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Beware the tout
We have learned, much to our good fortune, that we are neither psychopaths nor sociopaths, but good, honest, and mostly law abiding people. Such knowledge was acquired watching the Larry King Live show on CNN, the determining factor being that psychopaths and sociopaths have under-active sweat glands. These felons simply don’t sweat, no matter what and that’s what makes them look so claim and collected under pressure. This is not us. At first Marty thought he was having menopausal flushes, but it is just the temperature here. A short walk to the shops and our clothes are literally stained with perspiration, within minutes of lying by the pool, rivulets of sweat trickle down bodies, in Kaelene’s case collecting in the small of her back like a salty Aswan Dam. It may be uncomfortable, but we are secure in the knowledge that our souls are pure.
Between the heat of the day and occasional cloudburst we are managing a little sightseeing, but just in little bits. Kamala and Surin beaches to the north, Karon and Kata to the south and, beyond them, fabulous viewpoints looking back north. At the southernmost tip of the Island, Promthep Cape which apparently provides spectacular views of the setting sun; the pity for us was that we were there in the morning. On the West Coast, Rawai beach, Chalong Bay and the sacred Buddhist temple, Wat Chalong.
One of the pitfalls of organised tours is that the actual sightseeing is often at a bare minimum, while trips to commercial enterprises assume a greater significance. So, we hurried past the beaches, ignored the 20 metre high white Buddha under construction atop a hill somewhere along the way and dismissed Phuket town as of little interest to tourists, despite its Sino-Portugese architecture, locals’ markets and some fine restaurants. Apparently a number of movies about the Vietnam War have been filmed in Phuket because of the architectural similarity to that country, but the details were something we were not to be bothered with. What we do know lots about, however, is how cashew nuts are grown, harvested, dried, shelled, juiced, cooked, salted, dipped n honey, chocolate, chili and garlic, and then sold to tour groups at the Sri Bhurapa Orchid Cashew Factory. Same too the gem factory where, after complimentary drinks and a short film about mining jewels and stones, and an even shorter trip through the factory, there is a showroom the size of a football stadium and, it seems, a guide to escort every individual past lines of display cases, every piece a bargain and with prices discounted just for you, madame.
The tour company provides a solemn warning to beware of touts, those who take you to unexpected or unintended shopping destinations with high prices, shoddy goods and backhanders. The irony is completely lost; trust only us the tour company advises.
There remains much to be done and seen here (the cigarette-smoking monkeys are yet to be sighted and there are elephants to ride), but the lure of the pool and beach is too great at this stage. Perhaps when left with only a few days remaining, we will think of everything we should have done and plan to accomplish just some of them. That’s the beauty of unfulfilled plans; it provides a reason to return.