Publications Update

I just read an old post that promised I'd update my publications on the blog as soon as humanly possible after publication, and I've obviously broken that promise.  Thanks to those of you who've checked every day since last May!  As I've mentioned before, writing experiences spurts, and I'm having one of those at the present moment.  Having just submitted a story I took way too long to write, I'll blame it on the cluttered psyche.  Alas, here's the update (click on the subheadings to access the stories):

Dispelling the Patong Beach Myth
I discovered Go See Write while perusing travel pages on Facebook, the same way I've discovered other sites.  While you're checking out my contribution about the Phuket island party town in Thailand, check out their entire website.  It's comprehensive and attracts a lovely community of travellers.  I've appreciated the positive and supportive comments from the community.

One of my first and favorite Patong Beach shots, encapsulating the spirit there.  Anne Castagnaro, 2013.

My Great Barrier Reef Diving Attempt
One of my favorite stories of all time is my blog post about diving the Great Barrier Reef in Cairns, Australia.  I hadn't contributed to Pink Pangea for a while, so I emailed Jaclyn to ask if they needed a GBR story.  I had to truncate it quite a bit from the original version to meet their maximum word limit, but concision is always good.  I'm happy with the result.

Attempting something new is better than never trying, even if that attempt involves restricted airways.  Anne Castagnaro, 2013.

How I Blew My Travel Budget, With No Regrets
I was afraid this piece would appear elitist, bragging about spending so much money on travel while others are struggling to survive.  In retrospect, if I hadn't taken that trip, I would have been a broken, horrible mess.  I used the means I had to build my confidence and propagate opportunities and advice for others to do the same.  Of course, it's always wonderful to write for Pink Pangea!

Right hand drive on the left side of the road....that's how they drive in Australia.  Yes, I knew that, and it was easier than I thought it would be.  Anne Castagnaro, 2013.

Recent Publications

My writing has been relatively prolific since I returned from my trip, at least as far as travel publications are concerned.  I still seek a goal of one blog post a week, but just like anything, if you're forced to do it, it becomes tedious.  I offer you my post of the week:  two more publications.  Two additional features are either in press or in progress, and I promise to share them sooner.

So many people have inspired me throughout my travels, and many of them are older than I am.  I compiled several experiences into my second Pink Pangea article.  Again, PP was lovely to work with and I highly recommend visiting their website, not just for my articles, but for all the features.  Click here to read the article.

Nancy and I enjoy our final Black Russians at the Tawana Hotel in Bangkok, 2013.

Edd’s 89th Birthday Celebration in San Jose, Costa Rica, 2008.

I wrote a short review of The Artist House in Patong, Thailand, where I spent three weeks last November.  Though it is featured in the Solo Travel Society's Accommodation Guide, you don't have to be a solo traveller to stay there.  Click here and scroll to the Thailand section to read the review.

Pedicures: An International Comparative Essay

I only have one addiction: pedicures.  When I began planning my four month long sojourn around Australia and Southeast Asia, one of my first concerns was "What will I do about my monthly pedicure?"  Seriously.  Not "What will I do if I need to see a doctor?"  Not "What if I lose my passport?"  Pedicures.  It certainly would have been too easy to pack some nail clippers and polish/remover.  I searched "nail salons in Sydney" and located several possibilities.  It wasn't that I thought Australia was an uncivilized land.  I just wasn't sure of the prevalence or popularity of nail salons.

After about a month in the Sydney area, my toenails needed some attention. I had been waiting and preparing for this day.  How would an Australian pedicure compare to my norm?  I was staying in the Clovelly area, so I walked up to Bondi Junction to do some errands.  I was leaving for Thailand the next day.  I had seen the prominent USA Nails all over Sydney, but thought I would try an inconspicuous little shop, tucked in a corridor off Oxford Street.  Maybe a smaller, non franchised shop would offer lower prices or more personalized service.

I walked into Sydney Professional Nails and asked the cost of a pedicure.  One of the two pedicurists working answered, "30 dollars."  That's about 28 USD.  I thought it sounded like a great deal for Australia, so I chose a bright pink color and sat down in the massage chair.  This salon was small, with no more than four or five spa pedicure chairs.  Without overture or pleasantries, the pedicurist removed my old polish, cut down my nails, pushed back and trimmed my cuticles, slapped a few strokes of lotion on my legs, applied the new polish, and was done.  This process took all of about 20 minutes.  For anyone unfamiliar with pedicure protocol, she skipped an essential step: the foot and leg massage!  I had spent the past month canvassing practically every square mile of Sydney on foot, and was hoping for some relief.  I was in such shock that I didn't ask if the massage cost extra or if she had forgotten that step.  She replaced my flips flops on my feet, and I was beckoned to the cash register.  The place certainly lived up to its name.  The pedicurist was a professional.  I must admit that the polish did not chip at all, so the cost was worth it in that respect. 

When I arrived in Thailand I had planned to return to Sydney after three weeks, but ended up extending my trip by three additional weeks.  Thus, the pedicure issue arose once again.  In Patong Beach, I observed that one could receive a pedicure at many massage parlors, or even at the beach.  I'm quite picky about the sanitary conditions of my nail salon.  During my exploring, I found Nail Club, located in the Banana Walk shopping center, opposite the beach.  I had discovered the shopping center's clean, western toilets within the complex and usually stopped there on my way to the beach.  One of my favorite restaurants, Sizzler, is also located in the complex.  I approached Nail Club and was struck by its similarity to the salon I frequent at home.  It looked brand new, and I later read that the Banana Walk complex was built after the devastating 2004 tsunami.  The spa chairs are purple, each one readied for a customer with a fresh towel and lotus flower on the footrest.  I entered the salon and was greeted by several exuberant Thai women.  "Hello!  How much for a pedicure?" I enquired.  "800 baht," the receptionist replied as she handed me a menu of the salon services.  $24!  I told them I would return the next day.

The next day's torrential rains provided the perfect excuse for relaxing indoors at a nail salon.  I wore my black Keen sandals, which were soaked and squishy by the time I arrived at the salon.  I wasn't invited to approach the wall and physically pick my polish color.  Rather, I was ushered to my spa chair and handed a palette of acrylic nail samples which displayed the available colors.  I chose a deep, slightly shimmery red in anticipation of December.  I removed my sandals, noticed my dirty feet, and immediately stuck them in the water.  The pedicurist rolled up on her stool and prepared to remove my old polish.  She pulled one foot out of the water and gasped appallingly.  Another pedicurist noticed as well and had the same reaction.  Because of the rain, the dye from my black sandals had bled all over the soles of my feet!  I tried to explain to them what had happened, "From my shoes!" and motioned to my sandals.  The dedicated pedicurist went to work, scrubbing furiously to try to remove the dye.  "It's okay," I reassured her, "Just do the best you can."  The Thais give one hundred percent in whatever they do, so I knew she wouldn't rest until my feet were completely clean.  As the pedicure progressed and my feet soaked longer, the dye eventually disappeared.  How embarrassing!

Throughout the pedicure, I was serenaded by recorded, instrumental versions of Feelings and Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head.  I enjoy watching the pedicure protocol and I was trying to take mental notes of the process in anticipation of a blog entry.  "Madam!  Relax!" encouraged one of the several pedicurists who were gathered around one of the nail stations.  They were chatting as they decorated some acrylic nail samples.  As the pedicurist proceeded with the typical cut down and trimming of the cuticles, I wondered if I would suffer from ingrown toenails since she rounded my big toes instead of filing them straight across.  My worry was squelched by the foot and leg massage that followed.  Since massage is a Thai specialty, I had high expectations for this portion of the pedicure.  Without glancing at my watch too frequently, I estimated that the massage alone lasted almost 30 minutes, the entire pedicure just over an hour.  She carefully applied my polish and put the guilty, soggy sandals back on my feet.  The Thais take immense pride in their work and are attentive to every detail, as evidenced by this pedicure.  I tipped the pedicurist nicely as I walked out the door, hoping she was able to keep the money for herself.

As my December pedicure approached, I kept an eye out for a satisfactory salon while I was in Melbourne.  Since I was back to Australian pedicures, I wanted to do my research and get my money's worth this time.  I was staying in the neighborhood of Coburg and frequently took the tram down Nicholson to Lygon St. for food and coffee.  Conveniently located on a corner, I noticed Tips and Toes as I was walking by one day.  I entered the small, tidy salon, ready to enquire about their services.  "How much are your pedicures?"  "Do you receive a foot and leg massage with the pedicure?"  "Does the massage cost extra?"  I didn't want to be duped again.  The friendly receptionist of Asian descent answered my questions.  "$35" "Yes, massage is part of the pedicure."  "You can pay extra for an extra 15 minutes of massage."  She continued on in an attempt to persuade me that, coupled with a manicure, I would get an even better deal.  I was so enthralled with the prospect of an included foot and leg massage that I wasn't really listening. 

I returned to Tips and Toes the following day, as I was in my sneakers on the day of my enquiry.  I never like to accept the disposable flip flops if I can help it, and I didn't have a strict schedule to adhere to, so I could plan my day around my pedicure.  I was invited to sit in a spa chair near the rear of the salon.  It was Christmas Eve and it appeared that these Melburnians were getting spruced up for the holiday.  From my research, many Australians gather and celebrate the holiday on Christmas Day rather than Christmas Eve.  I chose a bright pink color in honor of the Australian summer.  Plus, the vibrancy complemented my tanned feet.  Mounted televisions featured the Australian news, which always seems to be more cheery than the Southern California news.  I soaked my feet in the spa water as the pedicurist prepared her instruments.  "Pedicure for the holidays?" she asked.  "I'm travelling, so I'm not really celebrating this year," I explained.  "Party tomorrow?" she persisted.  "I'm flying to Sydney tomorrow, so hopefully they'll do something fun on the plane," I answered.  She seemed puzzled as she removed my Thai polish, cut down my nails, and trimmed my cuticles.  "You're on holiday here?" she asked.  I explained to her how I had been travelling since September and I wanted to celebrate the New Year in Sydney, so it was necessary for me to fly on Christmas Day because of the cheap fare.  "Long holiday!" she exclaimed.  I never know whether people are impressed, envious, or shocked that I've been travelling for so long and solo, at that. 

The adept pedicurist continued with the included foot and leg massage, even wrapping my feet in hot towels at one point.  Such a welcome treat for my overworked feet!  My comfortable Vasque sneakers are to thank in preventing my feet from incurring a worse fate.  I thought this pedicure was most similar to my pedicures at home.  She brushed alcohol over my toenails to ensure they were free of lotion.  A base coat, two coats of polish, and a top coat were applied as she finished up the 45 minute process.  Carefully, she put my flip flops on and instructed me to sit for a few minutes.  I contemplated whether I should take the tram home or walk with my wet nails.  I asked if enough time had passed and she gave me permission to leave.  As I was pulling my $35 out of my wallet, she picked up an aerosol can, came around to my side of the counter, and sprayed my toenails with what I can only guess is some type of finishing spray.  Genius!  At press time, almost one month after this pedicure, my toenails are still shiny and the polish is intact.

In my previous travels, I never had the opportunity to investigate the pedicure habits of foreign cultures.  I couldn't afford it when I studied in Salzburg and Paris during college, and my subsequent two week long holidays didn't necessitate it.  I was glad to gather yet another comparative, cultural experience and to try something new.

Longest Travel Day

In a tropical climate, you are constantly transitioning between humidity and air conditioning.  I think that's what saddled me with a head cold the day I was supposed to travel from Thailand to Australia.  I woke up congested, but had to shower and pack to be ready for my 9 am taxi to the Phuket airport.  I had already checked in for both flights online and my Airbnb hosts in Australia were expecting me.  I had to pull it together.  I thought, "I've gotten ready for work and taught all day in worse condition than this!"

I powered through, got all packed and ready, and went downstairs to bid my hostesses at the hotel farewell.  I had become acquainted with them over the past three weeks, and wanted to give them a nice tip.  I slipped a bill that was larger than all the others into the clear plastic tip box, and they were abundantly appreciative.  They presented me with a brown gift bag.  Inside was a frangipani soap and a photo they had taken of me for their guest wall.  They have a huge transparent glass map on their wall and said they would post the photo there, affixed to my hometown in California.  I looked at the map, and there had been no other guests from the US, or even from the Western Hemisphere.  It looked like Australia, Asia, and Russia were the most populated.  We said our goodbyes and I was off to the airport.

Online, I had secured the window seat in the last row of the plane, hoping I would have the row to myself, as I did on the flight down to Phuket.  No such luck this time.  Next to me was a woman who thought she was the one in the window seat, leaning over me, and gesturing across my face as she described the scenery to her husband.  I gave her a dirty look, she apologized, but continued the behavior.  I just thought to myself, "If I am contagious, there's her retribution."

After the short flight to Bangkok came the next hurdle of the day.  I had to navigate my way to the main airport in Bangkok, Suvarnabhumi International.  I flew an economy airline, Nok Air, to Phuket, but that meant utilizing Don Mueang Airport.  In my online research of Phuket activities, I noticed a mention of a free shuttle between the two airports.  I had booked an early flight out of Phuket so I would have plenty of time to investigate and then find a taxi if the shuttle myth was untrue.

I disembarked the plane, retrieved my checked bag, and followed the public transport signs downstairs.  I didn't see any signs about a free shuttle, so I asked at the information desk. Sure enough, just outside was a desk and a completely empty, full size bus waiting.  I asked if the bus really was free.  The guys at the desk, who were all wearing the same type of sunglasses for some reason, replied yes.  All they needed to see was my boarding pass.  Good thing I hadn't trashed it in the restroom.  I boarded the bus, along with a young couple, but that was it.  We took off with three passengers on the entire bus. 

I arrived at Suvarnabhumi with two hours to spare before check in for my flight even opened.  I wanted to get past security to eat and rest, as I was still feeling under the weather.  I found a spot near some monks, careful not to accidentally touch them as I walked to a seat in their row.  Vit, my Thai tour guide, is a former monk, so we were schooled about proper, respectful behavior.  I worked on my journal and people watched until it was time to check in.

I approached the counter once I saw on the screen that check in had begun.  I really just needed my boarding pass and to check my bag.  I had booked the flight through Qantas and flew Qantas on the way up to Bangkok, but for some reason Emirates was operating this flight.  The agent ran my passport and asked, "Do you have a ticket back to the US?"  I'm sure Australia asks them to confirm that information before issuing boarding passes.  I didn't have a printer to print a boarding pass anyway, but at the end of online check in, a message popped up that told me to see a ticket agent for my boarding pass.  That message gave me an uncomfortable feeling.  "Yes. It's on January 8th." "May I see it?" asked the agent. "I don't have a paper copy, but I have the email on my phone. Would you like to see that?" I asked, nervously.  I can usually pull up emails without wifi, but of course it wasn't working at that moment.  I couldn't get on the airport wifi until I was past security.  I said, "I'm sorry, but it's not working.  If I can use a computer, I'll find it for you.  Or, you could possibly look up my flight with my frequent flyer number.  Or, maybe you could run my passport.  I have an electronic Australian multiple entry tourist visa that will pop up for you."  She stared at me for several seconds.  I don't know if she didn't understand what I said, took my word for it, or felt sorry for me, but she said, "It's okay" and printed the boarding pass.  What relief I felt!  I had read an article about a man who had been detained at the Bangkok airport and just imagined myself stuck there.  I thanked her profusely and proceeded to security.

I'd anticipated this Emirates flight ever since I booked it back in August.  I'd heard nothing but praise for the airline, and it's all valid.  I'm referring to the amenities rather than the service, which was rather bland.  I was dazzled by the large personal TV screen, the plethora of film choices, the personal electrical outlet and USB port, and the complimentary travel kit.  When it was time to sleep, the ceiling transformed into an astronomical wonder of twinkle lights.  I had chosen the last row of the plane, with the hope of having extra room.  My hopes were met, with practically a foot of space between my seat and the window, plus ample room to recline my seat.  I felt like the personal guest of the Emir.  Highly recommended!

After a stunning sunrise over the Australian Outback, we landed in Sydney.  I disembarked, retrieved my checked bag, and queued for passport control.  As I stood in line, an immigration officer approached me from the side. "Where are you coming from today?" he asked sternly. "Bangkok," I replied.  He looked at me for a moment, then asked, "Were you in any rural areas? Any farms?"  I thought for a moment, breaking eye contact with him.  I tried to recall all of my destinations over the past six weeks.  Was the elephant camp considered a farm?  What about the rice field we briefly walked through?  I wasn't sure, and I was taking a long time to answer his question.  Hadn't I just answered this question on the customs form?  I know he was concerned about soil, and my shoes had been thoroughly washed.  "Um...no," I said.  "Any wooden souvenirs?  Food?"  I looked away again to think, shifting my eyes.  Did I buy that wooden Buddha I was contemplating?  Did he say any souvenir or just wooden souvenirs?  I'm standing here wearing a Singha beer T-shirt.  Is that what he means?  My head was still congested and my processing was faulty due to lack of sleep.  "Um...no." He stamped my customs form and wrote a secret code near the stamp.  That hadn't ever happened before.

I proceeded through passport control, and was nearing the final exit.  The officer there looked at my form, looked at me, and said, "Row 5."  I figured I would exit with everyone else, but I followed the barricades to another station.  There was a large carpet area in front of me.  A female officer appeared...with the DRUG DOG in tow!  Oh come on, I thought.  I knew I didn't have anything contraband, but was nervous nonetheless.  I guess I did take too long to answer the customs officer's questions.  I was ordered to spread my two pieces of luggage out on the carpet and step back.  The cute beagle sniffed my suitcase quickly, but then lingered on my shoulder bag that had accompanied me wherever I went in Thailand.  What is he doing?  Why is he taking so long?  Do I still have a cookie in there from the first flight?  I recalled my arrival to LAX from China several years ago.  The drug dog went crazy over some beef jerky a man had in his bag.

"Okay, thank you," the officer said.  I was clear!  I grabbed my bags and hightailed it out of the airport.  I understand that it's their job to exercise caution and be thorough.  I guess that's the chance you take when travelling to a country known for its contraband.  I finally arrived at my Airbnb location in Newtown, took a rest, and felt an immense sense of relief.

Farewell, Thailand

NOTE:  Direct quotes are used in this blog entry, as best as my memory serves.  These direct quotes, especially from non-English speakers, are not meant to offend.  They are only meant to preserve the authenticity of the interaction.

I only stayed in Patong for three weeks, but it felt like an eternity. I'd made some friends and wanted to bid all of them farewell. My first stop of the day was my usual beach spot. Nora, my favorite foot masseuse, saw me coming and ran over. "Victoria from America!" I was settled into my beach chair by my favorite servers. "Chair, towel, and Singha."

Nora and I chatted as she worked her magic. "Victoria, I see you around. You always happy and smiling. That make you beautiful." What a sweet compliment! Because it's Thailand, I know she's sincere. Nora's worked as a masseuse for over 30 years and was born in Patong. Her sister works with her, and they are two of eleven children. Her daughter works at a hotel nearby and her son works in IT on Phuket Island. "He helps me on the computer," she said. "When you come back, Victoria? Next year?" I wondered if people really did return year after year, or if it was a saying that was passed around. "I hope next year," I told her. "Don't forget me," she warned. "I could never forget you, Nora!"

Even though I saw a rat at 1-2-3 Restaurant, I decided to return. The people were so friendly and I hadn't suffered any ill effects from my previous visit. Plus, they prepare the best papaya salad. During my first visit, I was afraid 1-2-3 might represent Eat-Toilet-Die. The Los Angeles County Health Inspector would probably grade it with an "F", but it's those secret ingredients that make a dish so tasty. Americans are obsessed with cleanliness, too. I always tell people that's what they will notice about America. As I approached, the servers waved and smiled. I sat outside this time, decreasing the likelihood I'd see another rat. I ordered the papaya salad again, one of their veggie dishes, and a large, commemorative Singha. "Large?" the server asked, aghast. Why does this surprise everyone? You get a better value for your money and you don't have to bother the server if you want seconds. In Thailand, every beer is served in a coozie anyway, so there's no risk of warm beer. They brought me a complimentary, traditional Thai dessert of watermelon and pineapple, and we parted ways. "When you come back? Next year?" Once again. Maybe they all want ME to return next year?

Much of my journal writing and blog prep was completed at Segafredo at Banana Walk, located right on Beach Road. I also liked going there because they play Rhianna's Greatest Hits every single day. Most of her songs really are catchy! I walked in, ordered my favorite Iced Mezzo Mezzo, and told the girls it was my last night in Patong. "Oh no!" said the barista. After making my drink, we took a photo, and she came over to sit on the sofa opposite from me. I love Thailand for this reason exactly: everyone treats you like you're an old friend. We chatted, but her accent was so strong and Rhianna was so blaring that it was difficult to piece together the conversation. I showed her some of my photos from Bangkok and northern Thailand. She said she loves Chiang Mai, as most people do, and was shocked at my photos with the lady boys in Bangkok. "They were really nice people," I said. She gave me a big hug and asked if I would return next year. I'm not kidding. They all asked me that. "I hope I can return next year," I assured her. Just then a torrential downpour commenced. "You cannot leave now!" she chided.

I strolled slowly along Bangla Road and Rat-U-Thit Road, purchasing a few souvenirs along the way. I took in every sight of luring restaurant hosts, every smell of fish water in the gutter, and every sound of competing tuk tuk drivers' music, as I knew I probably wouldn't hear them again "next year". I'll return as soon as I am financially able, and hopefully my new friends will remember me.

Nora, my favorite foot masseuse

My last meal in Thailand

Coffee buddies

Rat-U-Thit Road

The Price of a Towel

I've never really been a beach person, not because I abhor the beach in any way. I have light skin that burns easily, and it wasn't part of my upbringing. Plus, my dermatologist told me to wear sunscreen and stay out of the sun, unless I want to die. She put it more eloquently. Now I've found myself in a vacation spot where the main activity is lying on the beach. I thought I'd give it a shot, with sunscreen of course.

I don't read guidebooks when I travel. I might look up some info online, and I definitely school myself in the customs and etiquette of the culture. It's akin to reading student placement cards before you meet the student. If you have someone else's perspective in your head, the ability to form your own opinion is impacted. I rely on observation to acquire the most knowledge of a new place. My first full day in Patong was spent scoping out the beach situation. Do you have to pay to use a chair? Will they provide a towel for you? The concierge at my hotel didn't know the answers to these questions, so I set out for the beach without a cumbersome towel.

The chairs and umbrellas on the beach look as though they are all run by the same operation, but in fact, every few hundred feet is a new enterprise. I found a chair with an unobstructed view of the water and sat down. Out of nowhere, just like Emilio from Mr. Deeds, a server (not sure what they're called, but I'll call them servers since they bring you drinks) appeared and asked if I needed a chair. "Yes, please. May I rent a towel too?" He replied, "Chair 100 baht. Towel 50 baht." Wow, a pretty cheap day! That's about 4.50 USD. 

With this first positive beach experience under my belt, I set out again the next day. I walked farther down the beach this time, possibly for a different experience. There are probably at least 10-15 different chair sections along Patong Beach. A server approached me before I could even sit down. He found me a chair in the front row and set up my umbrella. I started to unpack and asked to rent a towel. "100 baht," he replied. I said, "They only charge 50 down there," I said, pointing to my previous station. He shrugged his shoulders and said again, "100 baht." I said, "No, thank you," and left. What really surprised me is that he didn't even try to negotiate! Usually, when you walk away during a business deal, they will lower the price for you. I know 50 baht doesn't seem like too much of a difference, but when you're on a limited budget, it could amount to a beer or a few bottles of water.

I continued to the next station, where the server approached me. This time, before I got settled, I asked, "How much for a chair and towel?" "180 baht." You're kidding me! I said, "No, thank you," and kept walking. He called after me, "170 baht plus one free bottle of water!" I kept walking and he didn't persist.

At the next station, I started the negotiation. "How much for a chair and a towel?" "150 baht," he answered as he wrote it in the sand. "Great!" and I gave him a thumbs up. Whew, I was exhausted. I gave him a 20 baht tip and he was very attentive, adjusting my umbrella whenever the sun moved and closing it for the one hour of sun exposure I allotted myself.

Negotiation may seem like a lot of work, but personally, I think it's fun. It's expected in this culture, and can forge a friendly interaction with the native people. If you are negotiating with someone who is selling handicrafts for their own profit, just remember that they are only trying to feed their family. It's customary not to offer more than 30 percent below the original price. Bring your calculator!

Archetypal Patong

Patong Beach is as hedonistic as they come, with another street of bars everywhere you turn and a beach full of pleasure seekers. In other words, it's an excellent people watching location. After only a few days on a beach lounger, I've compiled a list of the Patong Beach archetypes.

Best Ass on the Beach Girl.

This girl must have an entire suitcase of swimsuits. The first time I saw her, she was wearing a triangle top with those bottoms that are skimpier than bikini, but not quite thong. The next day, she was wearing a tankini with the exact same style of bottoms in matching print! I need to consult my Victoria's Secret catalog. She is usually accompanied by a man.

Topless Little Girl Who's a Little Old For That.

I've seen her a few times. She is definitely European. Her long hair is braided in cornrows, one of the services hustled to tourists. She is not older than about eight years. My niece hates wearing tops, and would really love it here. Hey, it's Thailand.

Camera Laden German Tourist.

The Germans seem to love Patong. They always carry huge cameras. I never worry about my crappy camera getting stolen when I'm around the Germans. Four Germans orchestrated an entire photo shoot on the beach, in which they took turns behind the lens, even splaying their legs in the sand to capture the perfect shot.

Old Guy With a Young Guy's Body.

I keep seeing this guy around town. He emerged from the waves just like a model. Actually, it was more like Aphrodite due to his salt and pepper flowing locks. If you don't look at his face or hair, he could pass for 35, probably something he would greatly appreciate if I told him. As I was walking down the street, I saw him sitting in a bar reading the paper. I exclaimed to myself, "OMG! There's Old Guy With a Young Guy's Body!!!"

Babymooning Couple.

I wouldn't dare ask whether or not she's pregnant, but there seems to be several of these couples here. She's wearing a bikini, proudly showing off her baby belly. He's making sure that she's alright before he orders another beer.

Old White Guy With Young Thai Girl.

Several scenarios are at play here. Maybe they met online? Maybe she's a mail order bride? Maybe he was travelling for business, they hit it off, and they're back for a visit? Maybe she's showing him around town? One can only surmise.

Soft Spoken Man/Shrill Voiced Woman Couple.

Every time she comes out of the water, he goes in. Or he goes to get food. Or he goes to take photos. Whatever he's doing to get away from her, she's calling after him, loudly and shrilly.

Naked Baby on the Beach.

Did they forget swim diapers or is this acceptable in nature? It only works until about age three, and the babies seem to love it!

Jet Skiing Novice.

One of my favorites. It's always an overconfident white guy who thinks he's going to speed off just like the Thais do. I'm sure I wouldn't do much better. I love the look on the guy's face when he tumbles off. I was so excited to see a Jet Skiing Novice perform yesterday, but he mounted the jet ski and took off in a straight line! It's like it was his profession, turning and stopping as the natives do. I was impressed!

Surreptitious Ocean Urinator.

C'mon people, it's so obvious. He or she enters the water alone, finds some space, and with a satisfied look on his or her face, stares at the shore. Within moments, he or she exits the water and is back on the beach.

The Vendor.

As you sit on your beach chair, vendors walk by about every ten seconds to hawk their wares. Seriously, you can get almost anything you want. Sunglasses? "How much you pay for Prada?" Aloe vera treatment? Massage? Snacks? Beer? Fresh corn on the cob? Wooden flutes? Wooden toy motorcycles? Silver jewelry? Sarongs? Duffel bags? Beach towels? Henna tattoos? I always smile and politely decline.

I may amend this list as my observations continue. Now, where do I fit in?