Fantastic Phuket

The ferry would leave at 8.30 am sharp, and we just HAD to be in the lobby 10 minutes before the scheduled time of departure, and the driving time from the hotel to the pier was 45minutes to one hour depending on the traffic. Our day had started early and we were rushing against time. One universal truth is, whenever you are pressed for time, there just has to be two rounds in the bathroom for each and obviously your husband at least once disapproving of the your choice of outfit. Hence given that we were both bound by such cosmic laws it was amazing how we managed to actually have ourselves in the lift, post a hurried breakfast at the scheduled time of pick up. Both of us had our fingers crossed that the coach wouldn’t be already waiting for us with a bunch of other tourists, pretending to be God for forgiving us because we made them wait.

“Swasdee Khaaaaaaaa!” greeted the petite receptionist as my harried husband handed over the room card to her and hurried on to enquire if our travel agent was there already. I was also looking around to find some irate looking man looking around for us. No!! He hadn’t arrived. We were jubilant. HE was late. We were the punctual Indian tourists all ready to pretend to being God, that he had made us wait in the lobby for whatever time it would be. If it crossed ten minutes, we conspired we could even give a polite call to the travel agency to figure out why we were being made wait this long!! Ha ha! Conspiracy ended, adequate amount of sunscreen dabbed, we were now becoming fidgety and regretting the fact that we could have lazed around with the breakfast. I could have nibbled through an extra Danish bread, and he was desiring the glass of milk that he’d been having like some religious sermon never missed in the morning. It was at this precise lazy moment that a man appeared at the door, looking rather important with a clipboard in his hand. This was our first encounter with an ATM ever since we set foot in Thailand.

Casually my husband strolled along to find whether he was looking for us on his list of pickups when suddenly there was a burst of confusing nasal sound that appeared to be a string of the following English conversation.

“NO NO NO!! NO VOUCHER NO TOUR! NO VOUCHER! NO FOOD! NO VOUCHER NO NOTHING”

This was followed by a softer but firm “We Have, with my wife” in a familiar tone.

My husband was returning to me, not sparing one individual of the tour operator’s family, in our own sweet vernacular. I took out the voucher and that was how we met ATM ala The Angry Thai Man. This man would be our companion for the rest of the day. Satisfied with the voucher in his hand, he allowed us entry in the van which was filled with morose Indians, who all greeted us in English. We guessed that their mornings too must have started with a nasty encounter with the ATM who must have schemed to blast them too, like the terminator.

It was exciting, that day, for we would be touring the Phi Phi (pronunciation: [pʰīː pʰīː]) islands. It’s an archipelago of six small islands lying between Phuket and Krabi.

1.     Ko Phi Phi Don, the largest and only populated island.

2.     Ko Phi Phi Leh

3.     Ko Mai Phai

4.     Ko Yung

5.     Bida Nok

6.     Bida Nai

Our agenda also included snorkelling and a traditional Thai lunch. That is the standard package whether one may choose a group tour like we did, or a personalized and expensive boat ride. Another option is “the long tail boats” that are local and have their own pick up and drop off points.

We dozed through the entire 45 minutes journey to the pier and alighted amidst a sea of human beings where there seemed to be every possible skin and dress colour. It gave the impression of some kind of a beach carnival in the searing morning heat. We pushed our way inside, adding dashes of black in the pale, white, pink and yellow sea of bodies. ATM informed that we should be picked up exactly from the point that he was leaving us at. No one seemed to listen to him, but all had made a mental note.

Once under a shaded area where most seemed to be waiting, we were informed by a booming microphonic voice that there were three big boats (evident as they were anchored just beside the waiting area) and each of us would have to board as per our “sticker colour”. Without even giving us time to wonder what that meant, a tiny group of tiny Thai women were going around slapping our chests with stickers of different coloured boats.... Thus satisfied, that booming voice announced that we could now spend about 20 minutes buying water proof phone covers, buying water bottles or visiting the loo (obviously to get rid of the excess water that we were already internally burdened with). The last two options we found appealing and as we snaked our way through we found an extremely thin young man screaming over the micro phone. It was such a contradiction that one actually had to giggle out loud. He was wearing a yellow tee, green loose pants and a multi coloured cap, and holding up water proof phone covers away from greedy hands.

We were green stickers. And all green and pink stickers boarded one of the big two tiered boats. Then the sudden discrimination started. The tanners went on the second tier, the Yellow ones remained outside in the shaded first tier and us, the ones with the God gifted skin colour chose to be inside a huge cabin that was air conditioned. Once the ride had started we were informed that there would be two islands that we’d be visiting. Dropping off the pink stickers at Koh Phi Phi Don (Koh stands for “island”) we greenies would proceed to Koh Phi Phi Leh for snorkelling. Now! that was some news, because the movie “The Beach” was shot here in 1998. It was the only movie where something else looked better than Leonardo diCaprio, and that was the location. And we were going to THE Maya Bay, THE Maya Beach for snorkelling. Post that we’d return to Koh Phi Phi Don for our “traditional Thai lunch” and then should be homeward bound by evening.

After this announcement the friendly lady who was our guide started with the history of the name “Phi Phi”. My husband by that time had gone out to survey the frontal view and I could curl up comfortably in two seats instead of one. All I managed to get before sweet drugged slumber took me over was that it comes from a Malay word (as the strait of Malacca is also rather close by, hence the influence, I reckon) “Pulao Api Api”. It literally meant “The Fiery Island” (something to do with the Pacific Ring of Fire?). However, the name actually referred to some mangrove vegetation that is found in abundance in the island. I peacefully dozed off.  After “Pulao” I had no desire to tax my brain trying to follow an enthusiastic English memorized speech in terrific Thai tone. Thank God for Wikipedia.

When my slumber ended prematurely, the registration for the snorkels and flippers had already started. The queue was serpentine, and the loo was comparatively less crowded. So, as we always do, I got my agent to stand in the registering queue while I changed into my swimming gear and then reverse the role. By the time I emerged all dressed up to take the plunge, he was registering and I came and stood beside him. To my utter horror the registering lady started to shout at me thinking I was breaking into the line and disrupting the system. Everyone looked at me and I meekly went and stood at the end of the line. ATM (Angry Thai Mohila) number two registered me with a cold look and I was glad to flee outside looking for flippers of my size.

Outside for the first time, the view was fantastic. Giant vertical limestone rocks standing out straight and tall from the turquoise water. There was foliage in the cracks of the grey monstrous rocks that put a dash of green. The scene was lovely. I got my flippers and put on my orange life jacket and started panicking. I don’t know how to swim. My husband egged me on reminding me that I’d done an undersea trek all by myself already. But that’s walking, not swimming. There’s no oxygen mask here too. I countered. He got me a life buoy and finally mustering all the courage I could, I put on my snorkelling glasses, and flapped my way through like a badly drawn cartoon figure of an Alien. I shrieked and let myself go into the water not understanding whether to clutch him or haul myself on the buoy that itself seemed to drown under my weight or scratch my legs as something was making them very itchy. I cannot explain the uncomfortableness of the situation and the helpless feeling that seemed to devour me. I looked up, half expecting to find God up above, telling me that He was waiting and my time was up.

Instead I found a pristine blue sky, the huge grey vertical limestone with dashes of green. There were lovely arches made by wave erosion where the base of the rocks was being lapped by emerald blue water. I looked around and found that we were comfortably floating, holding hands. In fact now it was easier without the buoy that we had to tow. There were several tourists all in orange and black life jackets who looked like a bunch of very playful clownfish. The whitish golden beach stretched in front and a thick forest loomed behind it. The view was just too fantastic and if I say I can put it down in mere words, it would be injustice to Mother Nature. He reassured me that come what may the life jacket would not let me drown and I could actually now start the process of snorkelling. Holding on to him tightly I peered underwater. Though I’d seen corals before as I’d “walked” past them, the sea never fails to mystify. The weeds, the white rocks, and the actual clown fish that were darting about from this nook to that cranny. I came up with a large grin and he came up with a mouthful of sea water (he’d forgotten to bite on to the tube as he must have admired with a gaping mouth, I was safe as I bit on to it for dear life). But the experience was heavenly. We swam for an hour or more. He taught me the back stroke but as I was moving towards the boat at the end of our exciting sojourn, he told me I was doing the butterfly. However, I confess till date I do not know how to swim. The experience left us spell bound. On our return to Phi Phi Don I think I must have clicked a hundred photos of the landscape that seemed to be straight out of a Van Gogh. We changed into dry clothes and clutching the ice cream being offered on board dashed straight to the second tier, which was now crammed with more than 50 people.

When the Sea Angel finally anchored at Koh Phi Phi Don the mercury outside had risen so much that we all nearly had to be pushed out of the AC cabin and the second floor had very few brave hearts still lying there. However, after an hour of swimming and the ice cream tease we were really really hungry.

We followed the crowd and were surprised to find that we still had energy to take a couple of snaps of each other under the “Welcome to Phi Phi “signboard. The entry to Phi Phi Don is THB20 in the name of “Keep Phi Phi Clean” drive. However, the island bore several signs of the fact that the fund maybe leaking out elsewhere in bulk. We went through a narrow sandy road lined by indigenous shops selling sunglasses, hats, bikinis, sarong, and batik cloth. It is the local handicraft practised. Oh how we are bound together? Miles apart its the same in Bengal and Phi Phi, an island inhabited by about 2000 people.

We reached the lunch area where people were queuing in for the lunch which had the typical: like pad Thai noodles, fried rice, chicken and dessert. As I was serving myself I heard my husband call from a distance and realised that I was the only Indian with Noodles and fish on my plate in the vicinity. Where were the others? Just then I realised a fat man wildly flailing his arms and saying “tasty Indian food” over and over again. Since I have a policy of tasting nothing but the local food of any place I’m visiting I clung on to my plate and joined him at the table, feeling a tad bit out of place, as south Indian aged ladies were giving my plate a disapproving look and surely disapproving my palette also. His plate had chicken and pulao drenched in oil (it was rather tasty when I couldn’t resist taking a helping as the aroma wafted through the air). It reminded me of pulao api api. Slowly a few of our generation ventured to the other buffet and brought along some Thai chicken and noodles.

Post lunch we took a stroll along the beach, crowded with millions of bodies in various shades of white and pseudo brown. Some were real eye candy while some looked like upturned sea cows. There were kayaking facilities too.

The sun was too much to bear. So we decided to head back to the comfort of the cool boat cabin. En route we passed the tsunami village. This part of the island was totally devastated by the tsunami of 2004. However, by 2005 most of the island was resurrected by the locals, government initiatives and even several tourists who volunteered to help. Yet the village stands as a sombre reminder of the ghastly past. We walked past the white sandy beaches and reached the pier waiting for our peers to appear. Finally as everyone came we were served juicy chunks of pineapple and chugged back to reach the drop off around 5.30pm. Sure enough original ATM was waiting for us. All were exhausted, yet chattering and advising our vegetarian friends where to find food, we finally reached our hotel. Took some rest and then like every evening we went through the walking street and sat in the Patong Beach before having dinner and calling it a day.

We had flown into Phuket (pronounced [pʰūː.kèt)] the day before from Chiang Mai, on 15 March. Very impressed with Bangkok Airways which we were flying for the first time, particularly with the lounge and the on board meal (the pastry was to die for) we were two sunny tourists alighting on the sun baked soil of Phuket. A slight confusion arose regarding the terminal where our hotel was to send the car to pick us up. We ran to and fro twice the entire length of the arrival terminal and lost our enthusiasm totally. 2 phone calls and 15 minutes sitting on the trolley post that we were picked up in a Civic and driven to our Hotel “The Senses Resort”. It took about 40 minutes. The drive was through a similar pattern: was city, highway, city. Nothing particularly interesting to look at. Hence it was a perfect time to steal a nap. Well, just in case you were wondering, we are fun loving, enthusiastic people who love adventure sports, but we do like to utilize any unproductive time as perfect time to charge our batteries. Hence, we dissolve into “snooze mode” .

We got a nice room with a lovely view of the city and the pool. It was refreshing except for the couple of towel swans with grotesquely wrung up necks that were lip locking on our bed amidst strewn rose petals. After quite a marital journey, we could still be “identified” as the honeymooning couple. It refreshed me even more. My husband was jubilant with the facilities and wanted to jump right into the pool then, but I ducked out (I don’t know whether this is the right expression here, it’s kind of reading funny). I am a tad bit finicky and I had to unpack right then so that the next 3 days of our stay we could just open the closet and found what we wanted in neat little organized stacks. He sulked on the bed while I went about my business. After sometime he looked like a dormant volcano dressed in swimming trunks, about to erupt anytime, so I wrapped up quickly and went to the pool with him. He splashed about happily, but I didn’t want to get my hair wet (MyGod! I am quite finicky sometimes. Things you realize as you write weeks later). So I lazed on a chair, all sprawled over it with a book in hand trying to look intellectual and hoping that the sunbathing creature beside me would turn around and show me whether his face complimented his body. He did. It did. That was enough for me. I’m not the ogling type. I just admire and then move on. So I shifted to my Merman, who was very happy and going all around the pool. We admired a fantastic sunset from the pool and then came to the room. It was about 6.45 in the evening. Our plan was to leave again at about 8.00pm, walk around and then reach the beach. Maybe have a drink, and then scout around for good dining places.

As documented earlier, we are punctual. We headed looking for the beach, which via a shortcut shouldn’t be more than 20 minutes walk explained the receptionist. We left the hotel premises and turned left. We walked for 40 minutes, but nothing.....not even a grain of sand. However, I discovered several roadside joints where fat men and women were jauntily having beer with sausage. I was looking at the roasting meat when my husband jerked me out of my trance.

 “What was the name of that shopping mall we were supposed to reach in ten minutes?”

“Something to do with Sri Lanka”

Exasperation

Sri Lanka, Sri Lanka, Ceylon...I was desperate to prove that my memory was better than his...the silent husband-wife duel where I could boast that we reached destination because of ME!

Jungle Ceylon!! I came out triumphant...

”Right!! That’s my Girl!!” I was smug with pride. He softly nudged me towards an open bar counter. “Please go and ask the lady how we reach that from here.” I went and asked the attractive lady where Jungle Ceylon was. She looked confused.

“Jungle?” He asked. I was shocked but I must have masked my shock well.

Something like that, I forget the name. Silly me.

“Jungceylong!! (s)he exclaimed..”do you walk?”

“Yes! I walk”

“About an hour walk from here....” I got the directions. Thanked and left excitedly. I just spoke to a ladyboy .

“What?”

She was a ladyboy. For a fleeting moment I sensed a slight regret in his eyes that he hadn’t taken the initiative. But just for a flicking moment. I maybe wrong though. But after hearing the suggestions, he would have nothing of it. We will not walk that long. No way. He declared authoritatively. We will take the tuk tuk. We were to go to the “Walking Street”. My first brush with Thailand’s sex tourism. As a student who had “tourism” as her special paper in M.Sc, I could never ever garner much respect for Thailand, just because of this reason. Though I’d secretly fallen in love with Chiang Mai, the prospect of walking the “walking Street” was a known but unexplored terrain. Feared but magnetic. Something like a deep abyss to the diver. He knows what he’s doing, yet is unsure of what he’ll find in the murky waters.

The driver dropped us near Soi Bangla and we walked from a boulevard suddenly into a mass of skimpily clad bodies, leather skirts, fishnet stockings, stilettos, long red nails, red pouts, mascaras and plain looking men who boasted of being pimps. WE clutched each other a little harder. Just as if a reassurance that I was going home with the man I came with. The suddenness of the entry leaves one, awe struck and then your eyes get used to the glitz, the light, the catcalls, cheering crowd. Oh! What wasn’t in that street? There were ladies offering themselves, unabashed, there were street magicians in a medley of colours showing some tricks with cards or cigarettes. There was a man connected with two puppets who danced with the actual human being placed in the middle and looked as if three people were dancing in perfect co ordination. There were clothes, fashion accessories, souvenirs, beach slippers, kid’s shoes, old ladies selling rose bouquets.

There was also a stadium blaring with music and had plastered statuettes of plunging tigers all over it. A boxing match was on. We decided to watch it. My concerned husband asked whether I’d be able to stand the sight of blood and really bloody fighting with teeth and bones falling apart. I affirmed. We decided to stand in the queue. But prudence prevailed. He went to enquire the charges and came back as if someone had knocked the air out of him. It’s THB 2000 per person. We left quietly with dignity and number of currency notes intact. No point in paying 8000 rupees to see one man pop another’s eyeballs out. We walked through the crazy spectrum and reached a busy road. On the other side lay Patong Brach.

Patong Beach is the most popular among the other beaches of Phuket like Kamala, Karon and Kata  etc. It’s located on the Central Western coast and compared to Maya it was rather wide. Though Patong means "the forest filled with banana leaves" in Thai, it is where the cheap shopping areas lie and the nightlife is the most vibrant. We took a little stroll and then sat down together, enjoying the cool breeze.

Thailand is truly a land of romance. While my husband attended a rather long phone call I looked around. There was an aged lady maybe in her 40s. She was wearing a loose orange cotton frock. When I had spotted her, she was standing, laughing with her arms around the neck of a rather podgy Caucasian man past his 60s. The man was grabbing and fondling her all over. But what was new in that? Such scenes were strewn all over. Suddenly the man had a swig from his Heineken can, and said “No No”. The lady was coaxing him. But he kept declining and yet grabbing her at inappropriate places. Finally the woman moved on. And stunningly she moved on to the next single man sitting on the beach and now he grabbed her and she started the coquettish spurts of laughter and her coaxing. He too did not comply and she moved on to the next. It was then that it struck me that she must have been a prostitute now past her prime. Business was dwindling and she had nothing else to bank on but her body, something that after long years of service was now giving up. She did have a beautiful face after all, considering her age.  Finally after four attempts she sat down, tired with her own beer can on a red beach chair. The whole scenario was rather depressing. I had read that once in 1785 the Burmese troops had attacked this city after the decease of the Governor. It was then that his wife and her sister had ordered the women of the city to dress up as men and take position along the city walls. The enemy presuming that the opposing army was huge in proportion, retreated. The two women were hailed as heroines and were presented with titles from King Rama I. What a slap from reality it was to see what some women of the same city had been reduced to after a couple of centuries. Actually like vegetables that could be picked up, touched and inspected before she passed the test of being “good enough to be consumed”. I was slipping into a depressing melancholic mood, badly wanting to go and hug the lady or take her out for dinner or do something about the underlying gruesomeness of the situation, when suddenly some people burst on the scene.

It was a couple of newlyweds accompanied by their four friends. The groom was in a white linen pyjamas, and a white linen shirt (the type I’d seen in the road side stalls while coming) and the bride was in a comparatively fashionable off shoulder gown. Both were wearing orchid garlands. Hand in hand they proceeded to the “lantern man” negotiating the rates. The man knew he had a sure customer and the groom knew exactly how much he’d pay. So it was not a cat and mouse game after all. They were laughing and very very happy. We all watched them. My husband was hurriedly wrapping up is conversation to watch the proceeding, I was feeling a little better, The lady in orange was looking with a slight sad expression, her four prospective customers and mostly the other people looked amused. There was a leggy Nordic in a tight black leather dress (she must have been over 6feet) who looked a little disinterested but her partner (definitely a non Nordic) looked on, beaming. The party petered into the darkness amidst a mixture of congratulations and negotiation. The Nordic lady left hurriedly and suddenly all attention including mine, were on her never ending legs. It was like an (more attractive) alternative that jack could have climbed had he been a creation of this era. The contradiction of the orange lady and the newlyweds left me rather contemplative and I spoke to him about it and how it disturbed me.

My husband knew me well and suggested that we move on now to search for restaurants. He counselled me about the dark and the pastel shades of life and reminded me how hungry he was since there was not a single trace of Indian food at Chiang Mai. And he wanted to eat a full stomach tonight. Since I was having slipper bite, he bought me a pair of beach slippers and in turn I HAD to find him a good Indian food joint. Though I was unable to forget the contradictory paradigm, I plunged into the assignment. We found the “New Indian Tandoor” and feasted on some sumptuous meal. I was happy to see him dig into the food.  I maintained my principle and ordered a pad Thai noodle. It tasted quite bad. Somehow gulping it down and filling up the rest of the cavity with water we moved back. Through the fascinating “walking Street” being offered a Ping Pong show after every 10 steps. The atmosphere had become more pulsating. There were open pole dancing. Drunken men grabbing at women and women were just not letting the single men go by without a promise to come back and take them with him. I was now interested in seeing “it all”. He told me not to do it here. Pattaya was a better option and “when I asked for it in Pattaya again” he would take me to one. Gentleman’s promise. He said. Holding hands, maybe out of a sense of security (all puns intended) we reached a 7/11. We picked up some bread from 7/11 and then walked to the Jung Ceylon mall. (The island of Phuket was originally named Jung Ceylon on European navigation charts, a corruption of the Malay Tanjung Salang meaning Cape Salang. One of the main shopping malls in the town of Patong in Phuket is accordingly thus named: Wikipedia)

We sat there for a while. We just loved sitting there along with some other night birds. It was nearly midnight and the trip to Phi Phi was scheduled for the next day. We knew we had to go, but the ambience was just too intoxicating and the music was thumping in our years from the boxing match that we abandoned. Finally at midnight we walked back trying to discover the short route that the receptionist has told us about. Just as when we were children we could solve the way out for the mouse in the maze when we started backwards, we did discover the route. The simple mistake was that we’d turned left instead of right after we left the hotel. We had a good laugh and anticipated that the next day would hold much adventure for us, and as already documented, it did not disappoint.

Our last day at Phuket was comparatively light, schedulewise. We woke late, had a good meal and left around 10.30 in the morning. We visited the common sight seeing points, and drove along the long beaches. We touched Laem Promthape cape and spent a lot of time at the magnificent view point. It was teeming with tourists. The point looked over the beautiful waters of the Nai Hon and Kata beaches. There were small, uninhabited and heavily forested islands that dotted the entire sea. Phuket is actually Thailand’s largest island and the name literally translates to “mountain (phu) jewel” (ket). The next view point or “The Windmill” was the same experience: Lovely blue waters of different shades crashing on the giant rocks. The seascape was dotted with white boats here, with and without sail. There was a large green island that stood out prominently like a large emerald in the vast blue sea that stretched into the sky. The only way one could tell where the sea ended and the sky began was by looking at the horizon where the teal met the azure. It was hypnotising. (It instantly became my husband’s favourite wallpaper on his phone) .The white windmill loomed on our right and on the left we could see the rising Phuket range through which roads had been cut. The roads spiralled around and the vehicles looked like toy cars that were moving in a synchronized pattern on it. We stood there for a long time in utter admiration.

Our next and last stop at Phuket was at a Snake Show. After buying the tickets we found that we were the only two who had signed up for it. Good. A short, plump friendly Thai man took us around showing us different snakes of the likes of Python, Cobra, etc. After this short introduction we were ushered into a room that had a depression or hole in the middle. It was carpeted and the floor around it at a higher level had large wooden boxes all along the circumference. The depression (about 2 feet in depth) was the “arena”. There were wooden handmade benches surrounding the arena, that would serve as a gallery in case there was a full house. However, since business was down and they only had us to entertain the show began right away with some ear splitting introductory music. We were allowed time to hold and play with a python. We did that, in turn, taking frantic photographs with the reptile in several normal and daring poses. Round two (where only my husband participated) was playing with a rat snake. The rat snake is non venomous and yet it has amazing reflexes. It darts at its prey within two meters with lightening speed and can bite it(before swallowing it whole, as it generally preys on very small animals). The conductor of the show was showing how to put one’s finger in the gaping mouth of the snake without disturbing it. We were fascinated till the time he started to cajole the hero beside him to do the same. He tried to decline the offer, but the conductor went on assuring that even if the snake bit, it could hurt but he would definitely not die as it had no poison!! (What a relief!). Finally he obliged, and got his finger within 1 inch of the reptile’s open mouth. That was enough. We asked for a gracious conclusion of round two as we couldn’t wait for the last round, where both of us would participate.

Round three was with the Cobras, and yes this time we had to be careful as they WERE venomous. However, the conductor assured my husband that he was in very good hands and displayed them to us. We found that on his right hand the index and the middle finger looked a little deformed, when he shared the most thrilling information that we could anticipate at that very moment. He was bitten by a Cobra and the two fingers bore its testimony. He seemed very proud bending them at very complicated angles and beamed that he couldn’t feel a thing. My counterpart was already in the arena, when the rat snake was packed off, and the conductor took out a cobra, that swayed and hissed. All one had to do was be alert that if the cobra moved to strike, he should go out of its way. As the show continued I positioned myself beside a wooden box near the arena to take that “perfect shot” when something hissed and shot up from within the box itself.  I tumbled into the arena. It was another cobra, consequently taken out. We both had our adequate share of locking eyes with the cobras, swaying rhythmically as they did, and moving away just in time as they struck out. It was thrilling. Thus the show concluded. We thanked them. It was time to return.

We had to pack, which was leisurely carried out. By 4.30pm the pool started beckoning us and we gladly obliged. It was “happy hour” in all “senses”. It’s delightful to notice how everyone becomes so thrilled just as they enter the water (anywhere, from a pool to the sea) and we were no different. Both of us became very happy as if touched by some magic wand. Happy hour also meant a “buy one get one offer” on the coconuts and beer. We ordered coconut water from the poolside bar and reached the far end of the pool that over looked the city. He swam across with me in tow, and I was throwing my arms in all directions trying my best not to drown in the 6 feet water. Thus in the background of two coconuts properly embellished with red and blue umbrellas, we watched a magnificent sun as it set on the Phuket landscape slowly sliding away behind a hill presenting us with a golden aura that bore a promise of its brilliant continuity.

The air had suddenly become chilly. We finished our drinks and went back to the room. At night the routine remained the same. Walk to Patong, food by the beach and then walk back after a little time at the Jungceylon. We came home about midnight. We could take it easy, being all packed for next day. Our stint at Phuket too was amazing. It presented a totally different flavour from Chiang Mai, with an appeal of its own. My husband asked me to rate the two places. And just like experienced judges on a reality show we ‘knew that it was a really close battle, a very tough competition, yet it stood: Chiang Mai followed by a fantastic Phuket’.

Cherishing Chiang Mai

Night Safari Fountain Show

The guests

Pagodas and golden flags

Recently I was on a visit to Chiang Mai, Thailand. It is a unique place with its own distinct character. We put up at the Orchid Chiang Mai, just next to the IT City Mall. The check in time at hotels in Thailand is generally at 2 pm, hence landing in the plush lobby at 11am actually was like a stab in the heart. How to spend time? The sofa sets seemed to scream out, arms outstretched, but being polite Indians we were a little reluctant about the consequences of putting our feet up and curling in. The lobby had an impressive photo gallery and I was rather smug to learn that two people who had visited this hotel, not so long ago (I mean this geological period) were the Prince of Wales and his beautiful princess Diana.

We decided to take a walk in the meanwhile just to pass time, but by some stroke of good luck, we got a room early. Freshening up, we left for a walk around the neighbourhood.

The IT mall held a huge surprise for us. There was a food carnival going on. Cheap, fresh food of all possible kinds, with legs (two to eight) , claws and fins and some with no leg at all. Strabucks was totally vacant as we pushed and paved our way through the flood of hungry people. There was still a nip in the air and we enjoyed our walk checking out the local street restaurants. Fully satiated we returned at about 5 pm. At 7pm, we left for the Night Safari. I had already done one of these in Singapore, but this experience was definitely a notch above. There are exotic animals (kinjouko from SouthAmerica) and raccoons dressed in black and red, which was the same combination I was wearing that night. It may have helped us to identify with one another and we played about like siblings. A walk further up revealed the opportunity of taking a shot up close and personal with a medium sized tiger, just before it would be released into the national park. It was definitely an opportunity not to be missed. The beast climbed up gently, heavy but extremely soft with a distinct odour and settled itself on our laps. I had a feeding bottle , and in the heat of the moment I’d forgotten what to do with it. The man reminded me that I had to hold the tiger’s head close to my breast and put the bottle in his mouth, else he may find something else to nibble on, and I was the closest. I thrust the bottle in his mouth and he started sucking. I could feel the movements of his skull and jaw muscles with every pull at the teat. The experience was just superb.

The night safari train took us on an hour long journey through the park , where intermittently some greedy one would come up to the carriage asking for food from the baskets we had purchased. We fed the deer, the pigs the sun bears (from a distance). But the pick of the lot was the giraffe. As I held out a carrot for it, it took out its 12" tongue and wrapped my palm upto my wrist. It took the banana and very kindly gave me a loving lick. Somehow to me the experience was like getting my hand pasted against wet sandpaper, but yes, the expression of love was surely unparalleled.

Night Safari ended with a mesmerizing fountain show where the water drops acted as the screen on which the projector depicted scenes from Thailand. Enough for the day. We reached the hotel at about 11.30pm and hit the bed straight away.

Day two we had a different agenda. Stuffing ourselves at the breakfast table, with all the bread and meat that we could, we headed out, on foot again. Exploring the narrow alleys, reeking of fish oil. We had a local Thai man accompanying us. His name was “Gobi” and I can vouch that he must have memorized the following joke thoroughly.

“Hi I’m Gobi!! Like Alu Gobi..You eat Gobi, so you call me alu Gobi..No problems”. Confused at first startled at second, digesting at third, we managed to make a bleak smile look like a huge appreciative grin. Gobi took us to the local markets, the narrow back alleys, where short and sweet Thai senior ladies were busy making pancakes and the delicious aroma filled the air.  They were all dressed rather similarly. Loose black trouser pants and oversized floral printed white shirt. Cropped hair and the biggest embellishment…a welcoming and serene smile.  Gobi also took us to some typical tourist spots like the jewelry factory, the Thai silk factory. A ride around the city is mainly about the pagodas (that outnumber the 7/11s) made vibrant by the monks who planted the holy yellow flags on heaps of sand to herald the Chinese New Year. The city of Chiang Mai was basically a fortress surrounded by a moat. Remnants of the same can be seen still. There are four doors to the city. One for entry, one for exit, one for the monks and one to carry the deceased out of the fortress. We walked along the moat, and reached the most interesting hand painted umbrella factory. Though most of the employees were over 65 and were enjoying a siesta after a ravishing meal of sticky rice, one man eagerly asked whether I wanted my jeans painted or not. I politely declined to convey to him that I was more interested in umbrellas. But to my utter horror he didn’t speak a word of English, and crinkling his wrinkled face further, he approached me with a paintbrush dripping with yellow paint. I flailed my hand widely and picked up an umbrella and pointed it menacingly at him. Even though the gesture was extremely impolite, I kind of got the message across. Frustrated he threw down his brush and took me inside. Alu Gobi, instead of offering any linguistic assistance, seemed to thoroughly enjoy the situation.

I bought a pretty pink hand painted umbrella, fit to cover only a frog’s head, as per its size and then moved out. It was THB 98 only.

We walked back through a road where Gobi showed us his ex- flat and left us to our own devices at around 7.30 in the evening. Gorging on pork dumplings I couldn’t resist a street side massage. It was simply out of this world. Pretty much the same feeling that dope can give you. The food, freshly roasted, with a slightly difficult odour to bear..but tasty beyond comparison was still being served in full swing. Strabucks was still empty, and the employees seemed to have a good time hooked on to their cell phones.

Our next agenda was the Kalare Night Bazaar. Bargaining with a tuk tuk (once you are in Thailand, bargaining becomes an interesting pastime) it took us to a never ending street lined on both sides with temporary stalls selling anything and everything that one may care to buy. The vibrant and extremely bargain friendly night bazaar was an array of colours. Colouful table mats, coconut shell carvings, paper lights, wearable, colourful slippers and oh dear..the pretty painted umbrellas (for THB 40 only). It broke my heart.  We hung around till about midnight and had food at a roadside restaurant. A man with a paralyzed leg was trying to sell a difficult to comprehend contraption that went round and round making a fuzzy sound and emitting light like they’d show off a space ship in a low budget Hollywood alien movie. It became so frustrating after a while that his own toddler came, picked it up and put it in his bag, asking him with a toothless smile to stop. Just walking through the labyrinths of this amazing atmosphere can make one dizzy with excitement.

Ronaldo Vs Rembrandt

Bamboo Rafting

Hairy Periscope

 Day Three was booked whole day for Mae Taeng Elephant Safari. We took a van from the hotel, which was like a melting pot of tourists. Germany, Singapore, India, Lebanon, Isreal and Canada. The most interesting was the Canadian principal who’d spent 4 years beyond the Arctic Circle setting up a school and teaching the aborigines some modern technology. We reached the elephant enclosure and got to meet the stars, taking a shower. There was one tiny pachyderm that was the most active, enjoying every moment of his shower with a naughty twinkle in his eyes. The "show" included two artistic pachyderms painting trees. One of them was Ronaldo being forced to become Rembrandt. He just would NOT paint, and after much cajoling did a decent job. But once that chapter was over, the crazy elephant didn’t miss one shot at the goal. He was super-duper awesome. After the show the paintings sold for a whopping $250 each. Once the crowd started to disperse I went to caress one of the elephants, and just as luck would have it the mahout asked me to stand close, the elephant made me wear a cap, gave me a rather wet kiss on the cheek and then blew its (thankfully) dry nose in my face.  It was an out of the world experience. The agenda after all this was an exotic ox cart ride, but for an Indian like me, it was definitely something I was not looking forward to. The German ladies were thrilled with every bump and finally we reached the riding station after a back breaking but "worth it" ox cart ride!! Mine was a mama elephant accompanied by her two year old cutie pie. He demanded a sugarcane now and then and waded through the water, mostly drowning himself wholly with the tip of his trunk outside the water level like a hairy submarine periscope. He showed us several acrobatics like slipping off a ledge, dancing on a rock and like most two year olds ended up on his rear with a stupid expression on his face. I just loved him. The last agenda was bamboo rafting and we all took turns in rowing. It was fun. Much to the delight of our male companions, there was a raft filled with bikini beauties that had got stuck in one of the rocks. One should applaud their over emphatic concern for the damsels in distress till our boatman in Thai angrily managed to convey that the depth was 4 feet here and they were perfectly out of danger. This put at least 4 litres of water on the enthusiasm level and people got back to admiring the natural beauty and the helmsman’s posterior.

Lunch was scheduled at a tiger kingdom (one can find it in every Thai city), where the king of the beast’s tail  being used as a hookah pipe by tourists to take photographs, was a ghastly site. 6 jumbo prawns down, it was time to leave. Phuket awaited us next day, and the wake up call was at 6.

Before Daybreak

The night was clear, and a moist wind was blowing. The silence engulfed us except for the crashing of the sea against the dark rocks. We were lying on the beach. Darkness prevailed, but it was rather soothing with the mellow lights from the beach restaurants and the occasional lantern that couples wished upon and released. I lay on the beach under the star spangled sky beside him. We did not do anything even close to what couples usually do. In the evening he had told me he loved to drive at night, especially along the long stretch of the beach. It was beautiful. He wanted to be on the driver’s seat, as all men probably want to, when they are taking their women out. But since it was a bike, there was no other option too, I guess. So I give him the benefit of the situation.We drove along the lonely road with the luminescent sea keeping us company like a broad belt of light. It was flickering as the waves came in and went. He said he loved it, and that is why he preferred driving along the “Marine Drive” than splash about in the sea. He was driving full speed and I loved every moment of the wind blowing against my face.

We parked at a secluded spot. He led me down a rocky path to the beach. We walked up to the sea where we stood for a long while letting the sticky wind beat against our faces. I half expected him to turn up behind me and put his arms round me... but he never does what is expected. We got talking about nothing particular…maybe school, our families, and contemplating the opportune moment when to open the Heineken. The night passed us by. Tired by the overwhelming situation that we were in I lay down and this time he followed. We lay there together….just the two of us on the deserted beach, looking up at the star spangled sky, when he took my hand in his and held it for several moments. From the corner of my eye I could make out that he looked at me, and then gently put my hand to rest on his chest still having his fingers interwoven into mine. That was the only physical contact we had that entire evening…which was wonderfully meaningful. !Right then I knew it, I just knew it that we did belong together and these were some of the most beautiful moments that we were spending together. We lay there for how long we did not know for he had asked me to leave my watch back at the hotel. He too had done the same saying that he didn't want to be bound by time. It was true for there in the middle of the desolate beach, where one could only hear the distant crashing of waves and the whisper of the wind from the sea, time did stand still. There was no motion. Only some occasional couple who walked by hand in hand, kissed and hugged. It was like fantasy………..very mystique. The only movement was the beats of our heart. I know it for I could feel it as my hand rested on his heart for how long I cannot measure temporally, but all I know is that even to this very moment it is still there. We spoke, we laughed, we loved and we rejoiced in the feeling of togetherness before we returned to the bike. I wanted to drive but he wouldn't hear any of it. Once on the two wheeler we again disappeared into the darkness for another long drive, for there were no strings attached And this dream in my heart, it left me warm enough to last me an entire winter.