The less said about Patong the better. Just another shitty stretch of road with vendors hassling to sell you all sorts of crap. Overhead electrical wiring even more imaginative than inland. I was bored with it after twenty minutes. Not because I’m kidding myself I’m anything other than farang, but because all such strips are identical the world over in the same way every Hilton lobby is the same. If you don’t want Louis Vuitton knock off handbags, lurid Buddha velvet paintings or crocodile paw purses, live fish pedicures, massage, beer and taxis then what the fuck are you doing in Patong at all? Or Kuta, Cancun or Australia’s Gold Coast? Apparently the place comes alive at night and you can buy a host of other things. We didn’t stick around to find out what.
I took a bunch of crappy photos out the car window on the drive up to Phrom Tep where people leave ornamental elephants decoratively arranged and the soi dogs are too well fed to stay awake. We picked up the kids from school then went back to Simon’s place for beer and conversation, feeding of the koi, catfish and turtle in the lake next door, then Call to Prayer atop the balcony upstairs. Now mosquitoes are nipping at my ankles. Hopefully there’s another bottle of Changs in the back of the fridge.
