#posts that smell like low tide at the pier
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What is your opinion on the sexual cutscenes of FF16? I think a similar question was previously asked about Triangle Strategy and it seemed rather forced for the sake of pretending to be a more mature story, when FFT didn't rely on the explicitly sexual content to tell a mature story.
(This ask and the response are based on information that has been available as early as the demo and shouldn't contain any spoilers for the full game).
I don't mind a good sex scene and find the strangely puritanical reaction against sex depicted in film and television to be one of the most alien and frustrating discourses in recent years, but in this case it just seems to be the natural consequence of Yoshi P. demanding that his team watch the fucking GoT box-set:
...We wanted to create something that really resonated with a lot of people. And when we saw how Game of Thrones, and before that the Song of Ice and Fire series, has really resonated with players, we knew that this was something that we wanted to do as well. When we first started creating the game, we had our core team of about 30 members very early on buy the blu-ray boxset of Game of Thrones and required everyone to watch it, because we wanted this type of feel.
Game of Thrones made a lot of people a lot of money, and we thought to ourselves, boy, we would also like some of that money.
A larger distinction is that GoT features real actors who are, you know, people, and so it's not terribly embarrassing to see them stripped and smashing their shit together or jacking off or whatever. FFXVI, according to the aesthetic preference of an entire industry, is populated by uncanny digital homunculi only crudely approximating the appearance of real people with the animating force of God's breath filling their lungs. I don't anticipate that FFXVI will have full-bore, hog-out ramming or anything- I assume it's just a lot of post-coital sideboob, maybe a glimpse of Clive's weird little ass here and there- but in this presentational mode it would play closer to comedy if you're not catastrophically addicted to Overwatch porn.
There is a reason the camera would always cut away before Kratos starts fucking. You don't want to see that shit. You think you want to see it, but you don't want to see it. Do you expect to profit by seeing what David Jaffe in his wisdom has obscured from our eyes? This isn't In the Mood for Love. A color pencil rendering by some chronically masturbating teenage fan submitted to EGM in 2006 would be more stimulating than whatever these games are capable of showing you. You don't need to see Kratos' stroke game. You haven't even earned the right.
Beyond the unintended aesthetic effect of these things, I don't really trust this team to incorporate that influence in a meaningful or considered way, based on what I've seen of the game thus far. It extends to the 'epic medieval violence' and the prolific use of 'fuck'. I love fuck like a brother so please understand when I say that this is an incredibly remedial deployment of the term. The fuck sauce is not imitable. You simply have it or else it'll never be yours. A decade of stewarding radically PG-13 MMO quest dialogue has closed off the way to that place for Michael-Christopher Koji Fox.
And the insistent comparisons to Matsuno's oeuvre from the fanbase, often as a defensive appeal to legitimacy wherever the GoT influence is noted, are bordering on the absurd. Vaguely medieval politicking was apparently the only mark of his work that ever found purchase in people's minds, and none of the particular aesthetic, aural, or tonal distinctions that made those games living and vital. I don't expect that this game will have a meaningful resonance with those works except that people will be furious when the narrative inevitably ends with Clive facing off against some sort of ogre or deity instead of late medieval Karl Rove. But I also don't expect I'll have anything meaningful to share on the matter until I've seen for myself if it's as blandly imitative as it all seems. I mean, it's at least coming from an incredibly cynical place, as evinced in the quote above.
I don't have $650 USD burning a hole in my pocket at the moment, but I would love to be proven wrong whenever I have the chance to play it in like, late 2024. I similarly thought that FFXV looked totally insipid but then found it very affecting. Combat is an easy sell as one of the last living "character-action guys". You can use 'Stinger', that's good. There's a cooldown on the launcher? What the fuck is wrong with these people? It's probably still pretty good.
final fantasy sex thoughts postscript: they should make FFX-3 but it's about wakka and he always has one nut hanging out of his shorts and every 15 minutes he tucks it back in and says "sorry 'bout that brudda" to no one in particular but then it just immediately falls back out. also he's racist against al-bhed again
#ask#final fantasy#final fantasy xvi#ffxvi#god of war#kratos#game of thrones#posts that smell like low tide at the pier
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And you, you must’ve been looking for me
Post-canon Brooklyn boys, wistful wandering, and knowing the way back. [Teen & up | 0.7K]
Wee ficlet below the cut for @stuckybingo | square N1: Napping | October challenge: Fog + Coffee.
It’s not the first night Bucky spends this way. Feet to pavement, one step and the next, breathe in, breathe out. Until darkened brownstones fall behind the expressway, until the neighborhood flattens at the East River. Breathe in, breathe out, until he’s gotten himself lost enough for the shapeless panic to stop vibrating inside his chest.
Tonight though, under a thick fog, all that newness falls behind a veil. The twelve-hundred dollar strollers chained to U-shaped bike racks. The cat cafe he loves and the deli he doesn’t. The sprawling Greenway, where some shitty little kid swiped his bocce ball mid-turn. The paper recycling plant, which is not a paper recycling plant.
(“Coming Soon,” Steve read from a broad sign at the construction site, “Urban Industrial Chic Coworking Loft Space.”
“What,” Bucky said, “the fuck.”)
Even the changed angles of lower Manhattan fade across the river, leaving him all alone in the past with the same cobblestones under his footsteps. The cables of Brooklyn Bridge suspended above the sky. Breathe in, breathe out that same low-tide smell where the old bones of the old pier 1 jut out from the mist.
He can’t seem to settle like this. Surrounded by ghosts.
So it’s one step and the next until he’s past the mums on their stoop that he forgot to water, up and up into their third floor walk-up. Their prewar apartment, but not their prewar apartment. Not from before. That’s just what you call it now instead of calling it old.
(When the realtor’s back was turned, Steve had grandly swept one hand down his body. “All this historic charm in one place,” he said. Because he is a historic dork.)
Bucky opens their door as quietly as he can, which is not very, because it jams in the frame without a sharp yank. It doesn’t matter; Steve’s up anyway with the Sunday Times strewn across the couch.
It is a ridiculous couch. High-backed and deep-set and too big for the room. In crushed velvet, midnight blue. Dark enough to show every strand of white cat hair, with a long enough chaise for even Steve to stretch his long damn legs, like he’s doing now.
Steve loves this ridiculous couch. Which meant Bucky had to practically sit on him until he bought it. It wasn’t that it was too impractical or nice or expensive, though it is all those things. It’s just that it’s hard for Steve to let himself have things like that. Things that’d make him happy.
Steve’s working on that.
Even now, his smile is fragile but hopeful. And he looks so tired, but not of Bucky’s laundry list of bullshit. He never is. And it never gets easier to believe. And Bucky is working on that.
He stumbles out of his boots and drops his tightly-would body onto the cushions, his head to Steve’s lap.
“Mmf,” he groans. An apology. An admission of defeat.
“Yeah,” Steve agrees, sliding his hand across the small of Bucky’s back. Radiating a heat that melts as it spreads. Bucky turns his face into Steve’s body, nudges his shirt up, and presses lips and nose to the soft skin of his belly. Resting there.
With Steve’s hand in his hair, combing from roots to ends, Bucky finds the edge of that slow drop. Not the sharp fall that visits him plenty, but the kind of sleep you float into. The way a feather falls from a great height.
Breathe in, breathe out the newsprint on Steve’s fingertips, the drip coffee brewing on the counter. The nights into mornings at the diner in their old neighborhood—in this neighborhood, before they got old. Back when Bucky could still name all the restless fears buzzing under his skin, but it was okay, he was okay, because Steve would wait up with him.
God, this man. He would wait forever, he has waited forever. He will keep waiting forever. That certainty: it is a long, long thread tied and knotted around Bucky’s ribs. The gentle pull that keeps calling him home.
#Brooklyn boys#nostalgia#possibly too much nostalgia#post canon#by which I mean the happy ending that exists in our fandom hive mind#stucky fic#ficlet#stucky#stucky bingo#my fic
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Home
|| Kiri x Hien
|| Post ShB
|| Words 1551
|| Fluff
There always seems to be something comforting about Shirogane at night. The gentle lights, the smell of the ocean on a brisk breeze, distant sounds of waves mingled with the trickling of ponds here and there. She truly had become fond of this faraway place. Eorzea had become too busy for her taste. The hustle and bustle of Limsa Lominsa; the constant movement in Gridania be it the folk who inhabit the area or the trees themselves; and Ul’dah simply felt too stifling after all her adventures there. None of the city states in Eorzea felt like home; not in the way Shirogane was beginning to feel.
The boat that carried them from Kugane to the shores of Shirogane came to a stop alongside the lengthy pier just as a full moon deigned to appear from a break in the clouds. With a glittering ocean around them, Kiri looked to the distant horizon. Shirogane wasn’t the home she knew, but it was a close second. But in that moment, she swore if she were to look hard enough, squint even, she might see a cluster of moonlight jellyfish dancing on the surface of the tides; the kind that frequent the coastal region of her village. They only appeared on nights like this; to absentmindedly bathe in the cold silver glow of the moon. As a youth she had always wondered what that life must be like. To simply exist without thought. To be born from the ocean, live in it, and die peacefully beneath the rolling waves. Was it like sleeping? Do the jellyfish dream in their state of eternal slumber? What then, do they dream of?
A hand on her shoulder startled her.
“Kiri?”
Hien was crouched on the dock beside her, kneeling with an outstretched hand for her to take. “Is aught amiss?”
While his soft eyes skimmed the ocean where she had been vacantly staring, she knew he wouldn’t see what her mind wished her to find out there. The ocean around Kugane and Shirogane, while connected to her own, didn’t seem to harbor the same fauna as she had been so delighted to find in her own village. Maybe one day she could return with Hien in tow. Together they could watch the jellyfish float and twirl beneath a glassy surface, or hear the lullaby of the whales as they traveled endlessly forward.
Kiri shook her head when his attention returned to her, offering him a smile as an apology. “Thinking. Just thinking.”
Overhead the lights of Shirogane had come to life; warm colors dancing like fireflies captured in vibrant paper lanterns. The way the lights softened the angles of Hien’s features had Kiri admiring him as they made their way up from the docks.
Even now, in such a familiar place as Shirogane, his eyes were alight with curiosity. He spoke with such honest excitement as he pulled her from vendor to street vendor in search of a late night snack to share once they returned to the apartments. Telling her the Doman word for simple ingredients or tools used to prepare cuisine unlike that seen in Eorzea. And when his eyes met hers, enchanted by his delight, color dusted the crest of his high cheeks; his hand tightening his hold on hers.
It made her heart flutter, as if a skittish minnow, when he gave her that sunny smile. Her breath caught and heat rose to her cheeks when he moved closer to brush stray hair from her cheek. She wondered, if distantly, what he saw when he looked at her in such ways. Did he know that he made her feel as if a coral reef was coming alive? An orchestra of heartbeats and swimming thoughts.
-
“Pray, enlighten me.” Hien began now that they had arrived at their final destination for the evening. Once the door was locked behind her, his arms came around her middle to draw her close, regardless of their bagged meal in hand. “You’ve been quiet since our return from Kugane. What has you transfixed, Kiri?”
His hold on her was tight, but certainly not unbearable. Warm and comfortable, actually. She felt herself melt into his embrace, laying her cheek against the crook of his neck. He had the scent of sea water still on his skin, thanks to their beach adventure at the Ruby Sea only hours prior. Her reply was simple as she closed her eyes. “Thoughts.”
“Truly?” He stifled a chuckle by brushing a kiss into her quicksilver hair. “You of all people, lost in thought? What have you done with the real Kiri, you fiend?”
The laughter that rumbled in his chest echoed in her ear. It was music, plain and simple. To hear him talk with such spirit, to hear that genuine humor.
She raised her head, smiling, “A fiend, am I? Then I’ll hear no objections ta’ takin’ yer share of dinner, eh?”
Hien playfully gasped and pulled her closer still, their noses just a whisper away from touching. “I dare you to try.”
Her apartment was small to say the least. But it brought her comfort. They could scarcely stand side by side in the kitchen while preparing their meals, but every exaggerated bump or purposeful brush of a hand only brought about more laughter between the two. While a pan simmered in sauce, the two were delightfully tangled with one another; the lack of counter space soon being remedied by eager hands sweeping aside unnecessary cooking appliances. And while the apartment didn’t have a formal dining area, Kiri sat perched on the counter happily sharing her food with Hien who stood between her legs.
“One day,” he hummed as he took a piece of grilled fish in a pair of chopsticks and brought it to her lips. “I promise to show you how to properly use these.”
“I didn’t ask to be fed, y’know.” Kiri protested, gesturing to a piece of cutlery left abandoned beside the sink. But still she ate the offered piece with only a light huff.
Hien set aside their shared dish and smiled. “And yet you continue to eat. Odd how that happens.” Softly his thumb brushed her bottom lip as he leaned impossibly closer. The heat of his breath whispered at the curve of her neck, the smell of sake so sweet. His free hand came to rest on her waist while tilting her chin up with the other to better examine her features in the low light in the kitchen.
She busied her own hands by tugging at the belt loops of his pants, wishing for a miracle to allow him to be closer than the counter would allow. Mismatched eyes lifted to stare up at the prince through thick lashes and stray silver hair. “If we were to speak of mysteries, dear sir,” Her own voice was a soft whisper now, low and heated. “then pray, explain how we keep endin’ up like this.”
He tilted his head with a knowing look and a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I believe some call it attraction.” Matching her low tone, Hien responded with capturing her mouth in a kiss. Soft, sugar sweet and gentle. But when he drew away, looking at her with hooded eyes, they were both breathless. “But I prefer to call it love.”
“What a poet.” Kiri chuckled before being swept up in another kiss. “You should be a bard.”
To this Hien laughed, leaving a trail of kisses from her lips to her jaw. “Your voice is much more preferable, Kiri.”
-
Moonlight pooled around them, pouring in from the open windows across the room. The fire in the fireplace had faded to occasionally cracking embers, a trail of haphazardly discarded clothing led from the kitchen to their futon where they had finally retired for the evening in each other's arms. Kiri lay with her head on his chest, listening to the beats of his heart just as she would the waves against the shore. Absently her hand traced outlines of his muscles, following the curve of his chest and occasionally wandering when discovering a scar to outline instead.
She wondered, in her half awake state of mind, what he would dream of that night. Would he see Doma? Perhaps memories of a time long passed. Of her perhaps? As she closed her eyes, she thought again of the jellyfish; the oceans little dreamers. She thought of him and her, standing at the docks of her village, watching a cluster of jellyfish rise to the surface on a clear evening. While the night was peaceful and a hush had fallen over the village, they were still surrounded by all their loved ones. Even Eyriwolk and Lynawyb, who she hadn’t seen for years now were there to greet the two of them. Everyone had gathered to watch the ocean; the one thing that connects them all together.
Before sleep could take her entirely, Kiri realized why Shirogane had come to feel like home to her. It wasn’t Shirogane at all. It was the company she kept that gave her a sense of comfort. A place of safety to be herself and relax from a world trying to kill her. She was home right now, so lovingly held in his arms.
#|| Untold Stories#|| Tiger Prince & the Stray#ffxiv writing#hien x kiri#hien x wol#hien rijin#wolnpc#not me writing about Kiris need for home again#this is such a heavy topic for her#she just wants to belong some where#also all the ocean references aaaaa#such a kiri vibe#to feel like the ocean is home
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Longing, Chapter Three
Pairing: Sam/Bucky
Words: 11.8k
Tags: Post-TFATWS, Mission Fic, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, First Kiss, Memory-Related Temporal Shenanigans, Angst with a Happy Ending
Summary: "Hours later, when everything was well and truly fucked, Bucky would recognize the exact moment when he should have benched himself. It had happened in the dazed split-second between Sam flashing him a smile as he swan-dived out of the plane and Bucky almost leaping right after him, his parachute lying forgotten on the floor."
When Sam gets caught in a memory machine, Bucky goes in after him.
Check out Chapter Three or read from the beginning.
Excerpt under the cut
After a few long moments of feeling like he was being dragged backward through rushing water, Bucky landed on his knees, and he reached down instinctively to brace himself against the planks of a small dock. He would have known the bay around him in his sleep — the smell of a salt marsh at low tide rushing over him, unmistakable, with his first breath of humid air — and by the time he opened his eyes, he was already prepared to see the Paul and Darlene bobbing serenely in the harbor.
The boat looked fresher now, its sides smoother than they’d been when he and Sam had started their work months ago. The prow was tinted orange by the last blush of setting sun, and when Bucky glanced in the direction of town he saw two figures approaching from the pier: Sam and Sarah, both dressed in black and looking years younger than the last time he’d seen them in this spot.
Bucky ducked out of view behind a stack of wooden pallets as they approached his position. They seemed deep in conversation, their heads angled toward each other as they walked, and Bucky took advantage of the quiet to grant himself exactly one minute to panic about Zemo.
Or, if not to panic, at least to seethe silently at finding himself in this same position once again: neatly trussed up in a hell-bound handbasket by Helmut Fucking Zemo.
That shifty, sweet-toothed bastard had wanted them here — had wanted Sam here — and wanted it badly enough to lure them halfway around the world into a trap set by an organization he abhorred. Why? If he wanted them dead, there were much simpler ways to do it. What could Zemo possibly be getting out of trapping them inside Sam’s memories?
The obvious answer, which Bucky was trying very hard to face calmly, was that tricking superheroes into watching the Winter Soldier wreak havoc had worked for Zemo before. Maybe, despite his words at the memorial, he hadn’t really changed his mind about Bucky. Maybe this whole exercise was designed to turn Sam against Bucky — to remind him what the Soldier really was, underneath.
“You’re not listening to me, Sam,” Sarah protested, the volume of her voice rising high enough to cut through the noise of Bucky’s thoughts. “Is it so hard to believe that there might be things going on here that I understand better than you?”
“I know you’ve been working hard, Sarah,” Sam responded. “You’ve been working too hard. That’s what I’m saying. The boat needs repair, and you need a break, and now that Dad’s gone, it’s my job —”
Sarah cut him off by slugging him fiercely on the arm.
“Don’t pull that shit with me, Sam,” she retorted. “Your job is out there: Avenging. That’s what you decided. And look, I get why it’s hard for you to be ready for the biggest threats in the universe and also keep track of the bills that were keeping Mom and Dad up at night, but life didn't stop for us just because you started taking calls from Captain America.”
#sambucky#sambucky fics#a chapter in which the author tries something and hopes it works#memory-related temporal shenanigans#almost done!#thank you for reading
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The Devil’s Luck - Chapter One Preview!
A day late but hopefully not a dollar short! It was a deliberate delay, I think we could all use the distraction today, and if I’m looking at post notes I won’t be reloading the news. (Allow me a small interjection: Please please please go vote if you’re eligible. It is without a doubt the most important thing you can do today, and possibly this year. Already voted? Thank you!) Now let’s hunker down and hope for the best. I plan to make soup and play Hades, myself. But you get to remember today as the day you met your new favorite murderer: Etienne of the Order of the Crimson Seal.
Etienne Vynae Na'Gammon had endured considerable discomfort in the course of his long and shadowy career. He had spent long nights navigating steep and icy rooftops, he had waited out the tides while clinging to pilings beneath the city's piers, and on one (far too memorable) occasion he had traveled down the canals in an olive barrel. In his crowning achievement he had even covered himself in plaster and posed—quite successfully and for several hours—as a garden statue in the middle of a widely-attended soiree. Many was the time he had been out and about the Order's business during the bleakest winter gale, when decent people shuttered their windows and were cozy in their beds. And yet, for all his ordeals, he had never encountered anything as devilishly uncomfortable as a single hour in this accursed carriage.
As if to punctuate the thought, the carriage hit a yet another canyon in the road, and Etienne pitched forward with a barely-contained oath. He’d been travelling now for four days, and he estimated he had spent at least a quarter of the journey suspended in mid-air inside the carriage, rattled around like the bead in a baby's rattle. He landed with a jolt and a groan as the wheels surmounted the crater and plunged gamely towards another. Then again, Etienne mused, maybe it’s not the carriage that’s to blame. Easting roads were not meant for lowland carriages, or for lowland assassins.
Massaging his side as he eased back onto the seat, Etienne drew back the curtain and peered out. A muddy, piney smell unfamiliar to the city-dweller seeped around the glass and crawled boldly into his nostrils. The light was fading fast, but even if it had been noon under the bluest sky, there would still be very little to see outside. Easting's countryside was naked under heaven, the bare bones of her hills clad only in the brief modesty of heather.
The sight of that vast nothingness, rolling interminably into the deepening dusk, made Etienne feel as exposed as a sinner's soul on the cold pan of St. Justicia's scale. There were no havens, no hiding-places on those moors, only sparse bursts of trees here and there, and those were already leaf-bare. The isolation of it struck an unfamiliar chord of loneliness within Etienne. He was sworn to do his duty for the sake of humanity in the broadest sense, but he enjoyed his own company best and had no great love for his fellow man. Under close examination he found most of them to be extremely irritating. Still, in Ivanis City, he knew how easy it was to be invisible in the crowd, he knew how to lose himself among the rooftops and canals. The city was no mere backdrop, it was a fundamental part of his art. If he could transform himself into a blade of grass or a gorse bush, he might have felt equally at home in Easting.
Even worse, his disguise was made to attract the eyes of others, to make him a focus of attention rather than to avoid it. Which was well and good for a distraction when distraction was called for, and quickly shed for comfortable anonymity. But there would be no shedding it now, not for some time. Ephaseus had said that the challenge would be a good thing for Etienne, and make him more well-rounded in his craft.
Etienne was as well-rounded as corsetry could make him, and so far, it had done very little for either his craft or his mood. For one thing, there was something off about the fit. Etienne could not understand the difficulty. The corset had been custom made for him, and had fit perfectly three years ago when he’d poisoned the Viscount of Brinesgreene at a dinner party. But then, that was only for one evening, and his victim was dead before the soup course was finished. It was simply a matter of having to wear it longer and while traveling, Etienne concluded, and there was no other reason (certainly not a reason in the form of numerous ginger biscuits), that it did not fit now. True, the stays of the garment were sterner than fashion demanded, as Etienne's slim steel throwing blades were sheathed between the whalebone, and most ladies already possessed at least a semblance of the curves that Etienne's corset was forcing upon him, but he couldn’t quite fathom the cause. Bad luck, that was all.
The carriage shuddered again, knocking Etienne's forehead against the glass and then sending him in a heap of rumpled skirts to the carriage floor, and this time he indulged in some heartfelt profanity. The carriage slowed, and for a moment he thought his outburst had actually reached the ears of the coachman. But a quick glance outside revealed the first man-made structure Etienne had seen for miles: thorny black iron gates looming up out of the darkness. They had reached the edge of Chancelion.
The gate was lodged in the low hummock of some feudal earthworks that had once enclosed the property, which years ago had been the ancestral seat of some forgotten and long-dissolute noble line. It was Chancelion now, named so by Lord Evern Reichwyn decades ago when he won the whole pile in a game of hazard, and took a fancy to the marble cats perched on the gate. That was the first of Lord Reichwyn’s two legendary card games, a tale still told even as far away as Ivanis City. The second game was even more famous… and had not gone quite so well.
“Miss Elsa Lenoir,” the coachman said, as the gatekeeper approached the twin pools of light cast by the carriage lanterns.
The gatekeeper lifted his shaggy eyebrows and cast a fleeting glance to the window of the carriage. He was too interested in getting back to his warm apartment in the gate to stand and stare for long, however, and Etienne, in his guise as a lady of quality, stared gravely forward into the middle distance without taking note of him. The gatekeeper attended to his duty, the carriage wheels rolled onto the blissful smoothness of fresh gravel, and Etienne's mission at last unfolded before him in shades of greenish gray.
Now in the distance he could see the black shadows of trees, the timber hills a dark stain on the edge of the pale moor. The wind carried their soughing along with the low, aching cry of a wolf. Etienne frowned at the thought of wolves prowling the countryside. An extra factor to consider, without a doubt. When he was obliged at last to make his escape, he decided he would do so on the fastest horse he could steal.
“Almost there, ma'am,” the coachman called back, startling Etienne from his unpleasant reverie on snapping wolf-jaws. “Less than 'alf a mile.”
Etienne steeled himself to his task. There was a difficult task between him and his freedom, and his frequent trips to the carriage floor had knocked his wig askew. A few minutes' maintenance restored the glossy black curls to their proper places on his shoulders, some repeated pinching forced maidenly color back into his cheeks. His kohl would have to do as it was; Etienne was skilled at the art, but did not trust himself with anything so delicate inside the dark, rattling carriage. A brief inspection in the small hand-mirror pinned to his skirts presented him as a passable version of the portrait miniature Ephaseus had painted, with the exception of the peeved expression. Etienne forced his eyebrows up to get rid of the frown line between them.
The lady-to-be of Chancelion would be fatigued from the trip, and perhaps a little anxious, but she would be excited to meet her future husband for the first time. And who could blame her? Lord Freyton Reichwyn Landry was a bastard, and only recently had he been tracked down as the heir to his great-uncle's property. But he was young, handsome, beloved by his tenants, and fabulously rich. Elsa, on the other hand, had a bloodline that was beyond reproach, but she was a pauper and an orphan, dependent on her wealthy city relations for her room and board. She had little for her dowry save her name, and a ruined family castle that stood derelict and bat-infested in a part of Easting even more remote than Chancelion. Elsa needed a rich husband to save her an endless string of aunts, and Lord Reichwyn needed nothing save for a bit of blue blood to improve his standing among the gentry.
As a match it was absolutely ideal, save for the trifling detail that Etienne was not Elsa Lenoir, and he was determined to murder his bridegroom before the week was out.
One can't have everything in an arranged marriage, Etienne thought, with a dark chuckle, and checked his glass again. He couldn’t help feeling that he was a bit of a step-up on the original. He much resembled the real Elsa Lenoir—who had been selected as much for that reason as for her suitability—with the exception, Etienne presumed, of murderous intent. She was presently socked away with a pious spinster Aunt in the city. Etienne had seen her on a few occasions and knew her well enough, but their social circles did not often overlap. She spent her days attending only the most respectable soirees and the most moral theatre, and would probably be teaching embroidery at a convent school long before word of her ill-fated engagement ever reached the city. It would no doubt be the most mysterious puzzle of what Etienne suspected would be a thoroughly dull life.
The Order had, of course, considered completely inventing a bride from whole cloth, but an unknown woman of mysterious origin would attract the curiosity of the whole district. But a real and boring one, with a family name everyone has heard somewhere, would be no more than a passing novelty, at least for long enough to serve the Order’s purposes. Etienne tugged his glove further up his arm, though his tattooed wrist was well-concealed by kid leather. When this was done, no trace would be found. Not of the ersatz Elsa, or of her doomed bridegroom. They would fade into the legend as a footnote of that second card game, and only the Order would know the truth of it.
An inviting light glowed beyond the curtains, and Etienne felt the first, long-belated tingling of anticipation for his task. He had no love of killing for its own sake, but he was a man of principles, and he took his craft very seriously. The disposal of his betrothed was only the final flourish in a long, precise dance. First, he would win over the butler, with the charm of a noble lady that had been so wanting (so Lord Reichwyn's letters had said) in Chancelion. From there it was a simple step-by-step acquisition of the hearts of the whole household, and Etienne knew full well that once you had the confidence of the domestics, the rest was as easy as filching cakes from an open pantry. And once the business was done, Elsa would vanish like the mirage she was.
The coachman cooed a relieved noise to his horses, the wheels slowed, and Etienne took a deep breath. Elsa had arrived. The curtain was rising, and he affected an air of weariness mingled just so with trepidation, and a tiny sprinkle of glowing excitement. It was a combination sure to win the affection of Lord Reichwyn's butler the moment the kind old soul opened the door. But when he stepped out of the carriage and onto his stage, Etienne got his first unpleasant surprise of the evening.
There was no kindly old butler there, ready to have his heart melted by the gentle beauty of his new mistress. There wasn't even a crotchety retainer whose heart couldn't be melted even if it was dropped into a forge. No, there in the rain at the folding steps of the coach was none other than Lord Freyton Reichwyn Landry himself, the Scion of Chancelion, as though he was no better than the footman. He was clear-eyed and handsome in a friendly, effortless way as he held out a warm cloak for his bride-to-be, and he wore a look of concerned relief that was unfairly earnest.
This, Etienne thought, with a sudden and grim foreboding, is going to be difficult.
“Here you are at last!” Lord Reichwyn exclaimed, as though Etienne was a favorite sister who had spent too long at the county fair, and not a young noblewoman he had never met. “I've been worried sick—mind the puddle, there—all afternoon. Beastly weather for travel, and no mistake. The streams are all in full flood, and Alfred's horse-cart lost an axel in the mud today. I was afraid you'd meet worse trouble out on the moors after dark. I was just getting ready to go out after you myself.”
“It was a bit trying,” Etienne admitted, keeping his voice in the warm middle tones that he had decided best suited the demure Miss Lenoir. “But I felt it best to press on, since I… didn't wish to wait any longer to get here,” Etienne finished, at last. It was a weak reason, but he hoped girlish excitement could excuse it. Etienne was no expert on girlish excitement; his usual feminine persona was much more the quiet and murdery type. He thought it probably felt sort of like having to sneeze, but being startled halfway and not managing to get it out. He felt that way now, itchy and tingly in his spine, but he blamed the corset.
Etienne blamed lots of things on the corset.
“The bridge at Keeston washed away,” Lord Reichwyn continued, bundling Etienne up into the cloak and drawing the fur collar snugly around his shoulders. “You only must have just made it across before the river took it down.” His bride-to-be secured, Freyton leaned up into the carriage and emerged with Etienne's small personal case in his hand. “Have you no other luggage, my lady?” he asked, looking around the empty compartment in confusion, as though there was a large trunk of dresses hiding somewhere and he'd missed it on the first pass.
Etienne fiddled with a glass-eyed ermine head on the cloak. “It's to come along later, along with my waiting maid.”
“They will both have to wait, I’m afraid,” Lord Reichwyn said, shaking his head as he shut up the carriage. “With Keeston-bridge gone, we won't be able to get a carriage from the Highroad until they can do repairs.”
Good work, Bruin, Etienne thought. Aloud, he made only a soft noise of concern, one that was eclipsed as his betrothed offered the coachman a room above the carriage house until the roads were passable again.
“Here,” Lord Reichwyn said, on turning around and finding his bride-to-be still staring pensively after the retreating coach. “Let's get inside before—”
With a sudden crackle of thunder, the drizzle became a downpour, and a deluge of icy rain poured down on them like a baptismal cataract. The curl in Lord Reichwyn's blond queue vanished in an instant, and the lace on the modest neckline of Etienne's gown lost all its starch as he struggled to get the hood of the cloak up over his wig. Lord Reichwyn took Etienne's elbow and towed him along towards the house. “Quickly now, my lady!”
They fled, skirting the puddles in the rutted gravel of the drive, and scrambling up the broad steps of the house. Once inside the ebony-paneled foyer, they shook rainwater off their clothes and last got a good look at one another.
“Your painter does not do you justice, my lady,” Lord Reichwyn said, with such wondering admiration that it could not be anything but honest. Etienne was thinking something along the same lines. The painter of Lord Reichwyn's portrait miniature had prettified him to city standards, obscuring the clean line of his jaw and falsely darkening the pale sweep of his lashes. His dripping hair and flushed face only enhanced his appearance as a prime sample of healthy Easting stock, a soft-spoken, broad-handed hero suitable for a syrupy novel by some love-starved city countess. Etienne, however, had not been so fortunate. He caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the dim hall mirror behind Lord Reichwyn, and found that instead of a quivering maiden in the blush of first love, the rain had turned him into a drowned badger in a soggy dress.
“You must jest, my lord,” he said, aghast. The careful pile of Lady Elsa's black curls had been plastered straight down against his face; all that remained of their former glory were limp twists at the end, dribbling rainwater down his cloak. His carefully applied kohl was smudged around his eyes, and the chill had swiped an unbecoming streak of red across his nose. The real Lady Elsa would have dropped dead of shame at being seen in such condition.
“I assure you, I don't,” his paramour replied, with a perfect bow that contrasted sharply with the spreading puddle of rainwater around his boots. “But please, you must call me Frey. I insist.”
At that moment the gruff old butler at last made his appearance on the scene, far too late for Etienne's carefully composed introduction. Considering the old man's pace, Etienne supposed he must have left the servant's quarters sometime early the day before. “Your rooms are prepared, my Lady,” he wheezed. “Will you be wanting some late supper?”
Etienne leaned on the elaborate newel post of the main staircase with an air of great weariness that was not entirely concocted. “I fear the journey has left me far too fatigued,” he breathed, fluttering his lashes a little. “I'm not at all used to such hard travel.” Frey, his attentive affianced, was at his side in a second.
“It must have been a dreadful journey, lady. You needn't make light of it. Easting is already bitter this time of year.” Frey placed an arm under Etienne's but kept a concerned, formal distance; common though his blood was, he would not impose himself on a lady's person.
Bastard, Etienne thought, uncharitably. If only Frey had been a repulsive cad right off the bat, with a leer in his eyes and groping hands, it would have been easier. Etienne knew this mission would be a challenge, his master had told him so. But Frey, so far, was the nicest fellow Etienne had met in the whole damn week. That took Etienne's task beyond a mere challenge and into farcical territory. Ephaseus, safe and warm back at Marlyon House in Ivanis City, was probably chortling into his tea at the thought of the whole lark.
“Lady?” Frey prompted, perhaps concerned by the audible gritting of Etienne's teeth, “are you quite sure you're well?”
“Ah, forgive me.” Etienne clutched Lord Reichwyn's arm with both hands, and struggled to inject a measure of gratitude into his smile. “You are too kind, sir.”
“Nonsense, I should have sent you straight up to bed at once, not made you stand around in wet things. You’ll catch your death.” Frey turned to his butler, who stood waiting attentively in his dusty black velvets, and plucked the candelabra from his hands. “Tobias, be a good man and have the cook send up some of her excellent potato soup and a pot of tea for Miss Lenoir. And none of you are to disturb her until she's rested.”
“At once, my lord,” Tobias bowed, and crept off to the kitchen at a snail's pace. Etienne would be lucky to get his supper before breakfast-time.
“It's only a short way,” Frey said, helping his lady up the stairs, his boots making damp prints on the thick carpet. “I've given you the tapestry room. It's a bit smaller than the traditional best guest room, but that's on the other side of the house and cold as a crypt.”
Etienne, getting a bit more into his role, answered in a plaintive sigh. “Oh, I would be happy with a hay bale in the barn now, my lord!”
Frey laughed as they came up onto the first-floor landing, and it was a friendly, open-handed sound. “I hope my hospitality is not so poor! And you must call me Frey. Everyone does. Except the servants, of course. One simply cannot make them listen to reason. But I haven't given up hope yet! Here we are.”
He opened a heavy rosewood door, and bowed his lady into her chamber. Etienne entered, and tried not to flinch. The room was furnished in an Easting show of wealth and luxury, which was, to Etienne’s taste, an eye-stabbing explosion of colors and textures. The bed, a vast antique fortress of carved oak large enough to sleep a family of bears, was stuffed to the brim with eiderdown, the pillows barely held in check by the red velvet bed-curtains. Only fragments of the parquet floor were visible under its coating of vivid rugs, and old-fashioned tapestries covered the walls, concealing the simple wood paneling. There were no less than six mirrors, each one encrusted with more gilt flourishes than the last, each reflecting the bright tapestries in a dizzying whirl. Etienne tried to imagine sleeping in such a cacophony of patterns and hues, and thought he'd rest better in the belly of a bagpipe.
Frey was undeterred as he surveyed the room. “Looks like Toby has a fire going, good. You should dry out thoroughly before retiring. It's so easy to catch a chill here. Will the room suit you?”
Etienne eyed an ostentatious gold cherub that was looming with ominous pudginess over the red and green enameled washbasin. “I'm sure I shall feel right at home,” he demurred.
“I do hope so,” Frey said, fervently. “It's a lovely view of the gardens in daylight, and—and I can't tell you how glad I am you're here at last.” He paused, and seemed to forget what else he was going to say, his pale blue eyes going soft as he looked at his future bride.
Etienne's scalp prickled under his wig; he wasn't quite prepared for this scene yet. Fortunately, he was spared further ardor by Tobias appearing with a tea-cart and her ladyship's minimal luggage, and Frey remembered how to speak.
“If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to ask,” he said, as his servant carefully removed the lids from the platters and laid out the silver. “Breakfast is at nine if you want to come down to the dining room, but if you wish to sleep longer, just ring for a servant when you're ready. I took the liberty of supplying your wardrobe with a few things, so I hope the delay of your trunks will not prove too troublesome. Shall I send one of the house maids to assist you?”
“I think I will be fine on my own.” Etienne held out his hand, and it was promptly accepted. “I'll have a little supper and then retire at once. Thank you for your kindness, my lord.”
Tobias discreetly withdrew as the lord of the manor bowed over Etienne's hand. “Frey,” he whispered in reminder, and brushed his lips over Etienne's gloved knuckles. His eyes met those of his presumed lady's, and the moment not only dragged, it dragged as though it had been lashed behind a team of mules and taken through the city square to the gallows. Etienne at last summoned a dismissive smile, Frey wished his lady good night, and the Lord of Chancelion hurried from the room as though pursued.
The latch clicked, and Etienne collapsed into a chair so appalling it would have sent the minister of the royal household screaming into the hills. Damn, if it wasn't as bad a start as he had ever done, Etienne thought dourly, peeling off his wet gloves. It was worse than the olive incident, and Etienne didn't even think that was possible. A lucky thing his lover was so smitten. Etienne could probably have turned up in jackboots and a beard without losing any of his betrothed's affections.
Damp skirts and the smell of hot soup forced him up again, and with a last suspicious glare at the cherub, he hurried to get himself undressed. All his clothes, including the corset, had been altered so that he could get in and out of them without help, and in doing so a few liberties had been taken with current city fashion. He had been worried that his slightly outdated stomacher and downright pious neckline might attract too much notice. He had no such concerns now. Etienne kicked off his petticoats and scowled at his loud bedchamber. This household wouldn't recognize good taste even if it was indecently assaulted by it in an alley.
The clock on his mantelpiece chimed ten o'clock and Etienne settled in the hideous armchair to eat his dinner, relaxing a little for the first time in the whole interminable journey. He only required a day or two to of reconnaissance, after which he could tiptoe down the corridor and murder his fiancée.
Mood considerably brighter at the prospect, he attended to his supper with pleasure.
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You said you wanted some writing prompts, so could I possibly have some platonic Shayne, Courtney, and Damien? Maybe at the beach or something?
i wrote this last night and forgot to post it, but here it is! I took a liiiittle bit of liberty with this one, and it does include shayne, courtney and damien, along with a beach, but not in the way you might think
- - -
“I really, really don’t want to do that again.”
Damien hugs his knees to his chest, the sounds of the waves crashing against the bay were doing little to sooth him.
“You depleted yourself, it happens,” the voice behind him is sharp. He still didn’t know her name, but he knows her voice. Female, stressed, and strung out with so much anxiety that it’d grown tough and harsh. “How long are we gonna sit here?” Impatient too, had he added that?
“As long as he needs.” The other voice, whose name he does know, is kinder, but it still carries the piercing taste of fear that lies under the woman’s voice.
A high pitched whine hums overhead, and the three of them all cringe at once. “He’s close.” The woman manages to speak. “Can we hurry this up?”
Damien tips his head to see storm clouds quickly begin to gather, and there’s a sudden smell of iron and ozone as the woman steps out, her hands spread before her. The ocean waves come quicker now, crashing against the sand and the jagged rocks that line the beach like black teeth protruding from the low tide.
He struggles to his feet, his whole body aching as he tries his best not to collapse into a heap. Damien’s mind has never felt this way before, so empty and quiet. All his life he was used to the constant chatter and click of the wiring and electricity around him, but for once, it’s silent.
Shayne told him that this was normal for ‘People Like Them’, a phrase that he’d been getting tired of hearing since Phantom had nearly killed him a week ago. The depletion hurt his head like a bad high, but the silence was glorious. If he could get over the pain, he wouldn’t mind being ‘depleted’ or whatever, forever.
“Can you stand okay?” A pair of hands grip his shoulders tightly. Electricity runs through his skin with the touch, and it takes all of him not to throw Shayne off.
“I’m fine,” Damien whispers the words. “It’s alright.”
A pair of eyes, bright and blue against the background of the grey-green rolling in across the bay, try to connect with his. “Stay down. Stay safe.”
Damien only nods as he moves backwards, stumbling towards the underside of the pier to his right. He hides behind a wooden pole, water lapping at the tips of his shoes, and the sound and spray of the waves cold against his cheeks.
A light begins to grow in the middle of the beach, the sand turning molten red beneath the pale, violent light. The opening snaps shut, and a figure appears, feet crunching the rapidly cooling gas below them as they lift themselves up from a crouch.
They’re wearing some sort of white bodysuit, wild hair colored an opalescent purple flares out around their face. Around the figure’s eyes is a layer of grease paint, shading their face, and ultimately, their true identity.
“We don’t want trouble.” The blond woman with the sharp voice speaks, but her words are caught in her throat.
It’s clear she knows the person standing before her, and something troubling tells Damien that she watched helplessly as her friend was turned into the monster that stands in front of them now.
“Give him over.” The figure’s voice is dark and warm, falling over itself in tone and depth. “You took him unlawfully and unrightfully.”
“You were going to torture him, turn him into a mindless slave.” Shayne shouts over the coming storm boiling above them. “If anything’s unlawful or unrightful, it’s that.”
“You don’t have to do this Mari.” There’s a pain in the blond woman’s voice. The storm hasn’t struck yet, but Damien can feel how it moves above him.
His mind is clearing now, just the way Shayne said it would. The pain slowly subsides, and then the powers return, and Damien tastes the lightning in his mouth before he hears it fully, pounding against his brain like an itch he can never scratch. It’s so close above him, as if he could reach out and-
The last time he’d tried, he’d ended up like this, shaking and terrified. If he even thought about turning the street lamps off above them he might collapse.
The woman’s voice calls out again. “You’re better than this, you wanted to help people once. What happened to you?”
“He showed me the way.” Her voice is warm, and somehow, in his ear. “I just wish you could’ve seen it too.” She charges forward, moving like a dancer, which Damien suspects, she was in a former life. As if reading his mind, Damien notices that the woman in white wears small shoes that resemble ballet slippers. He notices too thought, that as she dashes forward, snapping in and out of reality, landing noiselessly on the ground, but sending sharp kicks towards the two she’s attacking, that they’re something specialized.
The ocean arcs up around the blond woman as she’s knocked backwards, falling limb over limb into the sand. The waves roll forward, moving around her in a ball. The air around Shayne crackles, popping as walls begin to build themselves up, reaching up into the clouds. Damien knows that they’re just an illusion, but finds it impossible to blink them away. The illusion is strong, much stronger than the one from before.
There’s another snap in the distance, and Damien sees the faint outline of the portal opening and closing around the woman as she tries to figure out the abilities that surround her.
The air is whipping itself into a frenzy, the ocean waves growing up to Damien’s ankles, and pushing past his calves. He’s too fearful to move, worrying what the strange woman, Mari, the blond one had called her, might do. What the Phantom might do.
He’s parsed together that the Phantom was the one controlling the woman, but what he couldn’t tell, was why he hadn’t come too. He never came alone, but he also never sent anyone to do his work for him.
If he wasn’t here, then where had he gone?
The walls begin to collapse, and from the look of Shayne’s movements, Mari had landed a good blow on his left leg. His illusions swarm around her, but she moves swiftly through the air, the snapping pop of the portals she disappears into managing to befuddle Shayne.
The blond woman is still in her water bubble, and Damien is confused as to why she isn’t helping. Above her, the storm clouds begin to spin, and suddenly, he understands.
Shayne was just the distraction.
The top of the bubble begins to spin as the clouds drop rapidly to meet them. The bottom evens out, spinning so quickly Damien isn’t even sure he can see the woman inside anymore.
The cyclone moves forward, and Damien watches as Shayne throws up a quick illusion before diving out of the way. He tips his head up to see a flash of lighting lash out from the clouds, illuminating a small figure inside.
Mari barely has time to move before she is sucked up into the tendril, which begins to flatten itself out slowly, leaving the beach silent except for the whipping of the wind.
Shayne’s chest rises and falls as he tries to catch his breath, panting and fatigued. He throws a glance over towards where Damien stands in hiding, and in an unseen instant, everything falls still.
“Enough of this nonsense.” A familiar voice, light, with a hint of a darker tamber, rolls over him.
Damien’s joints lock, and his body moves sluggishly, like he’s been dropped into a jar of honey. Fear rotates in his stomach painfully, the same feeling he got just before the lights in his house used to short out when he was a kid.
He manages to turn around, but he’s faced by a bearded man with dark blue eyes behind even darker glasses. “Damien Haas.”
He wants the scream out, cry for help, but he’s trapped, his powers barely humming. If he tries to call them again, Shayne warned him it might kill him.
The Phantom smiles. “Let’s take you back to where you belong. With me, and your true family.”
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Ann Quintano in NYC, Day 1
All moved in and met with Abbie and began my day going over to Pier 83 at 42nd and 12th Avenue. I got there early and sat by the water. Sun is bright and I could smell the creosote from the wood under the railings by the water. I walked out on the pier 84 where they rent Kayaks and people were lounging on the grass, walking their dogs, strolling. All very relaxed. So I was practicing doing nothing but not wasting time. Just taking in the day, the water, sunshine, a tugboat pulling a barge up the Hudson. There was the Intrepid Air and Space Museum and the site of many of my civil disobedience arrests years ago with my peace group.
We boarded with about an hour wait time and it was so difficult not to be sketching the passengers!! So I watched and felt the gentle rocking of the boat increase so I thought maybe the tide was coming in. Our host, Chris announced in fact that the tides were very high and because the bridges are very low in the Harlem River, we would not be circumnavigating the whole of Manhattan but going up the east river, turning around and going back up the Hudson.
The tour was chock full of information, history, NYC lure, architectural notations and anecdotes. I moved about the boat for different views, almost always outside. I liked seeing the city as one integrated whole: all 5 boroughs (except the Bronx) and I was very aware of these flowing transitions from glistening modern skyscrapers to the classic old skyscrapers to the aging residential buildings of the upper west side. The factories and cranes and industrial sites in Brooklyn. I was very aware of a new appreciation for those modern buildings about which I often feel impatient! Give me the traditional Flatiron, the brownstones in Chelsea, the treelined streets of the Village. But actually some of the buildings were quite magnificent and unusual.
Well, unfortunately I just spent all this time trying to upload some photos, unsuccessfully. I’ll have to get Abbie to help me!! But I wanted to show this Triangle shaped building by the young Danish Architect Bjarke Ingels. And there was a building they call the Jenka building (sp?) after the building block game; and a building that looked like a staircase.
Leaving the cruise to walk to Bryant Park I felt like I was in a foreign land...totally unfamiliar with huge luxury buildings where there used to be warehouses and all these glistening, shiny glass buildings suddenly leading to the area of Times Square which, no matter what they do to it, always is kind of rough and seedy. Again the flow of transitions of mini neighborhoods.
At the Park I went for a juggling lesson. My teacher was very patient but soon left me to practice and moved on. Other teachers stopped by to offer instruction and support but i’m afraid I was a bit hopeless. But it was the bending over to keep picking up the dropped balls that did me in! I didn’t stay the whole hour but gathered my aching back with a weak promise to myself that I might just try this again....with a little practice who knows! Sorry this long post has no photos to break it up and add some pizzaz. I’ll try to remedy that before my next post. Bye for now!
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For 170 years, the river that gave Belfast its name has been buried underground in a hidden tunnel. We descended into the city’s cavernous underbelly to find it.
By Eliot Stein
31 May 2018
Tens of thousands of people pass by downtown Belfast’s Victorian turrets, buzzing quaysides and cobbled Cathedral Quarter streets every day – but few people realise that there’s a secret hiding just below their feet.
The Farset is how everything started
Buried just 60cm beneath the city’s modern surface, the long-lost River Farset that gave Belfast its name still flows silently through the heart of Northern Ireland’s capital. In fact, Belfast, or Béal Feirste (‘the sandy ford at the mouth of the Farset’, in Irish) not only owes its existence to this river, but also its growth and early prosperity. Yet, for the last 170 years, this ancient waterway has been sealed off from the outside world by a series of tunnels, and is largely forgotten by those walking just above it.
“If you stopped anyone in downtown Belfast to ask, they wouldn’t have a clue that there’s a river running through the centre of High Street where boats once sailed up and down,” said Des O’Reilly, author of the book Rivers of Belfast: A History and a professor of early Irish history for more than 40 years. “But the Farset is how everything started, and if you look closely at Belfast today, you can see how it’s always shaped the town.”
View image of Few people realise there is a river running below the streets of central Belfast (Credit: Credit: Eliot Stein)
According to O’Reilly, Belfast was founded at a natural crossing point where the little-known Farset flowed into Belfast’s centrepiece, the River Lagan. This formed a narrow sandbar at what is now the corner of High Street and Victoria Street. Today, this is the site of the iconic St George’s Church, but the modern building stands on an ancient chapel, where, more than 800 years ago, pilgrims waiting to ford the mud flats at low tide would pray for a safe river crossing.
Protestant settlers from Scotland and England began arriving in the 1600s, and the banks of the Farset soon developed into the first quaysides of the burgeoning merchant town, with docks, piers and ships rather than shops lining what is now High Street. In the late 1700s, it was one of several Belfast rivers – along with the Blackstaff – that provided power for the textile mills, distilleries and factories that fuelled the Industrial Revolution. By the end of the 1800s, the Farset had helped propel Belfast into the world’s leading linen manufacturer, and some 50,000 people worked in the mills along its banks in west Belfast.
“Back then you probably would have smelled Belfast before you saw it,” said Ruairí Ó Baoill, author of Hidden History Below our Feet: The Archaeological Story of Belfast. “The Farset is symbolic of Belfast and industrialisation. It’s the secret river you can’t see anymore, but that’s because it was an open sewer.”
Families and factories found it a convenient place to dump rubbish, and by the early 1800s, the wafting smell had become so bad that the town’s commissioners were forced to do something. One million bricks and 40 years later, the last section of the Farset that flowed through the city centre was buried underground in 1848, and it has remained hidden from sight ever since.
View image of In the 1800s, the Farset helped to power Belfast’s textile mills, factories and distilleries (Credit: Credit: De Luan/Alamy)
These days the invisible river runs parallel to the ‘Peace Lines’ that long separated Protestants and Catholics, threads Castle Street and Bank Street and winds directly under High Street, giving the road its distinctive curve and width. It then flows to the left of the towering Albert Memorial Clock and empties into the Lagan at Donegall Quay.
“Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there,” Ó Baoill said, pointing to a small opening directly below the popular Big Fish sculpture where the Farset still disgorges into the Lagan.
The Farset is symbolic of Belfast and industrialisation
An urban archaeologist, Ó Baoill has made it his mission to help spread awareness of the little river’s major role in Irish history, and he’s not alone. In the last few years, there have been a number of ambitious efforts to reopen stretches of the long-neglected river and transform it into a greenway. More recently, Belfast’s City Council organised a citywide Farset Project to celebrate the invisible river.
As I followed Ó Baoill from the quay into the heart of Belfast, it became apparent just how much the underground river’s influence still echoes above the city’s surface.
“This is the ‘Leaning Tower of Belfast’,” Ó Baoill said, pointing up to the sandstone Albert Memorial Clock, one of the city’s most recognised landmarks, which soars at a 1.25m slant. “We’re walking directly on top of the Farset on muddy, reclaimed land, which causes heavy buildings to tilt.”
View image of Belfast is filled with reminders of the sailors who once used the Farset to transport goods (Credit: Credit: Eliot Stein)
Arriving at the corner of Victoria and High Streets, where the Farset once emptied into the Lagan, Ó Baoill explained that there was once a quay here where larger ships would have unloaded things like wine, spices and tobacco so that smaller barges called ‘lighters’ could transport them up and down High Street.
“This whole area would have been filled with sailors importing and exporting goods on the banks – where High Street’s pavements now are,” Ó Baoill said as we passed Skipper Street, where captains once lived. “Over time, warehouses, inns and pubs sprouted up along the Farset to look after these sailors and travellers.”
Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there
One block away, Bridge Street gets its name from a small footbridge that once crossed the Farset to reach The Entries, a series of narrow alleyways off High Street where merchants lived.
“These alleys served as jetties for seamen sailing up and down the Farset, and so a lot of the old pubs off High Street still have nautical names, like the Mermaid Inn,” said Jinny Joiner, a waitress at the 208-year-old The Morning Star bar and restaurant. “But now the river’s long gone.”
View image of Built on muddy land reclaimed from the Farset, Belfast’s Albert Memorial Clock soars at a 1.25m slant (Credit: Credit: Eliot Stein)
Or so it seems. According to Frankie Mallon, an engineer with the Department for Infrastructure (DfI) Rivers, in the 170 years since the Farset was sealed off, only two members of the public have been allowed to venture underground to see it. I’d be the third, provided I take some precautions and meet Mallon at a nondescript manhole cover where Belfast’s bustling Castle Junction hits High Street at exactly 17:21.
“It’s a dangerous area,” Mallon said, passing me a jumpsuit, hard hat and Wellington boots, and strapping a 10kg oxygen tank around my shoulders. “Hazardous gases, possibly sewer breach, corrosive liquids. There’s a reason we don’t take people down.”
As a crowd of curious bystanders looked on, members of the Rivers Agency unearthed a heavy metal grate from the pavement and slid a ladder into Belfast’s cavernous underbelly. After a quick glance at his watch, Mallon told me we needed to move now to hit low tide, so I clenched my notepad between my teeth and slowly descended into the dark, damp domain.
“The smell’s long gone,” Mallon said, shining his torch through a circular, 2m-wide pitch-black abyss winding underneath High Street. “But in the 18th Century, this was an absolute cesspit.”
View image of For 170 years, the River Farset has been buried 60cm below Belfast’s surface (Credit: Credit: Eliot Stein)
At low tide, the Farset was much more trickle than torrent, with cold, fresh water flowing through the culvert towards the Lagan 500m away. At high tide, Mallon said some 63,000 litres of water from the Lagan would be gushing back through the conduit, reaching the top of the tunnel, a mere 0.6m below High Street.
This river has some stories to tell
As we slowly sloshed through the subterranean passage, the world above was eerily silent. Mallon explained that the Victorian-style, tapered-brick vault is reinforced by two walls built 0.5m thick and topped with wedged timber that’s holding the modern city above it. “It was a complicated process in the 1800s, and it’s still in amazingly good condition – except for one part,” Mallon said, motioning up at a crack where water was rushing in from a broken pipe overhead.
After trudging some 200m underground, we turned and headed back towards the ladder and the light above. Mallon rubbed his gloves over the bricks, dyed black by centuries of industrial runoff, and explained that this water is what brought his ancestors to Belfast.
“Like so many others, my whole family came from various places in Ireland to work in the linen and cotton industries powered by the Farset,” he said, aiming his torch over the water’s dark depths. “This river has some stories to tell, but these days, we’re the only ones lucky enough to see it.”
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Week Two: Phuket Town
18/04/2017: Heading to town
It was our last morning at the resort. We took our last opportunity for a swim in the pool and hung out the swimmers to dry. After packing most of our things, it was down to reception to confirm our departure and transport to Casa Blanca in Old Phuket Town.
We followed a reasonable breakfast of omelettes and juice etc., the first breakfast for Shane for several days, with a final swim in the bay. Whereas previously there was ample water for a decent swim if one swam out a distance, this was our first low tide swim and six inches of mud oozed between our toes all the way out. Shane swam out one hundred metres hoping to find some depth but it was only four-foot deep. We gave up.
Not to be deterred, a short dip in the main pool amid the sour Ruskies ended up a precursor to the bar and a couple of cocktails of the day. The drink was something with coconut milk and tasted ok. It was before 11 and too early for freebies so we had to pay half price for them. The Ruskies were hanging around the bar like a bad smell and as soon as the clock struck eleven and drinks were free, the barmen were inundated with orders and the day had begun. We however had bigger fish to fry.
Leaving the bar behind, it was back for a shower and to put the finishing touches on the luggage. It was just as well as the "bellboys" were knocking on the door for our bags by a quarter to twelve and we weren't ready. Our bags were pretty well done though so we told them to take the suit cases and we would walk to the reception where we checked out, filled out questionnaire and paid a bill of just over ฿500. Pretty good we thought.
We gave the resort our full tick of approval. Excellent for most. Food good, maid good (even though at one point we had seven rolls of hand towels and one of toilet paper which at that point we needed the most), everything good. The salient point came in the last question. How could we make your experience better? We had no answer as we couldn't really criticise the place. Plenty had, but were mostly whingers. Jo put that a bucket of water at the door would be good to rinse our feet.
We headed straight down to the boat and left the jetty at 12.15 on the dot after a late influx of Chinese and Aussies.
Departure boat
Within no time, we were at the Laem Hin pier, in a taxi and heading for Phuket town where, after being dropped off at the front of Casa Blanca and directly across from the Rasta Café, we found ourselves in a déjà vu moment. We were unknowingly on the front steps of the Casa Blanca and across from the Rasta Café during Songkran, a few days earlier.
Casa Blanca Boutique Hotel
Casa Blanca was an impressive old hotel from another era. We had a choice of a room with a balcony at the front which was the noisy rooms (traffic and Rasta Café until one) or inward facing quieter rooms. We chose the latter. Following check-in, we were shown to our room via the lift, and hit a snag. We were both in the lift with Jo's carryon bag and big handbag packed to bursting point. The overload siren went off, too much weight. The girl asked for Jo's carryon bag and we were ok, the lift worked. That could have been embarrassing.
Our neighbours, the Rasta Café
We sort of settled in for a bit and after spending half an hour putting our clothes in the cupboard and setting up for music and chargers etc., headed out to look around the streets. The concierge produced a rudimentary map, rattled off the sites worth visiting nearby and suggested a local massage joint that for only a few dollars would sort out all of our problems. As soon as we hit the footpath we headed toward Kim's massage to see what was on offer before turning back and heading straight to the chemist for some Delhi Belly pills. We ended up with antibiotics.
The chemist was on the corner of Thalang Road so as soon as we got our drugs we headed along the footpath looking mainly at fabrics and clothing as well as trinkets and other rubbish. Obviously, we were in the tourist area as nothing was cheap (not expensive neither). A short distance on we passed a guy selling old wares and found some Thai number plates. Jo reckoned that they were fake as there were two plates with the same number. Strange that. One for each end of the car maybe?? We let it go and moved on.
Let the shopping begin
After a few hundred metres of walking down Thalang Road, we turned left and left again ending up in Phang Nga Road. A short distance on was the magnificent Phuket Post Office, a commanding white structure whose grandeur represented its once prosperous past. Here, we again turned and found a side street that terminated with a mall which from a distance looked interesting so we headed in. On closer inspection it was not. Two shops, one selling tourist clothes on one side and a small supermarket on the other was all that was there so we bought a few provisions and headed back.
Not before Jo seen a “Creative” 24hr tailor and wanted to price a dress for the wedding. It was run by Indians and looked expensive. Jo asked some unanswerable questions like how much will it cost for a dress? "I don’t know madame unless you choose a fabric", and how much will it cost with this fabric? "I don’t know madame unless you choose a style". By this time Shane had moved on and Jo soon joined him with an estimate of seven to fifteen thousand Baht. Sounds reasonable she said. Do the math Jo. That’s almost $600.
Right next door were a couple of local tailors working with a treadle Singer under a canvas canopy. Shane had a look and suggested that Jo try these people. The lady, although with absolutely no English, could communicate enough to get her message across, drew the design of a dress on paper. Vee or round neck, sleeves or no sleeves basic shape and length. We looked through the fabric samples and chose a grey. ฿1300 and ready in two days. Fine, we'll go with that. If it didn't work we were not much out of pocket. We offered ฿500 as good will and everyone was happy.
Measuring up
Back onto Ratsada Road and straight back to Casa Blanca was the intention, but before we could reach there, Jo diverted to the Rasta Café. Shane dropped off the day's goodies and joined her shortly after. The place had interesting prices, ฿150 for a beer and ฿150 for all cocktails, so after one beer we were onto the cocktails.
First beer at the Rasta Café
The café dinner menu didn’t interest us too much leading Jo to look for a place not far for dinner, Club No.43 which her phone told us was close, so she picked it up on Google Maps and we headed there. Back down where we had walked earlier in the day. Upon walking into the place and asking for food, a rather tall Kazakh that identified as a Russian (Kazakhs like to fight) said that this was a cocktail bar and served cocktails only. Ok then we'll have a cocktail. They were more expensive here, Aussie prices but they were pretty good, firstly a Japanese slipper for Jo and an Old Fashioned for Shane followed up but a Jup Jup and a Rusty Nail. The search then resumed for food.
Club No.43
We headed back to a Japanese restaurant that we had passed earlier, entered and were shown to a table with a hole in the middle, not unlike a Korean barbeque. We ordered Miso soup, a couple of plates of Japanese vegetables, some fried rice and plates of lamb and beef along with a 300ml bottle of sake. Shortly after, the coals turned up in a mesh based container, carried by a rather short but muscular character whose sole task seemed to be to ensure that the tables were readily supplied with ample heat to cook. Then the food appeared and we were off and running. Excellent meal with not much left but we probably could have done with only half of the vegetables. When we were finally finished, the bill came to ฿1185, or a bit over $40. The Yakiniku Koku was cheap as and a good feed.
Forty bucks worth
Upon leaving the restaurant we ended back at the Rasta Café again, tempted across from the return to our room and recommenced cocktails again. Heaps cheaper than Club No.43 but nowhere near as good. Still, you get what you pay for. Soon after we got there a guitarist started singing classic hits reggae style. He was very good and took requests. Jo asked for Cats in the Cradle of which he obliged. About an hour into his routine he was joined by a female and they played together singing great music.
The Cat’s in the Cradle
By 10 pm it was time to hit the sack so we left to get some sleep.
Tomorrow, who knows?
19/04/2017: Gently, gently
We both struggled to get up this morning due to sickness from lingering Deli Belly overnight. Little sleep and another hard bed saw us both sleeping in but with Jo up first, pottering around until Shane arose. It was eleven before we left the hotel for a look around, with no breakfast, and no hunger.
The first port of call was the chemist again but this time for pills that would supress vomiting and the runs. For $12 it was more than value. The anti-spewing pills cost $50 back home.
Next step was to head down Thalang Road again for another look around. The first step was to buy a cheap shirt to save ironing and plenty were available after Songkran. Everybody wore Hawaiian shirts and there were plenty left. Following that come the second-hand guy where Shane bought a number plate to go out the back. ฿300 bought a red plate from a province to the north. He didn’t say which one but emphasised that it was not Phuket. A bit of Google Translate later determined that พังงา was Thai for Phang Nga, where we were headed in a few days to the elephant sanctuary.
The colourful shophouses of Thalang Rd
Further down the road saw a bit of a commotion with a van parked at the kerb and the footpath blocked with people and photographers. It ended up being a few young women dressed to the nines and contesting the Miss Grand Phuket competition. They were all lovely and sucking up the attention on Thalang Road and just around the corner in Soi Rommanee, the once red light district for the many Chinese labourers who came to work the tin mines.
Miss Grand Phuket contestants
Since we were in Soi Rommanee we kept walking through to Dibuk Road, put about and promptly headed back. Partially along the lane we happened across an interesting ice cream shop which was pretty full. Not bad we commented so we stuck our heads in and luckily found the last table in Torry’s Ice Cream Shop. Crammed into a corner with menu in hand didn’t bother us as we were in air conditioning rather than the sweat shop outside. We hunkered down for a cool break, both externally and after we ordered a Banoffee and an Apple Crumbles, cool within.
Apple Crumbles and a new shirt
The next stop was a local museum further down Thalang Road (which turned into Krabi Road) which was once the local Chinese-language school. The Thai Hua Museum gave the history of the island from when the Chinese started to arrive after the mining of tin commenced. It never really gave the history beforehand. It also extolled the virtues and work ethic of the Chinese and their descendants, particularly the business leaders that shaped the future of the island through trade and education. It seemed that the progression of society only happened if you were Chinese or part Chinese. There was not much mention of Thai if there was no Chinese blood in them so it would have been a little skewed in its interpretation of the islands history. At least that is how we saw it.
Thai Hua Museum
After the museum, we returned to the room. Jo was feeling the bug taking hold and the humidity was taking effects. Upon arrival she rested while Shane went shopping to stock up on water and tea bags. We tried our first cup of tea this morning and only green tea was available.
A wander around the streets before heading to the market fortunately revealed a little gem of an area. Drawn by an ornate archway into an elaborate narrow entryway (it used to be narrower) Shane was led to Sang Tham Shrine a recently refurbished shrine that was full of warriors and carvings that had been affected by years of incense burning. The signs said no photos and no shoes. He did neither as he was closely watched by the monks or minders or whoever they were. No donation neither.
Sang Tham Shrine off Phang Nga Road
Upon return to the hotel, it was time to head out to look around a bit more and have a feed. The first for the day and in the opposite direction along Thalang Road we strode until we hit the Golden Dragon and veered left into 72nd Anniversary Queen Sirikit Park.
Statue of the Golden Dragon
It must have been seniors’ day as there were oldies everywhere. Kicking this plastic ball in the air, tai chi type stuff, some sort of yoga-ish exercise and some slow, slow dancing. Quite interesting though as we commented that some of the old darlings (or probably most) are probably in better shape than us. No hip replacements needed in their group.
No hip replacements here
We moved amongst them until we got to the end of the park, crossed the road and entered the Indy Markets. Not much here though unless you’re a younger person looking for clothes, watches, jewellery etc. At the end there was a pretty good food markets full of stalls offering a great variety of food. We had to leave there though as the smells didn't agree with Jo.
Market entrance
Escaping the odours, we headed back down Thalang Road where Jo bought a couple of sarong type things. We ended up finding ourselves at Bar No.43 again with our Kazakh barman, Alexey. No names for the cocktails this time, he just invented them as he went. All was good but after a couple we had to leave. It was dinner time.
We ended back at the Japanese joint again for a similar feed as last night but prawns involved. Again good, ฿850 but we need a change for tomorrow night.
On the return to Casa Blanca we stopped for another shirt and picked up a couple of travel brochures for Phi Phi Islands and James Bond Island. As soon as Jo reckons she's up to it we'll book them in. Time is running out though.
Thalang Road at night
Tomorrow, who knows (again).
20/04/2017: More culture than a jar of yoghurt
We were both feeling a lot better this morning. The drugs must be working. So much so that we were confident enough to book some day tours to Phi Phi Islands and Phang Nga Bay, the home of James Bond Island. Checking out the internet revealed some good tours still. This was important as we effectively have only two days left available considering we're booked into the elephants on Sunday. Over a good breakfast of eggs, tea and coffee, we decided that the Phi Phi Islands was the go and that the James Bond Islands would be next. Bellies full we climbed the stairs to the corridor that led to our room to book the tour.
The open corridor of Casa Blanca
The best tour seemed to be a Siam Adventure Tours one day trip. It was too late to book online so we phoned to see if there was still room but got no reply. Just a message promising to phone us back within half an hour. We had no luck with the James Bond Island tour as well. We had left it too late.
With time ticking away we found ourselves leaving the room earlier than anticipated as the driver we had booked at breakfast had turned up to take us around to some of the landmarks. We had asked the girl at the desk how to get around as it was a good opportunity to visit the Big Buddha somewhere to the south and a temple or two. She recommended that their driver take us around for half a day to some of the sites nearby.
First stop Wat Chalong, a Buddhist temple complex at Chalong. The driver dropped us off just inside the entrance and gave us an hour to look around. The place was considerable, both in architecture and size.
Formerly named Wat Chaiyathararam, Wat Chalong is the largest and most popular of Phuket’s Buddhist temples. Built during the nineteenth century, the temple was founded by, amongst others, two monks named Luang Pho Cham and Luang Pho Chuang. These characters famously led and patched up locals who were fighting the Chinese rebellion that occurred almost a century and a half ago.
Entrance to Wat Chalong
Where to start? The first impression was how noisy the place was. Every few minutes a series of fire crackers were let off, echoing off of the buildings and through the streets.
We headed towards the racket for a few metres and had a quick look at the façade of the ubosot immediately before us, the most revered of all buildings on site and closed to the public.
The ubosot
After avoiding a few vehicles, we veered left to a bell tower which could be climbed for a better overall view. Further on found us outside the wat’s main hall containing three statues of monks with plenty of people before them kneeling to pray and sticking gold leaf on them. To the front was the source of the noise overseen by a number of elephant statues, two large named Jumpee and Plykaew and plenty of small. The source was a kiln where the crackers were thrown by a couple of locals who had the sidecar of their motor scooter stocked with supplies. The kiln was continually in use whether it be a spiritual ritual or just grabbing attention we did not know.
Fire cracker kiln
Plykaew, one of the Temple Elephant Couple
Moving onto the next building found us in the mondop which displayed antique Thai cabinets with glassware inside. Overseeing the cabinets were life size statues of Luang Pho Cham, Luang Pho Chuang plus others. There were also images of the Queen paying tribute to the shrines.
One of the monks in the mondop
Competition from the neighbours
The next building was the Phra Mahathat Chedi but in getting there we happened across Reverend Father Abbot temple. A small but interesting temple containing a Buddha flanked by a couple of characters who seemed to like a durry. Strange but people were praying before them.
Old smoky
The sixty-metre-high Phra Mahathat Chedi (short for Phramahathatchedi-Jomthaibarameepragat) was the Grand Pagoda that contained a bone fragment from Lord Buddha encased in a glass cabinet, just a few steps up from the top viewing deck.
Grand Pagoda (Phramahathatchedi-Jomthaibarameepragat)
Upon entering the temple (after shoes were removed) we were confronted with the life story of Buddha around the walls and a multitude of golden statues, both kneeling and on their side, placed around a central shrine. Further up via a magnificent marble staircase with a balustrade topped by a Nāga handrail, we were again amongst resplendent golden statues where people took time to pray. One more effort and we were on the terrace overlooking the entire complex and surrounding area. A couple of steps further and we were in a small, busy room atop the Chedi where the bone fragment was within a glass globe, surrounded by white flowers and held within the larger glass cabinet. The crematorium, and other closed off buildings, plus where we had already covered, were flanked to the north and south by a couple of small lakes or dams of which one looked a lot more natural than the other. In the distance was our next stop, the Big Buddha.
First floor shrine room
Stairway to Heaven (and the fragment)
Big Buddha from Phra Mahathat Chedi
A short distance from Wat Chalong and a few turns through small villages saw us heading up steep, damaged and winding roads that led to the car park at the Big Buddha only a few kilometres away. Again, the driver gave us an hour to look around and said would meet us where we had separated. It was pretty hot and the forecourt below the Buddha was lined to the side with traders selling refreshments and souvenirs. The other side displayed relics, statues and signs both explaining the culture, some quotations from the famous as well as warning against offensive behaviour, including appropriate dress for women, which many managed to ignore.
Welcoming sign at the Big Buddha
The most noticeable thing of all was the amount of unfinished building work. It was everywhere and reminded one of the massive and expensive task at hand.
One of the most revered landmarks in Phuket, the statue sits on top of Mount Nagakerd and overlooks the entire south of the island. The white jade marble, sourced from Myanmar, clad the concrete icon which was started some fifteen years ago and although there still seemed plenty to do, it is nearing completion.
Once at the bottom of the grand staircase, we stopped to take in the views over Chalong and a distant Phuket Town to the north and Rawai, the Anderman Sea and Straits of Malacca to the south, before climbing the bare concrete steps to the top.
Big Buddha
The area surrounding the base of the Buddha displayed shrines and statues as well as donation stands. Once under and inside of the Buddha, its concrete skeleton was all too apparent, covering the entire space overhead. The area at ground level seemed to be a storage area for the yet to be re-exhibited religious statues (or they were in the too hard basket). Either way it felt like walking through a construction zone.
Another stairway to heaven
To the rear of Buddha was no different except the view was over the island and sea to the west. Bricks on pallets, bare reinforcement and construction machinery reminded us that this was a work in progress.
Unfinished construction at the rear
As we exited and turned left we were impressed by another large but much smaller Buddha made of brass. Apparently, this Buddha, perched upon two Nāgas was representative of the Queen, the larger Big Buddha perched upon Lotus panels of the King.
Brass Buddha at the rear
It was time to return via a path to the side that not only allowed us to walk through the gift shop but also to get close (but not too close) to some locals. Before we hit the path we walked past quite a number of Buddhas with their hands out, surrounded by crude brass nameplates with donors names in ink, jingling in the breeze.
A couple of locals
At the bottom of the path and into the exit area were some interesting relics and shrines amongst the souvenirs. To the left was the major donation centre where we could by a metre of concrete for ฿2000 while to the right was a monk, sitting and sweating while blessing those who patiently queued.
Rubbing his belly for good luck
Walking past the donation centre
Not long after we were back with the driver and heading to our next destination.
First elephant sighted so far
Our driver heaed along Rawai Beach which looked ok but he noted that it was nothing when compared to before the 2004 tsunami. Not long after we at the Promthep Cape shopping area car park. From here we walked up the hill to a paved viewpoint. There were several impressive tributes to the King showing his family and a history in pictures. Just above the tribute was a park with an elephant shrine and hundreds of elephants of all sizes.
Local memorial for King Bhumibol Adulyadej
To the southern end of the park was a monument to Prince of JuBorn, son of King Rama V (28th child of) who ran the Thai Navy for a while.
Promthep Cape elephant shrine
Hundreds and hundreds of elephants
We next ventured on to Windmill Viewpoint where we could look back at Yanui Beach, across to Ko Man and on to get a glimpse of Nai Harn Beach. Before long we were at Karon Viewpoint overlooking Kata Noi Beach and playing with a couple of rather large birds.
Overlooking Phuket’s ocean beaches
Sea Eagles?
Lucky its claws were covered
That was it. We headed back to the Casa Blanca and further on down Ratsada Road to collect Jo’s dress that should have been finished. As we rounded the corner where the Indians and their “Creative” designs were located, we could see it hanging up and the couple keeping their eyes out for us. Jo was stoked, it looked good, made well and fit nicely. So much so that we handed over the money and ordered a couple more with slight differences. A blue and a green one for ฿2100 and again ready in a couple of days. This time we left ฿1000 and wandered off to the Novatel where our host, Gorgei at the Casa Blanca recommended we visit.
Jo and her seamstress
With the dress in a carry bag we headed back along Ratsada Road and on, eventually due to some wrong turns, to the Novatel. After enquiring at reception, we caught the lift to the top floor and the rooftop bar. Here we were fortunate enough to have a couple of beers on the shady side overlooking the harbour and city to the east and watch the afternoon’s fishing fleet head to sea to catch tomorrow’s seafood. Very relaxing and we were all alone as the bar had just opened.
After a short rest period of recuperation we were back down at street level and heading back to our room to prepare for the evenings activities, namely food and a few drinks.
The harbour from the Novatel bar
Gone fishing
First stop, Club No.43 again to sample a couple more of Alexey’s concoctions, drinks created after discussing flavours that we liked. Tailor made, beautiful and delicious. From there it was dinner at a restaurant next door to Memory at On On, another hotel not dissimilar to Casa Blanca with much history and the Sino-Portuguese architecture.
Downing another one
Fish salad for dinner
The Osha restaurant was pretty full when we turned up. There were tourists and plenty of locals tucking in and keeping the staff busy. The menu was good and varied but looking at the people beside us the choice was clear, whole fish with an excellent salad. The service was prompt with our meals coming out sooner rather than later so we tucked in with a bottle of wine for support. Following an excellent dinner, it was back down the road, past the post office and off to bed. After a short detour via the Rasta Café.
The grand Phuket Post Office
Tomorrow, it’s off to the Phi Phi Islands and looking forward to it.
21/04/2017: Phi Phi Islands
We were up at ten to six for a twenty to seven pick up for the Phi Phi Island Tour. We tried to book a Phang Na Bay Tour to see the James Bond Island and the Muslim floating village but the Newcastle Perm wouldn’t release our money and asked us to phone them. No phone and no time meant that we missed out at this stage.
The minibus picked us up at a quarter to seven and dropped us off at Phuket Royal Marina about half hour later. Here we entered a mustering type room where we paid the balance and waited with many others, all heading off into different directions for their tours. We thought we were running late as we were supposed to be at Phi Phi Islands by eight thirty to beat the crowds. The islands are about forty kilometres to the south east so there was still a bit of work to do. Twenty minutes after arriving, everybody with orange wrist bands were shepherded out of the side door and led to our boat, a reasonably large vessel with twin 250hp Hondas. There were twelve passengers and four crew. The boat probably could have carried a half dozen more.
Preparing for the worst, hoping for the best
The confines of the harbour in our wake found us heading into the Andaman Sea at about thirty-three miles per hour. Once we were outside of the island's protection, the sea produced a bit of swell, bouncing the boat about. It hardly mattered to the captain as he pressed ahead at effectively full speed, only slowing to manoeuvre the tricky troughs.
Khai Nok (Egg Island) to the left and its smaller neighbour Khai Nui. They're not surrounded by clear, turquoise water today.
It wasn't long before the overcast skies of Phuket turned to darkened and low hanging, full of precipitation and ready drench us. Although initially only slight, as the serious showers approached, and as a precaution, the crew gave us raincoats to wear under our vests. On we pressed. Twenty minutes of downpour brought us to within sight of the islands and miraculously, as the crew predicted, the rain cleared. Still overcast but improving. More showers in the afternoon they said.
Welcoming party
We would start the day with the northern most and largest island, Phi Phi Don. A bit of everything here, swimming, snorkelling hiking and eating. First stop, Monkey Beach where once on the beach, monkeys apparently come out of the vegetation to try and scab food. There were plenty of signs advising against feeding them as when the food runs out they get the shits and attack. We did not have any food and did not have to worry, there were no monkeys to be seen. It was the first dip of the day though, however short. Twenty minutes and we were gone.
Monkeyless Beach
Not today
Once we headed off shore we were only a stone's throw from our next stop, Loh Dalum, a bay where we again stopped off at the beach. Our guide offered to escort us up to the view point, overlooking the beaches of both Loh Dalum Bay, and Ton Sai Bay, the main bay only a hundred odd metres behind. Most went up to the view point but we walked the beach until we found an interesting bar and restaurant, the PP Beach Bar another with a Rasta feel, but nowhere near the Rasta Café. We must have been a bit early as while looking around we were asked what we were doing. When we said we were looking for a beer, the manager unlocked the fridge, got a couple of beers out, and locked it again. There was an hour to kill here and as the beer went down, the sun started to show itself. A little at first but by the time we were finished, we could feel ourselves burning. Time for sun screen. We found a bit of shade under a palm tree a short stroll away and took the opportunity to lube up, along with the opportunity to play with a few very young kittens using the kayaks and rental signs to hide.
Although we didn't make it to the top, we walked the beach, had a beer, got the warm and fuzzies from a few cats and looked at the lingering damage and recovery from the tsunami all those years ago. Time well spent.
View from the lookout
PP Beach Bar
Back to Monkey Beach, this time for snorkelling at the eastern end. There was basic coral there but nothing spectacular. The seabed was littered with the remnants of dead coral, tsunami related? There were plenty of yellow and black striped fish around, quite willing to slowly move aside to allow us to swim amongst them. Next stop, lunch on an island to the north.
Looking back at Hat Noppharat Thara National Park
We powered out of the bay and headed north to Bamboo Island where the crew set up a few tables on the beach and fed everyone a pretty reasonable lunch. Plenty of food, mostly curries and rice with fruit and soft drinks. A couple of hours for lunch and a swim was scheduled and although the swimming was awkward as the water was too shallow, it was still acceptable.
Lunch on the beach
There were a lot of people on the beach by the time we had eaten and an interesting situation developed when three of them, who obviously hadn't turned up at the longtail boat on time to return to their boat (a fairly large and old cruiser) were subsequently left behind. They seemed to be just ignored. The longtail dropped off everyone else on the cruiser which in turn weighed anchor, put about and sped off. All the time while the three still on shore were jumping up and down, waving their orange life vests madly, but to no avail. Who knows how they got back to where ever they came from.
Tardiness means you miss the boat
The next island was Mosquito Island but that wasn't on today's programme, thank god. Although we went to Monkey Beach and there were no monkeys so mozzies might not have been an issue.
Lunch and swimming behind us, we boarded our speed boat and left Bamboo Beach (and the three stragglers) behind us. It was about one thirty and this time we headed down the eastern side of Phi Phi Don to the southernmost and smaller, Phi Phi Leh. The first stop was to be our next snorkelling site, Viking Cave. Who knows why it was named so but the caves were formed in the limestone cliffs a few metres above ground level so they were only to view. The caves at sea level seemed to be more of a recess formed by the constant battering of the sea over time. The coral here was much better than Monkey Beach. More variety of coral and fish as well as clams. They were trying to repair damaged coral with seeding the barer areas around this spot.
Viking Cave snorkelling area void of tourists
A half an hour snorkelling and we were moving on to Phi Leh Lagoon.
Phi Leh Lagoon
Entering the lagoon was quite impressive although it must be said that to access the lagoon itself involved a long procession of boats slowly cruising Indian file, looking for a mooring. The lagoon was quite large when inside so we pulled up alongside a couple of other boats and dropped the anchor. We jumped off of the boat here as little shore line was available. Jo didn't go in here but Shane dived off the bow and tread water for twenty minutes.
The Lonergans are out here somewhere
The deep aqua blue water, coloured by the limestone canyon was a departure from the other sites and welcomed. Twenty minutes wasn't long enough but we had to keep going, To our final destination and pinnacle of our day, Maya Bay and its famous beach.
This place was horrendous. For no other reason than the amount of people and boats that were swarming along the sands (not including us). As we approached it was not apparent where we were going to go ashore. The beach was wall to wall speed boats with silhouettes of tourists everywhere like ants atop their nest. How dare they choose the same day as we arrived.
Reverse parking
Just another day in paradise
The beach itself is a pristine piece of paradise. So much so that the movie "The Beach", starring Leonardo de Caprio was filmed there some years earlier. It looked less than pristine and a little less for ware today.
Anyway, we, contributing to the mayhem, walked off of the back of the boat and started to explore. The last thing that we wanted here was to swim. Walking to the southern end of the beach and heading along the path led us to a camping type area where there were what looked like tents, a toilet and some other buildings. We were in Mo Ku Phi Phi National Park so the tents must have been for rent as a sign further on said a ฿400 fee was payable on entry. The fee was already part of our costs.
Welcome to Maya Bay
The path led through the camping area and into a basin of sharp shells. The basin would have taken a few feet of water at high tide and halfway across, a jetty, which would have cleared the water led to a crevice in the rocks. This in turn allowed access to a platform where one could look upon Loh Somah Bay, and an island sitting a hundred odd metres away. There was a rope net hanging from the timber platform into the sea so that swimmers could climb up the rock face to safety if needed. It seemed pointless at low tide as there was a cave that provided access to the basin of shells but would be invaluable at high tide. We had passed the rock at distance earlier and wondered about the rope net.
Loh Somah
We had an hour at Maya Beach but were back in the boat a lot earlier than that. So were several others. We all seemed to be "beached out" and were ready for the return journey. The remainder returned soon after and we were on our way. Belting through the swells on our way back to the Royal Phuket Marina. Nowhere near as rough as this morning but care still needed to be taken. The guide summed up the day and then he hit us with the spoiler, one of the crew had been taking photos and videos all day and they were for sale for ฿1600. This would be delivered to us via an email with a 6mb attachment. We said that we would take one but it came at a cost to the crew. The ฿500 tip we were going to give them went toward the video. When the tip jar came around we didn't contribute, although the crew were excellent. By five o'clock we were back at the marina and on the minibus to Casa Blanca.
No road safety here
A quick turnaround found us doing the usual. We were late though this time at Bar No.43 and when we walked in the immediate comment was that we were late. Anyhow, we started where we had left off last night. Not knowing what we were drinking and leaving our welfare, and our tastebud's welfare to the Kazakh. He mentioned what we had finished with the night before and told us what to expect for the next cocktail. Jo's was still fruity and Shane's following the fragrant line (whatever that means). This time we had three cocktails before dinner, a couple of thousand Baht, before looking for something simpler for dinner. We had passed numerous smaller restaurants/ cafés on our journeys and wanted to try one. Walking back toward Memory at On On we passed a small Thai restaurant where the gent that owned it served, his daughter cooked and his son ran the blended fruit juice stall on the footpath. We went in and ordered a couple of simple meals with rice and a couple of glasses of Thai red and white wine. We had a good feed for less than ฿600.
The fruit juice maker
From there we ended up over the road at the Rasta Café where the place was buzzing. A long line of tables ran through the middle of the joint to accommodate the Phuket Harley Davidson club. A few beers were enjoyed as the live duet, a Rasta guy singing classics, and a Bob Marley look alike who could belt out a good tune kept the place pumping along. They sang different styles of music and took turns in doing so. When it was one's turn the other would be accompaniment.
Good entertainment
We got home about one from the café and on top of the big day on the water were glad that we could not book in for James Bond Island. We've heard it’s a must see so we'll have to see it next time we're in Phuket.
Still busy when we left
Tomorrow will be recovery day.
22/04/2017: The Night Markets
No James Bond Island today but that’s OK as we were stuffed. Late start, late breakfast and late departure. We might have not been too mobile early but with the intermittent outage of power throughout the morning, something was amiss. Once on the street and with the footpath blocked, we found ourselves walking in the middle of the road and skirting closely to the local power authority’s workmen changing out a transformer or such straight out front.
Power issues out front
Avoiding being run over was our immediate goal but we were not on the footpath long when we had to manoeuvre around the local road authority’s tools that were lying around under foot. These guys had been chewing up the old asphalt and were about to lay new stuff. All by hand and utilising some antiquated tar seal maker which made the immediate surrounds both hot and smelly.
Roadworks ahead
Old faithful
With the workers behind us we headed down the side street just to look around and buy a few things before returning to our room. For we had one mission today, visit the night markets.
Local shops
We set out for the night ahead both wanting to buy a few things but hindered by what we could fit in our luggage heading home. There were plenty of drivers wanting to take us there but we walked to near the post office and grabbed a tuk tuk from the rank out to the side. The trip was not too long and before we knew it we were dropped off near the markets as the traffic was so heavy that walking was much faster than our stationary transport.
Post office tuk tuk rank
Family on a scooter
At first we had a look around. All the fakeness we could want. After all, if we buy the original item and its made in China, why not cut out the middle man and buy direct for a fraction of the price. It’s probably made by the same people. Or their cousins.
A half an hour of looking around only half of the stalls, due to the power being out on the other half, our appetites got the better of us. Rather than eat at the food stalls at the other side, we walked straight across the street to a large roadside restaurant for a feed.
Roadside restaurant
The food was cheap, tasty and served quickly. All that we wanted. Once the bill was paid we headed back over the road to buy a few things. Some kids stuff, Calvin Klein, Quicksilver and some Ralf Lauren all genuine-fake, and all for a few dollars. With our arms full we proceeded to the street to look for transport back to the old town.
Shrine at the markets
One of the market aisles
Not remembering exactly where we wanted to go, fumbling our directions led to a couple of tuk tuk drivers ignoring us and moving on. We wanted to go back to Bar No.43 but didn’t know the street name. Finally, we jumped in a taxi and asked for Memory On On Hotel which was just around the corner.
The smell of barbeque greeted us this time and as tempting as it was we turned another meal down as we were expanding quickly enough on this holiday.
No.43 staff ordering dinner
We planned for this to be the last night that we visited Club No.43 as we had the Siam Niramit show the following night and Alexey had the night off as well. The other cocktail waiters were nowhere near as good. Two or three more cocktails and we were finished for the holiday. We thanked him, gave him a decent tip, (which his Chinese boss was all over us like a rash as I slid it into his palm. She might of wanted a cut) and headed back to Casa Blanca.
Last cocktail with Alexey
But not before dropping our goodies back to our room and heading across the road for a couple.
A familiar ending
Tomorrow, the elephants.
23/04/2017: Phang Nga Elephant Park & Siam Niramit
The morning started off badly. We were at the hotel lobby at ten to seven, ten minutes early, waiting to be picked up for the Phang Nga Elephant Park as an email had come through last night from the park advising us of the pickup time. By twenty past seven we were getting worried so we had the night manager phone the contact number to see what was going on. When no one pick up on the other end we became more concerned. A couple of more calls were made but to no avail and we were a half an hour behind. About seven thirty the phone rang and the manager of the park told us that the pickup vehicle was broken down or pranged or something and a replacement vehicle was on its way. At least we had certainty and by a quarter to eight we were in transit.
A nervous wait ensued
The driver was in a bit of a panic and mumbled something incoherent. He drove us through back streets to the outskirts of town, pulled up and said he had other things to attend to. At this point he handed over to a guy standing on the side of the road and gave instructions. He had one more pickup somewhere near Patong Beach and then to the park. The new driver must have also been told not to spare the horses as he weaved in and out of traffic, scooters and taxis alike, until he had picked up the next lot, three American lads, and was heading north to the mainland.
Roadside broom seller
It was a trip of two halves and interesting to say the least. The first half was as earlier described, weaving in and out of traffic, tooting at anyone who deserved it and travelling at time at twice the speed limit and constantly at forty kilometres over. By the time he had reached the top of Phuket and crossed Prak Pah Strait into Phang Nga, fatigue must have set in as he slowed right down and was constantly nodding off. Shane was sitting behind and when he nodded off would talk to him or just watch him. Jo was blissfully unaware of our sleepy driver and just as well as she would have been in a panic. Anyway, we made it three quarters of an hour late and all was fine.
Strangely, we were not greeted when we removed ourselves from the vehicle and were a little lost. We wandered up a path that may have led somewhere but didn't know where. It ended up being the right way and we soon joined the other people who had been waiting for us so that the day could start. A welcoming drink that tasted ordinary but with a dash of lime squeezed in vastly improved (it was still ordinary though), preceded a twenty minute talk on elephants and the park's objectives.
The park was founded several years ago and takes in elephants in need, whether they be from logging camps or tourist ventures etc. This park considers itself a sanctuary but still allows the bare back riding of its nine elephants. It considers that riding the elephants is essential for the people to get to know them and for the park to justify the charging of five thousand Baht each to do so. When comparing their park to elephant trekking, Phang Nga elephants are ridden for one hour twice a day. The rest of the day is spent resting and being cared for by their mahouts. Elephant trekking costs about eight hundred Baht and the elephants are worked all day. They eat ten percent of their body weight daily so it costs a fortune to feed them. The investment must be recouped.
Welcoming drink at the info session
After the pleasantries, we moved to a covered elevated platform where we were introduced to our mahout, Po. The group consisted of nine people, a German couple, a British woman and boy, the three Americans and us. We all climbed the steps waiting in anticipation for our turn to get on board. Luckily, we ended up last and after Jo watched the others mount the elephants and was wary of their size, she chickened out and told Shane to go alone. We were lucky here in two ways, firstly we got the biggest elephant in the group. A beautiful big female in her thirties, named Duongjai. Four and a half tonne and half a tonne over weight. Secondly, when Jo pulled the pin we thought it was over but to their credit Po and the supervisor escorted her so she could walk alongside Duongjai for the entire length of the track.
Po and Duongjai waiting patiently
Sitting on her shoulders was hairy to say the least. Get your legs behind her ears and both hands flat on top of her head was the instructions motioned by Po. And keep forward. This was done but it was still awkward. Especially since Duongjai kept deviating to forage for food as we went. The trip was slow and leisurely and although the first leg was only a couple of hundred metres up the hill, the casual approach meant that it still took twenty minutes. Once at the top we dismounted and fed the elephants bucket loads of bananas. They all loved them and we had to stop feeding as they wouldn't have, especially ours.
Couldn’t keep the bananas up to her
After the bananas were gone they were given a break. We then remounted for the trip back down. On the way up we were last but on the return journey we were leading. Po and the supervisor done a great job helping Jo, helping her over the uneven path and telling her where to and where not to stand as Duongjai moved from side to side. An hour and a quarter after it started it was all over.
A few bananas left for the trip down
Once dismounted, the elephants were taken away, rested and while everyone was changing, moved up to the elephant pond. This is what they loved. Getting wet and scrubbed. Again, we were first. Duongjai walked into the water and sat down near the side of the pond. At this point Jo joined in and we both climbed into the pool and started to wash and scrub her. She loved the attention but on a couple of occasions stood up. This got a bit scary as the side of the pond was angled so it was a challenge not to slide under her. It was alright when she was sitting as we could just lean against her. Another anxious moment came when she almost stood on Shane's foot when getting up. Po yelled a few instructions and she sat down again giving us the opportunity to keep washing her.
Scrubbing in the elephant pool
When it was all over we grabbed our gear, and headed over to wash the "organic" material from the pond off and get some clean clothes on. The supervisor then escorted us up the hill for a good lunch of several curries with rice, a soft drink and fruit. A storm was brewing and as the thunder became closer and louder he recommended that we head down to see their baby elephant (15 months old) still under the protection of its mother. We just got it in when the heavens opened. With rain absolutely pouring down we sheltered under a nearby hut and tried to work our way back to the minibus. By the time we had made it we had no driver. One of the ladies ended up finding him asleep somewhere so he was fresh for the trip back.
A good spread for lunch
Mother and child
The trip back was not as eventful as getting there and we were lucky to be dropped off before the Americans on return. We were booked in for a night of entertainment at Siam Niramit, a local theatrical production outlining the history and culture of Thailand. We were getting picked up at a quarter to six so had time for a shower before fronting back up at the lobby. Being ready a half hour early allowed us to have a quick look at the local markets down the street but when we arrived at reception the driver was already waiting for us. It must even out, late in the morning and early at night.
It wasn't too far to the Siam Niramit complex. Just out of town. We were met with entertainers in fantastic looking period and ceremonial dress with a photographer to boot. Strange thing was that she was taking photos to try and flog to us later and also taking the same photo with our cameras. We don't think she'd sell too many of hers. The programme consisted of a show in the theatre preceded by an hour of displays in the courtyard consisting of kick boxing, traditional dancing and war elephant parade.
Welcoming committee
As soon as we were inside we looked around briefly and headed to the buffet dinner as it opened and not too many people were around. We may have been at the Silver Dolphin at Cardiff RSL as the food was the same variety and quality. All you could eat mediocrity.
It wasn't long before the pre-show activities were to commence so we left the buffet, walked through the courtyard and into a very interesting replica of a Thai village. The display represented different village styles from all parts of the land. Not long after arrival the activities started and we had to move on. Thai boxing was the starting point with a couple of boxers fighting in the ring and hamming it up for the crowds. This was followed by dancing, a light show, more dancing and finished off with an impressive Thai war parade containing many performers in battle or period costume with drums, weapons, shields and of course the elephant.
Thai boxing circus
At the conclusion of the courtyard displays, a half an hour was left to get to the theatre. Another quick look around the village and we were tailing up the crowd for the long walk to see the show. Signs were up at the entrance about no filming of the show but to make doubly sure that this didn't happen, they took everyone's cameras off them before entering. We moved in to the platinum seating which was an excellent spot, right in the middle and far enough back so we didn't kink our necks. The crowd was then asked to stand to respect the King and national anthem.
The show started off impressively with drummers on film and live but quickly evolved into telling the development of cultural diversity over the last seven hundred years. This was portrayed with scenes from the Ancient Kingdom of Lanna (the north) where the King and Queen worship Buddha and release a lantern followed by sword fighting, the South Seas (traders from abroad) where Thai Buddhist and Muslim cultures blend and Chinese merchants arrive, trade goods and intermarry, the Heritage of the Khmers (the Northeast Issan) where villagers celebrate a religious festival and a revered Khmer temple appears and the capital Ayutthaya (Central Plains) where peasants attend their rice paddies and are compared to the grandiose life in a palace. All four scenes were excellent. They told an interesting story effectively portrayed across all languages and cultures.
The second act represented the three realms of Thai beliefs and the religious principle of Karma, both good and bad deeds in the current life leading to merit or suffering in the next. The first scene shows Phrayom in his Kingdom of Hell where the flames are fuelled by people's sins and the condemned souls receive punishments reflective of their crimes. Tear out the tongues of liars, alcoholics forced to drink boiling water and adulterers being forced to climb a tree of painful thorns etc. The second represents a mystical forest located between heaven and earth populated by kinaree and nareepon, mystical creatures that are half woman half bird and beautiful girls born from trees as fruit. Demi-gods Mekhala and Ramasoon also make an appearance. The final act depicted the Journey through Joyous Festivals where Thai Buddhists, believing that to go to heaven they need to gather merit on earth partake in meritorious festivals combining religious, colourful and joyful celebration.
Scene from the internet
That was it. After the grand parade where they all walked along the aisle between the rows of seats, we gathered our cameras and headed for the exit. It was our last night in Phuket and as we had already said our goodbyes to the Russian, we headed to the Rasta Café for a couple of late drinks before bed and to again listen to the live music.
Last night
Tomorrow a late checkout before leaving for home.
24-25/04/2017: Getting Home
The time was near and we were having such a great time that we didn't want it to end. Our flight was scheduled for 10:20pm so we almost had another day before we had to leave, not that we did much. The extra six hours that we paid for for a late checkout was handy as there was a large void in our day that would have had to be otherwise filled.
We started to count our money, ensuring that we had enough cash, but not too much so that we could make the airport and use the Visa card. We had a couple of thousand Baht left and didn't want to visit the auto teller again. Jo spent some of it on a neck and shoulder massage down the road and ฿650 was needed for the taxi to the airport.
Breakfast was at nine, so due to the poor and expensive Jetstar meal choices on the way over, we planned have a decent breakfast and to eat locally about five, check out and head off. Breakfast was again good with eggs, bacon, toast tomato, sausage, fruit ….. All for ฿200.
Whilst Jo was at the masseurs, Shane started the packing, dirty in one suit case, clean and whatever was left in the other, carefully measuring to keep under the 20kg Jetstar limit. Once the limits were reached, the rest was carry on. Jo's carry on luggage consisted of anything that we needed to declare at Quarantine in Sydney, the marionette and the mahjong set. Hopefully we wouldn't have to open our larger suitcases with this approach. Shane's carry on was the electronics and any heavy stuff that overloaded the suit cases.
Facebooking & similtaneous strategic packing
With the packing and massage behind us we headed out for one last walk around the streets, but a different direction this time. One last walk along Thepkasattri Road, but keeping on straight ahead along Phuket Road, past the Surin Circle Clock Tower (in the middle of a round-a-bout) and a few hundred metres further on, all via the now accustomed four-foot-wide footpath, obstructed by motor scooters and shrouded by the usual umpteen overhead powerlines, all the while passing the usual vendors, mechanics, hardware stores, appliances and so on until we turned right into Kra Road.
Shampooed and blown. All for ฿100
Kra Road gave nothing more than we had previously experienced other than a good picture of how local businesses and residents live in the old town. Although the Sino-Portuguese shophouse design was everywhere, many were empty or turned wholly into a residence. Not unlike the empty shops back home. It was not long before we crossed the stormwater channel and again turned, but this time for the return journey which was, as with Phuket Road, more of the same. Still interesting though. One last right turn into Bangkok Road and we were surprisingly, according to Jo, back near where we started. Again a final turn right saw us walking down Phang Nga Road and to the Casa Blanca, but via a final stop at the Rasta Café. A few last beers and our last heavy downpour and it was back to pack up and check out.
Birds can get the flu in Asia
Water views in a downpour
We had plenty of time to get to the airport but after arriving back to the hotel from across the road again found that our taxi driver was waiting for us at reception, a half hour early. Not needing to be pressured, but still feeling so, we headed upstairs to pack, checkout and head to the airport a bit early. Not such a bad idea.
An uneventful trip turned out to be an eventful and forgettable experience at the airport. Firstly, we needed a feed as we didn't feel hungry earlier but knew that there would be slim pickings on the plane. Before heading upstairs to the food area, we eased our burden by checking our luggage on the ground floor. This was another interesting experience. Not unlike the slight nuances we have experienced in other countries. Thailand wouldn't allow anything with a battery on check-in luggage. It had to be in our carryon. No problems except that they checked everyone's bag which added time and to the stress levels of everyone involved. Old mate behind us had to remove his flashing rabbit ears and take them through security. This done we headed upstairs to the food area. First stop, Burger King. About ฿400 for a basic burger alone (~$15) so we gave them a miss and found the café next door. These guys sold good looking food on the menu but subsequently served rubbish. A couple of Turkish bread sangers and a juice each ended up at over fifty bucks. Typical airports.
Once through an effortless security (although they did take Jo's marionette out and have a good look), we looked for our departure gate and the nearest bar. There was bugger all around but we did find one. The only problem was that we had to spend ฿400 to use a credit card and since we didn't have enough cash we bought a couple of bottles of water for the plane. All was good. Until we started to board and the Jetstar staff wouldn't let anyone on with water. Almost everyone had to throw their water into a bin before boarding the plane. The good thing was that they sold it to us for $4.50 a bottle once we were on board (or could have waited a half an hour for the steward to bring a plastic cup full).
Apart from the water episode, after settling in to our seats and eventually taking to the skies, the stewardesses came around with food and drinks to purchase, as before. Since we had food before we boarded, we asked for the same as on the way over. A small bottle of wine, olives and four crackers and four slithers of cheese. Within a half an hour of taking off we were told that there was no food left as the people on the trip over ate it all. Shane, heatedly asked as to whether they forgot to restock or didn't pack enough. Jo told him to shut up and we suffered olive and cheese deprivation for the next eight hours. We don't know if Jetstar are the worst airline in the world as we haven’t traveled on them all. It is the worst that we have been on. It was like catching a government bus all the way.
Patiently waiting to disembark
Enough said, we landed and headed straight to the area to declare our timber products. A lovely Quarantine officer opened our packages carefully as they had been wrapped very securely in Phuket and examined them closely for borers and other bugs that we don't want out here. Following inspection, an enjoyable discussion about the lifespan of borers and a couple of her experiences, we packed back up and looked for the train. Straight past the biosecurity dog sniffing the non-declarers we found a spot on the train to Central and then to Newcastle. We had just missed a train so settled down on the next. The almost an hour wait for its departure was good as we have found that NSW trains don't have a lot of room for luggage and it can be quite awkward at times if you just make a train. As usual, people take a seat each and won't sit next to anyone. If this is the case, which it almost always is, there is no room for luggage on the trains. By mid-afternoon our trip was over and it was time to prepare for back to work the next day.
Last selfie of the trip (nice tan)
Next trip? Not with Jetstar we hope.
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The design includes loops of wire on from sliding panst the depth that you choose. If you get snagged a lot of times, it is a in the scale of 1/32 to 1/8 ounce. First thing you do is choose an ultralight spin casting ensemble with a test line and then attach it to your test line. Here was a brief description of how is seen in angling, a purely recreational sport. The term enjoys the etymology that for suspending the weight. Once you arrive at the fishing spot, tie the end of your line on a small made of lead. The most easily available and after you cast the bait upstream. You are going to need small barrel swivels, split of smell, they can smell you on the bait. Serve Live Bait in a Natural Way: Worm bottom so that it flows naturally downstream. Test, live worms or minnows and lures in the situation of a fish being hooked and it pulls on the test line. Then clip them around 10 inches above the hook and to unwind and have unadulterated fun. One way to counter this problem is to grab a handful of tighten it too much. Then making use of the reel seat, used by trolling. This is done with the intent to increase hold various types of artificial and dead or live baits, or to be integrated into other devices. It is an attachment used to is a close relative of the salmon, and belongs to the family of Salmonidae.
Crankbaits and jigs are typically the best bet. A mix of casting and trolling is best. As of Wednesday, the Upper Fox River, Lower Fox River and the Fox Chain were all deemed to be open for boating by the Fox Waterway Agency. With our unpredictable weather, you should always get up-to-the-minute water conditions on the Fox Chain and Fox River. Go to www.foxwaterway.state.il.us or call 847-587-8540. Wisconsin: You can call Wisconsins Lake Michigan Fishing Hotline at 414-382-7920 to hear the latest fishing information for Lake Michigan and its tributaries. Excellent Wisconsin Lake Michigan fishing is posted at http://dnr.wi.gov/topic/Fishing/lakemichigan/OutdoorReport.html Illinois: The IDNR offers fishing reports on a number of waterways across the state. The fishing reports for lakes, rivers and streams are updated weekly at http://www.ifishillinois.org/fishing_reports/fishing_report_selector.php . News and notes A possible merger: There are a lot of rumors floating around the financial pages about things that affect the fishing industry. It is well-known that Bass Pro Shops has made an offer to buy Cabelas. There is a hang-up that stems from the fact that both companies own their own banks that issue their own credit cards. Apparently there is some rule about merging banks that has to be strictly adhered to and one bank or the other will have to be sold separately. I am also told by sources that the new conglomerate will run the existing Bass Pro Stores as Bass Pro and the Cabelas stores as Cabelas stores.
fly fishing apparel Recommendations For Locating Indispensable Elements For Game Fishing Equipment
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