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Dirty money
There are some interesting things to be learned from talking to complete strangers. How many Sandhurst-educated former Gurkhas does one expect to meet in a lifetime, let alone one who played for the UK Armed Forces team against the 1967 All Blacks? Marking Waka Nathan and losing by only 14 points to four in the transitional days when the value of tries had inflated from three points to four, but had not reached the pinnacle of five. We were at The Shack in Fisherman’s Village, Bophut, Samui , billed by Jade as the best restaurant in the world, run by a self-described short, Jewish, ex-pat New Yorker Larry Snyder who has a splendid taste for blues music and even better one in food. Larry is one of those people who visited Samui, en route to Christchurch believe it or not, and never left, a true character who impressed us all night with music we might and did like, such as a version of the Rolling Stones' Honky Tonk Woman by Ronnie Wood and Muddy Waters, and too many drinks we shouldn’t have liked but did. As an example to other children it should be noted that the evening was Jade’s treat, and even though she wanted us to try the Wagu steak, we had become used to paying around $NZ5 each for a meal and couldn’t bring ourselves to let her fork out 1750 Baht or $NZ72 each for a main. The Australian rib eye at a third the price was sufficient, particularly after garlic prawns as a starter.
But back to our former Gurkha, John Birt; he has been in Samui for thirty years and around Asia all his life and we argued all night over almost everything, and it was only at the very end, after Larry had shuttered up the restaurant and put out the milk bottles (always a hint that it’s time to go) that he revealed his rugby playing past. We google-checked him and found him described as well-known on the island and occasionally outspoken. That was a positive so was the report that the company he owns has signed a commitment for the implementation of a code of conduct for the protection of children from sexual exploitation in travel and tourism, which involves an active commitment to the fight against child prostitution and trafficking.
Getting to The Shack revealed much about local transport. There are no Tuk Tuks here or proper buses, public transportation is by songthhaew, canopied red pickup trucks with form benches on the back facing each other. Then there are the yellow and red metered taxis, and the story goes that when the meters were installed (as a result of tourists complaints about erratic charging practices) they were set to Bangkok prices which are ridiculously cheap and so the drivers refused to turn on their meters. Agreement was eventually reached that there would be a 90 Baht flagfall charge meaning that drivers could earn a reasonable living. Our experience, however, was that it was just the same as Phuket, a price agreed through the good, old-fashioned art of haggling.
Usually taxis do not attract much attention, but the arrival of one at our hotel from Pattaya did so, particularly when three Middle Eastern men got out clutching briefcases. Pattaya is 550 kilometers away as the crow flies but by road it involves a drive around the Gulf of Thailand and a ferry trip, and an estimated minimum 10,000 baht ($NZ400) fare. These men, our breakfast waiter told us in quite an animated fashion were likely to be runners for the mafia, here to wash the money. At length he described the laundering process and the hotels owned by the Mafia for such purpose but we decided not to verify the accuracy of his account with the men involved. Like good voyeurs, however, we watched them as they went about their business over the next couple of days.
It may be that airports are not a riveting topic, but this visit to Samui would not be complete without a better description of the facility than in earlier comment. Set among lush tropical gardens, the arrival and departure lounges are all open plan, our departure point like a hotel lobby with cane seats, settees and coffee tables, televisions, free Wi-Fi, newspapers and a courtesy corner with fruit juices and savories. To get to departures from the check in area requires a walk down a beautiful tree-lined boulevard for about 500 metres with shops and restaurants. Once through a very relaxed security gate there is another walk through gardens, past lily ponds and a few more shops. We read that Bangkok Airways built the facility after the government or local authorities refused to come to the party, and it is a credit to them. Having visited and grown sick of more airports than we care to remember in the last year, our unshakable conclusion is that this is, without a shadow of a doubt, the best airport we have been in, so good that the island’s local jazz festival was held there recently. Perhaps we might just stay there on our next visit.
It was our practice early on in our journey to try and master a few phrases in the local language, but after about Hungary it all became too much and we gave up. Not so in Thailand, armed with Kaelene’s birthday gift to Marty, a book and CD phrase guide, we’ve learned some very elementary stuff, and so it was a boost to Marty’s ego to be told that he speaks Thai with an accent rather than that his attempts were completely unntelligible.