End of term report

 Well blogmates, the time has come. Sad though it is, we must part company.

Contrary to what you may have read in some of the more sensationalist publications, we're not being deported. 

The last six weeks have been instructive in so many ways. 

For example, we've suffered the shocking state of the roads in Laos. (I'm still sitting on a cushion)

We've very nearly brought down one of the world's major religions. 

And we've witnessed the horrifying devastation that coconut milk cause to an unwary digestive system . (Still carrying a cork with me)

But above all, we've had a great time. Far better, I suspect than you have had reading this.

In fact, yesterday JB was moved to say that he thought it was better here than Blackpool.

Thanks for your company, and we'll see you again in February, when we'll be subjecting Rhodes to the Gullible's Travels treatment. 

Hoping that a fat beardy chap in a red suit stuffs your sock, we bid you adieu. 

What we did today

 Today we had a DAY OUT. (capital letters intentional to show how big a deal it was)

We joined the hedonistic throngs on the longtail boats bound for Railay and about 15 minutes later, we arrived, at fleshpot central,  Railay.

Moving swiftly past the offers of saucy massage and 'magic ' mushroom shakes, we emerged onto the beach, with an inexplicable yearning for a cup of Horlicks and a Werther's Original.

There's no doubt that Railay is a huge draw these days, tourism and narcotics wise (Google the resort prices) but for us, well, alright, for JB, the big draw is climbing. 

By now, I think we're all well aware of his tendency to hang off any surface even slightly off vertical, and Railay has them aplenty. 

In fact, a quick tally shows that we've visited here more in the last couple of  years than we've visited Weston-super-Mare. Let that sink in...

And so, our brush with the wild side of life in Railay amounted to a bit of jungle climbing, a sighting of a couple of macaques and some lying down on a (fairly uncomfortable) coral beach 

Rock and Roll.......

Once back at our resort bungalow ( nestled in Paradise, as you know),  We were confronted by a seemingly insoluble problem.

The doorkey, (which to be honest had been problematic since we arrived), steadfastly refused to turn.

After 5 minutes or so of ineffectial door-rattling and archaic cursing, I went to seek help.

The receptionist, a chit of a girl, who we've always found to be unpleasant, eventually admitted that they'd seen fit to change the lock. 

And presented the new key.

And there, blogmates, the sorry saga should have ended.

But........

Fast forward a couple of hours, and JB and I , in search of modest sustenance, attempted to leave our bungalow. The door refused to lock.

Enter Hairless Heinrich, the bald, badly tattooed Hun from a couple of doors down. 

As effortlessly as one declaring  Anschluss, he pushed us out of the way and proceeded to lock the door. 

Only he didn't.  After a good 10 minutes of this nonsense he pronounced it all to be 'kaput' and shambled off into the night.

Hopefully, when we get back tonight, the 'lock technician ' will have made it all ok......

Ao Nam Mao

 Just beyond our resort boundary, away from the mangroves and ravenous insects, is the town of Ao Nam Mao. (And also where the previously mentioned Flatulent Fatima has her hotel)

It would be wrong to call Ao Nam Mao a one horse town. (Although I believe they've almost saved up enough for a quarter share in a retired donkey)

People mainly arrive here to get the ferry straight out again to the bright lights and fleshpots of Railay.

Possibly for that reason, the main street has just one bar, and even that has to double up as a 'Medicinal Cannabis Dispensary' to make ends meet.

Ao Nam Mao main street, Saturday night

And of the handful of restaurants only a couple serve alcohol, this being a largely Muslim populated town.

We did chance upon a place though, with a lovely garden setting and ,more importantly,  a fridge full of beer.

It was towards the end of our third visit that I noticed the distinct shuffling from the rafters. Glancing up I couldn't help but notice a rat . It was in peak condition and a fast mover. Acrobatic too as it scampered above us. Perhaps it was the floor show. 

We've now moved our custom to the local beach bar where the beer price is wildly over inflated (remember, there's that quarter share in a donkey to pay for) and the resident house band leans a little too heavily on the kazoo solos, but we haven't seen any rats.    

Yet

Of course, there's always the sandflies.......

Trouble in Paradise

 Last time, if you recall, we'd stumbled upon our tropical paradise and were smugly settling in. 

But, wherever you get lush green foliage, hibiscus hedges and palm trees aplenty, you also get the associated wildlife.

Some, like the giant black and white butterflies and the greater coucal birds (look it up) are a delight. The resort's phalanx of (mostly sleeping) guard dogs are ok too. 

It's the mosquitoes and other biting pests that are the problem, particularly if you're prone to going outside in what is essentially your underwear.

The trouble seems to be that I'm irresistible to the little blighters. Their signature dish, or comfort food if you will.

My legs (admittedly never my best feature) now look like I'm wearing red polka dot trousers, and even JB has complained of a bite on his wrist. We've now applied so much DEET that we're in danger of contravening the Chemical Weapons Convention.

Still we're vowing to carry on regardless. We're British after all. And we're in Paradise.

Allegedly.......

PS: I know you won't bother looking up the greater coucal, so have this one on me:

Paradise found

 On leaving Krabi airport, we headed for our hotel in Ao Nam Mao. Admittedly it was chosen more for its budget-friendly pricing policy than any close inspection of its location or facilities. 

Spirits sank as we encountered the vast female behemoth behind the reception desk. It didn't help that she farted continously throughout the whole checking in process.

Up to the room then. We'd checked that it a least had a window, and indeed it did. It was virtually a glass box. 

The other 6 hotel residents had a combined age of around 120 and a combined IQ of much, much less.

The following morning, we set out to make alternative arrangements. And, rather like Moses and the rest of his crew eventually reaching the Promised Land, we stumbled, sweaty and without hope upon the Diamond Beach Resort.

I'm not ashamed to say that we wept tears of joy, although JB claimed he had a bit of dust in his eye.

It's lovely. A tropical hideaway complete with our own ( so far, bug-proof) wooden bungalow.  We've booked in for the remainder of our time in Thailand and declared ourselves on holiday. 

Up, up and away.......

 And so it turns out that all that was needed to free us from Chiang Mai was a cloudy day and a special offer on flights to Krabi!

To be fair, it was quite cloudy:

And so, a mere 2 flights and 7 hours later, we're in Krabi, where, admittedly, it's still a bit cloudy, but in a more tropical way.....

Our first flight was Chiang Mai to Bangkok and I thought I'd give you a snapshot of Chiang Mai airport.

Not a large airport, even so, around 9 million passengers use it each year.

First up, it would benefit from a good going over with a can of Pledge and a duster. (other polishes are available)

The security scanning is total chaos. You queue for a tray to put your items in for scanning, then join a different queue to put the tray through the scanner. ( I sensed the hand of the French at work here.....)

As ever, my extensive and somewhat complicated corsetry triggered the metal detectors.  My reward was a thorough going over with the sensor from the delightfully named Miss Tittiporn. (I'll leave you to it with this one.. ..)

Decor-wise, the place would definitely benefit from some. ( The carpet seemed to be a cast-off from a particularly rowdy Wetherspoons)

Needless to say, we departed later than advertised and from a different gate than the one we'd be told to go to.

Still, 9 million passengers each year eh?

The Elephant in the Room (or: I can't believe it's not Buddha)

 Following my heartfelt (and almost certainly well received) apology performance at the Monk's Trail, I felt sufficiently secure in my restored karma to order a green curry.

However, judging by the ensuing eruption, it now seems probable that far from being any karmic retribution, my problem stems from an intolerance to coconut milk. (Smug grins from the scientist in the corner).

In the light of this, I may as well share with you that despite Buddha being the deity of choice for over 300 million people worldwide, my allegiance (ever since a chance reading of the illustrated literary classic 'My first Ganesha' in Little India, Penang) is, and will remain with another.

The bringer of good luck, remover of obstacles and patron of logic and wisdom.

Blogmates, I give you the inimitable, fun-loving, bun-loving, Lord Ganesha.......