Patong Ping Pong and The Gypsy Island - Ko Lanta, Thailand
Ko Lanta, Thailand
Where I stayed
Shanti Shanti
It turns out that the 10th to the 10th is thirty one days, even when there's just thirty days in a month. I got in trouble trying exit Indonesia, not with the serious looking immigration officers, wearing frowns, and leg strapped Glocks - but with the missus. Contrary to what we'd read about incarceration for overstaying we just paid a $30 fine and were stamped out. No record made; a waste of money but no harm done, I keep telling her.
We flew into Phuket on Tuesday, where two minibus operators sit at the entrance ambushing exiting flight weary tourists. We picked the most excited as if she'd earnt it. Sharing a comfortable six seat bus for the hours ride into town is 180 Baht pp (£3.45) and half the price of a private cab. We expected a commission earning stop at a tour agency which we got but without any pressure or hard sell.
Phuket has been earning its keep as Thailand's favourite package tourist spot for thirty years. The huge islands alternative centre is Patong on the west coast - where the streets are lined with blinking neon and flashing ladies, and boys, and ladyboys. Famous for its nightlife and 3.5 Km beach that runs the entire length of the town, where low season rain has little affect on the industry. Bar street is Bangla Road, if you're straight and the Paradise Complex if your not. Prostitution in Thailand is illegal, but tolerated and the road is lined with clubs, go go bars and touts offering expensive drinks and free sex shows.
We re-acclimatised ourselves with a Chang and some Pad Thai before heading out to Balang. Travel hardened, and with cheap seven elven beers in hand we powered through the street barely hearing the shouts or feeling the grabs. No sooner had we arrived at Balang and a menu was thrown in our face, 'free, free, if you don't like you leave' number 27. Vaginal razor blade removal. 'You come, we have shower'. We swerved it, declining to order, found a band and three jugs of Singha. We made friends with three super happy Japanese guys (are they ever anything else) and later stumbled out onto the road and into inevitably a show.
The place was packed. It's free entrance but the beer starts at a negotiable 500 Baht (£10) for a small bottle. We paid 300. More a freak show than a seedy joint, and filled with couples, and tourists rather than masturbating men in macs. We watched razors disappear, re appear and then cut a potato to prove their edge. Darts flew, popping a line of balloons, but that's where the audience participation ended. There were ping pongs, and a bird release finale. There was little enjoyment by either side and we left after our overpriced drink.
There's food court style go go bars where each joint is a small square with poles at each corner, although we probably wouldn't eat there. They fill a giant hall. The landlady was a large laughing women and the dancers were mostly clothed. We pulled up a stool and Emma quickly decided the pole dancers were lazy and diversified from her usual singing routine and earn't us free tequila shots and the admiration of her bar top compatriots. She kept her clothes on. We don't remember much else after that.
Wednesdays hangover after Tuesdays fun was determined and we spent the day in bed with Walter White, venturing out only to get junk food supplies. We stayed there until our 7am bus to Koh Lanta the following day.
I woke today (Friday) at 6am, the crashing waves on the beach outside that were relaxing last night as I dropped off, were just a little too idyllic this morning - when I wanted five minutes more. Ban Phu Lae bungalows is closed for low season but they open up their doors with 20% off as the odd Agoda booking comes in. We were upgraded to beach front and collected from town for free yesterday lunch time; even phoning around the tour operators to make sure they had the right bus. Two French girls occupy next door and when they leave later today we'll be left to share ten bungalows, a stunning beach and chunk of national park, with three cats and the under-worked large family of staff. There's two emergency guitars, a library of books and Koh Phi Phi Ley on the sunset facing horizon.
The drive from Phuket on Thursday had us pass through Krabi. We recognised much of it and it seemed like just last week we were meeting Norma and Graham there. Next week we'll be in Australia, Christmas is precariously close and before long it will feel like just last week we were travelling, in Koh Lanta. I sent my intentions to work a month ago, who, unsurprisingly haven't yet replied. Service starts with staff!
Silver Nick collected us yesterday, he has a mullet of greying hair and a friendly face. He said they'd had torrential rain for the last week which we'd just missed - like everywhere else we've been. We passed long beach where the promenade is now at the bottom of the Andaman, the beach is scattered with debris and the tourists are at home. Our bungalow sits on Mai Pai Bay in the Southwest corner and is the last accommodation to be found before you get your feet wet. The national park can be found at the southern tip of Lanta Yai. The North Island, Lanta Noi is mostly protected mangrove intersected only by the road linking the car ferry terminals.
We got a bike, only just capable of scaling the steep hills and stopping you on the way back down and found Drunken Sailors bar for fresh fruit shakes and lunch. The darkening sky's gave us plenty of warning and we headed home just in time. We stopped for supplies at the seven eleven where we were awarded two free Chang's for no reason whatsoever. We got home just as the thunder started; still feeling weather lucky. We sat on our private deck with the rain coming down in bullets, finished our Chang's and our books and went to bed.
Saturday morning we were up at 6am and rode along the East side of a deserted Lanta. Tourists will come in their droves in about ten days but for now we made it all the way to breakfast without seeing another scooter, tuktuk or overloaded mini van. Our random discovery was Shanti Shanti, a small bamboo shack with a shiny coffee machine and eccentric hippie chic decoration: Bardot and baubles and a funky blues mix on the radio. Ben and Bo (French & Thai) own the place and had just reopened for the season. Angie (Sydney), a middle aged, sun baked yogi, was helping set up for their popular breakfast. She came travelling with her son, and after India, and Nepal she fell in island love and rented next door. That was nine months ago and her son has long returned home. The coffee was bottomless and the fruit muesli came with mangosteen, mango, orange, pineapple, star fruit, grapefruit, papaya, banana, kiwi, watermelon, apple, pomegranate, coconut, yogurt, and some serious effort. You've got to love the French. I instantly regretted my order when freshly baked Pan Au Chocolat wafted in straight from the oven, oozing chocolatey goodness onto the wire and up my nose. We must return.
It's just thirty minutes across the island to the old town. The west is sheltered from the worst of the rainy season swell and the hundred year old stilted fisherman homes escape the repetitive low season repair cycle. It really is old, while the North West modernised for the tourist dollar the East remained true to its boat gypsy roots: The first settlers on the island five hundred years ago. A pile of reinforced concrete pokes from the sea, eulogising the original pier that was destroyed by the Boxing Day Tsunami. Other than two new warning towers, the two mile stretch remains as it was. There's a distinct Chinese influence and a hasta manana no problem feel. The hanging lanterns give you a sense of days gone by. While still a fishing village for the locals, much of Old Town’s trade now comes through tourism with gift shops selling locally crafted goods like real leather. Only recently have guesthouses been permitted, keeping tourism low key.
We stopped for an icy fresh coconut and got free French biscuits on the side from Pierre, another ex pat running a cool guesthouse, his: Old Times. We had him neatly boxed into: I exchanged my teardrop tattoo troubled life in Marseilles for the road, and we were proved right when he told of his previous life in a boxing ring, where he left most of his nose. He was rough, and charming, and we stayed a while. He produced a stoned kitten, a stray he'd taken in that was just home from its sterilisation at Koh Lanta Animal Welfare Centre, coincidentally our next stop for the day. He waved us off with an alternative bikers map of the island, complete with doodled directions to a secret beach, some more great food and the Welfare Centre.
We pulled the bike in for a cliff edge lunch at Sea Gypsy. The bamboo tree-house swayed in the wind and the service came with a tourist smile only. The view of the tiny islands and sandbanks dotting the coast was great. The roads on the East side are as deserted as the west at the moment and we quickly rode on through the hills at the islands centre to see some kittens, cats and ex pats. The Centre homes around forty dogs and cats and welcomes dog walkers and cat cuddlers alike. There's a free tour and no pressure for a donation. The vets are volunteers and the standard of care is excellent. We grabbed Sandwich and Denver and their seven legs and went for an excited swim. Emma and Denver were excited, Sandwich quickly sat, refused to move with a look of 'i'm disabled you know'. we returned them knackered and happy. They're short of walkers meaning not every rescue gets one a day so we promised to return.
Norman Woolrich (Emma's grandfather) is ninety this year, not today (Sunday) but he's having his party a month early because you can do that when your ninety. We moved house to hang out with the French at Shanti Shanti, and their food. We were keen not too miss the birthday party and the Internet at Phu Lae castaway corner just didn't cut it. We joined Norman and the family and were passed around dizzily via Skype and not dropped once by anyone there drinking. We missed them, and their roast dinner. Emma's Nana made a sawing motion across her neck which i think means come home, now Emma.
The rain on Monday kept us in a hammock moving only to avoid an emperor scorpion that came in green and a giant leech that came in the bathroom, up the toilet, to be sprayed down again, to slither up again, we called him Larry and his perseverance earned an end to his butt gun torture. The rain let up and we headed to the national park. Around a quarter of Lanta Yai is dedicated to the park, the road there is easy by car and carefully done on a bike. Entrance is 200 Baht pp.
Giant water monitors swim in the small lake like H.R. Giger's Xenomorph in that one too many alien sequel. They can be heard coming courtesy of the monkey's warning shouts. There's a nature trail that takes around an hour to walk and has little we hadn't seen elsewhere. A ruinous lighthouse photo opportunity is encircled by local tourists.The beach is impressive but no better than the others that come free and abandoned, by all but the local kids. At least for the moment. We stayed just over an hour not all that impressed.
We treated ourselves to a bottle of Cotes Du Rhone back at Shanti Shanti, all the way from Ben's village in France, for around a days budget. The wine in Asia is terrible and overpriced, this was only one of those things. At 1100 Baht (£21) it was a treat and we went without dinner. We were brought home made fries and Ben's secret dip on the house. Bo 's from Chaing Rai and we reminisced over our Northern travels with her. Despite being Thai, she is not local therefore when the locally owned bungalows next to hers decided to expand into her garden, she was powerless to stop it. We hit the hammock and then the sack where we fell asleep, fuzzy from the wine listening to the tapping and scratching from within the walls and under the floor.
Emma loved her dog walking so much that we returned and grabbed Noodle and Oscar. We departed with Jessie and Danny (Holland) and their former strays, just as a lightning storm rolled in. We didn't mind as much as the dogs did and we returned them soaking and miserable. We learned that the Thai translation of the Qur'an damns the dog. The majority Muslim population of Koh Lanta she's them as dirty. They can be used as work animals but can't be touched or allowed in the home. The animal welfare centre admits poisoned, stabbed, and burnt animals regularly as a result. We waited for the weather to clear and got to know our new friends. Danny's a kick boxer here to learn Muy Thai and leave his Ajax football hooliganism behind. He's huge but got a little teary eyed over his Rottweiler and chihuahua tag team he'd left at home with his granny. Jessie's keeping him on the straight and narrow. They joined us for farewell French food before our day long trip tomorrow back to the start.
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