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EVEN THE EASY
DECISIONS become difficult in Had Sadet. Stripped
away are the travel agents and Internet cafes. There is no pizza, hamburgers
or filter coffee, only the local lemongrass tea and whatever fish the longboat
fisherman catch today.
A wonderful traveler anxiety occurs when there is nothing to do. There are no
waterfalls to trek to, no snorkeling, no cooking classes or hot springs. I find
myself splitting my time between three activities - swimming and laying on the
beach, laying in my hammock and looking uncontemplatively over the bay and out
to the blue two-tone horizon and finally sitting in the restaurant while eating,
drinking, reading and writing. After a few days on the beaches you stop thinking
about the little chores you have to do, the people you want to email and the
plans you want to make for countries down the road and begin to relax and escape.
So it began on a pacific Saturday morning in January. I flung open the shutters
and filled my bunglow with sunshine. I looked out over the turquoise bay, the
thick strip of white sand and the sea of green palm trees canvassing the mountainside
and flooding into the interior. Without changing I descended down the stairs
cut into the granite hillside, ran down a few meters of the beach and dove into
the water. I think that a dip into a warm blue ocean is the single best way
to start your day (with the exception of another obvious pastime). I emerged
from the baptism and headed straight for the Silver Cliff deck. No one was there.
I saw Ton in a hammock and he jumped at my entrance.
"Good morning Meesta Yonathan. You go swim water nice yeah?", he said.
Ton spoke with a Thai-Hawaiin-Rastafari accent. People who live a life of leisure
on a tropical island do not usually develop a posh British accent or jaded New
York accent.
"Good morning, Ton,", I replied, "what's for breakfast today?",
I asked.
"I get many fruit early today - mago, pieapple, anana, papaya, wa'ermelon,
coconut, oran. I make big bowl.", he said. "And a tea my good man!",
I countered.
He quickly returned with a lemongrass tea. A man entered the restaurant and
spoke quickly with Ton. Ton turned to me and said "Tuna tonight",
then held his arms out about a meter.
I added honey to the tea and looked out over the bay. The water was still, the
beach was empty and all was well in the universe.
A large bowl of fruit was served with mueslix and yoghurt.
"And paper come today!", Ton said excitedly. It was four days old,
but might as well have been today's paper, as far as he was concerned. Current
events and foreign turmoil were not slated on the minutes of my morning; ignorance
is bliss.
I sipped and feasted on the fresh fruit, chatting with Ton.
As I left the cantina Ton handed me a big Chang beer - "For your hammock".
"Khawp Khun khrap", I said, thanking him in the Thai tongue twister.
I climbed down to my bungalow and settled in to my hammock. I'd been working
hard for many days on finding the most comfortable positions for reading and
writing, sleeping and looking out over the bay like the lost thought dope that
I am.
I passed much of the day like this. I would get hot laying on the beach, so
I'd go swimming. Swimming would make me tired, so I'd retire to the hammock.
I'd get bored there eventually, - and Hemingway's Farewell To Arms wouldn't
last another day - so I'd return to the beach. We all have viscious cycles in
our life, how we deal with them tells a lot about us.
Ton's girlfriend was to cook the tuna. They'd kept it in the seawater all day
in a huge basket. I tried to request sashimi, but Ton repeated, "Fry fish
betta!". It wasn't yellowtail, so I truested their culinary prejudices
and alliances. I sat with ton, his girlfriend and several of his friends. We
drank Singha and ate spring rolls while the chefs cooked the tuna. Ton had put
on some music - "Thai reggae!" - that didn't sound too much different
from Jamaican reggae. "Bob Marley very good!", his mate said to me
with a toothy grin and his thumb up.
A woman came out of the kitchen with a stucco pot with a straw poking out. "Bang
Lassi you want try?", she asked.
I looked in. It was a white drink of some sort, with black specs.
"What is it?", I asked, already wishing I hadn't.
"Is Bang Lassi!", she said laughing. It was at the of the drink section
of the menu: Bang Lassi (with Migic Leaf). There was little I could do but begin
drinking it.
"Is good yeah!", she asked.
It tasted like a thin, spicy yoghut. I couldn't make out the black specs, probably
because they were migic.
Dinner was served as the sun set in the canyon behind us. On a big table Niran
laid out an extremely spicy papaya salad, fried squid and prawns mixed with
vegetables and a plate of huge horseshoes of tuna. Niran had fried the tuna
with a spcy mango sauce - it was next level. My plate was refilled with the
different selections over the course of the next few hours. Thai meals are not
generally served family style, as in China, but I suppose we were eating as
a family tonight. We moved on to fried bananas and Sangsom whisky for dessert.
"Bang Lassi ok?", one of them asked me. Somehow I had overlooked the
dizziness and numbing that I was now experiencing. This was definately not an
effect of the Thai whisky.
"Dii, dii!", I replied with a thumbs up. Several others were drinking
it now, dancing to the reggae. One had some breakdance moves, but didn't like
the wooden floors.
"Is time for fire beach!", he said.
With that the six or seven of us sauntered down to the beach, quickly got a
fire started and settled into the sand. We sipped on beer and Sangsom. Sun,
the breakdancer, finished off his catalogue of moves, then stood up and said,
"Americans Germans dance". He proceeded to dance stiffly, swaying
a bit from side to side a bit. I tried to explain mojo to them, and they took
to the word.
"Thai girl mojo!", Ton exclaimed, letting his girlfriend exhibit her
moves.
"Bob Marley mojo!", another one of the guys said. He took me to his
hut just up the beach and showed me his poster of Bob Marley smoking a joint.
"Bob Marley mojo.", I agreed, much to his satisfaction.
We went swimming and threw a coconut around to each other. These guys were in
their 20's, 30's but acting like 8 year olds and having the time of their life.
They might not have a diversified portfolio or a long sleeve shirt, but no one
can say they're not happy. It's ironic how we want their life, and they want
our life, though neither could be very happy with it.
I danced a bit with Sun and Niran, hopefully restoring a bit of class of their
conception of American dancing, then excused myself from the fireside and made
my way on the precarious trail back to my bungalow. I layed in my hammock, looking
at the stars, hearing their voices down on the beach and toasted the elusive
Good Life, wherever it was, and to whoever had it.
