Things (you know: things) got off to a rocky bumpy rough start on our Christmas kayaking expedition to Phuket.  First, we were scheduled on SilkAir flight 185 to Jakarta.  That was poor planning on our part, because the previous night the flight had not completed successfully (!!) (unbeknownst to us).  So when we got to Jakarta airport (Soekarno Hatta Hatta) we were told that we had missed our replacement flight, but they would do their best to put us on another later flight.  OK, but what about our bags?  No problem, they'll be transferred in Singapore to your connecting flight.  We would prefer to carry them on, because we absolutely have to got to must without fail arrive in Phuket with luggage, as we are leaving on a boat to no fixed address the following morning at the crack of dawn.  No you can't carry them on, they're too big, don't worry, we guarantee they'll get onto the connecting flight. 

You know what happened.  For those of you to whom this has never happened, be advised that until a few months ago, it had never happened to me either.  It has now happened four (4) (IV) times.  The first time was at Heathrow, standing in the herd at the baggage carousel 6 months ago, when I said to Jane, in all my years of air travel, I have NEVER lost a SINGLE piece of luggage.  There is no wood at Heathrow airport.

So the following morning we waited behind the potted plants until the gift shop lady arrived and unlocked her door, we rushed in and binged on t-shirts, sandals, sun block, shorts, toothpaste, everything.  The locals were both amazed and amused, they had a bonanza sale like never before.

Then we were whisked away to the port terminal for Sea Canoe, which turned out to be the longest, highest, most rickety wooden piece of construction ever referred to as a pier.  There, we shopped at the market, buying more ugly clothes, hats, stocking up on beer, the works.  At the other end of "the pier" was "the ferry", on which were already crouching the people we would spend Christmas with (with which we would spend Christmas?  with whom we would spend Christmas? Ok, ok, but then you have the on which ... with which/whom ... it sounded too iambically pentametric, or something ...).

Thus began one of the best one-week vacations we have ever had.  We were delivered to our "base camp", which was an open-decked motor cruiser called Ninety One.   Actually I don't know what it was called, but it had big red number 91 painted on its side.  For a few days we thought it was called "The Original" because that was written in big letters across the front (when I say front, I don't mean the bow, I know my boat parts, I mean above the pilothouse window), but when we saw two other boats with "The Original" across their fronts, we got the message: Sea Canoe is the original  kayaking outfit, and beware of copies.

Our guide for the week was Geron (sounds like gerund, the thing Michael reminded me is a verb pretending to be a noun, and I asked Michael in the first place because he's a teacher and he knows all that stuff, which by the time one's 50 has been crowded out of one's tiny pea-brain and replaced by formulae for calculating cholesterol counts, snippets of M*A*S*H reruns, the names of 73 different brands of Belgian beer, and 30 years' worth of dead brain cells)    

Geron gave us a 30-minute crash-course on life aboard the Ninety One, and we were off.   The next six days were a wonderful blend of kayaking, eating, reading, talking, sleeping.  First, our fellow kayakers: Lorna and Fruit, Polly and Bruce, Miriam and Michael, Noriko, and Kirk.  That was the six-day crowd.  The three-day mob left us after (you guessed it) three days: they were Lucy and Pete, Anja, and Anja's friend (I'm really sorry, but I've blocked your name, if you read this email me and let me correct this gaffe).  They realised they had blown it about one day into the trip.

So the drill was this: we would spend each night ashore, in tents.  The first night was on a small beach at the base of a cliff; the remaining nights were on another beach, near a well, we'll get to that later.  So we would wake up around 6:30, be off the beach by 7, breakfast aboard the Ninety One, then head out to the day's starting point.  The kayaking trips started out short, and got long, but they were just right; by the end of the week, our kayaking muscles could take the longer trips.

Each day followed roughly the same format: we would arrive at the starting point, after the arrival warning (Geron would arrive on deck, somewhat in the manner of Kramer catapulting through a door, would look intently at the chart, then in the direction the boat was headed, make a mental calculation, and then roar: "Eight minute warning!!", or "Twelve minute warning!".  He was usually very accurate.)  While the kayaks were being off-loaded into the water, we would be greasing ourselves with copious amounts of sun-block, checking cameras, putting whatever we wanted into our water-resistant yellow sacs, finding our hats, changing into whatever clothes we thought the day required (except Fruit, who wore a bathing suit and the same shirt for the whole trip!).  Someone would always ask "going ashore?", because that would dictate footwear, yes or no, and  footwear, beach or cave; at some point during this scramble, the cry "Singles!" would begin, meaning that single kayaks were ready for loading.   At the beginning of the trip, everyone committed to either a single or double kayak.  Jane and I were in a double, so we always had a little longer to prepare.  The kayaks were yellow plastic boats (presumably foam-filled), about 10 feet long, with several 3-inch holes in the bottom (a design feature the value of which escapes me), which ensured that our bums were always soaked, as we sat maybe a half-inch below water level.  By the sixth day, I had a very good imitation of diaper rash.

The second day our luggage arrived: we met up with another Sea Canoe cruiser, laden with day trippers and our two heavy pieces of luggage, which were unceremoniously heaved across to our boat, and thankfully snared by the crew.  Now we had not only our luggage, but an amazing amount of recently purchased gift shop junk!  We had actually started to get used to wearing the same clothes for six days.  We had acquired, at the dock, a pair of extremely ugly straw hats: Jane had quickly rejected hers, but even after our stuff arrived, I continued to wear mine.  It was only once I saw the pictures after the trip that I fully appreciated how awful it made me look: a cross between an aging hippie and a scarecrow ...   

The days were spent kayaking along the shores of various islands, and sometimes paddling between islands.  The shorelines are composed mostly of cliffs, with extraordinary overhangs, caves, and frequently caves which exit into interior lagoons (called hongs), themselves fantastically constructed with high cliffs.  The fact that only very small crafts can get to these lagoons has ensured that they remain virtually untouched by humans.  The passageways through the cliffs to the lagoons were long narrow caves which would frequently be inaccessible during high tide, and only accessible on foot at low tide.  So, we would time our visits (well, Gerun would time our visits) accordingly.  As we wanted to see any wildlife which might be hanging around the hongs at the time, our visits took on an aura of spirituality, as we kept very quiet during our visits.

Sometimes we would go ashore and visit large caves on foot.  These caves frequently had enormous chambers, which during the rainy season would be filled with cascading waterfalls.  As our timing was Dry Season, what we saw were akin to empty fountains that one sees during the off-season in colder climes: empty troughs, lined up one below the other, arranged in what, if manmade, would be considered very artful and imaginative configurations.  The water had also formed many hollow tubes along the walls of the caves, which, if tapped with a heavy object such as a flashlight, made very melodious sounds: we were able, as a  group, to get some very interesting xylophone-sounding rhythms going. 

One afternoon, after a good paddle, Jane and some others went snorkeling, and came across a leopard shark.  Someone shouted "shark!", and then everyone got into the water!   

Another attraction in this part of the world are bird's nest caves.  These are heavily guarded during the nest-building season, which is when we were there.  We visited one, where the family that runs it gave us a somewhat guided tour.  The birds (swiftlets; thousands of them) share the cave with bats: the bats use it during the day, the swiftlets sleep there at night.  It's important not to be standing near the mouth of the cave at dusk, we were told, when the swiftlets and bats switch places.  The main chamber of the cave was at least 150 feet high, and much of the wall area was covered in bamboo scaffolding, and as well there were some structures stretching into the darkness straight up from the centre of the room.  There were many lengths of bamboo lying on the floor: old scaffolding, as all the bamboo had to be replaced annually.  This kept everyone very busy.  There was one septuagenarian working about 100 feet up while we were there: the guide's father.

All this activity was directed towards one objective: stealing the birds' nests as soon as they built them.  Every year, the swiftlets would build a nest some two months prior to laying their eggs.  These would be "harvested"; the swifts would promptly rebuild them, and these would be removed about three weeks prior to laying.   The swifts would rebuild again, and again the results of their labour would be taken from them, one last time, some mere days before laying their eggs.  They would very quickly rebuild, and then finally lay their eggs.  These nests would not be taken until some time after the eggs had hatched.  All of these nests are graded: the best nests are those with the least amount of debris and the highest amount of bird saliva.  The best nests fetch some extraordinary price, as the Chinese greatly fancy bird's nest soup,

The swiftlet's life in Phuket is not easy.      

So we had our Christmas dinner on shore.  Giant barbecued prawns, along with various chicken, fish, and vegetable Thai dishes, accompanied by real Champagne (Moet and associates), and various other libations, made for a wonderful evening.  Cake (brought aboard with great hoopla some days earlier) and fruit made a nice finish.  During the entire meal, a giant cicada sat on my leg and stared at me.   I gave him a name, I think it was Art.    

Sometimes we had what trip plans refer to as "free time".  So we would read, some of us would write our journals (Lorna and Noriko wrote gobs of stuff every day), some would sleep.

Every night except the first and last, we slept on the same beach.  Near the beach was a well (the traditional kind, with a little roof, and two buckets on ropes), which we used for bathing.  So we would go to the well, haul up some water, and throw it over ourselves.  The first bucketful was VERY refreshing.  The well appeared to have been built by a nearby village, towards which led some abandoned tubing.  Maybe they had a new water source closer to hand.

The second-last day, the engine on the beloved Ninety One started acting up, and so that evening, we rendezvoused with another Sea Canoe Original, and moved all our possessions across to the new boat.  It wasn't as nice, but it was only for one last day.  Fruit, Lorna, Jane, and I spent the night on the new boat, up on deck.   I'm not sure it was any more comfortable than the beach, but it was a nice change.

Our last day was a marathon: we kayaked around one island, then kayaked over to another, then to another, and finally to our last island.  We climbed aboard, then motored over to yet another island where we did a bit of snorkeling, then the final leg back to Sea Canoe base, and it was all over.

Needless to say, coming back the airline lost our luggage, but this time retrieved it quickly and sent it to our hotel ...

Raffles.  We decided to treat ourselves before the final leg back to Jakarta, and so stayed in one of the Palm Court suites at the Raffles hotel in Singapore.  What an experience!  Abby came to our room, and announced that she would be our concierge, and to call her if we needed anything.  The rooms had 15 foot ceilings; the bathing area was larger than most hotel rooms I've seen in Asia, and that was a different room to the large outer room which housed the double sinks.  The front room (not the bedroom) was where we could dine, entertain, watch television, read.  The main room was beautifully fitted out in large furniture reminiscent of ... opulence?  A wonderful night, then back to Jakarta.   

This time our luggage came too.