It probably won't be possible to keep strictly to the Thirty-Days-Ago, but I'll try to post each day's diary entry one the appropriate date. (It's a lot of typing, and I don't type incredibly fast like some people I know.)
Unfortunately, I don't have many pictures available from the trip (my slides are rather mould-infested, stored in a box back in Australia), but I'll post what I can, and maybe even links to other sites. The date posted might sometimes read as a day earlier, but that's because server time is based in America and I'm in Japan.
Blue writing is modern writing. The first day's entry is mostly blathering on while stuck in the plane to Bangkok.
Thursday 30th March 1984
Actually, it was a Friday, or perhaps
it was Belgium.
Boarding a plane is very much like
entering a fish. Not that I’ve ever entered a fish before. Come to
think of it, not many people have. There was Jonah, of course, and I
don’t know who else.
A lot of people on this plane seem
to be with Aust. Himalayan Expeditions [now
World Expeditions] going to India and Nepal. I don’t know
which people are with Sundowners.
My window (46A) is
plagued with chronic condensation. The other ones are all right –
but all are a bit dirty and scratched so the view isn’t
exceptionally clear except around the edges.
Flight from
Sydney to Melbourne. One hour with lunch: chicken, cheese and tuna
sandwiches, one each of. One sandwich being half a sandwich. Orange
juice.
Recognisable
landmarks: Wollongong, Burrinjuck Dam (one each), a touch of snow on
the mountains, rivers, roads, trees, houses, pine plantations, beaches
and an area that must claim to have the highest percentage of water
dams per square mile (or circular kilometer) in the world. [This
means water dams on farms, which are really just ponds full of brown
water.]
There was a guy
at Sydney Airport wearing plastic ears. Clown! Damn fool! Silly twit!
Maybe I should get some.
Rupert
Turglepope. Now there’s a man who has entered a fish. Twice. And he
lived to tell the tale. (See “Apocryphal Tales of the Late
Twenties”, edited by Percy P. Curlshaw, for Tiny Missprint Press,
New York, 1946, 320pp). Pinocchio was one too, but he was fictional.
The Captain and
his Clew welcome us aboard this flight. They gave us Dendrobium
Pompadour, an orchid of complex man-made hybridic production.
They are now
demonstrating how to inflate the liwest [that's their pronunciation on Thai Air], to a capacity captivated
audience.
It is purple and
smells a bit like sweat. However, this fact is not of great import
when you consider that it was very bumpy coming in down at
Tullermarine [Melbourne’s airport].
We lifted off
from Melbourne at 4.20. One hour later, sixty minutes had passed and
it was time for tea. Consumed by myself and my stomach. Bernard was
some rock melon, Chicken Bowen-Vegetables-Fried Rice,
Roll-Butter-Cheese and Black Forest Cake. Bowen was probably all
right, but his stuffing was a bit cheesy or sour creamy or whatever
it wasy. We passed over Lake Eyre during this repast.
The film tonight
is “Romantic Comedy”, starring Dudley Moore and Mary Steenburgen.
Only two things, apparently, can screw up their relationship. He’s
one, she’s the other. I wonder what it’s like with the sound.
It’s not working in my area. This means that I can’t listen to
Bach’s Violin Concerto in D Minor with Anne-Sophie Mutter &
Salvatore Accardo [They were probably sitting
up in First Class.] “How Deep is the Ocean” (1941) – but
it doesn’t specify whether it’s in feet, fathoms or metres; or
“Every Heart Should Have One” by Charlie Pride. Maybe it’s a
good thing the sound system is not working.
Sunset was very
red and orange, like hot coal. I couldn’t see the sun because of
the wing. Over cloud now, getting dark. High cloud, bumpy cloud.
Just had another
dinner. Salad, Vol-au-Vent with Chicken á la King and Prawn Newbury,
Roll Butter, Fruit Campote (cherry glassé, pear and peach-like
contraption). Not a Lake Eyre in sight, but down below, glowing like
specks of hot red coals, were eight or so oil wells-rigs.
We arrived in
Bangkok at about 12.45 AEST. That’s 9.45 local time. The first
think that struck me about the place was the humidity. In no more
than a minute my hands were steaming. Well, sweaty. A wide-aisled bus
with few seats took us to the arrival place. No problems with customs
– hand in the arrival/departure card (signed), passport stamped and
wait for suitcase. And wait for suitcase. Hand in customs declaration
form.
Sandy was there to
meet us and take us to the hotel. On the way, she told us what we
could do in Bangkok, about the hotel, and about Thai money. $US1 = 22
baht. I had exchanged $AU40 for 820 baht. I saw a real live $100 not
for the first time – another passenger had it [The $100 note was introduced in 1984].
Humidity is not so
much a think as a feeling.
At the hotel, I am
staying in room 215 with Mr. Arthur Brabant, a retired Aussie who is
62 (electrical engineer).
Had a shower –
the hot water isn’t so hot, but that hardly matters in this place.
There doesn’t seem to be any air conditioning in this hotel, but
I’m going to look at that machine over in the corner. It works –
pity I only discovered this today ---
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