Full Circle: Bangkok repair shop to Malaysia and back

Up just after the public news broadcast from the loudspeakers outside my window, I went for a quick ride past the mouth of the lake where I could see some of the overnight fishing boats returning.

After breakfast I was able to take in the pictures for framing: 70 baht each, ready the following afternoon. Once that was done, I decided to run into Had Yai as I wanted a strap so that I could carry the smaller Canon camera while I was riding. I looked all round the town before a policeman directed me to a camera shop which had what I wanted. Most photographic shops in Thailand are for processing only and have a narrow range of products. This shop carried a good selection of quality cameras and did more than the normal 4 x 6 developing and printing. The owner/manager was helpful, and the many staff members were busy. A good local clientele suggested that the shop had a good reputation. I headed back to Songkhla, found Chris, and we wandered along the beach taking pictures.

When we got to Samila Head, there were hundreds of trippers both from Malaysia and from Thailand's southern provinces, which are mainly Muslim.

Thais rarely miss the chance to find something different to eat, and this day saw several clambering over the rocks just offshore hunting for shellfish. You cannot get it much fresher than this.

I hired a motorcycle taxi to take me back to where I had left the bike on the beach and then came back for Chris and took him to a couple of places he had not seen. I rather like the idea of the Westerner showing a Thai round parts of Thailand: Bangkok taxi drivers (mainly people from the North-east) are bemused when I tell them the best routes through the city.

Tuesday (2 May)
Chris and I took more time taking photographs and in the morning we went up the hill known as Khao Tang Khuan where a pavilion had been built for one of the kings. At the very top of the hill is a jedi and a lighthouse, and a magnificent panorama of the town.

On the way up we were cautious of the green monkeys that have made this place their home. By the pavilion there used to be a small temple which was home to a dozen monks. The temple has gone. In place of the monks were a couple of surly individuals who had been camping in the pavilion. As a Thai, Chris said they made him feel unwelcome.

After lunch we had a look at the ferry, then took the trip across.

We came back via the road bridges that link Koh Yor (Yor Island) to the mainland. While we were mobile, I managed to take some pictures using a small Canon camera: it automatically winds the film on. My Minolta does not. Even so, with the button on the right side, I have to take pictures with the camera upside down: scanning fixes this of course. The best of the three, which includes my helmet, was taken by Chris:

I lived in Songkhla some 12 years ago when the bridges were first opened and remember the quietness. Now the road leading to the bridges is lined with buildings and the island has scores of restaurants (some really very good). The islanders used to travel to Songkhla by boat to sell their produce (fruit and excellent cloth); now they line up at the side of the road hoping for buses and cars to stop.

On the way round to the village, we stopped at a viewpoint to take pictures across the lake.

A while after, at another viewpoint, Chris suddenly noticed his bag was open and his notebook was missing. As he had been writing his observations and impresions in the book all summer, its loss would have been great. I rode back to the first viewpoint and as I parked, Chris shouted as he spotted the book on the ground.

Later in the afternoon we were in the old part of Songkhla taking more photos.

Suddenly I heard my name called out. I looked round and there was Bon (pronounced Baawn), one of the graduate students from my university. I went with Bon up to the Khao Yai National Park just a year ago and wrote the trip up as: Here There Be Monsters.

I hardly recognised Bon as he had had his head shaved: young Thai males traditionally enter the monkhood for a period as part of their entry to manhood. Bon had seen my bike as he drove through the town and knew that the chances of there being another green K100RS in the area were slim. We had discussed Songkhla (his home) several times and he knew I was a regular visitor.

Wednesday (3 May)
I had collected the pictures the afternoon before from the framers and took them into the cafe where I was going to hang them. As I walked in I saw a Norwegian lady I knew (her husband is captain of a ship working in offshore oil) and she immediately offered to buy a couple of the pictures. I thought 50% off what I was asking was ok, and we quickly settled.

In protest the winder mechanism of my old Minolta camera promptly packed up. As I now wanted to get a couple more enlargements to replace those I had sold, I took Chris into Had Yai. We parked near the railway station and walked through the town to the camera shop. 10 x 8 enlargements would take 2 days, but who cares when you are on holiday. As a thought I decided to ask about repair of the Minolta and while I was unpacking it managed to drop the lens, bending the fixture.

Repair of the fixture was assured by the manager but they would have to have a look before knowing if they could fix the camera: four days. We wandered about Had Yai which is famous both as an entertainment center for wayward Malaysians and Singaporeans, and as a place where cheap goods from other countries may be openly bought. The Olympus I was offered for 8,000 baht *may* have been smuggled, or may have been made round the corner. This was especially likely as the vendor was at pains to point out the words, "Made in Japan".

I changed currency at a hotel nearby which has the best rates (the airport in Malaysia has awful rates, while Bangkok airport has the same rates as downtown banks), and buy a pocket watch for 250 baht: it keeps excellent time. On the way back to Songkhla I called in to see BMW owner Peter Wirth, who has a beautiful red K1100. We talked for a while and then Chris and I headed back.

Chris was staying at the home of a Frenchman, Phillipe, who has just opened an Internet shop, so checking mail was made much easier. Three years ago I had to ask Peter nicely; 18 months ago there were a couple of small shops in the town; now there are several larger shops and cafes. Philipe's is not a cafe, but being French he is sociable and there is good coffee on the go all day, and Pavarotti instead of rap.

Thursday (4 May)
I was going to Malaysia on my own this morning. I did ask, but Chris had no passport. My mission? Tea. Being English I drink tea every day (coffee in the morning) and I like it rather thick and brown. Cheap is best. You can get something similar in Bangkok in fancy tins, but these are horrendously expensive, and the tea in Malaysia is perfect. And cheap. I decided to fill up the panniers with packets of tea and then mail them back home from Songkhla.

I had a good run out of Songkhla and through Had Yai, towards the border at Sadao but halfway there saw a broad black bar across the sky which suggested prudence. I stopped for fuel and put on the wet gear, not a moment too soon. It rained all the way.

The border is a pain anyway, but when you are dripping wet and inks begin to run, it gets worse. Passport control took ages: the officer just could not be sure. He was used to people pasing through who stay for no more than three months. Here was I (legally) with a passport that clearly indicated I had not been out of the country since December 1998.

He read and reread each page, copied out my name right below where I had written it, read again, then looked at me asked me some questions and read once more. Finally he reached for a stamp which he held over the page , then put down again to read some more.

I did get past and headed for the Customs booth where I had to get a clearance for the bike. There is nothing to wrote out these days as the officer enters details directly into a computer and the print-out is the clearance form. Excpet the bike is not registered in my name (I now know it was originally black too); but I had a letter from the Old Man. But still the officer hesitated--this is fair as it is the last check for stolen bikes--until I offered her my Thai driving licence: a legitimate Thai document with a verifiable address.

Next stop, Duty Free: but only to buy insurance cover for Malaysia. As the sole lady in the office now fills out each form painstakingly herself, it was quite a wait. I was second in line and it took almost an hour. And then Malaysian Immigration.

I parked the bike up and collected the necessary immigration and currency forms, completed them, then rode to the booth minus my helmet, but plus a smile. I hate these places and always feel as if I am about to be taken in for questioning. Entering Malaysia took 30 seconds.

I put the papers away then rode past the necessary police post and Customs, where I am waved on--not smuggler material obviously. For the first few kilometers south of the border there is a limit of 90kph as the main road passes through a couple of small towns. There is also another police check, again which I am waved through, then the motorway starts, with its higher limit.

This time I remembered that toll gates do not apply to motorcycles, but that each has its own route through--the first takes you down a narrow lane round the back of some buildings before coming out onto the road again. As the cost for cars is considerable, this concession by Malaysian authorities is welcome. In Thailand you cannot use the motorways at all, not can one use the outside lane in Bangkok--the law creating this offence dates back to the 1930s and is regularly used by Thai police who are not known for their honesty.

The rain lifts and as I approach Alor Star, the heat begins although it is still quite cloudy. The city has wide roads and is clean and well-maintained. Drivers in the city area are more aggressive than I had been used to in the past when I had used mainly motorways in Malaysia. Older parts of the city demonstrate the Chinese links (via British colonialism). I wander round slowly looking for some likely store and then notice a mall, close to the centre.

I turn round in a housing estate, and park up, entering the mall wearing boots and wet weather gear. I am not going to be here long. In the supermarket I am asked to leave my helmet in the cloakroom. I find my way to the tea section and am disappointed to find only six, 500 gramme packets. I ask the girl working nearby. "Finished" is all she says. I pay and go back to the bike.

On my way back to the border I pull off the road again and enter a smaller town, quickly finding a busy little supermarket with helpful staff. Plenty of tea here and I buy another 3kgs. The panniers are just about full now: what we Brits will do for tea, eh?

I am ready for the border this time, although I know it always springs some surprise or other. Just before Malaysia's Passport Control, I get out the passport and the exit forms, take off my helmet and ride to the booth with the papers firmly clamped in my teeth. I stop, smile (after taking the passport out) and am stamped through. Up the hill through No-man's land I follow a couple of trucks moving slowly. At the police check an officer shouts at me as I am not wearing my helmet. One would think they want to see the face.

At Thai Immigration I am handed a new set of forms on which I have to list all the passengers in my vehicle--in duplicate. I park the bike and get out a pen. I fill them in quickly--and untidily--then return to the booth only to find that the officer has gone to lunch.

Next booth. Smart young officer. Bad sign? Not a bit. He took the forms and filed them with hardly a glance, opened my passport and turned right away to the correct visa and re-entry permit, checked the validity and stamped my passport with the correct date. Bright young man: should go far.

I walk to Customs and hand the officer the form, indicating the bike. A hum of approval goes round the office. Stamped, signed, we leave the border to go down the road to a second Customs post some 5 kms away where major checks are done on trucks. I pass the officer and he waves at me asking for the temporary import form: I tell his the bike is registered in Thailand and he waves me through. The rain starts again.

Saturday (6 May)
I have lunch on the beach with Chris, rush over to Had Yai to collect the pictures and then take them to the framer before collecting Chris and taking him to the bus: he is going back to the North via Bangkok. Buses now leave from a new bus station, which is still in the process of being finished. The sign outside proudly indicates that this is "SONGKHLA BUSTERMINAL".

Graham K. Rogers
Bangkok: May 2000

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