You can always tell a Brit abroad without hearing them
speak. We have a particular look, or at least the young men do. Shirtless,
shuffling along awkwardly in flip flops (we were so not designed to wear flip
flops) tattoos, pastel coloured shorts, sunburnt or burnished oak skin. I’m amazed at the number of men here with
massive beards and man buns. Does the
beard not make you even hotter, I think. How can you bear all that fur on your
face in this heat?
The first seven days in Thailand have mostly been about
getting used to the place and its weirdness.
I’m sitting writing this and listening to Parklife, thinking about what the
weather’s like back home. I have some serious heat rash, a few mozzie bites and
blistered feet. My stomach can’t handle the food and I accidentally keep
swallowing the shower salt water.
Sometimes you need reminding of home, even if you’re not missing it all
that much yet. At home you don’t have to chuck used toilet paper in a bin or wash in tepid salt water.
They love Bob Marley here.
There are two Bob Marley themed bars. They play a lot of reggae and a
lot of 90s dance music, some 80s rock. Any dinner is often accompanied with some very
loud, cheesy music that wouldn’t sound out of place on a British funfair.
The main strip is a bit like Camden Market; there are lots
of shops selling exactly the same things; Indian print shorts, fake Ray Bans
and Havaianas and fluorescent bikinis, waterproof neck pouches. There’s
stinky food stalls. Most of the cosmetics for women seem to feature the
alarming addition of skin whitening ingredient (bleach, probably.)
Locals push carts loaded with suitcases, bottles of water,
fruit and fish along the narrow streets. ‘Beep! Beep!’ they shout, though it
seems ‘beep, beep’ does not always translate, as fairly often, people fail to
move out of the way.
Almost everywhere they are selling boat trips or taxi boats.
‘Boat! Boat!’ they shout at you, like it’s all one word, which reminds me of
this scene from How I met your Mother:
There are cats everywhere. They seem to be homeless but are
friendly and will come and sit on your lap. Most of them have docked tails (the
reason for docking them has yet to be discovered.)
We walked up to the View Point, about a 50 minute trek
through some dense woodland, past clusters of tiny shanty towns and what
appears to be the equivalent of a council housing estate. There are maps and signs all over the place,
but none of them seem to actually contain the correct information. On our way, we
were stopped by 4 or 5 other confused and lost tourists asking for directions.
‘View Point? Rantee Beach?’ they asked, looking desperate and sweaty, having
probably inadvertently walked into someone’s back garden or walked around for
an hour only to find themselves back where they think they started from.
The view at the top, and the garden, is worth the pain of
the walk:
but most people at the top seem more concerned with taking selfies than the view. We can’t seem to spend any time in any one moment, always moving restlessly from one thing to another.
but most people at the top seem more concerned with taking selfies than the view. We can’t seem to spend any time in any one moment, always moving restlessly from one thing to another.
On Loh Moo Dee Beach, speed boats (boats! Boats! Boats!)
bring Japanese tourists. Like the Brits, they are immediately recognisable. The
women wear lots of clashing colour. They all jump off the boat and spend 15
minutes mucking about in the water, shrieking with laughter and doing stupid
poses while their friends take photos. They take A LOT of photos. Then they all
get back on the boat and probably do the same thing in the next bay.
Our accommodation is in the woods and a 30 second walk from
the beach. You can walk to other places, like Tonsai Pier and the heart of the
tourist area, but the route is not for the faint hearted, and involves climbing
over boulders and vast tree roots fashioned into steps. For the first few days,
the seldom used muscles in my calves and feet burn. It’s often easier to walk
barefoot than in flip flops on this kind of terrain, but I am glad I invested
in a decent pair of Merrell walking sandals (I am not affiliated with Merrell
or paid to big them up, but boy, those sandals are hardy and comfortable.)
The taxi boats coming into the bay sound like something from Apocalypse Now. Whatever you order to
eat or drink, something is wrong, missing or not what you asked for. They bring
the food out like tapas, so the side orders come out first. The toilet cistern
drains itself. In some shops you have to take off your shoes.
Last night there’s a group of South Africans in the bar.
They are playing a dare version of spin the bottle and run into the sea naked.
One of them is very serious. He struts around the restaurant being rude to the
staff and telling his friends they’ve got to ‘rock and roll’. He lives in a
movie version of his own life; he plays the maverick hero with his thousand
yard stare. He’s the one keeping this whole gig together. Without him, the
whole holiday would be a total shambles.
