Monthly Archives: May 2007

Kuwait to Jordan, home of the dodgy taxi driver

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Not a lot to do today. Bob was working but had arranged to take a half day so that he could show me a little more of the Gulf before dropping me at the airport. I woke a little later than I intended and had some brekkie before donning my trunks and plodding down to the pool.

There were two other women down there with Aurelie: one American and one from Goole, not a gazillion miles from Bradford. And her husband a devoted Toon-following Geordie. I checked – it wasn’t the same guy I met yesterday! The American lady had two cute little dachshunds that barked at anyone who moved past them. Cute as buttons and completely soft once you made it obvious that a 6-inch high dog didn’t intimidate you.

While a lot of you would have been settling into your chairs at work, I was splashing in the pool, playing with dogs and taking a sauna. What a shame…

All too soon, Bob came home and it was time to pack for the trip to the airport. We drove a long route around up and down the coastline looking at some pretty amazing buildings (and the full range of fast food restaurants).

My final treat was the obligatory KFC in the restaurant I’d spotted when I arrived. Bob and Aurelie probably think I’m mad for wanting KFC in every country I visit but it’s a habit I started and I intend to keep it up wherever I can! With seconds to spare I located a cheap bookshop selling even cheaper postcards and got them winging their way homeward. I apologise in advance for the poor quality and lack of text on them but I was short of time and they were the only ones I could get!

Check-in, passport control and security were a lot better than I had been led to expect. The only confusion came when it turned out two flights were leaving at the same time from the same gate, which caused me minor panic when I thought I was at the wrong place with seconds left.

Royal Jordanian were to be today’s carrier and I was impressed. Possibly the best-looking stewardesses to date, really good food and four seats to myself. I almost wish the flight could have been longer.

Jordan was altogether a different experience to entering Kuwait. The visa was just as quick to sort, though involved a barrage of questions (“where have you come from, what is your address in Jordan, how long are you staying, why are you here…”) but passport control themselves were a nightmare. It took almost an hour to get through the queue and that was with every single desk manned. I had the same barrage of questions and also had to put my thumb onto a sensor thingy so it was registered.

Still, I got in. Only to find that I’d just missed the express bus into town and had an hour to wait for the next one. The guy at the counter became my friend for the duration which was pleasant, and he showed me onto the bus when it finally arrived.

Then things got a bit bizarre. The guy sat behind me kept asking my name and trying to get me to talk into his phone. When the bus finally arrived at Al Abdali station, he said I had to go back to the airport as my friend was waiting for me or something. The fact that I didn’t know anyone at the airport seemed lost on him. I just walked off into a crowd of argumentative taxi drivers each insisting that my hotel was a gazillion miles away and that I needed to hire them.

In fairness, it was a fair walk so I picked one who undercut his buddy by half a dinar (the fare on a meter would probably be half that again, but we’re talking 10p here). What I didn’t appreciate was the drive taking ten minutes when it should have taken two as he attempted to convince me that my hotel was full. The conversation went a little like this:

“I have number of your hotel. Let me call. *beep beep beep* Hello, is that HOTEL SULTAN? Are you fully booked? Yes? Hold on.”

I was given the phone.

“Hello, Hotel Sultan reception.”

“Yes, whatever. I have a booking with you for tonight.”

“I am sorry, but we’re full.”

“That will be because I’m taking up one of your rooms.”

“What name is the booking in?”

“John Smith.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t have that name.”

“I know, I just made it up. Just the way you’re making up being a hotel receptionist. I’ll pass you back to your friend. Please tell him to take me to the hotel I’ve already paid for and not to try and rip me off or I won’t pay him. Thank you.”

I think he got the hint. A couple of half-hearted attempts to get me to go to the Palace Hotel (which I’ve heard isn’t too bad, actually) fell on deaf ears and he reluctantly dropped me at the Hotel Sultan.

On entering, I knew for a fact I’d been talking to a ringer on the phone as the guy on reception barely spoke English. They had to get a guest from Georgia out to speak to me so that I could confirm I’d already booked. Even then, the dropped me in a double room when I’d booked into a 4-bed dorm. This didn’t seem to make sense to the otherwise nice guy at the desk so I settled in and went for a quick walk.

I located a cybercafe, printed out my original booking and the hotel listing from HostelWorld and walked back. They still didn’t help, but the chap rang his boss who did speak very good English. He told me to accept the double room at the rate I’d originally agreed on and they’d move me the next day. That’s fine by me. I couldn’t be bothered arguing about the lack of wireless access which featured prominently as one of their selling points. Maybe tomorrow if I saw the manager.

So, to bed. My third night in a row in a comfy double. Not too shabby.

Hotter and drier than a hot and dry thing

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The plan today was simply to chill and get a good night’s sleep before Aurelie took me around Kuwait city to see the limited sights. It’s not a huge place by any stretch and construction is underway all over, though certainly not on the scale of Dubai.

After a simple breakfast where Aurelie tried to make me eat three times more than I usually do, I was convinced to take a bottle of water (sensible woman) and we caught a taxi to the Kuwait Towers. These three spires are impressive despite their age. One is a simple spike, one has a globe halfway up containing up to one million gallons of water and the third has two spheres: a viewing platform in one and a restaurant in the other. We rode a swift elevator up to the viewing platform and had a wander round.

Unfortunately, again due to the sandstorm, the windows were somewhat gritty. I’d hate to be the guy who has to get out there and clean them. The upshot is that the view wasn’t as amazing as I’m sure it can be, and my photos aren’t great but they are good enough. Pictures on the wall show the damage done by the Iraqis when they invaded all those years ago. Going by the language used in the plaques, there’s no love lost between the nations. It does come as a surprise that the Iraqis didn’t destroy the towers completely, instead settling for a load of childish vandalism, but that’s pretty much what they did with the oil fields when they pulled out as well.

Back at ground level we hailed another cab and headed mall-wards for lunch. Another huge meal, this time Texas Fries. This is essentially a near-solid brick of chips, cheese and mincemeat with chilies. It’s delicious and stupidly filling – and on the menu as a starter.

We had a walk around the few shops that were open. Most of the trading kicks off around 4pm in Kuwait, so the majority were closed. To while away the time, we crossed to another mall for dessert at a French-style coffee shop. I had the most delicious berry pie and watched some men sweep away all the sand that was darkening the huge pool where a musical fountain features in the evening.

While in a supermarket picking up some groceries I heard a very familar accent and accosted a Geordie to ask where he was from. We exchanged a few words and he went on his way. We do get everywhere…

As the shops opened, we walked over to the older bazaar area. There are an amazing number of gold stores around there, all selling huge, chunky bracelets and necklaces. Definitely not something I’d buy, but there’s a huge market for it in Kuwait – all very bling. There must be four blocks where all the ground floor shops sell jewelery.

Evening was approaching and we caught a taxi back to the flat before Bob got in from work. It was when we got back that I discovered that my watch was an hour out. I have no idea if I didn’t change it when I landed or if the battery’s getting dodgy. As we’d returned comparatively late, I didn’t have time to jump in the pool but not to worry. There was always tomorrow and I had a lot to do online. I was fortunate to catch Noa on MSN and she gave me a ton of pointers on how to get to Israel and where to stay. I’m certainly looking forward to seeing her again in a few days to thank her for all her efforts!

Tonight I talked to my other US-based cousin before collapsing into my wonderfully comfy bed. Two nights in a row with a nice room. Top notch!

Rushing round Dubai… then rushing to Kuwait

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I woke early the following day to be taken around Dubai in a minibus. Breakfast was included in my “rent” and was quite passable.

I’d really wanted to go to Wild Wadi, the water park, but didn’t meet anyone at the hostel to go with – until I was waiting for the minibus to arrive for the tour. A shame, but perhaps I’ll go back another day. It was also annoying because the tour bus arrived over an hour late. This is a big waste of time when you’re only in a country for two days.

Finally, we set off with our cramped transport attempting to deal with the horrendous Dubai traffic. A major issue with Dubai is a lack of stopping or parking places for tourist vehicles. As a result, we were literally clicking like loons at the windows to get photos instead of being able to step out and take decent pictures. What I first thought was bad pollution also didn’t help when trying to take pictures of distant buildings, but I found out there had been bad sandstorms a day or so earlier, which was causing the foggy appearance.

Remember that Indian guy from the mall yesterday? Well, he’s from West London. He just got married to a lovely young lady who was with him and they were heading for Mauritius. I know this because he was on the same city tour! Small world, indeed.

We did see some impressive structures and managed 30 minutes at the Dubai Museum which was quite interesting. Set in an old fort, it looks tiny on first appearance until you see a door taking you to “new exhibits”. They are buried below the original fort and cover maybe three times the surface area. And they’re air-conditioned which was welcome.

The only other actual stops were on the Creekside and near the Burj Al Arab hotel (the big sail-like one that costs a mortgage per night to stay in). We drove closer to that hotel, but couldn’t get in – it’s £30 entrance fee to walk onto the grounds let alone stay there. We also saw the Trade Centre and Emirates Towers buildings, the Gulf Air owner’s “house” (I thought it was another town, it was so huge), construction on what it to be the world’s tallest building (Burj Dubai) and the outside of the only mosque that foreigners can enter.

One part we zoomed around at near neck-breaking speed was the under-construction “Palm – Jumeirah”, an artificial island structure being built out into the Arabian Gulf and effectively a small trial run for the much larger Palm Deira further east. In addition to these mental undertakings is another group of artificial islands somewhere between them called The World. The islands here look like a map of the earth when viewed from the air. I so wish I could afford to buy the UK island. I’d build my toilet where Sunderland would be located.

With that, we started dropping people off. I was the last one on the bus and got dropped off almost an hour later than I should have been again due to the traffic. At the hostel, it was recommended that I leave soon to ensure there would be no such traffic problems getting me to the airport. I wasn’t flying out of the nearby DBX where I’d landed, but instead around 20km away from Sharjah. Sharjah is a smaller town with its own international airport from where budget airlines Jazeera and Air Arabia fly. Much, much cheaper than anyone I could get a ticket from DBX for.

As it turns out, there was no traffic at all between Dubai and Sherjah so I got there with a ton of spare time. A shame they didn’t have wireless but I did get all my photos off my camera and burned to CD ready for mailing home at the next opportunity.

So, onto another aeroplane. Destination: Kuwait, number 15.

Surprisingly, a much better flight than the Emirates on of a couple of days ago. Air Arabia definitely get my recommendation! I wasn’t too impressed with Sherjah airport, though. Admittedly it’s somewhat under construction, but the Costa charges UK prices for their sandwiches and some bright spark seemed to think it made sense to provide a smoking room and then wedge the doors open on it so that one wing absolutely stank. Plus one of the toilets had paper in them despite having western loos and toilet roll holders. Not good.

Still, I’ve seen worse. I’ve paid money to live in worse. And it was only a couple of hours before I jumped onto that pleasant aircraft and another two before I touched down on Kuwaiti tarmac.

Now, I’ll be honest. I’m like a lot of people who hadn’t heard of Kuwait until a certain Saddam decided to march into it and try to steal all the oil back around 1990. As such, it was just another Middle East warground to me and a bit at the back of my mind was still expecting bullet-pocked walls, desert, and men with camels everywhere. What I wasn’t expecting was a swift run through immigration, a very small charge for a visa and to walk into an airport that looked more like a shopping mall with glistening tiles and chrome everywhere. And a KFC.

I was hoping to meet my uncle Bob in the airport (there are a lot of Bobs, Roberts and Robbies in my family) as I’d emailed him the day before to expect me. However, I know he’s busy and doesn’t check his email too regularly so I made a call to the number I’d been given. The nice Kuwaiti woman who answered didn’t seem too annoyed that I’d got the wrong number. Argh.

My next plan was to find somewhere I could make an international call back home to get the right number when I heard a broad Kentuckyan drawl over my shoulder. “Well, goddamn, that must be you. Nobody else in this country could get away with wearing those shorts!”

So that’s how Bob greets the first visitor he’s had in Kuwait since he moved there to work 8 months ago. No wonder people aren’t bothering to fly over! Seriously, it was great to see the guy again. I honestly can’t remember the last time we met – I’d hazard a guess at around 16 years ago at my cousin Avril’s wedding. She’s the one who’s now in Brisbane.

Bob had found me, but lost his wife Aurelie. Finally, we spotted her, we exchanged our hellos and made our way out of the airport to Bob’s nice company-provide 4×4. Sadly, Kuwait had suffered the same sandstorms as Dubai recently, so the air was really hazy. A shame as I’m told the views of the Gulf are phenomenal most of the time.

Our first stop was a Ruby Tuesday where Bob and Aurelie insisted on force-feeding me a pretty nice steak. I was a bit of a pushover when it came to being convinced, I confess. I think this was the same restaurant chain Hans and I ended up in in Mumbai before going to see Blood Diamond, and I recall them being stupidly expensive (for India) and the pizza was rubbish. No complaints here.

Night had closed in when we got to the flat. Wow. Half the third floor of a tower block and my room was about the size of the lounge in my old house. Free internet, a kitchen, a balcony with a (hazy) view of the Gulf, a gym, pool, sauna, 250-channel telly… I began to regret only having two days here.

Courtesy of Bob’s laptop, I spoke to my mother and one of my cousins in the US. You’ve got to love Skype and NetPhone.

Sun, sea, sand… and snow?

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And on to number 14 – Dubai, another one-night stop. You know, I’m not sure if this is a country, a state or a region. It’s one of the United Arab Emirates, a group of recently-rich oil states which are spending their money predominantly on property development to try and entice tourists in.

I arrived at what will soon be the old airport. A new one at least four times the size is under construction further to the west of the city. In fact, that’s a hugely common theme across Dubai – construction. And on a silly scale. The tourist map I have must be around one third full of areas marked as “under construction” and I hear that 60% of the world’s cranes are located here.

My flight was on the flag-carrier, Emirates, and I have to say it was one of the least comfortable flights I’ve had. Especially given the company’s reputation I thought the plane was very poor. Great staff, but the seat was uncomfortable and the TV screen on my seat didn’t work properly. The food wasn’t that great, either.

Annoyingly, my flight landed at 4:30am and I discovered that the first public bus wasn’t due until 7:41. Well, after immigration I only had just over two hours to kill so I kicked back, fired up the laptop and enjoyed free internet. Then, a few minutes after logging off I reconnected after the 7:41 bus just drove past a bunch of people waving like madmen at the stop. Just like being back home. Only a little warmer.

At 8:11, I caught the next bus which decided to try the mind-boggling technique of stopping and handed over my smallest bill – 100 Dirham. The driver laughed and asked if I had change. Erm, no. He took my 100 and popped it by his window.

A short drive later, he waved me forward and returned my hundred. “This your stop – Al Ahli Club” which turned out to be a footie ground, not the nightclub I’d imagined. Either way, I’d saved 1.5 Dirham on the bus far by not having change which was a good start.

The next 45 minutes or so were spent walking around in utter confusion up and down a main road trying to locate the hostel from the rather inadequate directions from their web site. I finally approached the nice men with guns at the Central Police Headquarters who kindly pointed me in the right direction. Had I got off at the next stop, I’d have been able to see it.

Finally, drenched in sweat and with arms like Popeye courtesy of my laptop bag I walked up to reception and checked in. A kindly American girl told me what her group had done and how much to pay, and the chap on reception gave me a written list of buses I should need. I ditched my stuff in my room, had a much-needed shower and walked to the bus stop with the aim of visiting the Gold Souk and then the Mall of Emirates.

After an hour during which time roughly 12 buses had driven right past (except one, which disgorged four people then sped off without letting anyone else on) I gave up and walked to a nearby mall for a nice Indian lunch. Back to the bus stop and a 25-minute wait until I finally got picked up.

The bus arrived at the Gold Souk around thirty minutes later. This is an area filled with shops which sell – you guessed it – gold. However, being a Friday everywhere was closed. I waited thirty minutes to board another bus to the Emirates Mall despite three being sat there for ages. I think this was due to my arrival coinciding with prayer time. Another hour and I stepped off this bus around ten minutes’ walk from the mall. Believe it or not, there’s no direct route from one of the major bus stations to the largest mall in Dubai.

It’s an awesome, though ugly, building. At 1km x 3km in rough dimensions, it’s the same size as the original Dubai. Mind, the original Dubai didn’t have an indoor snow slope squirming its way overhead.

I grabbed lunch from Carrefour then walked around a few camera shops to locate a replacement for the Olympus I lost in Laos. I settled on a newer model for around the same price, so I’m now the owner of a 770sw. Everywhere charged the same price and there just didn’t seem to be any haggling possible, but I did manage to get a 2Gb memory card.

My main reason for visiting the mall was to see the ski slope so I walked off that way and sat down to set up the camera. I had to go to an information desk to borrow some scissors to get into the memory card pack and an Indian chap talked briefly to me while I was stood there. This seems inoccuous, but remember that it happened!

Camera set up, I started to fiddle with it. Only to find that it sometimes wouldn’t switch on unless I popped the battery out and back in, and kept “forgetting” the date and asking me for it again when it did power on. Good job it failed now rather than a few weeks down the line. Back to the shop.

Oh, what fun I had trying to explain this to the muppet at the counter. When I handed him the camera, it wouldn’t switch on – the same problem I had. He did the same thing – battery out; battery in. Then it worked. I explained that’s exactly the problem I’d had. He poked and prodded, swapped the battery around and said “no problem”.

“No. There is a problem. You had the problem. When I gave you the camera it didn’t work. And it had lost the date.”

“But it works. See? You will have no problem with this camera.”

“It has a problem. You saw the problem. It has done it three times now. I am concerned that it will do it again.”

He looked puzzled. “No, no problem. See? It works.”

“It works now, it didn’t work before, it could stop working again. Can you please swap it for another one?”

“What is problem?”

I literally lowered my head and banged it on the counter top. He genuinely seemed to have mentally blanked out the fact that the camera had failed to power up when I handed it to him. I think my anguish finally got through and he swapped it for another one, telling me that there’s an international warranty anyway so it’s not an issue. Well, it is an issue when you’re waking around Europe for 3 months and can’t spend a month in one place waiting for a replacement.

Anyway.

Next stop, Ski Dubai. For around £20, I got all my kit (except gloves and a hat as if you need them) and two hours on the slope. Oh, man, it was good. Take your choice of chair-lift or a drag-lift, two routes down the top half and a few jumps and pipes. Death defying photographers at the bottom try to snap you as you come to a stop and sell you the pictures. I have no idea how much they charge. I was too busy having fun.

Two hours, twelve runs and my times dropped from 10 minutes a run down to 7 as I got my feet under me again. I didn’t fall down until I started trying too hard towards the end, which impressed me no end as I’ve not had a board on my feet since New Zealand last year.

Great fun and well worth the money. It also helped me work up an appetite so that I could locate a KFC and partake in one of my customary “if there’s one in the country I have to eat there” meals.

Getting back to the hostel was “fun”, by which I mean “frustrating”. I couldn’t even find a bus stop after a twenty minute walk back down the road I’d come in on and ended up catching a taxi which cost a small fortune. The trip to the mall took almost three hours and cost 4.5 Dirham. The drive back took twenty minutes and cost 50.5 Dirham. Ouch. Definitely cheaper as a group.

I booked a city tour for the next day and prompty zonked out in bed.

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One night in Bangkok

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Dum dum dum dum dum-dum. OK, trivia time. The song came from the musical Chess written by Tim Rice and two guys from ABBA. Anyway, that’s all that Amy and I had – one night. And two long days! Yet another early morning after too little sleep and we shared a minibus to the airport with two Aussies which worked out even cheaper than getting a tuk-tuk.

The whole airport/flight/landing thing was a bit of a blur courtesy of Amy’s snoring keeping me awake. OK, that’s a lie. If anyone was snoring, it was me. Somehow we managed to stay conscious as our Air Asia flight dropped us at the new (to me) Suvarnabhumi Airport. It’s certainly glitzier than the old one despite obviously not having been finished yet. Unplastered concrete shows between miles of glistening tubing. Or maybe that’s the “look” the designers were going for. It still doesn’t have free wireless, though. *tut*

Immigration was a breeze and we walked right onto one of the express buses. I believe the BTS (overhead train) is being extended out to the airport which will make transport even quicker in future. I’d elected to stay at the HI Sukhumvit this time rather than Big John’s. Partly as Amy was staying there and partly as it would be somewhere different that’s still in a good location (ie not crappy Khao San Road – I am such a snob). I won’t rattle on about the hostel and duplicate information you can find on the Thailand accommodation page.

Despite the best efforts of Bangkok’s notorious traffic system, we made it to the hostel by a little after 11:00. Not bad for a flight that landed at 9:50. Despite being exhausted, we agreed on a quick shower before heading out for lunch to make the most of our stay. The advantage we had was that I’d been here before, so anything Amy wanted to see, I did have a good idea of how to get there and how long it would take. As such, there’s not a lot new for this visit apart from the companionship!

I’ve decided just to lump this visit into one post as it’s easier on my doddery memory…

For lunch we (for “we” read “I”) settled on the Bull’s Head. I couldn’t visit Bangkok and not pop into the best British pub it has. So I did. While sitting force-feeding myself a delicious cornish pastie smothered in HP Sauce (which Amy declared she would have to try and get in the States now she’d tried it), Billy walked up to me. Billy runs the Bull’s Head and he’s a great guy – though he admitted he’d have walked right past if I’d not been wearing my Newcastle shirt.

We got talking (about football – surprise) and the Billy mentioned there was a pub quiz on that evening. Amy wasn’t too sure, but it’s an English Pub thing so we managed to twist her arm. It would be “quaint”. Billy also told me that I’d made it into the final cut of the music video being filmed when I was last at the Bull’s Head. He didn’t have a copy but after much searching, I located it online. You can see me around 2:08 through, and Billy giving out a red card a second later. I can’t get this to work in Firefox, but it does play with Internet Explorer:

Same Same – Give It All You Got video

Our stomachs full and our wallets emptied (lovely food, but pricey compared to eating on the street!) we boarded the BTS and headed for the river where we hopped onto a boat. The conductor on board didn’t take any money from us until we got up to disembark opposite Wat Arun, and then took so long sorting out our change that we missed the stop and had to get off at the next one. The walk back down one stop wasn’t too far, and we hopped on the next ferry across the river to see the Temple of the Sun.

I’d been before with Prashant, but it was still good to revisit. Amy loved it, and I think I appreciated it more this time than I did the first as well. Unfortunately we didn’t have time to wait till sunset and watch it being lit up, so made our way back to the hostel via the Siam Paragon mall. This has filled up somewhat since I was there last year, with most of the units now containing shops. Even the Ferrari dealership has opened its doors fully to non-Ferrari Club members. There we spotted that Spiderman 3 was on. At the IMAX. For less than the cost of a regular ticket back home. Times noted for the next day, we returned to the HI and showered.

A quick turnaround and we made it back to the Bull’s Head for 8pm and settled down for dinner. My stomach was still working on the pastie from lunch so I settled on the world’s best barsnack – a small plate of double-fried beef strips. Amy had something Thai and kept pinching my beef.

At 8:30, the quiz began. I won’t go into detail regarding the poor wording of the Great Plague question which cost us a point, though it wouldn’t have helped anyway as we managed to come last by a fair margin. I wish we’d played our joker on the music round instead of entertainment. Ah, well. Amy really enjoyed it, much to her surprise, and everyone who entered got a free bottle of beer. We also “won” a booby prize of a generous discount from a dive shop, but unfortunately as we were both flying out we couldn’t make use of it.

Downstairs, I lucked out completely. Virtually everyone I know in Bangkok was there! Louise’s cousins Joy (who part-owns the Bull) and Sharon as well as Joy’s husband Nacho. More free drinks (thank you everyone!) and some great conversation. Ciaran, the quizmaster, got chatting to me about the dive prize and it turns out his wife La works for the company (Dive Site Asia) who offered the voucher. She explained that the voucher’s fully transferable (I passed it on to two girls in the hostel the next day) and that the company offer dive master courses including accommodation should I wish to head back to Thailand sometime… Hmm… Another seriously interesting offer which I may take up. We’ll see what life throws at me in the meantime!

The next bit can’t be read by Amy’s mum. After wandering for ages as we are rubbish at following directions, we found Soi Cowboy. This is an area of go-go bars and, despite her feminist leanings, Amy was curious to see what Thailand had to offer. When in Rome, etc. Soi Cowboy’s basically the same as Pat Pong which I went to with Louise last time and it’s a curiosity for anyone quite liberal. I’d not make a habit of going, but at least I can say I’ve been!

Of course, this meant another late night but we walked back to the hostel anyway rather than haggle with taxi drivers. We bid a sad farewell to Amy’s umbrella on the way as it died a fairly snappy-broken-twisted death.

The next day was fairly well planned and we hopped around a few things. The Dasa Book Cafe wouldn’t take my photocopied Lonely Planets, but sold great warm chocolate brownies. We stopped by a little roadside place for lunch (top notch cow pad guy) and made it to the Snake Farm in time for the slide show. The snakes brought out were slightly different to my last visit but I managed to talk Amy into getting a Python draped over her shoulders. For someone who claims to be scared of snakes, she did well!

Just enough time to grab a massage for me and a pedicure for Amy (not at Miss Puke’s but the place next door. I didn’t get a photo of Miss Puke’s sign, so there’s the link to prove it exists! Then we dashed over the road, dot in time to catch the start of Spidey 3. On IMAX. Woah.

The sound was significantly better than when I saw Superman Returns in Auckland, though the lipsyncing was out for about half the film. Otherwise, I loved it. Yes, it shoe-horned a lot in. Yes, it was slightly predictable. Yes, some of the fast sequences were a little too fast and blurry. But who cares? It’s Spidey. I didn’t look at my watch until the credits rolled!

From there to a small cafe next to the Bull’s Head for some Kang Gai (chicken curry) and then the Robin Hood on the corner where I introduced Amy to Newcastle Brown Ale. Which she liked. I’m impressed. There’s hope for this American yet!

And finally… back to the hostel where I manage a quick shower and pack before the taxi arrived to take us to the airport. Despite flying opposite directions (Amy to Seoul, me to Dubai) our flights departed two gates and ten minutes apart, so we hung around until Amy’s flight was called. Many hugs were exchanged and I promised (and still do) I’ll catch up with her somewhere, somewhen! At least I have a guide in Chicago should I get there before she finds another country to work in for 2 years!

Then to my gate, onto my plane… and on to another country! I do like Thailand. Once more, I hope I get back there again sometime soon.