The Remix Part 2

Not so tense a wait after a while as my long travel day caught up to me.  I started to doze off on the couch when I finally got a text from him.  He’d been negotiating a price on a rug with a foreign couple and it had taken longer than he thought.  He sent me the address of the shop and asked that I meet him there.

It was so good to see him in person and be back in his arms again.  He is a great hugger.  I was so relieved that he really did want to see me again and it wasn’t just idle texting.  We ate at the shop – well, barely ate in my case, I was so nervous.  Then it was back to his apartment.

After a month of dreaming, I was back on that balcony.  I can’t explain how powerful that place is in my memory.  It’s the view of the water, the calls to prayer, the music coming from all over the city, the birds flying overhead, Zaza’s arms around me.  This is where I had my first kiss from a man who said he couldn’t stop kissing me because I was so delicious.  Istanbul will always be magical to me because of Zaza and that balcony.

The first night went really, really, really well (the man is a machine).  And guess what? Turns out I’m straight.  Not that I really questioned that, but I never had anyone around to test it on.  It seems that having a hairy man put his strong hands all over me … works for me.  Who knew?

We’d planned to meet the next night, but after wandering the city all day, I was wiped.  The next night he was tired.  I was starting to think that the first night was all we would get.  And while I understood the fatigue (I mentioned from my first trip that Istanbul is exhausting – I really can’t imagine working everyday all day in that hot sun), I couldn’t help but be disappointed.

We finally met up again that Friday when I walked to the shop.  Some tea and hospitality and I was ushered back down into the main rug room.  With his cousin standing nearby, Zaza began to display some of the rugs as he’d done the first day we’d met.  The rugs are still as beautiful as always, but I was giving him the side-eye.  After two days of no contact, I didn’t walk all that way just to be given a hard sell on a rug.  But a salesman gotta sell, so I sat through the pitch.   He unfurled rug after rug, asking me what size and color I preferred.  I had to admire the passion with which he approached the demo.  He would tell me how long it took to make a particular rug, what some of the patterns meant, and what materials went into their creation.  

The one I chose was, of course, one of the more expensive silk ones.  Those things have fascinated me since the first time he showed me that they appear to be a different color depending on how you look at them.  He supposedly gave me deal because “you’re not a customer, you are family, you are my woman”. I’m still going to have that thing appraised when I get a chance, see if I overpaid for it.

From there he led me to his favorite restaurant around the corner.  Up way too many stairs until … oh.  Yeah.  The climb was worth it. 

Being near his apartment, the restaurant had the same great view and a cozy atmosphere. I ordered some shrimp and fries, mentioning to him how I had a serious French fry problem.  He introduced me to raki, a mysterious clear liquid that turned milky white when the waiter added water.  I asked Zaza if I would have gone blind had the water not been added. He immediately said yes.  Taste-wise, raki is just watered-down ouzo.  I’ll stick to white wine next time.

We lingered for a while as Zaza arranged for a hotel room.  He had texted me before my arrival that he wanted to rent a room for my first night in town with a big bed and a shower.  It didn’t happen that first night, but on this night, he had his cousin staying at his place so we wouldn’t have any privacy.  After having his relatives find the place, we settled into a nearby hotel.  I had to laugh.  When he asked why, I just gawked.  “You just had your relatives scout out a place for you to screw your girlfriend.  That doesn’t seem strange to you?”  He just shrugged.  To him, family was just relied on to do for you, no matter the task.

My life has gotten so weird!

The next night we went back to the rooftop restaurant to have wine for me and a beer for him.  I was surprised when the waiter later set down a plate of fries.  Zaza had ordered in Turkish so I had no idea what he’d said.  I didn’t ask for them – he ordered them simply because he knew I liked them.  I grinned and started to eat, enjoying my wine, the amazing atmosphere, and the good man beside me.  And then, being the ginormous goober that I am, I started crying. Over French fries.  He didn’t understand why and I got why he was confused.  But I was genuinely touched.  He keeps explaining to me that this is just part of his culture, the man takes care of his woman.  I keep trying to explain to him that I’m really not used to being treated so well.  I cry from happiness – if he keeps being sweet, I will be sappy.  That’s just how it is.

A couple and their three kids sat at the table next to us.  Listening to them was confusing as they spoke English with a British accent but would randomly switch to French.  I didn’t have time to wonder as one of Zaza’s co-workers, another cousin (I swear the man is related to half of Istanbul), sat with us.  After a while, he struck up a conversation with the woman at the other table.  Turns out, she’s British, her husband is French, and they live in France.  She met him as a solo female traveler, so she and I shared tales of wanderlust.  We all had a great chat about travel and Zaza’s Kurdish roots.  And from the picture, you can tell that they have no problem sharing some illicit substances with their kids.

You know what sucks?  Squat toilets.  Zaza’s place is not really an apartment.  It’s a room up five flights of stairs with no kitchen and no air conditioning, just a mini fridge, and a little cubbyhole with a shower attachment.  The toilet is located outside of the room and is obviously only meant for urination.  I shudder to think about doing … anything else the human body requires.

And my thoughts were leaning toward being ill with only that toilet around.  That night at dinner, I felt the scratchy throat I’d caught in Singapore start to affect my voice.  I thought the mild irritation was getting better as I reached Türkiye.  But the runny nose, persistent annoying cough, congestion, and headache over the last couple of days were good indicators that I was indeed sick (damn it).  Having a cold is annoying.  Being sick in the summer is even worse.  Having a cold in the summer while traveling is just ew.  Being sick in the summer while far from home and trying to get my swerve on … yeah.  Not exactly making for the sexy.

There are three things that you really don’t want to deal with when traveling: assault, incarceration, or illness.  Assault includes theft of any kind, getting kidnapped, mugged, or worse.  Incarceration is pretty self-explanatory.  It’s best not to have any interaction with foreign cops if you can avoid it (although, travelling outside of America means there’s less of a chance that you’ll be shot).  Illness includes injury, hospitalization, or the nightmare of a summer cold when you really want to spend time with someone and not get them sick.

I woke up at Zaza’s on Sunday morning and one of the first things he said was that my voice was bad.  I said I needed medication, hugged him goodbye, and headed back to my apartment.  I then spent the day on the couch fading in and out of consciousness with some breaks for cough drops and nose-blowing.

A word about this couch.  This thing is deadly.  Filled with goose feathers, if you lay on this couch for more than a minute, you will be out for the count.  You’ll wake up hours later and not know what the hell happened.  A nice place to recuperate from illness.  I just needed to figure out how to get it in my suitcase.

Monday was only slightly better.  I got out a bit more, but still had to concede that Istanbul is no less exhausting when you’re sick – it’s actually worse.  I had to limit my time outside because it was so draining.  It didn’t help that it was hot as balls in July and the level of UV rays was high. I decided to extend my stay in the apartment for another week.  It wasn’t only about a man.  Dealing with another airport and the stress of travel days was just too much for me to consider while still sick.  The apartment was great, top 5 for my coziest stays on the road, and I wasn’t too eager to leave it just yet.

That Tuesday was just plain fun.  Zaza delivered my rug to the apartment with the intent of breaking it in in a NSFW manner.  We didn’t get around to that, but we did … other things.  It was playful and sexy and all the things I wanted this fling to be … in the short two hours we had before he ran off to be with family again.

On Wednesday night, I walked to the shop and we sat outside for a while then went back to the rooftop restaurant.  I asked him to sing when we got back to his place (Kurdish men are known for their singing and I knew he could sing from earlier).  I lay on the couch, enjoying the view, the breeze, the birds, and the good singing, feeling very relaxed and content.

And then he asked me for $3800 to get him out of military service.

Good feelings gone.

Suddenly, some of the behaviors I’d observed since meeting him made more sense.  There was always a distance between us that I couldn’t breach no matter how hard I tried.  Yeah, the sex thing was there, but when I’d ask him any real questions, try to spark up some conversation, I’d get nowhere.  Since we first started texting, it was all sweet talk (which I ate up) and no questions about the places I visited or what I’d seen.  I chalked the lack of intellectual curiosity to him being raised poor in a different environment.  But there was no effort made to learn more about me as a person. 

Since the first time he led me to his shop and later to his apartment, it was always with the same fast swagger while barely looking back to see if I was following.  Once I was back in the city, it was the same.  No handholding or making sure I didn’t stumble on the notoriously uneven cobblestones of the city streets.  I thought it was a Muslim practice of not showing too much affection in public.  But no.  I’d seen women in full burkas holding hands with their boyfriends or snuggling together on a blanket in the park.

Then there was the fact that he never called me by name.  In the texts and in person, I was my sweetheart, my chocolate, my caramel, my lover – never Daphne.  As much as I enjoyed the terms of endearment, I do know what love-bombing is, a psychological manipulation technique.  It just had me thinking that he couldn’t remember my name even after texting for a month – and despite the fact that the hotel across from his favorite restaurant bears my name.  He seemed surprised when I pointed it out.

There’s just nothing I like more than being played for a fool.

I gave him one last hug, told him I now feel stupid, and left the apartment.  He was calling after me in confusion that quickly turned into offense and how upset he was that I was leaving.  My phone pinged a couple of times while I hailed a cab.  I ignored them, glad that he’d only texted me and hadn’t followed me out.  The last texts he sent were about how he’d never forgive me for leaving and that I’d ruined his evening.

B!tch please.

I banned him on WhatsApp while cabbing it home and just sat there in numb silence.  I knew this was just a short-term thing, I had every intention of ending it to avoid the stress of long-distance relationships, I just had no idea that this was how it would end.  I thought his interest in me was a fetish thing (which is bad enough), but to think he only saw the letters A.T.M. on my forehead?  So much worse.

The most I can say is that it was fun while it lasted.  I’m glad he delivered my rug so I didn’t have to deal with any of those people again.  Now instead of being a reminder of him, it will just be a reminder of the beauty of Türkiye.  I will still, very proudly, display this work of art on the floor of my new home.   

There.  That’s much better.

I have always attracted vampires (and always will); people looking to either siphon off my light (or in this case, my money) or snuff that light out completely.  Some are just more appealing than others.

Istanbul the Remix

Yeah.

You remember that guy I met in Istanbul?  The one I thought of as a one-night stand who has instead appointed himself as my Turkish bodyguard? The one who’s been ‘blowing up my phone’, like the kids say, since we met?

The guy who essentially RUINED MY TRIP TO SE ASIA.  I’m trying to enjoy exploring a new country, trying to scope it out as a suitable place to live and all I can think about is him and all the filthy things he wants to do to me (that man is not shy).  I’ll be trying to write and he’ll call me and make me think about nothing more than how soon I can get back to Istanbul and him. 

Freaking Türkiye man!

Yeah, that guy.  Well, he is a honey-dripping bastard.  After a month of talking on WhatsApp, Zaza convinced me to postpone my plans to head to Australia.  I decided instead to go back to Istanbul for a week and be delicious.

I’m not trying to marry this dude.  I have my own plans that don’t involve moving to Türkiye and being fit for a burka.  As sweet as Zaza is, he’s still too short, he smokes, and he lives in a crappy apartment (with a great view) in Türkiye.  But the stuff that comes out of his mouth is just pure … delight.  Yes, I will go full-on sappy and call him my Turkish Delight.  And I plan to enjoy the hell out of him while I can.  I only had to go to the other side of the planet to find someone who likes me, so I figure I’d better take full advantage of the situation. 

Besides which, having never had a fling in my life, I think it’s fair time I flung.  I can fling.  Who says I can’t fling?

I started to do some research on Türkiye on YouTube.  I was mostly interested in picking up some of the language or getting tips on what else I should visit.  I was shocked at the number of videos I found regarding dating Turkish men.  Particularly, black women dating Turkish men.  I had no idea this was a thing.  Yes, Zaza told me he was into black chicks (as were a couple of his relatives who were married to black women and living in the U.S.), but I didn’t realize the extent of this … fetish?  Phenomenon?  I don’t know.   

My research is how I figured out this was not to be a great love of my life.  Turkish men are known to be sweet talkers, persistent, jealous, and workaholics (more on that later).  They also have the reputation for being major Mama’s boys.  They fully expect their girlfriends/wives to be their substitute mom.  And while I am 13 years older than the man … naw, my friend.  I have no interest in being anybody’s mother.  Doesn’t mean this ‘thing’ can’t be mutually beneficial.  His Turkish ego is stroked by the fact that he deflowered the American with the big breasts and I get hugs and sweet talk.  It works out for both of us.

But first, getting there.  And it was a bear of a travel day that started at Changi in Singapore.  At least it was a good start.  That is a well-designed airport.  The place was meant for the comfort of the travelers and, while not as pretty as the jewel, Terminal 4 has its own advantages.  Have I ever mentioned how much I love koi?  They are so fun to watch!

From Changi it was 2 hours back to Bangkok.  Can’t say I was looking forward to going back to Thailand, but my flight to Türkiye was out of BKK, Bangkok’s big airport.  I had arrived at Don Mueang and dreaded the idea of dealing with another rude cabbie.  I almost did the happy dance to find that there was a shuttle from one airport to the other.  It was already parked at the gate when I arrived and I didn’t even have to pay for it.  Yay!

Suvarnabhumi (BKK) is one of the top 10 biggest airports in the world.  I swear, half of the population of Thailand was in there waiting for flights.  There was even an entire football team just milling around.  I had plenty of time to observe everything since my flight from Singapore arrived at 4 p.m. and my flight to Dubai didn’t leave until 1:30 a.m.  Not ideal but it was the best I could arrange under the circumstances.

While BKK is not a great airport, it looked like heaven compared to Dubai.  The airport is almost as sprawling as BKK, but it wasn’t meant to be comfortable.  It was barely functional in that I arrived on the tarmac and had to walk awhile just to catch a bus to my departing terminal.  After that long ride, which took me all over the airport, it was another long wait in a hot, overly crowded waiting area.  When my flight was finally called, it was onto another bus to take me to the plane.   Because of just how inefficiently designed the place felt, I gotta say that Dubai sucks (this opinion applies only to the airport – I know nothing about the country).

Finally arriving in Türkiye, in the smaller SAW airport this time, it was on to my first concern upon returning to the country; my visa.  If you recall the issues I had with Turkish Border Patrol on arriving from Bulgaria by bus, I wasn’t entirely sure the visa would still be valid.  E-visas applied for online are valid for 90 days.  Since I couldn’t find any other info, I assumed the same rule would apply for my paper visa (which has no additional info about length of visa validity, re-entry requirements, or anything else).  Fingers crossed …

And Border Patrol didn’t even recognize the visa.  Sigh.  I had to explain to them the circumstances and that this is the only visa I had which did allow me into the country for a week.  I was fully prepared to pay for a new one if necessary, but I just didn’t want to be fined or banned or anything worse.

After a few nerve-wracking minutes while the guy made a call and consulted with the other agent sitting next to him, he finally stamped my passport and let me through.  Whew.  Now on to the next bit of fun; another ride in an Istanbul taxi.

Well, a month out of the country hasn’t made the taxi drivers any saner.  At least I was prepared for it this time.  Actually, this trip went better than my first intro into the city.  This guy understood the address with no problem, it wasn’t raining, and he brought me directly to the apartment.

It took some fumbling to get inside (the host’s maid had not returned the key to the correct lockbox), but once I was in, I was very pleased with the place.  It’s got a great layout and I instantly felt at home (though I wasn’t crazy about that rug – more on that later).

My neighborhood this time is called Balat in Fatih.  I specifically chose this area because it was closer to Zaza’s home and shop.  Turns out, not close enough.  It’s an hour walk or about a 15-minute cab ride depending on traffic.  After texting him on my arrival, I got unpacked, showered, and freshened up. I had been nervous for a while before I even got back to Türkiye, being that this was the first time I’d ever travelled across a few countries to see a man.  So it was a long tense wait for his next text.

Singapore Part 2

 

My love of green spaces is well established by now.  Singapore has a campaign that says ‘Let’s make Singapore our garden’ and they do an excellent job just judging by Fort Canning.  The park is situated on a series of tiers with the lowest tiers open to car traffic. Plenty of benches, some waterfalls and, for some reason, chickens.  Okay. 

On the last full day of my trip, I explored yet another garden area full of sculptures and hedge creations near the Marina Sands.  A very peaceful place with much to see.

I still don’t understand how this huge baby sculpture exists.  What’s holding it up?

I found my new favorite store/restaurant.  It’s a Singapore exclusive called Bread Talk, a bakery located in every one of the 300 malls I’ve been in.  They provide you with a tray and some tongs and you just pick out what you want then go to pay.  The bread is amazing and each store has a slightly different selection so seeking out the stores was something of a scavenger hunt for me.  A theme song plays in the stores that, if I had to listen to it for 8 hours a day, would make me start beating people with a loaf of bread, but other than that, the store is great.

Since I didn’t get a chance to see much of Changi Airport when I came in, I decided to dedicate a day to explore it.  I jumped on the train and got out at the airport along with a bunch of other people who didn’t have luggage.

Now why

would anyone

go to an airport

just to hang out?

The waterfall is located in a crystal-like building called the Jewel.  It is a massive multilevel (two commonly used words for structures in Singapore) garden with mini-waterfalls and seating areas everywhere.  As you can see, it currently has a Marvel theme – strange, but since I’m a big Marvel fan, it worked for me.  Even with the branding and all the tourists, the garden is a peaceful place to chill in.  There’s theatrical music playing, mist from the waterfall to cool the skin, and plenty of people-watching to engage in.  This is only one of the couples I spotted having a photo shoot in the airport.

This being Singapore, there is a full mall in the airport along with multiple food courts.  The free movie theater was showing one of the Mission Impossible movies (could have been the latest one, I'm not sure).

The top floor of the Jewel is set up like an amusement park.  There are attractions like a virtual experience game, a hedge maze, a mirror maze, and a bouncing net all for separate fees.  You can also access the train that goes past the waterfall and the walkway for a better view.

The airport is so well designed that you could wander around for hours and keep yourself entertained, fed, and broke.  All for the cost of a short train ride from anywhere in the city.  And hey!  Free air conditioning!

Remember how I said everything was connected in Singapore?  I was not exaggerating.  On my first full day, Google Maps led me on surface streets to get to the Merlion and the Marina Sands hotel.  Turns out, you can get there through subway tunnels.  Most of my time in Singapore was spent wondering ‘where does this escalator go?  I don’t know, but I’m about to find out.’ In keeping with that mindset, I started to follow a group of determined looking people as they went up one escalator near the City Hall MRT, around the corner, through a parking garage, up another escalator, on and on.  I was stunned when we ended up at the outdoor bandstand across from the Marina Sands.  I was curious about where else you could get if you knew how.  I was also curious to see if I could find my way back taking the same route since I wasn't paying attention (better than I thought as I only made a couple of missteps).

Besides the gardens and Fort Canning, there are so many other great gathering spaces around the city.  I saw numerous groups of people taking a lunch and a blanket to a shady spot and having some fellowship during the afternoon.  Even the evenings were full of people just walking around and enjoying the summer breeze.  And why shouldn't they?  Singapore is safe, clean, and gorgeous.  I loved this place.  And while it's too expensive to live there, I would definitely go back for another visit.

 

Singapore

 

I’m kind of obsessed with the movie Crazy Rich Asians.  I’ve seen it multiple times and never get tired of it.  It is straight up pornography – food porn, rom-com porn, rich porn, Singapore porn (Singaporn) and I love it.  So, for this reason, I just had to visit Singapore where the movie is set.

Singapore is an easy 2 ½ hour flight from Bangkok with the added benefit of flying into Changi Airport, which is considered one of the best airports in the world.  Well, not so much when you first arrive.  It just looks like any other airport with large airy spaces.  Immigration was the first area where the airport stands out in an interesting way.  The arriving passengers are guided to a bunch of kiosks where you have to put in your passport info.  A couple of people are around to guide you through the process (very appreciated as I did have some problems).  The screen asks a bunch of questions about nationality and point of origin and at the end you are granted a 90-day visa (of sorts) to stay in the country.  A copy is emailed to you along with the picture they ask you to take of the screen.

Then it was on to transport to the hotel I’d booked for the week.  No taxi this time – I was encouraged to take the MRT, Singapore’s insanely well-organized public transit system.  I thought I’d have to buy a ticket or fuss with machines until the attendants told me to just press my debit card to the scanner at the gate and voila!  The gate let me pass.  No tickets or tokens to worry about.  Just scan your card to get out at your destination and the system charges you accordingly.  How’s that for convenient?

As for the rest of the trip to my hotel … not so much.  I got out at the recommended stop only to find it pouring rain.  I waited around for it to slacken up then had to wrangle all my bags, while holding my umbrella up to try to keep my phone dry while I traversed unfamiliar streets.  Oh, and there was a lot of traffic and construction that closed off some of the sidewalks.  And, sure, let’s go up some hills because I needed more of a challenge.  Then I dropped my umbrella in the road while I dashed across.  I heard a car honking trying to alert me, but it wasn’t until a nice man on the other side of the road pointed it out that I realized what happened.  He offered tips to get it and told me that people would stop for me.  In hindsight, I shouldn’t have risked my life for a cheap replaceable umbrella, but … I was new to the country, it could rain again, and I don’t like to litter.

Finally found my way to the D’Nova hotel and, well, I hated the place on sight.  I know that capsule hotels are popular in Singapore.  The rooms in those hotels are basically drawers to store people at night with a communal bathroom out in the hall.  Really not to my taste.  I looked for AirBNBs and hotels in the area, but the only place I could find that was even remotely affordable was this place.  It’s a slight step up from a capsule hotel, but the room is still just a glorified jail cell.  There is no chair, no desk (only a narrow shelf), no drawers, no closet, only one outlet and a 'privacy curtain' over the sink that offended me wherever it was situated.  The only benefits over a prison cell were that I didn’t have a roommate and I could leave whenever I wanted.  And it was clean.

The hotel is located on a side street from two main thoroughfares.  It’s surrounded by other tiny-room hotels and a lot of bars and restaurants, all of them stupidly expensive.  To add insult to injury, the two-high-rise complex of the Carlton hotel is located just across the street.  Rooms there go for around $600 a night.  Any questions why I’m staying in the dump?

The Carlton was just one example of the expense of this city.  Just down the street from my hotel is a huge, ornately decorated, white mall full of high-end stores and restaurants requiring reservations.  Down the street is yet another mall, a mix of big name-brand stores and more affordable options. Just like in Portugal, where you could throw a stick and hit a café, in Singapore that same stick would land you in a mall.  This country really wants your money.  The malls here are huge, beautiful, vibrant, and crowded places where everyone meets.

The City Hall MRT station is located in that mall, called Raffle City. It pissed me off to realize that this station is closer to the hotel than the one they recommended.  It could have saved me a lot of hassle to know that sooner.  But no matter.  This mall, with its MRT station, huge food court and grocery store on the lowest level, became my main point of reference in getting around the city.  Very helpful as I am prone to wondering aimlessly without keeping track of how to find my way home.

The next day was bright and sunny. Thanks to the movie, I knew just what sights I wanted to see first.  My phone took me on a circuitous route to get to the famous Merlion statue.  This image is on a lot of the merchandising and is so popular, there is a mini lion right in front of that statue and a whole park designed around it.  And just across the harbor is the iconic hotel where the final scene of Crazy Rich Asians takes place.  Now just to get there.

That is a looooong walk to get to those buildings.  It means going past a concert hall, an outdoor stadium with a running track, up some stairs, across a pedestrian bridge and into The Shoppes at Marina Sands Bay.  All in SE Asian summer heat.  Oy.

This mall is just … Huge.  Beautiful.  Crowded.  Way too rich for my blood.  There’s Fendi next to Marc Jacobs next to Van Cleef and Arpels next to Hermes next to … yet another store I didn’t even bother to go into.  Like I said, Singapore wants your money.  It wasn’t going to get mine, though.  And judging by the empty hands of most of the people I saw walking around as well as the bored workers standing around in those chi-chi stores, Singapore wasn’t getting anybody else’s money either.  The only place doing big business was the massive food court on the ground floor.

Technically, you don’t have to enter the mall to reach the hotel.  But, as I was soon to discover, everything in Singapore seems to be connected as long as you know how to get there.  This is the land of escalators and underground tunnels.  I wandered around, marveling at everything I saw.  This mall has a canal.  And like in Venice, you can rent boat rides after you get tired of the casino and the interactive light display near the food court.

I stumbled upon some escalators that led to the reception area of the hotel.  If you go through there (very crowded with people checking in), out the door and around the corner, you’ll find another set of escalators that will lead you to the ticketing area to get to the top of the hotel.  For about 30 SD, you get your picture taken (you have the option to pay for a copy later) and go up the elevator to the 56^th floor.  The boat shaped structure at the top of the three towers features a concession stand and a restaurant (only for guests of the hotel) and gives you a killer view of the city. 

Singapore is truly beautiful.  A very modern, safe, and clean place.  Seeing it from atop the towers was a great overview before really getting into exploring the city.

And this, friends, is how I spent my 4^th of July, 2023.

Phuket

Phuket (pronounced Poo-ket) is an island off the coast of Thailand.  Not a candidate for residency for me – I just wanted to see the place.  It’s known for its beauty and beaches and I wanted to get in some relaxation time.

First tip: do not take a taxi from the airport.  In fact, avoid taxis all over the island.  They are a complete rip-off.  Just take the bus.  My apartment was at the southernmost point of the island, about as far from the airport as you can get, and the taxi ride cost 1000 baht.  I only realized when I got to my AirBNB that the bus stops less than a ¼ mile away and costs 100 baht to get to the airport.  Yes, it takes longer and makes multiple stops, but it’s clean and runs regularly.  Just take the bus.

My AirBNB was another nice one with a decent view of the water.  The host greeted me there and showed me the place.  The shower is big enough to fit a family of four.  Fruit and water were provided along with beach towels and robes (nice). Two features of the place were new and unexpected.  First, a room cleaning service was provided every three days (which I didn’t really need – I don’t like people coming in and moving things in my hotel room let alone an AirBNB). And second, the power is charged separately from the prepaid AirBNB bill.  The host took me around the corner to a supply closet to show me the electricity meter.  We both took pictures of the meter to be compared to the readings at the end of my stay.  That was … different, but okay.

The apartment is located behind the row of restaurants and stores.  Crossing the busy street takes you to the water and the multiple stands of people trying to sell their services.  There are some restaurants and open markets with a longer walk, but that’s about it.  When there are more massage parlors and weed shops than grocery stores, it’s easy to pick up the vibe of this place.  It’s just meant for dissipated expats to sit around getting drunk and high all day.

Second tip: don’t stay in Rawai Beach.  It is pretty, but dull (unless you’re looking for weed or a massage).  The beach is not for swimming (something the host didn’t tell me until after I booked) because of all the boats and their moorings.  If you want a bit more excitement and choice of restaurants and activities, go for either Karon Beach or Patong Beach.  More on them later. 

I did discover my new favorite Thai food at a restaurant in Rawai.  Massaman Curry is a thick stew made with potatoes, onions, peanuts, and chicken.  I was given a huge bowl of it and was full long before I finished it.  Good stuff and not spicy like most Thai food.  I would happily order it again. 

The rain and rough winds made taking a water taxi or general boat ride a little iffy.  The nearby stand offered elephant experiences, guided tours, and trips to the islands but again, the weather was a factor.  It rained almost every day I was there, making planning difficult.

Third tip: don’t visit Thailand during the rainy season.  Bangkok and Chiang Mai weren’t so bad, but being that Phuket is an island, the rain there is just … sigh.  There’s so much of it.  I woke up one morning and it was pouring (ample excuse to go back to sleep).  Went to bed that night, after a relatively dry day, and it was pouring again.  After a while, the gray skies and all the water was just too gloomy to deal with.

Seeing old white men and their tiny Thai companions had become normal.  What I didn’t expect, on this island in particular, were the number of Russians around the place.  Their influence is so great here that many of the signs are in Thai, English, and/or Russian.  Hearing the language was one thing.  It was also seeing more than a few huge, muscled, highly tattooed men lumbering around.  I was sitting in a café one afternoon, just staring at the water while a Russian chick sat behind me, an old white man with a young Thai woman sat to my right, and there was the sound of a Muy Thai session coming from the studio next door.  Welcome to Thailand!

Oh yeah.  Thailand has dragons.  I knew that but was still surprised when I saw one in the water as I crossed a bridge.  I’m just glad I saw it from a distance.

Like I said earlier, the bus is a pretty reliable form of transit.  It even runs on the weekends with the same schedule.  Since Rawai was a bit of a dud, I took it up to Patong Beach, the party capital of the island.  About twenty minutes northwest of Rawai, Patong Beach is kind of a mini-Bangkok next to the water.  That’s where you’ll find many more busy streets, more cars, way too many motorcycles, and a lot more tourists and congestion. 

The beach is usable for bathers – at least partially.  There are also a bunch of businesses running on the beach that have it parceled out for their use only.  There are parasailing, jet skiing, and motorboat rentals scattered all along the beach. 

Patong is also where you’ll find the chain restaurants.  There was a massive Hooters (no pun intended) next to the Hard Rock along with the ubiquitous McDonald’s and Starbucks.  There was an entire street dedicated to bars and strip joints and the designs of some of those were … interesting.  When malls are dying all around America, Patong is home to a brand spanking new one, half-occupied and still under construction.  It consists of two separate buildings with a moat between them. It is impressive.  And not to worry.  There were plenty of weed shops and massage parlors.  The latter were always the easiest to spot even if you never saw a sign.  They were always fronted by a bunch of bored women in similar dress, calling out to people. 

Between Rawai and Patong is Karon Beach.  I didn’t get out to explore this one, but it looked to be the middle ground between the loud, crazy Patong and the quiet Rawai.  There was a decent beach, more for bathers than water sports, and the commercial section looked livelier. 

My flight to Singapore from Bangkok was early on a Monday.  It took 2 hours to get from Rawai Beach to the airport by bus and another 1 ½ hours to get to Bangkok.  No way I could do that all before my 10:40 flight, so I left Phuket a day early to give myself plenty of time.   The day did not start off well and it just kept getting worse.

I woke up and packed early enough to go out and get something to eat … only to find that most places were closed on Sunday. I walked up and down the road looking for anything edible (that wasn’t full of weed).  The Café Amazon was open but only sold muffins and coffee.  I then remembered a French Bakery off the main road and took the long walk to see if it was open.  Thankfully, it was.  I had a decent meal outside while listening to the chick at the table near me quietly chew her boyfriend out for the duration of my time there.  Dude must have been a serious glutton for punishment as he left the table at one point to go to his motorcycle only to come back for more berating.  Incidents like this really makes me glad to be a solo traveler.

A bus ride and short plane trip later and I’m back in Bangkok.  Getting a taxi from Don Mueang was a new kind of hell.  You are forced to go into this concrete tunnel down to a waiting room. They give you a number as soon as you enter and you have to watch the screens for your number, like at a bakery.  But there was no yummy scone waiting for me when my number came up.  After another wait at the desk (why call me if you don’t have someone ready to go?), I was shoved off on this grumpy man who led me to a cab.  He didn’t offer to help me with my bags or even look back to make sure I was following.  Nice start but it only got worse.

The desk had given him the address, so I didn’t bother.  Until, of course, we pulled up to the wrong place.  It didn’t look like the picture on Booking.com’s website and had a different name.  I tried to explain it to him, conscious of the language barrier, before showing him my phone.  The actual place was just up the street in this dodgy neighborhood near the airport (the only reason I chose it). As he got the luggage out of the trunk, I remained in the cab to carefully count out the money I owed him before handing it over.  I waited to make sure I’d given him the correct amount as it was dark and I’m still not comfortable with the money.  He counts it then tells me to get out.  Excuse you, jerk!  Please note that this was the same ^&(^hole who was trying to dump me at the wrong hotel.  It’s dark, it’s drizzling, I’m angry, hungry, and don’t know where I am.  Good times!

The place was better than I expected for the neighborhood and would do just fine for a single night.  Nothing more though, as the place was designed for people needing a place to stay for a quick trip to the airport in the morning.

I needed to put myself into a booze and carb coma – the second night in a row where I was compelled to do that.  The night before, the rain was getting me down so dinner was a pepperoni pizza, 2 Zombies, and French fries for dessert.  After I ate, I just sat and stared at the water.  Who needs weed when you have carbs?  (Damn.  That was a good coma.)

Following my phone, I ended up going the wrong way down a dark alley.  A lady sitting on a nearby porch called out ‘Madame?  Where are you going?”  I ignored her, realizing later that she was just trying to help the confused foreigner.  But by that point I was really tired of “Madame?” and people asking me to come into their shops, or restaurants, or if I wanted a massage.  I get that the calls come from underworked, bored-out-of-their-minds employees who need to attract people as part of their jobs, but enough already!  I’d had it with everyone trying to get my money, like I hadn’t already spent enough in Thailand.

After turning around and finding my way to the main road, I encountered more food stands but few actual restaurants on the street.  As it was still wet and I just wanted to get something quick, it was 7-11 to the rescue.  I got a prepared meal and an individual bottle of chilled wine and headed back.  The room had a microwave and wi-fi, so dinner and a show.

While the shower was good, the bed was a slab of concrete.  I got zero sleep and was up before the alarm.  I got dressed in record time to meet the airport shuttle arriving at seven.  Couldn’t wait to see the end of that hotel and Bangkok.

So.  To sum up my search for a new home, let’s put it this way: five weeks in Portugal and I didn’t want to leave.  After just three weeks in Thailand?  Where the plane at?