Travels With A Trilby: Special Blog

So, March 20^th I did my first bungee jump. I chose X-Centre, even though they persistently spelt it Bungy jump. The jump was 50m, and suspended above a lake. I was picked up from my guesthouse at 9:30am, I wanted to get it out of the way quickly. It was here I met with Margo, Stephanie and Heather, three American girls holidaying in Thailand. Margo was a veteran of a few jumps, and seemed to be the leader. I later learned that Margo had organised the trip and entertainments. The final one picked up was Sam, a French-Canadian from Quebec. All of us were doing the bungee jump and chatted amiably for most of the journey.

As we arrived, Margo shocked me by speaking almost perfect Thai. It put my basic mangling of the language to shame. We had a while to look around, see the facilities and read the testimonies on the wall. Including this picture of an XKCD comic:

After a while we were called up. It was just us there, it was early and low season. The American girls went first, in an effort to put us to shame. Both jumped pretty much straight away, which set the bar high. Eventually I deigned to be the first lad to try. I got weighed (81kg) and had my feet tied in the cushiony supports.

They were then roped together and I hopped my way to the car. As I was slowly winched up the 50m, I talked to the photographer, a guy by the name of Big. I received some pretty vague instructions, don’t look down, keep arms out e.t.c.

Nothing useful like safety advice, like what happens if the rope snaps or a zombie apocalypse breaks out half way through. I need to know these things.

So, I reached the top.

I posed for some photos, looking like I had a bad smell in my nose.

I got ready, raised my arms.

Repeated the Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer.

Enjoyed the view one last time.

And jumped.

Great jump, great form, great arse.

"Peter I Can Fly!"

"Oh wait, my mistake"

After a brief second of “what the fuck am I doing?” followed by “you complete and utter fucking moron” I opened my eyes to see the water rushing up to meet me all too fast, reminiscent of when you jumped off a building in Mirror’s Edge, and then the bungee cord snapped taut, dunking my torso in the water.

As I sprung back, I began to enjoy it. The scariest part is the freefall, for all you know the chord has snapped, wasn’t tied properly, fell off your legs or severed by well trained Ninjas.

Fucking Ninjas

Once you feel the cord around you ankles tighten, you can just enjoy the bouncing. After a while of springing up and down like a puppy when shown a bacon strip, I was reeled in to be released.

Boing

As I leapt up the steps like a recently intoxicated lamb (I’m enjoying my analogies) I received my certificate of courage, which I plan to hang on my office wall one day alongside my degrees.

Equivalent to an A-Level

After Sam performed his dive, in complete silence, we returned to our hotels. Though, I planned to meet up with Margo and co. later, in visiting various tourist spots around town.

The day later, I met up with them. We first visited the silk factory, where we learned about the industrial murder of thousands of silk worms that goes on, and the truly staggering task of weaving it.

The cocoons are boiled and spun

One worker makes four metres of silk a day.

Super speed

Each strip of colour must be counted, otherwise they have to unpick the offending strand by hand.

Oh, and each strip will have a few hundred “over-unders” to be unpicked. Though, the effort is truly worth it. The silk clothes were staggeringly beautiful.

Pictured - a fuckload of dead worms

They ranged from shirts, scarves, ties, dressing gowns – pretty much everything from an M&S store in silk form.

Many had an iridescent sheen to them, I want to come back rich one day, I have my eye on the silk duvet cover and bedspreads, easily £400. The cheapest shirts were roughly £30, though you could get full length dresses for eye-wateringly expensive amounts

. I felt like I didn’t belong, my clothes looked like dishcloths next to these perfectly tailored exemplars.

We next moved onto the biggest jewellery shop in the world. No joke. As we walked up the marble steps, and six Thai girls dressed in perfect Thai silk skirts and shirts performed a simultaneous ‘Wai’ I knew I was somewhere special. Were saw a brief tour of jewellery making, people grinding, polishing and cleaning stones as well as setting metal and carving rings. The highlight was the man using a blow torch to melt gold – 1300^oC – whilst holding the cup in his bare palm. Do. Not. Sneeze.

We walked into the main building, a truly staggering creation of black stone in a cavernous room, sort of like what would happen if you gave me unlimited amount of obsidian, strong dentistry drugs and a free afternoon on Minecraft. It was the size of the entrance lobby to Cineworld, but decked in black and every free surface caked with glass encased jewellery. Rings, necklaces, bracelets, brooches, nipple clamps, earrings and hair grips – you name it, the encrust it. The most impressive was the $35,000 brooch, containing a sapphire the size of my fist ringed by gold and rubies. If I saw it anywhere but here I would have dismissed it as fake in a second. I was shocked by the lack of security, I was expecting SAS types in full Kevlar wielding assault rifles on every corner, but the attendants looked like they would break in a strong breeze. Though, I guessed there were hidden cameras tracked my every movement and marksmen squeezing the trigger if you so much as tested the locks or sneaked a picture. My inner magpie was transfixed, and I was overwhelmed by the need to take everything and make a nest. We left that glittering masterpiece of hedonism behind, as I considered becoming a master criminal as a career path.

Finally we arrived at the umbrella factory. For those that don’t know, Chaing Mai is famous for wood-pulp umbrellas, Google it.

Using the mulberry tree bark, they pulp and stretch it, using a bamboo frame to support it as it’s painted and lacquered. It’s a thing you don’t get it Western culture.

Seen here cutting bamboo into perfect strips

The staff here have done the same thing and mastered their craft, you could see in their practised movements and perfect results.

The sort of discipline you need to dedicate to your art is something rarely found in the West. We just hire these guys. The main attraction was the painters, just hand them an item and give them a design, and they paint it.