Troubles in paradise...
Trip Start
Jan 16, 2012
1
54
92
Trip End
Jan 01, 2014
Pattaya, Thailand
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Firstly, for the narrative. On Saturday Shelley and I headed into central Pattaya for the first step in the re-branding of young Nicholas. So it was that I found myself sat in the comfortable chair in a small office at Rinrada cosmetic surgery clinic on Second Road in Pattaya. As a lady boy comforted me, the kindly female doctor in her immaculate white lab coat pierced my forehead about 12 times with a needle, each time gently introducing a small amount of botox into my hitherto furrowed brow. I realise it is very non-Hollywood to talk of such procedures but - as I am far from the world of celebrity - am happy to reveal that I now have a forehead incapable of releasing sweat or from expressing any emotion save for indifference. The drug only takes full effect 96 hours post procedure - on the fourth day God created apathy? Actually this is not entirely true, as there are still deep creases in my forehead - the product of seven years of practising (an amusing concept) and two years of studying law - which I am assured will disappear when I have my treatment topped up in two weeks. I guess that as well as
regressing mentally, I may as well physically appear like I am returning towards the womb. Anyway, I can only blame the influence of Pattaya and it’s countless lady boys, walking advertisements for the miraculous powers of non-surgical, and surgical, procedures, for leading me down this one way path to shallow physical improvement…
We returned to Luton Town Village on Saturday evening for a barbeque on Shelley’s parents’ veranda which ended up being attended by most of the curious residents of this small community. A Thai barbeque is a slightly more involved process than the UK affair of under cooked sausages and burgers and involved hot coals being placed under a conical metal dish which sits in a large flat metal bowl. Any meat/fish is cooked on the steep sides of the cone, whilst the surrounding “moat” is filled with soup, noodles and vegetables. It was all very delicious but the more interesting part was learning more about some of these people into whose soap opera worthy lives we have stumbled as temporary extras…
The fairly loathsome Brit/Thai couple next door have been replaced by a much more ‘normal’ couple, Again, the man is a Brit - a Geordie who works out here in engineering - and his Thai wife. Normality here is a relative concept - as it is anywhere in the world - and I have never previously met a Geordie who can only handle three beers and who goes to bed at 7pm every night but he is a good bloke. His Thai wife works in the local laundry and the obvious attraction of securing a falang husband is clear when one considers that she earns a mere 20 pounds for a 40 hour working week, whereas the average falang sponsorship of a full-time Thai partner is between 300 and 500 pounds per month (based on my knowledge). Taking full advantage of misplaced Western benevolence is Marissa, who still occupies the house opposite ours, despite the fact that her UK partner, Stavros, went home nearly two months ago. When we left on our mini-odyssey, Stavros had finally seen sense after 13 years of handing money over hand over fist to a Thai lady who is somewhat past her sell by date and in relation to whom there are numerous reports of affairs, with both men and women, in his absence. However, reconciliation had apparently been made the day before Stav returned to the UK and Marissa is now seemingly using the house as a hostel for her extended family and lovers. A small gathering was in full swing on Saturday night (including a runaway from the Thai military apparently) but Marissa and her twin brother Gong (ridiculously camp) graced us with their inebriated presence about halfway through proceedings. They did have some interesting (and some non-sensical) tales to tell during their stay, one of which is that Thai twins are considered bad luck and typically separated at birth. As a result, Marissa and Gong had been so separated and were only reunited when a “wedding ceremony” was arranged when they were both six years old, meaning they could return to their family. All very fascinating. Sadly, my affection for Marissa’s wackiness has long since been exhausted and I simply feel sorry for Stavros as she will surely clean out his life savings over the next few years before moving onto the next unsuspecting victim…
Making up our pantomime cast were Bristolians Mark (of whom I have written before - Dick Dastardly) and his friend, Bob, who it transpires owns one of the houses on the estate and who could be an extra in almost any elf-related movie/panto without recourse to any special effects or make-up. He is a diminutive chap with ears worthy of Noddy/the FA Cup, rosy red cheeks and a sick wispy moustache (must be a West country thing, as Mark also boasts a ‘tache). They cut a remarkable double act and were the main protagonists in the tale I have previously related which ended with two prostitutes fleeing Luton Town village for the refuge of trees (which they climbed for “safety”). Astonishingly it turns out that an unfortunate Thai allowed Bob - a dealer in second hand goods, favourite item manikin heads - to impregnate her just under seven years ago (it was his child’s sixth birthday the day before we met) and, more unfortunate still, his offspring had inherited his unmistakable ears. All in all a very entertaining evening…
Sunday - Shelley’s mum and dad’s penultimate in Thailand (or so we thought) - started out with perfect sunshine and tranquillity and we all enjoyed the best of Thailand’s weather until around 3pm. It was at this point that a call from Shelley’s sister-in-law, Sue, prompted chaos to be unleashed. Shelley’s mum and dad had made an error with dates and it turned out that they needed to be in Bangkok later that night - rather than the following as they had understood - for their homebound flights. Six hours of running around and goodbyes, which would have dazed a headless chicken, followed before we waved goodbye - with some tears - to the senior Burtons at 9pm. This flustered conclusion to their stay should have come as no surprise to neither Garry nor Davina, as it is an annual event and we learnt for the first time that the biggest miscalculation resulted in them arriving for their flight 12 hours EARLY one year. Such is the nature of these loveable but crazy people that the obvious solution was to return to Pattaya and spend the night at a friend’s bar, rather than seeking accommodation in Bangkok. Truly remarkable.
Now for the violin segment…
Shelley and I spent a quiet first day alone in paradise, soaking up the sun, reading and swimming - the life of a retired gangster in Spain (ignoring the reading). Yesterday we ventured out on the scooter - to nearby fishing village Ban Saray, with its beautiful and almost deserted beach. As is usual in Thailand, one must accept a small pack of mangy, wild dogs as company on any beach, and the sea was also dirty enough for Blackpool et al to look down on its cleanliness. In stark contrast to Blackpool however, the sea water was bath water warm and I had to smile at the man such a life has made me become that I can pass judgment on the sea - it probably stems from the fact that my biggest challenge everyday is deciding when, and what, to eat. On our return to the village, I had an interesting question of etiquette, in relation to which one will not find guidance to in any publication. Playing pool by the swimming pool in our compound was Mark (see above) and his feamle companion (cost = 10 pounds per day). In such a scenario, it is difficult to know whether (1) to be open and affable or (2) to feign blindness and only to speak if spoken to (I’m sure other options also exist). I opted for (2) and the recently acquainted lovers soon disappeared into his poolside home…
The weather today was, as usual, within the 40’s (centigrade obviously) and it was the first time I felt any nostalgia for the feel of cool rain on my skin (especially as I had been slightly burnt - very British - on the beach the previous day). I soon pulled myself together and reminded myself of ex-pat clowns I have met in beautiful foreign climes bemoaning the “lack of seasons”. Utter shite - after two days back into the stark reality of a British winter (or summer, for that matter), such people would soon change their tiresome tune. In any event, I was soon given my wish of rain. Unfortunately it arrived when we were out on the scooter and was so sudden and ferocious that it very nearly took us clean off the bike (despite my expertise on the machine).
The need for violins above was an ironic one, and I do truly appreciate every day here in paradise, even if my face is slowly losing the ability to reflect such (or any) emotion…
