Hello everybody, sorry it’s been such a while. Okay, sowhere are we up to? Well, having survived the flaming buses and shooting policeman from the (over-cooked) Bangkok protests me and my very good friend Miss Bonnell did our best to get the hell out of there.
Except we couldn’t, because the trains were down and so were the buses. Dot was the only way out of town so having attacked her with a spanner and relocating Beyonce Knowles to the back we were all set to ride two-up to wherever the road wanted to take us.
And east it was. Heading out of Bangkok and a steady 60km/h with the map dotted at Ko Chang, an island where the water flows crystal blue and the trees drop cocunnuts on your cocunut. Two up we wouldn’t make it in a day, not with the sun burning and the road out of town as hard to find as the beginning of my beard.
So we stayed the fist night in Pattaya, a resort we soon discovered where sex is the only food on the menu and a place where every shop has a girl to bounce up and down on your wottsit. A fascinating place. A whole town devoted, dedicated, determined to providing bump and grind to every single person who slides into town. In a two minute walk down the main beach front I counted 63 girls that Old Man Withers, could, if he was sufficiently erect and moneyed, could have had his wicked way with. Yup, disgusting. We left early the next morning.
And in five hours made it to Ko Chang. Now we’re in a bungalow by the beach covered in sand and trying to find the cheapest way to eat. Down tools for me and Dot then, no riding or maps to read. Just relax and bulk up for the ride through Nepal and India that’ll start in the weeks that follow the one after next.
Visas are looking good. India, Pakistan and Iran which is more than can be said for me, with people saying I look like Jesus and Chuck Norris after a night in bed. Cruel words but it’s true, especially when stood next to my very good friend who adds a dose of glitz and glamour to a picture that so far has been smeared with oild and sweat from armpits that have hair growing from them as long as that on my head. I’ll trim them one day. The same goes for the beard. But for now it’s my Samson and if I fear without it I’ll look like a boy again and be taken advantage of by the bigger men who sit on the borders and make crossing them hell, unless of course they mistake you for Jesus.