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Who are you calling Dumbo? The joys of Elephant Trekking in Koh Chang

You can't go to Koh Chang aka Elephant Island and not ride on an elephant. Likewise, you can't go to Bangkok and not 'bang' a lot of 'kok'. "James, can I keep that bit in?" "Deffo, hahaha"- we're like Beavis and Buthead. - I'll check later that he is out souvenir shopping with his mum (bless) and not in Nana validating my erroneousness.

It took a minibus, a ferry, a taxi and a golf buggy to deliver us to our Koh Chang holiday destination. The cheaper option would've been a bus but I felt shady on the other passengers for inflicting my kid's whining and my impatient shouting upon other holiday-makers. Turns out they behaved immaculately, I am 'O' of 'yee of little faith' fame. The car ferry took us across to the elephant shaped island (it's not so-called because Nelly lives there, its the shape, who'd have trunk? Sorry). On arrival Granny exclaiming "This is exciting!" as we were driven up steep winding roads, through jungle in the blazing sun, the sea shimmering below. This is going to be something else, we all thought.

The 'Spa' aspect of our 'Spa Resort' is a fallacy, it is closed for refurbishment. No massage! (I know I might sound like a tit, but that was one of the main reasons we chose it for our first holiday in Thailand). We're out of season and while this means we don't have to listen to awful jazz bands or queue next to Newton Faulkner-a-likes for a can of Singha on the beach, it means this resort is not firing on all cylinders. The second restaurant is shut, so the posters on the walls offering pizza and a beer for pennies isn't going to happen. We can cope. There is a huge cement mixer and a pneumatic drill on the bit of beach allocated to our resort. Can I cope with that? There's been building work going on next to our apartment for months and although I can in my 'Up' moments transform the noise into Bjork like music, I could do with a break from sound. They've put the G'parents on a different floor to us, not next door as we requested. There's barely space to unpack our clothes (James tells me when we get home that he found hidden drawers under the TV, Grrrr!). The kids have to share a bed, they're only small but will they just muck about at lights out? The town is too far away to walk to, you know if I have a sudden urge to buy a wind charm and a snorkel. The cable car to the beach isn't working and we're at the top of a bloody big hill (called 'Romantic Road'!) Oh shit! I'm going to have to complain.  I don't like to complain, it's awkward, especially here where the staff are so smiley. I complain over the phone, "I'm not happy?" and list my reasons. We're offered a taxi to a masseuse in town, a free trip to a nearby waterfall and a go on a kayak across to an island. None of which we take up, my inner diva seethes, my outer diva accepts. I imagine some friends will be cross at me for not complaining harder, let me be zen, ey. James says he'll write and complain, I laugh because we won't.

Our views are amazing - as in what we see, not our opinions, which are more like 'can't everybody just get along, equality, kindness, you know' - neither of us are particularly opinionated. We're here to do what we moved to Thailand to do and we're up a mountain in the jungle. Now I'm in Koh Chang, its beautiful, peaceful, a paradise, the air is clean, our lungs can fill and we can clear the Bangkok black bogies away. But hang on, we're out of season because it's...rainy season and it's lashing down. After long downpours the sun creeps out with the insects - palm-sized butterflies, hovering dragonflies, toads, newts, lizards, unidentifiable bitey things, mozzies. For a week I swipe the air in front of me, hop from side to side, slap my thigh and brush my ankles - I resemble a country line-dancer strayed from my line and consider "yee-haa'ing" intermittently, support the theory of any quizzical onlookers. However, the other holiday makers seem to have lost their smiles, even at our kids! What the blazes? I suggest to James there was on offer at this spa for the recently bereaved and he supports this theory.

A cleaning lady brings me a leaf insect on her palm. They're referred to as "walking leaves", Phylliidae, or wood-mason's leaf. It is the best camouflage I've ever seen, it's a leaf with a bright green body, brown around the edges, leafy veins, dew drops and he's missing a leg (I later read they can regenerate a new leg,  phew). He has a mate, who walks off towards a banana plant, it looks like he's being blown by the breeze, but its all part of his leaf-like act. I want Abe to be as in awe as I am, like the Gerald Durrell kid in "My Family and Other Animals"  but he complains he can't see it (told you it was good camo) and wants to go down the slide in the pool. I feel like my folks must've felt when they'd take us to castles around the British Isles and the only bit I liked was the joy of a new rubber from the shop, or the sniff of a tassled leather bookmark.

To escape the rain we plan a day out, we'll go on an elephant trek. "James are you sure it's ok? It's not tight on the elephants, our fat arses to carry? I mean, should we be riding on them, this isn't The Raj". James has checked Tripadvisor so our minds are at ease. We plant the seeds with the kids so they're prepared and don't refuse the jungle adventure and a ute of sorts takes us to Ban Kwan Chang, - like a retirement village for heffalumps. A few elephants are mooching about in the rain, like stray pensioners cockling beside the seaside. When we pull up the rain turns to monsoon - I'm not fully behind this venture. 

James takes Abe and they happily plod off. A larger elephant is called in for for the Grandfolks and as the fat arse of it sways off in the distance I see the seat is tilted towards Grandad and decide to 'think myself feather-light' and sit centrally. When Patti and I climb on Nelly moves, she's gently reprimanded and I'm disconcerted. I see a hook on a stick dangling over her big flapping ear, but never see it used and hope it's to do with chaining them or something painless and necessary. It's an odd sensation my bare feet on her cold wrinkled, coarse-haired back. I try and be lighter like I did when James carried me/dragged me across the threshold when we got home from our wedding. When I look back on that moment I conjure images of the Roly Polys and Les Dawson. I try and tred gently and respectfully.

Then I'm handed a weighty golf umbrella, which I hold in my weaker left hand, it wobbles from side to side, drips water on our driver and a wet patch forms on his sweatshirt, please don't hate me and drive with abandon! I clutch Patti to my right, but already I'm welded to her by the plastic of our 7/11, 35Baht waterproofs. I ask if she's ok, but she can't answer, she's busy breathing in her plastic hood at every intake of breath. It sticks to her face and as I gasp and move it for her to breathe, I hear the Scottish tones of presenter Lynn Faulds Wood echo through the forest, "that's a potential death trap". I remove the hood, Patti replaces it, she's enjoying asphyxiation and she's too young to be warned about the INXS frontman. There's only a rusty pole stopping us falling off our seat but we could both slide under it. Why is everyone else smiling? This is fucking awful. 

It's jerky when we set off and we both slide about "Jesus! It always happens to the ones at the back, how come we're at the back?" What were dry sandy paths are now muddy puddles, "Peppa pig would like it here Patti". "And Geoge" she adds, then sings me the theme song while I hope elephants can't sense fear. To calm myself I turn my attention to snakes. Would an elephant freak out at the sight of a snake? Or would it sit down and we'd fly off the front? Can they handle mudslides? The path is fast becoming a river. I realise I know nothing about these awesome creatures.

"Dumbo" is my only elephant knowledge and because a boy at school once called me "Dumbo" on account of my ears protruding through my hair, I've never been a lover of the film. Yes, I was pre-op 'bat winged'', that's what they call it before corrective surgery when you're 11. It all helps with the self-esteem. Its alright, I showed them bullies with my painful ear operation, 6 weeks off school and being put in the second to bottom sets for everything on my return <vows to kill and kill again> ...Oh, I tell a lie, I have seen elephants at Chester Zoo, I passed focussing only on the stench and the length of an elephant willy while he chanced his arm - not with me, with a female elephant. My ears weren't THAT bad.

Oh I wished Attenborough was here, a calming nature guru. I'm more likely to have to tolerate James's derogatory impersonations of Bill Oddie. Some of the elephants are scoffing the vegitation, they're not really in a line but they're following the same orangey river of a path. They all seem happy, a bit stoned- truth be told. The umbrella is a hindrance so I put it down and use it as a stick to bash the branches out of our faces. I have a mantra in my head about us being ok and Patti not falling off. It happened to my friend Caz in Koh Chang! She What's app'd me about it, she slid under the bar - "seriously man, I nearly got trampled on by that fucker"...(she's teaching your kids people, just saying)... I can't stop thinking about it. "I hope you're praying" I shout to Granny who smiles in amusement at the fear on my face, perhaps she is resigned to her fate. Abe's loving it, he turns, smiles and waves on cue.

Do you need a licence to drive an elephant? Our boy steers this beast with his foot on the mammal's ear. He turns and gives me a laminated card, he's selling souvenirs made from dead elephants and not harming live elephants, but luckily James has the cash so I'm saved from that particular dilemma. (He puts his hacksaw back in his pocket) and we continue down the hill, one eye closed, telling Patti "that was fun, what an adventure, ey". She's loved every second. We clamber back onto the wooden platform, where if it wasn't for fear of disease I'd papally kiss the ground.

We're given pineapple and water while we sit in a wooden shelter and talk about the trek. I have the thousand yard stare and can't really join in. The ute takes us back to our resort where it continues to rain. We're enjoying our holiday despite the elements. I've had a lifetime of training for rainy season by living in the North-West of England, like Inuits with snow there are many terms I like - lashing, pissing, teaming, pouring, and now I have monsooning. It doesn't stop the kids who love wellies and puddles. I think after the trek has sunk in a bit more I'll reflect on it and be appreciative, I'm just glad it's over for now. To help inspire me I ask Abe.

Me: "Abe, did you enjoy that?"

Abe: "Yep"

Me: "What was your favourite part of the elephant ride?"

Abe: "When Granny and Grandad's did a poo".

Are you ever too old for the Khao San Road?

I met James outside work, he was late so I sat on the wall reading My Booky Wook 2, which makes me feel very far removed from Russell Brand's world of sex, Hollywood and more sex. (I have eclectic taste in literature and Russell makes me laugh - fact).  I watched the kids in their school uniforms pile into tuk tuks giggling together, white blouses tucked into A-line navy skirts and gloriously white plimsoles, then a heavy built boy in a beige Boy Scout school uniform jumped off  the wall and landed in front of me with a thud, and I swore to God it must be kicking out time at Wes Anderson's school of style.

I've never been to the Khao San Road. I'd seen it on YouTube before we moved here, in the name of research, and I'd seen it in that scene off the film 'The Beach' where Leonardo DiCaprio arrives and its all a bit fast and furious on the streets of Bangkok before he goes mental with a bunch of hippies on an Island. It didn't look like anywhere I'd want to go, but when in Rome.... I imagine this is the street people pictured when we told them we were moving to Bangkok, which explains the smiles on their faces and the contradictory/puzzled shaking of their heads.

Its a short street, the Khao San Road, lined with stalls to buy allsorts of shit from what I'd describe as  'ethnic pantaloon' to flip flops, bangles, and henna tattoos. Nothing I'm really interested in buying just now. We walked the length of the street in 10 minutes, declining offers to have suits made or buy what looked more like Peruvian hats than anything Thai I've seen so far. For some reason the Peruvian/traditional Thai(?) ladies want us to buy wooden frogs with sticks, so that when we're back in Levenshulme we can turn the heating on and switch the lights off and pretend we're back in the tropics surrounded by toads.

We decided the best thing to do would be sit down and watch the world go by - i.e. stare at people who are different from us and comment about it behind our beers. So we did just that, like the 'diet starting tomorrow', so too is our Buddhism. I'm more observant than James when it comes to people watching, I hear snippets of conversations and peice puzzles together, I have a scooby sense when things are about to kick off, or when couples are about to fall in love. James can spot a good light for a photo so he takes pictures while I observe and I like to think the two narratives work well together. We point things out to one another - mostly the absurd.

The bar we chose to gawp at the world was a perfect spot, there was almost too much to see. It was people watching porn. Opposite me a tattoo'd man in his early 20's sat alone, scoffing chips and a floppy toasty, he startled me when he spotted his friend and shouted his name. A tall, tanned, daft looking kid approached and squealed with delight upon seeing his friend. They hugged and slapped each other, seemed delighted at their reunion, I told James it made me want to weep. The daft kid sat and instantly tucked into the other's chips and I thought, 'gosh, he hasn't eaten for a while'. They talked in a language unfamiliar to me, maybe Dutch? I was intrigued by them, had they back-packed together? Were they lovers? Were they drug buddies? Its none of my friggin' business, but that's the beauty of people-watching - it's whatever you want it to be.

It was getting dark, the activity was warming up, lines of back-packers were being taken round the corner of our bar. I like to think to a top-notch hostel as none of them seemed to come back, and James said the kitchens for where we were seated was round the back. Gulp! I watched a tall European man being arrested and escorted down the road by a policeman, he stood tall, but his eyes gave him away. Christ, the thought of being arrested over here. Instantly james and I decide it must be drug related and pitied the fool now on his way to his life (meaning life) sentence. Perhaps I'll pursue the idea of visiting Brits banged up, take in some cigs and a magazine. I imagined that was where Bangkok life would bring me at some point, Bangkok Hilton.

A pair of Japanese ladies pass by, they are the first people I've seen to make Elephant-print baggy pants look cool, and they're the only dudes not to be carrying rucksacks in favour of suitcases on wheels. I tell James I doubt I'll carry a ruck-sack again and then we discuss why we never ever back-packed in our youth. The truth is it didn't ever seem to be an option. When we were 18 we don't remember anyone saying - 'hey, instead of going to Uni/straight into a job, why don't you take a fucking gap year and see the world?' It wasn't happening in the Wirral, not in my peer group, and it wasn't an option 4 years earlier in James's post A-Level peer group. Plus we were always skint and holidays for me in my university days meant going to Glastonbury. For James, the thought of getting a job to pay for it was the deterrent. The kids I met at university who'd travelled were all posh, or you know, spoke like the royals and had a bit of cash. 

A squat Peter Andre chap on the plastic table next to us asks his Thai accompaniment whether she thinks he should get a tattoo. I can't hear her answer through the cloud of sincerity he's creating, they've clearly known each other 5 minutes. I hope she suggests having her face tattoo'd on him, I love a shit portrait tattoo.

A Thai kid in the street wearing an Argentinian footy shirt, about 6 years old, looks like he knows a trick or two. I wonder what Abe would be like if this was his norm, working on this street with his family, and I decide we'll return with the kids. I might have to put them on leads, I think 'reigns' is the correct term.

A woman with a blue tray full of scewered shiny black scorpions gestures for us to indulge and we "my ka/my krap" the same way we do when the dude encourages us to buy one of his giant dictionary sized zippo lighters. Surely they're for those people who juggle fire on the beach to a bunch of gurning on-lookers, who claim "this is awesome". I only feel offended by the woman who thinks I'd want to buy a friendship band with 'Wolf Pack' written on, and forget my manners and say "no thanks" instead of "my ka, korp kun ka". 'Wolf Pack' FFS!

I wasn't that impressed by the Khao San Road at first, it was way smaller and less edgy than I'd imagined. But then the sun went down and the streets darkened and the street became alive. A grown man stood lobbing a neon glow-in-the-dark-insect-thing high up in the air - similar to the men who stand on Market Street in Manchester flogging things that whistle shit bird-like sounds. James and I talk over the revs of the 3-wheeler motorbike - ice - delivery guy, he's pimped his ride. I don't know what this vehicle is but it drips water onto the dry road wherever it stops, at least we hope its water, if its petrol with these giant zippos everywhere, this may be our last moment together.

A young lad turns up to practice his 'keepy-uppy' skills outside the bar opposite. James points him out to me. I ask him if he wants to get a photo, he's messing about with my new snidey Ray Bans 'cause they're a "good filter, these" for photos. I ask James - "do you want to take a photo of the kid with the tricks?" Its a negative, apparently the number one in the world keepy-uppy trickster is a regular at Huddersfield Town games and James is far from impressed. 

The reunited friends depart - one lad sets off, leaving his Leonardo DiCaprio tanned, vested friend behind. I think he's off his mash, the Leo one. He starts singing along with the bar music - Jack Johnson type vagueness, he downs a bottle of Chang, lights a cig before pursuing the man who left him. For a second I wish I was off my mash on the Khao San Road, about to embark on an adventure, but I am mid-adventure and a bit boozy, and my adventuring is a bit more 'reponsible?' You can tell there are opportunities to find chemical enhancers here though James and I aren't offered any such thing. James is in his office attire, cool and Kerouak-like, I'm dressed a bit too Roman Holiday to get away with being a backpacker/party animal, plus I look like a geek writing in my notepad. "You two are different" one man observes. 'Thanks' I think, then he tries to flog us a suit. We're not different, we're just the same, but a bit older.

There's a touch of the Morvern Callar of a girl who's wandered past us twice now. She's layered herself in ethnic print. I'm not sure she's comfortable in this heat. She wanders passed twice with the same concerned facial expression, but second time she's changed her hair. Because she looks naiive and alone I picture her as having rare Kung Fu/Ninja skills, else, I'd probably bring her home and make her eat stew. I feel the same way about the young men who pass me wearing what looks to be their pyjama bottoms - its a bit Peter Pan.

I'm drawn to the Germaine Greer-alike who makes eye contact with me as she passes, eating her Cornetto. We give each other a smile, its like the 'celebrity nod' when Noel Gallagher sees one of The Proclaimers in the pub (I'm sure its happened). It says, we own this moment, we're passing through and we probably don't belong here. I suspect everyone is passing through, the trustafarian in bare feet and a blanket, the tanned face with gleeming white teeth, the girls in teeny hotpants on bums big and small.

"James, are we too old to go back-packing", James picks up a French Fry, "Yeah". I don't  know that we are, but right now, we are living where people tend to  pass through, and its fine. "You know what I don't like?" He says, I wait for his answer - "those socks that make you look like you haven't got any socks on". Bewildered by his randomness I look up at the smiling face in front of me. "No thanks, I still don't fancy a scorpion".