On Gettin' Tongue Thai'd

I must have taken a Left where I generally take a Right … ‘cause I ended up in the Kingdom of Tieland. Which is an unsual name, because it’s too hot to wear one there.

So everything in Thailand seems to require officials filling out forms that are given to other officials that take you somewhere else for the form to get stamped, and then escort you to another official that eventually takes you to the … taxi.

And despite what the form says about the Department of Land Transport requiring the meter and any tolls to be paid, the cabbie will immediately negotiate. So after getting over the intial shock of the cabbie suggesting I pay $500 to get from the airport to the hotel, I start doing some mental ‘rithmetic.

It took a while.

There are a lot of zeros and decimal points when you’re trying to calculate and exchange rate of 0.042 … at which point I realized I was haggling over a $20 or $21 fare. 500 Baht would be fine.

The ride took over 2 hours. Who's a winner now?

Now being a little more oriented to run-down-shack-and-open-space, the immediate impact of the densely packed city of Bangkok was a little tough on the system. But once you give up the need for personal space and get on with it, there are some delights to be found.

Like when I thought the cabbie had dropped me at The Palace, but it turned out to be and incredibly fancy hotel (which charges the same rate as a Best Western back home). We’re talking serious gilding in gold, stunning lighting, those massive chairs with all the deep velvet colors, waterfalls, stately palm trees, and seriously fancy, ornate outfits upon the ever bowing and praying staff.

Although I thought they’d mistaken me for one of their deities (it happens … but usually only back at the holler), it turns out the bowing and praying thing is some form of respectful greeting.

So I’m feeling like a total stranger in a strange land, in an uncomfortably fancy-pants hotel, where not too many local people can speak a lick of English (well, my Hillbilly version of English), and then as I swing around the corner to find the lifts ... I was going to be all right.

On another fancy display, there are some elegant black and white photos of the rich and famous that have stayed in the palace, er – hotel.

Second photo at the top of the board … is The Man.

Ronald Reagan.

I'm gonna be all right.

(Normally I’d be a little put out that Ronnie was second, but since Maggie Thatcher was in first, I won’t be sending my complaint to customer service.)

On Reflection

So it is that time of the year when the commercial media dish up their top 100 and greatest 25, and bestest top 10 of 2009.

Well, as the mighty Dillon says … who am I to blow against the wind? So, after 6 months on The Island, here are the rights and wrongs.

Right: Moving to a place where the Claypot Frog bar is tossing distance from your condo.
Wrong: Leaving a place where the Narrabeen RSL is spittin’ distance from your front door.

Right: Moving to a country that you can traverse in 45 minutes.
Wrong: Leaving a country that you can get into your 4Wd and head out on the highway for two days without finding anything.

Right: Finding a blues bar with pool tables down at the Quay.
Wrong: Listening to Johnny Cash and the Eagles in Mandarin at the local cabana bar.

Right: Moving to a place where a jumper (“sweater” for you Mary Lou) is not required.
Wrong: Moving to a place in which the temperature has changed 3½ degrees in 6 months.

Right: Selling Mexican brews in the local gas station.
Wrong: $45 for a six pack of Coopers sparkling ale, available from both supermarkets on The Island.

Right: Selling beer and spirits at the local servo (the local “off license” to you, Sir Jim).
Wrong: I know why this would not work in Oz,

Right: Being able to take a taxi 20km to work for $8.
Wrong: Having to fork out almost $100k for any vehicle pushing 2 litres of capacity.

Right: Getting to the train (MRT) station so you are first in line to board.
Wrong: Not maiming the 80-year-old ethnic git that cuts in front of you to get on board first.

Wrong: Moving over 4,000 miles from your Mom, Dad, best friends, all of your colleagues, The Giants, and even from Baldilocks.
Right: Moving 4,085 miles from your sister.

Right: Moving to a safe and tolerant country that is a fantastic melting pot of Chinese, Indian, Malay, and European individuality and cultures.
Wrong: Finding out that the country you have moved to is more racist than the Narrabeen RSL.

Right: Enjoying a day off for Thanksgiving Day and Live Thursday night football on the Island.
Wrong: Learning that it is in fact a holiday because some feller in Sand Lands sacrificed his son for "Greater Eid" as an act of obedience to someone’s invisible Friend.

Right: Watching Kevin ’07 try to peddle his shallow attempt at a Climategate agenda through Parliament.
Wrong: Living on a Island in which every item is double-wrapped in plastic bags …

Right: Learning that driving is basically the same as where you hailed from in Oz.
Wrong: Learning (the hard way) that turning right into street involves selection of a lane using multiple choice, shaking of an eight ball or chaos theory.

Right: Continuing to pen this mindless drivel for my dear friends at home.
Wrong: Not a single postcard sent to my dear friends at home.

Right: Convincing the tatertots that Santa and his unicorns (whatever) will find them in Port Lincoln this year.
Wrong: Dealing with a 7 year old that insists it is pretty unlikely that a big, fat man in a red furry costume, gads about in a sleigh pulled by a few reindeer, delivering toys to other tatertots … gol’darnit chile … welcome to reality, kid.

Right: From one place to another, from home to home … the warmth and joy of Christmas will bring us closer to each other.
Wrong: Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of retail love.