Galapagos (Darwin's Backyard)...... and the Canadian Tour Guide!

It was 2008 when ‘Spirit of Adventure’ made her first call to Guyaquil, Ecuador, specifically to give her passengers, the rare opportunity to visit the Galapagos Islands. 

The original plan, when the brochures were first published was to anchor at various points around the archipelago and ’tender’ passengers ashore, but subsequently, the Ecuadorian Authorities (wisely I feel) made accessing the Galapagos Islands much more difficult. The Islands had already been declared a World Heritage Site by UNESCO and most of the archipelago a National Park and Marine Reserve.

Plan B was thus put into operation, hence docking the ship at Guyaquil and from where they would fly the passengers from Ecuador mainland to Baltra (South Seymour). From there they would be taken a short distance by ferry to Santa Cruz, the most populated of the islands and onwards to the principal town of Puerto Ayora, where they would stay for two nights.

It was a tight schedule with two half days, plus one full day to take in as much of the diverse sites as possible, remembering that much of the Galapagos Islands is only accessible by small boat.

I was ’escorting’ a group of 92 passengers with assistance from David, on board Ornithology Lecturer and his travelling companion, Peter. We left the ship promptly at 7am and made our way by coaches to the airport, just a short drive from the dock.

Each passengers had already received  flight information and hotel details prior to departure from the ship and my job was to link with Ramon, the local Tour Guide who had the more detailed information for the journey and would stay with us for the duration of our stay on the islands.

As the doors of the relatively small airport opened, there seemed an above average number of people milling around the concourse, however, we duly ushered our passengers through check-in and to the departure lounge, where, it appeared, all hell was breaking loose and although there was no sign of Ramon the Tour Guide, what was apparent was that every flight that morning, prior to and including ours was ’DELAYED’.

We now had a ’nightmare’ unfolding with no seating available in the departure lounge and barely any standing room and 92 passengers ’somewhere’ in the middle of the mayhem. 

Finally, thank God, a dapper looking guy who I would never have spotted in a million years, suddenly found me! It was Ramon the Tour Guide, who then advised me that all the flights begin their journey in Quito, the Capital of Ecuador, which is located in a river basin, some 9,200 ft above sea level and ’prone’ to adverse weather conditions.  All the morning flights were still sitting in Quito waiting for the fog to lift……Mama Mia!

Ramon, who had been conspicuous by his absence for some time, was now ‘picking up the slack’ and darting around the airport trying to glean any information he could on the flight status. There were no announcements made neither in Spanish nor indeed English, therefore everyone was ’in the dark’ as to what was happening…..everyone it would seem except Ramon.

As the morning edged towards mid-day, Ramon returned from his unknown source, to advise me that the fog had lifted in Quito and a plane was due to arrive, but with only 100 seats available. He also knew to which gate the plane would arrive, although there was nothing ’advertised’ on the arrivals board. He suggested we went round the lounge and quietly tell our passengers to gradually make their was to the assigned gate number.

Although there were several hundred people in the departure lounge, it was, with a few exceptions, fairly easy to spot our people. They were over 60, mainly grey and European.

The four of us, Ramon, myself and the two ’twitchers’, avoiding drawing attention to ourselves, made our way independently, around the room and gathered everyone together at the required gate. (the arrival of the plane still hadn’t been advertised). 

As the gate opened we ushered our ‘Spirit’ passengers through and were almost complete, when a very vocal guy lept in front of us, hands on hips, stating our passengers had no priority for boarding and that his Canadian group of 30 had equal rights to the available seats. He refused to move, but in reality, we had already successfully embarked 90 of our 92 passengers and were happy to let him rant!

Ramon joined our passengers on board the plane and the three of us along with the two passengers remaining were taken care of by Ramon’s assistant who advised us the next plane would leave at 9pm and invited us to a nearby hotel for a late lunch.

The Canadian Tour Guide, however, was having non of our quiet departure and continued to rant, stating we had ‘inside information’ on the plane’s arrival and had no right prioritising our people. Etc etc….. I tried to stay calm, although he was really pissing me off by this time and said his time would be better spent, taking care of his group. He continued to rant until David the Ornithologist, normally a quiet unassuming guy told him we were just doing our job and obviously doing it far better than he was and to Fxxx Off!!!

I was quite shocked by David’s outburst as normally he wouldn’t say bugger to a Bluetit!

The five of us spent the next few hours in the comfort of the hotel before heading back to the airport lounge and boarding our 9pm flight (the two passengers with us, were very cool throughout this scenario)…..The Canadian tour guide‘s ‘charges’  were now more apparent, and were becoming equally vocal. (I don’t wish to be presumptuous, but they were all female and all on the ‘butch’ side)……however, we left behind the vocal cacophony and slipped away to our organised transport…..

Thankfully, we didn’t see the Canadians again.

Being on the equator, it was by now pitch dark and not helped by the lack of street lighting or in fact any lighting other than the bus headlights.

We headed to the rustic ferry, where we, with the help of the bus headlights climbed on board before being taken the short distance across the channel to Santa Cruz, where we were then taken by mini bus, the 40 minute drive to our hotel.

It was now around 1am and our passengers had taken to their beds. We were directed to our rooms and given a note to say that breakfast was at 7am and our first excursion at 8am.

Just after 7am, I emerged from my room and headed down the  steps to the open air dining area. As I approached, the passengers who probably thought they’d never see us again, broke into spontaneous applause.

I’ve never been applauded before breakfast before!….well actually I have, a few years ago, but under different circumstances….and then, there was only one applauding!

So, we’ve seen the back of the Canadian Lesbians and now it’s time in Part 2 to concentrate on the Galapagos Islands and meet a few of my friends.

To be continued……..

The Beachbum

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Waltzing round the World... Part 2

continued...........

Before booking excursions, Irene Martin would check with the Shore Excursion Manager which tours I would be escorting and make a point of booking herself onto the same tour. On the tour, she would deliberately fall behind the other guests, knowing that I would have to stay behind with her, to make sure she wasn’t left behind or split from the group. This was a particular major headache when, knowing I was escorting the tour, booked on a three day overland tour to China.

In Perth, Australia, she even made her way, by taxi to a local television station to complain to them that the dance hosts on the QE2 refused to dance with her! The first we knew of it was when the television station contacted the ship saying they had one of our 'problem cases' in their office, asking to be interviewed. The Cruise Director, John Butt then had to take a cab to the TV station, collect her and bring her back to the ship.

The Captain and Cunard shore-side Management were all well aware of the endless problems this woman was causing, but were unable to take action as we were so far from mainland America, however, as we neared Los Angeles on our return leg of the cruise, the Captain summoned her to his quarters, telling her that he wasn’t prepared to put up with her constant complaining any more and that she would have to leave the ship in L.A.

Not being a party to the meeting I’m not sure how my name cropped up, but it was decided, the only way they could get her to leave the ship quietly, was if I was to escort her home, to which she had apparently agreed.

The Captain called me to his Quarters, said I was under no obligation to agree to the request and asked if I would be agreeable to escorting her from Los Angeles, to her home in Washington DC.

During the meeting, the phone rang. It was the Social Director, saying Irene Martin was looking for me to tell me she had been evicted from the ship and was threatening to throw herself over the side.  I left the meeting, met up with the Security Officers and headed towards promenade deck where she had been recently seen.

We stepped outside and there she was in the pouring rain, ranting that she had been evicted from the ship ‘Me’ she said ‘Evicted from the ship – and my husband, buried with military honours in Arlington Cemetery!’

I approached her to try to coax her back inside. By now, she was soaked to the skin and still ranting – ‘What do I want with these material things?’ and threw the contents of her handbag along promenade deck. (She could have thrown the bag over the side, but that would have been too final and less effective).
She finally agreed to come inside and was led by the Security Officer to her cabin, whilst I collected and returned the contents of her bag.

For the next twenty four hours prior to our arrival in L.A., she was confined to her cabin and her meals brought to her. Flight arrangements were made for the two of us and her belonging packed ready for departure.

Upon arrival in L.A., more problems arose when U.S. Immigration were reluctant to allow a non U.S. citizen (me) to escort the lady home. This caused several hours delay, during which time I had Mrs. Martin under threat, that if she started to ‘play up’ before we left the ship, I would about turn and leave her to find her own way home.

We were eventually given permission to leave; I was given the flight tickets for our flight to Washington DC, along with my re-joining details which were to be in Acapulco, Mexico four days hence.

All of our staff thought I was crazy for agreeing to take her home, but the spirit of adventure over-rode sensibility; I had never been to Washington DC or for that matter, Acapulco. The Cruise Director’s last instructions were, ‘When you get to Washington Airport, kick her ass into a taxi and leave’.
I listened and didn’t say anything, but thought, ‘What if something happens to her between the Airport and her home?’ No, I would have to see it through properly.


I loaded the slightly built Mrs. Martin and her ample amount of luggage into a taxi and headed for the airport. Because of the delay caused by Immigration and further delays due to heavy traffic we missed the flight and had to wait six hours for the next one, which was an overnight flight via Philadelphia.
I was fully aware of the problems she had caused over the past two months but at the same time, couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for her. I had asked previously if there was anyone we should contact to let them know she was coming home, but she had no-one.

After changing flights in Philadelphia, we eventually arrived in Washington DC and took a taxi from the airport to her home, a second floor apartment on the outskirts of the city.  Her apartment was small and dark, with basic, almost utility furniture, comprising living/dining room, one bedroom and a bathroom. Around the walls were dozens of unframed pictures of herself, taken on various cruises, a few framed black and white photographs of her husband and dozens of old pictures of her dog. Above the electric fire was a huge slate plaque, which read ‘In loving memory of Rex,’ (the dog!), ‘A Faithful Friend’.


Of course, there was nothing in the fridge and very little in the food cupboard, so I went to the local store and replenished her stocks with at least a few essentials to get her through the next couple of days. We had a bite to eat and then I told her I had to leave.
She asked if I could stay and offered me five thousand dollars if I would stay for the weekend. I declined the offer, telling her that I was expected back at the ship as they had delayed sailing until I returned. (Untrue, but she wasn’t to know any different).

Up to this point, since leaving the ship, she had been quite polite and almost humble, however, she now realized she couldn’t get her own way, nor could she buy me off – then she turned, as only she could.
‘Go! You don’t care, you are just like all the rest! You’re no better than that Captain Bennell who evicted me!’ ‘you have no respect! Don’t you know my husband was buried with military honours in Arlington Cemetary’.

I said I was sorry she felt that way but that I had to leave.

I left her apartment went down to the street and hailed a cab. As I sat in the cab, heading for the airport, it was as if a ton weight had been taken from my shoulders. I had been in her company for almost thirty six hours, humouring her, chatting with her, but never quite knowing how she would turn.
I took the flight and spent a welcome two days in the Ambassador Hotel on Acapulco Bay.
When I eventually re-joined the ship, I’m not sure why, but the staff, seemed surprised to see me! What they thought would or could happen to me, I’m not sure, but the whole scenario was the talk of the ship.

The passengers and particularly the single ladies asked jokingly if this was a new service offered by Cunard, that they could now be personally escorted home!


The post-script to the story is...... 

Some two months later when I returned to the ship after a vacation, Captain Woodall rang to ask if I, along with John Butt, the Cruise Director would go to his quarters. He asked about Irene Martin and the circumstances of her leaving the ship. He said there had been correspondence from Cunard’s Legal Department in New York saying that Irene Martin had made an official complaint to  Washington D.C. Police Department, stating that the person from Cunard Line who had taken her home had thrown her on the bed a raped her!
John Butt said ‘I told you, you should have put her in a taxi at the airport and left’.
Five days later, in New York I was summoned to a meeting with the head of the Legal Department, to take my statement of the sequence of events and said, ‘I must ask you this: ‘Did you rape Mrs. Martin?’
I had a photograph Mrs. Martin had given to me, which I passed over the table to the lawyer. As she viewed the picture taken outside the Mauritania Restaurant, complete with ill-fitting wig, kaftan and the medal around her neck, she looked up at me and said ‘She really isn’t your type!’
‘My type’ I said, ‘I couldn’t even have raised my eyebrows!’


That was the last I heard of the case, but not the last to hear of Irene Martin. A few weeks later we were anchored off Hamilton, Bermuda. During the late afternoon, when most people were returning to the ship, a sharp-eyed bandleader, Mick Urry spotted, lining up to get on the tender, Irene Martin. He immediately reported it to the Security Officer on duty who promptly obstructed her access and turned her away. What was her agenda? No idea! She had obviously taken a flight from Washington DC to Bermuda, knowing the QE2 was there, for whatever reason!.........and we'll never know!……….

Captain Bennell, a relatively young and active man, died shortly afterwards of cancer....

A ‘baptism of fire’ springs to mind, but thankfully, after this extraordinary introduction, ship life became a little easier…….but NEVER boring!……

The beachbum

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Waltzing round the World....and the Wicked Witch from Washington....

It was January 1988 and having now completed over two month on board ship, I was beginning to know my way around and settle into the job. As Cruise Staff, our job was to run the on-board activities, as well as manning the Social Centre. We were required to be present at cocktail parties, of which there were many and to attend dance classes which, particularly for single passengers was a very important part of their social scene.
Due to the high number of lady passengers travelling alone, the company hired four male dance hosts, who, in addition to any male member of the Cruise Director’s staff and that included the Cruise Director, Deputy Cruise Director, Programme Co-coordinator, Social Director, Cruise Staff and even the Stage Managers would be required to dance every evening with the single ladies.
This became known around the department as ‘Dances with Wolves’ due to the over-eagerness of the said ‘ladies’.
Before and after the main show of the evening, there would be an hour’s dance set which, for the single ladies, even if it meant rushing through dinner would not only attend, but would position themselves around the edge of the ballroom floor so as not to be missed.
Some would count the number of dances each other lady had and complain strongly if she hadn’t had the same number.
It was a war zone!

Predominant amongst the complainers were two ‘ladies’ Kissing Annie and Irene Martin.
Kissing Annie pointed out, in no uncertain terms that she had been promised by  one of the Directors of Cunard, she would have at least one dance each evening with every male member of staff and that was the only reason she had booked the cruise.
Annie would dance with her husband, who, I should point out had a long leg and a short one. (He wore a block under one shoe). As soon as one of the staff was available and that could have been as you were escorting a lady back to her seat, she would leave him in the middle of the dance floor, follow us off the floor, tugging at our jackets as we took the lady to her seat.
I pointed out to her politely that we were here mainly for those ladies without a partner, to which she replied that her husband was disabled. I retorted with a smile that Bart (her husband) didn’t seem that disabled when he was playing table tennis for most of each day, to which she then threw back at me the so called promise made by the Cunard Director when she booked her cruise. You couldn’t win!
The other quirk with Kissing Annie was sleeping sickness. She always sat with her husband on the front row, waiting to pounce, but would have to sit ‘dance-less’ for the duration of the cabaret show. As soon as she sat down, she would fall asleep, so much so, that Bart had to tie his handkerchief to her wrist and throughout the cabaret performance, as Annie started to nod off would pull the hanky to try to keep her awake.
Being on the front row, the continual pull of the white hanky was so obvious and disconcerting, we had to make all cabaret acts aware, in case it put them off their stride. It would have been less noticeable had she been allowed to fall asleep.
I think she also suffered from Alopecia, as she always wore head gear; during the day she would  wear, albeit a different combination of colours, a knitted hat, then, in the evenings, a wig.
It’s interesting when you get to know these people! It turned out they had made their money out of stretch nylon covers!

That first World Cruise, I did wonder about the choice of dance hosts. There were four in total, all well over six feet tall and none of them were very good dancers. I didn’t profess to being a fantastic dancer, nor was that requirement necessary, but I could at least get around the floor in the quickstep, waltz, foxtrot and the basic Latin dances. I was also a reasonable height for the generally petite women. The hosts would shuffle round the floor, their heads towering above the rest of the dance couples, their partner’s head coming to just above their navel.
One of the hosts was hired as a teacher for the son of the Managing Director,  so that he could be with them on the World Cruise – his dancing abilities were never part of his resume however, dancing was thrown in as part of his job.
During the dance sets the regular staff, would spend most of their time at a dispense bar, hidden from view and would send one, then another out to ‘do his bit’. Their conversation was mundane and repetitive, usually about their sexual conquests and became even more boring after a few drinks and so I left them to their inane conversation and spent my time doing what we were meant to do, humouring Kissing Annie and the rest of the ‘Wolves’.

Within the first week of the World Cruise, problems started with Irene Martin, the woman who became a horror story as the cruise progressed, She would visit the Chief Purser on an almost daily basis complaining of her cabin, the food, the guests at her dinner table, accusing her fellow guests of cheating at Bridge and accusing the staff of not giving her sufficient dances in the evening.
I was usually mentioned in dispatches during these complaints that I was the only member of staff who cared about her. Frankly I was just doing my job; chatting with her occasionally and humouring her to the best of my ability. She was one of a group of ladies who had previously travelled with Holland America Line, on the Rotterdam until the line stopped doing world cruises, at which point many of them transferred  to QE2.
Few of them ‘got on’ together and were incessantly bitching about one or the other and continually comparing QE2 with the Rotterdam, complaining that on the Rotterdam they would have ‘this’ and on the Rotterdam they would have ‘that’.

Ships are renowned for having ‘professional complainers’, who will find anything to complain about in the hope of getting travel credit on their next cruise. The more a company listens to these complaints, of which Cunard Line were guilty, the more they would complain.
Irene Martin was a past master at this and made it perfectly clear she wanted all of her complaints formally prepared by the Chief Purser, that way, it would be on record for when she returned home and made complaints to her Travel Agent.
The file of complaints from her grew by the day, as did the complaints about her from other passengers. The guests at her dinner table asked to be moved, leaving her dining alone.
She was a slightly built Jewish-American woman in her mid to late seventies, with a clipped Eastern European accent. She always wore a wig, which looked more like a rat sitting on her head and in the daytime would wear a polo shirt, black lycra tights and gold shoes. In the evening she would almost always wear a kaftan and on formal nights, wore around her neck, a silver coloured plastic medallion on a broad ribbon, which she boasted of winning, dancing the Cha Cha Cha with David, a dance host on the Rotterdam.

After circum-navigating South America, the ship called at Los Angeles where we embarked more passengers. Amongst them was Dorothy Hyman travelling with a male guest, who it transpired was David, the former dance host from the Rotterdam.
When Irene Martin discovered he was travelling with Dorothy Hyman, she went into a jealous rage, proclaiming, for all to hear that Dorothy Hyman had stolen David from her during their cruise on the Rotterdam, that Dorothy Hyman was paying for him to travel with her and that by now, she was probably riddled with Aids, as he was gay!
The woman was a nightmare!

To be continued.....................

The beachbum

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Svalbard, Norway (and the Polar Bear.....)

It was the summer of 2005 and the ship was heading north, already within the Arctic Circle for our arrival at Longyearbyen, the principal town of  Spitsbergen, Svalbard. For some reason, I woke early that morning and peering from my porthole found we had already made landfall. Curious as to what was happening, I quickly dressed  and made my way to the Bridge. The Captain had decided, with advice from the local Pilot, there was time in hand to make an unscheduled visit to a remote glacier in a secluded bay.

Before telling the passengers of our 'surprise' visit, he asked if I would like to join the Staff Captain and three Able Seamen as they were about to lower one of the lifeboats to take a closer look at the terrain.

It transpired they had seen a Polar Bear in the far distance and wondered if it could be tempted to make its way closer to the ship for the benefit of the passengers.

The landscape around us was stunning and the flat calm water reflected the majestic snow covered mountains.

Two glaciers were clearly visible at the end of the Fjord.

We took to the lifeboat and were lowered to the water.

As we moved away from the ship's side and slowly headed towards shore, we could then see quite clearly this awesome creature making its unstoppable way along the shore's edge.

It was still barely 6am but the Captain decided to make the announcement to the passengers that they should make their way to open decks to enjoy this rare opportunity.

The Polar Bear, was indeed heading in the ship's direction, but was still difficult to see from the distance the ship was positioned, particularly as the immediate terrain was snow covered.

The object was that we would 'follow' the bear's path, allowing the passengers to use the lifeboat as a visible guide to see him. As he made his way along the shoreline the snow was less in evidence, thus making it easier on the eye.

The magnificence of this creature was becoming more and more apparent and despite the rocky, craggy ground, his progress was unfaltering.

Up to now, we had kept a distance of around 50 meters from the shore, but as we edged a little closer, he became less comfortable with our presence and climbed the rock face to keep, it would seem, that comfort zone between us.

We edged further away and he returned to his original path, by the shoreline.

He gave us a 'look' as if to say 'now keep your distance!'

He sniffed the air as if he could 'smell' our presence, or maybe he could smell breakfast cooking on board ship!

A job well done, we headed back to the 'falls' to be lifted back to the ship's deck.

As we were attaching the 'falls' to the boat's tackle, we were amazed and a little concerned that he had taken to the water and was heading our way.

Either we, or the bacon had taken his fancy.

The next, you'll be pleased to know, is courtesy of  'photoshop'

So, a rare sight in a stunningly beautiful part of the world and all before breakfast.

Thank you Captain!

and thanks to the Polar Bear for putting on a show.

The beachbum

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Thai Language

Floating Market

Thai Language

Now that we have established we are in Phuket, Thailand, maybe we should have a go at the Thai language. Amazingly, on this beautiful tropical island, there never seems to be a shortage of this life-sustaining commodity. It is a highly regarded and respected part of every day life and therefore seems appropriate to begin with NAHM (water) and its associated links. NAHM PLAO (literally means water-empty, or plain water).

Many liquids use the word NAHM, the following being a few examples :-

NAHM KENG (ice)

NAHM MAN RUT (petrol)

NAHM BPLAH (fish sauce)

NAHM MAN PEUT (cooking oil)

NAHM MAN MA PRAO (coconut oil)

NAHM MA PRAO (coconut water)

NAHM KA-TI (coconut milk for use, for example, in curry sauce)

NAHM TAN (sugar: not quite following the rules, but it is put into liquid)

NAHM SOM KHAN (orange juice)

NAHM MA-NAO (lemon juice)

NAHM DENG (red Sprite)

NAHM KEO (green Sprite)

NAHM SOM (orange drink)

NAHM TALAY (sea)

NAHM HORNG (toilet)

There are many more words including the word (NAHM)

but the words above are the most useful.

The next word, essential to 'get by' in Thailand is KRAP,

usually causing a titter amongst English speaking visitors

but probably the most important word in Thai language.

The word changes according to whether it is used by a man or a woman.

KRAP would be used only by a man

and the equivalent KA used by the woman.

It has several meanings including, thank you, please, ok and sir

and is added out of politeness, to most sentences.

It's most common use is in greetings.

SAWADEE KRAP (hello, goodbye, good morning, good afternoon, good evening)

the phrase would often be followed by SABI DEE MAI (how are you),

which would be answered SABI DEE KRAP (I am fine, thank you)

KORP KOON KRAP (thank you)

Remember that each time the word KRAP is used the female would use the word KA.

Basic numbers are also useful to know

:- NEUNG (one) SONG (two) SAAM (three) SEE (four) HAA (five) HOCK (six) JET (seven) BPET (eight) GAO (nine) SIP (ten)

Sitting at a Cafe: Sawadee Krap (Ka), (reply: Sawadee krap (Ka), Sabai dee mai?,(reply: Sabai dee krap (ka) Beer Singha Song Koo-ut, (Koo-ut means bottle) Krap (Ka). Nahm plao neung koo-ut, krap (ka) When the drinks arrive: Korp koon krap (Ka) : Thank you Upon leaving: Sawadee krap (ka): goodbye Congratulations, you have just ordered and enjoyed two Singha Beers and a bottle of water.

The beachbum

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So, you Fancy a House in Paradise?...continued

The following is a sequence of events which began seven years ago when I first got ‘involved’ in Thailand and if you think this story is unreal, then cock an ear to any one of thousands of stories, which end far worse than mine. I will make one excuse before continuing, by saying, that at the time, my heart was young and my brain obviously haggled.

My experiences in Thailand prior to seven years ago, were relatively 'normal' with holiday visits maybe 2 or 3 times each year for the previous 3 years,  always staying in Patong.

Most of those previous years involved my first 'love' in Thailand, Chatree from Trang Province, who I met on the first night of my very first visit to Phuket and who, on reflection, was perhaps one of the most easy going people I could have met. He worked as a doorman at a gay bar which he hated and subsequently returned to Trang to work on rubber trees with his father.

Then came Golf or Gob as the Thais would say and that's where the problems started.....not immediately, but gradually. I was  totally infatuated by this guy, who I first met  leaning on his hands at a bar / restaurant on Patong Beach, where he worked as a kitchen assistant.

I will include my up to date comments and thoughts, in italics........  

Golf was from Bangkok and like many Thais had made his way to Phuket to find work for the short term and no doubt, find a farang (foreigner) for the longer term.

Most who head south have already attended the University of 'How to find and deal with a Farang' and have passed with flying colours.

Golf was no exception and although he wasn't working as a 'bar boy' as such knew how to make the right noises to keep the interest of his 'farang' . I was very happy with the situation and my subsequent visits included collecting Golf in Bangkok and heading down to Phuket. There were a few 'necessary' purchases made along the way, including a mobile phone, gold chain and a new 'chopper' motorbike, which Golf proudly displayed around Patong. There were also payments into his bank account during the time I was away from Thailand, working.

During my next visit, which was shortly after the Tsunami, we decided to pay a call to Robin, a long standing friend of more than 30 years who had moved to Chalong in the south of Phuket some 20 years previously. My local pub back in the UK, knowing my connections with Phuket, had raised a substantial amount of money for the Tsunami, which they entrusted to me to put to good use. Hearing of anomalies with the distribution of funds I felt I should talk to Robin, who had far more local knowledge, to find the best and fairest way of distributing the money. (Along the way, I met the Chairman of the local Rotary Club, who was ‘hands on’ with the Tsunami, specifically children who were affected and I was invited to their next meeting, where I handed over the funds and  the 'minutes' of the meeting sent back by the Rotary Club to the pub in the UK). 

The after effects of the Tsunami were of an even stronger bonding with Phuket and the people.

Back to the plot.........I had thoughts during my frequent visits to Phuket of maybe having a base here, rather than paying hotel prices. Obviously I had spoken to Golf on the subject and needless to say he was very enthusiastic. During the short visit to Robin, Golf drove around the estate and returned with a phone number which was displayed on an empty property around the corner. We viewed the house from the outside and rang the number. The owner was round within 30 minutes and gave us a conducted tour of the inside of the property. It was in good condition, albeit dated, but with 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms, at 2 million Baht was good value.

(The Baht rate at the time, was 70 to the pound and is now barely 50). 

I returned to the UK and Golf returned to Bangkok. I arranged to transfer the money from the UK to Robin's account in Thailand. The property and specifically the land cannot be in the name of a foreigner but must be in the name of a Thai national. With heart still ruling the head the house was signed into Golf's name and whilst I was away on a working contract, Robin supervised a builder to do the necessary renovation work. Upon my return, some months later, I was suddenly the proud owner (or so I thought) of a newly renovated detached bungalow.

There are ways around the ownership situation, by either forming a company, or buying an apartment (recently built blocks of apartments are split 49% foreign ownership 51% Thai ownership). You can also take out a lease from the land owner for 30 years + 30 + 30 (which is the option I now have taken)

The one huge difference between staying in Patong and living in Chalong is that in Patong, everything is within walking distance, whereas in Chalong you need transport wherever you need to go, so a car was the next consideration. I was happy to buy second hand, but Golf in his usual persuasive way, convinced me I should buy new, blaming the Tsunami at having damaged many of the second hand cars (which was bullshit). Upon viewing at the Honda showroom I ended up buying a Honda City and..... wait for it.....putting it in Golf's name.

Although it wasn't made clear to me at the time, a foreigner can buy a car in his or her own name, providing you have a Retirement Visa or ’O’ visa (not a tourist visa) and is made even easier if you apply for a Thai driving license. Also, before you think I'm a total prat, I was at this stage, still very much in love / infatuated by this guy.

Having now furnished the house and bought a car, it was time to leave Phuket and return to work. During my time away, I had several emails from Robin expressing concern about the number of people who were staying at the house, in my absence and wondering if I was aware.
Of course I wasn't aware and needless to say, by the time I had returned some three months later, the 'lodgers' had moved out. I saw Golf and my car, very briefly before getting a phone call that my car was being held in a 'pound' at Phuket Police Station and would be held there until the court case had been completed!!!!!

Golf then condescended to pay me a visit and explain that he and a Thai friend had run through a Police checkpoint, switched drivers before being caught by the police and charged with dangerous driving and drunk driving. His friend (who was not driving, but had swapped to the drivers seat) was being held in a Police cell at Phuket Police Station.

Continued…………..

So, having been for a brief time, the proud owner of a new Honda City, I was now resigned to visiting a local car rental company and making alternative arrangements.

Upon peeling further layers from the ‘onion’ I discovered that the court case could be as far as 3 to 4 months hence, or even longer.

Golf in his usual manipulative way (you may get a hint that the infatuation is now fading)

then advised me that the car could been released from the police ‘pound’ for the sum of 350,000 Baht, but was afraid to deal with the situation himself as he was scared of the Police. With the help of Jom (a close Thai friend) we went to the Police Station and put the case forward to release the car. This required some monetary persuasion ‘under the table’ to bring to a happy ending!!! 

The policeman in question, afraid of being seen receiving ‘under the table’ money then suggested to Jom that we meet him in the basement carpark at Robinsons Department Store. This was slowly becoming like a clip from a movie……

We walked the alley ways of the carpark, now knowing what we were looking for, when a very smart black saloon with even blacker windows pulled up along side us. The electric window slowly revealed the face of the policeman, who judging by the car he was driving had obviously done the rounds of Robinsons, many times before.

He signalled that we get in the back seat, which we duly did and passed him a ‘thank you’ note for helping sort out the problem. He then kindly drove us to where my rented pickup was parked and we went our separate ways.

My car was now released from the ‘pound’ and for a brief time was back in my possession.

(I was now totally pissed off by Golf and his bullshit and gave him the ultimatum to leave, however there was worse to come)

I now had the situation I had been dreading, that of the fact that not only the car, but the house was in his name. Also, the title deeds for the house were not where I had secured them, but had been taken by Golf.

A major confrontation then ensued and again, with the help of  Jom and his farang boyfriend we slowly started to unravel the deepening shit of the situation. Upon agreeing to ‘pay off’ Golf, (no money had changed hands at this stage) he finally admitted he didn’t have the title deeds to the house as they were being held by a bank from whom he had borrowed 400,000 Baht on the strength of the property.

I was, by now running out of ‘leave period’ and had to depart Phuket to return to work. Jom and his boyfriend were staying at the house whilst their own house was in building. We put together a formula which involved a complicated set of transactions, but which I couldn’t oversee due to my departure from the island, but which, with Jom and Pierre’s invaluable help, resulted in the ’Lending Bank’ being paid off and the title deeds returned. The house and land being signed over by Golf to Jom and most importantly, Golf’s departure. I finally gave Golf the car as a bargaining tool to have him sign over the title deeds of the house.

I did visit a lawyer towards the end of this whole debacle, who was furious that I had paid Golf anything at all. She pointed out that it could have been dealt with by the courts, however, I chose not to go down that route. By proving the money was transferred by me to Robin for the purpose of buying the house (which we could have done) the courts would have deemed the property mine and enforced Golf to relinquish his interest.

I can’t imagine the length of time this could have taken, not to mention the court and lawyer’s costs.  I also felt that my stupid heart had ruled my haggled brain and that part of the fault lay at my own door. Despite the cost of this crazy sequence of events, financially it had given me a twinge of pain, but not enough to need ‘pain killers’ and I have had the best part of seven years and hopefully many more of happy times in my home and heaven knows what Golf would have ultimately cost me had he still been around.

The Beachbum

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