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Crime and punishment
If it is reported in New Zealand that Kaelene has been held without charge in the custody of the Royal Thai Police, we can confirm that the story is accurate - although she might claim to be an innocent party. It was perhaps fate that Marty would end up a criminal in a foreign land, but it has happened, and it could have all ended in the Bangkok Hilton, had an early guilty plea not been entered. Against the advice of all good tourist guides we hired two wheels and an engine resembling a motorcycle and for a day we wobbled around incident-free exploring Patong and nearby places, Kaelene looking the part in blue bandanna resembling a Black Power prospect or Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler. Deciding to return the bike to end the hire an unfortunate incident happened; we ran out of petrol. After walking some distance to purchase a bottle of gasoline and get the bike restarted, we circled back around the block to return the empty bottle. And that was it; the police had set up a checkpoint intended to deprive errant tourists of revenue; for Mr Martin (as the records now describe him) the indignity of being caught driving without carrying a license. This necessitated holding Kaelene at the checkpoint while Marty went off to find the police station and join a queue of other wayward tourists to be lightened of a 300 baht fine. During her time in confinement Kaelene observed that police courtesy reciprocated the attitude of the apprehended felon. One who argued had his bike immobilized and made to walk in the heat to the police station some four kilometers away. As for us, lesson learned; drivers’ licenses will be packed in future.
The rainy season has arrived early and Phuket is emptying of tourists. We have moved from the salubrious Merlin Beach Resort to the more modest Duangjitt Resort and Spa, a 400 room complex set in expansive grounds in Patong. It is an odd experience as hotels empty and wings are closed, as if in preparation for a recreation of Stephen King’s horror story The Shining, set in an isolated and inescapable North American hotel locked up for the winter. The tattooed Australian bogans and English soccer yobs have almost all gone, those who remain predominantly Eastern European, gay men and us. Last night, there were more geckos in the dining room than people.
Our room is on the second level of a remote wing of the hotel, with floor to ceiling windows and French doors out onto a balcony overlooking lawns and gardens. Such is the privacy that we don’t pull the curtains at night and wake each morning to a view of coconut palms and, beyond them, jungle covered hills. The grounds are beautifully kept, with lily ponds and border gardens; there are three big swimming pools, massage and beauty treatment areas and a fitness centre for the keen.
Rainy season means that the days are indispersed with tropical storms. In cyclical fashion, the searing sun succumbs to billowing clouds which empty their contents in torrential downpours, following which the sun returns, sweltering and humid. The rain is often accompanied by gusts of wind which create havoc for market-stall holders and open air restaurants alike. Such was the case on the Monday night after the wedding when all remaining guests gathered for a final meal together. Late in the evening the wind and rain came with such intensity that almost the whole restaurant was drenched and we had to huddle in a small corner for shelter, and another nightcap while we waited for the rain to subside sufficiently for the dash home.
Being in Patong means we are closer to the shops, and our bartering meets with mixed results. The Prada and Rayban sunglasses we haggled down from 500 Baht to 250 ($NZ12) a pair at the markets turned out to be on sale for the fixed price of 200 baht at the shopping mall, and a hat bartered down from 600 Baht to 220 was on sale at the Chalong Temple market for 120 Baht. Nevertheless, these purchases are still inexpensive; Kaelene brought sarongs for 150 Baht apiece, Marty LaCoste shirts for 250 each and Kaelene, new release movies for 60 Baht. Copy goods are everywhere and, after a pair of Marty’s shorts went missing in the laundry, we expect to see the markets full of Kathmandu three-quarter shorts before the week is out. Maybe we will even be able to buy the missing trousers back.