heretosay

Chinese New Year Eve 2011

One of my new acquaintances out here is a friendly Science and Technology teacher named Padre from the UK who is about my age and married to a local Chinese lady. He likes to go out and about for a few drinks with me but he doesn’t get his visa signed that often. Anyhow on Chinese New Year eve we (me, he and his lady) went for a bite at a local hawker centre. He took her home after about an hour leaving me with almost a full bottle of beer to finish. As they departed I heard him say to her that he would have to come back and help me finish the beer. Green light apparently… he returned in about 15 mins.

We partied for the next six hours and he said to me several times….ooooh damn I’ve left my phone in the car…. ha ha ha. I don’t think it was a case of forgetfulness more a case of premeditated phone placement.

We finally emerged from the last party stop at 5 something in the morning and I said I was hungry. We walked a couple of blocks to an area where food stalls are open for most of the night and it was jam packed with people. I remember he kept repeating ….. this is amazing! I ate.. he sat there in amazement. I took a picture of the whole thing on my phone.

At last we decided to call it a night. Or in this case a morning! I had cycled to his house earlier and we had all gone out in his car. I couldn’t face cycling after such a night so I suggested he drop me back home and, if he didn’t mind, come and pick me up about midday to collect my cycle. I must have been drunk to make such suggestions. He said ‘yeah, no problem’.

At about midday I got a phone call.. ‘Graham – would you mind to get a taxi over when your ready?’ – ‘No of course not, it’s fine, I’ll see ya soon!’ Bloody hell! What sort of buddy is that, I thought. Slowly I began to realise.. he had had his ear bent. I can imagine it.. What? Graham keeps you out until 6am then you take him back and you have to go fetch him to recover his cycle the next day?? You phone him now and tell him he can get a taxi here!!!! Ha ha ha ha.

Of course when I get there I don’t just get my ear bent I get a full 40 minute lecture. He sits behind her, smirks, raises his eyebrows occasionally. Ha ha ha ha. The only thing I can think to say is .. Vangie.. it’s ok. It was all good clean fun. No sex,drugs or rock n roll. Well maybe just a little bit of rock n roll! Which just started her off again.. You don’t know what these Asian women are like. They can charm you into anything especially after a few drinks. (I can see Padre thinking …. really? … maybe I was unlucky then). I was even asked to reproduce the phone picture as evidence that we were innocently munching at 5 something in the morning ha ha ha… Damned hilarious.

He’s only been allowed out once since then. Poor guy.

Sometimes I think I should get hitched and then stuff like this happens and I think again.

Equatorial

I am planning an excursion. An equatorial excursion. The prominent features of which will be sea, islands, boats, and atmospheric (misty) scenery. A small amount of pre planning will take place but not too much. I have a rough outline of locations to visit.

I will depart Malaysia for Singapore this weekend. Make my way into Indonesia and over four or five days ripple through a series of ports and small seaside towns across a number of islands, planning the next from the present.

The Ocean will be the South China Sea. Tanjong Pinang will be on the list.

My Bro Gets Out There

My brother made me laugh again the other day. He’s decided that he will leave his solitary existence and is embarking on a dating plan in an effort to move toward a partnered life full of love, sharing and companionship.
Not wishing to be sat around pondering his first real date in years, he decided to arrive at the agreed location, Market Market in Fort Bonifacio, Metro Manila, in plenty of time and explore the location in the hour or so prior to the arrival of the lucky female.

Forty five minutes before the scheduled meet my brother received a message from his selected sweetie requesting, due to unforseen circumstances, the meet time be pushed out two hours. He sent an amicable reply and extended his exploration time by two hours taking in a bookshop and the purchase of reading material to pass the time. Twenty minutes before the rescheduled meet time he received a message from his selected sweetie to indicate she was ‘on her way’ but the traffic was bad. An understanding and patient message was returned informing her that he would meet her in their arranged location when she arrived, no worries. Twenty minutes after the new meet time another message arrived from his selected but slightly less sweetie in his newly established view asking him to meet her in a new location a short walk away. It was raining heavily. His reply was still amicable and co-operative but he asked, jokingly, if she had a towel. I think he said her reply was no, but she had a tissue!
Expecting her to be waiting at the new location he reported to me that he looked excitedly around the interior on the ground floor and then the first floor even walking around some tables so that he could get a full visual on occupants. There was no positive id! Outside tables were checked – still no positive id! He said he began to feel something of a mug at this stage. However, almost as if she could see him, another message arrived on his mobile at this point. ‘Only joking!’ it read, ‘I will be at Chelsea’. When he relayed this to me he swore at this point but after weighing the pro’s and con’s he chose to remain friendly and replied in a rather non commital manner ‘am I being filmed?’.
I have to say at this point I probably would not have replied and sought alternative entertainment for the evening. To say that we think alike is not a great untruth. My brother decided to find the nearest bar, relax and wait. I can imagine what pleasure the beers brought.

After a short while the messages re-commenced. He said they ran along the lines of…’the taxi is lost’, ‘ I am at postcode xxxx’, ‘ I am in Fort Bonifacio high street’, ‘where are you?’ – which was the first message he replied to in over forty five minutes. Three hours and twenty minutes after their original meet time and after two location changes she made it to the date…
My brother could not believe how un-concerned she was. A half hearted apology was slipped in to initial exchanges but it was completely unfelt and she exhibited zero humility. She apparently replied ‘a Margerita’ to his offer to place her drink order. I began to feel sorry for my brother as he continued to relay the remainder of the episode to me. She picked up a food menu and ordered her own food without enquiring if my brother was eating or had ate. Her food was a salad and apparently another Margerita was requested.

My brother reportedly spoke harshly to her when she reprimanded him for not understanding her work content correctly. Ha ha ha… Well done bro!
To top this, my poor brother was cajoled into walking the wet Bonifacio streets with her stumbling on his arm because she had become almost legless on two Margerita’s. She would not take a taxi and insisted on being told a story, whilst she allegedly attempted to sober up. On a tour of one car park, a location chosen so that my brother could pee I think, she threw up!!
After a bottle of water from a San Fran Coffee Shop she apparently consented to a taxi journey. The taxi was left clean but before the door to my brothers apartment could be opened she was vomiting again at the entrance. My poor brother became nurse maid for a night. He is apparently reviewing his selection criteria as I am writing this. Bro – looks aren’t everything!!!

Happy Daze

One particular Suffolk based brewery has a lot to answer for! Not only has it provided my daughter with a job for the last eight years it has furnished her social diary with fun events and her address book with fun places to visit. Connections! The Farmers Boy Inn (FBI) at the village of Longhope between Gloucester and Monmouth and within yards of the county line between Glos and Hererfordshire is a sparkling gem from that collection of connections. The FBI connection! My feedback to Phil, the boisterous proprietor, courtesy of his customer comments card was; divine food, smiley staff, clean and cosy room(s), glorious location. The FBI served as our base for two nights and two days exploration of the nearby Wye Valley. At less than fifty gbp a night for a single room inc of breakfast, for which I recommend visitors take the full English (!!) we were admirably cared for. In the evening we at the magnificent FBI pies as the centrepiece for our evening meals, (even taking some away for the family back home at the end of the trip ..what better accolade?), drank wine, played pool and chatted with staff and locals like we were one big family.

Magnificent pies, voluminous quantities of alcohol and full English breakfasts were to be teased off of the waistline with day one activities oriented around cycling. I would be stretching a point well beyond the limits of imagination if I attempted to describe it as mountain biking. A remodelled ( with roof and boot cycle carriers) black BMW320D tenaciously transported three mountain bikes the one hour twenty minutes from Swindon to the FBI and a further 15 minutes onto Simmonds Yat the morning of the first day. Simmonds Yat is at the heart of the Wye Valley through which the River Wye runs a flamenco like course down towards the Severn estuary. Through picturesque Herefordshire settings we cycled six miles stopping only twice for (cider) refreshment at the Ye Olde Ferry Inn and the Saracens Head. Much of our route was in the Monmouth direction from the riverside pubs of Ye Olde Ferry Inn and the Saracens Head and took the form of an old tree shaded old railway line (now bereft of lines and sleepers) which ran alongside the River Wye for the trip into Monmouth. The full trip registered 12 miles on the lead cyclists odometer, acknowledged by cries of ‘no wonder my bum hurts’ from infrequent cyclist team members.

Such aches encouraged the car oriented second day visits to Monmouth Town Centre revealing: The Savoy theatre and cinema with an incredibly nostalgic facade going back to the at least the ’50’s; Coffee served by an attractive cafe but consumed outside of a very un-photogenic lingerie shop in a sunny little courtyard not far from The Savoy. A further short car trip transported us curious to sports fields allegedly close to the River Wye!? Through a hole in a nearby hedge all was revealed. We crossed the river to reach the Boat Inn courtesy of a bridge that at some time in the past carried trains and still retained enough character to provoke visions of chuffing steam engines and the colourful livery of wooden southern region railway carriages. Now, sadly, Mr Beeching, the bridge provides only pedestrians a means of crossing the river. The Boat Inn has the longest list of draught cider options I have ever seen. ABV’s ranged from 3 something to 7 something. Eeeeeeek! I chose a pint of Happy Daze at 4 something and had a happy hour there with Rach and Stu. Rach, my daughter and Stu, her bf, were my pals for the weekend adventure that culminated at Tintern Abbey. A 12th century abbey of which only the ruins remain and now appear to serve the sole purpose of justifying the Welsh price of four pounds for a pot of tea, a scone a small tub of clotted cream and squidge of strawberry jam at a nearby tea shoppe. Really the only disappointment of the weekend!

Fleetingly French

A fifty six euro ensuite room in the Hotel D’France situated on a small road parallel to the Allees Paul Ricquet in the Languedoc Roussillon town of Beziers provided our accomodation for the first night in France that I have endured in over 30years. The room was comfortable, clean, warm, simply but tastefully decorated, and the hotel efficiently run. However, as we discovered much later in the night the hotels close street companion was a popular night club named 02. Much needed sleep was intertwined with meaningless but clearly excited young French male conversations that rang between the walls of the closely associated buildings until around 5am in the morning but, oddly, no music.
My companion on this long weekend trip to the less glitzy region of the South of France was my daughter Rachel. The boisterous 02 frequenters disturbed her sleep this friday night the 7th May 2010 much more than mine. We would discover, to our dismay, later how the lack of sleep would impact poor Rachel’s Saturday.
Saturday breakfast was, surprisingly, not immediately easy to secure along the flutter of small streets running from the Allees Paul Ricquet. Coffee was finally taken with a croissant at a friendly but cold and functional operation just paces down a small street the other side of Allees Paul Ricquet. Almost satisfied, we headed back to the hotel via an apartment store called Galerie La Fayette. A second distraction in the form of a well presented boutique gift shop with a strong African flavour just a couple of doors away from the hotel yielded extra luggage for the trip in the form of an Asian style (!) wooden eyes only (shut) bhudda face.

At the top of our Saturday agenda was the securing of a rental car. This, we were reliably informed, would be most easily negotiated at the railway station where there were offices for some of the larger car rental operators. A fifteen minute trundle through light rain and the Park des Poetes, which was in the midst of hosting a VE day celebration brought us to Europcar and Avis signs at the forecourt of a moderately busy Gare de Beziers. Inside the building rental car offices were disappointingly locked and even more disappointingly void of helpful contact information should one wish to partake of car rental type business on this VE Saturday morning. An hour of dithering and determination to stay chilled was followed with the purchase of two, one way, eleven euro fifty each, tickets to Montpellier on a train that departed within twenty minutes of ticket purchase. Bye bye Beziers.

Montpellier station was alive with mobile rucksacks. This was clearly a town popular with the tourists. Tourists that travelled by train and carried their goods on their backs.
It was still raining. In a state of aimless and somewhat weather driven disappointment there followed a thirty minute zombie amble in the vicinity of the station that culminated in food and drink at restaurant J’aime! The underlying question – what fun is this? – was pushed aside as we tucked into beef and chips in a baguette (as most food items are in France). The pleasure of food encouraged us to revisit the need for a plan and we resurrected the ‘rental car’ idea. In a flurry of energy and enthusiasm we visited three car rental counters in 30 mins. Prices were ridiculous at around 150 to 200 euros for two/two and half day small car rental. My enthusiasm and inspiration was subsiding fast. Rachels had already evaporated. We needed a room to rest and recharge. L’Hotel just beyond Mcdonalds at the other end of the street got lucky and were treated to the pleasure of our patronage for two nights. It was the turning point of the weekend. Rachel slept and recharged. I explored the pedestrianised town centre on foot with camera in hand. By early Saturday evening we were excited and ready to explore the Montpellier restaurant scene. We were not disappointed with the choice and our selection.

Good old British humour amongst the European air space mess

….amidst the controversy over European airspace being shut down the BBC invited people to comment with a post on their website of “Would you fly?”….. here is the best answer I saw from SSnotbanned:

I already have.
I took off from the top of ”Mount Bourtie” wearing my high-visibility jacket and flapping my arms for all my worth.
Take-off, airtime and landing all went smoothly.
No coughing was registered, although there might have been a slight increase in Guinness consumption which could have cleared some of the pollution from the machinery.
I don’t know why Ryanair are still grounded…

🙂

Malaysian trains rock and roll

I think rail service from Ipoh to KL has improved since the dual track was introduced but it is still a farce. I have traveled Ipoh KL, return on it a few times recently. Sometimes in the 12 RM seat and sometimes in the 22 RM seat. On the last trip to KL during the heat of the day the power failed, the aircon stopped and the lights went out… as we went through a couple of tunnels toward KL Sentral we are hot and in complete dark. It was uncomfortable but laughable. No one cares. No one complains because no one cares. It is like everyone has contracted the plague of lethargy. On my return journey, in the early evening when the sun and outside temperature is going down the electric never fails and everybody freezes in the extreme blast of the uncontrollable aircon, it’s ironic!
The carriage I returned in on my last trip was a 12RM per seat carriage. I was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the interior fittings and the comfortable nature of the seat. However when we began to travel I think I discovered (along with the rest of the passengers in this carriage) why such a comfortable well fitted carriage should be used for 12 RM seating. It was suffering a chronic case of wheel imbalance. At about the speed the driver wished to cruise at the carriage vibrated and rocked violently. Frankly I was concerned for our safety. I imagine the rolling stock and track maintenance required after some months of running like this will be well in excess of the balancing or replacing a couple of carriage wheels. However if the engineering staff are of the same mindset as the front line staff (those on the train and at the stations interfacing to the people that pay their wages… the passengers) then nothing will be done until there is an accident.
I have traveled on the Indonesian trains through Java… Surabaya – Solo. Malaysia are still many years of improvement behind these services. Indonesia appear to have licensed several different operators therefore encouraging some service competition which may be a reason for the differences.

Makati Avenue

Isabel Royale Hotel provided me with a box to sleep in. I hit my head on the ‘overhead’ TV and couldn’t bend over in the shower. I had to shuffle, feet out penguin style, around the bed. On the plus side I had aircon, the bed was clean, firm and long enough.

On check in I was asked to pay 1000 pesos deposit which I questioned as the internet information advised me there was nothing else to pay. With an almost indiscernible shoulder lift the check in girl then said ‘never mind’!! I was asked to sign an inventory list which included curtains and light bulbs without seeing the room which, I pointed out, seemed a little illogical, although I was glad this suggested the room was still equipped with these items. The bell boy took the inventory list to the room and I checked the room was equipped the items on the list including curtains and light bulbs. Surreal.

Having no desire to plot an inventory reduction scheme I left the box and explored. One place along Makati Avenue had roadside tables and beer at twenty eight peso a bottle. I’d just finished a third bottle and was settling the bill with a shoulder chipped Ruby, when a middle aged European, bottle in hand, ambled onto the scene. He appeared to be passing through but enquired of my health all the same. I felt ‘good’, I told him. He suggested I avail myself of a bottle of something even more palatable than San Mig Pale. Holding up the bottle in his hand he advised me of the attractive price, alcohol strength and purchase location. The 7-11 opposite! Other information imparted in the short exchange led me to believe he was from Sweden, retired and living the life of Riley in Asia after an accident insurance payout that afforded him reasonable rooms, travel and enough remaining change for 7-11 alcohol that stood head and shoulders above SM Pale. His amiable throw away manner drew me into the name exchange ritual and I was advised of another somewhat, in my view, outrageous episode of his recent past. He’d changed his name through an official route (in front of the mirror after a prolonged bout of 7-11 alcohol consumption?) to King Sir. Maybe I should have understood what sort of accident he’d had.

I returned to the box for a late afternoon siesta and a happy plan to visit Heckle and Jeckle later but woke at 9am the next day.

Jump in a taxi

I felt a curious internal warmth during the early morning Air Asia flight from KL to Clarke International Airport in Pampangas, Philippines. A warmth, I think, derived from pleasant memories of previous trips to Manila and the friendliness of almost every acquaintance I have made in that heavily populated, hot, busy, polluted city.

Previous visits had either been made on business or to stay with friends. This visit was going to be different. Situations change. My close lady friend of previous years had chosen to find a marrying type and another friend had finished a work contract and downsized accomodation while he looked for another work opportunity in the region.

I was an independent traveller again fending for myself completely on the transport and accommodation scene in Manila.

I had pre-booked the first night at the Isabelle Royal Hotel which is actually more of a Condotel at the northern end of Makati Avenue.

From Clarke International airport the routine is straightforward. 350 peso secures a comfortable seat on a Partas or Philtranco bus terminating at Pasay. About the nearest point to Makati on the route into Metro Manila.

The fun starts at Pasay. There is no shortage of taxi drivers desperate, for some reason, to take me to my desired destination. I have two simple questions for them. Can you take me to Isabelle Royal Hotel, Makati Avenue and will you use the meter. The answer to the first question is always yes. The answer to the second question is either 200 or 250 peso. So I walk away from them. One youngish Manny Pacquaio look alike (they all try, but this one seemed more successful than most) came after me calling ‘Sir, SIR’.. I looked round and he said ‘OK we use the meter’. In the car he is less than amiable presumably because he has to use the meter.

I don’t think we did a particularly long, round about tour of Metro Manila to arrive in Makati Avenue possibly because I had make a couple of remarks designed to suggest I knew where we should be going. As the 20 minute journey progressed it appeared I had more idea than he did of the area and location of the Isabelle. He tried so hard to be unhelpful it was laughable.

We got to within what I thought was a couple of streets of the hotel location and I said ‘stop please, I’d like to get out here’. I knew we’d never actually get to the street where the hotel was. The meter showed 150 peso and I didn’t feel the slightest inclination to give him a peso more. Unfortunately I was not well prepared and the closest I could get was a 500 peso note. Manny went one round ahead. He has no change of course. ‘Never mind… Hang on’ was my response and grabbed my valuables bag but left my clothes bag in the taxi and visibly enquired at a couple of the nearby outlets for change of my 500 peso note. The first couple of enquiries couldn’t help.

I heard a car horn and the taxi was trickling toward me with another fare on board, possibly a stooge. The nearside front window was down and I looked in to see wad of notes in his hand. Manny said ‘200?’; I replied..’the meter said 150′. He said ‘ok’, took my 500 note and passed me four notes in change… three hundreds and another note tucked in between the hundreds. I opened the door and took my clothes bag from the front passenger seat with a ‘Jeeez, I don’t need this shit’ air about me. I dropped the bag to the pathement and peered down at the cash through a haze of carbon monoxide exhaust gas. There was 320 peso in my hand! Manny wins on points. My internal warmth had evaporated. Welcome to Manila from your average Philippino taxi driver.

Isabelle Royal was around the next corner and twenty paces down the road. Please let this be a pleasant experience.

Festive Shift

I chose the 9th to the 16th January for my festive season break because I have come to detest jams, queues, crowds, and the increased noise and air pollution that peak period holidays bring to a ‘break’. Break.. how apt! Break, it probably would do, certainly spiritually and probably financially too. Most holidaymakers are easily herded into the tour operators dream mindset of: ‘we’ve paid a lot for this holiday so we must enjoy a lot’ (and to enjoy a lot, a lot more is paid at the destination for a rich variety of rich foods, a rich variety of outings and day trips at prices for the rich, and everything else in between at a peak season premium designed to ‘break’ you and make the locals rich).

So with my slightly mal-aligned festive season break I was hoping that I would not be broken. The break I needed was a break from the slog and monotony of routine and quite honestly the boredom of Ipoh.

Ipoh to Hat Yai via the New Hoover bus company cost me RM40 and six to seven hours bed rest. Arrival in Hat Yai , the closest Thai town to the Malaysia Thai border occurred at an unearthly hour that became positively cosmic when one remembers that Thailand live an hour behind Malaysia. In an aimless wander away from the Hat Yai New Hoover office I veered into the third early morning breakfast operation to appear in the street. Coffee and a bowl of noodle soup (to rival the best in Ipoh!) were consumed and left me feeling rather pleased to be in Hat Yai again.

Vague, hazy, early morning, time killing research into my plan to follow the Hat Yai visit with onward travel to Krabi and Ao Nang produced the, also pleasing, bi-product of a deal at the Hat Yai New World hotel of 450 Thai baht for a room with air con, attached bathroom, hot water, tv, fridge, clean and firm bed, but no b’fast. Another benefit of off peak holidaying.

I always enjoy the retail therapy experience of Hat Yai. However after the mind petrifying experience of Malaysian clothes and shoe wear shopping it doesn’t take a lot. Hat Yai food and beer are also a pleasure and a step function improvement over Malaysia tooooo! Wake up Malaysia!!!

Despite the Hat Yai pleasure, depart I had to, and the next day was transported from the New Hoover office ( a block away from the New World Hotel) to the bus station by Sao in her Honda Jazz. Apparently she is in league with the New Hoover organisation and obviously earnt something of the 300 Thai baht I paid for the 12.30 (which turned out to be the 13.30) aircon bus to Krabi.

A forty minute TUK TUK (a large tuk tuk) ride from Krabi bus station to Ao Nang brought me to within what I hoped would be no more than thirty minutes of having moderate cost accommodation at a modest walk from the beach.

I walked from the beach road east up the gentle incline amongst the bristling and not so gentle but inclined to be in your face commercialism of a much changed Ao Nang. It had everything that I could remember feeling disappointed to see in Chaweng on Koh Samui six years ago. MacDonalds, 7-11’s, Starbucks and a host of other franchised chain’s all bringing their own brand of western commercialism to what otherwise could be an eastern paradise. Ao Nang’s twee-ness was disappearing fast.

The fourth accommodation enquiry was at a place called Adams bungalows. Adams bungalows are set in half a football pitch size, well maintained garden of palms, shrubs, a pond and winding paths. Creating a pleasant ‘back to nature’ feel that I welcome so much in my life, particularly in this instance after the commercial lashing I had sustained during the twenty minute walk up through Ao Nang toward Adams bungalows.
I didn’t need anything fancy and was satisfied with a negotiated 450Thai baht per night for a clean firm bed, attached cold water only bathroom, fan, no tv, no fridge, no aircon, no b’fast deal. One night changed to three nights and then four… there may even be a fifth.

The days were sunny, very hot and spent between the beach and the book , the beach side restaurant and the book and the internet and no book. Western food choice is blazing and in many cases good quality too (I had to make the most of the terrible appearance of those beastly western franchise operations!!). Mostly because of its comparative scarcity in Malaysia I was attracted to the Western food more than the Thai food.

I have detected an air of irritation and dissatisfaction amongst Thai business owners and workers. I hear more westerners expressing concern at prices and I suspect that the decline in the strength of European currencies against Asian currencies make it a little tougher for the westerner to holiday here in the style they were accustomed to. Thailand needs tourists. Will they wake up to the realities of the new global financial situation or just keep raising their prices and only realise their mistake when their customers have found new locations to holiday. The latter I suspect. Greed is a terrible thing. Nevertheless they have had a good run.

Header photo is of Adams Bungalow’s.