The Bionic Salesman
A Journey around Thailand
In the hierarchy of traffic accidents, a ding is smaller than a bump, and a prang is bigger than both of them. I dinged the hubcap on the hirecar. To take a break from driving, we took the boat to Phi Phi, chocolate-box island of upside-down cliffs and impossibly concave beaches.
It has been a decade since we were last in Phi Phi Town, and it is pretty much as I remembered it, which is odd, given that the town has been swept away by a tsunami and rebuilt in the interim.
It is still the same tight network of alleyways, the same mix of reggae bars, massage parlours, tattoo artists and dive shops, in searing sun, all wedged in on a flat isthmus between idyllic concave beaches.
But some things have changed. I don’t remember there being queues a decade ago to get off the boat pier and onto the island. And the town’s heart beats stronger than ever. The average age on the island is about twenty-two. Banana pancakes and tattoos are obligatory. Laid-back beach bars transform themselves into thumping night clubs after dark, complete with swooping lights and mirrorballs. It is, in short, perfect Waboba territory.
We’ve placed the balls in four outlets on the island, and in one of these, the Twin Palms Mini-Mart, right on the beach, the first three balls were sold, to three different people, in the time it took to sign the delivery contract.
