30/12/02: Bus to Krabi Town, book into Chao Fah, eat at Pizza Firenze. Drink at the Old Western Bar with a guy
called Egg. Nightcap at O’Malleys Bar.
31/12/02: Rain. Watch the
Discovery Channel and drink lots of coffee. Mark And May’s for lunch. Return to
guesthouse to write postcards, phone home and talk to my father, eat grilled fish and
chicken with the guys back at our guesthouse. Return to the Old West Bar to see in
the new year.
Krabi lies on the Mae Man
Krabi (Krabi River), and to the northeast, verdant limestone rocks protrude
awkwardly from the aquatically severed Koh Maew. Like sheered lead, their flanks appear to be slowly succumbing to the inevitable tarnishing of
oxidisation, as if a huge knife had been used to cut down into the formations
to remove wedge shaped chunks of rock. The town is lively but not hectic,
benefiting from a lack of any obvious centralisation, and the Old West Bar is
run by the coolest cowboy in town.
After two nights in Trang we
were off again, to Krabi on Thailand's west coast. The journey was to be briefer than the last – just a couple of hours, not including the half an hour drive to the bus station itself – organised by the staff at our hotel, who lumped us together with departing guests following similar itineraries.
I was beginning to develop
quite an enthusiasm for reading, an interest that had been on the wane ever
since I’d left university (not that I’d ever read inveterately). After getting through The Old Man and the Sea
within two days, my partner gave me John Grisham’s The Client, which she had exchanged with M
for something else (possibly Are You
Experienced) back in Haad Yao. I wouldn’t normally read books of Grisham’s
ilk, but The Client had me hooked and
helped pass the time on some of our longer hauls.
Actually, I enjoyed
being driven around the Thai countryside, especially in the public buses or
bigger VIP coaches (I found the smaller minibuses to be crewed by humourless
churls). This despite the renowned recklessness of the participating drivers
and the speeds at which they travelled. You heard terrible stories, of people
falling asleep behind the wheel, of head-on collisions and fatalities. Nothing
can distract a Thai with a vehicle from their mission, and if they find themselves
stuck behind a lorry they will commit to overtake, no matter how slight any
oncoming traffic renders the opportunity.
Chao Fah Bungalows has upped the standard of living a bit. I probably wouldn’t have
bothered with the net curtains, but it’s something I can live with. We’re not
paying a huge amount either, but then Krabi Town is that sort of place: most of
the people here are either on their way out west – perhaps to Phucket or Koh
Lanta – or heading south into Malaysia or north towards
Bangkok. We’re heading west, although
not as far as Phuket; we’ll be satisfying ourselves with a short stay in Ao
Nang. Before that, we’ll spend a few nights in Krabi town, if only to see
in the New Year.
Pizza Firenze really looks the part and I am grateful for
its European ambience. As much as I like the weather, I am a little sick of
wearing shorts and T-shirts all the time, and the frequency of the showers has forced me to favour my Converse
over my desert boots, which I’m not happy about. What I would really like
to do is fly back to England for a few days, give my wardrobe an
overhaul and refamiliarize myself with what it’s like to feel the cold. Then I would return to Thailand a few days
later with a renewed sense of purpose and appreciation of the climate.
So Pizza Firenze is good
place to be but I feel terribly under-dressed, and I can begin to understand why
living out of rucksack isn’t for everyone.
Trang wasn’t the source of abnegation it was supposed to be. I’d drunk far too readily, there was no doubt about it. I instantly
felt more relaxed in Krabi, but there was this thing called the Old Western Bar. Run by a jean wearing, cowboy-booted man of impeccable manners, it was very hard
to say no to just one more drink there. And up the road was O’Malley’s
Bar showing football, which possibly tapped into that whole Pizza
Firenze/European thing that was bothering me.
On the first night I exhibited a degree of self-control, but the following evening – New Year’s Eve – I
showed no such form, bonding with a local guy called Egg, who seemed content to
drink with us for as long as we liked. But I was eating well and I’d finally
managed to telephone home (for what it was worth: such was the delay, it was almost impossible to have any sort of meaningful discussion conversation).
Krabi Town was charming in a
sedentary sort of way. Like Surat Thani, it overlooked a river, but made less of it. The town centre appeared to be made up of nothing but
hardware stores and a sprinkling of bars and cafes, with little else to
occupy the time. This was a shame because after our brief stays in Surat
Thani and Trang I was itching to put down roots for more than just a couple of
nights while simultaneously avoiding the sort of environment that might
encourage excessive drinking. The dilemma I found myself trapped in, then, was
that the most exhilarating destinations encouraged drinking and provided ample
means by which to do so, whereas the more ostensibly pointless locations
offered nothing to do but drink.
01/01/03: Catch a songthaew
to Ao Nang and finally book into Hillock Bungalows, on a hillock. Buy the Bangkok Post and stay in, sheltering from a violently protracted storm. No
beer, early night.
02/01/03: Discover Jinda, a
not particularly attractive looking establishment, but the food’s great. Drink
at Sea of Love, then drinks on the ‘west side’ of Ao Nang. Quick drink at the
Midnight Bar, play some Jenga, then back to the Hillock to play cards.
03/01/03: Return to Jinda for
breakfast – very hot. Beach and Bangkok Post, dinner at Welcome, drinks
at Sea of Love and Cheyana, back to the Hillock to play cards.
04/01/03: Jinda for breakfast
(if it ain’t broke…). Nosey Parker Elephant trekking, dinner at Beach Garden, drinks at Full Moon and Sea of Love, back to the Hillock to play cards.
Pressed against the Andaman
Sea, Ao Nang's main drag is dwarfed by a huge limestone formation that behaves
like some sort of precipitous vacuum, as if a huge extractor fan has been installed
on its peak dehumidifying the resort of any unwelcome water vapour. It feels
like the end of the road but it's not as Phuket lies west-northwest, and islands
are plentiful off the Andaman coast. Maybe it's the German families
taking their winter vacations, or the plethora of rubber plantations that
furnish the surrounding countryside, but probably it's because it’s the last
place to see before our return to The City that Never Sleeps.
After two days spent ingesting coffee with the guys at Chao
Fah Bungalows and drinking in the evening with the Thai cowboy who ran the Old
Western Bar, we perched on the back of an over-crowded songthaew and made our
way to Ao Nang. I knew little of this place other than it was supposed to have
a pretty beach and attracted those who like to indulge in more vigorous
activity, such as scuba-diving or rock-climbing. I was interested in neither. Further,
it suffered by association from being in the general direction of Phuket, of
which I had heard nasty things, like it was a kind of like Koh Samui but on a
grander scale. The truth of the matter would be somewhat different.
Our songthaew must have come from somewhere else, possibly
Krabi’s coach station where we were dropped off a few days earlier. Once again,
my fondness for breaking up our journey into explorative vignettes has placed
us at odds with the general flow of things. As well as the backpackers on their
way to Ao Nang, who probably left Surat Thani and its islands that very
morning, there are schoolchildren to contend with. We could have avoided all
this if we’d gotten out of bed earlier, if it hadn’t been New Year’s Day.
I have to stand on the
back-plate for the three quarters of an hour it takes to reach Ao Nang. This is
not a new experience but it is the first time I have had to do this on
main-roads and at such speed. It’s a little scary but there are some impressive
limestone outcrops along the way to divert my attention. Such rock formations
have been conspicuously scarce up until now. Prachuap Khiri Khan had a few, keeping sentry over its bay, but other than that I’ve only been aware
of such topography from a distance.
We arrive at Ao Nang without
having thought much about accommodation. Songthaews are never in cahoots with
guesthouses the way minibuses or taxis often are, so there’s little need to
plan ahead by means of defence. However, it soon becomes apparent that the
rates here are rather high, although this does seem to be in proportion to the
standard of build. In other words, there are no rudimentary wooden huts for the
traveller on a tight budget.
We work our way up the strip
and eventually find an available room, a substantial bungalow as far away from
the beach as you could possibly get, but which does have its own fridge. Of
greater interest is how this reflects on the sort of people who holiday in Ao
Nang. There are even real hotels, so
perhaps it’s not too surprising – if a little perturbing – to find that family
vacations are as pertinent here as travelling endeavours.
It’s fair to say that we fell into something of a routine in
Ao Nang, but a positive one. Breakfast was
had at Jinda for three days in succession, while evening drinks invariably
involved Sea of Love, a mellow sort of bar playing a mellow sort of music (St
Germain’s Tourist featured heavily) with free access to the internet. Our drinking was light in nature,
and there wasn’t the slightest hint of a hangover on the four mornings we awoke
there. I had finally found my sober sanctuary.
This general air of
conviviality was only slightly spoilt by the rain. There was plenty of it, for the most part accompanied by big bangs and bright flashes. I did not mind
at all but there were days where there were no accompanying pyrotechnics, just
a steady stream of falling water for hours on end. It was under these
conditions that I was pleased I had my Ron Hill anorak with me. We had tolerated
similar conditions on the islands but our geographical predicament had been so
localised that it didn't really matter. Now, we were renting along
the borders of the resort and if we wanted to pop to the shops for a paper or
go out for something to eat then we needed some protection, regardless of the temperature.
It’s on the third day that the weather finally begins to
gladden, and I decide after breakfast that I may as well spend some
time on the beach. It is a pretty
beach, although the long-tail boats constantly leaving and arriving disturb the
idyll somewhat. After about an hour, I’m bored and ask that my partner accompany me to check out Nopparat Thara Beach overlooking the neighbouring bay. I’m
not really bothered about what it’s like, I just want to have a nose around. There
are plenty of bars along the way and I earmark a few for later. The odd thing is we never really persist with
any of them. I’m more interested in where we might eat, my appetite having
reasserted itself in heavy drinking’s absence.
Our dinner at the relatively
upmarket 'Welcome' is most welcome, and it is here that the family-friendly ethos
of Ao Nang really hits home: fresh-faced 2.4 children dressed in cream-coloured
linen, enjoying a night out with the folks. But it’s fine by me, this more
civilised way of being, because nothing is so expensive that I need worry about
it much. I am certainly mindful of
the cost of things, because it’s hard to know how quickly you get through your money
in a travelling situation. You can keep a tally on your withdrawals to some
extent, but exchange rates are in a constant state of flux, and I have no idea
what I’m being charged for using the local ATMs. My parents are trying to keep
me up to date, relaying my balance when they receive my bank statements, but by the time I've received that information at least a couple of weeks have gone by. In any case, accommodation has been as
inexpensive as I have been led to believe, food and drink too, and transport
often more so.
What is a little more
exorbitant are the boat trips to the nearby islands – James Bond Island among them. Or are they? My reluctance to
engage in this sort of activity may be attributed to a number of other factors.
Firstly, I’m not that keen on open water, and long-tail boats are pretty narrow
vessels that look very capable of capsizing should some joker decide to quite
literally rock the boat. Secondly, there are the ‘body-beautiful’ travellers I
would have to keep company with, skirling loudly, jumping into azure-blue coves, freshly inked tattoos adorning
their bronzed, toned physiques: gap-year beasts assembling their credentials. They’ve
been nothing more than lurid wallpaper up until now, because I’ve been able to
keep these types at arm’s length. But to be stuck in a boat
with them… perhaps it’s my problem?
I’m not getting off the hook
that easily. My partner wants to go elephant trekking, and only the rain is
capable of stopping us. We’ve had a fair bit of it of late so the chances are
that this recent sunny spell will hang around for a day or so yet. We’re booked
in to go tomorrow.
I once had a vivid dream that I was stuck high up on
the branches of a gnarled tree on the African savanna, and an elephant offered
me its trunk as a means of escape. I awoke feeling a strong fondness for these
beasts, albeit the African variety. But you hear stories of maltreatment and
exploitation, although one is also told of how the trekking elephant is a
relatively fortunate one. If they weren’t taking tourists for a spin then
they’d either be gainfully employed in the logging industry – not the worst
scenario for a strong, bright creature such as the elephant – or they’d be
squeezed into an urban conurbation, forced to perform like a proverbial
monkey.
I am pleased that the
elephant trekking bureau is located next door to Jinda. This is no coincidence
for it was over breakfast that the idea came to fruition, but it is good
getting up early knowing that the first meal of the day is catered for.
By way of an introduction, we
stop off at a rubber plantation. I think we’re supposed to be impressed, and my partner actually is, but it’s a shame the way trees are planted in regimented
lines, betraying their natural habitat. Given that the rubber here is hand
tapped, it’s also unnecessary. Anyway, ‘elephant trek central’ is
surrounded by them, as if some budding entrepreneur came up with the idea to bring
in a bit of extra money.
The trek itself backs up this supposition. Everything is very low-key. There is a modest hut where we
are offered refreshments. The only other tourists are a European family who
accompanied us on the journey here. The employees are young, relaxed and
friendly, and the elephants seem to be in tune with that.
Our trek begins with it the
navigation of a stream. Slowly and deliberately, there’s a grace to how
the elephant surmounts this obstacle. You feel surprisingly secure perched
upon the bamboo, sofa-like structure strapped upon the animal’s back, although
I wouldn’t like to experience some sort of stampede atop this contraption. Still, there's something not quite right about all of this.
The river traversed, we
meander about 20 metres through a wood, into a clearing beneath a limestone
outcrop, and… that’s it, we turn around and make our way back. The whole thing
takes no more than 30 minutes. After, we are encouraged to reward our elephants
with bananas, and one of the young guys offers me illicit substances. The youth
of Thailand are enterprising folk, but at a pace that suits.
I decline his kind offer.
05/01/03: Return to Krabi
Town. May & Marks for lunch, arrange transport, book back into Chao Fah, go for a stroll along the river. May and Mark’s for dinner, drinks at Murex, in
which we are the only customers. Old West bar where we drink with a couple of
lads from Hounslow and the Isle of Dogs, former stomping grounds of ours.
Our visa covered us for 60 days and we’d been here for over
50. We had no fixed itinerary but it had been agreed that Laos would be our
next port of call, and possibly Vietnam thereafter. Putting this plan into
action asked that we repair to Bangkok to sort out visas and a means of transport. I liked the idea of squeezing our Thai visa dry but we
didn’t know how long all this would all take. In any case, we’d exhausted Ao
Nang and had spent an inordinate amount of time indoors, reading newspapers and
filling in crosswords.
Our research suggested that there were two routes back to Bangkok: we could catch a VIP Bus
from Krabi Town itself or we could ride a public bus back to Surat Thani and
board a train from there. Both routes provided for an overnight option, which
appealed if only because it would save a night’s rent, effectively halving the
cost of the journey. I didn’t see the point in taking a bus all the way to
Surat Thani, because in my mind that was going out of the way, so we settled on
the VIP bus, deciding that we’d return to Krabi Town for a night and make our
arrangements there. This also afforded us a final blast in the Old West Bar,
which had quickly become one of my favourite bars in the whole of Thailand.
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