A pedant writes
Author: DbON
Horrible 70s Music #1
When I was a kid, stuck in the provinces, with a choice of one radio station,
Lady, or The Tramp
When is theft not theft, but sharing of limited resources?
Melbourne #1 – it’s cold
Melbourne is cold.
Yes, it is Australia, which is warmer than New Zealand, right?
Wrong. In winter, you’ll find everyone here wrapped in overcoats, and wearing scarves. Only the seriously fashion-challenged wear shorts.
A quick look at a map will tell you why. Melbourne is on the same latitude as that tropical paradise, Hamilton, where on a fine winter’s day the fog may just lift by 3pm.
Goodbye to The Swamp
The days of living
abos
cycling
heat
dairy
accommodation
Late-night rant
Late at night in a dark bar, one drunk to another …..
“Being a sports nerd from way back, I can’t let the Olympics end without putting my oar in. So to speak.
But first, a little trip down memory stream.
Rugger
Of the Old New Zealand trifecta of rugby, racing, and beer, my Dad pursued two. He replaced the middle one with cricket.
So as a lad growing up in the grey early 1970s ( “you want two types of milk?” ) , I followed his lead, and sport helped saved me from death by boredom. There was nothing I looked forward to so much as Saturday morning mud-wrestling ( a.k.a junior rugby ).
My brother and I played backyard rugby with such gusto that the ball was confiscated over summer. So the legendary British Lions 1971 tour of New Zealand was meat and potatoes to us. To add the gravy, they became, and remain, the only Lions team to win a series in New Zealand.
I remember listening to most of it on the radio, with commentators like the gentleman on the left.
Looking back at clips, playing in muddy bogs with sodden , leaden rugby balls their backline was dazzling, especially in the provincial games. They won the series 3-1, as you know.
The Games
I discovered at primary school that I was Ok at “long distances”, which then meant 800m races.
In 1974, I watched John Walker finish 2nd to Filbert Bayi in that year’s Commonwealth Games 1500m final, pondering my grandfather’s remark – “harrumph, he would’ve won if he’d had a haircut”.
That was a golden era of New Zealand middle distance running, with the trio of Walker, Dixon, and Quax winning medals and breaking world records. And so through my teens I followed the sport, and won some minor races.
Fast Forward
So , back to the present, and some thoughts on a few of the remarkable performances.
Yes, thanks, top me up, Captain. Oh yes, some of that as well…..
What’s Happening In Norway?
Never mind the Chinese, the Vikings are coming. With two out of the park performances in track events, and one in endurance, one wonders;
- Karston Warholm clocks 45.94 seconds in the 400m hurdles, breaking his own world record of 46.70s. He’s the first man to run the event in under 46 seconds. The previous world record had stood for 29 years.
- Jakob Ingebrigtsen , at 20 years old, wins the 1500m over Kenya’s Timothy Cheruiyot, clocking a time that places him 9th on the all-time list. Is this man capable of beating Hicham El Guerrouj’s 23-year-old record?
- Kristian Blummenfelt wins the men’s triathlon ( swimming, biking, running ).
The following is an abject lesson in travel.
The plan – travel from Rayong to Da Nang by bike, taxi, plane, and taxi. The timeframe – one day. Bish, bosh, bash, just like that.
Not so difficult? Except that…
This is Thailand
In the week before leaving, I’d had to show my face at Rayong Wittayakom school, where I’d worked as a teacher for the previous six months. This because I wanted to ensure I was paid the previous month’s salary.
At 37,000 ฿ ( ~=USD 1120), it’s a pittance by Western standards. But living monkishly, I’d been able to save around 500 USD / month. And, with Vietnam in my sights, I could hardly afford to be sniffing at it.
The byzantine Thai bureaucracy dictated that my Visa was kaput as soon as the school contract ended. That meant I had exactly one day between finishing my school duties, and evacuating Thailand.
This Is Me
I’d been in the same apartment for a couple of months, during which time I’d accrued belongings, both useful and otherwise. My ‘filing system’ was the floor, over which tumbled my worldly possessions.
After wrangling with Thais, a hopeless scenario at the best of times, I’d found a dirt-cheap ( 2300 ฿/month ) scooter for rental from Pattaya. However, I now had to return it before leaving.
I’d decided to go to Vietnam, rather than do a ‘Visa run’ across the border and back, or return to New Zealand.
I’d turned down two good job offers, one in Pattaya, and another in Phuket. Mostly because I didn’t want to face another 30-hour bus trip , or deal with the Thai education ‘system’.
All of which resulted in last-minute packing decisions, money-changing, changing travel plans, insurance cashing, and general chaos.
The result? Early on the morning of November 1, 2019, I loaded more than 30kgs worth of possessions onto a 150cc scooter, ready to ride from Rayong to Pattaya, a trip of about 65 km.
A Tranquilised Mule
On first mounting the scooter, it slowly keeled over ,like a tranquilised mule. This of course was just cream on the cake for the hotel staff watching the entire pantomime from the front checkout.
A couple of them did come over to help right the beast, and I was shortly back on board.
I wobbled around the carpark a few times as a warm-up, and then set off on the Long Run to Pattaya. The suburbs of Rayong present their own challenge, because Thai motorists treat road rules as advisories. Much like “do not exceed the recommended dose”.
Half an hour and a couple of stops later, I was on the main road to Pattaya. These are mainly concrete, and so are slippery. An abrupt change of direction would result in a slide much more unhealthy than your average amusement park.
Stay Calm, Focus, Execute
So it became a question of sustaining concentration. I’m a small overloaded blip travelling slower than almost anything else.
This is the first leg of the journey, Rayong to Pattaya. The next is Pattaya to Bangkok via taxi. The third is the flight from Bangkok to Da Nang, Vietnam. And the last is the taxi ride to my pre-booked hotel from Da Nang airport.
It’s a game of dominoes. If one fails to fall, none of the rest of them fall into place either.
I streamed the mantra “stay calm, focus, execute”, to distract myself from thinking about consequences of an accident.
Panic in Pattaya
Once I made it to Pattaya, there was an additional hurdle. I was there to return the rental scooter. But the directions given by the scooter owner were sketchy at best.
“Find the 7-11 on the corner of Sukhimwit Road. I’m in the third shop from the corner, it’s behind the cafe …”
Ragged from the concentration of the trip, I darted hither and yon, hauling in my wake a suitcase, a laptop briefcase, and a shoulder bag. Up against the clock of my flight departure, another 20 minutes ticked by before I found said scooter owner.
With the handover out of the way, and nothing said about the additional dents, it was time to find the taxi for the second leg, Pattaya to Suvarnabhumi airport, Bangkok.
Easy? But no. With the usual Thai efficiency, the driver I’d been chatting to for three days to drive home the deadlines was otherwise engaged. After another 20 minutes of pacing inside an air-conditioned 7-11, I had a driver.
As it happened, about an hour, and 1100 ฿ later, the airport hove into view.
Gate A
The attendant told me he plane was leaving at “Gate A”. Minutes later, it dawned on me that the gates were numbered, not lettered. While other passengers glided around with their small trolleys behind them, I hobbled along like a small mule with a limp. Then, six months of teaching Thais came to the rescue.
Thais often drop the final consonant of English words. ‘Gate A’ was ‘Gate 8’.
With the target finally settled, I found the flight board, and discovered that the flight was boarding 15 minutes ago
Fark! All this way, all that palaver, and here I am stumbling at the second hurdle. I picked myself up and started sprinting. It didn’t look good, but it was effective. Soon I caught the remnants of the check-in line.
A short sauna bus ride, and 30 minutes’ of looking at the flight attendants later, and we were airborne.
Da Nang
I’d organised online a Vietnam Visa for about USD 100 for 3 months. So I was surprised and delighted when I was snapped and stamped and waved through in about 10 minutes.
It was around 6pm, and I was in ‘Nam.
On the advice of someone who knew these things, I’d arrived with a wad-full of US dollars. The advice was good, and I got instant co-operation from taxi drivers.
The short taxi ride gave me a taste of the beauty of Da Nang. It’s a much more modern city than Rayong – bridges lighting up like stairways, wide roads, modern architecture.
I found that US dollars got instant co-operation from apartment managers , too.
I’d skimped on the apartment. It was something like $12 ( 300,000 VND ) / night , and I got what I paid for. But at this stage, I didn’t care.
I’d made it. I unpacked a few things, and collapsed on my bed.
school
– long-term teacher doesn’t talk to anyone
– fat thai teacher with a mental age of 10