OK kids, here's part III (and maybe the final part...some of it must remain, ahem, undisclosed), as promised. Looking over it, I realized I waxed a little poetic in some parts, just oblige me:
A few hours later, I’m on a boat in the Gulf of Thailand, heading to a destination I’d only heard about a few weeks before. Having no idea what to expect, we clambered off the ferry and were greeted with wide smiles from locals on the pier. What friendly people, this is great, I thought. Afraid of looking unfriendly, I grinned back at them, which sent them flying towards us with pictures of accommodation.
“Hey fren’, you wan’ room? No? You wan’ bungalow? Very chip. I got chip price fo’ you. Come.”
So it’s late afternoon, and I’m in my own bungalow, with an ocean view, so to speak. When I look outside the wooden window, I can’t see anything else. An overripe sky pierced with dark purplish hues, falls upon a restless, opaque sea. The ocean is so close that the crashing waves seem to reverberate through my small wooden home. My sheets are sprinkled with grains of sand, but for once I don’t care. As my breathing slowly mimics the rain-and-thunder cycle of the waves, I can’t help but drift away.
- - - - - -- - - -
My days in Thailand flew by, even though my schedule was hardly what one would call hectic. Wake up – shake sand off bed – apply suntan lotion hastily then stumble out into bright sunlight – curse hot sand - order banana pancake with muesli – lie on beach with book – bake until ready – turn over – take a short nap – jump in calm, warm ocean water to wake up – back to the book. Of course, in the south of Thailand, it is said that the days are those few hours spent recovering from the nights, and I am hardly one to mess with tradition.
My nights started tamely enough, usually with dinner at the small restaurant operated by the owners of the bungalow who, incidentally, became extremely irritable if you didn’t frequent their establishment as often as they deemed necessary. However, the shrimp Thai noodles were mouth-watering, and the tall beers always cold, so I didn’t mind eating there at all. The company was always good, with the constant influx of backpackers providing ample companionship, if only to ridicule one particularly interesting member of the staff, nicknamed “Princess”. I had heard stories of travellers picking up pretty Thai girls, only to find out later in the evening that the term “girl” wasn’t a biologically accurate description. Princess had long black hair, a dainty figure, and a walk that would make any Parisian supermodel jealous. A complete picture of effeminacy, Princess had a sweet, high-pitched voice, and a flirtatious way of taking your order, constantly flicking the long hair over the shoulders, and batting those eye-lashes quite frequently. Princess was a 21 year old Thai male, and most likely the son of the owner. He provided so many laughs for us that his inclusion in this “story” was perhaps inevitable.
In Thailand, as in most countries, cash is king, and when you fly in with the “almighty” U.S. dollar lining your wallet, you might as well just sit back, relax and wait for your crown. The one item of value that most backpackers seek out upon arriving is beer. The problem with cheap beer is, of course, that it’s cheap.
OK folks, that's all I've got...you can leave the rest to your fertile imaginations. Just make sure they are extremely fertile.
Cheers....M.L.
