant that development was getting fairly out of control, according to reports on the Internet. I'd been here twice before – three years ago and four years ago – and found it  a lovely island. I was keen to see if the commercial development was getting out of hand. It takes around half an hour to reach Lipe from Tarutao, though a stop on a beautiful little uninhabited island (I think for package tourists) extends that to about an hour.

Luggage wasn't exactly stowed neatly away:

This was the island we stopped at en route:

By the way, something that might be obvious to others, but wasn't to me: you can click on any photo to expand it to its full size. The larger one captures the full glory of a tropical beach ...

After getting back on the boat, I noticed that my feet were absolutely covered in sand. As I returned to my seat, I dimly recalled the guy before me rinsing his off before stepping inside. Oh well, I thought, there were dozens of us – surely others will bring in more sand. You'd think. I sat there quietly, surreptitiously looking down at anyone else's feet. Come, somebody, please. It was ridiculous – everyone of them freshly bathed. I stared down at the small sandcastle I'd accidentally created.

It was obvious as we approached Lipe that things had changed since I'd last been here. The speedboat drops you at a pontoon moored offshore, and a longtail brings you in. For a start, there were now two large pontoons. The bay was littered with far more longtails now. It had a general air of quiet busyness. Still, as we rode towards the shore, it still looked the beautiful place I'd come to love. The area's so picturesque, you can't help but look past all the people and enjoy the surroundings.And the water looked as beautiful as ever. Unfortunately my pictures don't do it justice – that first day was the sunniest, and I didn't take many.

My resort, Green View Resort, was situated about halfway along the main beach, Pattaya Beach. It was run by an Italian, a relaxed though slightly stoned-seeming guy. When I went to check in, he mumbled something about how I should have been there that morning, that the boat was late. I was fairly sure neither of those things was true, but it did have me worried he'd given away my room (despite having prepaid). It was the peak time of year, and every half-decent resort would be booked up. However, it seemed his comments were just made in passing, because he took me to my room towards the back of the resort. The bungalows were made of bamboo, though the bathrooms attached at the rear were concrete and tiled. I really liked my bungalow. The place I'd stayed previously really annoyed me (I'm still not sure why I stayed there a second time - probably the devil you know). Good accommodation was hard to find on Lipe in the old days, but so many new resorts had sprung up – including this one – that there were a few places to choose from. I'd actually tried to get in to Sanom Resort, which had its own private small beach, but its website was a joke and communicating with them a waste of time. (There was an automated booking system on another website that handled reservations for multiple Lipe resorts, but every time I put my dates in, it automatically changed them to October. I'm not sure how many bookings that website actually receives ...)

At any rate, I was very happy with my resort. The grounds were clean (this is not always so on Lipe), there were nice bamboo long chairs in front, on the beach. And the there was a cordoned off swimming area in front of the resort. Moreover, it was in a great position – handy to restaurants, bars and longtails.

My bungalow was fairly new (it was 1200 baht or NZ$51 a night). Sure there were some gaps around the room where the bamboo walls or "windows" didn't quite fit, but it was pretty well made and had a lot of charm. More to the point, the bed was excellent – at least after the slab I'd had to put up with on Tarutao.

Note the little blue basket in front of the bungalow. Also file this section under "Toilet Mishaps". At this resort, as is often the case throughout Thailand, you don't flush your used toilet paper, but rather place it in a rubbish bin in the toilet. The owner explained, when I want to, I simply close and tie the little black rubbish bag and place it in the blue basket outside. He pointed down and I noted there was already a little bag in there. The idea that the previous guest had left a little pile of poo to greet me unnerved me a little bit.

I have to say, I kept forgetting about the little bin. I was naturally reluctant to retrieve the paper from the bowl (yes, I know some of you are saying, "too much!"). So I flushed and had visions of the whole system backing up and breaking down. I was actually fortunate that I'd managed to avoid this custom in Thailand up till now. I generally actually choose resorts according to the toilet facilities. As a Westerner, I like the idea of flushing my business and sending it as far away as possible. It seemed archaic somehow to hold on to it. Sometimes I used the toilets in malls in Thailand, and if there was a basket, I took my wilful ignorance of it as incentive for them to implement a better toilet system. I mean surely they want to join the rest of the world. With enough blockages I figure they'll give up and finally invest in a state-of-the-art set-up.

I will say, however, that as Lipe has a little eco side to it, I did use the basket most of the time. I put it down to a "new experience" thing while simultaneously trying to pretend that it just wasn't happening.

At six o' clock I met up with my friends Pat and Mat (Patricia and Matthew) from Holland. We'd first met on the Vietnamese island of Phu Quoc three years ago. We'd stayed at the same resort and taken a snorkel trip together. Early on in the trip we'd been handed small fishing poles, and there was something ridiculous about the whole affair – perhaps there was no bait or something along those lines. I remember one of us cracking a joke, which another responded to, and soon we were riffing like jazz musicians. To the confusion of the boat operators, we put our poles down, dispensing with the farce, and spent the next while talking and laughing. We spent the next couple of days together and caught up in Saigon, and it seemed like the start of a good friendship. We emailed each other and I sent them comedy and they sent me food. When we agreed to catch upon Lipe at the end of their three-week Thai holiday, I remember thinking, what if we don't laugh as much as we did that first time? Luckily we did – probably more so. To begin with, I had always thought Pat was Filipino for some reason, though she actually has Indonesian origins. That was cause for some merriment. They weren't at all happy with their accommodation, for having booked a bungalow identical to mine near the front of the resort, they found out it was called "beach view" and paid double what I did. This also caused some hilarity, as they regularly complained of being ripped off while I touted how nice the resort was.

The next day we walked to the other side of the island to catch a longtail to neighbouring Koh Adang, a National Park island.

As you can see Mat's twice the size of Pat. Despite being small, though, Pat does make up for it in energy and enthusiasm.

I was just trying to think of ways to describe Pat. The term "pocket rocket" jumped into my head – is that a phrase to describe someone small and fiery? Apparently not. I just Googled it and Urban Dictionary gives the definition: "The act of masturbating like a ninja ... Masturbating ... inside one's own pocket." Okay, well didn't know that. I have to say, this is the kind of discussion I'd have with Pat and Mat. Being European and sophisticated they're naturally incredibly at home discussing bodily functions and things scatological (we'll get to Mat's toilet mishap in due course). Pat introduced me to the term "yummy mummy", which is a synonym for MILF.

Anyway, here's one they took of me:

So over to Adang we went. The idea was to walk to the Pirate Waterfall. Adang is hilly and deserted except for a National Park camp and day visitors. Despite being a city boy (they live in Amsterdam), Mat is apparently adept at reading topographical maps. He took a look at the National Park map of Adang and estimated we could walk to the waterfall in ten minutes or so. Half an hour later we were still traipsing through forest, ducking vines and trying not to slip.

After about forty minutes we reached our destination, and it was a pretty area. Sitting in the cool, fresh water made the walk worthwhile.

After walking back, we snorkeled for a little while and then caught a longtail back to Lipe. For dinner that night we went to Varin Resort, which is one of the biggest on the island. We had an excellent deep-fried fish, some superb deep-fried prawns covered in garlic, and a nice mango and cashew salad. The food on Lipe is so much better than it used to be. There is something to be said for development.

Speaking of which, it's just after 1.00 p.m., so I think I might go and have some lunch ...

Tarutao, Pt 2

I thought I'd start off with a little of what I've been reading. A few days ago I read an excellent book called Weed Man about a guy called Jimmy Divine. He was perhaps the largest smuggler of cannabis in Caribbean history. Eventually he was responsible for shipping large cargo ships full of cannabis from Columbia to the United Sates. It's a terrific read – reminiscent of Howard Marks' Mr Nice, for those who know that. Jimmy's a very good story teller and the book is full of amusing anecdotes. I'll include a couple.

" 'This one Friday, I was flipping burgers,' Jimmy recalls, 'and everybody's just sitting round as usual, shooting the bull. When out of the corner of my eye, I see my brother Godfrey take out a packet of cigarettes and flip one up into his mouth. I remember saying to myself, 'This boy has gone and lost his mind.' I don't know what he was on, but sure enough, Olive suddenly filled the entire doorway – this gigantic woman, right? And she just stood there for a moment, as if she was taking it all in. It took her thirty seconds or more to realize what her son was doing, because she didn't think anybody possessed that much stupidity to smoke a cigarette on her property. And as I stood there and watched, she calmly walked over to the side of Godfrey, drew back her hand, and slapped that boy hard – and when I say hard, she slapped him silly. His cigarette went one way and his face went the other. And I never ever saw Bobo – I called him Bobo affectionately, and he called me Pumpkin – smoke anything again. He told me later that every time he saw a pack of cigarettes, his head ached. No sir, you did not mess with Olive, no matter who you were.' "

At another point, Jimmy's talking about his step-mum's preferred method of discipline.

" 'Olive read somewhere in the Bible that if you spare the rod you spoil the child. I think that's the only Scripture she ever memorized in her life, Jimmy points out. 'She used to beat me once a week for the things I did that she didn't know about. The tamarind tree was the switch of choice, because it's really, really thin – and it stings. And the sad part about it is she used to send me to fetch the switch. You can't pick a thin switch, either, because if it breaks while she's beating you, then you're in a world of trouble. Then she has to go to the tree to get what you didn't get in the first place. Just think of the mental anguish you go through when you have to choose the right switch. First you have to find the right one. Then you have to strip the leaves off. And as you're coming back to the house, you're swinging it like she's going to swing it. And it's making this sound – ssswishhh-ssswishhh-ssswishhh – and you realise that every one of those swishes is going to be headed in your direction, and they're going to be painful. It was a tough walk to take.' "

One time Jimmy goes to see the film Hercules Unchained at the local theatre. He's inspired by Hercules' super-human strength. He rushes home and wraps his arms round the trunk of a tree in the back yard. Olive yells out, "Boy, what are you doing?"
"I'm pulling this tree out of the yard."
"What tree?"
"This tamarind tree."
"Why?"
"I saw Hercules doing it in the movie just a little while ago."
"Boy, come this way. But first break off a switch and bring it with you for being stupid."

Anyway, it's an enjoyable read. If anybody wants to borrow any of the books or articles I mention, let me know.

A couple of days after I arrived, a French couple – Matthieu and Muriel – moved in to the bungalow next door. They were on a year-long trip around the world. Apparently in France there's a thing called a sabbatical whereby if you've worked for six years at a job, you can take a year's unpaid leave and your work has to hold your job for you. More evidence that the French lead a better life than the rest of us. And Matthieu and Muriel – who worked at the same company – got nine and a half weeks annual leave a year anyway!

They were good company. Muriel was passionate, pretty, and intellectual – pretty much how one expects French women to be. Matthieu reminded me a little of Lucky Luke – the thin frame, the hair, and the aloof coolness. Needles to say, he smoked. They were stimulating conversationalists and had travelled to some interesting places in the last eight months. Ironically, they'd just come from Penang and before that Kuching, two places I'm heading to shortly. Good to know I'm headed where intrepid travellers go.

On the 24th, we all shared a longtail to the beach where Survivor Thailand was filmed. It was supposed to be a good area for snorkelling, and it was a pretty boat ride.

Unfortunately the water had almost no visibility – that plus the fact whatever coral we could see was clearly dead. The Survivor beach itself wasn't especially impressive – Ao Molae, where I'd been the day before, was far more beautiful. This beach was now obviously a staging post for fishermen. Behind it, in shallow caves was a camp where the fisherman stay overnight.

As it's a marine National Park, I couldn't quite work out why there was about a half mile of fishing gear just behind the beach.

We had lunch on the beach and some nice swims, and then we headed back. I think I spent the late afternoon reading. At some point I felt like something healthy, so I had an avocado I'd brought with me. It was the first really fresh food I'd had in days. I'll definitely be taking more fresh fruit to islands in the future.

That night I ushered in Christmas with Muriel and Matthieu – the French celebrate it on Christmas Eve. Among other things we had a whole fried fish, which was quite yummy.

I have to say, the quality of the food on Tarutao varies considerably. Half the meals I've had have been pretty bad and half quite good. With some trepidation I ordered some "French Fried"(French fries) at one point. They were excellent. But then a yellow soup with fish most certainly wasn't. The pad Thai was nice enough, but the fried vegetables were pretty grim (two types of cabbage and not much else, and pretty bland at that). And so on. Actually, the pad Thai has the usual condiments: fish sauce, chilli flakes, and sugar. When I went to spoon a little sugar on, I noticed it seemed to be moving. There were thousands of tiny ants in the sugar bowl.

On Christmas Day, I woke up early to the usual sound of monkeys trying to open rubbish bins. They tip them over and seem to be pretty good at prying their way in.

I got up and opened the present my mum had given me: The Food Snob's Dictionary. It both lampoons food snobs while simultaneously telling them what they need to know. Whilst many people think I'm a food snob, I'm not really a traditional one. I hate pretension more than almost anything on Earth. I care most about the quality of ingredients, not – as food snobs do – what those ingredients are. The book is slight but amusing. And I think it's got a good take on things. It points out that panko breadcrumbs have become quite modish among food snobs, but that many of them fail to realise that the "non-sogging qualities come from the trans-fat-laden partially hydrogenated oils usually used in making the crumbs." I wouldn't touch panko crumbs with a barge pole; they're in the Foods from Hell pantheon along with margarine.

I thought of my friend Cushla, back in New Zealand, opening the present I'd left for her. We give each other a gimmick present each year. It has to be silly and useless. I'd given her a poster of the Hoff.

For breakfast I had some food I took with me: some oatmeal biscuits (from Fresha in New Plymouth, they were excellent) and some Italian mandarin jam. It was nice to start the day with something sweet.

I thought I had better do some washing. I was down to one t-shirt left: my Subversive Copy Editor one, a reward for being a frequent poster on the Chicago Manual of Style forum. We all have our specialties – mine is punctuation, in particular the parenthetical en dash (for those who know her, I think this love for the dash began with the great American film critic Pauline Kael). I love how a dash (en or em for that matter – I probably prefer the em, but I'm stuck in New Zealand) can help approximate the way we think.

At any rate, laundry cost 10 baht a piece (about forty-four New Zealand cents, I think), so I took a pile to the National Park office. Then I went to hire a bicycle for the day (this was 200 baht, or NZ$8.80). Unfortunately the only vaguely ridable one left was a woman's one with a low seat and barely any breaks at all (the front one worked about forty per cent and the back one about ten per cent). I packed up all my stuff, including some lunch and headed off the Ao Molae round the coast. That mother of a hill was a challenge on the bike; I had the breaks on full for most of the way down and still didn't come to a stop. Ao Molae looked even more beautiful than the other day. It was a great place to spend a relaxing Christmas.

The water was particularly nice. Despite what Viv thinks, I didn't come to Thailand for the ladyboys. I came for water like this ...

I managed to get the hammock up much faster this time. And it's just so comfortable. It's probably the best thing I've brought with me (although DermAid for itchy bites would run a close second). I spent the day swimming in the lagoon or reading and resting in the hammock. By now I was reading a book called 102 Minutes about the fall of the Twin Towers. It might not seem cheery reading, but it's an utterly compelling book. It's based on a whole host of sources – from phone transcripts to interviews. As the book says, "Their words inevitably trace a narrative of excruciating loss; they also describe how the simplest gestures and tools were put to transcendent use ..."And while the book is heartbreaking, it's also utterly transcendent. Reading what people thought about and did in their final moments gives one pause. What would you do if you knew death was suddenly close and inevitable? What regrets would push their way into your mind? What would you be proud of? And the moments of tenderness in the book are extraordinary. Moments of crisis show you we perhaps have more of the gentle Bonobo in us than the aggressive chimp. A book like that is like the most gripping movie, and it was a great way to spend a few hours.

Oh, I forgot about lunch. I'd taken with me a tin of stuffed vine leaves, some walnuts, some olives, some crackers and a tin of duck rillettes. YUM – duck! Or nom nom as someone I know likes to say. It was certainly a Christmas treat, though next time I think I'll find a fridge to throw it in. I think the fat needs to be just a little more congealed.

I think I'd stay at Ao Molae next time. It's not open now because there is no generator. One thing I noticed was that there were nice thick mattresses in the bungalows. The ones at Ao Malaka were ridiculously (I almost used All Caps then) hard. You simply cannot imagine a harder bed. Muriel, Matthieu and I said they might as well just have used wooden tables. When I peeked in the windows of the Ao Molae bungalows and saw those soft beds, I looked on with a mixture of frustration and longing.

Here's a picture of a bungalow at Molae.

There's a row of nice trees between the bungalows and the beach, including a number of coconut palms.

This next section should be titled "Toilet Mishaps". Yes, I've had a few. I think the second day the toilet got blocked. Applying some Kiwi ingenuity, I emptied the rubbish bin and filled it with water, then emptied that in one go into the toilet. That took care of that problem. But it's really something that can bring a holiday down, a blocked toilet. And it's not the kind of place they're going to call a plumber, you know? The next day, my body shampoo slipped out of my hands and landed in the toilet. Ew, yuck, yes I know. Look, this is a warts-and-all blog. The toilet was very clean, I have to say, and I had it under running water within about a second. The next day I saw two giant ants sitting in the toilet bowl looking up at me. These ants were big – there seemed to be several sections to their bodies, like they were created by someone from a special effects workshop. I now have to wonder what today's toilet adventure will be.

Well that's all for now. Time for lunch – I had a nice breakfast, so lunch will probably be pretty disappointing. Later I'm thinking of hiring a kayak and exploring the mangroves. Tomorrow I'm off to Koh Lipe to meet up with Pat and Mat (and yay, hopefully a better bed).

Koh Tarutao

I'm writing this entry on a laptop on a rickety table in a glorified shed on the National Park island of Tarutao. Not too sure how stable the connection is – or the table for that matter – but we'll see how we go.

So on Monday night I caught the train from Kuala Lumpur north. I'd had a hell of a time actually booking the thing. First the website said email them 60 days prior to departure. So I did this. No answer. After a few days, I get a reply: email us 30 days before departure. So I do this; again no answer. A few days after that I get an email: send us some more details. I thought I'd sent everything they need, but I do this. Again no answer. At least four days after that they reply: sorry, no first class berths left. At this I exploded and told them I thought the service they offered was very unprofessional. I then thought, well, I need something, so I emailed again for a second-class berth. Then I realised the speed at which they operate, they'll all be gone too. So I rang and booked over the phone (this in itself was a 45-minute fiasco, but it was all preparing me well for Asia).

About a week later I get a reply to my angry email that said, sorry, our mistake, there were first-class berths available, so we've booked you one. I had hoped that my phone call would connect up with my emails and they'd sort out the bookings their end. No such luck. The next day I get a reply to my email request for a second-class berth – they've booked me one. So now I have three separate bookings! It took another phone call to Malaysia to sort that out.

At any rate, I booked the ticket and paid for and collected it when I arrived in KL. I'd booked the whole cabin; it was about NZ$71 in total for a twelve-hour-plus journey. It was very nice, as you can see ...

After I dumped my stuff, I asked an attendant if there was food onboard. He looked like I'd offended him. "Yes, next carriage." So I asked him, "Can I lock my cabin from the outside?" Now I really had offended him. "But I am here," he said. So with that I wandered down to the restaurant and bought some chicken with noodles. Nothing to write home about.

Here's a self-portrait with celebratory rum and Coke (for having made it on to the train):

I got a pretty good sleep. I went for another wander and took this next picture of second class. It looked nice enough. The beds, which run down the side of the train, are shielded by curtains. I had a lot of baggage and just didn't want to take the security risk. Not that the lady in front was doing any thieving ...

At some point I felt like a cigarette. I'd bought some beedies – small, natural Indian cigarettes – in KL. I don't really smoke now, but one indulges on holiday. I asked a uniformed guy – I couldn't work out if he was a policeman or a train official – if it was okay to smoke. He said, "Open the door." "Right, I thought." So there I was, at the end of the carriage, with the outside door a couple of feet ajar, with the train hurtling along. One serious jolt might have been a challenge. This is one of the things I like about travelling in Asia. It's like playing an X sport.

We got to the border town of Pedang Besar and went through Malaysian and Thai immigration, and then sat about waiting. Apparently there was an engine missing and it was some hours until it was likely to show up (they hoped). After a while a few of us decided to walk into the small town and look for a minivan. It was the wildest way I've ever entered a country: walking along the railway tracks and hopping a fence. But as we'd had our passports stamped at the station all should have been well.

I had a boat to catch to the islands and was running out of time. Luckily a minivan was leaving pretty well straight away for Hat Yai, Thailand's largest southern city and the place I'd catch a van to the coast from. In the van I got talking to a couple of smart young Americans – a brother and sister. We talked about all manner of things, but what struck me was that their parents were both Republicans and neither of them were. I asked why, and they just said it seemed a pretty silly thing to be. The Republican Party was unrecognisable now – hijacked by ultra-conservative Christians – and they simply couldn't take it seriously. Not that they were staunchly Democrat, but they could recognise silliness when they saw it. Or words to that effect.

When we got to Hat Yai, I had to catch a ute to the train station. I'm not sure what you call these. They're utes with benches in them and they function pretty well like buses – hop on and get off when you want. At the station I went to the minivan place over the road (I'd been here before on my two previous visits to Koh Lipe, the next island I'm going to after Tarutao). Unfortunately there were no spaces left in minivans to the coast. There were only two more going, and they were all booked up. The only option was a taxi. It worked out at NZ$53 for a two-hour taxi ride – and I'd brought the cash with me for just this contingency. And it wasn't like a taxi. It was more like a brand new limo – very comfortable.

I got to the coast about twenty minutes before the last boat left. I must admit, I hadn't been worried at all. Things seem to work out, and there's not much point in worrying. It seems a crime to worry on a holiday. I remember once catching the fast boat out to these islands and one passenger got off before it started, after loudly reprimanding the captain (not that there really was one, but the young fella behind the wheel) that the maximum boat capacity according to the sign on the boat was 50 passengers, and she'd counted 80. I thought, lady, where do you think you are? Go holiday somewhere with insurance and oversight committees and all that. These boats are effectively an unlawful roller coaster - if it's choppy, man does that boat bounce.

It reminds me of my first trip to India – my first trip to a developing country – in the 1990s. Rohan met me at the airport (where there must have been around 200 people sleeping in gutters and on benches and the like) and brought me back to the hotel he'd found. I remember lying on the bed looking up at the ceiling at the gigantic fan that covered most of the room and was whirring round at a fair clip. It had detached from the ceiling and was dangling by two wires. Those two, thin wires were all that stood between me and death. Oh right, I thought, you give up attachment in these countries. And since then that's the best thing about travelling to places like this.

The boat took about half an hour to reach Koh Tarutao. It's the main island in a marine National Park at the bottom left-hand corner of Thailand. It's known among travellers, if you want to avoid the tourist sites of Phuket and Koh Phi Phi, this is a good area to do it.

If you know the Malaysian island of Langkawi – another tourist trap from what I've read – you can see where Tarutao is in relation to that. I'm spending six nights on Tarutao and then going to Koh Lipe for four nights to meet up with some Dutch friends, Pat and Mat. We're hoping to do a day trip to nearby Koh Rawi.

I was supposed to catch up on Tarutao with my friend Greg, who was coming down from Laos. But sadly he had a family bereavement the week before we were to meet up, and he had to go back to NZ. Knowing my fondness for these islands, I have a feeling we'll meet up on one of them sooner or later.

One of Tarutao's claims to fame is that it was where Survivor Thailand was filmed. Being an avid Survivor fan (frankly it's hard for me to take anyone's viewing habits seriously if they're not a Survivor fan), it's one extra reason for coming. Apparently the area where it was filmed has the best snorkelling on the island, so I'll check that out today or tomorrow.

Here are some photos. The first is of my bungalow (600 baht or NZ$26.50 a night with ensuite bathroom, though a cold shower), taken when I arrived, a slightly overcast day:

A concrete path runs down most of the length of the island, which makes it easy to get to the next National Park camp and to the remote beaches.

These are of the beach in front of my bungalow, Ao Malaka, and the surrounding area, taken the next morning:

The next day I hired a bicycle and went to visit Ao Molae, where the other National Park camp is situated. It's not in use at the moment because the generator's broken. So I had the bay to myself for most of the afternoon. Really stunning place – white sand, glass-like water. I had a long, refreshing swim.

I took my hammock with me and set about stringing it up. This turned out to be on a par with the train booking fiasco. Every set of trees I found were either to far apart or too close together. Or were pole-like, without a cross-branch to stop the hammock from sliding down. When I finally found two that looked good, and had the thing half set up, I noticed a big pile of dog or monkey s--t underneath the hammock. So I wandered off to try again. Then I had to untangle the hammock. Luckily my friend Tamsin's husband, Dayan, had trained me in tying hammocks so this one the one thing that went relatively smoothly. So after forty minutes or so, I got it set up. And oh man was it comfortable. Dayan, who grew up in hammocks in Guyana, had told me it was a very good quality one. It was handmade in Mexico. I'd taken a cushion with me (not to mention water, MP3 player and book), so I really had a relaxing afternoon. That lagoon and hammock swing really was what this trip's all about (in case you hadn't guessed from the name of this blog).

Here's the view from my hammock:

And here's a close-up of some stitching, just so you can see the quality ...

Towards the end of the afternoon I cycled back to the main camp. There was a mother of a hill to get over. But it was fun hurtling down it. I spotted some potholes a little too late, but managed to stay upright.

The food on the island is pretty good considering. I mean, this is a National Park (targeted mostly at Thais). There are no hotels here, no resorts, no shops, no restaurants except for the camp one. I've had a nice pad Thai and a couple of nice curries. One time I ordered a fried curry rice with shrimps and I got given a chicken curry with steamed rice, but it was probably the best thing I've had while I've been here.

This morning at breakfast I spotted a little monkey headed towards me at great speed. He just kept on coming – he was actually on my table before I realised, Oh, he's not stopping. Presumably he was going to swipe my food. Two camp workers had spotted him and ran towards us yelling. The monkey high-tailed it. One camp worker came up to me and pointed to the glass ash tray and then gestured as if to throw it forcefully at the monkey. "Is okay," he said. Well not where I'm from, I thought. I've actually got pretty good reactions – it's what made me a good frisbee player. I was planning on batting him out the way with my left hand as he reached me. But it made breakfast rather exciting.

Well that's all for now. I think I'll go hunt another lagoon.

KL

So where was I? That's right, flying over Moe on descent to Melbourne. The air hostess was nice – she was Lebanese and had a Master's in banking. She said she thought she might work in a bank in Dubai next. One thing I noticed about the air hostesses on Emirates is that they're very chatty – far more so than any other airline I've been on. They talk about things you don't expect them to, and they're just very matey. Makes them seem a bit more genuine than the average airline hostess (I imagine they're supposed to be called stewards now or some such).

So down to Melbourne airport we went. What a disgrace. There were only two places to eat and both served unforgivably bad food. Really crappy sandwiches or pastries. This is an international airport! I felt sorry for the Asians – at least being Kiwi I knew how bad Anglo-Saxon food could be, but they're probably traumatised by it.

I just put some en dashes in this post using HTML. For those who know my technology phobias, this is pretty impressive. But I have to do it on e-learning projects at work, so why not my own posts. Nothing worse than a hyphen masquerading as an en dash. Well,I suppose murder and famine are worse, but let's say, as a punctuation crime it's right up there. It's fun deciding my own style for this blog – I thought I'd use double speech marks (not fond of how single ones can be taken for apostrophes). Not too sure about the serial comma – am leaning towards using it.

At any rate, Melbourne airport was very boring. My onward flight was delayed, so I had more than seven hours there. On the upside, they did upgrade me to Business Class. For much of my life I have wanted to be upgraded, and it happens my first time out with Emirates (smart move – they might get some repeat business there). I always figure booking under Doctor might get me a fair shot, but it hasn't worked so far. Of course, I often wonder what happens if they come to me mid flight and say, Doctor can you help? I'd have to say well if you want the situation analysed ...

It's a much better life in Business – it's so nice. The funny thing is that after takeoff they served what was described by my hostess as a very light snack. I thought, are you kidding me? I was expecting some kind of luxurious banquet, and they served one-bite sandwiches. Pretty nice, to be sure, but I don't think so ... Especially when I had a look through the curtain at Economy and noticed they were all tucking in to a meal. Yes, that'd be right, I thought to myself. I finally make it out of Cattle Class, and they figure we've moved beyond the need for sustenance. I can understand the need to pacify the masses – I think narcotising Economy is the right thing to do, but after Melbourne airport, I was really hungry. When the waitress – I mean hostess – came round again I asked for some more sandwiches. What would I like? Bring me a selection, I said. After that little pile, I have to say I was fairly satisfied. Smoked salmon, grilled vegetables, cream cheese ... They were all nice. Then, of course, I got stuck in to the double rum and Cokes, and each time I ordered one they brought a little plate fully of gourmet nuts – macadamias, cashews, and so on.

The seats in Business are ridiculous. I remember my Mum introducing me to the word sybaritic, and these seats are designed to illustrate the concept. They're insanely nice. Apart from elongating to a bed, you can fiddle with the controls to adjust just about every part of it. Oh, and it has various massage modes as well.

The screen is gigantic, of course. Though it needs to be – the seat in front is so far away, you can leave your meal there, get up, have a stretch, move in front of the seat beside you and step into the isle. Like petrol stations, space is power.

I belong there, I realise. It's not that I think Business Class people are better than the rest of us. I think in all likelihood they're not. I'm just saying I've found where I belong.

A few hours later they wheeled round a trolley with breakfast. They had everything. And it was cooked to perfection.

As usual I checked the news: "A Hastings man has pleaded guilty to hijacking a Mr Whippy van and throwing soft serve ice cream at people nearby." Like a pedo, I think he'd best keep his crime to himself in prison.

I also watched some TV – the UK show Outnumbered (also good after a couple of drinks). I noticed one of the child actors is called Tiger Honey-Drew. Nuff said. It does have the odd funny line, though. It's full of dialogue that children would never say – that's half the fun. Like when the father says sternly, "Well revenge isn't a good thing." And the young boy matter of factly replies, "It's quite a good thing – because then they know not to do it again." Cut to: the mother and young daughter in another room. "What's a slapper, Mummy?"

At some point I wandered down to check out the toilet. I pictured something palatial – perhaps an attendant in the corner. But no, they're the same size as Economy. I felt gypped. I'm paying for this – well, someone is. Let's face it, guys, it's pretty hard to get your aim perfect in an airline toilet. My aim's normally spot on, but even I'm hard-pressed here. They should just hang a sign: Men, do your best.

Sadly it had to end, and soon enough we landed in Kuala Lumpur. I bought some Duty Free rum and headed for the exit (lest it seem like I'm a piss-head, I might point out I go many months at a time without drinking anything – I only like rum and I enjoy it on holiday, as you can see). I long ago gave up trying to find Customs in Asian airports – I figure if they want me they can find me. I caught the express train into the city and a taxi to my hotel. My hotel, the Classic Inn, is fantastic. Very clean, friendly, and in a superb location.

By this time I'd been awake at least thirty-six hours. I have to admit, I didn't smell pleasant. Unfortunately I couldn't quite check in yet, so it was off to the local mall for some food. Oh my God, what a revelation. It was just an ordinary eatery, and a dish that's probably made hundreds of thousands of times a day here, but it was superb. Nasi lemak, one of Malaysia's national dishes. Rice cooked in coconut milk, some curried chicken, roasted peanuts that pop in the mouth, deep-fried anchovies that just melt, cuttlefish in a tangy sauce, and various other condiments. What a great introduction to the country. Here's a photo taken part-way through ...

Finally I could check in, have a shower and get changed. I had to get a couple of things for the islands, so headed back to the mall over the road to go to the supermarket. It's quite an eye-opening experience, a Malaysian mall. I was really surprised by the number of people in costume. They didn't seem to be celebrating anything in particular - just wandering round in costume. Nice aesthetic lifestyle. Here's one I snapped ...

There seemed to be one particular costume I encountered so much it ended up being more like a uniform. The first photo here didn't quite turn out, but in a sense, the features are highlighted. These white dresses with black lines. Seemed to be some kind of quasi Tudor thing.

This one's a little less blurred ...

There are food courts everywhere in these malls ...

For dinner I headed to Jalan Alor, a street famous for its hawker fare. I had a deep-fried squid dish and a stirfried eggplant one. Interestingly they call eggplant brinjal, the Indian name.

This picture is of a human statue – fair bit of street theatre in KL.

Finally I got some welcome sleep that night. The aircon was soothing. I'm lucky, though; the temperature here is the mid to high twenties and the humidity isn't too bad. It was way worse in Auckland when I passed through.

One of the highlights of any holiday I take is the reading I do. I save up my best books for my holidays. I hit the jackpot with my current one – an anthology of the best of Men's Journal. The first article in one of those readings I dream about - literary journalism at its best (those of you I share good articles with will be getting this one sometime). The author is telling of various trips to wartorn and dangerous countries. He's recounting one in which, as a teen, he was sent to retrieve his brother, also a teen, who had gotten lost in a Central American jungle and now faced a possible leg amputation. Here's an extract:

"My father loved sending telexes. They were charged by the word, with a maximum of ten characters per word, and he could spend hours devising messages that gave him his money's worth. This one was addressed to the main post office in La Ceiba, the town in Honduras where Jon got his mail, and he'd obviously put a lot of effort into it: SCOTTCOMES TOHONDURAS TOMORROWPM. NOREPEATNO AMPUTATION BEFORETHEN LOVEMOMPOP."

I've counted them – every one of those is ten letters. After mentioning his summer vacation plans, he continues:

" 'Look', I said to my parents in the dining room, 'Jon has been nothing but trouble to you people for years; did you stop to think that losing a foot might be just the thing to straighten him out?'

I think that for the briefest of moments my parents actually considered the idea. Then my father shook his head. 'Let's not make a big deal out of this. All you have to do is go down there, get him out of the hospital, and put him on a plane home. You'll be back before you know it."

Didn't turn out to be quite so quick. Anyway, great article.

Well Sunday, I tried some deep-fried chicken thing that was exquisite. The chicken was so tender it was ridiculous.

One thing I'll say about Malaysians, they spend a lot of their life in queues. I've been in half a dozen so far, and I've only been here two days. Once I spent twenty mutes in a queue to buy a subway ticket!

So Sunday afternoon was spent wandering and lounging. I visited the largest English bookshop in Malaysia. The cooking section was huge. I browsed for a good while and bought a Nyonya cookbook This is a hybrid of native Malay and Chinese cooking). I liked the blurb on the back: "Learn how to cook and prepare main dishes such as Hee Peow Soup (Dried Fish Bladder Soup) ..."

Dinner that night was at an Indian restaurant and it was unbelievable. I ordered from the Chettinad menu the bhindi fry. And a chicken dish called nadan kozhi curry, a Keralan dish, I think. The bhindi (okra) were sliced lengthwise, then coated in a mixture of rice flour, besan flour and chilli powder and then deep-fried. They weren't fiery hot at all. They were melt-in-your-mouth tender. And the curry was subtle, well-rounded and utterly moreish.

Lunch today was quite a famous Malaysian restaurant/cafe. I ordered the mushroom chicken mee and a stirfried eggplant dish with spicy chilli paste. The chicken I could have as floss or pieces – apparently floss means shredded, which I opted for. Both were exquisite. I'll have to go back to that place.

 

Well I leave in a few hours for the Thai islands, so I'd best go and pack. I have a train cabin to myself for the night, and then six days on a National Park island (Koh Tarutao). There are no Internet facilities there (or much of anything except lagoons), so I probably won't be able to blog for a week. Merry Christmas to one and all.