Alan and I have started a competition – Thailand’s mangiest dog. It’s pretty simple – if you can spot the ugliest, dirtiest dog of the day you win. Today I saw hairless masterpiece lying insolently in the middle of a road with it’s black testicles sagging on the tarmac like a barbecued turd. The only hair it had huddled in little islands on its pimpled, wrinkled back. It’s mouth looked like the entrance to a vaginal std factory and it’s teeth like a pack of corn kernels indiscriminately thrown into some mud. Hopefully it has some kind of inner-beauty because only a blind ogre with no sense of taste or smell could love a dog like this.
A few days ago Alan developed a craving for chicken with chilli paste fried rice. The first restaurant we went to after he admitted this to me had exactly what he wanted. Ten minutes later he received a hill of steamed rice with a paltry serving of stir-fried chicken. He looked shattered.
Some time after that, maybe even that night, an adorably frog like Thai man told us to try this special yellow fried rice with chicken. Alan’s eyes lit up like some contraband fireworks and we set out on froggy’s directions with a loud and friendly Canadian who looked like a handsome penguin. The first restaurant we found had the dish. Alan was hesitant after his earlier disappointment so he painstakingly questioned the waiter on the validity of the menu. He ordered it eventually so I guess he was convinced but soon after a waiter appeared with a plate of steamed rice with some stir-fried something on the side. Alan started chanting – please don’t be mine, please don’t be mine. The waiter slid the plate towards Tyler the Canadian and Alan fist pumped.
“Wait what did you order?” I asked, having a vague memory of Tyler asking for fish. Tyler, an honest and enthusiastically strange individual, laughed.
“I seriously have no idea.” He then plunged into the meal like a carelessly hungry child. I decided to stay silent about the potential fish mishap because Alan still looked relatively excited. Predictably, the waiter came out with some fish just after that. A bemused argument ensued between the three of us over what Tyler had actually ordered. It slowly dawned on Alan that he wasn’t getting any chicken fried rice.
“I guess I’ll just eat what you ordered then,” he said dejected.
“What? No?! I’m going to eat both of these. . . Have you seen how much I eat, I’m fucking hungry.” Alan and I did a double take as Tyler’s gorge level went super saiyan. Alan left to sadly confront the waiter.
At lunch today we ate at a rare restaurant with an english menu. Of course it had chicken fried rice on it – it was written as explicitly as it could be. It was all set up for Alan’s ultimate joy or despair.
Alan still hasn’t been able to order what he wants. I just asked him if he’s going to try again – he looked at me incredulously and said ‘yeah fried rice’. Well then.
I’ve had Papa Don’t Preach in my head for three days. I don’t know the words so I sing this.
Papa don’t preach
I’m in love with him
I’m the queen of the Nile Yeaaaahhhh-eeehhh
I’ve betwixt’d a baby
Why is this happening?
The East Coast of Thailand is dotted with outrageously picturesque piers. Everytime we see one we always ride to the end of it and take pictures like admiring husbands. Today we finally found one surrounded by ocean clear and deep enough to jump into. I was so filled with youthful excitement I didn’t stop to think of what a shit swimmer I am and how tiring it might be to get back. The pier was leviathan-like and my swim unfortunately brought back some of the vestigial hydrophobia from my childhood*. Poor Alan had to wait patiently at the shore while I drifted in on the tide floating on my ass.
I’m in Prachuap Kiri Khan now. It’s a smallish-large town (that makes sense right?) sitting in the U of a mountainous lagoon. From what I can see the village is divided into four interacting but very separate areas.
1/4 A resort town for upper-middle class Thais. Kind of like the NSW South Coast; it’s beautiful enough to bring in a lot of holidaying locals but not big or post-cardy enough for the international tourist scene.
2/4 A mostly wooden and shacky fishing village
3/4 Your average Thai highway town; Markets, 7/11s, a few hotels and an inexplicable amount of sandal stores
4/4 Freaky monkey mountain.
The Northern side of the city has a pair of foresty rock hills capped by shiny buddhist temples. The city-side mountain is infested with Macaques. I say infested because not one thing about them is cute, cuddly or pleasant. While we were approaching the mountain a young male started walking up to us eyeing my bag of iced coffee. When he was about a metre away he stood on his hind legs and his little freaky face said ‘give me that bag or I’ll turn you into a sack of walking disease’. I threw the bag down like a proper wussy and the monkey grabbed it and sprang up like a rapid dog to bite me. I leapt back in time and got the fuck out of there.
Despite my run in with the rabies infested monkey-teen, Alan, myself and a lovely, Philadelphian english teacher tried to climb the mountain so we could watch the sunset in the temple on the peak – sounds splendid right.
it wasn’t it was fucking freaky as. Whoever spread the idea that monkeys are cool and cute probably never met a monkey in their life. Their horribly ugly, evil, little fuckers who only want to steal your shit, give you rabies and make more little baby fuckers.
“Don’t look at them in the eyes or they’ll think you’re threatening them and they’ll attack you.” – Philadelphian.
Fucking brilliant news. Everywhere I look is a pair of freaky yellow eyes. I’ll just walk up the mountain with my head up my arse and roll my way down to saftey. We got about half way up the peak and turned back because the path was rapidly becoming overrun with the mangey gollums and I felt like I had stepped into a nightmare (I hated Jumanji, it gave me horrible dreams).
What if one day the people stop throwing corn at them and their food runs out? Are one thousand monkeys going to happily starve to death in the mountain forest? Nope. The future of Prachuap Kiri Khan belongs to a million psychotic hairy goblins.
*I’ve had a littany of problems in my left ear and I’ve never really learnt to swim very well.