We had arranged for our bus to Bangkok to leave at 17:30 so had a day in Patong Beach at our disposal.
Completely exhausted of our polite tourist attitude we opted for the rude approach to tuk-tuk and songthaew services. We had had quite enough harangueing. In response to comments such as 'taxi?' 'tuk-tuk?' 'do you speak English?' we offered 'hmm' 'it is a tuk-tuk' and 'no, I don't speak English,' all the time wishing we had t-shirts declaring such answers for us so we didn't need to continuously repeat ourselves. It became quite frustrating! And it was unbearably hot!
This morning we had discovered that the conflict in Iraq had started on 19 March 2003.
We struggled as far as Boots, bought some contact lens solution, then paused for a cold drink at McDonalds on the way back towards the hotel. We had already left our luggage at the hotel to await our taxi into Phuket later on in the afternoon. Ian contacted Sasson and we met him at McDonalds before wandering off to get some lunch, which our Columbo impersonator kindly shouted.
Once we made our farewells to Sasson who was to fly to Bangkok that afternoon we ambled around the dive shops searching for a replacement underwater noise maker, as Ian had confessed to leaving his tank banger on the dive vessel yesterday. Ian successfully bought a rattler and a micro compass for his watch and to cope with our increasing amount of dirty laundry we bought some t-shirts to improve our aesthetic appeal. As we walked around I saw a dead rat soaking up the sauce on a plate under a tree. Whether the rat was already dying prior to eating the hawker food I don't know...
Somehow, in the heat, we managed to kill the necessary time and at 18:00 our bus departed Phuket for Bangkok and as the sun set and the reading lights refused to operate, we settled down to sleep. The journey to the bus station in Phuket was the worst taxi ride I think I've ever experienced. It was very erratic!
We stopped at a 24 hour hawker stall where I had the pleasure of a bug in my dinner.
At 23:15 we were woken to use the facilities. Having now spent a month in Muslim countries using their facilities I am still alien to their operation. This evening I encountered the queuing technique of Thai women. The rule is, don't. Instead, go and push your way to your chosen cubicle and stand defiantly next to it until it becomes available, then charge straight into it as the previous occupant tries to evacuate it. I cottoned on to this method eventually and found it to be quite effective. Still, I haven't managed yet to pee without splashing my lower legs and feet...
At some point through the night journey Ian had a cockroach run across his head and the back of his chair. Nice.
Copyright 2003 Helen Fuller. All rights reserved.