I then came back to the jungalow and started the packscapade. My bete noire. I have been watching Northern Exposure while here - and that definitely lightened the packing load - having an episode playing meant I was only packing with half an eye. I went and met up with Sean and Pamela to say goodbye, sad, they are very good value and I hope to visit them in Honkers one day. I told Sean what had happened with the bike, and he did have a few fairly (belated, 20-20 bloody hindsight) comments about the fact that I should have chosen the bike less travelled (on) to make the trip today. Whatevah. Anyway - just for closure - the bike. So after it coughed out today by the side of road to nowhere (ok ok ok - strictly it was the road to Nathon, but it sure LOOKED like is was going nowhere) I got directed to the mange-iest and skankiest little mechanic shack I have ever seen. The guy looked pretty homeless, but took the bike into his little shelter thing, and spent 2 minutes trying the obvious, and then told me to take a seat. I learnt a few things. Firstly, the universal Law Of Mechanics dictates that all greasy workshops have to have immaculately laid-out tools. He could lay his hands on whatever he wanted, instantly. Secondly, all mechanics have to have centre-fold chicks displayed so they are always being regarded lasciviously by ladies who would be cold if a stiff breeze picked up, given lack'o'garb. And lastly, when sitting down, also look up. The last one is a general rule for life. I was parked on this beautiful teak wooden slatted bed thing, under a lovely energetic fan. Due to the usual 3rd degree sunburn I was forced to wear more clothes than strictly needed in 35 degree heat - in fact the attire of the ladies in rule 2 would have been more weather-appropriate. So there I am, happily sitting in the shade, being fanned to death, watching mechanic taking scooter apart, when I glance ceiling-ward to inspect my fan. It was a car fan. That fan thing that cools the engine. And that ends my knowledge on cars, but seriously - a totally exposed, very sharp looking car-fan about a foot above my head. If I hadn't looked up at that stage, and just stood up instead, it would have been Adios Atkinson. Or I would at least have come home looking a lot more Friar Tucky.
Homeless-mechanic replaced a few bits, sweated profusely, drained and blew air through the entire engine, drank some petrol (I think that bit was accidental - he was sucking the pipe to re-start the flow), and generally worked his @ss off for an hour while I was fanned. The bike was purring like a kitten (hello Kiki D!) by the end of his ministrations, and I was SO happy. I asked what I owed him. 100 bahts. That's £2. Two pounds. I could not believe my ears. So I talked him down by 50%.
I jest! I paid him 500bahts. A tenner to me, and five times the asking price to him. Whichever way you want to look at it, I'm not sure who left happier. What a legend! And I then commenced my scoot down to Ultimate Pad Thai.
So it's the end of another fantastic trip here. I think I'll be back. If I return...and I hope I will... I would do a 3.5 day fast at the Spa, and then spend the rest of the time doing more exploring and seeing and smelling and tasting. Maybe even a little touching if they played their cards right. There is just SO much left, I feel like I haven't even started with this neck of the woods yet. But for anyone who wants an escape to detox, re-discover Calm, and get massaged within an inch of your life, I definitely rate Spa Samui, even if just for a few days.
Righty ho. I'm off to hunt down some long anticipated chicken satay before boarding. I think that champagne on the plane is going to taste very, very good.
x
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