That's what it's called isn't it? Riding bitch? As in sitting on the back. Well I can't say anything bad about it. I highly recommend it in fact if you can find the right person. And I did. From Kanchanaburi to a cave temple, which was amazing: a deep and twisting cave where bats flew around golden shrines, altars and statues, where my newfound guide took a minute or two to pray to her Buddha. (The day of the week on which you're born determines which Buddha is yours. Jep's was born on a Thursday, so the reclining Buddha is hers.) Anyone who knows me is probably well aware of my antipathy for any sort of religion but I was charmed and beguiled despite myself by her ritual. In the most silent and sacred of places she paced with her hands pressed together in front of this golden statue, chanting quietly. Then she rattled what seemed like, well, a rattle. When it was over the sombre mood vanished like mist on a sunny morning and it was all smiles again.
To be fair, she was an excellent driver, despite her constant joking at my natural fear, usually overtaking Adam and pretending to cycle as she did so, violently shaking the bike. I relaxed through the gorgeous expansive beauty of her countryside more, though, than I have in most people's cars.
To say thanks we went for dinner in a floating restaurant beside the bridge. On entering she surreptitiously stole a banana from the tree which was the dining rooms centerpiece and ate it. When I asked what she was doing the reply came spoken only in monkey. I don't speak monkey, or much Thai for that matter. She taught me one phrase alright but wouldn't say what it meant, though I have an idea.
So here goes. "Pom ruk koon, Jep's."
1 comment:
"I Love You, Painfully."
Is apparently what she said.
Jesus Paul, watch out, or you'll be the Pied Piper of Vagalon before long.
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