The optimist thinks that this is the best of all possible worlds. The pessimist knows it.
-Robert J. Oppenheimer-
Phuket Fugitive
Four years ago I visited the Caribbean on my way back to Australia from Finland. In there I experienced my first real surf on a beach. For days I kept catching the waves and learning to bodysurf, get picked up by a wave and carried like a human surf board to the beach. One day I picked the wrong wave, at the wrong time. It smashed me on the bottom and I hurt my shoulder. The force of the tumble got me scared and I never went back into the surf.
In Thailand, after two weeks in Ao Chalong, when departing the first anchorage for a mere ten-mile sail to Ko Racha Yai, I felt like returning to the surf again. Cautiously getting used to the idea that I would return to the high seas, I would face all my fears and have faith in Aliisa's ability to carry us another 20 000 miles across many more oceans.
One of the thousands of "long-tail" boats anchored up. The decoration in the bow is standard for all.
PHUKET (Thailand)
(November 2004)
I suppose we're in Thailand. In reality we're in Phuket, a tourist driven island that has little, if anything to do with the real Thailand. Like London is the real England and Paris is the real France? But at least the food is real Thai-food. I learn quickly to ask my curry only medium hot.
Aliisa is anchored in the large crowded bay of Ao Chalong. The water is greenish brown and the bottom is muddy. It's stinking hot. I love the place, not the anchorage, but the Thai flavours, smells, smiles and waves. The atmosphere of a foreign culture, at last! We clear in, which turns out to be a rather simple procedure. One man in the one-stop harbour office helps us to fill in five forms and stamps out passports. We have 30 days before having to take a short 130-mile trip down to Langkawi, Malaysia. As we walk out from the harbour office I have a fleeting thought about customs clearance. Usually you get a piece of paper which you then show them on departure. Oh well, each country has their different ways, I suppose.
Two days later I'm standing on the beach knee deep in water, holding the zodiac and watching two young Thai boys load tool boxes, a generator, a fridge plate, piping, a gas bottle and some other instruments into the dinghy. They've come to fix our fridge. The three of us then squeeze in and make a long, slow trip out to Aliisa. Half a day later the fridge is icy cold again. Our only luxury is back in action and I have a cold beer to celebrate.
Joe smiles at me for thinking that the ozone burning Freon is no longer available. "Everybody uses it here", he says. The boys look young but they know their stuff and do a professional job. (Siam Cooling Systems, Phuket)
Over the following week I clean the engine room, put a new alternator belt on, change the oil and all the filters, fill the water tanks and put in 175 litres of diesel. (Yanmar has guzzled 1,6 litres / hour with the windward motoring.) On 14 November we pull anchor and drive out. It's been two weeks since my ordeal and arrival to Phuket. During the three-hour sail to Ko Racha Yai island, I sit quietly, remembering my mental state two weeks ago and wondering if it will return on the next ocean passage. "Am I cut out to do this?" The thought of giving up is still haunting me.
The bay at Ko Racha Yai gets a rush hour every day from tourist boats. By 3pm the small bay empties out and becomes peaceful again.
Four days in the crystal clear waters of Ko Racha Yai has me relaxed. The following two weeks in Kamala Beach, Patong Beach and Kata Beach in Phuket has me numbed with sunshine, cold beer and sleeping in. I pay back Paula's efforts in the Andaman Sea by giving her a late birthday present; three nights in an air-conditioned resort room overlooking the beach. I enjoy my present as much as Paula does. Bubble baths and TV. We lie on the bed watching movies, for three days. After watching the documentary "Supersize Me", we finally realise how lazy we've become. We decide to make some adjustments to our lives. Early morning walks - one hour - and no more fizzy drinks and sugar. It lasts for a week.
Thailand is wonderfully uneventful. The local taxi drivers only rip us off a little and everyone is super-friendly. My shoulder is still sore and physiotherapy in the hospital does nothing to it. A rough handling by an American chiropractor brings some relief.
In Kata Beach we join the holiday makers. Long walks and short swims to the beach. Our four-week holiday in Phuket is nearing its end.
I feel like a tourist and it annoys me. In my mind, I go inland. I walk through little villages. I learn basic Thai language and make friends with locals. I spend a day in the rice fields and another helping a group of men who are building a boat. But all that only happens in my mind. Perhaps a combination of fear, laziness, reluctance to leave the dinghy and the yacht, as well as consideration to Paula, keeps me on the tourist track. (Paula is less enthusiastic to go off the beaten track)
Thailand seems cheap which causes us problems. We eat out, buy shirts, stacks of pirate DVDs and CDs and so on. It all adds up and I soon realise that I've gone through half my funds in six months, with another 18 months to go to Finland.
Departure hassles
On 29 November 2004 we walk back in the same harbour office in Ao Chalong to check out. The same crew occupies the office; two girls giggling, one lady in uniform and two men in blue uniforms. This time the office is crowded with yachties. I sit and wait. Finally man number two calls me in.
"Where's your customs papers?" - He asks.
"I have none, he didn't give me any" - I say, pointing to man number one.
"Aaahh, he must have your papers." -He says and I keep waiting for my turn.
Finally man number one calls me in.
"I have no customs papers, you gave me none. Do you have them in your file?" -I ask.
"Yes, papers here" he says and throws three blank forms on the counter. I fill them in. A few minutes later we have our passports stamped - departed Thailand 29 Nov. I ask for a paper to give to Langawi customs, customs clearance. He points me to the man number two.
Man number two hits me with the same question again:
"Where's your customs papers?"
"Nobody give me no customs papers" -I reply, trying to simplify my english. It now dawns on me that the first man was immigration and man number two was customs. We cleared in with immigration but we never cleared customs on arrival! There is obviously a problem here…
The customs man smiles, scratches his head and says:
"We'll work a way to solve the problem, please wait five minutes".
We'll wait. In the meantime the girls play solitaire with their computer and giggle, flirtingly smiling and waving at me. ½ hour later customs suggests a fine of 10 000 baht. I say no. No way! Not my mistake. Why didn't anyone say anything when we cleared in? When we cleared in, we were the only arrivals in the office. Yet they let us walk out without clearing customs?
The lady in the white uniform, who turns out to be the harbour master, tells me that they thought we were just going to take photocopies. The customs officer puts our passports in his top drawer, he's holding us hostage and hoping to pocket some money from us. I'm going out for a smoke.
When I come back in, one man is paying 2000 baht to the customs for clearing in a day late. The officer stands up, pulls out his wallet, shoves the money in and sits back down. The Thai Government's battle against corruption is on the newspapers almost daily. Maybe the authorities are trying to pocket as much as possible before the times change?
Now, the customs man is serving everyone but me. He tells me that he will deal with me once everyone else is gone. Why? The lady and the girls seem keen to help me. We've been in the office for two hours. One of the girls waves me in. "Come with me" -She says and I follow her to another room. She looks around to make sure there is nobody else in the room. In her broken English, she says:
"You have a problem for me. My boss has a problem too. You need to pay 6000 baht."
The bargaining process has begun but I refuse to take part. I sit down opposite her and say very quietly and calmly:
"I know you think we all have lots of money, but I do not have much. 6000 baht will feed me for six months. Why did nobody tell me what to do when we checked in? I will not be paying a penalty."
She nods ok and we return to the office with other yachties still lining up with their paperwork.
The customs officer is slowly becoming less friendly with me. He seems determined to serve everyone else first and then see how much money he can get out of me. We can't do anything. Our passports are still in his top drawer and we have no customs clearance to arrive in Malaysia.
Suddenly the harbour master waves me in. Leaning towards me, she whispers:
"Just go. We never saw you here".
I tell her that we can' t go because the customs man still has our passports and sit back down. We've been in the office for nearly four hours now. My patience is running out. "Please wait 10 minutes" -the customs man says and walks out of the office. I sit back down.
As soon as he's out of the office, the harbour master moves to the customs officer's desk and pulls out the top drawer. She takes our passports out and waves me in. She then hands our passports to me and says: "Go. Go now, you were never here!" I quickly gather my stuff and tell Paula that it's time to go, now. We walk out the door. I don't look back. Paula does. One of the girls appears on the door to make sure we're leaving. Nobody follows. We catch a taxi to Kata Beach, where Aliisa is anchored. I'm ready to forget about the Thai officials and relax in Phuket for another few days. Paula feels like a criminal and wants to leave straight away.
"Good bye Dave" The young Burmese man who became our friend even though we refused to buy anything from him. I hope he's still there, smiling
I agree to leave, after all I'm now a fugitive, I suppose. We buy some bread, beer and juice, pick up the anchor and sail off. We've got our passports stamped. That's all we need. I hope.
After a short stop in Ko Racha Yai, we arrive in Langkawi (Malaysia) on 2 December 2004. There we take on new crew and ride a tsunami on the beach. But that's another story.
