One Night in Bangkok
Makes a hard man humble, or so the song goes. But now I'm in a cafe on Hindley Street in Adelaide, waiting for the parade to go past, and that's another song entirely.
I doubt very much whether anyone wants to hear of my travels, but I'm going to post them anyway. It all began last Saturday evening, when we left Edinburgh for Heathrow. British Airways are still in 'difficult negotiations' with the gay gourmet, so we were handed little bags with cheese sandwiches, a bottle of water and a crunchie bar in them - by far the best airline food I've ever had on a domestic flight.
The great benefit of flying late in the evening is that you can legitimately drink beer in the airport whilst waiting for your flight. The downside is that most of the duty free shops are either closed or closing. On the other hand, duty free is a complete rip-off for anything other than standard booze - gin, vodka, basic malt whisky, that sort of thing. I managed to get a litre of Talisker for a good price - always a welcome present in the Gentle household.
Our flight to Bangkok was Quantas, so we were back to the standard inedible fare. Something claiming to be Lamb noisettes (I thought most shepherds cut them off at birth, but maybe I'm mistaken). Barbara, who is more sensible than me and less of a pig, turned down the offer of food, opting instead to try and sleep. I can't do that with all the noise and bustle going on around me, so I had to make do with 'A touch of ghosts' and the in-flight entertainment.
All the good movies were on the flights to the UK, rather than the flights out. I wish they wouldn't tell you all stuff you're missing. In the end I waded through 'Flight of the Phoenix', which was a rather heavy-handed remake of the classic original, and the new Herbie movie which was so daft I really rather enjoyed it.
I'd arranged for transit from Bangkok airport to our city-centre hotel. What the travel agent hadn't told us was that this included a tour guide. Som, whose English is a lot better than my Thai was waiting for us with a little notice board, held upside down and with our names scrawled across them in the handwriting of someone who is not used to our alphabet. Barbara spotted her, which was just as well; I wasn't expecting to be met and would have walked straight on by.
I'm sure that normally Som would have had to guide multiple parties, but this time we got her all to ourselves. She saw us to the hotel, checked us in and arranged to pick us up the next morning for a tour of the Grand Palace (something else I hadn't organised), then pointed us in the direction of good food and disappeared with a cheery smile.
Bangkok is hot, and September is the rainy season. Stepping out of the airconditioned hotel into the street is a bit like opening the oven door after it's been running at gas mark eight for an hour or so and sticking your head inside. Sweat comes easily, clothes stick and it's all rather unpleasant. I'm not big on cities - I prefer the quiet country life, but our brief experience of Bangkok streetlife was fascinating nonetheless. I'm slightly disappointed that no-one offered to sell me their sister, or even 'love me long time', but then we were in a better part of town. I did get to overiidulge my love of Thai food, however. Hot and spicy, prawns the size of your fist, strangely-smelling sauces in bubbling pots, sticky rice and the delicate aroma of kaffir lime leaves. Yum.
The tour of the Grand Palace was fun in a 'dodge the Japanese, Chinese and Russian tourists' kind of way. It's an impressive collection of temples and halls, but you're not allowed into most of it, can't photograph most of the rest, and the constant babble of conversations made it very hard to understand what Som was telling us. I was dismayed to see that the restoration of the vast mural depicting the Ramayana was being restored in what to me seemed a very unprofessional way. It seemed that rather than restoring the original paintings, they were being redone, in a very naive and amateur style compared to what had been there before. Plenty of colour and even more enthusiasm, but not much skill.
After the Grand Palace we ended up, inevitably, in a gemstone factory. I didn't mind, as it was obvious that Som was getting some kind of kickback from bringing her tourists to the place. We were shown a brief slideshow about how gems are mined (from the ground) and cut (carefully), before being taken around the showroom by our own personal salesperson, Jean. Jean would have made a good private school matron, for all that she was only four foot something tall and Thai. She didn't smile much, barely looked at us and constantly tried to get Barbara to try on the hideous rings and ear-rings on sale. Neither of us wear any jewellery - something any competent salesperson should have noticed, and Barbara ears aren't pierced (as aren't mine). We finally managed to get shot of her by buying a couple of silk shirts, but since I rarely wear shirts either, the victory may well have been pyrrhic.
Som finally bid us adieu just before we departed for the airport - this time in a taxi rather than the bus I had been expecting. I can't help thinking that someone at the travel agency made an error and upgraded us, but I'm not complaining. We had spent a little over twenty-four hours in Bangkok and I'd certainly go back. If only I could find a better way to get there than flying, that is.
Bangkok to Adelaide was not a happy journey. The first flight took us to Sydney overnight, and should have been a chance to sleep. Except that I can't do more than doze on planes, and I can't even do that when three Italians in the row behind us are joking and chatting for the whole flight. They were watching the movies with their headphones on and shouting a running commentary at each other in heavily-accented English. At one point I asked them if they could be quiet, which they did for all of five minutes before reverting to their normal ebullient volume. Mr Rickards' pictures of Vermont in winter kept me company into the wee small hours - I couldn't bring myself to watch any of the tripe on the in-flight entertainment system. At least the food was good - a spicy hot pork curry that would put anything flying out of the UK to shame.
Our luggage was meant to have been checked right through from Bangkok to Adelaide, giving us plenty of time to get from one terminal to the next for our onward flight in Sydney. Thus it was with considerable surprise that I noticed my bag doing the carousel twirl as we rushed for the connecting bus, having stood for an hour in the queue at passport control. I was quietly fuming at this, but even more so when, having queued for half an hour at customs we were redirected to the red channel, because we had honestly ticked the box stating that we'd come from a rural area. There's another question on the form which asks 'have you a criminal conviction?' to which I so want to ask 'Is it still a requirement?' Experience has shown me that Customs and Immigration officers don't have a great sense of humour, so I let it lie.
The queue for the red gate was not as long as that for the 'nothing to declare' punters, but it was moving much more slowly as each case was opened and checked by hand. I could see that minutes until our connecting flight left for Adelaide ticking away, and with them Barbara getting increasingly tetchy. I'm more of a resigned character -if there's nothing I can do to change the situation I don't fret. At least not on the outside.
In the end a sympathetic customs official took one look at us, noted the time on our ticket and waved us through without even putting our bags through the x-ray machine. We made our connecting flight, but only just.
And so here we are in Adelaide. I've never been here before, but it seems nice enough. We've been given a smoking room in the hotel, despite asking for a non-smoking one. I asked to be moved, but the place is packed out with conference-goers, so we have to put up with the stench. Last night we had a splendid meal in a Thai restaurant - it was a close run thing between that and the Argentine place next door selling steaks as big as something really big. Today Barbara is busy confering, and I have the run of the town. Tonight we have an Aussie Barbie at the Adelaide Oval (no Ashes jokes please). Tomorrow, if I'm really good, I'll get to go on a tour of the Barossa valley, to sample fine wine and eat good food.
What's that? I'm meant to be working? Ah. Yes. Well, I'll get to it soon. I promise.
I doubt very much whether anyone wants to hear of my travels, but I'm going to post them anyway. It all began last Saturday evening, when we left Edinburgh for Heathrow. British Airways are still in 'difficult negotiations' with the gay gourmet, so we were handed little bags with cheese sandwiches, a bottle of water and a crunchie bar in them - by far the best airline food I've ever had on a domestic flight.
The great benefit of flying late in the evening is that you can legitimately drink beer in the airport whilst waiting for your flight. The downside is that most of the duty free shops are either closed or closing. On the other hand, duty free is a complete rip-off for anything other than standard booze - gin, vodka, basic malt whisky, that sort of thing. I managed to get a litre of Talisker for a good price - always a welcome present in the Gentle household.
Our flight to Bangkok was Quantas, so we were back to the standard inedible fare. Something claiming to be Lamb noisettes (I thought most shepherds cut them off at birth, but maybe I'm mistaken). Barbara, who is more sensible than me and less of a pig, turned down the offer of food, opting instead to try and sleep. I can't do that with all the noise and bustle going on around me, so I had to make do with 'A touch of ghosts' and the in-flight entertainment.
All the good movies were on the flights to the UK, rather than the flights out. I wish they wouldn't tell you all stuff you're missing. In the end I waded through 'Flight of the Phoenix', which was a rather heavy-handed remake of the classic original, and the new Herbie movie which was so daft I really rather enjoyed it.
I'd arranged for transit from Bangkok airport to our city-centre hotel. What the travel agent hadn't told us was that this included a tour guide. Som, whose English is a lot better than my Thai was waiting for us with a little notice board, held upside down and with our names scrawled across them in the handwriting of someone who is not used to our alphabet. Barbara spotted her, which was just as well; I wasn't expecting to be met and would have walked straight on by.
I'm sure that normally Som would have had to guide multiple parties, but this time we got her all to ourselves. She saw us to the hotel, checked us in and arranged to pick us up the next morning for a tour of the Grand Palace (something else I hadn't organised), then pointed us in the direction of good food and disappeared with a cheery smile.
Bangkok is hot, and September is the rainy season. Stepping out of the airconditioned hotel into the street is a bit like opening the oven door after it's been running at gas mark eight for an hour or so and sticking your head inside. Sweat comes easily, clothes stick and it's all rather unpleasant. I'm not big on cities - I prefer the quiet country life, but our brief experience of Bangkok streetlife was fascinating nonetheless. I'm slightly disappointed that no-one offered to sell me their sister, or even 'love me long time', but then we were in a better part of town. I did get to overiidulge my love of Thai food, however. Hot and spicy, prawns the size of your fist, strangely-smelling sauces in bubbling pots, sticky rice and the delicate aroma of kaffir lime leaves. Yum.
The tour of the Grand Palace was fun in a 'dodge the Japanese, Chinese and Russian tourists' kind of way. It's an impressive collection of temples and halls, but you're not allowed into most of it, can't photograph most of the rest, and the constant babble of conversations made it very hard to understand what Som was telling us. I was dismayed to see that the restoration of the vast mural depicting the Ramayana was being restored in what to me seemed a very unprofessional way. It seemed that rather than restoring the original paintings, they were being redone, in a very naive and amateur style compared to what had been there before. Plenty of colour and even more enthusiasm, but not much skill.
After the Grand Palace we ended up, inevitably, in a gemstone factory. I didn't mind, as it was obvious that Som was getting some kind of kickback from bringing her tourists to the place. We were shown a brief slideshow about how gems are mined (from the ground) and cut (carefully), before being taken around the showroom by our own personal salesperson, Jean. Jean would have made a good private school matron, for all that she was only four foot something tall and Thai. She didn't smile much, barely looked at us and constantly tried to get Barbara to try on the hideous rings and ear-rings on sale. Neither of us wear any jewellery - something any competent salesperson should have noticed, and Barbara ears aren't pierced (as aren't mine). We finally managed to get shot of her by buying a couple of silk shirts, but since I rarely wear shirts either, the victory may well have been pyrrhic.
Som finally bid us adieu just before we departed for the airport - this time in a taxi rather than the bus I had been expecting. I can't help thinking that someone at the travel agency made an error and upgraded us, but I'm not complaining. We had spent a little over twenty-four hours in Bangkok and I'd certainly go back. If only I could find a better way to get there than flying, that is.
Bangkok to Adelaide was not a happy journey. The first flight took us to Sydney overnight, and should have been a chance to sleep. Except that I can't do more than doze on planes, and I can't even do that when three Italians in the row behind us are joking and chatting for the whole flight. They were watching the movies with their headphones on and shouting a running commentary at each other in heavily-accented English. At one point I asked them if they could be quiet, which they did for all of five minutes before reverting to their normal ebullient volume. Mr Rickards' pictures of Vermont in winter kept me company into the wee small hours - I couldn't bring myself to watch any of the tripe on the in-flight entertainment system. At least the food was good - a spicy hot pork curry that would put anything flying out of the UK to shame.
Our luggage was meant to have been checked right through from Bangkok to Adelaide, giving us plenty of time to get from one terminal to the next for our onward flight in Sydney. Thus it was with considerable surprise that I noticed my bag doing the carousel twirl as we rushed for the connecting bus, having stood for an hour in the queue at passport control. I was quietly fuming at this, but even more so when, having queued for half an hour at customs we were redirected to the red channel, because we had honestly ticked the box stating that we'd come from a rural area. There's another question on the form which asks 'have you a criminal conviction?' to which I so want to ask 'Is it still a requirement?' Experience has shown me that Customs and Immigration officers don't have a great sense of humour, so I let it lie.
The queue for the red gate was not as long as that for the 'nothing to declare' punters, but it was moving much more slowly as each case was opened and checked by hand. I could see that minutes until our connecting flight left for Adelaide ticking away, and with them Barbara getting increasingly tetchy. I'm more of a resigned character -if there's nothing I can do to change the situation I don't fret. At least not on the outside.
In the end a sympathetic customs official took one look at us, noted the time on our ticket and waved us through without even putting our bags through the x-ray machine. We made our connecting flight, but only just.
And so here we are in Adelaide. I've never been here before, but it seems nice enough. We've been given a smoking room in the hotel, despite asking for a non-smoking one. I asked to be moved, but the place is packed out with conference-goers, so we have to put up with the stench. Last night we had a splendid meal in a Thai restaurant - it was a close run thing between that and the Argentine place next door selling steaks as big as something really big. Today Barbara is busy confering, and I have the run of the town. Tonight we have an Aussie Barbie at the Adelaide Oval (no Ashes jokes please). Tomorrow, if I'm really good, I'll get to go on a tour of the Barossa valley, to sample fine wine and eat good food.
What's that? I'm meant to be working? Ah. Yes. Well, I'll get to it soon. I promise.
Comments
"Any criminal convictions?"