We left Phi Phi two days ago and spent 2 more nights in Patong, me working, Julia shopping, eating Tom Yum at almost every conceivable meal and spending our nights at Rock In Dice Bar in Soi Dragon playing games.
For our very first massage in Thailand we also went to a clearly decent place. Oh how I wished we went for a dirty massage, because our therapists clearly knew nothing about decent massages. I walked out feeling worse than when I went in and Julia also noticed a previously unnoticed crick in her back. We also ventured to Karon and Kata beach last night though, completely different to Patong, to play putt-putt on a course like the set of Jurassic Park. It featured a variety of dinosaurs, a volcano with smoke effects and wicked lighting, water falls and streams, all in a tropical jungle setting.
But it was also speed putt-putt, because the course was exceptionally crammed with punters with no time to lose before the people behind you were breathing down your neck. In the end, we both sucked, but it was a nice little distraction.
Racing back to Phuket International Airport
This morning, with plenty of time to spare, we arranged an airport transfer with one of these guys standing next to the road with the Taxi sign, but after he said, for the umpteenth time, “just two more minutes”, we realised that his brother-in-law or cousin or whoever he phoned, wasn’t going to make it to Patong from his far flung village, so we took our stuff and headed for the main road.
Eventually we found an informal, Natural Gas Vehicle (NGV) taxi which offered to take us to the airport for THB300. The taxis that use petrol refused to go below THB600.
At Phuket International checking in for our Air Asia flight was quick and seamless. At the boarding gate however, chaos ruled. There were no lines as such and the Air Asia ground staff didn’t bother creating any kind of order either. Everybody just squeezed in from all directions and we ended up towards the middle-back of the bundle.
Air Asia non-Assigned Seat Air-rage
We made it to plane with two seats left in the emergency exit row and an elderly-looking gent sitting, by himself, on the isle. Julia and I know this tactic well. He’s sitting on the isle hoping nobody will want to squeeze past to sit by the window so that he can save the space for his friend. Unfortunately, or in this instance, fortunately, Air Asia is a free-seating airline.
Pay attention people, this means you’re not allow to block a space for somebody if somebody else wants the seat. Of course, kind gentle souls that most of us travelers are, nobody actually ever argues when somebody blocks a seat, because who wants to risk loosing such an argument in front of an audience (and make an enemy in doing so)?
I do.
So as we walk up to these two, prime, empty seats, I eye it. The gent sees me eyeing it, and he cranks his neck to see behind me in the hope that his friend is somewhere behind us. But I walked fast, dragging Julia almost running behind me, so we’re well ahead of the next wave. I stop at the row and load our carry-ons into the overhead compartment before motioning for Julia to scoot in so that I can sit in the middle.
“Excuse me, sir”, I say politely to the rather elderly gent so that he can move his legs a bit. Without looking up he growls back in a heavy European, already on the defensive, “This seat is reserved for my friend”. The Air Asia stewardess is standing just to my right, so I feel empowered.
“I’m sorry, sir”, I say in a sickly calm, air-steward-like tone of voice, body language indicating that I’m waiting a little while longer for him to move before I climb over him, “Air Asia doesn’t reserve seats, we would like to sit there”.
“But my friend is going to sit there”, he growls again, seriously cranking his neck to see down the isle, willing his friend to appear there so that he can say ha, there he is. But he isn’t. “I’m sorry, sir, but I need the leg space”, which is true.
Julia jabs me in the ribs and says in my ear “just leave it, let’s find another seat”, but the elderly gent is getting up and moves to the side so that we can get in. “From the states are you?”, he hisses through his teeth. This pisses me off, because it’s racist and ignorant. Obviously he’s referring to “rude Americans”, a stereo-type attached to some Americans who don’t know any better. So because he couldn’t place my accent he automatically assumes I’m American.
“I’m not, actually” I say back politely as I let Julia go in first and sit in the middle. The man sits down. He fidgets and remains red in the face for the rest of the flight, clearly uncomfortable. Possibly the longest flight of his life. The rest of the flight is uneventful.
After collecting our bags in Bangkok, we dodged the touts at the arrivals exit and headed upstairs to the departure lounge. Tip: we snagged a taxi dropping somebody off to take us to Bangkok for THB300 including tolls. It’s also an NGV taxi, we notice.
Eventually, in Sukhumvit, about 2 blocks from our hotel, we abandoned the taxi as it was stuck and traffic and had moved all of 50m in 30 minutes. At first Maxim’s Inn looked a bit dodgy as all along Soi 7 there are girlie bars with loads of girlies hanging about outside pestering other men rather aggressively. Luckily Julia, acting as my talisman in this sort of situation, protects me from girlie hell yet again.
The hotel itself isn’t bad, so we settle in, I rig the wireless connection (free with the hotel) and settle down for some work and rest before heading out again later on.