Friday 8th February
Chicken Tikka and I said our fond farewells over breakfast, with tears falling into muesli and with hugs heartier even than the full english on the plate of The Eagle. You see, the rest of the gang had another lovely Koh Samui day to endure, whilst CT and I hightailed it on a boat up to distant, paradisal Koh Tao.
A chugging minibus to the bustling port on the west of the island was our first stint, followed swiftly after by bote numero uno to Koh Pha Ngan, something of a ‘hub’ for the Chumphon Archipelago. Not a bad craft, all-told: air conditioned, swift across the water, no dramas at all. On our second boat, this one to Koh Tao, we were sat on flimsy plastic stools on the middle deck, sliding around as we took in the wide blue views. A longer poke, this one; I very much doubt I could’ve swum it.
And then, at last, rising from the seas like the head of a giant, glorious turtle with a thick green and rocky thatch, Koh Tao appeared before us. It truly is a very beautiful spot indeed, the water even clearer than Samui’s and the tumbledown boulders a lighter, almost Mediterranean grey. Once ashore, we taxied over to our first port of call, Beach Club by Haad Tien, a superb looking hostelry, tucked down in famed Shark Bay with its white sands, gleaming rocks and swaying palms.
Here we snacked and sipped away the rest of a wonderful afternoon, before taking a quick dip in the warm blue waters just as dusk began to fall. It was then back to the room to rest up and change for an excellent dinner at the InSea Restaurant, where we very much enjoyed a selection of three unspeakably delicious fish-based Thai dishes. There was even a rather charming, stumbled proposal a few tables over to watch and enjoy!
In rhymed and overly comma-ed summation, KT you see, seems, for me, to be the very place to be.
Saturday 9th
After Friday evening’s feast only the lightest of light breakfasts was required that morning – the Mansfield rig had taken a bit of a battering already, so there was no pressing need to gorge much before noon.
Perhaps with this in mind, I jogged (slowly) around the headland, uphill and down, to see if an easy path could be found to our next-door next stop, the fabulous looking Jamahkiri Resort. In short, after much sweat, I found that said path could not, in fact, be found – not by me in any case. Still, exercise is its own reward, yes? Yes?! Yes.
Regardless, Chicken Tikka and I, feeling active, headed down to the bay and enjoyed an hour or two of high-quality snorkelling, waving a friendly ‘Howdy there’ to a whole gamut of large and colourful fish, busy munching on the small reef which sits happily beneath the bay. While I may, perhaps, have seen a wider variety of tropical poisson before, I cannot for the life of me remember seeing the blighters in such impressive numbers as I did in Shark Bay. I particularly enjoyed the territorial wee buggers that give your feet a solid headbutt if you come too close to their favourite piece of coral, as well as the hefty, wildly iridescent clownfish which swum around lazily, well-aware of the spectacular impression they made.
Alas, our visit to this watery Shangri-La could only last so long – for at 1pm sharp it was time to mosey next door. Thankfully, the good folks at Jamahkiri had been good enough to send around a motor, saving us a great deal of hassle. Round the headland we then drove, and up to the very top of a steeply sloping cliffside, onto which, it seemed, clung a vast and sprawling mansion.
Now, while we thought the previous gaff was pretty darn good, Chicken T and I had simply no idea what lay in store for us…for this place, this place of places, was really quite sensational.
If anything, there were too many fun things to do: exploring the bright rocks and precipitous gleaming staircases of the resort; swimming in and drinking delicious milkshakes by the Best of All Possible Pools; wandering down to the hotel’s private jetty to explore the rocks and coves around the gorgeous headland. Our room itself was also rather marvellous, with wonderful views across Shark Bay and, curiously, our personal collection of finely carved and polished Buddhas.
Dinner too was excellent, up in the shoeless opulence of The Terrace, a joint which looked half like a temple, half like a multi-tiered Chinese tea house. I ordered a red snapper and Chicken T had rock lobster – both eminently edible…one could get used to living like this!
I mean, one couldn’t, as one’s meagre funds would scarcely permit it. But, theoretically speaking at least, this, this my friends, was living.
Sunday 10th
Sadly, our stay on ‘Turtle Island’ was an all-too brief one, and necessity dictated that we had to leap, weeping like bairns, onto the back of the 8.30am truck back down to the jetty – a truck-ride which commenced a full day of somewhat arduous voyaging:
- Boat #1, taking us back to Koh Pha Ngan;
- Boat #2, right across the western Gulf of Thailand to Surat Thani;
- Bus #1, on the slow roads to the airport; and
- Plane #1 to Bangkok.
Infants began screaming midway through Boat #2 and continued their emotional songs with an almost operatic, Wagnerian bent. The airport had an air-side off-license, however, and I had noise-cancelling headphones, so it wasn’t all bad, given the long and short of it.
Once at last in Thailand’s vast and smoky capital, a speedy and refreshingly good-value taxi took us downtown to Emporium Suites Chatrium Hotel – our stay funded courtesy of ‘someone’ tenuously connected to The Old Man (it’s often best not to ask, my friends).
Leaving Chicken Tikka to convalesce at our new home and order copious room service, I toddled off round the corner to dinner at Kebabs & Kurries (the #1 joint in town, according to Australian Trip Advisor). Here I met The Old Man & Katzenjammer, who had both made across via direct flight and who had, it seemed, endured a great deal less fuss than us. Some quality Indian fare and a great deal of Kingfisher beer was very much enjoyed, and we rounded the evening off nicely, watching England smash the French in the rugby at The Robin Hood English pub, just opposite our hotel. Bangkok first impressions: very good indeed, more of this, please!
Monday 11th
Breakfasting as a quartet high up within those imperious Emporium Suites, we sketched out a vague plan of action for the day: a nice, chilled morning, as per, then off to the much-vaunted Grand Palace, where we could gaze upon Emerald Buddhas, fluted towers and Chinese tourists aplenty.
And so it was – not a bad tourist trap, as they go, if a wee bit hot crowded [Spoiler Alert: I preferred Tuesday’s temples.] We didn’t spend too much of our afternoon among the betempled throng, deciding instead to stroll about central Bangkok slightly more aimlessly, stopping off for milkshakes at a curiously European coffee shop and wandering around various market alleyways: Katzenjammer, it seemed, had garments to buy and The Old Man, as always, had embarrassing haggles/Pyrrhic victories to win.
Shopping, that crippling and global disease, is clearly infectious for, before I knew what was happening, Chicken Tikka and I had taken a taxi over to the MBK Centre to look through a host of knock-offs and nonsense. Chicken T, following a preparatory afternoon snack, displayed some impressive haggling techniques of her own, sourcing gifts and souvenirs for herself and all her sisters; I went one better, by purchasing nothing at all. Mine is a talent which simply cannot be taught – one is either born with it, or one buys things.
Heading back to the hotel, we got caught in amusingly terrible rush hour traffic coming back – congestion so bad that even the taxi driver himself seemed notably disquieted by it all, loudly lamenting his lot and his foolish career choices. By the time we returned to the hotel we sorely needed to cool down, taking a highly indulgent evening dip in the seventh-floor outdoor pool and stealing a handful of The Old Man’s french-fries.
Said Old Man, that eve, had an unswayable hankering for Italian food, so, accordingly, we strolled across to the nearby Bella Napoli, an establishment very highly-rated by the slightly strung-out American fella smoking a dart outside. And lo and behold, he was absolutely correct! Here at BN we enjoyed some really rather fantastic and authentic food, including a pizza recreation of Venice (yes, really) and the restaurant’s last portion of a delicious beef stew served with saffron risotto. Full marks and ten points to Hufflepuff.
The time had then come, apparently, according to the lasses, for a couple of rooftop bars: Firstly, we tried out the next door Compass Hotel’s 35th floor Vanilla Sky Bar for a tasty cocktail and, in my case, a mild attack of vertigo: Why were the barriers transparent, readers? And why, oh why, were they so damn low?!
And then, no sooner than we’d settled up at Vanilla Sky and ignoring my childish whimpering, Chicken T decided that ‘we must go higher’. Thus, she and I trekked right across town to Lebua’s famous ‘Sky Bar’, sixty-five (six-tee-five!) floors up. Firstly, we were ushered into the north-facing ‘Distil’ whisky bar for a delicious but eye-wateringly expensive cocktail and unbeatable views over the old city; then, having given the grinning barman unto half my kingdom, we wandered across, underneath the ‘Dome’ atop the tower, to Sirocco Restaurant and the Sky Bar itself, for many a photo and a second attack of justifiable vertigo. This bastard was high. Fabulous, undoubtedly impressive, but very, very high. Much like Bowie in the seventies, or The Beatles when they went all Sergeant Peppery.
Tuesday 12th & Wednesday 13th
A chilled Tuesday morning with a chilled Tuesday breakfast was made better still by some sunny lazing by the hotel pool and (huzzah!) Chicken Tikka and I managing to check into seats next to each other for our flight the next day. This buoyancy quickly turned into despair, however – as it signified a single, fell thing: we had but 24 hours until we flew back home!
There was nothing to do but make the best of it: after another pleasant year spent in Bangkok’s ridiculously bad traffic en route to the city centre, we explored the wonders of Wat Pho, a fabulous temple complex near the river housing the famed Reclining Buddha – a serious golden unit, practically a league in length. Around every corner there was a new temple or tower, ornate in beauty and surrounded by much sparser crowds than the previous day’s attraction. All told, this joint got an untrammelled thumbs up from both me and Chicken T.
We then took our first and only tuk-tuk of the trip around the corner to The Old Siam Shopping Plaza, for a quick snack and a potter around. No purchases were made this time however, so a perfect shopping trip in my book.
A full-blown, traffic-sparked existential crisis for our afternoon’s final taxi fellow meant we jumped out halfway back to the hotel for a drink at Beer Republic (exactly the wanky western beer joint which The Old Man loves, by the by). This was followed by a hot and sticky stroll past the endless, stationary traffic back to headquarters, stopping only for Chicken T to make her penultimate purchase of the trip at a chic, little children’s clothing store.
The store was little, not the children…though they were too; almost by definition, you see? Oh, never mind, on with the damned blog…
Early that evening Katzenjammer and Chicken T went off for some pampering and nail painting at a nearby Thai spa, so The Old Man and I walked leisurely around the locale, stopping off at Pennina for a few Ashais, a truffley Italian snack and some quality father-son conversation, that is to say, a number of polite and respectful arguments.
We re-joined the ladies at the ‘superfly’ Kenshin Izakaya for some lovely, well-warmed sake and a selection of excellent Japanese fare. Booked onto a 2.30am (!) flight, Katzenjammer and The Old Man went off to pack, watch terrible films and chill out in our room before their ordeal. The night, for Chicken T and I at least, being ‘but young’, we instead went off in search of ‘mango sticky rice’, it being the last chance for the budgie to get outside this favoured delicacy before we too shuffled off home. This we found, at last, at the middling Ruan Songnaree Thai Restaurant (I ordered ice cream instead, as I’m a wee bit dull), thus ticking off our final Thailand ‘to-do’ from our Thailand to-do list.
Back then, to the hotel, to see off The Old Man and Katzenjammer, thanking them most warmly for a trip for the ages. The hour was then upon us to pack up our own suitcases as, early the next day, our trip too would be coming to an end: Have you ever seen a thirty-year-old man bawl like a babe as he stuffed socks into shoes and shirts into holdalls, readers? Well you would have that evening, had you been in Room 2928, Emporium Suites Chatrium Hotel, Bangkok.
*
A restless night was followed by a pleasantly stress-free morning, making it to the airport in good time for Chicken Tikka’s final purchases (odd vegan treats for close vegan friends) and to sit down for a wee cup of wildly overpriced tea.
As I sipped my mug of builder’s a nasty thought kept attempting to barge its way into the damp and misty caverns of my mind:
Work tomorrow morning
Work. The office. A computer stuffed to the gills with emails requiring immediate action. A grey sky outside the window. Colleagues asking me where I’d been, I look so tanned…
I began to panic. Post-holiday blues already setting in and I was still in blasted Bangkok! There was only one thing for it. It was time, high time, to start writing this here blog, and remind oneself immediately of one’s myriad, uncountable blessings!
Right, where should we start, my friends? Hmm…ha, why not, eh? February 1st, back in the office: it’s as good/bad a place to start as any, I suppose…
T.H. Mansfield 