Accommodation

That damned bolt on the gate

A blog can act like an old-fashioned diary, so excuse me while I record some details of my accommodation in  Bangkok. It's partly for future reference - so that in years to come I can look back and remember how it was. 

But how long do these blogs last for anyway? Once "out there" on the internet, do they last forever like very old books in a library's vault? Or do we reach a point where Google or Blogger or Rupert Murdoch say "Sorry mate! It's over! We are deleting all blogs to make room for more advertising and the worldwide expansion of Facebook!" Perhaps we'll never get that far anyway as spammers and internet vandals maliciously compromise the entire caboodle.

Anyway, my little apartment at Serene Bangkok, Ratchayothin... It was attached to the owners' house. I could sometimes hear them dimly through the connecting door in my bedroom but I was never disturbed. It was a big, spacious bedroom with a kingsize bed and well-built sliding wardrobes. The floor was made of shiny hardwood blocks.

There was an offshot living room where I had an L-shaped sofa, a coffee table, a television, a sink, fridge, microwave and a little table with two chairs. Both the bedroom and lounge had air-conditioning units which were absolutely vital to counteract the city's sweltering heat. Sometimes I'd sleep with the aircon switched off and I'd wake in a puddle of sweat, my pillows soaked.

The little swimming pool at Serene and my favourite reading place

The tiled shower room had a big walk-in shower and through its sliding door there was a miniature courtyard where I could dry any washing I had done in the big blue Tesco Lotus bucket I kept in the shower cubicle.

To get to my front door I had to pass by the B&B reception - sometimes stopping by to chat with Nong or Koy - and then walk along the path that leads through the tropical garden to the respectable massage parlour run by Lisa - the owners' daughter. I'd turn left and wiggle the squeaky bolt on top of the metal gate and after entering the owners' compound, wiggle the squeaky bolt back into place. Two or three times I applied "Vaseline" to this bolt to stop the squeakiness but it always came back.

The owners had two horrible old dogs - both slow, fat and smelly with testicles swinging like rubbery pendulums. They were allowed to defecate in the garden compound and so I had to watch my step even though their piles of steamy grey excretion were usually quickly cleaned up by Wan, the owners' housemaid.

Inside the living room

The bedroom

The shower room

But it was nice to be living at ground level with tropical vegetation outside my windows and nobody living above me or below. Nearly all the other teachers lived in tower blocks, requiring lifts to get to their front doors. I wouldn't have liked that at all. No, it was nice to be serene at Serene, a fifteen minute walk from the school and at fifty nine years old I still count my lucky stars that I had this opportunity not once but twice. And if you are reading this Mr Jon - a special thanks to you for making my Bangkok Days possible.

Path to the apartment's front door

Hair

Ever heard that song "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes"? Well, it's not so much smoke that gets in your eyes as hair - especially re. the female of our species. Now, David Attenborough might lie on his belly for ages observing gorillas in the Congo or whisper excitedly about a bird of paradise mating dance in the jungles of Borneo, but my recent scientific observations have focussed exclusively on women's hair - especially straight hair.

The trouble is that when women grow their hair long it has a tendency to fall or blow into their eyes. For example, just this morning on the BBC News, an arts correspondent speaking from the Cannes film festival found her hair blowing across her face as she spoke and she was persistently brushing it away. Similarly, in the BBC Look North studio, the weather girl - Lisa Gallagher - has to hold her head in a particularly stiff manner in order to prevent her hair from gravitating towards her eyes as she points out cyclones and wind patterns. It's a nightmare for women. Forget menstruation, menopause, childbirth and the challenges of motherhood - the biggest and most obvious problem that women have to deal with in everyday life is clearly how to keep floppy hair out of their eyes!

Women's inventiveness in this area of life seems to know no bounds and they have devised numerous ways of keeping awkward long  hair in check and away from the eyes. In my chart below I have itemised just nine of these cunning methods though I am aware my list is not exhaustive:-

No. 1 Elsie is using a simple hairslide to keep her hair off her face.

No 2 Janice has gone for a brutal fringe cut to deal with the issue.

No. 3 Ena has tucked her uncontrollable hair behind her ears.

N 4 Lettice has simply pulled her long hair back and formed it into a kind of ballet dancer's bun.

No 5 Jenny has brushed her hair away from her face and then sprayed an entire can of  "Stiff" on  it to keep it in place.

No 6 Agatha has stuffed her floppy long strands into a stylish headscarf from "Poundstretcher".

No 7 Libby is using a simple Alice band to keep her hair back.

No 8 Sinnead has got so pissed off with her hair she's just shaved it all off.

No 9 Fatima's solution is to wear a burkha. This is recommended for all women bloggers, hiding their beauty for the pleasure and enjoyment of their menfolk, husbands or partners. Also very handy for ugly lady bloggers or those with severe acne.

Snaps

Ever been bored to tears by somebody else's holiday snaps?
Well don't worry - I've only got three to show you today....

Here's Shirley just last month as we relax by another "dream beach".

This was at Jungle Beach near Unawatuna in southern Sri Lanka. The wooden 

loungers were free to anyone who used the beach cafe which offered

freshly caught grilled prawns and silvery fish that still twitched. The water was as clear

as crystal and Shirley said, "I think I've died and gone to heaven".

Meanwhile two metres from that green table in the underworld beneath
the adjacent tree's roots, a prehistoric battle occurred between Mr Hungry
Lizard and Mr Enormous Centipede. In the end the odds were stacked in
Mr Lizard's  favour and we watched as he gulped down (whole) his unfortunate prey.
Not what I'd have wanted for lunch. No siree! I was happy to stick with
my grilled sea prawns, salad and french fries  - washed down with "Lion Soda"

Another view of fabulous Jungle Beach with the
southern city of Galle on the horizon.

Investment

Still backtracking through my catalogue of Asian photographs, would you be so kind as to step back with me to Noi Bay on the island of Koh Lanta? Perhaps you will recall that there I sheltered from the blazing sun in an abandoned beach bar called "Robinson's". It even crossed my mind to become the new tenant. I would spruce the place up and re-stock it, sleeping above the shack in my woven hammock. I would of course have to rename the place "Bloggers" where I would serve cool drinks, Thai curries and Yorkshire puddings with beef gravy. Once the news got out, bloggers from around the world would arrive. 

I'd be chatting with Earl Gray about animal husbandry and canine cruelty over gin and tonics, showing Lettice Leaf my hammock upstairs, providing (gratis) oil massages to Kiwi Katherine, Libby from the Midlands and Jenny from Wrexham, arm wrestling with the famous Georgian champion - Robert Z. Brague and guzzling pints of Chang Beer with Ian Rhodes (aka Shooting Parrots) and Ian Hutson (aka The Owl Wood) .who'd probably prefer a small dry sherry.

Helen from Brisbane would arrive direct from France with her faithful Tony trotting behind like Earl Gray's Willie. I would ply Jan Blawat with pina coladas and Bacardis, probably needing to protect her from the unwanted advances of a certain lustful Angolan restaurant owner and I would finally get to meet that Catlonian insurgent - El Brian the Bandito. Meanwhile Carol Cunningham and Mary Z would be wriggling into out or out of  their skimpy leopard print bikinis looking forward to nightfall.

We'd have a beach party and go skinny dipping at midnight under a silvery moon before singing The Blogging Anthem around a driftwood campfire:-

How much is that blogger in the window

The one with the waggly tail?

How much is that blogger in the window?

I do hope that blogger's for sale!

Such fun. Such frolics! And now those photos:-

"Robinson's" at Noi Bay with a storm brewing

Old post with Koh Phi Phi on the horizon

Another view of "Robinson's"

Inside the abandoned beach bar . Who's head is that?

Should you wish to invest in the establishment of...

Please send handsome cheques to me at The Yorkshire Pudding Retirement Fund  Bloggers Beach Bar Development Fund. Thanks in anticipation of your generosity.

Twelve

At last, I have been able to upload all the photos I took in Sri Lanka. I wanted to post ten good pictures that would represent my time over there. In the event, ten has become twelve and I could have easily turned ten into twenty five. Of course they were all taken with Shirley's Nikon "Coolpix" camera - the one I bought her for Christmas and even though I know I would have reaped even finer results from the digital SLR camera that was stolen from me in Ayutthaya, I am quietly pleased with the following twelve compositions. Which picture do you like best and why? (Click to enlarge)

1. Young monks by Kandy Lake

2. Schoolgirls in the Fort area of Galle

3. In the impoverished Montessori school in Galle

4. Tea picker on the Handunagoda tea estate 

5. At the Peace Pagoda on Rumassala Hill near Unawatuna

6. Jungle Beach near Unawatuna

7. Buddhist monk walking to Sigiriya

8. In the cave temples at Dambulla

9. View from the top of Sigiriya

10. Lifeguard Office on Nilaveli Beach

11. Sunrise at Nilaveli

12.  Dagoba and column in the sacred city of Anuradhapura

Back

Wilf, a chauffeur for Sheffield City Council, greeted me at Manchester Airport and I was soon whisked away from my press conference in the VIP Room - over the majestic Pennine hills towards the dreaming spires of Sheffield. I have always loved travelling in big shiny cars that smell of new leather and the wicker picnic hamper in the back was much appreciated - especially those top quality scotch eggs and the fresh pork pie from The Yorkshire Grub Company. All washed down with a chilled bottle of Maison de Tetley (2013).

Of  course, when we glided into my own street the bunting was out and excited children and pensioners were waving little Yorkshire flags, cheering my homecoming. Don't you just hate being patted on the back by hordes of strangers and feeling obliged to scribble autographs in diaries, Qu'arans and on various items of ladies' underwear? So tiresome.

Anyway, I managed to push my way through the thronging crowd, the photographers and newspaper reporters over the threshold of our exclusive suburban residence. Home! Shirley has done a great job with our "bosoms" - the little allotment area at the top of our garden and the mansion looked neat and tidy until I started emptying my nineteenth century travelling trunk - merrily tossing dirty washing, used Thai baht notes, "Villa Market" plastic bags and gifts from my oriental admirers all over the place - from the snooker hall to the ballroom and up the marble staircase to the marital boudoir.And then I had a proper cup of tea. Ahhhh!

...In actuality, I was fleeced by muggers disguised as employees of Transpennine Rail. Twenty five pounds for a single ticket to Sheffield then eight quid in a taxi from Sheffield Station. Previously £2.75  for a medium latte at Manchester Airport Railway Station. Welcome back to the real world boy! Home. Home is where the...something or other is. I can't remember how that line goes I've been away so long. Looking forward to a traditional Yorkshire curry with basmati rice and nan bread tonight. Hope Shirley's not too tired when she gets in. She's got a lot of mess to clear up now and then there's the washing to do. A woman's work is never done. The Chanel No. 5 should keep her sweet.

Morakot

The unpromising entrance to the sea cave

 In my last post I referred to a beach of dreams at Nui Bay but on my four island Andaman Sea snorkelling trip south of Koh Lanta I was taken to an even dreamier beach - so dreamlike it made me gasp with amazement. Have I been anywhere on this planet more naturally wonderful and beautiful? I very much doubt it.

The longtail boat chugged across a gentle seascape that glistened fabulously in hazy tropical sunshine. There were only six pssengers on board and we had already made two snorkelling stops at looming limestone karst islets. Ahead of us lay the larger island of Koh Mook. We could see a couple of other boats anchored near steep limestone cliffs. Perhaps this was The Emerald Cave I had noticed in the itinerary leaflet.

So I would be swimming into a sea cave. It looked rather dangerous to me and I imagined my skull cracking on the sea cave's roof as the swell lifted us up. We donned fluorescent lifejackets and dived in. One of our longtail sailors guided us into the cave with a torch held aloft. We swam into inky shadows where all you could see was the torchlight bobbing and then I realised there was daylight ahead.

We swam round the corner to see the dark frame of  the inner cave entrance opening up to reveal a most secret and gorgeous white beach. The sun was directly overhead like a theatrical spotlight and it was as if we had reached the bottom of a crater. There were hundred foot cliffs all around us swathed in tropical greenery. The only way in here was through the sea cave - a hundred metre swim.

So this was what Morakot (Emerald) Cave was all about. Not so much the cave but the little piece of Eden you met on the other side. There was a balance to the vegetation. Each tree, each shrub had earned its niche over thousands of years and they met together in a windless equilibrium, safe from storms, entertained by sweet birdsong. Here, legend says, pirates once holed up. I can believe it. Such a secret and magical place. I just wish I'd had my camera with me to record this masterpiece from Mother Nature.

The secret beach at Morakot, Koh Mook

So now I am back in Bangkok. This morning I have spent an hour or two squeezing stuff into my mammoth navy blue suitcase and hoping it doesn't break the weight limit. My flight leaves at 9.20pm - returning to the real world - England my England - where I am sure that from time to time I will recall the jaw-dropping spectacle of Morakot's inner beach. Some things you never forget.