One Night In Bangkok

Bangkok is one of those cities that has an exotic allure about it. It has featured in many blockbuster movies, works of literature, and has always held a place in my imagination to match Kuala Lumpur. Over this and the next three blogs you will see that we packed so much into our short stay.

In the words of Murray Head (I think written by Benny and Bjorn), we were ready for “One night in Bangkok.”

The city of ladyboys, fulfilled fantasies and, of course, a cultural package beyond compare. As he says, though, we were there to get our kicks above the waistline; sunshine!

We were actually there for slightly more than one night, we stayed for four in the beautiful Ariyasom Villa.

It was a wonderful throwback to times of yore. It had been the family home of the current owner’s grandparents, built in the early 1940s, close to the arrival of the Second World War onto Asian soil. It was with loving care that the present owners renovated the property into what is now a fabulous boutique hotel with lush, tropical gardens. They carefully selected contemporary recycled materials so that the new-build parts blended sympathetically with the original Thai heritage villa. It is quite exquisite.

When you walk in the front door it was unlike any other hotel we stayed in on this trip. You were transported back in time to a period when our parents were still at school. The staff could not have been more welcoming. They immediately recognised my white cane and always, throughout our stay, were on hand to guide me around any obstacles that might be in my path. They were so good I felt safe to leave the room on my own. It is, most definitely, the present owners that have instilled this from the top down. Khun Pariya Sheanakul and her English husband, David Lees lead by example. There was always someone to take me by the arm or waist and gently take me to wherever I wanted to go. Well, on the property anyway. Had I requested a guide to take me into the city I might have pushed my luck a little. On the other hand, nothing seemed to be too much trouble.

The room was bordering on palatial. A generously apportioned space with a bathroom into which all our bathrooms would have fitted with room to spare. The bath was the thing, though. I have been in smaller swimming pools. It reminded me of the baths we used to share after football in days gone by. I had forgotten those until I started to write this bit, if you dropped your soap it stayed dropped. My word, the good old days! Still, it was there and looked inviting. The only downside was that there was an unblinded window, affording an unhindered view of the bathers, albeit behind a hedge and through tinted glass.

I don’t know what came over us but we gave it a go. We kept the lights off! We both had our own side, each with a hard plastic pillow to lay our heads on, at opposite ends of the pool. All was going well, until my dear lady wife thought it a good idea to turn the bubbles on. The jacuzzi jets were powered by Rolls Royce engines making water go everywhere. Spouts were reaching the ceiling. OMG! We couldn’t turn the taps off; It was time to panic. We couldn’t get the plug out. It was time for double panic. Not a great one for the youngsters, or anyone for that matter, to picture, but try to imagine two naked sexagenarians thrashing around like seals on a beach trying to stem the flooding tide, flippers going everywhere. We pushed buttons, we tried levering up the plug, but nothing would solve it. Whoops! I shouldn’t have said that. At the time Jane wasn’t actually 60! Eventually, we got it sorted and equilibrium was restored. We never went anywhere near another bath for the rest of the trip.

I did grumble a little when I realised that the menu was entirely vegetarian. I do, from time to time, enjoy vegetarian food, but would like to be given a choice. No need for concern. The food was incredibly delicious. The desserts were the creation of David, recalling his English roots. Dishes like bread and butter pudding, fruit crumble and rice pudding, all enhanced by Thai ingredients, adorned the menu. The only thing missing, given the time of year, was a good old Christmas pudding; I am partial to a bit of Christmas pudding! Come on, David! We ate there every night. And, by the way, they had sourced a rather nice IPA from a local micro-brewery.

If there was one downside, we were right alongside a canal. Not that that, in itself, was a problem. It would have been fine if boats had not had the audacity to travel these inland waterways, especially when Jane and Robert are in town. Who do they think they are, trying to go about their everyday business trying to earn a living for their families. Did they not realise the importance of the guests at the Ariyasom? Joking aside, they left a little bit of a ponk in their wake as they motored past! It did not detract from the brilliant hospitality at all.

Next time, I will start to feature excursions we took from the hotel. These will include an amazing visit to the Siam-Burma Death Railway.

Ariyasom Villa - Read More

New Trail Shoes at Sandringham Parkrun

The Christmas pudding became a pumpkin for the morning. Why? Someone decided, in their wisdom, that volunteers and entrants should dress in Halloween fancy dress; many apologies, I missed the memo. Jane was doing the funnel manager’s role as her monthly volunteering promise. Given the atmosphere, with many houses adorned in webs for the season’s festivities, maybe it would have been more appropriate for her to have taken on the part of funnel-web manager? Boom boom!

I was taking part this time, escorted by VI Guide, Nik Bryan, in my brand new trail shoes. How much? I had asked when the shop assistant had reeled off the price. I came over all faint and was lucky not to have passed out. My wife told me to get over it and, for once, have a decent pair of shoes. I was informed that they had springs in the soles which, in theory, would propel me around the course quicker. What a load of cat-litter that was. I do have to admit, though, they were very comfortable and, for the first time in a long time, my heel wasn’t feeling like I had been shot. Onwards and upwards!

I didn’t achieve a PB but, nonetheless, still had some time to kill whilst waiting for Jane to finish funnel duties. I got chatting to a very nice gentleman, Dean. Only small-talk, you know the type of thing. We got onto the subject of what we did for work. I said I was a writer, with a weekly blog and a novel coming out on 1st April next year (one for your diaries if you didn’t make a note of it last week). Not surprisingly, it spiked a curiosity in my new found friend. Was it fact or fiction? What is it about? Not unreasonable questions.

I explained how it was about illegal migrants who are smuggled into the country without being intercepted by the authorities. It goes on to explain how the villains, led by a rogue cancer doctor, in debt thanks to excessive online gambling, set up a place in a Norfolk woods to rent the female migrants out by the hour or by the day or, even, sell them for the right price.

The pair of us wandered along to the stretch-tent, by the children’s play area, for some coffee and cake; it was the last event of the month, so the work of “5k Your Way” was being highlighted. It is an organisation that helps people affected by cancer. It is brilliant for wellbeing, among other things. Dean had a particular interest as he had worked with cancer during his career, he was now retired. I could feel the slope becoming very slippery. I was beginning to chew on my new trail shoes and sensed they were not to my taste.

“What was your job?” I asked with trepidation.

“Oh. I used to be a cancer doctor.”

Bloody hell, I thought, of course you were. There was no hole opening up to swallow me!

Can I make it perfectly clear that Dr Manzoor Sajjadi, the doctor from “Wish Dead List” is nothing like any real cancer doctor, alive or dead, and most definitely nothing at all like Dr Dean Blackburn. Check out the audience in future.