THE LOLA BOYS ABROAD !

Paul had never tanned effectively. Even after five weeks on a tropical island he still resembled an Irish teenager who’d just about finished cross country.  

Flushed and sweaty.  

He just didn’t have the melanin. 

But he’d never learn. Even this time he’d basted himself in factor 30 and roasted neath a sun on gas mark 9 and all to no avail.  

Andrew, on the other hand, looked like a Sicilian peasant who’d worked the olive groves for his whole life. Olive! Paul was so browned off as his partner certainly hadn’t undergone the same torturous grilling as he had, but hey, he travelled for something deeper than a tan. 

Or so he kept telling himself!

He and Andrew had just left the island and all its wildlife behind and hit the out of the way Thai town of Ranong. After arriving at the pier they’d traipsed unnecessarily along the scorching highway with their rucksacks, various pieces of heavy hand luggage, a small guitar and a ukulele! They’d arrived at the immigration office to extend their visas. This required two passport size photos. Andrew already had his but Paul had had to stand against a whiteboard perspiring profusely whilst a Thai tomboy snapped a dodgy photo of him on an equally iffy device. The result was a passable picture with an underdeveloped hue – much like his suntan. Still it was good enough and The Lola Boys were given permission to stay in the royal kingdom a touch longer. 

Paul was always surprised whenever his visa extension was granted in whatever country he was in. He thought at least someone would catch up with him. But then, he’d never actually done anything. He’d just been born with a guilty conscience!

After their approval he and Andrew climbed into a songthaew. A peculiarity of Thailand. A cross  between a mini bus and an ox cart that one usually shared with a gaggle of others. This time they were alone, except for the toothless driver who was a spark plug short of an engine . Paul thought they’d be lucky to be dropped anywhere near their destination. However their chauffeur surprised him by taking them to the door. Paul felt guilty for dissing his dentistry and vowed never to let the lack of a molar colour his judgement again. 

But he had seemed odd! 

They checked into the cheap ‘resort’ to which they’d resorted, a mix of holiday and concentration camp. Their tiny fake wooden chalet with gestapo lighting and Hello Kitty curtains was a step up from their shack on the beach. There were no three inch gaps between the floorboards and it had a ceiling – both a plus. Paul knew he’d sleep more soundly knowing there was no risk of having a threesome with a boa. 

He’d had enough of those!

In Ranong, right on the Burmese border, there were some almost  famous hot springs. The boys indulged in a massage under the giant trees near to the healing H20 and dipped their toes into water hot enough to boil eggs.

‘Is this supposed to be nice?’ quipped Paul, intermittently removing his feet from the scalding water to avoid being hard boiled.

‘Not sure’ said Andrew.

But the massage by some very friendly ladies, one with half a set of red stained teeth, and the other with strong hands and a five 0’clock shadow, was fabulous. There was little else to do in town, other than walk around marvelling at the ubiquitous market and its huge range of wares. Paul still wondered at such choice. One could buy everything. 

Dustbins, soy sauce, army hats, peanuts, dildos. 

Even toddlers party dresses in an adult size!

This was Thailand!

The boys also visited a pool hall, mainly for the air conditioning, although the coolest corner of the room was a smattering of Thai guys. A clutch of expert cueists who cheered each other on in a muted sort of clucking. 

It quite often seemed to Paul that there was something rather farmyard about the Thai tongue. A gaggle of old ladies could often sound like a brood of hens.  It was a percussive language, a kop here and a krap there. Paul was unsure whether it was charming or not. But the people were so who cared.

After Ranong, Paul and Andrew stopped briefly in another small town full of friendly folk. They were lucky enough to catch the local coffee festival before returning quite wired to their digs at the Royal Chumphon Palace, a misnomer if ever there was one! But it did serve free coffee. Quite a buzzy place was Chumphon!

Then they headed for a bijoux city a gay couple had once recommended on a Thai train. Paul had always remembered the name. Phetchaburi! It sounded rather exotic. Unfortunately the silly old queens hadn’t known what they were on about. There was nothing in Phetchaburi but a few food stalls, a big wat and an even bigger shopping mall. The latter served as Paul and Andrew’s cooling off spot. There was a lot of cooling off to be done until the boys left the disappointment of Phetchawhatever and headed for the bright lights of Bangkok. 

Due to their limited budget Andrew and Paul were staying out of the city centre and in a suburb on the wrong side of the river. Much like Catford!

It turned out to be an absolute delight. 

A glimpse of the Bangkok of old. Tumbling shacks straddling small canals and narrow winding alleys full of planted flower pots, gnarled pensioners, and junk. Life on the Khlongs, the local term, was at a different pace. Less glitz and tack and more grace and tact. A family vibe. Children played in the street and even perms were undertaken neath fluorescent glow which spilled onto the pavement. All of Bangkok was here.  It was as if centuries had passed but khlong -life was still mostly the same. Albeit with high speed broadband.

Paul and Andrew spent an interesting few days in the suburbs with the Bangkokians. They seemed to be the only ‘falang’ in the neighbourhood. They strolled endless food stalls making new discoveries. Some to be repeated, some which only repeated! 

When they tired of the local fayre they went uptown for an all you can eat buffet – a pre-Andrew’s birthday treat. Paul threw down sushi, rump-steak, lamb fillet, pork belly, grilled sea bream and thirteen cakes. Andrew managed something similar. All washed down with a gallon of cappuccino with some cookies for the hell of it. They trudged back to their lodgings feeling utterly sick and uttering nothing. The guilt and gluttony difficult to swallow. 

The next day they were meant to hit Chinatown for some authentic nosh but couldn’t face any food as it seemed four of the chocolate diplomats and a couple of berry pavlovas hadn’t yet been digested. But the following day they were ready to fill their stomachs once more. Bangkok was terrible for one’s waistline. Grub and grubs everywhere.

They managed to escape the gastronomic temptations of the city and headed for yet another tropical island shortly before an earthquake hit. The condos swayed and people panicked. Some died.

For once Paul and Andrew’s timing was just perfect. 

Things for them were looking good.

Luck was on their side and the sun was shining.

So maybe Paul would get that tan after all.

Maybe!

Perhaps.

Really!