Post 285: Vientiane .. Laos

Vientiane is the capital city of Laos PDR and literally translates as "City of Sandalwood" … apparently. "PDR", Peoples Democratic Republic, but I’m not sure exactly how ’Democratic’ that makes it. Laos is a communist country, but like in many other supposedly "Communist Countries" that I’ve visited, somebody forgot to tell the people. It’s no different to any other Capitalist Country, people do what they can to make the money that they need and 'more' is seemingly always better than 'less'. It’s just like Animal Farm but without the pigs and horses.

I think I like Vientiane. It’s kind of weird and quirky in a very unfinished sort of way. Lots of things seem to have been started, but nothing is quite complete. The "Freedom Gate" (Patuxay) was built in the 1960’s to celebrate their struggle for independence from France, but as conflict continued, they never quite got around to finishing it. The strange thing is that they actually seem quite proud of it’s 'unfinished' nature and celebrate it on plaques around it‘s base. It’s actually not very 'Asian' at all. It reminds me of the Arc de Triomphe and maybe that’s what it’s supposed to represent. Perhaps they wanted to rub French noses in it, or maybe they just found an old set of plans laying around and decided that it was the easiest option. Whatever the reason, the views from the top give great panoramic views of the City.
The temples around Vientiane are really quite shabby and I think I quite like that. None of the over-glossed Disney of the Grand Palace in Bangkok, these are crumbly affairs that are probably more beautiful for the neglect that they’ve enjoyed. The places are also empty, no people to spoil the atmosphere, no clicking cameras and nobody demanding extortionate entrance fees with different prices for locals and tourists. Access all areas, climb the walls and nobody seems to mind …. not that I would of course.

After three weeks of scooting about in and around Korat, I saw possibly three or four other Westerners ( Farang - ฝะ-หฺรั่ง ), but here in Vientiane there are plenty of them. These Farang seem to fall into four very different groups. Firstly there are the NGO workers and United Nations people who all seem to know each other and talk constantly about the good deeds that they do. The world over, these kindly folks tend to meet in the same places; European style coffee shops, boutique hotels and trendy little bars. I have no reason to doubt the good things that they achieve, but I’m sure that if they spent less time talking about them and more time doing them, then the world would be a much richer place for everyone. A persons arse will only accommodate so much sunshine, so when it’s full .... stop f**king blowing.

The second group are the Hippies, both old-time and born-again together in the same place. The folks who left Goa when it became too expensive and moved on from Thailand when it became too legitimate. It seems that baggy draw-string pants, braided hair and monk’s bags are the legitimate uniform for this group. They don’t seem to meet anywhere in particular, they just seem to wander. Maybe 'wandering' is therapeutic, but in a City the size of Vientiane, surly there is only so much wandering that one person can possibly do?

The third group is the group that I fall into. Visitors of convenience. Folk’s who have crossed the border for a couple of days to see what Vientiane has to offer and to renew or replace their visas for Thailand. As rules for visas are constantly changing, this group is probably now in the majority and Vientiane is beginning to establish a market to specifically meet their needs.

The fourth group of Farang are altogether quite different. They seem to be men of a certain age, all with suspiciously tinted hair, comb-over’s and quite a unique sense of style. They always seem to sit and walk alone, they come out from their hotels after dark and then vanish into the night. I might be jumping to the wrong conclusions about this third group of people, but in the region that made the AK47 famous …… there’s never one around when you really want to use one ... mai pen rai

( Thursday 18th March 2010 .. I'm about to start moving East on a Yamaha Fresh II .... so I'll probably be away from the Internet for a while .... I'll try and stay out of trouble )

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Post 284: Into Laos

So, what do I know about Laos? Well, I should really give it the full name, the ‘Lao People’s Democratic Republic‘. The ’S’ was added by the French to distinguish ’Laos’ the Country from ’Lao’ the People, and the ’S’ is silent. The capital is Vientiane, it gained independence from France in 1949 and a civil war raged here until the communist party took full control in the mid 1970’s. Laos is probably famous for being the most bombed country in the world. Apparently between 1964 and 1973, Laos was hit by a B52 full of bombs on average once every eight minutes, day and night. That’s 260 million bombs, 80 million of which failed to explode and continued killing people long after the American’s had called it a day. The other thing that I know about Laos, is that it’s apparently the easiest location in which to renew a visa for Thailand.

The bus journey to the border should take four hours, but after seven hours I’m dropped off at Nong Kai and find a tuk-tuk to take me onto the Friendship Bridge, the crossing point between Thailand and Laos. On the way to the border, the friendly tuk-tuk rider invites me to buy a visa for Laos, but I’ve already read the script. At the border, a visa into Laos will cost me $30, but the tuk-tuk riders solution will cost me $40. He’s disappointed, but he’ll get over it.

At the Friendship Bridge, the atmosphere turns a little icy when I pull out my camera and try to take photographs. Not so ’Friendly’ then? Leaving Thailand is a breeze, but entering Laos at the other side of the Mekong River is not quite so easy. I don’t have any $ or Laos Kip, so I have to pay for my entry visa in Thai Baht, 1,500 of them and that’s roughly $50. Bugger, if only I hadn‘t tried to be so bloody clever I could have saved myself $10 and at the same time made the tuk-tuk riders day.

Inside Laos, it looks a little like Thailand but the cars are a little older and the people slightly less chatty. The taxi driver asks me ’where to?’, and I reply, ’the fountain’, thank goodness for Lonely Planet guides. Searching for a cheap hotel in Backpacker Central, the first is ’full’ but across the road is ’The Phoxy Hotel’. I can’t resist. Inside it’s not quite as Phoxy as the name suggests and the price is reasonable too, $10 per night. Tomorrow I’ll apply for my visa, collect it the following day and then travel back into Thailand the day after that. Three nights in Vientiane should be enough, and I’ll be heading back this way in a few weeks time anyway.

The other thing that I’ve noticed about Vientiane is the temperature, it’s bloody freezing here. I’ve travelled only three hundred miles North but the climate is totally different. I had to laugh though, the people are really quite ‘English’ in what they say … ‘if only you’d been here yesterday, it was lovely weather’. Being the well organised chap that I am, I haven’t brought any clothes with me so I‘ll either have to suffer the cold or go shopping. I find a money changer and decide that around £30 should see me through. Then I look at the ’Exchange Rate’ and hand over £80. In return I receive 1,024,000 Laos Kip. I’m an instant millionaire …. mai pen rai

I particularly enjoyed the items left and right #5 on the the Hotels disclaimer .... or should that be claimer? .....ไม่เป็นไร

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Post 283: Bikes & Bits

When the opportunity to go to Vietnam and buy the 'Minsk' vanished ... more of which later, I was disappointed with the fact that by restricting myself to 'Rentals', I'd be missing out on the actual 'Riding Experience' that comes with 2-Wheel-Travel. However, for the first time in my life, I've ridden bikes that back home in Blighty I would never have considered worthy. I've discovered the 'Break-Back' and the 'Twist N Go' and it's been something of a revelation.

I met these Guy's from the Nogthong Classic Bike Club out on the road, all riding Honda Cubs. It was great to ride with them for an afternoon and at last I was with folks that I could actually keep pace with. It's a great experience, there's none of the cock-fighting that you get riding with
sports bikers back at home. Nobody gives a shit if you've got virgin sliders or shredded tyres, everybody just wants to laugh and have a great time ... no pressure ... mai pen rai.

Back in Korat, I came across this little beast ... the Honda Chaly ... with a few modifications. It's fitted with Nitros, but it's more about Vanity than Insanity. Sadly I couldn't arrange for a test-ride, but I'd love to try it one day ....

It seems that the Honda Cub is this years 'Black' ... and if Honda's marketing team are reading, which they used to do when waiting for my Tiger to explode in Siberia, then reintroduce the Cub in retro form .. but a pucker retro .. and you'll make a packet. (Copyright Blue88 .. Patents pending etc.)

Then there was this lump of lead parked at the side of the road. I was heading South after exploring a possible future business venture, and this was 'For Sale' at the side of the road. No documents, no papers, but yours for around £2,500.00, which in these parts is cheap for a big bike. I took it for a 'Spin', or should that be a 'Grunt', and returned it when the fuel tank was empty. After so long on scooters, I couldn't tell if it was a real Harley or a Honda in disguise. It felt great and sounded lovely, but it had gears and a clutch ..... way too much effort for a lazy arse like me .. mai pen rai

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Post 282: Street Breakfast

Every morning in Thailand, just after sunrise, if you go down onto the streets you'll find saffron robed monks making their way to the temple. They'll carry their monk bags, a container and the obligatory iPhone ... all monks have iPhones. As the monks pass, I put a little food into their bowls, usually rice and a bottle of water into their bags. Apparently once inside the temple, monks can only consume that which has been grown or donated, they can not buy food. Why? ... I have absolutely no idea, ... but it's nice to 'give'.

Once my charitable deed for the day is done, it's time for 'Kow Dom', my favourite meal of the day, breakfast. Kow Dom is basically rice soup, and in Korat I buy it every morning from this happy girl a little way down the road from my room. It might not be the best kow dom in Korat, but it's served with the warmest smile. If I'm on the move, she'll serve it into a plastic bag and then drop a raw egg into the top and I'll eat it when I stop for my first coffee of the day. If I'm being idle, then I'll eat it at one of her plastic picnic tables while she chats to me at the speed of sound. I think she wants to marry me, or failing that perhaps one of her many daughters .. but it just feels great to sit surrounded by happy people on their way to work at 6:30am ..... that doesn't often happen in and around London.

Kow dom is rice soup with the addition of Pak (Vegetables), chunks of Meat (Neua) and Egg (Kai). It's not too spicy and it's a hell of a lot nicer than cornflakes. It probably wouldn't taste the same back in Blighty, few things do, but it's one of the things that makes me love this place so much. It's not simply the food, it's the whole opera that seems to surround it. It makes you sit back, take in the atmosphere and realise just how lucky you are .... mai pen rai

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Post 281: Phimai ... Ancient Ruins

‘Highway 2’ leads to and from everywhere in Korat and as a straight and featureless road, it ought to be boring, but it isn’t. Well, it might be boring to many people that travel along it, but I just seem to find stuff. Maybe it’s the benefit or riding a slow bike and having the time to take in the stuff that’s happening around you, or maybe it’s just that I don’t have a plan or a timetable to follow. I’m just going with the flow … mai pen rai.

At a constant 35 degrees and with no shade or breeze worth mentioning, you can only have so much fun on this road before you turn-off and find something worth pointing a camera at. North along ‘Highway 2‘, I came to the ancient Khmer ruins at Phimai. It stands at the northern most end of the great Khmer Highway that originally ran all of the way from Angkor Wat in Cambodia. It’s the largest single historical site in Thailand, equal in size to Angkor Wat itself, but apart from three saffron robed monks, I’m the only person here. Maybe the good people of Thailand are sheltering from the blazing sun, or maybe, they’re simply avoiding me. Whichever it is, I really don’t care. I haven’t been involved in an English conversation since leaving Pattaya three weeks ago and I have to say that my life is no poorer for it.

I spend a full three hours of my life just wandering around the ruins, climbing the ancient walls and drinking iced tea in the cold shelter of an ancient building. I know that this structure is Khmer because of the shape of the towers, more curved than pointy. I also know that when they built this Buddhist Temple in what I guess ,must have been the 11th or 12th Century, the Khmer were Hindu and not Buddhist. I’m confused, but all of the information here is written in Thai and I haven’t got a clue how to begin deciphering the script. I talk with one of the monks, but unlike Monk Tony who I met down in Koh Chang, this monk never lived in Putney. He speaks Thai too fast for my aging ears and not a single word of English. I decide that sometimes it’s actually better not knowing the facts and just let you’re imagination run riot. I’m sure that Lara Croft will be along at any moment.

In a few weeks time I’ll be visiting Angkor Wat, a journey that I first attempted back in 1988. At the time, The PDR of Kampuchea was governed by Heng Sarim but Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge were still going strong in the Tonal Sap area. The border was closed but I crossed over with a guide at Aranyaprathet and ended up in a whole world of shit. Back in those days I really didn’t mind, but I’m older now and more vulnerable to pain and discomfort, so hopefully this time it will different. What I do know is that Angkor Wat will be a whole lot busier, and no doubt more expensive that this place. Maybe I’ll linger here a little longer and get chummy with the monks ….they must surely understand the connection between Hinduism and Buddhism.

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Post 280: Wat Ban Rai .. Luang Phor Koon and the Waterfall

If I keep updating my Blog at this speed … it’ll make my track performance look positively blistering. So, a few things have happened and I’ll try to bring you almost up to date with this post……

Heading west along Highway 2, I found the village of Dan Khun Thot. As villages go, not so remarkable, but for a two-cow-town the temple is really quite stunning. For the people of Thailand, and more especially the people of Isan in North Eastern Thailand, Wat Ban Rai is one of their most important temples. The temple itself is really quite beautiful, but then so are many of the temples that you’ll find all across Thailand. However, this temple is most famous for being home to one of Thailand’s most revered Monks: Luang Phor, meaning ‘Revered Father‘, Koon, meaning ’Plentiful’, … Luang Phor Koon. Or, to use his Monk’s name, ‘Parisuttho‘. Luang Phor Koon is quite possibly the most powerful monk in Thailand today.

I had no idea that this was Luang Phor Koon’s Temple, but as the doors opened and the frail old Monk entered the Temple in front of me, it felt like Bobby Charlton had just run out onto the field as a half-time substitute for The Quakers. Apparently due to ill health and increasing age, personal appearances are quite rare and having an audience with this revered Monk is really quite a privilege. After praying for several minutes, he asked me to come forward and receive a blessing … which I did with some trepidation and he did with a long stick and a beaming smile. I honestly can’t say exactly what he said or did, but there is certainly something about this Monk that makes him very different to all of the others that I‘ve met.

After leaving Wat Ban Rai and talking to other Thai‘s, I’m suddenly ‘Mr Popular’ and everybody wants to touch me. Apparently for a Buddhist, meeting Luang Phor Koon is akin to a Roman Catholic having an audience with the Pope. Well, I am neither Buddhist nor Catholic, but he’s certainly left an unexplainable but lasting impression upon me.

Back in Nakhom Ratchasima, I attended first the funeral and then the cremation of the young lad who tragically died from cancer at the age of 13. From what I can understand, he and his friends had followed the parts of my Blog in 2008 that had been translated into Thai. I wont go into details because it was quite a moving and emotional experience but his family seemed to accept me as an honoured guest and I felt amazingly humbled by their warmth. One thing to understand about Thai funerals is that the coffin is only used for the cremation but the photograph used here is not too graphic.

On my journey along ‘Highway 2’, I came across what was described as a ‘Waterfall’ but in UK terms, was more of a natural lido. It was quiet, so I took a dip and cooled off. I couldn’t understand why the place was almost deserted and decided that to say ’Thank you’ to Aeg’s family before leaving Nakhom Ratchasima, I would take them back there at the weekend. I did, and it sure as hell wasn’t deserted at the weekend. Thailand and his Wife had turned up and it was great. The place was packed with happy people. Kids and adults just dived in and enjoyed themselves. No ’Warning Signs’ about hidden rocks or dangerous currents, just folks enjoying themselves in the way that we used to when we were kids and before Health and Safety was invented. I love their attitude. If you fall off a cliff and kill yourself here in Thailand, it’s not due to a lack of ’Warning Signs’, it’s because you were a bit of an idiot and didn’t take responsibility for your own actions. Nobody died, a few bumps and bruises here and there but everybody looked after everybody else and the Health & Safety Executives took a day off ….. mai pen rai

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Post 279: Nakhom Ratchasima .... Fort Suranaree

After three nights of free living with Aeg’s parents on Fort Suranaree in Nakhom Ratchasima, I just have to move on. It’s not the lack of a recognisable bathroom, the outside kitchen, the swarms of mosquito or even my embarrassment at the level of hospitality being thrown at me. No, all of these I can easily live with. It’s ‘Boney M’ that’s getting to me. Perhaps they want me to feel more at home, perhaps it’s the only C90 Cassette Tape that they have, but trust me people, if I hear ''Ra Ra'' frigging ''Rasputin'' one more time, then there will be violence. I have to go, but it’s certainly been an interesting few days.

Aeg and his wife Ning have returned to Sattahip and his father seems to be an NCO in the army here, but never seems to go to work. I’ve seen his uniform and a hundred photographs of him proudly wearing it dotted around their humble home, but I haven’t seen him actually go and do any real 'Army Work'. I don’t necessarily mean anything that involves shooting people, I just mean anything that might possibly have some connection to defending his own Country or invading a neighbouring one. Also, their home here on the base is really quite 'humble', but I’ve seen the properties that they own down in Sattahip and 'humble' they are certainly not. What’s going on here? He does run the Base Golf Club, but I think that’s more of a voluntary thing and I get the distinct impression that Aeg‘s father is really the ''Sgt. Bilko'' figure around here. He has lists, lists of everything in every pocket. People come and ask him something and he writes it down on a list. Somebody calls at the house, a package changes hands and an item is removed from a different list. His wife, and one day I will discover their names, seems to do the cooking and cleaning, but as ’meal-times’ never seem to end around here, then she’s probably the busiest person on the entire base. It also means that I’ve been eating some very interesting dishes. ‘Tak-a-tan’ is the grasshopper that makes the ‘clicking’ sound at night, like a giant cricket. ''Very Tasty'' when asked, avoided when nobody is looking.

Thanks to the efforts of this family, my toe is now on the mend. I’ve been visiting the Fort Suranaree Hospital and I believe, using a false ID card. How the hell they mistake me for a Thai National is beyond me, but I suspect that it probably has something to do with Sgt. Bilko and his seemingly endless influence in these parts. It really does remind me of spending time with Roman and Slava in Volgograd. Another reminder of Russia is that I’m the only person without a gun around here. Mind you, this is a Military Base and Volgograd wasn’t.

The families live-at-home daughter, Aporn, is an artist and runs a commercial art business from the house. Everybody seems to get involved in this thriving business, even me. Yesterday I was trimming canvases ready for some huge children’s painting party to be held at the weekend. They seemed to revel in the fact that a 'Farang' was helping them and I had to sit at the front of the house and trim away at canvases for hours. I honestly didn’t mind. They kept bringing me ice cold Chang beer and over the course of several hours, many of Aporn’s unmarried girlfriends seemed to pass by the house and spend far too much of their day just staring at me. It’s not everyday that I get stared at long and hard by any quantity of attractive single females and it’s certainly not a complaint, just another observation from a very grateful man.

Anyway, my point is that for the interests of my own long-term sanity, I had to leave Fort Suranaree quickly. I borrowed Aporn’s aging ‘Yamaha Fresh II’ and rode around Nakhom Ratchasima for hours. I didn’t really see anything that resembled a hotel capable of meeting my budgetary requirements, but of course I was looking in all of the wrong places. Within minutes of staring defeat in the face, I’m inspecting a more than respectable room organised by Aporn. It’s only a few minutes walk away from the centre of town and they call it an ‘Apartel‘. It’s a Hotel but without the Room Service and the linen will only be changed every 72 hours. At 140 THB per day, it works out at just under £3 per night if I book for a week. I double check the price and my maths ……. mai pen rai

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Post 278: Racing in Korat

The best things in life seem to happen by chance. I was riding my Suzuki Hayate down to the Night Market in Korat for some late night dining, when I saw a group of larger bikes parked at the side of the road. I turned around, parked alongside them and within ten minutes, I’d been invited to attend the ‘’Korat 80 Up’’ Race meeting at the weekend.

I arrived early. Firstly because the air is cooler in the early morning and secondly, so that any personal embarrassment would be minimised. It was instantly clear that my normal daily riding attire was all wrong. The ACU don’t officiate here in Korat, but they still have certain standards to maintain. Flip-Flops and shorts were not going to pass muster and everybody seemed to think that my beautiful helmet was something of a joke.

Nothing seemed to fit, including the bike, which I think might once have been a Honda Nova. Whatever it had once been, it now sported the number ‘88’ a rather dashing ‘Repsol’ sticker. I wanted to try out a crazy bike like this and I was good to go. A couple of minutes taught me a couple of things. Firstly, skinny tyres feel very different to fat sticky racing rubber and secondly, if you slow down on a bike of this size then you’ll never get back up to speed again. Back in the pit-lane, a few very important adjustments were required. I shuffled through the electronic memory, ‘H’, ‘J’, ‘K’ ... Kaiser Chiefs? .. No ….. King’s of Leon? … Yes, they’ll do rather nicely...... ''Hot as a fever ….. rattling bones … I can just taste it … taste it … if it’s not forever ... if it’s just tonight …. Oh we’re still the greatest … the greatest ..... the greatest ….''

To be brutally honest, Sex on Fire might help to smooth out my lines, but it was going to take more than decent music to transform me from Twat to Triumph. Even just sitting on the bike you could see that I was Crap with a capital ’C’. Riding a 600 Supersport is one thing but this kind of racing is in a league of it‘s own. On a bigger bike, a little know-how and a handful of power will cover up for a multitude of sins, but on a 110cc Scooter you’ve got absolutely nowhere to hide. Style is everything, and style is the one thing that I simply don’t have … you’ve seen the photographs.

‘Korat 80 Up’ is all about racing for bikes with engines larger than 80cc. The circuit used today was a Go-Kart Circuit and is very similar to Three Sisters up the North West of England. Too tight and twisty for the 1000cc Superbikes, but ideal for the little guys. Once I’d had the decency to announce my early retirement before racing commenced, I went on to have an absolutely fantastic day. I have no idea how big this type of racing is back in the UK, but if BEMSEE are looking for a new item for their menu, then they could do an awful lot worse than this.

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Post 277: To Korat

The memorial service for the Rear Admiral was actually quite a happy affair. It was held in the Temple where six monks conducted the service and six more appeared as soon as the food was served. Everybody got fed, everybody had a good time and according to local beliefs, the recently departed will be back amongst us soon enough. The Thai’s don’t view death in the same ‘Permanent’ way that we do in the West. For Thai's, death is more of a transition into the next and hopefully better existence. I’d like to say that I believed as they do, but sadly I don’t. When my three score years and ten are up, I’m afraid that ‘permanent’ will be a very appropriate word to use. After a few short days I'm really quite sad to be leaving Sattahip, but it's not really as if I'm actually leaving, I'm just being passed onto a different branch of a family who‘s surname I still didn‘t know.

After just six hours in the back of a Mitsubishi Pick-up truck, of which only five hours and fifty minutes were uncomfortable, I've arrived in Korat. As Thailand’s 2nd largest City I’m surprised that I’ve never been here before, but then Korat is only really famous for being anonymous. I’ve past through here several times on my way to and from Khon Kaen, but this will be the first time that I’ve ever stopped and spent any time here. At first sight it looks like any other large Thai City, but then I notice that something significant is missing. Along the busy shopping streets, of which there are many, I see not one sign that I recognise from the West. No Starbucks. No Boots. No McDonalds. No KFC. No Tesco. No Esso or Shell. Yes, Thailand’s second largest city seems to have avoided the names that now fill most of Thailand's shopping streets and could well turn out to be my kind of place.

On the journey up here, I discovered that one of the reasons for my ’volunteering’ to come to Korat, was to attend the funeral service of a young lad who yesterday died from cancer. He was 13 years of age and from what I can understand, loved motorcycles. I didn’t know him and being invited to what in the West are such personal and intimate family gatherings feels a little bit weird, but I’ll go with the flow and see what happens…. mai pen rai

It’s late when we arrive in Korat. Nobody has really thought about hotels and so I’m taken to the family home on an Army Base in the middle of Korat. In the outdoor kitchen, the women folk cook a meal of sticky rice and fish bought back in Sattahip and us men folk wash it down with bottles of Chang beer. I’m shown to a large room with three giant floor fans. It is to be my bedroom for the night. I know that it’s the biggest and best room in the house. I have no idea where everyone else is sleeping but I somehow get the feeling that when it comes to the sleeping arrangements for tonight, I’ve been given the cream. I feel guilty, but then after six hours in the back of a truck on Thai roads, guilt only goes so deep.

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Post 276: Back to Sattahip

All good things must come to an end, and Koh Chang had been a very good thing indeed. I’ve loved my week there and I’m sad to leave it behind me, but leave it behind I must.

My Thai isn’t great, but from what I can make out, we’re waiting for two more people to join us. It’s a Japanese Mini-Bus, designed for 14 and there are 12 already aboard. Two more shouldn’t be a problem, and if nobody had any luggage then they wouldn’t be. But we all have luggage, and it is a problem. Tempers are beginning to flare, we’ve already missed the intended ferry back to the mainland, the air conditioning isn’t working and next time folks, please advise me to do ’Rich Circulation’. I’ve saved a couple of quid by booking the cheapest means of getting from Koh Chang to Sattahip, but this is going to knock years off my life. What a month I chose to stop bloody smoking, and I’ve just used my last nicotine patch …. mai pen rai.

I must have fallen asleep and I’ve woken up in the town of Jontiem, just South of Pattaya. I fall out of the bus and grab my luggage from the bottom of the pile. The rest of the good folks are heading for Pattaya and I’m left at the side of the road with a smile, a telephone number and the slim hope that when people tell you to ’Call’ if you’re ever in town, that they actually mean it.


An hour later, Aeg arrives in his Mitsubishi along with his wife and a welcoming smile. I can’t stay at his apartment on the Naval Base, but he’s found me an apparently suitable hotel called the ‘Paradise Ocean View‘. Suitable for what I wonder? For those of you who might remember Roman and Slava from Volgograd back in 2008, well it’s time to meet the outwardly friendlier Thai version. Aeg and his extended network of Family, Friends and Business Associates. It’s a long story and one day I will write a book, or another book, but I’m in Sattahip for the memorial service of a recently departed Rear Admiral who’s name escapes me. Why am I invited? Well, that reason escapes me too. But I’m here and I’ll go with the flow ….. mai pen rai

I’ve settled into the ‘Paradise Ocean View Hotel’, which ironically seems to be one of the few buildings in Sattahip that lacks any kind of Ocean View, and I’ve been taken on a whistle-stop tour of the City. For reasons of security, at least 50% of the tour I can not tell you about. It’s not that I’ll get shot for revealing Thai Naval secrets, it’s just that going ’In’ and ’Out’ of each Naval Base, I was locked in the boot of the vehicle. I’m sure that this wasn’t strictly necessary, but at least the guy’s up front had something to laugh about and I’ve got something to write about.

I’ve met the family of the Rear-Admiral and they do seem to be directly related to Aeg and his family. We went to the fish market somewhere on the coastal road and bought what in Blighty would have cost a small fortune. Oysters that the girl opened in front of us, 5Kg for 150 THB, £3.00. A mountain of fresh whole Crab (which in Thai is unfortunately called ’Poo’ ) at £1 per 2 Kg’s. Squid, Hawaii Lobster, Giant Prawns and a cold box full of Chang Beer and Spy Pink. These are great people that I‘ve found. The things that we are buying are by my standards amazingly cheap, but I’m only expected to pay my share, nothing more, everybody contributes equally.


Back at a house belonging to somebody who isn’t in the car with us, an oil barrel BBQ is lit and the cooking commences. A small team of builders are laying concrete at the side of the house and I sit wondering why they don’t move the wheelbarrow closer to the spot where they’re hand mixing the concrete. The wet mix is shovelled into buckets which are then carried twenty feet before being emptied into the wheelbarrow and pushed to the building site. I should bite my tongue, but I don’t. I move the wheelbarrow and for ten beautiful minutes, an energy sapping element of their already arduous routine has been avoided. It’s thumbs up all around and fifteen minutes later, they’re back to carrying buckets of wet concrete to the wheelbarrow again ….. mai pen rai

I’ve been given a 'Suzuki Swing II' to use during my stay here in Sattahip. It’s clearly an improvement on the older 'Suzuki Swing I' that I never rode, but the only thing that I really notice is that it actually has gears. The buggered toe on my left foot isn’t as happy as the rest of me, but oh how I’ve missed using gears over the past two weeks. It takes some getting used to. Four gears going downwards, nothing on the uplift and seemingly no neutral to worry about. I keep using my heel and toe at exactly the wrong times, but alternatively locking and then smoking the 1 Inch wide tyres is an absolute blast. This thing is a 2-Stroke and I guess around 110cc, but it weighs little more than an oily rag and could probably even put a smile on Jack Dee’s face.

Tomorrow it’s the memorial service and I really don’t know what to expect. I’m sure that it’ll be an experience and afterwards, I’ve been offered a free lift in a pick-up truck some 500 Km to Korat in Central Thailand. I’ve never been to Korat before but Aeg’s family are from that area and his parents have offered to let me stay at their home on an Army Base there. Last night I’d been a little too drunk to ride the Suzuki back to the Paradise Ocean View Hotel and so I’d been given a lift there by a stranger. This morning when I arrived down in reception, the pick-up truck was waiting to collect me. When we arrived at our destination, four kids and three bags of cement had mysteriously appeared in the back. I love this place for it’s unpredictability, and for exactly the same reason, I hate it. However, the best thing about not having a plan, is not having a plan. I can basically say ’Yes’ or ’No’ to anything on a daily basis, and if the mood takes me, I can later change my mind. This morning, the newly laid concrete path was being lifted again. They’d concreted over the drains ….. mai pen rai

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