Phuket

N7.81637 E98.30264 Chooporn House

Paul writes:

Before we can leave in the morning we have to pay, before we can pay we have to go to the cash point, before we can go to the cash point we have to go on-line to see if we have any money left in the joint account following the accumulated luxury hotels and the Island trip the previous day. There is enough but we need to tighten our belts somewhat for the second half of the 4 week tour. By the time we have settled our room bill at the Youth Club the sun is fully out and just putting the luggage back on the bike brings me out in a sweat.

A small hawker stall along side of the road has a few fruits and a water melon is my desire. As it is too hot to bother to take our helmets off, I cannot see Abi’s expression as the young girl slices into the melon with a knife she kept under a dirty cloth, while the melon is placed on a rusty tray, but later Abi gamely eats a few pieces without raising an issue. (Abi: the contrast with watching one of the Medsye crew members prepare water melon yesterday to refresh the snorkelers on their return couldn’t have been more of a contrast. He had hosed down the knife and chopping board, followed by opening a carton of drinking water to sluice over as well, followed by another to pour over his hands before commencing skinning A further carton of drinking water was then poured over the halved melon and his hands before slicing. He then cut four decorative grooves in each half before segmenting and slicing.) The water melon is good but we call at a 7-11 store a few kilometres later to buy water and a cold Nestle Milo, a chocolate flavoured milk-shake, which has recently become our morning treat.

We are quickly onto Phuket Island via a short bridge. The island is apparently the largest of Thailand’s numerous islands and seems to be a well developed tourist destination with numerous beaches and lots of hotels and resorts. The whole west side of the island was hit by the 2004 tsunami but there is little evidence apart from a few road signs indicating the way to the evacuation points, which are simply the nearest hills. (Abi: worryingly we had read Peter Hendricks’ report on his trip which said the Thai government were no longer funding the early warning system, so we put this to the back of our minds.)

The 2009 Phuket bike show week is on the Friday, Saturday and Sunday of this week and I had hoped as it was called the Phuket bike show week and not the Phuket bike show weekend we would see some evidence of it. Instead as we rode into Patong Beach, the location of the show, there is only a somewhat seedy and highly commercialised seaside resort. This resort could be anywhere in the world if it was not for the posters advertising the lady-boy and transvestite shows. So we only stop for lunch and a photo on the beach before heading to the south of the Island, to a beach recommended by a biker at the nearby lunchtime table and to the Laem Thom Thep sunset point, as recommended by Abi’s Malaysian contact Teen Teen.

The road across the island took us up and over various hills, some quite steep but nothing Vafa could not easily handle. Strangely halfway up one hill a local young couple have parked their scooter and are laid on the pavement playing the children’s Connect 4 game. There were endless tourists riding mopeds and one couple are going so slow around a perfectly cambered motorbike-idyllic corner that I cannot resist leaning Vafa over and closely overtake them, while winding on the speed to show them how it should be done.

There are still a few rubber plantations on the island and as the process of obtaining such a pure flexible stretchy substance from a rough rigid item like a tree intrigues me, when we came up on a sign saying ’rubber tapping demonstration’ in one more remote valley I pull off the road to investigate. From the small family run shop alongside the sign a young man appears. His English is limited but he is friendly and he takes us around the back to perform the demonstration. (Abi: I was immediately putt off when he said the tapper wore Wellington boots to protect himself from the snakes - yikes!) He gently and delicately, as if not to hurt the tree, carefully slices a sliver of bark away from the tree. I marvel as the pure white latex sap begins to run instantly as if it is white blood, flowing along the cut into a small bowl. We learn the sap will run for a couple of hours before it is collected and mixed with amino acid and water and left to coagulated overnight. Our demonstrator winds a previously coagulated mix through two sets of hand rollers to create a mat of white springy stretchy rubber. This is then normally sun-dried before being sold for around 90 pence a kilogram. It was a small personal demonstration but we are happy to pay as it seems the family are living as much off the demonstration as they are from the shop and the rubber plantation itself. One of the items in the shop are boxes of man-made butterflies, created by gently and painstakingly brushing bleach onto the leaf from a rubber tree for a month, to turn it see through, showing the leaf’s membrane, which is then painted with patterns to form the butterfly’s wings.

The Laem Prom Thep sunset view point car-park at the southern part of Phuket Island was already filling up as we arrive, even through we are more than two hours prior to the sunset, having failed to find the Nui Beach we were looking for. But as we are both tired from the heat we decide to slowly explore the viewpoint and wait for the sunset at a local cafe. After two hours, in which again we try to catch up on our dairy notes on the laptop, it is 6.36pm and sunset time, but a cloud blocks the real effect so with the mozzies beginning to attack Abi again (Abi: Paul’s enjoying me being around because I act as a good decoy to protect him!), the noise of the crickets was astounding (earlier in the day I had thought there was a problem with the bike for they were clearly noticeable over the sound of the engine), we go search out somewhere to sleep.

Stopping at a phone box to use its light to view the Thaiways little hand book about the area we had, a local rides up on a moped and parks between us and the ’phone box’. He proceeds to put cash into the front of it before removing a small hose and inserting that into his fuel tank, for it is not a phone box but a booth that distributes petrol. After asking where we are heading he beckons us to follow him to get the right road again with a helpful genuine smile.

As is usual, Abi guards the bike in the centre of the town we stop in, Kata, while I examine the available rooms in the hotels. (Abi: I really appreciate Paul doing all the hotel enquiries, I think I’d find it too difficult to walk away from the good ones and too much of a culture shock to go in the cheap ones.) As we aimed to stay a few days a clean room with air-conditioning and hot water is the target. After some false leads we move into a room in Chooporn House for 800 Baht (£16/night) with free Wifi but not endless Chinese call girls as the name suggested to me.

Abi writes

I awoke at 6:15am (ish) to feel like I’d got a fever, Dr Paul (as I’ve started to call Paul due to his many applications of tea tree oil to the bites on my back) took out his digital thermometer and the reading of the air temperature in our room was 33 degrees, no wonder I was hot. Relieved to find my temperature was 36.7 and perfectly normal after my collapsing into bed the night before, good for nothing, leaving Paul to do the washing, trip to 7-Eleven, diary notes, caption the day’s pics etc. The overwhelming tiredness had come on so suddenly on check-in that if I didn’t know better I’d have thought I’d been drugged. As it turned out it was dehydration exhaustion, I’d gone to the loo at our mid morning stop but not again all day.

Revived by turning on the aircon and drinking the chocolate Milo Paul had bought the night before I started to feel much better, in spite of the 40 bite count Paul had made on me. Paul was starting to play catch-up, I counted 14 on him. Even though we’d been using incognito ’natural anti-mozzie camouflage for exotic urban safaris and wilder journeys beyond’ as used by Charlie Boorman. Also topped up with Boots 50% deet repellent on feet and ankles.

We went for a wander into Kata to get our bearings in the daylight and find a laundry for a few garments that were by now beyond hand wash help. We noticed a few stalls laid out in front of shops with water and refreshments as though they were expecting marathon racers to come through, however, we found it was for monks to pick up and then dump into a pick-up truck, for the Kata peoples’ generosity was more than they could physically carry. In fact even the vehicle’s suspension looked to be groaning under the weight as it overflowed the pick-up.

We decided to return to the hotel for breakfast after successfully finding a laundry open that could return cleaned clothes at 6pm same day. Appetites satisfied we went for a walk to explore the beach, a local helpful shopkeeper pointing us in the direction of a quick short cut after spotting us stopping to consult the map. Half way along the beach I spied a no swimming sign and further along another sign explaining a steep ledge and that even the most strongest swimmers could be swept out to sea here and so my desire to return to the sea was lost.

The heat of the late morning sun was by now building and so we started to head back to our accommodation via an alternative route and we came across the Kata Spa, one of the places from our morning’s research that looked good for a traditional Thai massage, particularly as they had a school attached. When I had been in Thailand in 2003 this is something I’d treated myself to and felt it was essential for Paul to experience too as part of this trip. I didn’t want Paul to go to one of the profuse collection of massage shop in town randomly picking one as a) they all had couches and for an authentic Thai massage the therapist works with you on the floor and b) my body had been put into positions it didn’t know it could get into (at times it was painful but afterwards my posture had been best ever feeling taller and straighter) and so I didn’t want an amateur to massage Paul and cause injury jeopardising his View From The Saddle Trip.

We stop to enquire price and find 400 Baht for 1 hour, which was 150 Baht (roughly £3) more expensive than we’d seen elsewhere and 100 Baht more than Paul’s budget, however, I persuaded him to go for it as they could also supply an English speaking girl so if she caused pain/discomfort he could communicate with her, forgetting he plays the brave boy or at least he did in A&E after the deer accident last spring.

A short wait was required to call this masseur into work, which was welcome as in the shade with fan above the seating.. Paul had stipulated I must be present to take pictures! Soon after a pretty young Thai girl arrives to escort us to the room, I am delighted to find it is reminiscent of where I’d attended, a small room with 3 mattresses on the floor covered in silk sheets, with curtain screens to pull round each mattress creating a private booth, however, as we are the only clients the curtains are swagged over the rails making it light open and airy.

(Paul: I laid first on my front, in the t-shirt and shorts I was wearing, as the masseur instructed and she worked from my feet upwards. Having no real idea how I was being massaged I asked Abi to take photos, she takes a one or two but as she knows what is coming up later and some of the positions I will be put through does not initially take as many as I would have liked telling me to relax instead. Even the masseur points out to Abi my tense leg muscles as she also tries to get me to relax even though I am thinking I am relaxed. At some points the masseur uses the points of her elbows, sometimes she hits me, sometimes she needles her thumb into my soft flesh, sometimes she used her feet to hold me down while she pulled a limb this way or that way and sometimes it was her fist rocking across my muscles. At one point she is kneeling on my thighs slowing working her way up them before grabbing my arms and pulling me back a few times, which causes all my weight to fall up on my manhood and the rocking sensation begins to take effect, next thing I know I am being turned over and then a towel is thrown across my shorts to hide any signs before she looks me in the eye to check I am ok and then begins her punishment again. The whole massage was without oil and apart from the fact she said she could break my leg if she wanted was delightful in a sort of painful way and I felt wonderful after, commenting to Abi when I am super-rich I will have one of those everyday, though I did not specify whether I was referring to the Thai massage or the Thai girl.)

We walk back across the maze of Kata necessitating several map checks and rechecks, stopping only for water and fruit purchase from market, before resting and writing up diary notes - again!

Another tourist thing I’d done in Thailand before was to visit the Lady Boy Show in Pattaya and Paul was happy to go and see a Lady Boy Show in Patong, as the couple we’d met at lunch in Similan had said how it’s very much part of Thai culture, homosexuals are frowned upon, women are respected but Lady Boys are seen as people to be revered for having made the ultimate sacrifice. The Simon Cabaret leaflet claims ’she is more of a man than you will ever be and even more of a woman.’ Regardless the cabaret/musical element should be enjoyable and so Paul asked the hotel reception to book us two tickets for that evening’s early performance.

On our way into Patong to collect the tickets there is still a light rain requiring us to put on our waterproofs. The puddle outside Simon was vast and muddy but Paul got Vafa to negotiate it and the traffic brilliantly. We were allowed to pull up right outside the door and a member of staff escorted me to collect the tickets from the reception and I note it is the most glamorous building visited so far this trip with a sparkly purple and silver theme.

We soon after found a bargain restaurant for egg fried rice and veg and returned to find ourselves the first in the auditorium with centre front seats in the circle.

(Paul: not knowing what to expect I am initially disappointed as the first dancers on stage are men. Later Abi explains this is to make the lady-boys seem more female. They hardly needed to have bothered for some of the lady-boys where astoundingly beautiful with slim shapely bodies many women would die for as they danced and posed with the air and grace of many a fine woman. I gave up trying to stare at their Adam’s apple (apparently even this can be removed) or to see if their index finger was shorter than their ring finger instead I marvelled at the high-cheek bones, full breasts, tight waists, shapely hips and long legs. As all the singing was lipped sync’ed the effect was not even broken in this manner. Like real women there was a variation with a few being pretty ugly or flat chested and not all of the dance costumes revealed the lumpiness, or lack of, in the lower regions, suggesting not all had had the operation. However one dancer really struck me as being amazingly beautiful and it was hard not to take my eyes of her/his/it’s face. Many others in the audience were likewise amazed I found, as after the show the dancers all lined up out in the roadway touting for people to take their photographs with the dancers and this ladyboy’s hands were hardly large enough to hold the rolls of cash for so many people queued to have their photograph taken with her for 20 Baht. Some of the other dancers doing little or no business in comparison, one even crying. Only when they opened their mouths to call people over for a photo did the effect slip and one realized it was a man in a woman’s body. I looked hard at the pretty one wanting to see the mask that she could remove to become a he at the end of the night when he/she needed to go home but it was not there, this boy was simply born with a beautiful face. Unfortunately we had left the camera behind so I could not get the photo a big shame as the dancers were all lined up in front of Vafa as well.)

Abi writes

Once again we’re up and out early to avoid the hottest and wettest parts of the day. Soon after we reach the outskirts of Kata, Paul spies a French bakery and so we pull over for petit déjeuner and indulge in a cup of the best coffee all trip with freshly baked baguette - fromage et jambon avec du salade - très formidable!

Stomachs set up for adventure we rode up to the Big Buddha of Phuket and as soon as we’re riding into the car-park Paul comes onto the intercom to tell me ’Any temple that has designated motorcycle parking in the shade gets my vote.’ We wander through a tin hut, which is acting as the visitor centre/project appeal centre/dining room/temple all-in-one, before climbing the steps to get to the base of the Buddha. As we did so the wind got up making the wind chime bells greet us, the sound so lovely I asked Paul to record so I could play it to Dad on my return. After taking a few photos to show the scale of the Buddha we head inside the shell of the new temple which looks more like a concrete multi storey car park/shopping centre in the making. I waited below while Paul climbed the stairs into the darkness to get a better look and he took pictures of the stairs as he was impressed by how they cope with the gradient. On our way back through the tin hut we sign the visitors book and make a small donation, before a friendly monk’s assistant approaches us who we learn was there to facilitate English and Russian speaking visitors experience of the project. When we used the words sculpture and sculptor that he’s not heard before he writes them on his hand to learn which is very touching. We learned he used to sing Ozzie Osbourne songs in Patong before this role - quiet a contrast! Before leaving he gives us a book ’the seven practices for a healthy mind’ by the Venerable Ajaahn Mitsuo Gavesako written in English. (Paul: It was interesting to meet the friendly monk’s assistant but I found the Big Buddha project to just be a money raising scheme. With many requests for donations to fund it and once complete it will be a major way to attract the tourist dollar.)

On the way back down the hill we stop for photos to send to Paul’s sponsors of him wearing his latest Tunaday T-Shirt and Crocodile socks, with Vafa and the Big Buddha in view, however, the sun was so bright by now I couldn’t see the digital camera screen well and so took multiple shots in the hope at least one of them would come out (Paul: unfortunately none were suitable so we ditched them all).

Our next stop was Chalong Temple and the polished orange roof tiles glistening in the sun with their mosaic-encrusted pillars, rich marble pediments and colourful murals being more reminiscent of the style of Wats I’d visited in Bangkok. The staircase banister was a serpentine’s body painted in the most brightly glitter emerald green. I spot a tour guide and establish he is English speaking so try to listen in to learn more, all I glean before his speech ends is that the drum will be hit by the monk at 11am to signal their lunch and that they will only drink for the rest of the day.

All of a sudden we hear fire crackers being lit across the grounds the noise magnified by a brick chimney they were lit in. As we later walk passed to access another temple building a dog exit’s the chimney with sores on its back and it isn’t clear if they were caused by neglect or the fire crackers. Throughout our visit the fire crackers are periodically set off, unsure if this is funded by visitor donations for the purpose or not. There is so much debris that a person is employed to sweep it up after each explosion.

We found a bench to rest a while in the shade and eat pineapple and drink fresh coconut juice, another fire cracker explosion leaves acrid smoke billowing in our direction which becomes clear as to why a bench in the shade was available. Holding our breath we gather our possessions and walk away presto.

Our final sightseeing target of the morning was a wander around the sea gypsy area on the south coast. Many stalls were selling wind chimes, fly screens and jewellery made from sea shells. Paul asked a stall holder for directions and the next thing we’re watching fish entrails being emptied by the bag full and weighed, before finding ourselves in a slum cum shanty town. I follow behind Paul and the mozzie swarm escort feeling too uncomfortable to take pictures of their below poverty line dwellings, many are sat on their make shift porches in the shade eating, but at no time did I feel threatened. Just uncomfortable as Paul pointed out the labyrinth maze meant we were unlikely to find the same way out again. No sooner had he said this than we found ourselves back on the main road next to a stall selling live lobsters packed tightly together in aerated baby baths.

We returned to the hotel to rest and do more diary work as I started sneezing and snivelling. At the stop Paul asked me to take a picture of a tethered roadside elephant before I could do this I had to wedge a tissue in my helmet, there’s nothing worse than having a cold and wearing a full face helmet. The diary work takes all afternoon until dinner at 8pm, except for a brief trip to 7-eleven for Paul to kindly go and stock up on a supply of soft tissues for me as by now a runny nose had developed.

Feeling no energy for a walk into town we decided to eat dinner at the hotel. I thought my body could do with some zinc to help fight the cold even though I had no appetite and so elected for stir fried noodles and prawns, but when my plate arrives I cannot see the prawns, only the teeniest weaniest shrimps a couple of mm long, with eyes the size of cracked peppercorns completely mixed in with the noodles. My first reaction is to push the plate away and verbalise the thought I can’t eat it with millions of eyes looking at me. After Paul offered to reorder and after clarifying we’d ordered a dish for him without prawns and one for me with prawns yet they both looked the same, I attempted to pick my way through it, with Paul distracting me from what I was doing by reading about the Tsunami and by encouraging me. Paul’s preferred method was to just get it down as quickly as possible eyes and all. Two hours later when my mission was complete, that is to say all bean sprouts, spring onion, egg, noodles eaten and all crustaceans left on my plate I thought this is what love is - waiting patiently and encouraging your fiancée to eat something she’d ordered when she could’ve reordered or took your own approach.

Abi writes

I awoke 3am ish in the night feeling full blown cold arrived and had trouble getting back off to sleep. On getting up I also had diarrhoea and my period so all the energy I could muster was used on getting to breakfast in the hotel, whilst doing diary notes to get Paul’s subscription email out. This was interrupted by a second trip to the loo and so I suggested to Paul he went to see the waterfall and the Gibbons alone so I could stay put and rest to gather energy for opening night of bike week tomorrow and to allow us to get used to not being together all the time again. As Paul’s biker trousers were in the laundry across the street, my staying put also enabled him to road test my REV ’IT Gear.

I got back to the room and lay down and within seconds a mozzie set about its mission to ensure I couldn’t sleep.

Paul writes:

The Gibbon Rehabilitation Project (http://www.gibbonproject.org) was established in 1992 to both bring gibbon’s back to their native forests and to rescue ones that had been used as pets or tourist photo opportunities. So I decided to ride across the island and visit it.

With Vafa low on fuel I pull up at a real roadside petrol shack, basically 4 barrels of fuel and a hand pump operated by a Thai girl. Keen to get the photograph I do not pay a great deal of attention but a few miles down the, delightful but too busy, road, I find I have been ripped off as the low fuel light comes on. Determined not to be ripped of again I limp on until I find a bigger garage on one of the main highways. It is a Shell garage and the 95 octane fuel looks attractive rather than the usual 91 that is only available - this I learn later was a bad mistake.

The Gibbon Rehab project is exactly what I wanted to find, a true rehab centre with emphasis on the gibbon’s welfare and health rather making it easy for the visitors to see them - the aim being to get the gibbons used to other gibbons and to be afraid of humans. Though some of the gibbons have been so badly treated they can never be released and so are viewable. These animals are very agile as they swing about in their cages with sometimes a friendly arm extending from one gibbon to another to help it.

Having left a small donation for the Gibbon Project I wander further into the forest to a waterfall. Where local lads are jumping into the pool at the fall and further down the river a local girl is washing her hair. Though it is a shame she is using shampoo to pollute the river.

Abi writes

Paul returned for lunch in the hotel , with his usual jammy timing of 2mins before the daily downpour, and rest in the afternoon, before walking to the Post Office early evening. When Paul got back fancying a steak we walked up the street to the hotel we’d stopped at on arriving in Kata as he’d noticed a steak buffet advertised, however, was rejected on price by him and on appearance by me.

Across the street I spied Horn Grill Steak House and Paul once again shied away on price. However, this time I really liked the look of the restaurant and was more than happy with the price, however, I had no appetite and yet persuaded him to dine. We ’argued’ about wine for Paul to relent and allow me to treat him to find on placing the order it was free offer that night anyway!

Paul writes:

The Australian steak was done to perfection and a real, if expensive, treat. At one point the waitress brought rolled up serviettes to the table, handing them out with tongs. Based on my UK experience I assumed these would be hot instead they were cold, as if from a fridge, and were most refreshing in the warm humid Phuket night air.

Abi writes

We had our own breakfast in the room followed by a movie based on the Beatles and so for a change didn’t get moving until mid-morning and then only for a drink/internet catch-up to restore my energy from effort of getting up. However, it didn’t restore to the level it should have done so once again I make the difficult if sensible decision to stay put at the hotel and not go to Patong for the first day’s events of Phuket Bike Week. Paul left me just 3 simple tasks to fetch water, cash and his laundry.

I read the Malaysia Insight Guide again and the Big Buddha book to while away the rest of the morning before having lunch at the hotel and another internet session, where I decided to log onto my work email account to delete any rubbish emails. I was quite pleased to reduce the 8 pages worth down to 2, but didn’t read any that looked important as I still wanted to maintain the holiday mode. It wasn’t until I did this I realised how much I’ve missed using my mind. The challenges rather than intellectual have been more tiresome but none-the-less important of continually finding water, toilets, food, accommodation etc.

Paul writes:

The website for the Phuket bike show week suggested there would be 400 bikes at an exhibition in one of the malls. Eventually I found the mall and was directed further and further into it until I was parked up outside the main entrance but oddly no other bikes about especially as I was expecting to meet Dale, who we stayed with on the East coast and Kelvin and the gang from KL I had met at the little car show there. The exhibition only has a couple of stalls and maybe 20 bikes on display and I considered riding Vafa in just to give them some more to show.

I quickly meet up with Dale and after quite some discussion we meet Kelvin and the rest. Dale tells me Niki’s Handlebar in the town is the biker bar and I should visit it. Kelvin agrees and after 3 or 4 laps of the one way system I arrive at the bar where the others, who walked, have a table already. Kelvin introduces me to Niki, the owner a friendly mid-thirties local bloke dressed in black and leather. His bar is busy with numerous people, the majority in black leather too as it seems to be a Harley bar.

I and a few others who had parked in the roadway are asked to move our bikes so a marquee can be erected in preparation for a band and buffet later in the evening. I go to start Vafa and fires up but then dies, this instantly strikes me as odd as she is most reliable. Eventually fired up I find there is no power and struggle to move her the 5 metres I need to. A couple of test starts and it suggests the same problem as when I left her in Dubai for 6 months namely the idle jets have blocked up. A quick chat with the others and I learn that the local 95 octane fuel is not petrol but ethanol with a 10 % mix of an octane booster plus some cleaning agent in the Shell version.

Luckily Kelvin knew Niki well enough to ask if I can use the workshop, as although I have all the tools I needed, the quiet, clean and air-conditioned workshop was more appealing than stripping the bike down in the full mid-day sun outside in the parking lane. With all the practice I had of removing the carbs in Sharjah the strip down is quick and easy. Taking off the float bowls I found 1 of the 4 idle jets blocked solid and the other 3 partially blocked which is a relief to know I have found the cause. I wondered if the hot nature of the day along with the carbs lying inside the V of the hot V4 motor causes the fuel to evaporate quickly leaving just a deposit to gum up the tiny holes of the idle jets. Inside the inlet tracts there was also a fine red deposit I think caused by the cleaning agent.

With the bike back together and running perfect again and as the afternoon has now gone I decide to ride back to see how Abi is, adding more 91 octane fuel along the way to dilute the bad 95 stuff. The mechanics at Niki’s saying I did not need to remove the 4-5 litres of 95 I had in the tank.

Abi writes:

At 5.30pm I returned to the room and finally relented in turning on the TV and at 6.30 fancied a steak for me, which I thought will help my cold too and so returned to the restaurant we went to the night before. Just as I’ve finished my complimentary salad and am awaiting my steak, grilled veg and sauteed potatoes, something made me look up and I see Paul on Vafa on the pavement scanning the place for me and I wave. Paul has some hassle finding somewhere to Park Vafa and for a moment I think he didn’t see me. Paul told me we’d been invited to Niki’s Handlebar for a buffet and although too late for me to accept he would wait and not order anything. I wonder what the waitresses thought with me watching Paul eat last night and now him watching me eat tonight?!

As I walked back to the hotel and Paul passed me on Vafa I could hear she didn’t sound right, Paul confirmed my suspicion by suspecting the fuel had clogged up again and went into his quiet but stressed mode. This kicks my adrenaline into gear giving me a new lease of life and so I dash to reception to get a map with directions for the nearest big petrol station, in the hope they’ll have ability to siphon the bad gasoline off and enable us to fill Vafa up with decent rated fuel.. Mission accomplished but with only 15 minutes before the station may close we dash about collecting the massive drinking water carrier as we left, should this be needed for us to drain the fuel into.

The directions easily followed we arrived to find the Petronas fuel station open and managed to make the female attendant understand we want fuel taken out before put in. She signalled us to another area of the forecourt where she produced a tube connected with another with a squeeze-able section to siphon into our water carrier. Progress had just got underway when two male attendants appear and interfere causing the petrol to spray everywhere but mainly drenching the lady’s arms, however, she continues on. Paul signals for her to go and wash herself whilst he takes over and the guys disappear. Once done the lady indicates to Paul to move Vafa to where she’d washed herself so she could wash Vafa too to remove the splashes she’d received in the process. Once refuelled there was no additional charge and so we gave her a tip to say thanks.

Panic over I was now more concerned about Paul as he hadn’t eaten and the stress of the situation had no doubt caused him to burn his own fuel quicker and so suggested a chocolate bar from the station’s shop to keep him going whilst we rode to get the new fuel to work through Vafa’s system. As we set off to do this I asked Paul that once safe to do so he took me back to the hotel, as the adrenaline subsiding and the heat of the night (for there’d unusually been no rain that afternoon for respite) had finished me off. However, I then spotted a sign for Patong and so ask if Paul minded taking me a ride via the town so I could see the bikes. Once in Patong we were spotted by Dale and KL gang and so went with the flow. I felt awful not shaking their welcoming outstretched hands to return the greeting, however, didn’t want to risk spreading my germs and so Wai’d instead with an explanation. We crossed the street to go to a bar and after a cranberry juice I didn’t feel quite so wilted but still in need of returning at a reasonable hour; so made our leave after one drink only for a quick tour of the beach party before going to Niki’s for the buffet.

At Niki’s I saw the workshop where Paul had spent most of the day and regretted not having been with him to be garage chum chick.

As we left we saw lightening storm and wondered if Paul’s jam had run out, but he had just enough to get us home safe and dry before the storm came and raged all through the night.