It's Neil again ....

An article from the Today newspaper:

Sun, sea and snakes
Phuket's great, but you'll need more than insect repellent

THERE is one major advantage to being a vegetarian: You usually get your in-flight meals first.

The disadvantage is the person next to you often reacts as if you're a purple, flaky-skinned alien from Uranus who's landed in the seat beside him.

Although, it's true, I often don't look my best after a long-haul flight.

But last week, we took a short trip to Phuket, so I knew that the horrified reaction from our fellow traveller was a result of the food, rather than our appearance.

As we unwrapped our meals, the chap looked down at the trays as if they were two plates of vomit.

The middle-aged Australian said to my wife: "You're a vegetarian then?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"Ah … well, that doesn't matter. That's okay."

He nodded sympathetically, like you do when someone says they've been diagnosed with an incurable disease. It was reminiscent of a scene from a Hallmark family drama.

"Tell me straight, doctor. What's Neil's condition?"

"Well, I can't lie. We've had our worst fears confirmed … It's vegetarianism."

"Ah … well, that doesn't matter. That's okay … What're his chances?"

"Not good. He must take tofu, vegetables and loads of mocking for the rest of his life."

Kind-hearted souls, like the Australian, often try to reassure you with heroic tales of other sufferers.

Leaning over to my wife, he said: "You're not alone, you know. My wife's an evangelist and she eats all that funny food, too."

Funny food? It's never made me laugh.

But it is true that if I eat too much broccoli, I do end up emitting some funny noises.

Nevertheless, when we saw our hotel chef in action three hours later, we were happy to stick with the "funny food".

Staying near Phuket's Patong Beach, our lodge backed onto the forest, which was a little closer to nature. Too close.

Ten minutes after checking in, we heard a loud scream. Ambling outside, we saw a dozen hotel cleaners and maids standing beside the garden next to our room.

"What is it?" I asked the nearest maid.

"It is a ssssh." I thought she had a speech impediment.

"Are you feeling all right?"

"No, it is a ssssh. A snake. So we look, we find, we kill."

Now she sounded like an American marine.

"Like a cute cuddly grass snake?"

"No. This one sit up. Like cobra."

Now, that's a vacation. Forget your city tours, let's have a wild cobra hunt three metres from my bedroom.

I expected an old Thai forester to be called in. He'd sniff the air, locate the snake, coax it into a basket and disappear into the wilderness.

Instead, a hotel bellboy arrived and whacked the undergrowth with a stick.

Fearing for their reputation, most hotels would hush up the fact that a cobra was slithering outside their rooms.

Not in Phuket. Every staff member stopped working to watch the snake show.

"If we catch, you want to take picture to show friends," asked the giggling hotel manager.

"Er … it's a cobra."

"It's okay. We kill it first. If we don't kill cobra, cobra might kill you! Ha ha!"

Oh, how his staff laughed at the prospect of a cobra poisoning one of their guests.

Perhaps their room rates come with a disclaimer: "500 baht per night, unless you're murdered halfway through by a reptile. Then it's only 250 baht."

After several minutes, the whacking-the-bushes-with-a-stick strategy clearly wasn't working.

The hotel manager demanded a more scientific approach.

"Go and get the chef!" He cried.

"The chef!" I replied. "Are we going to kill it or cook it?"

"Kill it. The chef works in the kitchen. He got a better aim."

Sure enough, the chef appeared in his resplendent white jacket, wielding a lengthy bamboo pole. Within seconds, he'd found the 2m-long cobra.

I'll spare you the gory details. Suffice it to say that by the time the chef had finished with his bamboo pole, the snake's head resembled a purple, flaky-skinned alien from Uranus.

Applause, laughter and lots of photographs followed as the chef hammed it up for his adoring public.

It was a surreal episode, but one that epitomised the Thais. They don't take themselves too seriously and they never stop smiling.

They've survived the tsunami, rebuilt many of their restaurants and bars and are waiting for your custom. They don't want your pity or your charity. They just want your tourism dollars.

So go to Phuket.

I certainly intend to return as soon as possible.

But if I hear a funny hiss in the bedroom, I won't put it down to the broccoli.