****
So, last we heard from our hero, he was jaded and drunk in the small town of Lamai (not much bigger than North Lopham, really, were it not or the hills) hoping that somewhere on Samui, he would find his quiet paradise without a Speedo or beer-belly in sight. In an effort to seek out such a rare and treasured cove upon an island overrun by consumerism and capitalism, all in the name of keeping Johnny Foreigner comfortable, placated and well-fed, I hired up myself a hog and hit the open road! Of course, when I say hog, I don't mean a Harley Davidson chopper. I mean scooter. A moped, if you want to be generous. I tell you, nothing makes you feel more like a man than zipping along with a hundred CCs of power between your thighs. And when I say roads...
(Pictured, a view from Koh Samui. One of the few idyllic places left; free of hotels and development)
Well, I'll be generous. They are paved..sort of. They're also covered in cracks and pot holes and minor canyons that caused grievous groinal injury if hit at the wrong angle, speed or...well, at all! Fun, though. The roads here have things like hard shoulders which scooters pull over into to let the faster cars or faster scooters pass by. Nonetheless, with all the winding roads, veering round mountains and the veritable highways that take over outside of the various towns, driving here is not for the light hearted.
If I had the slightest respect for the highway code of the developed world, I would have been struck dumb with terror. Thankfully, I scarcely even know how to spell highway code, so all was well for my circumnavigation of the island. I set off at half nine, filling in a waiger form of dubious relevance or legality before hopping aboard Moped *136.
The lady at the hotel desk - who also deals withe laundry and the travel plans of her guests - handed me the keys, showed me what the various knobs did and asked me if I knew what I was doing.
Naturally, I nodded dumbly, a faint grin on my face and only the vaguest of ideas as to how the contraption worked.
I hit the starter.
Nothing happened.
The lady smiled and said I had to hold the brake as well.
Oh, of course, how silly, I replied.
She quietly informed me at this point that the tank was empty and I'd have to fill 'er up.
No problem, I said, not having the slightest idea as to where a petrol station might be.
I tried the ignition again, not realising my hand was on the throttle at the time.
The lady smiled once more.
I smiled back and nodded before being rocketed forward at the speed of scooter, yelping like a little girl as I roared down the gravel and dirt track that led from the beach huts to the busy road.
With a small amount of luck, I found the brake before reaching the road. After finding a petrol station some ways north, and paying the bright-eyed urchin at the meter to fill it to the top, I set off on my first motorcycle odyssey. Yes, I said motorcycle. They call them motorcycles here! I swear! Its not a scooter adventure! Shut up! You're not the boss of me! Anyway, I had only the vaguest ideas of where I was going on my sky blue scooter, in my beetle green helmet with my lilac backpack and my tinted sunglasses but I knew it was thatta way. After driving for several hours, I figured it might be a good idea to check the map, especially since I had now emptied half the petrol tank and could whiff the scent of bacon coming from my arms and neck.
Pulling over, amidst a trumpet of horns from fellow motorists, evidently wishing me well on my journey as part of some Thai tradition, I pulled up beside the Ocean View cafe,
(Pictured, the view from the Beachfront Cafe; another idyllic spot to chill, which I sadly only used the once, due to the distance from my hotel (about 60KM)on a dusty road on what I figured was probably the opposite side of the island from my temporary home. I moved into the dimly-lit, wall-less venue with a John Wayne swagger, the sweat running in dirty rivulets down my face. The barman looked up from his morning paper with an expectant look on his grungy face, blond dreadlocks swinging gently in the mild sea breeze running through the place. 'Gimme a pineapple milkshake and some pancakes. And bacon.' I growled in his direction, 'And don't spare the syrup' Ten minutes later, I was tucking into my manly brunch, with memories of home on my tongue and the smell of the sea in my nostrils. The barman, it turned out, was actually just looking after the place for a friend. He was a Frenchman, perhaps a couple of years older than me but he had the look of an American surfer, with his wild hair, tattered jeans, tattoos and black waistcoat. In short, he was cool. We chatted idly about where we were going and where we had been, something I had missed since arrived on Koh Samui, where every other Caucasian seemed only interested in where they were going and what they were doing. But I digress.
With some sheepishness, I broached the subject of location. Tentatively, I asked if we were there, sticking my finger on the map at a random guess.
'Qui' he nodded, as we both leant over the map on the bartop 'Where you going, man?'
'Lamai? I'm just cruising about, you know' Far be it for me to admit being lost, least of all to a Frenchman!
'Ah, yeah, you're pretty much halfway. Might be, you should go all the way around, now'
'Yeah? Ok, thanks very much'
'No thing. Hey, if you go down here' indicating a little maze of roads on the far south of the island. 'I think it's real pretty, best place on Samui.'
'Oh nice, I'll check it out' Several hours later, I found myself driving along roads that crawled through dense forest and quiet rural hamlets beside the beach.
Indeed, it was real pretty.
Eventually, I arrived home from my round the wor-, er, island journey, my hair bleached by the sun and my skin scrorched by the heat. Along the way I had visited a butterfly garden, strictly to get pictures of pretty bugs and flowers for Ma, back home, you understand but truth me told, I was delerious from the midday sun and the previous evening's drinking, at this point, so have only the photos as proof that I was there. I do remember the face of a Russian, painted white, calling me Sir and asking after a nonexistant waterfall. Or perhaps that was a hallucination.
(Pictured, a bug! Well caterpillar. Sweet little guy...I'm glad he was behind glass, though!)
I was going to include why I hate Koh Samui (but at the same time love it) but it will only depress me and I dont want that on my last night here, so I shall explain the darker, seedier side of Koh Samui when I am safely encamped in Chiang Mai the day after tomorrow. I will say this, though - If every package tourist were to suddenly vanish from the island, I would not be leaving tomorrow, nor in the near future. The Thais are a wonderful people and have thoroughly allowed me to shrug off a good deal of general misanthropy I have in my heart toward the human species as a whole. They, at least - especially Samui natives - I will miss when I leave Thailand for Laos. I really do wish I'd made more of an effort to learn Thai. I'll try to do it for Chiang Mai, in case I end up spending a while there (a lot of backpackers do, apparently).
Elsewise, I'm not only missing out but being monumentally lazy... just like these bloody package holiday makers.
Love and hugs for all, especially poppit puppies,
Jamie "Road-Hog" Ashfield
(Pictured, a sign that evidently came too late... or was ignored by a person with little grasp of the English language)
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