geronimo
Crazy Mango
Posts: 222
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Post by geronimo on Dec 4, 2015 6:15:31 GMT 7
Here is one from my early days here, in 89.
The Pattaya event ........
This was to be my first stop in Thailand, based on reports of others, this place was teeming with gorgeous Asian beauties, all readily available. I had a plan, to spend all my money there and then take it from there. This was standard procedure for me yet this was the furthest I’d ever been and the culture was so different. I knew I was taking a really big chance this time and the adrenalin was pumping. I had enough money to party in Pattaya for about two months which I eagerly embraced. I was akin to a kid in a chocolate factory and it was heaven.
At this point I should mention something that happened at Heathrow airport while awaiting my flight to Thailand. I went over to a Thomas Cook booth and asked about health insurance. Nothing strange you might think yet for me this was unheard of! She quoted me 84 GBP for one month comprehensive worldwide cover. I nearly had a heart attack and walked away in disgust. I sat a few feet away listening to my Walkman, hyped up as I was about to embark on my scariest mission yet, diving into a tropical climate armed with little but a whole lot of bravery.
I had 1,000 pounds in my money belt and I sure as hell wasn’t going to spend 84 quid on a piece of paper I’d never need. Something kept telling me to get that health insurance, it really was that strong.
I went back there and even queued for ten minutes before arriving in front of the sales girl.
She gave me a strange look before explaining that the premium was still 84 pounds and no, it couldn’t be done any cheaper. Thailand was considered worldwide.
Begrudgingly I paid in cash, still unsure what was happening. I had a very strong gut feeling on this one and I had always gone with that in the past. This time was to be no different.
Once done, it was forgotten, I stuffed the policy documents in a small zip pocket in my money belt.
The flight to Thailand was amazing for me. I loved the buzz connected with flying and had already more than twenty flights under my belt. My favourite moment was just as the aircraft taxied into its take off position and the pilot applied the brakes. Then would come the power up, the plane vibrating trying to keep the thing stationary. Then the brakes were released and the rush came. I never got tired of that and often wondered how it would compare to an F-16 on afterburner.
This time it was even more of a rush as I was going far away to a foreign land on the other side of the world and I was throwing caution to the wind! I must say that there was not the slightest feeling of fear in my mind. I was going into the unknown and I thrived on it!
As soon as the aircraft doors opened, the intense heat and humidity hit me. It felt strangely familiar and I took a deep breath as I plunged into my adventure.
Sticking with my strategy of spending ALL my money quickly, I headed for Pattaya, a place that could extract the cash from my person in a heartbeat.
I planned to be totally broke within two months and was going to have the time of my life doing this. I was like a kid in a chocolate factory and the girls could sense this, like a dog can sense fear. I was immediately swarmed by long black haired beauties and I succumbed, changing partners at least three times a day! There were thousands of these stunning females and for six quid, they were prepared to go the distance with me in my hotel room nearby. I don’t think the smile left my face, I was in heaven!!
Boxing in Pattaya
This was another of those situations that wasn’t planned. Things just happened and before I knew it, I had agreed to fight one of the Muay Thai boxers. One morning I sat at a small bar next to a boxing ring watching a couple of Thai guys sparring. I’d boxed for a few months in England before I began my travels and although I was no Sugar Ray Leonard, I certainly knew how to throw a punch. Which was more than I could say for the two guys in the ring. An Aussie sat next to me and we chatted for a while,
“Feisty little fellas eh?” He remarked.
I shook my head,
“They kick well but I haven’t seen one who can throw a decent punch yet” I replied.
This was my first mistake and a few beers later I made another one, agreeing to a 3 round exhibition match at the end of the week, purely for the tourists of course. At that time my Thai was basic so communication was difficult. I had wanted to fight one of the smaller guys I’d seen in the ring earlier but this was met with lots of head shaking. Then they brought over a bigger chap. His name was Lao Sak and he would have been about 30 years old. They told me he was about the same weight as I and he had only just arrived in Pattaya so it would be a fair match. Regular boxing I might add, Muay Thai is a killer sport and not one to enter into if you aren’t ready for it.
I asked how many fights this guy had had and was told nine. I looked at him carefully, he had all the signs of a veteran, flat nose, scarred ayes and he was in very good shape. I tentatively agreed to the contest, realizing that my opponent could wipe the floor with me anytime yet was assured it was only a bit of fun.
I began the next day with some light pad work and punching the bags which hammered home the fact that I was out of shape! My Aussie friend was full of encouragement, trying hard to convince me I could win. I had one chance, knock him out in the first 90 seconds. No time for any real endurance training with the bout only a few days away, I concentrated on my punching and timing, managing a few short sparring sessions with some of the local fighters. I did manage to drop one with a good right hook and like an idiot I felt I had a chance of winning.
The group of bar owners jumped on the chance to make a few extra bucks and promoted the hell out of the event. On the morning of the fight I was training lightly when an old Thai man approached, he spoke good English and asked who was the foreign guy fighting Lao Sak. I raised my hand, still retching from the marathon one minute exercise I’d just finished. He smiled and went on to explain that Lao Sak was an ex Muay Thai Champion who had to leave Bangkok in a hurry (still with his gloves on) when he threw a fight for money. He’d only had 340 fights in total, winning at least 300 of those. My worst fear became reality. Even though this was not billed as a serious fight, I was about to try my best to knock this guy out and he wasn’t going to take that lying down!
He then took me to a wall and showed me Lao Sak’s picture on the cover of a Boxing mag a few years old. He was the main event at Lumphini Stadium!
Oh well, in for a penny”… I thought, allowing my ever present optimism to take over.
I arrived about one hour before the scheduled bout on the back of a ribbon covered pick up with loudspeakers blaring out Rocky music. There were throngs of tourists there and I received hearty backslaps and shook hands so many times it would have damaged my hands if they had been any good!
“Go on mate, give him a hiding” Someone shouted.
The only one hiding would be me!
Betting was rife, the foreigners backing yours truly despite my constant requests not to throw their money away. I sat at a bar while my bandages were applied by my Aussie Trainer (I promoted him from egger on) with a million glasses of beer thrust at me, all of which I politely declined. If I was still alive half an hour later, I’d take them all. Although it may seem to the contrary, I wasn’t a complete idiot. I had insisted that I wear 10 ounce gloves while Lao Sak used the heavier 16 ounce pair. This gave me a big advantage with speed and I managed a smile as I watched Lao Sak being gloved up, looking like a smaller version of mickey mouse as he slowly swung his arms.
The stage was set. It certainly was…… for an execution, mine. The crowd, fuelled by never ending beer, were all hyped up and all the bar owners promised me free beer for life. The problem was that life was about to end for me.
I drank four bottles of red bull in an insane effort to wring as much energy from my abused body and it was into the ring for the introduction.
I should point out at this point that I had never actually had a real fight. Lots of sparring with an experienced friend but little else. The crazy thing was, even at this stage I figured if I could catch him with one good right hook, I had a chance. There’s a thin line between insanity and positive thinking and I’d crossed it long ago.
I was announced first as the challenger (in Thai) and that took two seconds. Then Lao Sak was introduced and after 3 minutes of speaking, I asked what the guy was saying,
“He’s reading out Lao Sak’s previous titles and belts” came the reply.
I gulped.
We met in the centre of the ring, nose to nose and he winked at me. That could mean a number of things. One thing I was sure of, he wasn’t about to lose to an old guy like me, not in front of his home crowd, besides, this was a money making exercise as the tourists were wagering heavily on me. Fools!
The bell went for the first round and I was off the stool like an Olympic sprinter and started to unload on my opponent, much to the delight of the crowd.
Lao Sak leaned back into the ropes, tucked his elbows in and grinned at me through his huge gloves. Perhaps the sixteen ouncers weren’t such a good idea, I mean he couldn’t miss!
I managed to keep this up for the entire three minutes and to the crowd it looked like I was giving him a whooping. Lao Sak and I knew different. As I staggered back to my corner, I knew the gauge was on empty. I’d given him all I had and not landed with a single shot. My shorts were pulled open and ice was deposited around my gonads (why I’ll never know) and a towel was being windmilled in front of my exhausted body while my trainer rubbed my neck,
“Great round mate. You won it hands down just keep doing that for the next two and Bob’s your uncle” He encouraged.
I wondered if Bob would attend my funeral, perhaps not, an awful long way to go.
I looked over at my opponent, he hadn’t even bothered to sit down and was not even breaking a sweat.
I managed a half smile as the bell went for the second,
This time Lao Sak was on his toes immediately and circled me several times, unloading heavy jabs, all of which got through. Just as I was thinking I can’t take much more, he began to really hit me. Now this guy could punch and the big gloves made each blow feel like a train. He switched between body and head at will and I began to buckle.
Despite this punishment, I still had my pride and that was all that was keeping me vertical so I stayed up.
I think he was impressed with my stubbornness and eased off a little as the bell sounded. What a sweet sound that was! It signaled the end of the torture I was undergoing. Even better, it would begin again in another sixty seconds!
I don’t remember much about the third round, mainly that the referee stopped it after I tried to get up one more time.
I was hailed a hero by the foreign contingency even though they’d lost a bit of money on the outcome. Lao Sak had retained his respect and he was great with me after, taking me to meet his family and showing me all his trophies. He even gave me a pair of shorts he wore when he became Lumphini Champion, something I will always treasure.
In the morning it felt like my body had been a trampoline for a bunch of camels but I’m glad I had a go at least.
My money was fast depleting, only five weeks and I’d got a couple of hundred pounds left. No ticket home and no one who would help me. I decided to rent a nice Suzuki gsxr400 for a few days. I was into fast road racing bikes and had owned a few in the English summers.
The roads outside Pattaya were good, long sweeping tarmac lanes that offered good visibility and lots of room. The bike was good, and I decided on the last morning of the rental to take it out and really put it through its paces. I did just that for a good two hours and then it was back into Pattaya to return this beast to the shop. After that I’d planned to get a train to the south and spend my last bit of money there.
Wearing a skimpy T shirt, shorts and trainers (no helmet), I came into Pattaya 2 road at around 10am with the sun behind me. Cruising at about 100 kph, I noticed a white Subaru car waiting to come out of a small side road to my left, I gently applied the front brake and came down a gear and as I approached, it remained stationary so I wound it up one last time. At that very second, the car pulled across my lane and stopped!
I had less than two seconds to react, I locked the back wheel up and was trying to lay the bike down when I impacted the car. The right side of my face and my right shoulder took most of the impact. I knew I was going to die.
I remember nothing after that.
The accident happened 27 days into my 30 day comprehensive health insurance policy and it is this that undoubtedly saved my life. According to eye witness accounts I gained later, after slamming into the driver’s door, I rolled over the bonnet of the car, the bike landing on top of me. I was quickly taken to the local government hospital where Lao Sak had arrived some minutes after. He gave them his 3 baht gold chain and told them to take me to the big private hospital up the road. While that was going on, he went through my money belt and found the insurance policy. Apparently I was kept on the trolley in the ambulance until the insurance company confirmed my status. I remained in a coma for 6 days, during which time The British Embassy had contacted my mother. They informed her of my accident adding that I was in a serious but stable condition. They also prepared her for the probability that I would be brain damaged as the right side of my cheekbones had shattered, my jaw was broken and I’d lost all my front teeth. That is if I came out of the coma.
The first thing I remember was the man all dressed in white with a mask on. He was talking to me,
He asked me my name which I gave him. He then asked how many fingers he was holding up and if I knew what had happened to me. I replied and he shook his head explaining that he had never seen anyone survive such an impact without a helmet on. My jaw had been wired up, I’d broken my collarbone, right wrist and had a total of 274 stitches across my left arm and chest.
I was in no pain, rather the feeling was euphoric. Then the drip on my arm told me I was on intravenous morphine.
The next few weeks were mostly a haze. Lao Sak stayed with me most of the time. The medical care was second to none and I drifted in and out of the real world, amazed that I was still around. I do remember an Embassy official telling me that my medical insurance covered me being air ambulanced back to the UK, something I explicitly refused. Whatever was going to be my future, it certainly wasn’t going to happen in England.
The woman who drove the car agreed to pay for the bike and the cash was ceremoniously handed to me in a brown paper bag, which I then handed to the owner in the same movement. The driver apologized profusely, explaining that the sun was directly behind me and she had pulled out waiting for a car to pass on her left. I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. An eyewitness who saw the whole thing said the noise was deafening.
The hospital was fantastic. I could order food from the seafood restaurant next door (all on the bill of course) whenever I wished, the morphine was on tap, never had I stayed in a hospital where the nurses would continually ask me if I wanted some more of this wonderful substance, again all going on the bill.
The doctor explained that a knock of this magnitude, especially on the head, is normally enough to end a person’s life or at very best, leave them permanently brain damaged. I think I was already well on the way to that when I was born! The peripheral injuries would heal and the cheekbone, jaw and teeth would be fixed but the thundering sound of my pulse in my head would be with me for a few months he explained. I had no feeling at all down one side of my face, something else he said would eventually right itself. The one injury that most concerned with was my gonads. Due to the low riding position of these road racer sports bikes, my nuts rode up the tank on impact and were now the size of Jaffa oranges. I cried when I first saw them but again I was reassured they’d be back to normal soon. It seemed I had come through this without any permanent damage, another miracle.
My recovery was slow but there was no hurry (I had up to one million dollars of cover) so I relaxed in comfort.
The Aussie guy who had helped me prepare for the fight was also with me. I thank him and Lao Sak for their help during this time.
The Embassy informed my mother that I had regained consciousness and all my faculties were there. I am sure she disagreed with that one. I stayed at the hospital for a period of seven weeks and decided to continue my recuperation in the deep south of Thailand. I had been befriended by one of the working girls and she kindly invited me to stay with her at the family home.
The scars that covered my left arm and chest were still fresh and the hospital emphasized the dangers of infection, especially living in the jungle. I sign the release form, which released the insurance company from any more liability and we took the train south.
Upon reflection, I cannot avoid going back to the departure lounge of Heathrow airport, when a voice was telling me to buy the health cover. It was so strong I actually did buy it and this one simple decision saved my life. If ever I felt alone in this world, I certainly didn’t now. Someone / thing was looking out for me it seemed.
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geronimo
Crazy Mango
Posts: 222
Likes: 166
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Post by geronimo on Dec 4, 2015 6:19:19 GMT 7
here's another ....
Leo: The Joker I’ve met some funny people in my life but Leo tops them all. A real practical joker in the true sense of the word, Leo would spend considerable amounts of time and money to set up something to provide amusement for himself and others. One of his favourites was the “blind man”. His props, a white cane and sunglasses were always in his car and he took on the role whenever the urge came on. I was fortunate to witness one such incident, He walked into a rather large shopping mall, tapping his white cane as he slowly moved down the walkway. I was told to observe from afar. He had a way about him, adopting the straight ahead stare that blind people have, indeed Leo would have made a fine character actor, immersing himself in every role. Finally he walked into a large store selling electrical appliances, “Excuse me Sir, may I help you?” The young salesman asked. “Yes. I’m interested in a TV” Leo announced. There was an ominous silence, “Good gracious my boy! It’s not for me” Leo guffawed. The salesman relaxed a little as Leo enquired some more, “I want something big, with bright colours, It’s for my sister” Leo began to follow the salesman to the TV section while the young man hesitated, feeling uncomfortable as do many folks around handicapped people. Leo took full advantage of this, “Well Sir, this model is very popular” the seller pointed at the set. “It must have a remote, my sister cannot walk” Leo replied. “I see” came the reply. Leo turned his head, as if to look at him, “I’m sure you can! It would be rather difficult to sell things if you were blind like me, would it not?” He reasoned. The boy sank in embarrassment, “Er I’m sorry Sir, I didn’t mean to …..” “Listen to me boy, I have been blind since birth and I do not need to be reminded of the fact, now be a good chap and turn the TV on” Leo instructed. The salesman began to flick through the channels, “The colour is perfect, as you can see… Leo whacked his stick on the ground, “NO, I DON’T <duck>ING SEE” Leo bellowed at the top of his voice. This brought a small crowd of onlookers to see what the fuss was all about. It all became too much for the young man and he scampered off in search of reinforcements and shortly the manager, a large middle aged man, strutted over, “I must apologise for my young assistant Sir, now how may I be of assistance?” he said. Leo now had an audience and that was his cue to step it up a gear, “The problem dear Sir, is not that I am blind, indeed I am more able than most sighted people, yet what I cannot abide is when people keep asking me if I can see, when it is pretty <duck>ing obvious that I cannot” He asserted, waving his white cane high in the air. The manager began to demonstrate the TV, turning up the volume, “The sound is stereo surround, the best technology there is” he added. “Sounds wonderful, what’s the picture like?” Leo replied tapping his foot on the ground. “Well Sir, if you could see, you would be impressed” “If I could <duck>ing see, I’d be ecstatic” Leo replied. The manager cringed and asked if Leo would like him to answer any questions, Leo walked up to the TV, knelt in front of it and touched the screen, “What’s the program about?” he asked. “Er … It’s a nature documentary actually” came the reply. “Oh nature, such a wonderful thing! Tell me, is the sea really blue?” Leo asked. “Well Sir, yes it is” “Could you describe blue to me?” Leo asked. “It is kind of similar to green, only a bit lighter” “And green, what does that look like?” “Just like the grass” “Well that doesn’t really help me as I’ve been blind since birth” Leo retorted. “Green is, is … is green I suppose” Leo ran his hand over the screen, “Oh I would love to see, just one time, all the beauty of this world” He began to sob. He then made the manager describe in detail, the happenings on the screen and the growing crowd joined in, Suddenly Leo made an announcement, “Good people, I have but one wish and it has been with me since I got hair around my willy. I would like to see a naked woman” The crowd laughed and Leo went on to ask for music and completed an impressive tap dance! He used to do this in the butchers and sniff all the pieces of meat, to the absolute horror of the housewives. Golf equipment in sports shops was always good for a laugh, especially when he kept missing the ball! The opticians was a favourite too, even before they got to the eye testing part! Another he loved was the carrot goldfish. Leo would prepare some small pieces of carrot, suitably shaped and stuff them in his pocket before he visited the pet shop. He’s hang around the goldfish tanks and wait until someone was watching before thrusting his arm in the water and pulling out a goldfish which he then slid down his throat, wiggling it as he did so. The onlooker would be astonished and sometimes call thee staff over. Leo would have another piece of carrot in his mouth which he would push through his lips at the shop assistant which often resulted in them fainting!
Leo’s piece de resistance This was such a classic and I was fortunate to have played a part, I received a call from Leo asking to visit him the following evening. This sent a warning signal to my brain, Leo was so unpredictable, I could well be the target of one of his pranks, so I was on full alert as I arrived at his house, unsure of what to expect. As turned out, I wasn’t the only guest, another five of his friends had already arrived. Leo went upstairs and returned a few minutes later wearing a Cardinal’s suit. Covered in braid, he looked every bit the clergyman as he descended the stairs. “Holy shit” was all I could say. The fine suit looked perfect on his bulky frame, he had an air of holiness about him. He then brought out a few sets of clergymen suits and after some swapping around we were all dressed as men of the cloth. Leo then explained what he had in mind. It involved a dinner at a plush London restaurant and of course, he was footing the bill, as always. After a short briefing, we went our separate ways agreeing to meet in a pub nearby the restaurant. It felt weird to be wearing the black suit with the white collar and I was kind of taken aback by the respect people showed as I made my way through the city. We were all in place at the agreed time and I went to shout a round of drinks only to be stopped by our Cardinal, “No alcohol, at least not for a while” he ordered. So we sat with tonic water while he gave us our final instructions, then we set off on foot for the restaurant. All eyes were on us as we walked in single file. The Maitre D straightened his tie as he prepared to speak with our beloved Cardinal, who strolled manfully toward him. “Good evening your Highness, do you have reservation?” “Yes my good man, we do. However I am not royalty therefore if you wish to address me correctly, Your Grace will do” Leo replied in a dry voice. “Certainly Your Grace, may I have your name?” “I am Cardinal Fortescue Mauldsey” “Aah yes, please follow me your grace” We all slowly filed to the large table in the centre of the floor and were seated, with Leo at the head of the table. A waiter was appointed and stood by as Leo browsed the menu, he looked the part as he peered through his glasses and he ordered a few starter dishes and Perrier water for all. We sipped our water with little fingers raised and nibbled the dishes, pausing to dab our mouths with napkins. I was observing the reaction of other diners and indeed our presence was noticed. The evening began sedately enough, no words were spoken as we nibbled our food. Little did the unsuspecting diners know what was in store for them. We remained in this holy state for exactly thirty minutes when Leo looked at his watch and raised his arm calling for service, “I’d like a dozen bottles of the house red” he announced loudly. The surprised staff busied themselves ferrying the wine to our table, the Maitre D carefully pouring a little into a glass for the Cardinal to sample. Leo snatched the bottle from his hand and took a large swig, “That’ll do just fine, fill em up” he announced, nudging the shocked waiter. We all began to drink large quantities of wine and the more we drank, the louder we became. “So, let us have a discussion about religion, shall we?” Leo boomed, spilling wine down his shirt. “I’ll drink to that” Someone replied. It was my turn now, “Let us pray” I said, putting my hands in the prayer position. “Before you do that, I would like to question God’s very existence” Leo interrupted. You could have heard a pin drop, “I mean to say, with all the technology we have today, there isn’t a shred of scientific evidence that Jesus ever walked this earth, is there?” He continued. “But what about the scriptures?” Another added. “Scriptures? They are just words written by humans. They could be a bunch of lies” Leo slurred. By now we had the undivided attention of all the diners, trying hard not to make it too obvious but this was far better than any movie. The oldest of our group, Robert interjected, “I say Cardinal Mauldsey, I really cannot accept this kind of talk and coming from a Cardinal I might add” “Oh shut up you old fart! Have another drink. Waiter, more vino” Leo shouted, holding an empty bottle upside down. The next hour saw things escalate somewhat, bread rolls were being thrown around and at one point Leo was telling a group of women dirty jokes. It actually occurred to me at that moment that the other diners were effectively Leo’s audience and boy did he like to perform! Then came the obvious, it had to happen at some point, the manager came sauntering over, now this was going to be a real test for him! “Excuse me Sir!” The manager managed to say before Leo interrupted, Slouching back on his chair, he was most definitely drunk, “Let’s ask this chappie, shall we? I presume you are the manager?” Leo said in a chillingly perfect voice. “I am indeed Sir and…. “So, I am sure you have had a very good education, would I be correct in my thinking?” Leo went on, “Well yes, I suppose so but I really must insist ….. “Were you taught of God’s existence?” Leo probed, now sitting up, haunches raised. “I was indeed, I am a Roman Catholic” Leo jumped up, “Well that’s wonderful! Who better qualified to validate the existence of The Almighty” Leo crooned, walking around his victim now. “So, all you need do is give us one tangible piece of evidence that God exists and the debate is over” Leo announced. “More wine” He guffawed as he put his arm around the poor manager. A man seated at the rear stood up, “If you feel that way, then why are you a priest then” he bravely shouted. “Good question Sir. I would like the opportunity to explain, in the hope that you would perhaps then understand how terribly hard life is for us clergy. I first was ordained at 17 and our daily routine was up at 4am, three hours of prayer, then scrubbing the cloister floors until our fingers bled. This was followed by 5 hours of punishing manual labour in the gardens, then after quick snack, it was more bloody praying until 11 when we were allowed to sleep!” After 12 years of that, I was then promoted to be the Bishop and my days were filled with laborious administrative tasks that bored the shit out of me and what’s more I still had to <duck>ing pray every night!” Leo argued. “Then just as I was accepting that this was to be my duty, I am moved up to Cardinal and That, good Sir was my undoing. I spend ninety percent of waking time drunk, canoodling with other drunken Cardinals who only talk about sex. So, you see I succumbed and my question is this, How could a man that has prayed so <duck>ing much be allowed to become a drunkard?” Now there is proof that God does not exist in any shape of form.” The Manager’s face suddenly dropped and we all saw four nuns slowly walking towards us, “Oh heavenly Jesus” One woman shouted. You could hear a pin drop as the serene nuns silently approached Leo, Leo stood up and bowed in the most theatrical way possible, “Greetings Sisters. I must say what a pleasure it is to see some colleagues here” Leo addresses the head Sister. The Nun was covered from head to toe in black and white cloth and only her face was visible, “Cardinal, have you been drinking?” She asked. “Well actually, it’s my birthday” Leo smiled. “I see, then perhaps we should have a party” She shouted and with that, one of the nuns pulled a sound blaster out from under her robes and the beat was pulsating. If the diners thought this was outrageous, what followed was about to blow their minds. The nuns began to dance and slowly remove their gowns to reveal busty bikinis and very shapely young figures. At least three people ran out when Leo poured wine over her breasts and began to slurp all over them. Finally we all danced to the rhythm and one by one, so did the other diner’s until we had one big party. Leo in the meantime had taken the manager to one side and paid the bill, leaving us to drink the remaining wine and carry the now naked nuns out to a standing ovation!
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geronimo
Crazy Mango
Posts: 222
Likes: 166
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Post by geronimo on Dec 4, 2015 6:36:16 GMT 7
here's another excerpt.....
The “out on a limb” theory
After about 9 years of travelling, I had developed this theory that the further out I went on a limb, the more amazing the things that happened to me. By this time, arriving at an unknown destination, totally broke and thousands of miles from home, was kind of old hat to me. I decided to take it one step further, I was boarding a bus to travel from Eilat to Cairo, through the Sinai desert. The trip was about 700 km and although I had travelled to Dahab, a small Bedouin settlement on the Red Sea coast, I’d never been to Cairo so I was feeling a bit psyched up, besides it had a reputation as being a very unforgiving city.
I was sat at the back of the bus and settled down for the seven hour journey to Cairo. There was a Kiwi girl next to me and she was very chatty so we got to talking about our travels. It became very obvious that this girl was a planner, someone who takes very few chances and as our conversation went on, she was horrified to discover that I had very little money, no air ticket home and I knew no one in Cairo. “Wow this is insane” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. At that moment a crazy idea entered my head and without saying a word, I stood up and walked up the aisle to the driver, “Excuse me, can you stop the bus please? I want to get off.” I asked politely. The driver gave me a strange look, “We have toilets at back of bus” he gestured to the rear end. “No, I want to get off here” I replied. The look he gave me was priceless, shaking his head he began to slow the bus down to a halt. “Are you really going to do this”? The girl asked again, as I hauled my heavy pack onto the tarmac road. I smiled, knowing that I was really going out on a limb with this one and was ready to receive whatever life threw at me. It is almost like walking out onto thin ice, the further you go, the thinner it gets. For some reason I had to keep edging out, to see how far I could get before the ice gave way beneath me. As I watched the old bus disappear into the distance, an eerie feeling came over me, “Perhaps you’ve gone too far this time” I cursed. “You will starve out here you idiot” I reasoned. I had a tingling sensation all over my body as I realized I was totally alone out here. I took stock of the situation, two and a half litres of water, a few packs of smokes, no food (didn’t seem important at the time) and my backpack. I had a tent and a good hunting knife so shelter would be available. I knew how to make a fire so all I needed was something to cook. I was looking forward to this survival adventure Looking around, all I could see was red sand and rocks. The black tarmac road that snaked through it became thinner and thinner as it rippled into the mountains. Perhaps there aren’t any living things here? I imagined my Mother receiving the news from the British Embassy, Dear Madam, Your son was found dead by the side of the road in a desert in Egypt. What do you want us to do with his things? Sorry there is no body as the vultures get busy when they find meat. The spirit of adventure was still there, although it was dwindling away by the minute!! After a while the sun became unbearable. I was stuck under the palm tree and decided moving was not a good idea until the sun went down. I pitched my tent just before the sun went down and sat outside with my mini flashlight, listening to the strange sounds. Insects and bats were abound and I wondered if there were any predators I should worry about. Visions of seeing two blue eyes which slowly turn into a massive wolf, saliva running down its double row of teeth came to mind. The night passed without incident, although I was far too wired to sleep and as the sun came up, was wondering where I might obtain a coffee when the silence was broken by hoofing sounds and over the ridge came a few Bedouins on camels. They were all wrapped up like Lawrence of Arabia and all I could see were their eyes as they slowly circled me. One of them said something but I didn’t understand so I just smiled and hoped everything would be ok. Suddenly something landed at my feet and they rode off quickly. I grabbed it and was about to throw it but what I had feared to be a grenade was actually a tin of Libby’s peaches. I do remember thinking that I’d never be able to tell anyone about this as it was so far-fetched, almost like a Monty Python sketch. I opened the tin with my knife, hoping this wasn’t some elaborate ritual prior to the human sacrifice. Just after I had packed all my stuff away, they returned and circled me again, this time one stooped down and held his hand out. I knew he was beckoning me to climb up behind him so I gripped his arm tight and he pulled me up. At this point I must say that I had no fear. Not because I’m fearless, far from it. I just had a good feeling about them and one of the others dismounted and handed my back pack to his friend and we were off, the camels slowly padded up the ridge and the view I saw as we reached the crest was breathtaking, the rising sun, still a deep red, silhouetted against the red rocks, looking like a Martian landscape. We travelled for about 40 minutes, no words were spoken, yet I had a good feeling about this as we gently crossed the dunes. I noticed how we kept snaking to stay in the shade, little did I know just how adapted to the desert these people were! Finally we reached a small oasis. I could see the three big tents pitched next to the small pond. There were goats, some ducks and other camels tied to trees with some little kids running around. As we dismounted I noticed this young guy approach me, totally dressed in white, he had a very pronounced face, bearing an uncanny similarity to a young Omar Sharif. “Alright mate, gotta light”? He drawled in a perfect cockney accent! I reached for my lighter before realizing he didn’t have a cigarette, “Lovely wevver eh” He remarked. This took me completely by surprise and it was really hard to combine the visual image with this strong London accent, it just seemed so out of place. His name was Raja and he was the son of the tribal leader, hence the nice robes. His wonderful command of the English language was gained from a few months living with a cockney traveller. They lived in a cave until the guy got some money wired over and left. Raja was a very nice guy, we hit it off immediately and he very graciously offered me to stay as long as I wished and seeing as I had no immediate plan, I decided to stick around for a while.
The Bedouins
They are a nomadic tribe but this doesn’t mean they wander aimlessly. They follow certain trade routes as their ancestors did and have perfected the art of living off the land. Their tents were made of camel hides and they could erect one in less than an hour. They navigate using the stars and landmarks, leaving stashes hanging in trees. There is an unwritten law in the desert, travelers can take any food they find but they must leave everything else. They can tell from tracks exactly what made them and from which direction they came. The women take on the job of packing up the camp and within two hours they are ready to move. Raja explained that the Egyptian government offered to give them land to farm if they agreed to settle in one place but the existence of Bedouins is built around the nomadic lifestyle and therefore they are reluctant to give it up. The western civilization is like a growing snowball, soon there will be very few places on this planet that are untouched by it. I would imagine by now the Bedouin that actually live off the land are all but gone.
Sandstorms and the cold were their main natural adversities and they were well equipped to deal with both. There are many different nomadic Bedouin tribes that are spread through Egypt, Jordan, Syria and others. Each will have its own language, culture and way of life. This was my one and only desert adventure and I must say the people were so nice to me, never asking for anything in return. A stark contrast to the Egyptians! Seven days of solitude Raja told me of a magical place, a beach about ten kilometres away, where he used to go to be alone. I had always wished to be completely isolated so Raja agreed to take me there and return one week later to get me. He stocked me up with enough food and water, a bag of puff and lots of candles, assuring me I wouldn’t see another soul! I watched as the camel disappeared over the dunes and relished in my solitude. To be completely alone is a strange thing. Most of us never have, or will, be in that situation for more than a few hours and it has a weird effect on you. After two days I began to talk to myself, a natural way to overcome the loss of communication with other humans. “So, what shall we do today”? “Oh, I don’t know, we could sit on the beach” “Yeah but we did that yesterday” “True. We could go swimming” “Now you’re talking” I began to explore the area, kind of hoping I might bump into someone but never did. As far as the eye could see there was nothing. After three days I walked around naked, well I mean there was no need for clothes, just had to be careful about sunburn on the delicate areas! By day 4 I was wishing Raja would show up however I remembered that conversation, “And don’t come until the week is up. I really want this to be a mental test for me” “You sure about that” He asked. “100%” I exclaimed determinedly. “You got it” was the reply. Day 6 was incredibly difficult. Apart from the ever increasing feeling of entrapment, I was bored to death as well. The talking had taken on a new level, I was having in depth political discussions and there were at least four people involved! I had almost drank my water rations and the food was also running short which didn’t look good. In the day I sat under the shade of a tree mostly, but this morning I decided to do a detailed visual scour of my surroundings. Slowly my eyesight zoomed in on the distant rocks and I suddenly saw a glint of reflection coming from the top ridge. I looked again, yes, there it is. I homed in on it but it was too far to see anything. I’d estimate it to be 500 metres from where I sat so I decided to go see what it was. Saw no reason to put anything away, after all I was alone out here right? Armed with a water bottle (and my knife) I set off for the hills. I had fixed the point in my mind and in no time I was there. Slowly I climbed up to see a small level area with some blankets and the remnants of a fire. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as the realization hit home that I was being observed. I went up a bit higher and saw the camel tracks. I knew enough to know they were fresh. My mind began to race, this would be the perfect place to kill some lone traveler. No one would ever know if you buried the body in the desert. The effects of the solitude magnified the paranoia and suddenly, in my mind, I was being hunted by a team of serial killers! I tried to remain calm. I had twenty three hours to wait for Raja. I knew he would not come before that time, as I made him solemnly swear not to. I felt I would have to kill them before they killed me and started to think about the oncoming night. I had candles and a small flashlight (not sure about the batteries) and there was no way I was going to sleep until I saw Raja. I thought to make a spear as my hunting knife was only good for close quarter stuff. I could throw it but if I missed, it’s bye bye. My camp area was good in as much as I had a 360 vision so no one could creep up on me. Upon my return to my beach camp, I was horrified to discover my water had been stolen. Frantically I searched but I knew where I’d left it and it had vanished! I wanted adventure, now I have it, I mean fighting for one’s life in the desert must be classed as an epic one! I tried to remain calm and looked to see if there was anything else missing. There wasn’t. I figured taking the water was designed to make me weak, they didn’t need to take anything else as they could have it all once I was dead. Then a thought struck me, I don’t have anything of value with me, except my passport so why would they want to kill me? Perhaps they were just murdering sadists and this was their hobby. The plot thickened and I started to imagine a nightmare scenario. It involved being stretched out and skinned while still alive, then sand was rubbed all over my raw flesh before they threw me in the sea!!!!! Having fashioned a spear, I packed my tent and extinguished all lights to allow my vision to get acclimatized to the darkness. They weren’t going to take me easily! Night fell abruptly and I waited …… I kept my vision constantly moving, looking for any movement at all, scanning the entire area, waiting for the assault. Suddenly I saw something black. It was moving towards me slowly and I picked up on it about forty metres away. I had my knife and spear at the ready as this thing edged closer, determined to come out on top. When it was about ten metres from me, I stood up and said “I am ready for you” I heard that infectious giggle and saw Raja’s face beaming out from under his robes. He laughed all the way back to the camp while I thought it was a stupid thing to do, I mean I could have killed him!!
Camels This creature is one of the most amazing on the planet. Millions of years has allowed the camel to evolve into the perfect desert animal. These were the one hump, Dromedary variety and were domesticated by humans three thousand years ago. The Bedouin need the camel, as the Inuit need the husky and this animal gives them so much. Apart from being a form of transport (an adult camel can carry 200kg for twenty km) it also gives them milk, meat, hair for textiles, and hides. They even use the dung to start fires. Let us not forget its amazing ability to go without water, an essential trait in the desert. Mind you, should it come across anyr, a camel can drink 200 litres in 5 minutes! The hump is not for storing water as I had thought, it stores fat which can be broken down to water plus a camel doesn’t sweat so it doesn’t need to replenish lost fluids. I soon learned they had rancid breath, caused by regurgitating the plants they chew, which creates gases. Note to oneself: Never French kiss a camel! Oh yes, and never stand behind one when he farts! They graze on small plants like a cow, their lips are large so they can forage for vegetation and they also eat cardboard, lots of it! In fact Raja told me they eat just about anything! They have this custom built pad under the chest and when they sit down, it supports their weight and also keeps their body slightly off the ground, allowing the air to circulate. The eyelashes look so feminine, two layers of long and curly ones, which have a specific role to keep sand out of the eyes. Their nostrils can close too, giving them complete protection. I have seen them in a fearsome sandstorm, they just turn their back to the wind and sit down. Incredibly stubborn, a camel can take some handling and I was surprised at how nasty an eight year old Bedouin boy can be with a fully grown adult! A temperamental camel is something to avoid at all costs, unless you happen to be a Bedouin that is. Climbing aboard one of these things is an art in itself, Raja told me they sense fear, as dogs do, so I was firm when I walked up to one. I’d sneer and shout “Halee Halee” as the Bedouins did but the reaction I got was not the same. It would nonchalantly look at me then spit and hiss like a giant serpent. Raja cracked up on many occasions when observing my camel mastery. He decided I needed the whip and showed me how to crack it. I mastered that in no time at all and when I went up to a camel and cracked it, the beast snatched it out of my hand! I couldn’t mount one unless a local had hold of the reins, much to my dismay! Getting off is scary too as they fold their front legs first so you have to lean right back to counter balance. After a week or so, Raja decided it was time for me to take the camel out alone. I wasn’t too keen on this but he was firm. “If you wanna live ere, you gotta master em” he explained. So off I went, equipped with a few litres of water, intending to ride about 4 km to the road and then back. They said this camel was the calmest of all. I nicknamed him Herbert. A doddle I thought. I couldn’t have been more wrong! As soon as we were out of sight, Herbert bolted and I was hanging on for dear life. Then, as the sand got deeper, he slowed down so I jumped for it, landing softly in the sand. He stopped a few metres away and stood there swishing his tail as I slowly edged towards him, whispering as the locals do. Herbert moved just before I could grab the reins and repeated this about ten times, until I shouted, “Ok Fine! Just p**s off and leave me here then” Herbert did just that. No sooner had the words been spoken, he was gone, heading for the camp. Raja came about half an hour later. I knew it was him from far away as I heard his infectious giggle! I decided to abandon my camel control program much to the disappointment of Raja. The camel is one of the very animals I don’t get on with. Lions, tigers, bears, crocodiles and snakes being the others. Raja had a good supply of weed so at nights we would sit on a hill and talk for hours. He was interested in tales of London, Manchester United, western girls, parties and rock concerts, while I wanted to know more about his people and how they manage to survive. He explained how the western culture was rapidly changing the younger generations and the elders were worried the ancient skills that had been passed on from generation to generation would be lost forever. I could see his point. They made blankets and other things and sold them while moving from settlement to settlement. They also bought and sold goods as they went. The group I was with had four different camps, which they used every year at some point. There were a few settlements scattered on the trail so they traded too. I noticed very early on that these people wanted for nothing and although I had a worldly experience and education they could never have, I would have traded with them at one point. They were truly happy and it was infectious. The kids were able to create a game using a couple of sticks and a ball, a far cry from the ipads of today, in many ways I think “development” is also regression! I witnessed a happy society, I think because they lived off the land and had none of the “attachments” we form in the west. At the time I arrived, tourism was beginning to be a form of revenue for them with the many travelers heading for Dahab. I hope they remain adaptable and do not get consumed by western culture. I stayed with them for 11 weeks and they gave me the money for the bus ticket and I picked up the very same bus at the same spot. The driver remembered me and laughed, saying he thought I had perished long ago! If the Kiwi girl ever reads this, I made it out OK!
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siampolee
Detective
Alive alive O
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Post by siampolee on Dec 4, 2015 6:46:44 GMT 7
Exceptionally interesting and well written as on the spot participant and and eye witness.
Keep it coming please Geronimo.
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geronimo
Crazy Mango
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Post by geronimo on Dec 4, 2015 6:56:35 GMT 7
This is another experience .....
European Bears
I had been living with a couple of Romanian guys, Rujik and Bjord, in the forests of northern Yugoslavia. At that time, hitchhiking in Yugoslavia was not permitted as it was still a communist state so one had to be careful. I joined up with these two guys in Skopje, they were travelling to Greece looking for work, as was I. We knew we had a couple of months to wait so these guys suggested living in the forest for a few weeks. Being an adventurer, I heartily agreed, liking the idea of living off the land. So we set up a camp next to a small creek next to a stream. The camp site was perfect. We had a good view of everything on one side and behind us was a semi steep rise to the forest and about two kilometres from a main road. What I didn’t know about surviving in the wilderness, was taught by these two Europeans. They were comfortable living like this, as they explained to me, they had to live in the forest for two years when there had been a conflict within their country. Within a few days of finding the site, we had a good strong piece of canvas which doubled as a tent with a covered area in front. Using a huge tree as support, they cleverly use the tree foliage as a part of the construction. A few hours saw a waterproof shelter large enough for us all. Pots and pans were acquired quickly although most of the other things we needed were carved out by my two friends. It wasn’t a completely stress free time, there were Yugoslavian soldiers always moving around so we had to be careful and not wander aimlessly. I was told by my two companions that if we were caught, we would be sent to a labour camp for 6 months and then deported back to our home countries. I wasn’t sure if a UK citizen would receive the same punishment but I didn’t fancy the labour camp at all!!
One thing I noticed about the forest, within a few days of living there, all the wild life, which we hadn’t seen at all, came out, almost as if we were accepted and all these different animals carried on with their daily routines, unbothered by the human presence. There were squirrels, beaver like animals, small deer, lots of fish in the stream and many big birds.
One thing that really impressed me about Rudjk and Bjord was the way they utilized the things around them. We had absolutely no foam, plastic bags, or indeed anything unnatural. I learned that a good hunting knife was a valuable tool to take travelling and that helped me a few times later in my life. After two months of living there, our camp had truly blended in with the natural surroundings, giving me a sense of security.
The bear I was told by my friends that there are black bears in this forest and should I ever encounter one, I should never run away from it. Standing up tall with outstretched arms should be sufficient to ward off an attack. The females will attack if you get too close to her cubs or even come between her and the offspring. That said, we hadn’t seen any up until my encounter….. There was a market in the local town every Monday morning so the two local guys would head off at sun up to hike the 3km to the town. They usually returned about midday so I was the camp keeper if you like. A feeling of deep responsibility would cloak me when alone there, keeping me alert to what was happening around the camp site.
The market gave us a good supply of bread and potatoes were abundant in farmer’s fields nearby. Vegetables were everywhere and life was good. For meat we trapped rabbits and caught fish in the stream at camp. Looking back, that time was a precious one for me, it made me understand nature and the necessity for humans to harmonise with it rather than plunder it. One particular Monday morning, I was to cook food in preparation for their return from the market. I went to the tree where we hung our food bag. I was taught right from the word go to always tie your food bag high up a tree so the bears cannot get to it. After a few weeks, it had seemed a pointless exercise to me, I mean we hadn’t even seen a bear let alone have one chomping at our food! That was all about to change, I walked over to the tree and untied the rope leading to our food stash, stuffed into a canvas tent bag. As I untied the rope this big bear stuck his head out from behind the trunk and grabbed the rope from my hands. I remembered what I had been told and slowly retreated backwards, never taking my eyes off the bear. He was sitting down and looking at the string pull cord that opens and closes the bag. I stopped and squatted down at about ten metres from him, remembering that all he wanted was the food so give it to him and all will be fine. This wasn’t a big grizzly but I guess he must have weighed 250 kg and he was fat, getting ready for his annual hibernation I’ve no doubt and our food stash was to contribute to that!
I did get my knife ready and also had a spear nearby which I figured I could reach if he came for me. At this point I must say I felt very strange, I had never been close to a wild bear before, or indeed any other animal that was capable of killing me, with the exception of a friend’s Bull Mastiff. I was so alert and watching his every move and fully expected him to rip the bag open or run off with it. No, he sat patiently looking at the string and then he opened it, as I would have done. Nimble fingers picked open the bow knot. He gave me a snide glance as he pulled out a jar of peanut butter, I had images of the bear’s bloody mouth as he chomped down on the glass jar. “Serves you right” I thought. This was not to be, he neatly unscrewed it, tossing the lid over his shoulders and scooped all the peanut butter out, using his massive tongue to get any residue and watching me as he did so. That finished he moved on and quickly ate everything we had before tossing the bag and heading off into the forest. He slowly lumbered by me, I could feel the cold indifference in him and watched with relief as his large butt slowly ambled by when he suddenly stopped, looked over to our camp and wandered over. He then stood on his back legs and trashed the entire camp, including all our packs, shredding sleeping bags like newspaper. Then he gave me one final look, as if to say “<duck> you” before resuming his loping stride back into the forest and disappearing into the trees. I felt like a punished school boy who’d been taught a lesson by this huge beast.
That incident prompted us to move a few kilometres further down the road. I had been given the nickname “bear catcher”, which I thought very appropriate. I found out from my friends that had they been here, we’d have only lost a bit of our food and the camp would have survived. Bears are now added to my “Stay away from” list.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Dec 4, 2015 18:45:48 GMT 7
Excellent stuff - more please
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geronimo
Crazy Mango
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Post by geronimo on Dec 5, 2015 8:28:12 GMT 7
Another experience ...
Moshav Pharan
A moshav is a farming community in Israel. Similar to a kibbutz, where volunteers work in return for a room and food, except the workers on a moshav are paid by the hour and the work was much harder. The need for casual labour is a seasonal thing, four months of the year from October to February, there is a lot of produce. I was amazed when I first saw the agricultural set up at Moshav Pharan. Set in the middle of the Negev desert, about 100km north of Eilat which is a small coastal town that marked the frontier with Egypt. From the air it looks like a green carpet on a sand background, a stark contrast indeed. These farmers have managed to use technology along with the research they have done over the years to develop a farming ability that defies logic!
They grow tomatoes and peppers the size of oranges from the sand! The sand has almost zero nutrients and they are supplied by adding sacks of chemicals to a large tank of water. The drip pipes are laid so that each plant gets an allocation of water and food. The entire system is controlled by a sturdy laptop shaded by a solar panel which also powers it. Ingenious indeed. The Israeli’s have a deserved reputation as farmers who can grow things anywhere! This particular Moshav was a favourite place of work for me, I think I went there three seasons in total. The first time I arrived on the off chance there would be work and I was assigned to an Israeli farmer of South African descent called Dori. Married with a young son, he was a good man. I worked very hard for him and in return, he looked after me. He always paid me a 500 dollar bonus at the end of the season and wouldn’t let me go until I gave him my word I would return in November. I was always the last volunteer to leave, the first year he kept me on through the summer until the next picking season, giving me jobs like repairing fences and maintaining farm equipment. The summer was practically unbearable. Not just the heat, the flies drove everyone crazy!! Some had aussie type cork hats which were ok, while others tried a variety of homemade fly repellents. Temperatures of 43 C were recorded and no one went outside from 10am to 4pm. Work time was 4am – 9:30 in the morning, then a long siesta until 4:30 when you could get another two hours in. I loved the solitude and one a rare day off, I would climb a small hill and sit and look at the spectacular valley surrounded by snowy peaked mountains, blissfully happy.
At this point, I should explain in more detail just how this Moshav cooperative works. In total there would be perhaps 50 – 60 farming families, most with children, so almost two hundred people lived there, not including the imported casual labour. The core principle here was communistic, each farmer had an equal entitlement to everything they owned. Consequently each farmer bought a different type of machinery then everyone could use it. This enabled them to have things that most farmers wouldn’t be able to afford. The food was also shared communally as well as individually. It seemed to work well as everyone was content and wanted for nothing. Each farmer would have an equal allocation of land (50,000 square metres or 50 Dunams) and the farmers would collectively agree who would grow what, ensuring they always had a wide diversity of produce. The main crops were high quality peppers, tomatoes and flowers for export, while around a third of the farmers also kept dairy cows to provide the community with milk. The women were far from idle, making handicrafts which were sold in markets in Tel Aviv as well as raising seedlings ready to plant in the fields and running a crèche for the community young ones. My first impressions were good, it was a system that seemed to work in practice, all sharing, although they had such a system whereby lazy farmers were penalized so everyone maintained their motivation to produce the target yields. There was a strong feeling of togetherness, a kind of spirit I’d never experienced before. Indeed these people were incredibly astute, often controlling the pepper and tomato market by carefully manipulating the release of the produce. One time, I remember spending a whole day picking tomatoes and boxing them up. They were grade 1 and there must have been two tons when the trailer was finally loaded up. “Take this up to the tip and dump it all” Dori instructed.
“What”? I replied, unable to comprehend.
He carefully explained that all the tomato farmers had decided to dump their produce that day to create a void in the market. This would drive up the price for the next batch and when they calculated the loss against the extra money they would make from the next load, it was more profitable to throw them away! Kind of destroyed my motivation to pick though.
For a while I thought this was the place I wanted to be. I have very pleasant memories of those years at Pharan. I met so many nice young travelers, as intent on exploring this planet as I, each with his or her own agenda. There were many things to do in your free time too, a tennis court, basketball / soccer pitch, even a golf driving range! Problem was there was never any real time to enjoy these facilities in the picking season. One season I worked for 119 days, 12 hours a day straight and I made quite a bit of money. They had a cooperative bank where a volunteer could open an account and save money during their stay. Indeed this was a well-known source of income for young back packers, with an average of 100 or more during the season. Having said that, I did meet a few Asians who had gone there to send money home and due to their liking of cheap alcohol, had been there for a few years without ever sending anything home. Burning your bridges I guess you call that! The second year was a very long season. My farmer, Dori, had planted tons of melons and tomatoes and we worked long and hard to pick them all. When the last melon field was cleared and ready for planting next season, then I would have my liberty. I counted the days, almost as a convict would look ahead to his release. We got down to the final four days and I was ecstatic. I had planned to spend an idyllic two weeks in Dahab, just across the Egyptian border in the Sinaii desert. The last night my farmer paid me a handsome bonus as I made my customary promise to return next season. It felt great, no more gloves and back ache and waking up before dawn. It was goodbye to all that and hello to sun and sea, snorkeling, getting stoned and gorging out on wonderful food! I celebrated in the bar with a few others and after a few bottles of local vodka, I collapsed onto my bed and fell into deep slumber.
My dream was indeed a strange one, Dori’s face was a few inches from mine and he was saying “Come on, get up. We have to pick all the pepper fields.
I smiled as I snugged up to my pillow before feeling this heavy hand shaking my shoulder. Dori had a few fields of peppers that he had covered in nets to make them ripen later in the season. He had enough labour to begin picking them about two weeks from now and he could pick every other day for one month. This was to be his big nest egg, it would pay off his housing loan. That night however, there had been a ground frost, very rare in the desert and it killed all the pepper plants. He went on to explain that we must pick like crazy for 5 days and strip all the plants. I shook my head to check this wasn’t a nightmare. It wasn’t. That was a hangover I will never forget, sweating and swaying as I picked peppers, guzzling litres of water to combat the dehydration, having to endure the silly grin of my colleague who thought it was such a hoot! For myself, it was the closest thing to hell I had ever experienced!
It wasn’t the hard work that bothered me for I was a grafter, I had psyched myself up for the coming holiday in the paradise of Dahab and now I have to work my ass off for another week. Life’s a bitch and then you marry one!
Every able person was at the helm, working tirelessly, picking, sorting, boxing and loading. We kept this up for seven days (and nights). Nights were working in the big cowshed and sorting the peppers. At the end, Dori calculated he didn’t make as much as he should have but he still did well as we saved 85% of the crop. I was given another big bonus and away I went to Dahab and total relaxation. Looking back, this was one of those times when two extremes are back to back. Extremely hard, non-stop physical labour followed by a long period of absolute rest and relaxation. A weird feeling to experience the second part, it made me appreciate it so much more.
The layout of Moshav Pharan consisted of two main areas, the living compound with roads, shops and grass lawns. The other big area was the farming land. This was divided into rectangular strips and polythene was laid under and over the crops to add humidity to the growing process. Some crops were covered with mesh netting, to slow down the ripening process and therefore fetching a higher price. It was an incredibly healthy lifestyle and I had met at least three volunteers who had decided to make it their home. I think it is the best example of working socialism I have seen to date. Any larger and greed and corruption enters the arena!
The climate was a hard thing to adapt to, searing heat from 9am to 5pm followed by a pleasant few hours until about 11pm when the freezing cold enveloped the entire area. Temperatures would be at 2 - 5 Centigrade at 4am and this was the time we would head out to work. Dressed in sweaters, big parka coats, gloves and woolen hats, we would slowly drive out to the fields. Boy was it cold!! The sand wasn’t able to retain the heat so temperatures plummeted as soon as the sun disappeared.
By 8:30 in the morning, all you wore was a pair of skimpy shorts as temperatures climbed steadily to the mid-thirties. The work was hard, the weather beautiful and the view was something else. Set in a long valley in the Negev desert, Pharan was not far from the border with Jordan, surrounded by mountains on every side, it was a place of real beauty. The last time it had rained there was ten years previous, yet there were weather conditions as I quickly found out, One day while picking melons with my boss, I stood up as one does every ten minutes to ease thee back pain, when I looked over at the mountains and they had gone. Not actually gone as in not present but a yellow fuzzy wall was blocking the view. I commented on this to Yoshi, “Oh <duck>, get the boxes” he shouted as he ran around like a headless chicken. I sauntered about like a person with all the time in the world when he chastised me for being slow. I was about to reply when the sandstorm arrived, I made it to the tractor (only just), Dori’s laughing was the only signal I had as I tried to crawl through the strong wave of flying sand. Once behind the tractor, we both squatted down and waited it out. Dori showed me how to focus on the one area we could see and watch all the different things that flew by. I was sure that I saw a few cows or other large animals and we both saw a small outhouse go by!
It lasted ten minutes and left as quickly as it came. Dori explained that the wind starts at the top of the valley and if conditions are right a strong gale gets blown down the ridge and onto the plain where it is then fuelled by another gust and it rolls right across the valley floor, picking up most things on the way past. Farmers had paid the price for failing to notice the signs and were literally blown away!
Snakes were also a menace, especially when picking tomatoes, vipers liked the warmth of the plants so they would wrap around the stem at the bottom and were often hard to see due to their colouring. Then there were scorpions, the desert might seem like a reasonably safe place but it has more than its fair share of things that can kill you. This was my first experience of desert life and it wasn’t to be my last.
I first arrived there in the early eighties and there were more than 100 volunteers already hard at work. Most of the workers were young back packers such as myself, although there were a few Thais working there all year round. It seems the Thais had a reputation as very good workers, especially for fruit or vegetable picking. They had nimble fingers and would not destroy the plants as a lot of others might do. Upon my arrival, I was introduced to Jacky, an Irish girl who I was to share a room with. She was a big girl with an equally big heart and we hit it off immediately. There was an aerial bombing range about ten kilometres down the valley and we would see the Israeli F-16’s screaming down the valley before delivering their payload to a deafening roar! This provided an opportunity to tease the new volunteers, often diving under a table when they first experienced the bombings,
“<duck>, we are under attack” one guy shouted,
“Relax, it’s only the Jordanians. They shell us every day but they are not very good at it. They got a direct hit on one of the volunteer houses a few months ago. Anyway, don’t worry because you never hear the one that gets you, they say” I replied nonchalantly. It always worked, at least for a day or so anyway.
The Tennis match
One day, after a long tomato picking shift, I noticed Jacky had a tennis racquet so I asked if I could borrow it. After an hour on the courts, I figured it wasn’t such a hard game so I started to practice regularly. Jacky watched me one day and commented on how good I was, Being a bit of a big head, I casually remarked that I’d like to play her one day. She laughed and said I ought to practice a bit more first. I looked at her, she was well overweight and I figured there was no way she could run! So we made a bet, a case of beer for the winner, a one set match. I then discover to my horror that Jacky represented Northern Ireland at international level in amateur tennis!!! Oh dear! So we played the game. I was right, Jacky couldn’t run at all but then again, she didn’t need to. It was I, who scampered from corner to corner while she nonchalantly knocked the ball from one side of my court to the other. We both enjoyed the case of beer after though!
The turkey chase
Life at Moshav Pharan was good, lots of free vegetables from our farmer, just about as much as we could eat. Meat, on the other hand, was very expensive and so we all longed for a steak, or nice chicken breast!
At this time I was sharing a room with two Thai volunteers and one of them had a brilliant idea. We would raid the turkey farm at the very back of the settlement in a night time mission. We borrowed a tractor at about 2am and we slowly headed out to the far extremes of the settlement, where the turkey pens were at. Armed with half a dozen fertilizer sacks, we slowly made our way into the huge pens. Once inside we all squatted down and waited for the initial disturbance to quieten down, lots of gaggling and shifting before silence once again descended on the hundreds of animals. These turkeys were huge! I’d imagined something akin to a large chicken however these beasts were 20 kilo plus and stood one metre off the ground. I had a gut feeling that this wasn’t going to be as easy as we first thought. Somehow we managed to get five of them into the sacks which we tied and put on the back of the tractor. After a slow and careful return journey we ended up with 5 fully grown turkeys standing in the bathroom of our small accommodation area. The Thais said they would de feather and cut them all up, if I would be the one to kill them. It was agreed so I gingerly entered the bathroom and these 5 turkeys just stood there looking at me.
I had wrung a few wood pigeon’s necks before and figured the same principle would work here. I was right. The thing that really amazed me is that turkeys just stood and watched as their buddies were eliminated one by one, until the last one stood looking at me as I prepared to hug him a bit. Looking back, I am appalled at doing that but at the time, in a farming environment, it seemed ok. My job done, the Thais set about doing the rest and by 4am we had filled up just about every available freezer with turkey cuts. I must admit it was great, at first. Turkey breast, turkey legs, turkey omelet, turkey sandwiches, turkey soup, turkey just about everything. I would have to say that this particular trip introduced me to Thai people. I found them to be very hard working, polite and helpful. Later this would play a big part in my final adventure trip to Thailand.
The dead cow
One day, my farmer asked me to connect the fork lifts to the front of the tractor and take a dead cow out to the desert. He told me to dump it about one kilometer outside the compound gates and gave me his M-16, in case of wolves. I was delighted as it made a change from the mundane jobs I’d been doing that week. Now giving me a weapon is not a wise thing to do but give me an assault rifle and things are likely to get shot at! I slowly drove the cow out to the barren desert and dropped it at the agreed place. Then I drove the tractor to a small ridge, parked up and waited, weapon poised, for a wolf. After a few minutes I decided to take a shot at the dead cow and within seconds I had unloaded the clip. I was more than surprised to see the bunch of guys racing towards me on quad motorbikes and they were more than angry when they found out what I’d been shooting at! One time, we had a new volunteer called Jeremy. Typical upper class chap from Oxford I think, out to experience the world and all that. I had met the type before, they could quote theories all day long but didn’t know how to boil water! Jeremy was very vocal and not shy in showing his disapproval of things. He compared everything to the sheltered existence he had in rural England and was really a pain in the ass.
I took it upon myself to play a few tricks on young Jeremy,
Getting him to take a cow for a walk was a funny one. This guy was so gullible, he was just asking to be played with. I took him to a big cow in the cowshed and told him to take the long rope attached to its collar and walk it around the circular road, a distance of two kilometres. I told him she was pregnant and needed the extra exercise so he duly obliged. Apparently he told several farmers he met along the way that he was taking the cow for a walk. Another occasion we were ripping up melon plants, a terrible job which needed two people. One would rip out the plants and throw them onto the trailer, while the other one picked up the bits of polythene. Usually we would switch each row to even it out but I told Jeremy about the virus found on the plastic and how it can make you sterile but I didn’t want any children so I should do it. He thanked me profusely and I spent the day strolling around picking up plastic while he struggled with the ripping out job.
The best was probably the time when I was alone with him in the fields and due to my experience, I was the boss. I gave him a piece of chalk and told him to number the tomato plants in order starting from the first one. I slowly drew 1 on a big leaf, “There, you see how easy it is” I demonstrated. So off he went into the distance, returning some 20 minutes later, “You finished”? I asked “No, the chalk ran out” he replied. I gave him a few more sticks and told him when he gets to the end he must start by writing the number 1 on the opposite side of the last plant, then work backwards. His face contorted as he tried to see the purpose of this, “Why do we do that”? He finally gave in. “Well Jeremy, it is called a cross reference point. Didn’t they teach you math at Oxford” I guffawed. “Oh of course, silly me” he replied, trotting off to continue his job.
Finally he got back to the starting point, “5,245” he proudly announced, “It that the number on the last plant”? I asked. “Yes’ came the reply. “So, we have our reference point now” I added, patting him on the shoulder. A few days later Dori came to me and asked if I had noticed anything strange about the new volunteer. I casually remarked he likes to talk to himself and Dori disclosed that he’d found some numbers written on the tomato plants and when he asked Jeremy if he knew anything about it, he replied that he himself had done it for a reference point. “Strange bloody guy” Dori shook his head. A few days later he was transferred to the turkey farm, a job that no one wanted. I never saw him again after that!
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Dec 6, 2015 20:26:50 GMT 7
Great good reads these, keep them coming. The Bedouins story .
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Dec 7, 2015 8:13:15 GMT 7
Some great reading, Thankyou!
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Alatar
Crazy Mango
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Post by Alatar on Dec 15, 2015 22:28:35 GMT 7
Great posts. Thanks
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Post by Deleted on Dec 17, 2015 12:14:36 GMT 7
More please, Geronimo
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geronimo
Crazy Mango
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Post by geronimo on Feb 18, 2016 7:37:09 GMT 7
These are all excerpts from a book I wrote about my travelling days. Now I am far more sedate in my lifestyle.
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Far Q
Crazy Mango
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Post by Far Q on Feb 18, 2016 21:04:01 GMT 7
I only read the 1st post in this sitting, had me in stitches whilst at the same time thinking oops, that could have been me.
I'll read the rest later, Cheers.
Who hasn't sat at a Thai boxing bar and thought out loud "I could do him"?
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Post by Deleted on Feb 18, 2016 21:06:23 GMT 7
I'd love the book, what great storytelling.
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Far Q
Crazy Mango
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Post by Far Q on Feb 18, 2016 21:58:28 GMT 7
double post
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