Trans-Temporter by Christopher M Robinson - HTML preview

Chapter 11

Going further

To celebrate the opening of the Singapore to Bangkok pipeway, SSS had been sent some complementary passes. (Usually all pipeways carry tolls which are automatically debited in Pangeal credits that are replacing the US dollar as a global currency standard.) Valu rushed up to me excitedly,

“You still have a couple of weeks before you start teaching,” she said. “Why don’t we give it a try?”

A few days later we were on a plane to Singapore. It was one of those new double fuselage hybrids using hydrogen and solar power, taking off almost vertically and rapidly gaining Mach 2. Unfortunately, temporters have never been allowed in aeroplanes. It’s something to do with how they’re powered I believe, but it gave us the chance to enjoy the journey rather than just appearing at the destination. Who would want to be trapped in stasis when you can look at the clouds or, via the infra-red telescope, the view of the ground and countries you’re flying over with enhanced descriptor mode. During our seven and a half hour flight, we were able to explore old medieval towns in Germany and Poland, Byzantine and Slavic architecture in Russia and Ukraine, and mosques in Turkmenistan with a considerable difference in religious architecture noted with the Hindu and Buddhist temples we saw crossing Nepal and India.

Then there were the vast changes in terrain from the flat low lands of Europe to the peaks of the Himalayas. From above, we weren’t too sure which one was Mount Everest which was actually about a hundred kilometres from our flightpath though the AI enhanced ground view permitted us to view it and gather some fascinating facts.

Although it can be claimed to be the highest at 8,849 metres above sea level, other mountains claim to be the biggest, such as Mauna Kea in Hawaii reaching 10,203 metres from the seabed of the Pacific Ocean, though it’s actually an extinct volcano.

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Flying over India, the change in climate was apparent as we left the snow-capped foothills of the Himalayas and crossed the coast of the Indian Ocean at Brahmapur and thence onwards to the Malaysian peninsular.

“Singapore is the home of the WTO,” I read from facts about Singapore I’d selected from the view screen. “Not the World Trade Organisation,” I hastened, “but the World Toilet Organisation.”

“Do toilets need a world organisation?”

“An average person spends 813 days in the bathroom throughout their life — that’s over 2 years of your life. Your toilet is more important than you think.” I read.

Singapore looked an interesting place we would have loved to explore but our schedule was too tight. Promising ourselves we’d revisit another time, I suddenly realised we’d both started using “we.”

…

Two trans-temporter pods awaited us but Val and I decided to squeeze into one together and put both of our luggage in the other. We squashed into the pod and immediately stepped out of it again in Bangkok railway station.

“Sawasdee Ka,” welcomed the Thai representative of Malaysian Pipeways putting her hands together in the wai gesture. I knew sufficient to reply “Sawasdee Khrab” and tell Val if she wanted to use the greeting, she’d need to say “Sawasdee Ka.”

“Because I’m a woman and it’s the feminine form. I do know the etiquette,” she chided. I’d forgotten how much travelling she’d done.

The rep introduced herself as Siri. “Like the assistant on Apple AI,” she said and went on to apologise for the delays and diverted luggage. We didn’t understand what she was talking about so she elucidated. Apparently at the moment our pod was despatched there had been an almighty earthquake, “Nearly as big as the tsunami seventy years ago but this time we were ready.”

The Indian Ocean Tsunami had occurred on Boxing Day 2004. It had started with an earthquake in the Andaman Sea which had caused waves thirty metres high that travelled across the Indian Ocean at 800 km/h. It

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had resulted in the deaths of a quarter of a million people. I remembered my Uncle Mike telling he had experienced it as a seven year old on holiday with his parents and he had shown me the photos his father had taken. He remembered seeing the wave taller than the palm trees crashing down as it reached the holiday chalet they had rented on Phuket and how lucky they were as they were late that morning, having watched the Christmas Day fireworks the night before. They had rushed up to a balcony along with about a dozen others staying at the resort and rescued a woman who’d been swept up in the wave which washed the vehicles around the car park as if they were rubber ducks. One photo I remembered particularly had been a shop front with its windows washed out but the glass door still standing. Apparently it had been a meeting point for divers expecting to go out on a dive that morning. When they saw the wave, considerably reduced in size by then, rushing up the road, the burly divers had closed the door and pressed against it to hold the water back but it had just taken out the windows instead.

Although this earthquake was nearly as big as that one, the tsunami wave wasn’t as big and no-one was harmed by it as the warning sirens and well practised escape plans had worked.

The pipeway had proved itself to be able to withstand those forces but as far as our journey had been concerned, our pods had been immediately switched to a parking bay, and our temporter settings had been automatically readjusted accordingly, so that the pipeway was clear for emergency equipment and evacuation if required. When our pods had been released back into the main pipe, they had become separated. The pod containing Val and me had been inserted into a long queue of delayed pods whilst our luggage pod had been delayed further as it wasn’t given the same priority. However, as we were talking, there was an “incoming” warning tone and our luggage pod arrived intact. We had been quite oblivious to the fact that we had been delayed by two days which, of course, meant we really would need to rush home if I was going to be ready to start teaching on Monday.

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We were, met at the pipeway terminal by a tuk-tuk, though now they’re all electric, they need a new, preferably onomatopoeic, name but whispering ‘whirr’ doesn’t really work; however they still have drivers, rather than being robotic, who love sounding their horns, so perhaps they could be called ‘toot-toots’?

The tuk-tuk took us to our hotel which was just a couple of miles up the Chao Phraya River where we could now only stay for two nights. It was a pleasant enough hotel with a terrace restaurant beside the river and a songstress serenading the diners. We wanted to make the most of our short stay to see the tourist spots and savour the local way of life if possible.

Although the hotel ran their own river taxi, we decided to take the frequent high speed river bus from the public jetty at the end of the road beside the hotel. We only had a couple of minutes to wait and the ferry came alongside. It didn’t moor up, but held position with its engine just long enough for passengers to step between the jetty and the deck of the boat, and we were off. The river was very busy with large barges carrying goods and some that looked like floating houses, but principally with high speed longboats flying about everywhere.

It didn’t take us long to reach the Ta Chang pier. Getting through the crowds of street vendors took time but within a few minutes we were at the Grand Palace. We spent a couple of hours here and Wat Pho looking at the temples and Buddhas including the very large reclining Buddha. We even managed to have a proper Thai massage at their training school, where my masseuse actually stood on my back and wrenched my arms back.

Another tuk-tuk took us to the Chinese market which was particularly crowded with stalls selling absolutely anything. We did stop for a light lunch which I think was probably crickets but crunchy and spicy.

We followed this with a longtail speedboat tour of the khlongs seeing how the locals lived in stilted houses along the banks with young children jumping into the water and having fun in the sun and the wash from our boat. I was pleased to see Val obviously shared my love of children. Perhaps we’d have some of our own one day? What was I thinking? We’re like brother and sister aren’t we?

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That evening, instead of eating again at the hotel, we walked a few minutes down the road away from the river, to what the large advertising hoarding called a BBQ. Obviously they had borrowed the term from the shortcut many use for barbecues. It seemed an interesting place to explore appearing to be mainly locals rather than tourists and appearing to be a space usually used as a carpark during the day. A young Thai woman greeted us, “Sawasdee Ka,” and showed us what to do. A brazier was placed in the middle of the crude wooden bench that was to be our table, with an interesting dome shaped vessel placed over it made of perforated metal and with a rim a bit like a bowler hat or an upturned colander. From long tables, we selected pieces of meat, poultry and fish and lots of green vegetables to take back with us along with chopsticks and spoons. We placed the strips of meat, including pork fat, and vegetables on the domed cooker to braise transferring it to our plates then spooning the juices that had run down into the cooker’s rim into small soup bowls. It was delicious.

It was a miracle how much we had fitted into short a short stay but we had taken lots of photos to remind ourselves of what we’d seen and had maps and guidebooks for what we’d like to see next time we visited. However, the next day we had to head to the airport and home. We’d only just touched on Bangkok let alone any of the rest of the country, I’d hoped to see Chiang Mai and the sites of Mae Hong Son loop that I’d seen in Mike’s photos. It was a pity we hadn’t managed to explore Thailand and promised each other we would return, possibly for our honeymoon.

We took a conventional train from London airport back to Lesser Heath. We wanted to see open spaces rather than just appear somewhere. Neither would we risk earthquakes and tsunamis delaying our trans-temporter pods.

…

It was on the train home that I received a message on my wrist messenger from my parents, Dafydd and Frances.

“Come to dinner. Bring Valu with you. Dying to hear all about

your holiday. Chris and Eleri will be here; she’s dying to meet you, Love Dad and Mum.”

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“Who on Earth is Eleri?” I wondered. “It’s a good old Welsh name.”

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