Thailand. Take 2.

It felt a little bizarre ordering my traditional in-flight Gin and Tonic from the religious muslim in-flight crew on our Qatar airways flight to Bangkok. But then, they didn't know I had an Israeli passport either.

We hit the ground running in Bangkok - straight to the train station to book our tickets down to Malaysia. Unfortunately, they were all sold out for days to come. Why? Because the office of a private company that is actually based IN the train station buys the tickets in bulk, and then sells them on to tourists at massively inflated prices. The train company is happy because they get guaranteed sales. The private company is happy because they make a steep cut. Only the tourists lose out, so who cares?

Unwilling to be screwed over, we changed plan, and booked a bus for the next day. It amazes me that people are so willing to go with the flow and support these schemes. Even when trying to get to the other side of the city, we were greeted with a massive smile by the bus conductor, and a local saying 'good for you', when we caught a direct bus for 7 Baht (14p, less than a shekel), rather than paying 150 Baht for a taxi; so rare is the sight of a tourist on a bus. Taxi touts reassure that the bus doesn't run any more / just finished / blew up / is too dangerous / doesn't accept tourists... anything to make a sell. And tourists will often go along with it out of simple lack of knowledge.

The Bangkok forensics museum is a must for anyone medically minded, and a must-not for anyone with a weak stomach. In fact a pathology freak-show, you can enjoy dead siamese twins in a jar, premature anencephalic babies, exostosing tumours coming out of the pickled deceased, and stare at the preserved body of the Bangkok serial murderer and cannibal who ate the hearts and livers of children to aid longevity. The total lack of real explanation of these exhibits, and the repetition of similar items, exposed in my opinion that the real aim here was entertainment, not education. Perhaps the cannibal took his belief of immortality from the same medical school that sends its students to draw pencil pictures of the aborted foetus?

Rapist in a jar

In the next corridor in the museum floor of the hospital was the parasitology exhibit, where enlarged models of the various spirochetes, worms, larvae and fungae abundant in rural Thailand would make your stomach turn slightly before stepping into the visitor cafe. Naturally, we were hungry by the end of the tour and were happy to find a vegan stall just outside the hospital, nestles between the eyeballs, trotters, scrota and various other treats of the neighbouring stalls.

After a quick clothes shop (compulsory Bangkok T-shirts and the like), we raided the Chabad house to buy all the necessary foods for Passover, starting the next week. Matzah, tuna, jam, Israeli chocolate, cake and chocolate spread in hand (don't judge - what were we going to do travelling with fresh food... and besides we mainly lived on fruit and veg that we bought as we went. It's not as bad as it sounds... honest), we boarded our night bus. Or, more accurately, the first of our night buses. This one pulled up in Surat Thani in the early hours, where we waited an hour or two for a minibus, which took us somewhere else, dumped us in the middle of nowhere, to await another minibus - already full, but soon to be much fuller. In turn, this took us to Krabi, where half the people got out, each identified by a sticker applied to us like a barcode at some earlier point. Things got out of hand when the driver, without explanation, told us to remain on the bus, while proceeding to take our bags off. When Deborah objected, the bag was thrown in her direction - when she reprimanded him, the man simply raised his hand as if going to slap her across the face. As caveman instincts took over and I tried to squeeze my way through the mass of bodies and bags in the bus, a stand-off occurred, with the idiot still refusing to lower his fist, but insisting we both sit down. Only when an older driver came and calmed him down did things revert to a state of calm; that is, until he started driving again and took out his frustration on the car.

Riled, tense and just waiting for him to touch Debs so I could crush him in to little pieces, the final straw came when we arrived at yet another change-over point, the HQ of the company, to await yet another bus. We told the manager what had happened, and she shrugged it off, saying "perhaps you'll understand when you travel some more. All you tourists are the same - you don't understand the local ways. I get these complaints ALL THE TIME.". We couldn't believe our ears. So many other people have complained before us, and they couldn't even comprehend the idea that PERHAPS they were at fault...

Anyway, eventually we arrived (with a different and more pleasant driver) at the island of Ko Lanta; a beautiful yet tiny island off the west coast of Thailand, where a few little car ferries work tirelessly to connect it with the rest of the world, 8 cars at a time. The predominantly Muslim island's population centre is Ban Sala Dan, a town at the northern tip; down its west side stretch miles of golden beaches and various resorts, bungalows, spas and restaurants, while the east is a mass of mangroves and swamps. The centre of the island is hilly and agricultural with just two roads traversing it. Debs had found a sweet little place half way down the island on the West side - and we arrived by tuk-tuk to find a very spaced-out Dutchman, who informed us that the place was full, but we can stay next door for no extra charge - we were quite happy with that since the New Coconut resort that was to be our home for a few days had a swimming pool. Our bungalow was in fact a few sheets of pressed bamboo on a wooden frame, and the brick lean-to bathroom (technically, the bungalow leant on the bathroom) was a hive of 6 and 8-legged activity. But, we weren't there for the room. Just a few steps from a pristine beach and the hottest sea water I've experienced, we were destined for many a relaxing cocktail, snorkelling amongst the fish (and sea urchins - we were very lucky to have spent hours wading around before realising how many there were when we donned our masks, and not have stepped on a single one), swimming in the pool, and best of all, video chatting with the UK, who at that precise period of time were enjoying late March snow.

For the princely sum of 200 Baht (4 quid, 25 shekels), we hired a moped for 24 hours; after a crash course in motorbikes from our friendly mildly inebriated Glaswegian from the next-door bungalow, we took for a very shaky and wobbly trip up to Ban Sala Dan, and the next day all around the island. As my balance and understanding of getting up a hill on 125cc increased, so did my speed and we were soon whipping around the island at 40 kph. The tiny engine size however, required Debs to walk on any steep uphill where I failed to get sufficient momentum beforehand. Good to keep her in shape.

Our first port of call, besides the isolated beaches and beautiful view points over pristine sea to the horizon, perhaps dotted by an occasional sailing boat, was the nature reserve that covers the southern tip on the island. Starting at the cliff top, a jungle walk descends down to the shoreline. Sounds of lizards and monkeys kept us curious as we climbed over fallen trees and circumnavigated termite trails. At the bottom, troups of monkeys played in the shade under the few huts, or swam in the mud pools, splashing each other and shouting and generally looking remarkably like humans (excluding the ones who sat on the roof eating each other's ticks).

Keeping cool

We decided to abandon the idea of an elephant trek, having passed such a place on our drive; a baby elephant, chained up in the stifling midday sun, swayed side to side, gently tugging at its chain in the knowledge it would not break, head down to the floor. We instead had a self-righteous rant at the indifferent worker who couldn't understand the concept of looking after the baby, and moved on to the old town for lunch, then back via the ancient mangroves.

Tied up in the blazing heat

Finally, we came back to our bungalow, and spent our last evening on the island  drinking cocktails by the pool and eating a kosher fish freshly caught by a man in a boat. The largely muslim population of the island is dotted with the occcasional rastafarian, which although causing the occasional cultural clash, creates a perfect symbiosis when it comes to tourism; the muslim waiter will take your order for a meal, before the local rasta or western holiday worker will come over and take your alcohol order. Two separate bills will later arrive, with the bar considered a separate business and in no way affecting the spiritual purity of the halal kitchen. It's nice to know that it's not just Judaism that has its quirks and loopholes...

The next morning, we left the island by ferry to Phuket; a beautiful journey across blue seas, between other tiny islands, finally arriving the relatively enormous island, with its own international airport, high-rise holiday homes, and street after street of sleeze, debauchery and sex shows. Why did we come to this dump? Well, as one of the key tourist destinations, this was one of just two places (Bangkok being the other) that was home to a chabad rabbi, and subsequently, a Passover seder meal; we planned our trip to minimise time on the island, and arrived just a few hours before the start of the holiday.

A little bit of outline to those of you less well acquainted with Passover: like almost all Jewish holidays, this celebration (in this case of our exodus from slavery in Egypt) is marked by symbolic foods, a retelling of the story, and a lot of wine. It is a joyous gathering of family and friends, but communal events exist for those far from home, where other like minded people will gather to celebrate together. Sounds great, right?

The massive gathering of Israelis and a handful of other Jews from around the world in the huge hired hall sparkled with the flashes of a hundred cameras and smartphones as people filmed the ceremony, contravening the rules against using electricity on a religious holiday, while people chatted away, contravening the request of the rabbi to be quiet enough for everyone to hear the ceremony. Grumpy and unattended children shouted while picking at the symbolic foods laid on each table, while the 0.3% of the room who were religious or considerate enough to wait for the appropriate time looked on hungrily at their portions being consumed. Later, the same children would take the leftover matzah (the unleavened bread - symbolising the rushed departure from Egypt when we didn't have time to let our dough rise) and crumble it over the floor for unsuspecting hotel workers to later clear. As the rabbi abandoned the normal order of the service and resorted to singing Israeli nursery rhymes ("All the world's a bridge") in an effort to encourage audience participation, the Israeli ex-pat to our side told us about her tourist agency, and gave us a business card, detailing the sex services she could arrange (all very tasteful - she can even arrange a car to collect us from our hotel and take us to some sort of goldfish presentation which is apparently similar to a ping pong presentation they were doing the year before).

We had had enough - finishing the seder by ourselves, we were among the first to leave; disappointed that what could have been a really special experience had been totally decimated. Just as we had started to feel some level of significant home-sickness for Israel, it was hammered home just how difficult the culture there can be.

Perhaps it is wrong to expect more of Israeli culture - like any modern western state, there will be a sex trade, obnoxious kids and indifferent parents, and of course those disrespectful to religion and the cultures of others; and of course, this is Phuket - the people who choose to work here, or to come here on holiday will, by and large, be more inclined to fit in with the crass and coarse local culture. But still, I want to believe Israel is better than that. Perhaps it's like taking a sample of Brits in a cheap, Benidorm all-inclusive resort, and concluding that all Brits are morbidly obese, lobster-coloured, semi-illiterate and claiming disability benefits to supplement their dole money, while being paid cash-in-hand for fixing BMWs while driving one themselves. And that wouldn't be a fair representation, would it now? Ahem.

After the holiday we climbed on board a jet boat with masses of other tourists and headed out to some fantastic snorkelling spots in the clear blue waters of Loh Samah Bay, and later to the tiny desert island of Khai Nok - a idyllic lump of sand with two palm trees, a few hundred Russians, and seemingly the most expensive ice cream on the continent. Maya Bay, the perfectly formed bay where 'The Beach' was filmed was so utterly packed that boats docked touching those on each side, and some had to wait in the bay for a parking spot. The impossibility of taking a photograph with fewer than twenty people in the backdrop drove the more antisocial of us to swim out into the water with our cameras held high, to take pictures of the few grains of sand visible between the teeming swarm of humans on the beach. However, lunch was a nice treat to the contrary - having explained our difficult dietary requirements, the group of staff who were keen to ensure we were fed, led us away from the ten-seater tables to our own private table, where fruits, veggies and curries with strict ingredient lists were presented for our delectation... beating the anticipated matzah and tinned tuna. Other customers of the tour (including an Israeli family merrily digging in to their calamari, shrimp, pork and bread rolls) eyed us up curiously, trying to recall whether there was some upgrade option for a private table published on the leaflet...

The next day, a minibus picked us up, and after another chain of changes, waits, confusion and stress, we arrived in Surat Thani, Thailand's answer to Crewe. This city, whose existence is seemingly entirely due to the trainline that runs through it and some local agriculture, was to be our home from our arrival at 1130 am (after getting up at 0600 to catch the only bus) until the departure of the next train south at 0130. Had we known this is advance we would have taken our time getting to the train, but as no one could tell us train times, we hired a tuk tuk there, arriving in a rush, scared of being stuck here until the next afternoon having just missed a train. However, instead, we spent 14 hours chilling in the sweltering heat, buying ice by the buckletload (literally) to allow us to use the only cafe's wifi, popping in to the local 7-11 to peruse the shelves while revelling in the powerful air conditioning, and buying egg, veg and rice - the only food we could find that was suitable for passover (and was to become a staple for the next few days). Children slept on the platform floor as whole families waited for the only train south, while rats scuttled around and over them in search of a bite.

Catching up on the diary over a bucket of ice

Finally, our train arrived - one of the few not to be heavily delayed. Our intention was to get to Malaysia on this train, but we were told that we could only buy a ticket to Hat Yai - a town further south in Thailand at which point we would have to get off, buy another ticket and get back on again - quickly. No reason was given, and were we more than worried about wasting a whole day in another godforsaken Thai orifice, especially when we got chatting to other people with direct tickets all the way to Butterworth in Malaysia.

But, sure enough, we awoke at Hat Yai in the early morning, and went to buy more tickets, as our train was split in two, with only the front carriages continuing on - explaining why our beds at the back would not be available. Did you know that you can't use a credit card to buy a train ticket before 8am in Hat Yai? Neither did we. As we approached our last few hours in Thailand, with just a few Baht left, we were lucky to find a few other tourists who were happy to trade some of our emergency US dollars for just enough Baht for the tickets. Thailand was beautiful, fun and a great visit. But here's a tip; you can plan well in advance, or leave things to the last minute if you have time to spare. But if you like to plan a day or two in advance like us, then you'll struggle. Get tickets in advance, or turn up and see what happens.

Climbing back on to our pitifully short train, we smiled as we made our last miles of journey to the border of Malaysia.