He's friendly, asking me lots of questions. I tell him I’m on my own and I'm worried I'm already forgetting how to have a conversation with people. He says I’ll be fine; I’ll meet loads of people on my way round. His mates and him are only on holiday and they’ve met loads of people already.
I tell him I’m going to be teaching English in Bangkok and he tells me how he spent four months working in Spain, selling timeshares, with his girlfriend at the time when he was younger. He says it was extremely stressful – they had no money and he had to steal food at times. But he’s philosophical about it, and puts it down as a good experience to have had.
He asks me how I got the idea of teaching here and I tell him the ex-boyfriend of a friend of mine did it. He mishears – “Your ex-boyfriend?” he says, interrupting. “No,” I say, “a friend’s.” Our conversation is interrupted by us arriving at the harbour, but it does get me thinking – do I tell people I’m gay if it comes up? Sure, Thailand itself is as accepting as they come, but what about the other travellers? I decide not to worry about it, play it by ear as I would normally.
I get on the boat. It’s full of more pretty, toned and tanned Westerners. I suddenly realise what it is that’s been bothering me since I set foot on Khao San Road – I’m on the road with the popular kids from school. All the other travellers are at least reasonably good-looking, all annoyingly over-confident, and walk around like they own the place. It’s not a pleasant realisation. I never liked the popular kids at school, they were all bleedin’ annoying. But I wonder if I’m just making excuses for my own inability/unwillingness to speak to anybody unless spoken to. I wonder why I’m feeling like that. Sure, I’m feeling a bit out of my depth here as I try and work out what it is I’m actually doing, but it’s not like I have no confidence in my ability to engage with and get on with other people. This leads me to think that maybe I’m a bit of a loner at heart, and, as we drift past sparkling blue ocean and knuckles of green-covered rock on the boat to Phi Phi, my mind wanders on a train of thought that’s too long and personal to repeat here, but basically goes some way to explaining why I was so keen to extract myself from my life in London, and why living in a wooden house by a canal in Thailand is so appealing.
I decide to contradict my thoughts immediately by engaging someone in conversation. There’s a blond girl sat next to me on the deck – tall and thin with a shortish hairdo. She looks intelligent, friendly, but like she wouldn’t take any shit. She’s been smoking and I ask her if I can cadge a cigarette. 2007 has seen me smoking a fair bit (sorry, Dad), though I’ve not actually bought any yet. This seems to have increased while I’ve been here, partly cos the Popular Kids are doing it, and partly cos it’s something to do. She gives me a cigarette and I offer to buy her a beer, but she says she doesn’t like beer.
We chat a bit. I embarrass myself immediately (this is why I don’t talk to people) by asking if she’s Swedish. She says no, she’s Dutch. I apologise and tell her I’ve met a lot of Swedish people and she says the same. She’s called Alexandra and has been travelling all the way round Thailand for the past few weeks; she’s on a long holiday. She spent a lot of time in the north and I quiz her loads about that. It seems that’s where you get more of a feel of provincial Thailand, while it still being fairly tourist-friendly. Not like the urbanity (is that a word?) of Bangkok, or the could-be-anywhere resorts of the south. But I find I’m doing most of the talking. It seems I’ve found someone who’s as unbothered about chatting to people as I am.
When we arrive at Ton Sai - a village situated on the thin stretch of land that joins the two main chunks of Phi Phi Don island, and somewhere that was decimated by the 2004 tsunami – it’s crazy. Everyone is ushered into various travel agents by shouty Thai men and it’s all a bit disorientating.
I enquire of a lady I’m sat down in front of about getting to and staying at Hat Ranti beach. I ask about places to stay mentioned in my guidebook, and the lady gets on her mobile phone and repeats, “Full, full,” to me at every suggestion. Her male colleague suggests a place for 800 baht a night and a 500 baht boat ride there. This seems expensive in comparison to what I’ve read in my guidebook so I feel like I’m being ripped off. I turn it down.
We try other beaches, but there’s nothing in the realms of what I’m willing to spend. I decide to take my chances wandering around. I figure I can stay in Ton Sai tonight and make my own way to Hat Ranti tomorrow. It doesn’t look far on the map so maybe I can walk across the island, but there’s no point in me making my way there now if all the places are full. It’s a bit disconcerting not having anywhere to stay for the night but I figure I’ll find somewhere eventually.
I try and find a travel agent that’s not full of people, but can’t. I bump into Alexandra. She has the biggest rucksack I’ve ever seen! She says she can’t find anywhere to stay. We wonder round together and find a less busy travel agent. We speak to a guy but then he disappears, never to be seen again. We speak to another guy there but basically everywhere on the island seems to be full. We decide to wander around Ton Sai, see what we can find.
It’s a hard slog. It’s hot and Alexandra’s rucksack is killing her back. Once again I’m glad I brought so little. I do all the running up steps to ask about rooms but each time we’re told the places are full. It seems the tsunami has done little to dampen people’s appetite for this place, but the locals have not been able to rebuild quick enough to feed that appetite. We see a lot of rebuilding as we wonder round – the Thais seem to have started by the beaches and worked their way in – the middle of the village is one big building site covered in their shaky-looking wooden scaffolding.
Alexandra and I eventually find a place. It’s called Gypsy Village and it has rooms for 1000 baht. I’m so grateful to find somewhere I don’t care about the expense. I bid farewell to Alexandra, drop off my stuff, have a shower and head out for a wander.
Ton Sai is basically like any other beach resort around the world – full of bars and restaurants and Popular Kids From School and not much else. It does have a lovely beach though.
It’s a place I could revel in if I was with a bunch of mates. On my own I’m at a bit of a loss. So I decide to do what, as my friend Maz puts it, I do best – eat. I sit down at a beachside restaurant and try and do just that. I order a green curry with chicken and a beer and wait. And wait. And wait a bit more.
I pester a waitress for my beer. She comes back five minutes later with a tray full of drinks for another table. Groups of people walk past looking for somewhere to eat and I feel a bit silly sat here on my own at this table for four with nothing in front of me. I eventually get my beer and drink it all. I order another. As I do I ask when my food might be coming. The waiter explains that the chef has a bit of a backlog.
Up until now I’ve not minded the eating alone. But I realize that it’s the waiting for your food that makes eating alone a killer. Up until now it’s arrived pretty fast so I’ve not had to sit there twiddling my thumbs. The waiters joke around with me that my stomach must be rumbling, and I’m slightly relieved that they are actually aware of how long I’ve been waiting. I drink most of my second beer before the food finally arrives. When it does I’m so fucked off I wonder if I can enjoy it, but it’s amazing. It tastes like every ingredient is fresh (which might explain the wait) and is probably the best curry, let alone green curry, that I’ve ever had.
I’m now so happy I order a coffee and a banana pancake (the latter on suggestion of my friend Lucy who I'd been emailing earlier) to finish off. The pancake is more of a cake to be honest, with two halves of a banana laid on top, seemingly as an afterthought. I pour honey over it and tuck in. I watch one of the Thai waiters cheekily chat up a blonde lady on the table in front of me. Her friend looks mortified, which is quite funny. The blonde lady has her back to me so I can't see her reaction. Then I’m hit by a revelation – the pancake has beaten me. I’ve only managed half of it. I’ve now been there two hours in all, but it’s ended well with some great food.
I get the bill then realise I’ve left my money in my room. Now I’m mortified. I have to plead forgiveness and promise to come back with the money. The cheeky waiter says it’s fine and I head off to the nearest ATM. They don’t think I’m coming back. I know this because when I do come back, all the waiters grin with pleasure and clap their hands together. The cheeky waiter says, “You good friend, I knew this.” It’s a heart-warming moment.
I go back to the room. It’s a pretty good room – air con, nice bathroom, double bed. Worth the 1000 baht I feel, even if I can’t afford it. I look in the mirror in the bathroom and discover I am pinker than a Legally Blonde convention. I find this hilarious.
In bed I read a bit, flick a bug off my arm, read a bit more. Another bug appears on my shoulder. It’s round and brown and gross; I flick it off. Then one appears on my neck and I think, what the fuck? I sit up and look at the pillows. There’s two sat there. I lift one pillow and groan out loud – there’s about thirty of these fuckers sat there, all of different sizes but all with one thing in mind – my blood. The big ones are a reddy/brown colour, the medium ones a red colour and the little ones see-through. They definitely want blood. I lift the other pillow and it’s the same. I have no idea where they’ve come from; they weren’t there before. They must be living in the mattress, which doesn’t bode well.
I go outside and try and find a staff member to get me another room. There’s no one about. Not a soul. I go back in and form a plan. I take the big towel that the Thais leave as a blanket, throw it on the other end of the bed from the pillows and curl up there, hoping that they like to stay under the pillow. I’m wrong. Battle lines have been drawn, and before long the bugs attempt to invade my side of the bed. I kill a few in a counter-attack, hoping that my unforgiving nature might put the others off. But I underestimate how little these critters give a shit about each other, let alone me. I add selfish and callous to the already long list of bad points about insects.
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