Chapter 8. What goes up must come down

The flight was relatively easy. We both managed to sleep and time passed without too much stretch. Most importantly I managed to let the pilot do his job. I have been known in the past to not: speak; eat; sleep, or drink for 10 hours straight on a flight. This is due to my having to concentrate on supporting the pilot in flying the plane. Any momentary lapse of concentration would undoubtedly result in the plane crashing and it would all be my fault. I was doing well and hadn’t given much thought to the pilot or the plane, until Sam pointed out that we were in the very place where a plane had recently experienced so much turbulence a man died of a heart attack.

We paid the extra for a night flight that went directly to Bangkok, meaning no stop off-I highly recommend it. The last time we went to Thailand we stopped off in Russia. We had a somewhat harrowing experience, whereby instead of following orderly lines to get to passport control (as can be seen in the likes of Heathrow) there were no lines and instead a stampede of people were all trying to reach the desk. In the past I have been somewhat critical of these barriers that heard us like sheep, but here the sheer number of people, without the lines meant it was difficult to go anywhere- it was total carnage.

Sam took charge by suddenly barging through the crowd using her elbows, with us following closely behind. Amazingly it worked and we managed to get to the front and onto our plane before it took off without us. If it was down to me, we would likely still be there! The trouble didn’t stop there. When we got on the flight the air hostess was equally as difficult and perhaps the most unfriendly I have ever come across. Even telling us off for taking photos of each other. This flight however, with its cherubs and pink lilly videos, dare I say it,  was even enjoyable.

We arrive in Bangkok at around 9 o’clock in the morning UK time, 3pm Thai time.  Once reunited with our carefully weighed luggage, we make our way to the taxi rank. We arranged to stay with Sam’s friend Bettina for a couple of days in order to have some downtime before embarking on our journey to the island. Bettina works at a school on the outskirts of Bangkok making it a perfect stop off.

When the taxi driver sees the number of bags we have he looks concerned. Even though it was just the two of us and the driver, it was difficult to fit us and our so-called ‘apples’ in his car. This was’t helped by the fact that he had a large LPG tank in the boot. A requirement  I understand of taxis in Bangkok now in an attempt to reduce the ever increasing pollution which at times is so bad people can not go outside. I welcome the move, but it does limit the boot space considerably, meaning that in the end we could hardly see the taxi driver amongst all the bags that surround him and us.

A recent news article reveals that the LPG units come with their own risk. Just a few weeks ago a bus carrying children and teachers caught alight killing all on board. It was discovered that rather than having the recommended 6 LPG tanks the bus was carrying 13 tanks, way above the safety limit. Sam had to wear black for 3 days at school in commemoration of those who lost their lives. 

We manage to look out of the cab window, taking in the view of Bangkok with its busy highway, and multicultural skyscrapers, some that would look fitting in in a New York skyline and others that look like they were made out of matchsticks.

So called ‘experienced travellers’, we congratulate ourselves for agreeing on a price prior to getting into the taxi. However in the 45 minute journey to Bettina’s house, Sam finds a list of what the taxi prices should be and it turns out we have agreed to be charged more than double the going rate! Sam confronts the driver when we get out, waving the price list at him, but he dismisses her wave with a wave of his hand. There is a cost to not knowing, to moving somewhere for the first time, this becomes part of ‘settling in’ because it happens again and again until we are actually in the know.

Now outside of the cab, I am more concerned about the sudden heat and lack of air. Initially I think the heat is coming from the taxi, but as I get further away from the vehicle I discover the heat is following me- it is all around us! The taxi driver must have had the air-con on, giving us a false sense of security. It is HOT. I start to panic. Suddenly the air is full of spirits, leaving no space or air to breathe. The spirits grab at my throat and take my breath away. 

I start to wonder what the fuck we have let ourselves in for. We then discover that the taxi driver hasn’t brought us to the right part of the school and Bettina’s house is, in fact across the car park and then a few blocks again. We wheel and lug our 4 cases, 2 rucksacks and 2 handbags across the car park. Through more paths and gates and more paths and gates until we get to Bettina’s pad. The bags hang heavy from my body and my bones and muscles strain to keep me upright like a tree laden with fruit. Sweat floods my skin. I am of course still wearing my many layers of clothes: my 2 pairs of socks; my jeans and my 2 tops and the heat in me rises to boiling.

We finally arrive at Bettina’s house and step into what I can only describe as a very large fridge, (otherwise known as a house with air conditioning) Never before have I welcomed such a modern phenomenon of an environmental hazard, as I did at that moment. In my exhausted state, and as we walk into ‘the phenomenon’, I see a bright light. It is God coming out of the fridge singing songs of Barry White “can’t get enough of your love baby”. We shut the doors and I collapse, leaving the neck grabbing spirits scraping at the windows outside.

I did not think I needed to ‘come down’. I did not realise how ‘wired’ I was. Sam declares defeat and goes to lie down for a few hours. I sit with Bettina drinking beer after beer and continue into the night. Except in UK time, it isn’t night time, it is only 2 in the afternoon.

The night markets in Bangkok are an experience to behold, with stall upon stall of delicious foods from: ‘Kal Soi’ (noodles and chicken in a broth, where you can choose your toppings from coriander to chili, to limes and onions); ‘Gyzos’; ‘Mango Sticky rice’ and ‘Pad Thai’ to name but a few. All at equally delicious prices. Bettina treats us to a selection of different dishes and I am in heaven. 

A few weeks before, Bettina stayed with us in our Hall house, when we were in the middle of it all- when we were climbing our mountain. She witnessed it first hand. She did the same, just one year before, when she also packed up her life and moved to Thailand. She understood. Now here, it was our turn to say that we had made it. It was our turn to be looked after and look after us she did, giving us: her bed; a place to rest; introducing us to useful shopping sites; phone deals; taking us to night markets and introducing us to the different dishes that would soon become our new favourite’s. 

The night markets are where grandmother’s recipes have passed through generations and made it to market. Where hundreds of people gather to eat every night rather than cook at home. Thais it seems, eat out. I wonder if they have kitchens at all? If they do, I imagine they are very different from what we would call a kitchen. Rental Adverts highlight if a property comes with a kitchen or more specifically, a ‘European Kitchen’. Imagine if this happened at home. The estate agent walks you around, and says to you “and this house has even got a kitchen”!  Yet in those first few days in Bangkok, I had the best food I have had here.

Bettina also takes us to a hotel for the day to rest. This involves sitting by a pool and getting up only to have a massage. I am worried about Sam because she does not seem to be winding down. I am also worried about myself.  I guess a spinning top takes time to stop, until it eventually grinds to a halt and collapses on its side. We both are not sleeping, or when we do, we wake up again, hungry despite the numerous dishes we have eaten only a few hours before. For so many days and so many nights, we have been climbing a mountain, now we are like a motor that can not stop running. We are out of sync. 

Maybe at the back of our mind is not  just what we had left behind but also what lays ahead. But in those few days, Bettina holds us and we are truly grateful.

I have made a discovery. No it is not a wild bird, or a rare insect only to be found in the Tropics. No, I have discovered ‘the pillow’ (or in Polish the ‘poduszkę’. I once dated a strapping Polish lass and that is the only word that she taught me and what a fine word it is!)  Bettina is from Germany and in Germany they do not have the common, one pillow, two pillow scenario in their bed, no they have something very different. 

If you were to describe yourself in ‘pillow’, what would you be? A one pillow person or a two pillow person? Do you sleep with the door open or closed? These bedtime rituals are unique to us all. They are essential to whether we have a good night’s sleep or a bad night’s sleep. Yet most people do not know the bedtime rituals of even our closest family members or life long friends. I recommend you find out now, should the time come that you end up caring for them-you will be glad you did.

So do you start with two pillows and end up with one? Do you wake up with a cricked neck? Is one pillow just not enough? Well, I have discovered the answer to all these problems. I have discovered the ‘Big Pillow’. It is not as big as two pillows, but it is bigger than one pillow. It is the most comfortable  ‘Poduszke’ I have ever laid my weary head on. Why did we not think of that? All these years suffering with just two options. When all this time there was a third option. The Germans have come up with and made the perfect pillow, ‘the big pillow’, not too big, and not too small, just right.

On the Move

After 2 days in Bangkok with our perfect host we are on the move. At 4 am we set off on our journey from Bangkok to what is known as the ‘perfect’ island of Koh Samui. 

This time the cab driver manages to get all our bags in the taxi without any difficulty and also charges us a third of the price. He drives us into Bangkok city center, driving past the ole so famous ‘Koh San road’ and onto where we are to get our bus.

We join a group of other travellers also heading for the islands and are given colour coded labels that are stuck on us (like kids on a school trip) highlighting which island we are going to.

Stocked up with goods from 7/11 we start our 7 hour bus journey to the South of Thailand. Songs of dirty old town play in my headphones and a smell of piss lingers in my nose from the toilet behind me. I am pleased however that we have one.

We hadn’t looked forward to this part of the journey. However there is something comforting about being driven once again. Being driven to our destination. To our new life. Perhaps it’s all the years of commuting to work via the M25, but it is a relief and it gives us the opportunity to just sit back and relax. With just 6 seats in this part of the bus, and a toilet, there is plenty of room to spread out and before long, heads rested on our neck pillows, we are asleep.

We are close to developing pressure sores but as we are still able to move, are able to avoid this eventuality. I wonder if this part of the bus is for the elderly and children, as the only people located here are a young family of 4 and Sam and I. All the other travellers AKA ‘youths’ are upstairs. In keeping with our elderly selves, we are actually the only ones to use the toilet in the whole 7 hours. In our elderly state, we do so frequently. If anyone has ever tried to go to the toilet whilst in vehicular motion, you will know it is not easy. It involves a level of surfing whilst suspended above the toilet. You don’t want to sit on the seat because it is usually wet as a result of other surfers having entered the cubical before you. You also don’t want to lose your balance, for to do so would result in falling out of said cubicle with your trousers down. It is a charade that involves a level of practice. I have not failed yet.

The next part of the journey is the boat ride (which is part of the ticket price) is not quite as enjoyable or restful. The sheer number of people and their baggage (much of it ours) puts pay to that.

When it comes to getting on the boat, we have to lug our cases down what feels like a mile long jetty. We are once again the crazy English holidaymakers, the ones I would normally ‘tut’ at for having so much baggage. We are not about to step on board a boat but about to walk the plank for stupid people. Lemmings jumping off the cliff one by one.

On writing this I thought I had better research the source of the saying ‘lemons’ jumping off a cliff (as I had originally written) as it has never made much sense to me-lemons jumping off a cliff. I come to discover that a ‘lemming’ is not of the fruit variety at all. It is in fact a type of rodent related to the vole family. Rather than commit mass suicide by jumping off a cliff, apparently when their population increases and becomes too large, they jump ship (so to speak) or should I say cliff, in order to relocate and find a new home. Some of them also turn white in the winter, so they are not seen by prey in the snow. I wonder now who is the stupid one?!

I have experienced these island ferry’s before and should have been prepared for the madness that ensued. Hundreds of people go on these boats every day. Their baggage is piled up like bodies in an open burial, by young Thais working hard in the midday sun. All you can do is hope that you’ll be reunited with your bag at the other end, when the burial site is excavated. You hope for some kind of system but there seems to be little sign of one. Our labels have long fallen off us, and the ones on our cases have also disappeared. Any feeling of bag security or health and safety has now gone. I wonder if maybe there will be a rope to hold? Or we’ll be asked to hold hands in pairs? But no, it is one big rugby ruckus and a case of “bundle”! I am reminded of the time my dad and I tried to get off a train in Sri Lanka (having completed our 2000 mile Tuk Tuk Challenge) As the train reached the platform we had to duck to avoid the suitcases and various personal items being thrown in through the train windows, and struggled to get off the train due to people trying to get on the train at the same time- we are lucky we didn’t get knocked out.

The boat journey is much longer than we expected. When it stops at the different islands, more people and more bags join in the charade. Amazingly I manage to sleep again, and join the nodding dogs in the back of the car. 

On the last leg (so to speak) we head to the back of the boat to watch for signs of our island’s approach. The boat is not sailing but ploughing through the sea at speed and the breeze is welcomed. Clouds sit low in the sky like icebergs and the sun on the sea makes it look like we are not at sea at all but in Antarctica. The sun pounding down on us tells us otherwise. I still look like a British holiday maker with my top unattractively placed over my head in an attempt to shade from the sun. I am still struggling to acclimatise to the heat.

We have worked so hard to get to this point. We have always talked of sailing away together. Now holding hands looking out to the sea  It feels emotional to finally be doing it.

After 5 hours of ‘ons’ and ‘offs’, dead bodies, nodding dogs, and ploughs, our island comes into view. As we approach the island that will soon be home, we get our cameras ready, to film the special moment. That is when we are abruptly asked to move so the anchor can be dropped into the sea. It ruins the moment of our grand arrival. Although a necessity when it comes to bringing a boat to shore.

After what feels like every bag other than ours has found its owner, we are eventually reunited and we make our way off the boat and on to the jetty. Rainbow flags stand either side of it making our welcome a colourful one. It brings a renewed energy to our steps as we walk the path to our new life. We are both sweating so much it looks like we have been caught in a rain storm but it doesn’t matter.

Now on land Sam tries out her new grab app ( a recommendation from Bettina) but the taxi is unable to get to us and asks us to walk to them, which in my humble opinion defeats the object of calling a cab. I must reiterate the amount of baggage we have. On counting, we have 8 bags! Walking any distance with the bags is difficult so is best avoided, especially when you are supposed to be paying someone else to do it for you.

We find out later there is a reason that we were asked to walk the distance to our cab. Certain areas are out of bounds for other drivers. Call it turf wars. ‘Sopranos’ meets Thailand. But there are areas including ferry ports, and airports where you don’t enter if you are not part of the gang. Or do so at your peril.

Needless to say, cabs here are twice the price than Bangkok (the country’s capital) and the rumours of this island being the most expensive place to live in Thailand starts to ring true. Sam’s argument that we will need to hire a car (something I had decided against to save money) turns out to be a must here.

Our hotel is closer than I thought and as we drive along the sea road we see spots of the sunset as it comes and goes, as it plays ‘peepo’ behind the endless hotels. Then there it is, our hotel. It is a sight that causes us both to sigh in relief. We are here. 

The Mud Hotel

The Mud Hotel is not how I expected it to be. It has a Ferris wheel outside and is built completely on stilts made of bamboo with pathways made out of rope ladders. It is a child’s and adult’s wonderland. Our room is a barrel on stilts with a bathroom extended to the side and has a balcony looking out to sea. Inside is equally as splendid, with its fine attention to detail. “it’s how I imagine you would dress a room if you were hosting” Sam says. It has a pen and paper, a dressing gown and even an umbrella along with the much needed air-con and we dive into our barrel frequently to cool down. The whole place is rustic and beautiful, an architectural delight.

The Mud Hotel is where we are to ‘rest’ and down tools for the weekend after months/years of no weekends. We manage a day.

The next morning we are woken up by squawking chickens and roosters. Quite appropriate as Sam is a fire rooster and it’s her birthday. Nevertheless it is still a surprise. We discover that our room is situated above a farm. Even more of a surprise are the two rather large ostriches directly below us. Of all the things you expect to find in a hotel, ostriches are not one of them!

It is hot coals that bring me pleasure today.

Namely the activity of making my toast on them. Hot coals are in themselves not a novel concept. One could argue they have formed the basis of the common BBQ or cooking for 100’s of years. However, making one’s toast on them as part of a breakfast routine feels novel to me. The devices usually used to make toast in hotels, tend to spit out your toast in an undignified manner and the toast is usually either not done or burnt. My toast on the hot coals however is lightly golden and evenly covered, made so by the slowly burning embers. It is strange that one can take such delight in a ritual involving hot coals but a delight it was.

We stuff our faces with other treats on the beautifully laid spread of hot and cold foods including fruits that look like they’re from the 80’s in bright pink and leopard spots (otherwise known as Dragon Fruits), handmade fried doughnuts, chicken noodles and strawberry jam on buttered golden toast.

Relaying my breakfast items now, sounds like a stomach’s nightmare. I don’t know what it is about hotel breakfasts that make you feel you have to eat every item laid out before you. None of which you would ever consider to eat for breakfast normally. Perhaps the fact that it is ‘included’ and as such ‘free.’ So we stuff ourselves as much as we can, on the proviso that then we won’t need lunch. But end up having lunch because we have stretched our stomachs so much, meaning that we are hungry again by 2 o clock- all because it’s free.

As a soon to be resident of the island. I decided to attempt to learn some Thai and seek the help from the receptionists at the hotel. We start with ‘good morning’. The receptionist goes through the 3 combinations: ‘good morning’, ‘good afternoon’ and ‘good evening’.

I must add that I am not blessed with a natural ability when it comes to languages. Learning even the most basic of greetings is a challenge for me. The only way I can get them to stick in my brain is by using the Tony Buzan method of memory and learning, and find something that connects to the word I am learning -a picture or another association.

One such association is food. It has been that way since I was a child. Ask me what I was eating on 7th February 1981, I would be able to tell you. This is a slight exaggeration, numbers in fact mean nothing to me. Attach it to an event, such as going round a family friend’s for dinner all those years ago and I would be able to tell you. I would not be able to tell you what was going on in the world, but what I was eating, most definitely!  So ‘Good Morning’ starts with hello..

Sa Wat Dee- (Hello) … “So what tea…” ?! If I say it enough, I reckon that could stick…

Sa Wat Dee- Ton Chao.. Er.. Tons of …

My brain starts to search for food beginning with “ch”… “ch” for?…. cheesy chips?  “Ch” for chips & curry sauce..?

Ch for ….Chow Mein?!  That’s it! We are having tons of Chow Mein for breakfast? 

“Sa Wat Dee ton Chao”… “Sa Wat Dee Ton Chao”

We go through each greeting, good morning, good afternoon  (sà-wàt-dee dton-bàai) and good evening (sà-wàt-dee dton-yen). 

It’s not working, I can’t think of any more food, and by the time I’ve got to the evening, I’ve forgotten the morning. Sa Wat Dee.. chips and curry sauce, no cheesy chips. No sorry Sa Wat dee ton chow mein..  It’s no good.

Having spent 10 minutes embarrassing myself the receptionist then says“Of course for Thai people we say something different”. “Oh” I say “what do Thais say”  

“Oh ..we just say hello”.. 

*

We spend the whole day at the hotel. I am amazed that Sam has managed to sit still with a book for at least an hour and I take a photo for proof. I order (in plain English) a birthday cake for Sam. At teatime, the staff join me in wishing Sam a happy birthday as we devour a cake of fresh cream and strawberries. Later Sam enjoys a banana split – a tradition in her family on birthdays.

By Sunday, we are done with resting (well Sam is) and we leave the hotel to explore. Sam manages to find a car for hire at half the price of any of the other quotes. With the deal sealed we drive off  in the most orange of cars I have ever seen. To quote the advert- “we (most definitely) have been tangoed”. The car is an automatic, has aircon but that is as much as it has going for it. As we approach the many hills the island has to offer, we have to brace ourselves. We could have got up faster if someone had pushed us. Going down hills and curbs is not much better and every time we do so we are accompanied by the sound of a crunch as tarmac meets car and we both grown as I proceed to put my head in my hands.

Our first stop is the 7/11, which is everywhere in Thailand. What happened to the good old 7/11 in the UK? The first thing I do is check out the shampoo and conditioner on sale. To see if it was worth forgoing the kitchen knives, the feathered pillows, and the cheese. It was not. I find a good selection of shampoos and conditions, all at reasonable prices. A few weeks later I am haunted once again by shampoo and conditioner, when I come across perhaps the biggest display of shampoo and conditioner I have ever seen in a supermarket.The aisle containing only shampoo and conditioner is so long that to get it all in the photo would involve the use of a panoramic setting! I was not amused.

I fancy pizza so Sam drives to the nearest town in search of some. Sam has a way of turning up at a place she has never been to before and finds with ease exactly where we need to go as if she has been there a hundred times before.  We find a place by the beach and a menu of many pages. Despite Sam’s efforts in finding a place that sells pizza, I don’t choose pizza, opting for Thai food instead. I am put off by the pizza when it clearly states in the menu that its dough is ‘processed and from frozen’.  I applaud the honesty but sadly it is not a selling point for me. Imagine if that happened in the UK: “This dish is processed, has nothing of any nutritional value and is full of corn syrup of the worst kind. ..Enjoy your meal!”

I end up leaving the restaurant feeling like a fat man, having eaten too much and sweating profusely throughout the meal. I wonder if I will ever get used to the heat. As I leave I take a picture for our neighbour of a beautiful pink flower growing up a palm tree only to discover it is fake. 

We drive on to a place called Fisherman’s Village. Which we come to learn is one of the busiest areas of the island. It has the feel of Cornwall, but Cornwall pumped up on steroids. The fisherman clearly left long ago. Now it is a tourist haven with coffee shops, bars and gift shops. Initially it is nice to feel ‘the familiar’. To feel the hand of the West that is home.  As we go deeper into the steroid infused streets, I know that actually this is a place that I doubt I will come back to..  That was before we stumbled across the Capybara Cafe. 

The Guinea Pig Cafe

Those of you who are familiar with the production ‘Fleabag’ will have heard of the guinea pig cafe. I assumed however they were a product of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s imagination. I did not know that they were actually ‘a thing’. That you could actually go to a cafe with guinea pigs in them- eat them maybe but not have coffee with one!? 

Guinea pigs are, as a matter of fact, my favourite animal (not to eat), but to own. I had a pet guinea pig as a child. It’s name was Brownie, and guess what, it was brown! I was devastated when Brownie died, I remember the moment clearly and I had to have the day off school.

I also never knew there was such a thing as a supersized guinea pig. So you can imagine my surprise when I am walking down a street in Fisherman’s Village, when I notice the aforementioned supersized guinea pig- in a cafe! Is it just because we were in Fisherman’s Village that even the pets are pumped up? I am both shocked and excited and turn into an 8 year old child immediately: “What are they!” I say to Sam. “Oh they are Capybara” “Capa..what?”  “Capybara- large guinea pig” “It’s a “Guinea Pig cafe” she says nonchalantly, as if it is the most normal thing in the world to stumble across. 

Despite desperately wanting to go in and meet the supersized guinea pigs AKA Capybara, (which are actually only related to the common guinea pig and are twice the size) we decide not to. Down to the fact that I do not want to make a fool of myself in front of the actual children, who are happily feeding these things of wonder in the real not dreamt of Capybara Cafe.

I have since found out that there are many guinea pig cafes all over the world. There is a guinea pig cafe in: Bangkok; Singapore; London-although the one in London has guinea pigs in the garden-which I think is technically cheating! There is also a guinea pig cafe in Japan- I did have to check that one. Check that they didn’t actually eat them. I don’t want to get accused of false advertising and/or traumatising a poor child as a result. No, you can actually sit amongst these ‘furry creatures’. The cafe in Japan promises ‘a snuggle you will never forget’..a friendly environment for.. ‘beginners’ ..to interact with the ‘impossibly cute animals’.

It also warns customers that they hold no responsibility for any stains, damages, theft or loss of clothes or belongings. They also ask customers to refrain from forcibly touching or hitting the animals.

As you can imagine, my imagination runs wild. What kind of animals are they?

 If an oversized guinea pig defecated on me, stripped me naked and did a runner with my camera, I may well hit out in defense, however impossibly cute they were and I am no ‘beginner’! 

There are times when you should go exploring in the pathways of your own brain to see what comes to the page, and there are times when maybe you should just stay put, but come on!?

I may add that there is also a guinea pig cafe in Fakenham. I dare not look at the terms and conditions there. The fluffy creatures there may put you on a burning stake if you are not careful!

*

Our plan was to go to a night market for dinner.  As we walk through this night market, it is clear that there is nothing authentic about the cuisine. This instead is a beauty pageant of foods made simply to cater for tourists’ needs. Pizza, pasta, banana bread and definitely no guinea pig!

One could say that the foods we eat are a story of migration. A result of the people who find themselves there. Yet walking through this market I feel a sense of sadness, an emptiness. As if the locals are reshaping themselves, selling their souls simply to serve us. Doing what they have to do to get by in order to get the money they need to survive. 

We order two, very authentic dishes of Pizza and Chicken Gyros.

* 

Just under a week since landing in the country of smiles, the holiday comes to an end.  We check out of our home on sticks, and check into our temporary home which happens to be up a rather steep hill (like many houses here). The orange mobile growns everytime we say it’s time to go home but is just minutes from Sam’s school so a perfect location.

We have booked the hotel for 2 weeks. It is a welcome oasis from what is going on around us, although we are very much left to our own devices. All communication is carried out via text to someone out of the country, which seems a bit excessive when all we want is a toilet roll. Arriving home one night, we find one solitary toilet roll sitting on the doorstep. The manager who apparently lives below us, when he does appear, seemed to swiftly disappear whenever he saw us.

Seeing the school for the first time- the place we have upped sticks and up rooted our whole life for, is to put it mildly- a shock! Firstly it did not appear to have a roof, and secondly, what was once a playground is under rubble. The whole place is a building site! Given that school was due to start in a matter of days it was somewhat concerning.

The search for a place to live is equally as sketchy. We have just days to find somewhere before Sam starts work. Friends laugh at our spontaneity at not having organised a place to live prior to moving here. On reflection I am pleased with our decision to wait until we got here. In the days that follow we spend our time driving around the island looking at properties and quickly come to discover the areas that we like and the places that we definitely do not like and certainly do not want to live.

Our first viewing is no exception. The fact that we have to get out of the car and make our way on foot should have been a warning. Not only could the SAT NAV not keep up with the array of new mountain roads being built, the sheer gradient of them deemed them dangerous and even unusable in rainy season, especially in our car. I had images of not only my life slipping away from me, but the car itself as it rolled backwards down the hill.  As we walk off the beaten track, I am bitten by everything that can bite and pass a series of derelict buildings covered in graffiti. 

One of the compromises in giving up our home that we lovingly restored, and loved, was that we were leaving to have an even better life. Otherwise why would anyone choose to leave the life they left behind? 

Standing there, looking at the derelict house with its large drawing of a penis on it, and the words “niger”, sprayed on its walls, I am crudely faced with the reality that this is not the ‘better life’ I was hoping for.  

It doesn’t matter where you go the penis seems to find its way onto backdrop of people’s lives. A finger up to society maybe? It seems wherever you go people continue to blame others for their misfortune. Rather than realising that they themselves are a product of corruption, with a scapegoat in their pockets to distract them from what is really going on, and people fall for it every time. 

I have discovered that ‘the penis’ is also quite ‘a thing’ on these islands. In fact they are everywhere! With numerous rocks resembling the shape of this fine genitalia. So much so that they are now tourist attractions- with one called Grandfather and Grandmother rock. I will leave it up to the reader to decide which one is which. Unless there is something that Grandma is not telling us!

I ignore Sam’s words that the apartment “is just round the corner”, and make my way back to the car and swiftly shut the door. Back on a different road, we eventually find the apartment, with its views of derelict buildings nearby. None of this is like the picture in my mind, or the pictures in the ‘brochures’ and I walk away in tears. 

It is hard to find places to rent because most of the properties here are for sale, or in the process of being built. The west have certainly made their mark here and are moving in thick and fast. Building on the island has grown extensively in the last 10 years, and especially since COVID in 2020. Sadly the air feels full of corruption with people who all want a piece of the pie. I am not sure it blows in the right direction. I read in a local newspaper about developers not complying with building regulations and the local municipality ordering that they be demolished. An estate agent tells me that some of the derelict buildings are also a result of contractors coming in and taking money from buyers, then doing a runner. It is difficult to tell the difference between the Cowboys, the Indians and the good folk.

Most of the properties we have viewed, we have found on Facebook Marketplace. Our next plan is to take to the road and drive around the island looking for signs of places to rent. Our plan doesn’t quite go ‘to plan’. We stumble across one sign that says ‘pool house for rent’ and next to it a sign that points to a real estate agency. Having phoned the number on the board, we are somewhat surprised by what we find. Electric gates slide open to reveal a strange world that, in Sam’s words ” looks like a 1970’s theme park from Bulgaria”.

There are fake giraffes and lions scattered around (another ‘thing’ here), there is a pool with a massive slide. There is a woman sitting outside a rather large house and like she might shoot us down with an AK47 if we looked at her the wrong way. A guy comes to meet us. He is half undressed and looks like he has just woken up. He is not enamored to see us. He takes us to what we think is the agency attached to the rather large house, where we think will be shown prospective properties. Instead we discover that this is the apartment for rent. It is full of loads of stuff including what seems to be his office. We say our polite goodbyes and swiftly leave. In Sam’s words again “I would fear for my life if I lived there.” 

Standing in Space and Time

After a few days of looking we find ‘our house’. After exploring the island, we decide we like the South of the island and sign a contract on a house, just South of Lamai. Weirdly Lamai was the place I didn’t think I would want to be but it turns out to be exactly where I want to live. It has everything you need: including shops and amenities but more of a ‘chilled’ vibe compared to other areas further north. It also seems to be (typically) the most expensive. 

 ‘Our house’ came about quite by chance, we were viewing a lovely property, quite close to Lamai beach. It had everything: parking; a pool; a garden; all the mod cons and very ‘Ibiza’. I say to Sam, I love this place. I want this, but with 3 bedrooms and a bit higher up in the jungle! The estate agent said he had another place, it wasn’t up for rent yet, but he could show us anyway. It was just as I asked for, it had: 3 bedrooms, a pool and was further up in the jungle! It is not quite as glam and is more tired looking than the other house- less Ibiza and less mod cons. Nevertheless it has a beautiful outside space (the best we have seen actually) and is cheaper. So for now this will be our home.

Living here is not cheap. The rent is more than double what we are pay for our large house in the UK. The house that I really want (for an even better life!) is more than double that again. Prices will be going up even further come ‘high season’. Koh Samui sees 2.7 million tourists each year, many of whom descend on the island in December and January, meaning that landlords charge sometimes three times as much during these months. 

Saying that it depends on what you are looking for. There are many properties much cheaper if you are happy to forgo the pool, the air-con and the European kitchen! Electricity is also a big cost here, especially if you have a pool. The rates also depend on where you are on the island with some twice as much as they are elsewhere. The cost of hiring a car and a bike is on par with the UK and to buy a car on the island is twice as much as the UK. Saying that to fix a car or a bike is much cheaper. Supermarket prices are also high if you are looking for food for the Western pallet but if you are happy with street food of fried insects or chicken on stick you could get food much much cheaper- be warned, when I visited Thailand 20 years ago, my good friend Anya bit into what she thought was chicken on a stick, only to discover it had vertebrae!  

This is an island after all. For an island in the middle of- well the ocean, it is well equipped with excellent infrastructure, an airport, international schools, a McDonalds (sadly) and the finest beaches. You can also get cheese and wine- if you are prepared to pay for it that is.

*

I am mindful that as I write this, I have to be cautious about what I say. We meet a guy who is leaving the island having lived here for two years. We are buying his mop. No really! (that is life in paradise for you- we can’t afford a cleaner!)

I ask him if he has any advice for us as new arrivals to the island. He says vehemently, “Whatever you do, do not leave any bad reviews”. He tells us about a friend who left a bad review about a tour she went on. The police allegedly turned up with papers for her arrest and she had to allegedly pay £2,000 to avoid going to prison. 

I read online that in the 1990’s, Thailand had a reputation of being an  ‘emerging Southeast Asian democracy that respected freedom of expression’. The 2007 constitution is said to also provide for freedom of speech. Apparently, in reality, things are very different and it is very risky to speak out about anything. It is also highly illegal to discredit the monarchy in any way and can lead to imprisonment if you do. 

Our paths cross over a mop but we come away with much more. So for now, I will keep my mops close to my chest. Evidently it is the most amazing mop that I have ever owned in my life with an inbuilt salad spinner-for the mop head, not lettuce (that would be silly) it is a genius design and I highly recommend it. 

Thailand is also a wonderful place to live and you should all come.

*

The internet is excellent here. We are able to connect with friends and family as if they are in the same room. Gone are the days when you would have to find an internet cafe to send an email that could possibly take hours to send and even longer to arrive.

Just days on the island I am able to host our online August ‘Wonder of Words Read Aloud’ session, where Cherry Durrant (my mother) reads from a selection of pieces she has chosen to fit into the monthly theme. Cherry has been doing Read Aloud in people’s homes and care homes around Cambridgeshire for over 10 years. She is extremely good at it, mainly due to her vast literary repertoire, which means she is able to choose pieces that fit perfectly to the theme. As she reads she takes listeners on a journey of literary wonder through time and place. The journey is both a solo and joint venture. People connect with their own memories and experiences and also share and connect with others; finding common ground in human experience portrayed in literature spanning decades. It is truly enriching.

This year I convinced Cherry to run an online group (in part so I could attend) but also so we could reach more people beyond Cambridgeshire. Much to her reluctance, she agreed on the proviso that I would host it. Now it seems the session has gone global. We have listeners from Thailand, Ross On Wye, London, Southampton, Saffron Walden and Spain!

The August theme is ‘holidays’. The session opens with a summary about the origins of Holidays. We listen to the opening lines of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, followed by quotations from Mark Haddon, Robert Runcie and Francis Kilvert all about tourism. There are poems, quotations and extracts which include: ‘A Room with a View by E.M Forster’; ‘Teatime Friend’ by Adrian White; ‘Summer Journeys through the Fens’ by Edward Storey; ‘That Perfect Swimsuit’ by Pam Ayers; ‘Cider with Rosie’ by Laurie Lee; A quote from Bill Bryson from Neither here nor there; ‘Consolation’  by Billy Collins. ‘Three Men in a Boat’ by Jerome K. Jerome. The session finishes with a poem called ‘Just in Case’ by Charlotte Mitchell, which evidently was also read to me to lighten the mood when we were saying our goodbyes before we left for Thailand.

One piece that really draws my attention is the quote from Bill Bryson on the topic of holidays. It resonates deeply with me, because it is something that I have been grappling with since arriving here. 

He states:

“What an odd thing tourism is. You fly off to a strange land, eagerly abandoning all the comforts of home and then expend vast quantities of time and money in a largely futile attempt to recapture the comforts that you wouldn’t have lost if you hadn’t left home in the first place.” (Bill Bryson- 1991 from ‘Neither here nor there’ )

The difference between moving to a place and travelling in it feels vast. When you are ‘travelling’ it is all about the ‘experience’, whereas now I am here I find myself searching for the comforts of home. Trying to recapture what I have left behind. It is the strangest thing and I find myself ‘neither here nor there’. In the last 5 years or so I have rebuilt my life after it was blown apart, only to pack it up and put it into boxes again? I can’t help but wonder why?

Since arriving here, many people have made reference to the fact that we are now living the dream. That we are now living in ‘Paradise’.  I wonder what it really means to live ‘in Paradise’. Is paradise really something that you can just walk into and say, “this is my life now”? Or is it something that takes time to see and experience? I wonder if Paradise is an exotic island or if it is something else? 

I write a poem to help me try and make sense of it all.

Paradise

A tropical island, oh how exotic,

Take me in your suitcase, take me in your locket,

You are going to live on an island?

Oh please won’t you take me with you to Thailand.

So what is paradise I start to reflect

Have I made it to heaven, am I there yet?

Paradise is the grasshoppers as big as shoes,

The bees’ like puppies that fly around the room.

It is the insects that ravish you more than a lover

The repellent where the only option is to smother

Paradise is the morning swim and coffee by the pool.

It is the everyday sun, even in monsoon.

Paradise is the heat that grabs at your throat,

spirits that fill ev’ry inch of the air and gloat

Paradise is walking the steep jungle path,

views of palm trees like Hollywood

Its remembering you have to walk back up

to get to where you first stood

Paradise is breakfast under a shaded tree,

Shakshuka and a Mango Lasi.

It is the truck with sounds of ‘Eye of the Tiger’ for tonight’s fight

The child who responds, punching his fists in the air with might.

Paradise is the temples like towers, bigger than dreams,

Cartoons that take you anywhere you want to go it seems.

Paradise is the buffaloes eating hay

It is the chains that tie them to the building site in decay

Paradise is the stray dogs that bask in the midday sun,

Who skip when they see you in hope for some food or someone,

It is the memory of the dog left at home.

Paradise is the white gleaming villas, with infinity pools,

The 15 workers whose bare hands built its walls

In the name of a ‘better life’.

It’s the derelict buildings only half built

Developers on the run, investors with no guilt

Paradise is a beach with no one

but a single fisherman, who walks through water 

that softly ripples at his feet,

It is realising it is you who have unsettled the silence,

Paradise is the blue sea as hot as a bath

It is the bottled water for your teeth, 

fear of the rumble, a bug having a laugh.

Paradise is a cool beer at the end of the day,

It is knowing that you made it, against the odds,

It’s unearthing seeds of doubt, it’s listening to the gods..

Paradise is shaping your new life like Plasticine,

its Ken and Barbie

Paradise is waving her off to school,

A room with no roof, being played a fool

Paradise is a new day

It’s finding your own way.

Paradise is taking the moment to notice it all.

From the insects to a bird call.

It is the leaf that lands on your table, yellow and green

It is the beauty of the mundane, it’s in the ordinary

Is paradise a place or a way of being

Is it here? Is it You? Or Me? Or simply a way of seeing..?

A relative said when we left for Thailand “there will be highs and there will be lows”. This has certainly been the case- stupidly I never thought about this either. There are moments when I hear her words echoing around the room like a whisper at St Paul’s cathedral and they chime inside me.

The words of the nursery rhyme The Grand old Duke of York also goes round and round my head.

Oh, the grand old Duke of York.

He had ten thousand men;

He marched them up to the top of the hill,

And he marched them down again.

When they were up, they were up,

And when they were down, they were down,

And when they were only halfway up,

They were neither up nor down.

It’s the marching up and marching down, then the neither up nor down, that speaks the loudest.

It was not until I wrote the Blog: ‘The Mountain and Getting there’ did I fully appreciate the journey it took to get us here- the mountain that we climbed. You don’t always realise the journey that you have been on until you step back and see the mountain in plain sight.

Another omission of mine, was that I did not consider for even one minute that when you climb a mountain, you also need to allow yourself time to get down it. I made absolutely no allowances for that. Nor did I consider the fact that the walk down can also be treacherous.

For the truth is, in this paradise, I have struggled with fears I never knew existed and have had to overcome others. Going up and down the mountain. Up and down.There are all the things involved in packing up and starting again. Along with life’s worries that follow you wherever you are. It could be a swarm of flies in the dusky air or a sting as something bites into your skin, taking you unawares. As the sun goes down and the night draws near. In these moments all I have wanted is the comfort of home.

So is paradise home? What if home is neither here nor there? What if you are neither up nor down? Maybe paradise is standing in this very moment, counting your blessings for all that surrounds you; knowing everything is as exactly as it should be, right here, right now, whether you are here or there, up or down.

For very every time you stand in space and time you are always that little bit closer