Often times I wonder: Is my guidebook being ironic, euphamistic, having a little fun with me perhaps? Or maybe there’s an issue with perspective. Take this as an example: would you rather have someone describe you as stunning, just absolutely fantastic, simply amazing and leave those you’ve met a bit disappointed or would you rather be described in plain terms and leave the chance for a pleasant surprise. (If you’re a boring, depressing stink bomb this perspective argument may not help you.) Anyway, if Georgetown prefers the later my guidebook has done it a disservice. You see what I’m getting at here.

Georgetown was a hot sticky smelly dirty place. Kinda the way I imagine 1970’s New York in a heat wave. People hanging on fire escapes to catch a breeze, wiping sweat from their brow with an old newspaper, holding cool beers to their foreheads.

The city did hold some interesting sights. For example, I did see a pony trapped up on a brick fence (don’t worry he was rescued). In the harbor, men in turbans were diving for crabs or prawns. I imagine it’s a challenge to keep a turban well coiled while grazing the sea floor.

Our dilapidated, cardboard-roofed hostel did feature a decent Mexican restaurant but unfortunately it also hired a terrible live band to wail on until the wee hours of a long hot sticky night. If I have to spend one more night staring at a barely functioning, wobbling-as-if-possessed-by-the-devil ceiling fan, just waiting for it to wrench itself from the wire it is hanging by and impale me… Well, with conditions like that it’s hard to get a good nights sleep.

When things get bad you simply have to change locations. So we thought a change of countries would do the trick. We boarded a train for Thailand and once the air conditioning touched our skin we felt refreshed. Free from that hot stagnation and back on the road! The only thing that can ruin this train ride is an aging know-it-all hippie who’s been everywhere but home.

Fortunately, he didn’t last long at our pace (we were a bit too slow as aging hippies are on a tight schedule) and soon we were in Hat Yai, Thailand, happily seated in a large Chinese restaurant with a nifty spinning tabletop and feeling fantastic again.