Ferry Tickets and Cheap Thrills

 

My jobs in Penang are done. I’ve had my fill of curries and Guinness and, thanks to one of the book shops on Chulia street, Penang’s tourist epicentre, I have a new Thai visa in my passport. This visa gives me another 2 months in Thailand with the option of extending for a third month from within the country. In theory, I can now go back to Thailand and avoid the wrath of immigration for another 3 months.

The process couldn’t be easier. Hand over your passport, a couple of photos (also done on Chulia street), and 120 Ringgit – that’s about 30 US Dollars – and go back 2 working days later to pick it up.

So here I am, passport in pocket and all set to head back to Ko Phi Phi. I can make it back in two days if I get the bus up to Had Yai, the main provincial town in Southern Thailand, and then onto Krabi to catch the ferry back to the island – but since I’m in no rush I’m going to take a detour. I’m going to head back via Pulau Langkawi, or at least try to anyway.

Pulau Langkawi, the next island north of here, doesn’t look very far away according to the map pinned on the Stardust Guesthouse wall. The map also shows a gently curving dotted line running from the north coast of Pulau Penang to Langkawi’s south east corner. Also on the dotted line, there is a little picture of a boat. I’m guessing I can take a ferry to Langkawi.

I ask the lady in the Guesthouse if the ferries are running this time of year. This is her cue to sell me a ticket to Langkawi. But before giving me either a yes or a no, she calls over to the young Malay guy at reception. Counter guy immediately picks up 2 crash helmets and strides confidently toward me. Holding out one of battered lids, he says ‘We get ticket now?’ Taking that as a yes for the ferry question, I say ‘sure, why not?’

Gone are the days of asking the price before I buy something in Malaysia. Malaysians are among some of the most honest people I’ve met in Southeast Asia. Of course, taxi drivers and market vendors are a little different, but where in the world isn’t that so?

His bike is sitting outside the cafe. I hop on the back and even before I have time to work out how to fasten the helmet strap we’re wending our way through the streets toward the ferry terminal. 5 minutes into the ride I give up on the helmet’s chin strap as a bad job. Instead, my efforts focus more on keeping my kneecaps in their current locations and not leaving bits of them on a variety of parked cars that we hurtle past at warp factor 5. I clamp my gangly limbs tightly to Barry Sheen’s torso while he repeatedly demonstrates his mastery of the racing line. The back of Barry’s head and neck start to go a shade of purply-blue, and the laboured wheeze is becoming more pronounced with each car narrowly missed. Nevertheless, the torso death clamp continues with gusto. In the battle for limb retention, I will not be defeated.

We reach the ferry port and pull up outside one of the ticket shops that line the entrance. I remove my knees from deep within Barry’s ribcage and he breathes easily once again, he seems almost as happy to be off the moped as I am. Removing my still unfastened crash helmet, I glance downward to the previously unclipable clip. It now seems oh so straightforward. I make a mental note of what locates in where for the ride back and wonder whether I should ask to borrow an extra 2 crash helmets, the original one for my head and the other 2 for my still miraculously intact kneecaps. At least that way, with this extra protection, my only concern for the return journey would be getting a Tom and Jerry-esque clotheslining from a bus wing mirror. As we approach the ticket shop, I picture a road sprinkled with shards of glass and, dangling limply from the side of a bus, a buckled plastic wing mirror housing with a deep set of teeth marks in it. I also wonder how long it would take me to walk back from here to Chulia Street.

Getting the ferry ticket proved painless enough. We stand at the counter, Barry talks, I hand over some money get given a slip of paper and we walk back out into the sunshine. If only everything in life could be this easy. We climb back onto the bike, I tuck my knees back into the indentations I made earlier, and without further ado we’re away from the starting line and ripping up the asphalt, our chinstraps gaily flapping in the breeze. We swing onto the main road – to me, a wing mirror rich environment – and instinctively I clench my teeth and start to bop and weave like Muhammed Ali.

Also, I’m working pretty damn hard not to poop my pants.