Chicago

Considering I grew up a short 4-hour car ride from the vast metropolis that is Chicago, I'd never really been to see what it had to offer.  During college, my friends whisked me away for a weekend trip but since I was mid-long-distance breakup, all I can remember is seeing signs of the British everywhere: flags, food and even an Austin-Powers impersonating busker. I kid you not.

Years later and with this in mind, Paul, the shiny new British boyfriend, my brother, his girlfriend, Catey, and I bundled into the car to enjoy a weekend of everything that Midwest charm dared throw at us.

It did not disappoint. We lodged ourselves at the Holiday Inn about the Chicago Sun Times Building, right on the edge or middle of everything, depending on how you look at it. Being Paul's first American city, he spent much of the weekend gape mouthed staring up at the El train muttering to himself about how much it actually looked like TV.

This is before we fed him. Deep dish pizza, pancakes and breakfast burritos the size of our heads, it all felt a bit beyond belief. I mean, Chicago style deep dish pizza itself will make a heart surgeon rich. We also stumbled upon a delight of a restaurant, entitled Brunch, which served everything in heaping quantities. The red velvet pancakes coupled with Jody, our sassy waitress who announced herself in the third person every time she came to check on us, 'Jodaaay's Back!' meant we became repeat customers.

And from there we wandered past many of Chicago's icons. After refusing to wait for hours at the aquarium, we took to bicycles along Lake Michigan shoreline and passed Anish Kapoor's 'Cloud Gate' known fondly as The Bean. Tens of oddly angled photographs later, we wandered towards Navy Pier, home of tat, tack and the memory of America's first Ferris wheel, a homegrown product unveiled at the World's Fair in 1893.

Wending our way up Michigan Avenue and through the back streets behind our hotel, we found Redhead Piano Bar, a buzzing, atmospheric place, that we needed to go in. Unfortunately, Paul was poorly attired in a pair of tatty white Converse and before the bouncer could get another word beyond 'we have a footwear policy', I beseeched him to point us in the direction of another piano bar, another place for a drink, another respite from the blustering city winds. The bouncer interrupted the mumblings of a madwoman with the epic: 'Sir, you can come in but you'll have to trade your pair for some loaner shoes.' Which is when he led us to the janitor's closet where row upon row of tailored men's loafers in all shapes and sizes were housed. So Paul took the loaner shoes and we took our seats in the dimly lit, red carpeted, once smoky environs of this palace of music.

I don't remember if the piano bar was particularly good. It doesn't matter; the place had a loaner shoe policy and that was enough.

The remainder of the weekend passed in a blur of walking, wandering and hopping on the city's Architectural Boat Tour, which sounds a lot more boring than it actually is. Actually, it became a highlight. We zipped in and out of various districts in the city, learned about the elaborate process of dying the river green for St. Patrick's Day and even glided past the building a car shot out of in an elaborately stunted television advert. The cruise prompted both Paul and I to pick up The Devil in the White City, a harrowing non-fiction split narrative about the bringing of the World's Fair to Chicago timed impeccably with the rise of America's first serial killer.

The weekend passed far too quickly and we sadly bid adieu to the Windy City, a gem found far too late in my once-Midwesterner life. If that were the end, it would have been a blissfully perfect weekend. Clearly, we decided to tempt fate by taking the Amtrak back to Royal Oak, advertised as a pleasant four-hour rail journey. Jeff and Catey made their way to a friend's wedding so Paul and I sojourned across town to find the train station. This took longer than it should have.

And if there's one thing I have learned about Amtrak, it's that everything takes longer than it should have. Trying to find a ticket counter, trying to find a waiting room, trying to find a platform, trying to will the train to move quicker than at a slow jog. Trying, trying, trying. In the 'snack bar' selling White Castle-style hamburgers and cardboardy pizzas, Paul was given advice by the train attendant: 'Keep one book for the tax man and one book for yourself. That's how you live this life.' He didn't know anything about the train except that for purposes of not breaking sound ordinances, it wouldn't move over 10mph in large swathes of the route.

Eight and a half hours after we left, we arrived in Royal Oak where my mother and sister had been waiting for hours. Fail for the great American railways. But Chicago, it's winning.

The Land of Limited Technology

Back in April, I took a little trip to the homeland, ate some pancakes, went to the pub and left my laptop in its bag. It misconstrued this act as a funeral and not hibernation. So I say RIP iBook G4 circa 2006.

 In the coming month, armed with my new interest free credit card, I will avenge its not so timely demise in the apple shop. And until then, my photos are locked away on a hopefully salvageable hard drive.

 I have a lot of catching up to do:
 **Still Thailand summer 2011
**Edinburgh in October
**a begrudging London Christmas
**the doldrums of Gran Canaria
**home, home and Chicago
**the amalfi coast

 School ends on the 20th of July and then I have one week 'til I head to Ghana where I'll be volunteering my teacherly skills. Jabs one and two done and no nurses got hurt in the process. One more to go...

 Big updates forthcoming!

Back to Bangkok

We ended a sun-filled five weeks circling back to Bangkok. We were low on money, energy and clean clothes.  Which is why we stayed in a hotel on the Khao San Road and strayed not too far from it on our last 1.5 days.  It had everything we wanted--cheap souvenirs, beer and noodles.  I even revisited my favourite little cafe, Moka, on one meandering side street or another.          

                                         

Nick and I did a bit more exploration, whilst Jon napped the day away.  I think he was overwhelmed with the heat and the city and the impending home after such an extended time away.  

 I must admit that it was slightly overwhelming to be in such a buzzy space again.  But it was also comforting to be one in a melee of anonymity.  I'm pretty happy as a city dweller. So we wandered, taking notice of all things Bangkoky.

Nick and I had one final Thai massage before we made our way back to find Jon for a last meal.  

And thus, our time in Thailand ended quietly. The country, its beaches and cities defied my expectations in every way.  I mean, the stereotype of drunken western backpackers does exist.  And Thailand is well on the tourist path.  But it's also easy to avoid the chaos and dimly lit seedy tourism.  I loved just about every second of our trip and i'd definitely go back.  

And to anyone skeptical, ask me.  I'll try to convince you.   

Diving in Koh Tao

All drama with Crystal Dive School aside, our time under the sea turned into a thing of beauty.  Thailand boasts some of the cheapest certification costs (£300 for a beginner's course) and some of the most stunning underwater scenery.

It was on this premise we signed up for the early mornings and classroom chalk and talk.  From a gigantic class of 40, we were split off into smaller groups of 6 and given a new instructor.  Ours was a grumpy 40-something leather skinned Kiwi, who called himself Kiwi.  He terrified me, particularly when I effed up with mask skills--taking a mask off and putting it back on underwater without stopping your breathing...But he did know his stuff and when one of our team had a legitimate this-is-not-a-drill underwater oxygen emergency, he hopped to it. 

Our group consisted of two Danish girls, Sanne and Signe, a Belgian couple, Tessa and Stephen and Jon and myself.  They turned into good friends for the remainder of the trip, which was a highlight.  

On our second and third days, we ventured into 15-20 meter depths and watched, amazed, as a school of silvery fish wended their way around our party.  We saw coral reefs and big fish with little teeth and little fish with big teeth.  I'm doing this no justice, I'm aware, but scuba diving is such a spectacularly odd experience that I will never cease to be amazed.  

In doing a course in three days, we were also given a little graduation ceremony (with plenty of alcohol) followed by our cards and dive booklets.  From there, we were free to dive the world, to 20 meters at least.  Jon packed up his diving gear shortly thereafter, and I joined Nick on a couple more dives run by a different resort on the island. 

I'd like to say i'm making a huge effort in keeping my certification up to date now, but sadly this isn't the case.  Diving is an activity you can do in the freezing cold, low visibility English sea, but it's not one i'm keen to do.  Thus, when I find myself in southeast asia again, I'll have to do a top-up two hour skills class and then be on my way.  

Now to convince some friends...

Koh Tao

It's impossible not to fall in love with a place as beautiful as Koh Tao.  Digging through the archives, it appears I felt the need not to say much whilst I was there.  It's impossible to say much.

Koh Tao is diver's paradise--it caters to the every whim of those who get up early to swim with the fishes.  Breakfasts--both Thai (soup--it's confusing) and non-Thai (the first place in our five weeks away) are abundant.  The bars are laid back and right on the beach.  You can party hard--but it's more a party hard by listening to some live music and drinking far too many in your bare feet.  And the beach.  Well, stunning. White sand, alcoves, cheap kayak hire.  It's hard to put into words.

We spent many of our nights here--Lotus Bar, located directly on the beach.  It all began to feel a little like too much relaxation was going to make me an eternally lazy person. But it didn't stop me from soaking up the atmosphere and drinking a few (too many) beers. 

In all honestly, we didn't spend all our time here. We spent the first part of our five days on Koh Tao in diving school.  Three days of solid classroom to pool to shallow ocean depths with Scuba gear attached to our backs.  There's something very counterintuitive about jumping into open water with 20 kilos of gear strapped to your back. But there's something marvelous about diving, diving, diving and still being able to breathe.  More on that later.

Crystal Dive Resort, Koh Tao

I'll start with the negatives before saluting this lovely, lovely island.  It begins like this: I have never been more disappointed with a Lonely Planet recommendation, and LP's let me down a lot in the past.

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Notes from the paper archive 17/8/11

Crystal Dive School. Fecking piece of shite. 

From the lies their staff told us in Koh Pha Ngan--late wake ups! early pickups! no hidden fees!  great rooms on the resort!  to our homophobic man-hating dive instructor to our 'room'--a three-bed jobbie above a used book shop with a window that leads to the kitchen of the Thai family we stayed with, the cockroaches and black mold in the 'shower'--a nozzle that hangs askew sort of off the wall, the mattresses--two with springs jutting sharply into our backs and one as hard as a brick to its 'security' measures which leaves me carrying around my passport and Thai baht onto dive boats instead of leaving anything here...

Did I mention that a Thai man disguised our room as the toilet and walked in an hour ago, at about roughly 1am? Did I mention we've already argued with the Crystal Dive School staff and their unequivocal message has been--'well you're just lucky to have accommodation!' Rudely.

and you'd never know from initial glimpses...

I wouldn't normally argue. I'm usually quite sedate. I don't like making a scene.  But we paid good money to stay in a place that's meant to have beds we can sleep on, a clean toilet and air con.  We can't even open the windows--three Thai men are sitting outside the window eating their late dinner.  The only problem is that it's 38 celsius outside. 

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This little problem only resolved itself after 20 solid minutes of Nick screaming, shouting and yelling at every possible staff member at Crystal.  We were granted the privilege of paying a lot more money to stay at the actual dive resort hotel. With air conditioning, an infinity pool and three beds that were sleep able.  Lovely. New digs:

But don't let this fool you.  The staff are slippery and the price is a lot more expensive than is initially advertised.  Staff especially made a big deal of their 'Lonely Planet Recommended Pick' section in the book...but boo! Crystal Dive Staff...boo!  False Advertising...boo!

Thank goodness this says absolutely nothing about Koh Tao itself. 

Koh Pha Ngan

I may choose to title this entry 'what happens at full moon party stays at full moon party' and leave it at that.  This is to protect the voices of the guilty, one of which I am not.  Because there are stories.  Stories that add up to some of my most ridiculous travel stories.  But these stories are also incriminating.  So if you're interested, you're just going to have to ask me.

I will say this.  

Full moon party is both under and overrated.  I mean upwards of 10,000 people getting drunk on the beach under the influence of thai whiskey and thai red bull whilst painted in various shades of fluorescent paint isn't something to balk at.  Unless you're classy.  And I did see more impromptu drug deals than you could shake a stick at.  And the snogging. The drunken, table dancing, hip gyrating to the bump, bump excessively high bass music snogging.  But that's kind of what you expect when you find yourself on an island the night of a party that many westerners have travelled around the world to get to.

note the bodies on the picnic table behind us

Minus Nick and Jon, I couldn't tell you who any of these people are

Thai people? They're amused by this. And smart. Very, very smart.  Stands lined the streets leading to the beach selling impossibly cheap alcohol in plastic pails.  The toast sandwich centre managed to import roughly 9 toastie machines, British white bread (something I don't necessarily appreciate or enjoy until I couldn't' find it for five weeks) and european cheese (cheddar, mozzarella, the basics).  At something like 30 pence per sandwich, the place was filled--both day and night--with revellers and the semi-comatose.  

The bucket trade

You may notice that i've said very little about the island of Koh Pha Ngan itself.  I think it would be beautiful. I think it could be beautiful. I think it was once beautiful.  And then a bunch of wankers came to dance and vomit and pass out in small pools of their own excrement on the beaches.  This is just on Haad Rin Beach itself.  We never made it farther than that.  Mostly because of aforementioned incidents above.  

Haad Rin Beach by day

I think I'm being unfair though.  The island's still beautiful. And the day after the full moon party, it was quiet and peaceful, almost eerily so.  Which is when I found some lovely touches--morning yoga classes, open air restaurants, bars turned into well-cushioned cinemas with floor seating to rest your weary hangover.  

I was also given some sound advice by a friend that the rest of the island's little towns were tucked away and gemlike.  However, as they were only linked by fishing taxi boat and my illustrious travel buddies (Nick, our work friend, joined us here) were passed out in various states of whiskey coma, I meandered the local area alone.  This is also how I got sold into a scuba diving package with Crystal Dive Resort on the island of Koh Tao.  All I'll say about this now is don't believe everything you read in Lonely Planet.  But that's a story for another entry.  

Koh Pha Ngan? Considering we had three days there, two in states of hangover, I'll leave it at this.  I'd go back. But to a gemmy alcove during the odd new moon, half moon or perhaps even a waxing crescent.