The slow boat to Phi Phi – a good 48 kilometres away from Phuket’s Chalong Bay – was close to the equivalent of a slow ride to hell. Nothing to do with the weather really, but I slowly went out of my mind trying to find things to do on the boat, other than pace the narrow corridors like a convict. Denis was the only other recognisable person on the boat; the others came from yet another dive company and we soon found ourselves talking to Katie of San Diego, another lone diver who seemed content to sit in a corner of the slow boat to hell.
Denis spoke fondly of months where there wasn’t a single drop of rain. I was horrified.
Thankfully, he went on to talk about his past as a Mountie, his gym training, his para-motoring hobby and the sheer number of eggs he consumes a day. Katie on the other hand, spoke repetitively about her job, the wonders of California and her trepidation of diving.
I, on the other hand, tried not to make inappropriate remarks.
At Phi Phi and Shark point, the dives were good though not as spectacular as I’d hoped they would be with rather poor visibility and moderate currents, but then again I’d never had schools of fish swimming around me before. That mild euphoria evaporated when I returned to the mainland late and was reminded immediately just how expensive things are over here when I paid an exorbitant amount for my laundry load – which I suspected was weighed using a scale tipped in the shop’s favour.
Why am I bloody not surprised?
If there’s anything I’m going to remember of Phuket, it would unfortunately be the relentless heat and humidity, the never-ending touts and the costs I’ve racked up in the past few days, even in a quieter place like Karon. I’ve spent an extortionate amount on transportation, an unwelcome hotel deposit fee, underwater photos and driver tips that have come up to a staggering amount.
The only place of relative normalcy is Phuket (Old) Town, which has a surprisingly eclectic vibe of the old and the modern with the sheer number of cafes stubborn holding their own in the presence of traditional shops. But I’d only wandered those charming streets for 40 minutes, having been given a strict curfew by the driver who was adamant about my punctuality like an army sergeant.
And then it was back again to Karon, with the sounds of ‘taxi, hello taxi?’ dogging my every step.