****
So, where was I?
Ah yes, after another meal of, admittedly tasty, rice and stir fried veg (once again, I gave any suspected meat a wide birth) I decided to play it cool with Clara, waiting for her to make the first (or was it fifth? sixth?) move, setting myself aside from the group with my new best friend Chang, my travelogue (which I've sadly made little use of, since these old finger joints have much more ease typing than writing) and fairly splendid view of the river beneath the moon. Suffice to say, the plan to play aloof, backfired rather well, as she headed off to an early night and I was left with another reenactment of a particular Simpson's episode, from dear Johaness. He seems a fairly easy going chap, for a German, but one has to wonder how he would react to me confessing my intentions on his older sister. Not well. And those tall guys hit hard.
(Pictured, Clara playing the Buddhist monk. Appropriately enough, there was one sat right across from us at the time. Germans are tactless. It's a historical fact. Funny, though!)
Needless to say, it was several more bottles before I could console myself with the fact that I would try again with dear Clara on the morrow and I would content myself with the company of Johan, Hiroko, Mikune and Portugeuse chap who's name I forget but who proved to be a veritable font of knowledge about all things travel and backpacking related.
After sleeping a fairly restless night on the river, where the crickets are deafening and the walls are thin and the neighbours snoring, I awoke to another beautiful day of wall-to-wall sunshine in Thailand. At least I slept better than in the Bangkok guesthouse, situated as I was above some great mechanical device in the alley below that turned off and on, seemingly at random, throughout day and night. I need better ear plugs. But I digress.
I awoke somewhat haggard at seven am (impressed???) and after a much needed cold shower, to wash away troublesome thoughts and jungle sweat, I stumbled in the direction of the eating area.
( A mighty ship of the river)That is to say, a raft some twenty feet away from my room, joined by suspect planks of wood and covered in confidence-inspiring (not!) linoleum. Sitting down to a breakfast of over-easy eggs (from what animal, I know not) and toast (with strawberry jam! Huzzah!) and the first cup of tea since leaving England (a good one at that) I could scarcely manage to form the thoughts required to shovel food into my mouth, let alone think once more upon Clara and her puzzling ways. No sooner had I begun to tuck into my first meal of the day, than Sidjne should sit down across from me, in all her Nordic loveliness. It is fair to say, my mind being fickle as it is, she soon took my mind off the German temptress, as we chatted about everything and nothing whilst I tried to look anything but uncouth as I ate my food and she sat across from me, having already eaten. We shared a common dislike for the Asian climate, being from such bracing countries and, like all travellers meeting in the night (or morning, as the case may be) it was enough to establish a bond.
Alas, no sooner had we begun to speak fluidly and freely and laugh at one another pictures of, well, one another, then our chief guide, whom I shall call Pip the Untimely, said we were to leave. Or rather I was to leave in one direction, and Sidjne in another. No sooner had I found something to ease my troubled heart on the subject of Clara, than my saviour was whisked away from me, back to Bangkok and then on to Vietnam with a friend from home. More's the pitty, I forgot to get her email address and I suspect I shall never see, but always remember tha breakfast we share together, Sidjne again.
(Pictured, Sidjne - pronounced Xena!)
So, today we were off to Erawan National Park, reknowned perhaps more famously - in the region at least - for it's waterfall. It is actually a cascade of rising pools that climb a mountain through the jungle, which huffing, puffing, sweating, smelling tourists can climb if they have the stomach, constitution or muscular stamina. I made it to the fifth (of seven) tier before my fair complexion and fairer constitution gave out and I promptly collapsed in a nearby pool, splashing about like and idiot and probably ingestion more than my fair share of fish and mosquito eggs. We shall see what comes of that in the coming days, shan't we!
(Pictured, two tiers of the seven tier waterfall of Erawan)
As for the situation with the Komely Lass from Koln, things went from bad to worse, as I became somewhat dejected that even if I did win her attentions, she would be gone, off to Indonesia and out of my life before the Sun had even risen to it's apex (that is to say, lunchtime!). So, I did what any Englishman would do in my place. I sulked. And I climbed a waterfall...and shared a few brief moments with Clara, before exchanging email addresses (as well as with ever-entertaining Johan) and saying tearful goodbyes (well, I was crying, at least...almost!).
Still sulking with traditional Ashfield aplomb, the two days in Kanchanaburi ended with a visit tp the so-called Tiger Temple. I didn't see any temple. I don't think I even saw any monks. What I did see what beautiful tigers and tiger cubs drugged to the gills (for how else what they remain so placid whilst idiot fat tourists groped at them?) in the paltry shade of the afternoon sun.
It is true, that Clara had influence my opinion of the place, as she had delared the place as a symbol of everything that was was wrong with Thailand. That is to say, if the tourist will pay for it, they'll sell it. She certainly made me feel guilty for wanting to pet a tiger. Perhaps it was because my mood was still sullen over Clara departure or perhaps it was the sight of those majestic and above all WILD animals roll over at the handlers beck and call (no, no, nothing like Millie, I'm sorry to say, no love there, only obedience) but I found the whole place depressing and the slack-jawed tourists who queued up and paid stupid amounts of money to be seen with the tigers, bilious. I strolled around the rest of the so-called temple, which was filled with boars, cows, fowl and water buffalo (tiger lunch, breakfast and dinner, I suspect) who were mercifully roaming free. I saw some tiger cubs being paraded about some more, as cooing idiots picked them up. 
As for myself, I stood beneath the shade with a herd of local cows (skinny, flop-eared buggers!) and asked them for their take on the situation. Their glum, glassy eyes said more than words ever could. Smoothing the nearest cow, I wondered if I was part of the problem, even to come to the tiger temple, if not pay the huge fees to be photoed with the tigers. After all, if we want it, they'll sell it. Anyway, my new bovine friend reminded me not to be so serious; this is Thailand, after all, as he nuzzled me with the most affection I've gotten so far on this trip (aside from some over-eager masseuses that is but more on that next time). I was almost taken in by the cow's friendliness until he decided to start eating my boot laces, at which time I bid him adieu, his eyes filled with sadness and my heart made of stone.
Arriving back at our transportation (that is to say a pickup with some tarpaulin pulled over it; we sat in the back, all eight of us!) I sipped at amazingly free ice water (nothing is free in Thailand, even if it is cheap) whilst chatting with a German woman who was there with her husband Manfred, her son son Heimlich and her daughter Gert. Actually, I only know the husband's name - the kind of German who likes to wear short shorts but can thankfully get away with it!) Her strange son looked like a Heimlich and her...large daughter was most certainly a Gert. A nice family all, though, and I shared some brief conversing with them about sting rays and beer (as you do) with them before I said goodbye to them too. One last conversation with the wise and well travelled Portugeuse chap about the trials and tribulations of going on holiday with your girlfriend, and I was on my own again, in the the back of an honest-to-goodness minibus, toward Bangkok, with a drop off in Nagom Pathom - or something - just for me and my sleeper train.
On the way there, I was sat next to two northern lads from Sheffield who were very friendly but suffering from the heat even more than I. I gave my bottled of frozen water to one of them most in need of dire coolling and made a friend for like, or so I assume. I shan't see either of them ever again but such is the nature of the traveller. TO be honest, I just didn't want him going into convulsions from heat stroke and causing me to miss my train. As it was, as the karmic fates like to mock me, I arrived at the train station a full three hours before my train was due with nothing to do but watch my bags, suck on an ice lolly and try to remember when I had last eaten a meal.
As for the train journey, the bus journey, the ferry journey and the final car journey to a comfortable bed on Ko Samui, that story will have to wait for another day. My blood alcohol level is dangerously low and the guy down the street has been trying to get me into his club for the last three hours whilst I traipsed from beach to bar to beach to bar... to bar, all night now. It's time to reward him and my liver, and pine after a girl named Clara.
Oh, I almost forgot. Lots of butterflies at the Erawan waterfalls. So big and colourful and shapely, you wouldn't believe! I saw one fly over the carpark which had the wing-span of a black bird (no kidding!!). It was black and yellow with frilly wings. Look it up for me, if you will and you can find it. Also, I now own a plate with my face on it. I'll be damned if I know when they took the picture but there it was before me, as the touts showed it to me as I returned from the waterfalls. I probably could have haggled but I bought it full price. I don't think it'll survive the journey but C'est la vie.
Anyway, I should be going before I fall asleep at the keyboard here. I dread to think what they charge for that! More tomorrow, folks. Koh Samui, three foot tall porters and Indian tailors who speak like Del Boy and claim to be Gurkkas named Mr Sam and Mr Tiger. Until then, good night.
Take care.
- Wayward Son/Grandson, Jamie
xxxxx
(Pictured, my travel bag. On a bunk. In a train. On the way to Koh Samui. SUSPENSE!)
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