After a 9 hour flight, which involved about four movies, two meals and no naps (far fewer than I would have liked) we arrived in Bangkok and were to stay the night in the Novotel near the airport, whilst our accommodation in Phuket remained out of reach and neglected. While my parents mourned the loss, I found that I was able to cope quite well, despite the challenging circumstances.

A man met us at the airport and took our bags, escorting us to the Novotel shuttle. The foyer was reminiscent of a Thai palace, with a 10 storey high ceiling, marble columns, a giant ornamental flower, gold trimmings and friendly staff. It was especially nice in comparison to the previous night’s accommodations, where we were welcomed by an angry manager in her pyjamas and there was barely enough space in our room to store our lugggage. The room in the Novotel was about 3 times as large as the Budget Ibis room, and much to my pleasure it was unlikely I would bang my head on the ceiling. There was a funny thing with there being a window into the bathroom giving those in bed an excellent view of those on the toilet, although luckily we found the shutters in time. All in all I was quite happy, especially when I heard mention of a buffet breakfast.

For those of you who don’t know I have been a buffet breakfast enthusiast since the tender age of 7, when after much experimentation I first developed my systematic tasting method to ensure maximum pig-outiness. The order, which can be adjusted depending on the spread, is as follows: cereal, hot foods, breads, salad, yoghurt/fruit and miscellaneous/seconds. My record is seven courses (which was achieved by a very determined 7 year old me), although at the Novotel I only had 4 courses.

Next we flew to Phuket, where I was able to revive my Seven Eleven spotting game (not sponsored, but wish it was) which goes as follows: you yell ‘Seven Eleven’ every time you see a Seven Eleven. It would be a competition except I’ve never convinced anyone to play it with me… But that just means I am the reigning champion (the last trip to Thailand I counted over 30), so there are perks…

We only had one night in Phuket, but we made the most of it. We stayed in a historic hotel called ‘The Memory at On On’, which was featured in the movie ‘The Beach’ with Leonardo Dicaprio. Our room oozed character and charm, with little flourishes such as a display of vintage cameras, beautiful wooden floors and a free mini bar (which I quite enjoyed).

That night we went out to my dad’s favourite restaurant in Phuket, which he had discovered on his last solo trip, and wanted my mum and I to experience. Although we doubted he’d ever find it, after some walking, a little bit of lost-getting, and I’ll admit some jokes at his expense (although I won’t say who made them) we actually did manage to find the restaurant, and we had quite a lovely meal.

The following day I was woken up excruciatingly early and told I had to go up a ‘Monkey Hill’. I was unsure we’d ever actually find this hill when we were directed past the local prison, but sure enough we scaled what I would more accurately call “Monkey Mountain” (it also has a better ring to it I think). It was 2km up a steep incline and to my surprise (I thought the name was just to attract tourists) we did see monkeys, LOTS of monkeys, a whole barrel full if you will. There were so many that we had to hold our bags tight to our chests (cause monkeys are a bit klepto apparently) and I got a bit jumpy.

Now you might laugh, haha Anna is afraid of a few monkeys, but we were literally surrounded by about 50 of them, plus a pack of wild dogs. And my fears were confirmed to be well-founded when one of the monkeys started chasing me (I shrieked a little and a tourist filmed it… Not my finest moment).

After this we got on a ferry and headed to Ko Phi Phi, an island about 2 hours away, and while on the ferry I started to feel a bit queasy. I thought at first it was just sea sickness, but I’ve never been sea sick before, and I felt so ill that I actually had to lie down. I managed to keep it together, as there was a sign in the bathroom forbidding vomiting, and I thought I should follow the rules given that we hoped to return to the mainland in a few days.

However when we got off the boat it was a very different story…

We were supposed to be shown the way by a man from our hotel, however were distracted by a man (the wrong man) who kept telling us he would take us there. During this backwards and forwards I was feeling worse and worse, and eventually just had to sit down and get out the vomit bag that I had laughed at my mum for bringing.

You see it was a bit of a joke bringing the vomit bag because I am a little bit cursed and Mum was making fun of me. It all started 7 years ago when we were staying in this beautiful 5 star hotel called The Royal Chulan in Kuala Lumpur. As we were checking out I said I felt sick, rushed to the lobby bathroom, and proceeded to vomit everywhere except the toilet. A crew of about a dozen cleaning women were scurrying in and out as I watched on from a safe distance after I had fled the scene.

At the end of that same trip we were back in Kuala Lumpur and in another 5 star hotel, and as we were going up in the elevator I vomited again… You can start to see a trend emerging… Well 5 years later, and bear in mind I hadn’t been in a five star hotel since, we were having Christmas lunch at the Hilton. I had a cough at the time and had eaten too many waffles, and my body dealt with the situation by coughing them up. Essentially I vomited in the middle of the table (again not a fine moment for me).

So we used to joke that I was cursed, since the only 3 times I had vomited in 7 years were the only 3 times I had been in five star hotels. But anyway, back to the current trip.

Now I don’t like to do anything ‘half-arsed’ so I broke my curse in spectacular fashion (warning if you’ve got an empathetic stomach, now might be the time to read something else). I vomited 4 times outside the McDonalds, a litre in total (the vomit bag had a helpful little measure on the side), drank some water (probably too much in hindsight), told myself I felt better and we headed off.

You can probably guess what happened next… Dad had stopped to check our bearings, when the water re-emerged. Instinctively I had put my hand to cover my mouth, which caused a sprinkler-like effect causing the vomit to rain down around me like a fountain, horrifying a tourist nearby. I proceeded to vomit twice in a garden, and off we went.

We arrived at our hotel, only to find that Dad recognised the place. Confused he said, “Hang on, this is the place I stayed last time.” Turns out Dad had printed out the wrong email from Trip Advisor (a 3 year old email), and we had been walking in completely the wrong direction and had to go back to where we started. We wandered around completely lost, not knowing what hotel we were meant to be staying in, or how to get there.

After a little while we came across a man who asked us if we were the Harissons. The poor man (the one who had been waiting at the docks for us) had been walking around for half an hour trying to find us. We finally arrived at our hotel and he took us to our room, and to thank the nice man I regret to say (yep you guessed it) I vomited in the front garden of our bungalow…

The next day and a half were unpleasant to say the least, as although my stomach was completely empty I was still vomiting up bright yellow and green bile (thought I had cancer the first time I saw it), and I vomited more than 20 times in total (someone should make a drinking game for the number of times I’ve said vomit in this post). I was in bed for the next day, and saw nothing of the paradise just outside my door, and had to look at photos my parents had taken. It wasn’t until a day and a half after we arrived that I got to explore.

The island was mostly populated by cats and drunk 20-something year old European tourists. Alcohol was literally sold in buckets (Dad bought one and it was awful) and worryingly there were a lot of tattoo shops everywhere, which got me wondering if one was profiting off of the other. Apart from that there were cliffs views, beaches and market stalls that catered exclusively to the swarms of tourists.

My parents took me out for dinner our second night there, and as I was not yet well enough my dinner consisted of aqua minerale, with a side of h20, which I washed down with some cool and refreshing (you guessed it) water. Breakfast was a huge improvement, and I was able to progress to apple juice. All in all it was rather sad, especially considering the name of the restaurant: Anna’s.

I’ve decided I’ll have to return to the island one day, hopefully under more ideal circumstances. Perhaps in my mid twenties when I am more the target demographic, and I can enjoy liquor in buckets and get a skull and cross bones on my forearm. The island really is a perfect slice of paradise, and I would highly recommend taking the time to visit.

Next we were to head off to Krabi on the mainland and I was finally starting to feel better, which was kinda ironic. But that’s a story for another post…