The flight from Bangkok to Phuket was quick and uneventful and daylight was just breaking as I arrived. It was misty and the ground looked damp from rain and I was tired after no more than two hours sleep during this artificially extended day.
I was meant to be met at the airport, but there was no-one there when I got out. I waited by the doors and then went for a second walk along the front of the airport and saw a man holding a piece of paper with “Herring, Mr” written on it.
We headed to his minivan. It was clear that he spoke little English and I naturally speak nothing but. He was expecting there to be two of us, but I made it clear I was the only Herring here. It was around about 8.30 by this point and he showed me a piece of paper which indicated that my boat ride to Phi Phi island was not embarking until 1.30pm. I was slightly crestfallen by this. I had been looking forward to getting to the hotel as soon as possible, taking a nap and hopefully getting back on to an even keel. I was not looking forward to having five hours to kill, whilst still having to care for my luggage.
Of course I didnÂ’t know how long it would take to get to the boat in the first place and there was no way of communicating with this guy, so I was a bit in the dark. We set off and it started to rain. The driver laughed as rain bounced off his windscreen. It was pouring. Had I arrived in rainy season?
About twenty minutes into the journey the driver pulled over and without attempting to explain disappeared into a nearby massage parlour. Was he going to have a massage? Or something worse (or better depending on your perspective)? Five minutes passed and I contemplated how much trust I had put in the hands of a man just because he had my name on a piece of paper. He could be anyone. The part of my brain that had got paranoid over the visa now worried that maybe there had been two Mr Herrings on the plane and I was heading off to the wrong place.
Shortly the driver returned and opened the passenger door, making a face which seemd to plead for forgiveness or understanding. He was followed by four young women in matching pink tops, who were clearly masseuses he was giving a lift to. Their English was not much better than his, though I briefly chatted with them about where I came from and where I had been in Thailand before. But I was weary and just wanted to get where I was going and not in the mood for chatting or getting massaged or something better (or worse, depending on your perspective).
We went on a twenty minute drive and the women were dropped off at a complex of apartments and got out to go and do their work. They smiled and bid me farewell and enquired whether I might want a massage tomorrow. I remained non-committal on the subject. In spite of my grouchiness I had enjoyed this little snippet of local life and though I was aware that the driver was almost certainly illegally making a bit of extra cash on the side I was not that bothered as I had so long to wait for my boat in any case.
As we left the driver tried to talk to me, but I couldnÂ’t understand what he was trying to convey. He seemed to be talking about the women and asking if I wanted to get a massage then laughing in a certain bawdy way, which made me wonder what it was that he was suggesting. Here I was, a lone male, holidaying in Thailand. I hadnÂ’t thought of the implications when I booked the holiday, but now worried what people might make of my choice of destination. I had come here to relax on the beach and not get sucked off by a lady boy and anyone who says any different is lying. But I was probably being paranoid again. After all I had no idea what the man was actually saying.
He stopped off at the massage place on the way back, no doubt to pick up his fare, and it became clear that the excursion had been entirely out of our way. But I just laughed to myself. He wanted to know if I wanted to go shopping, having shown me a leaflet (in Thai) which seemed to be for some local supermarket, but I just wanted to get to the place where the boat went from and maybe have a drink as I waited for the boat. In any case I didnÂ’t know to what extent I could hold this man up. Was he my driver for the day or did he have other jobs to go to? There was no way of knowing.
Finally we arrived at the boat, the driver bought me a bottle of water, which was kind of him and I was unsure whether I had to pay him back for it, but he didnÂ’t seem to be making overtures in that direction. Perhaps it was my payment to keep quiet about the masseuses. He left me, with only three and a half hours to go to boarding and I sat on some plastic seats and read my book. I was happy enough to be here and I mainly just want to read on this holiday anyway.
The rain started coming down in torrents, splashing back on me even though I was under cover. I liked it to begin with, but after a couple of hours the noise started to grate. But I was on holiday and though I would liked to have been in my hotel by now, was just pleased that the air was warm and the sights and sounds were fresh.
The crossing went fine, though it was a lot further away than I had imagined (I donÂ’t know why, as I had done no research into where I was heading at all). The rain and mist made it impossible to see much and finally my tiredness was hitting me hard and I nodded off a few times in the second hour of the trip.
Finally we got to Phi Phi, but the people going to my hotel did not get off with the others, as we were staying on a different part of the island. It was another half an hour to get there and I was excited and dismayed to realise that the boat could not take us into land, so we were going to have to disembark in the rain and get on to another smaller boat.
This wasnÂ’t as dangerous as it might have seemed and they gave me a big yellow mac, but as we headed into shore with the rain pouring down on us, huddled together with strangers, I did feel a little like I had been in some maritime disaster and was being rescued, rather than at the start of some paradise holiday on a tropical island.
Once in the shallows the boat could go no further and we then had to wait for a tractor, pulling a trailer that would take us the rest of the way. I was tired, hungry and wet, but still in reasonable spirits.
Finally I was in the hotel restaurant, filling in my registration card, dripping rain and sea-water on to the floor. I had hoped that I might be given a towel, but I was given some icy flannels instead, which would have been nice on a hot day, but were pretty useless to me now. There was at least a drink waiting for me.. “Welcome to Paradise,” said one of the staff, with no apparent trace of irony.
It rained for the rest of the day, but once I had changed out of my wet things and had a couple of beers and a delicious green curry I was not too perturbed by this. Even in the two days of travelling (and it took me almost as long to get from Phuket airport to the hotel as it did to get from Heathrow to Bangkok!) I have relaxed and enjoyed myself. I have lost myself in my book (David Nobbs’ autobiography “I didn’t get where I am today...”) and started to observe things and remember things and want to write them down. And really the holiday hasn’t even begun yet. Hopefully I can fully relax in the next ten nights. I don’t really want to do anything else at all. Even if a ladyboy wanted to suck me off for free I would probably say no. Probably.
