14.03.2004 
33 °C
G'day blokes, sheilas and aspiring lady-boys!
After arriving back at the parched, dustbowl that is Pakse (I've already written a proposal to the Lao Tourist Bureau recommending this dump be renamed Poxy), from the relative calm of the Four Thousand Islands, I remedied my thoroughly exhausted self with some fine coffee from the Bolavens Plateau in the air-conditioned comfort of a bamboo-chaired, palm fanned Polynesian style haven, before kicking back at my hotel to finely dine on (not-another-jolly-bowl-of-) flied-lice and having the pleasure to snoop on a Lao wedding reception.....a seemingly most excellent excuse for copious amounts of Lao Lao (Lao rice whiskey) consumption, very bad get-down-and-boogying-post-inebriation, hideous taffeta frills, an Elvis style winter-white bell-bottomed clad groom, and the cacophonic (of course this is subjective) melange that is Lao-reggae music. Absolutely brilliant craic.
My slumber that night came in hiccups thanks to the constant rhythms of the Lao-reggae-after-wedding discotheque from the hellmouth below, and when I finally dragged my woeful self out of bed the next morning, I was running hideously late for my bus to the Bolavens plateau. Upon arrival at the morning market for my local super-comfortable bus eastwards, with the remnant pulse of the Lao-reggae pounding in my head, my physical incapacitation due to the seering heat, and my respiratory resources on the verge of expiry from inhalation of red dirt, tuk tuk fumes, and malodorous Mekong fish, I decided that I rather fancied laying about on a tropical island for a few days.
Of course, this decision afforded me the opportunitiy to learn that you can actually squeeze 30 adults (and 2 children, as well as half a dozen baby peach-faces, and a mangily coiffured poodle), into the back of a 16-seater tuk tuk! At a roasting 37C, for an hour or so on a heavily pocked road, this made for an exceedingly character-building ride, particularly with my being sandwiched between Mr Elbows, and a girl nursing very manky looking baby-birds that sucked on fermented lady-finger bananas, in between writhing and squawking in protest. I also did well to befriend a young Lao man carrying a little excess adipose tissue, who managed to clench my heart after a mere 11km with a touch of old-fashioned enthusiasm, dodgy Aussie-style pick-up lines, his suave slick-backed mullet (all the rage with middle-aged German backpackers!) and a token can of imitation Lao Coca-Cola. My email box has since been inundated with sweet sweet nothings! Bless...
After your average encounter with jaded immigration officials, I re-entered Thailand, where I took another (somewhat less crowded) tuk tuk, followed by a non air-con bus, o'nite train, taxi , air-con bus, boat and tuk tuk, to get to Lonely Beach on Ko Chang, an island on the far east coast of Thailand, near to the Cambodian border. 28hrs all up, including a brief layover on a rather ghosttown-like 6am Khao San Rd - the only signs of life, aside from the saffron-frocked monks on their daily alms-rounds, and the obnoxious tuk tuk drivers touting their girlfriend's half-brother's ex-wife's tailor shop ("velly cheap for you my fliend. I give you special price my fliend"), were of a few somnambulistic farangs, not quite sure where they were, nor why - but still pondering how the heck they made it that far!
I scoured all the travel agencies in Banglamphu (backpacker central) to find one that was open before the 8am bus left, and after finding one at 7.55am, boarded a bus out to Ko Chang, a quite rugged island with thick jungle right across it. Ko Chang provided a perfect chill out place for reading, sleeping and relaxing at the beach, but after 3 days, it got a little boring, so I bussed on back to Bangers, did some 'window' shopping, and booked a flight down south to Krabi!
From Ao Nang town, I jumped on a long-tail boat out to Railay, a beautiful area on the coast that is full of bungalows, al fresco cafes (you can even eat on the mudflats at low tide), climbing schools, monkeys, ridiculously bronzed Swedes using UV rays to cure remnants of Seasonal Affective Disorder, and a colony of stumpy-tailed cats that like to sit on people's laps while they dine.
Upon arrival, I promptly headed over to West Railay for a swim and snooze. All afternoon, there was an incessant flow of smiling (but very annoying) beach vendors, trying their hardest to sell pineapples, coconut milk, pastries, sarongs, bracelets etc. Thankfully they weren't as aggressive as the ones in Vietnam, (e.g. the toothless old wench in Hoi An who decided my sarong was a good place to set up shop for half an hour or so), and no tears were induced by my attempts to ward them off (not mentioning any names you big bully!) .
From there, I wound my way around the heavily-fenced off Rayavadee resort (cheapest rooms go for AUD$450 a night in the off-season, most expensive are AUD$4500 - apparently Colin Farrell stayed there last week) to sit down on the spectacular Hat Tham Phra Nang (Princess Cave Beach) and share the view of the sun sinking into the ocean with a stack of monkeys that swing madly from the treetops right on the beach.
After a few rather lax days on the physical front, I decided some exercise was in order, so went to Cliffs Man, one of the major climbing schools in Thailand and hired Tik to teach me to do spiderwoman impressions up 30m high cliff faces overlooking some of the most gobsmackingly beautiful beaches on earth.
Apparently the cliffs around Railay are amongst the top five climbing sites in the world - not only for the challenges they offer in clambering your way up overhangs and stalactites, but for the magnificent views you are afforded over the Andaman coast when you get up high. If you happen to be the first person in the world to scout out and scale a new path up a cliff-face, you are given the opportunity to name the cliff - consequently, if you so wish, you could attempt to climb "Knights in White Satin", "Ladyboy" and "Greed". My instructor was absolutely brilliant in his relentless pursuit of his student's climbing potential. He wouldn't let me get away with giving up when I was a metre or two from the top - even if my arms and legs were on the verge of dropping off from utter exhaustion! By the end of the second day, those imaginary bumps on the wall Tik insisted I put my feet on and clasp with my fingers had become real and valuable foot perches and finger grips.......I suspect this rock-climbing business could be very addictive....
My final night in Thailand was spent at Cliffs Bar, with some friends I´d made at climbing school, on the backpacker strip of East Railay, watching the climbing instructors clamber like monkeys up the outdoor training wall, inebriated Swedish lads making monkeys out of themsleves trying to do the same, young Thai men doing tricks with flaming sticks/ropes (beats flaming galahs!), and laughing at a very bad Michael Jackson impersonator trying to do magic.
Now it's back to Dublin, ready to gear up for St Paddy's Day this Wednesday. I'm just after arriving off the plane (getting back into the Irish grammar!), and ready to keel over at any second from sheer exhaustion, but am trying to make it through til this evening's fireworks.
Oh yeah and I have to work on Monday!
Cheers
Belinda
xox
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