Idiot

They say that someone who's just died looks 'beautiful'. To me, they just look dead. 'At peace' - well, if this means a total lack of worry, of conflict, then yes. A total lack of everything. Dead.

There were four of us. Harvey, Elly, Joe and myself. To me, they were all confrontational. I didn't feel that I was that way, but perhaps they perceived me differently. When the four of us were sitting together, there always existed an element of tension - suspicion even. It made me wonder if it was all worth it but, thinking about it now, that was part of the thrill. Harvey looked me straight in the eye and said, "You're an idiot." The others merely shrugged. I liked Harvey. The first time I met him, I asked his name and he told me. But then he said, "You can call me anything. Call me idiot if you want." I said that I'd call him Harvey. The jocularity between us had long since evaporated and now he merely ordered me around. "Just go now." I'd spent all day on a boat trip with him, and we'd even gone on a visa run together. I thought this time spent together had cemented our new friendship. 'You're a loser' were the words I now heard him say to me.

As much as I appreciated Elly, she was equally antagonistic towards me. If I dawdled, as I'm prone to do, she was unforgiving. "Hurry up idiot." I tried unsuccessfully to disguise the look of disappointment I gave her. Before she could retaliate, she was cut off by Harvey. "You're fucked," he said. I was fucked. Seriously fucked. In more ways than one. How is it that images of the dead can mingle so seamlessly with such an imaginative, alive ocean? That such lustrous, vivid colors can evoke a pall of misery? Perhaps this was the sly charm of death. That we are reminded of it even in the most beautiful of places. Before I indulge my somberness any longer, let me introduce Joe.

Joe had a zest for life that I envied. He was spontaneous and without airs and graces. He would take a kayak out early in the morning - his camera and a flask of whiskey stashed away - and come back by sunset, red-faced and beaming, with hundreds of idiosyncratic photos he'd taken during the course of the day. At night, he would lean on the bar, his head resting on his hands, while his peeling flesh was soothed by an application of Aloe vera. Whoever was doing the rubbing would be regaled, in muffled but enthusiastic tones, of the latest screenplay he was working on - inevitably a story of psychological terror. "Life is amazing. Watch this." He showed us a video he'd recorded. 'Dog vs Crab', he'd titled it. A lithe, black beach dog toyed with a tiny crab on the sand - a mismatch really. The crab should have stood no chance. It survived though, protected by its shell and imbued with a tenacity the dog lacked. Now it was me who needed a crab-like shell. "You are fucked mate." As if I needed reminding. "You tried to screw with me so now suck on it. Idiot."

Perhaps I was feeling sorry for myself for the hand I'd been dealt. Things seemed grim to me whichever way I looked at them. I was wounded. I had only been able to bluff the others for so long and it wasn't working any more. They could see straight through me. Now that they knew who and what they were really dealing with, they no longer felt the need to be cagey - and so the invective flowed. "Fairytales," said Elly. "You are a fairyteller." I told her that I doubted such a word existed. "Yes, but you know what I mean. You cannot fool us anymore." She was right. I couldn't fool them anymore. I couldn't fool myself anymore either. The time for bluffing was over. My reality here had become both my closest friend and my greatest adversary - azure skies, white sand, and a glassy ocean; loss, fear and hurt.

Harvey and I had gotten on well on the visa run from the island and back. I had teased him about his meal; luminous green peas next to a hunk of unappetizing fried fish. We had wandered around dazed in the morning, both of us unsure of our plans. Eventually, I had followed him back on a later boat. He was Scandinavian - fair and principled, but icy. It was this last trait that I was now experiencing. He looked me up and down, then in the eye, all the while projecting an indifference, an unsettling apathy. He tapped the table impatiently.

I was still here on the island, hoping to heal. But how do you reconcile such beauty with such morbidity? I was in the midst of trying to do just that, with only partial success. As much as I traipsed around the island carelessly, lolled in its inviting waters, dined on its superb cuisine and came to know its hospitable residents, I couldn't escape thoughts of illness, suffering, death and finally absence. In the frustrated and often desperate state I found myself, some sympathy wouldn't have gone amiss. "You are a complete idiot." Harvey pronounced each syllable with disturbing clarity.

To be fair, it wasn't only me that was bullied. We all preyed on each other. Scheming, backstabbing and innuendo were the order of the day. The others brushed it off, just as I pretended to. Elly had the thickest skin. We initially thought she was vulnerable because she was a girl - at least I did - and she used this to her advantage. So we learned not to underestimate her. She was no pushover - Teutonic blood ran thick in her veins. I would often feel myself on the verge of achieving something, proving myself in this uncompromising quartet, only for Elly to casually crush my ambitions. Her two friends rarely joined us. They were aloof - perhaps put off by the rough-edged competitiveness we displayed when together. They preferred to enjoy the island's obvious attractions, unwilling to embroil themselves in our silly game of oneupmanship.

And so we lived out a vicious Lord of the Flies-type fantasy - each of us trying to outdo the other, to trip each other up and gain dominance. Four people, unknown to one another not long previously, now all aimed to establish superiority over each other; to prove their worth. There was no room here for tenderness, comfort or mercy - exactly the things I craved.

My emotions were bound to boil over sooner or later. All this time, I had kept them largely to myself. I knew that If I exposed these emotions, my fate would be sealed - but any more words of derision would do it. Sitting together again, we all looked at each other, po-faced. "Come on," Elly nagged me. "The biggest idiot of the night is also the slowest idiot of the night," added Harvey. Joe simply sniggered. I snapped. "You're all fucking idiots. Every single one of you. Do you not know how hard this is for me, how new it is to me? Have you got no patience, no understanding? Can somebody give me a break for fuck's sake?" Harvey, Elly and Joe sat unmoved - a tapping of the table, a mocking 'tsk-tsk', an eyebrow raised. None of these people knew what I was feeling, or cared. Why should they? My situation was not unique, or even particularly special. I needed to grasp this and resign myself to all life's twists - cruel and kind. One can be crippled or elated, made a fool or a hero. There is no other choice but to take the hands you are dealt - good, bad or mainly just mediocre. Once you're in the game, you're in it to the end. I am as much of an idiot as each of my opponents; no more, no less. After taking a moment to compose myself, I spoke again. "It's your turn Joe, you stupid idiot."


* 'Idiot' is a card game also known as 'Shithead'.

My magical, belated birthday

A curious thing happened a few days back. It happened on the day I celebrated my birthday. More accurately, it happened on the day that was my birthday, as I didn't exactly celebrate it. This is not to say I didn't have a good time on my birthday, or enjoy it. In fact I did. However my enjoyment of the day had nothing to do with its being my birthday. It was neither because of nor in spite of that fact.

I have "celebrated" my birthdays only intermittently over the years. Of course when I was young, my parents - well, my mother really - would make a huge fuss and hold a party with tons of little friends invited. She would have a fun cake made in a shape like an airplane or fire engine. The parties were great. Horsing around with friends, eating lots of junk and getting presents. It was alright by me. As an adult, however, the novelty wore off and my birthday celebrations have been sporadic. I am one of those gloomy types who sees a birthday as denoting a year closer to death, rather than a reason to celebrate life. The times I've been around friends, they've urged me to do something, and we've had a pleasant gathering of sorts. Once or twice, I've found myself inspired to arrange an event on my own initiative. More often than not, though, I've been alone - or at least with people I don't really know - on my birthday, and it has passed unnoticed and unmarked.

This year was one of those times - or so I thought. I was on Ko Lipe, having traveled there alone. Nobody I'd met there knew me well or that it was my birthday. I was perfectly happy with this arrangement. This year especially, I had no real desire to do anything birthday-related. It would be my first birthday since my mother had suddenly passed away and, if anything, my birthday was a reminder of this. In years past, whatever I did or didn't do on my birthday, wherever I was, I was sure to get a text message, phone call or email from her, wishing her 'Pickle' a happy birthday. Pickle was the pet name - derived from Nick - she'd taken to calling me for many years. This would be the first year I wouldn't be receiving such a message. I had a lazy day, soaking in the bath water-warm sea and reading in my hammock. In the evening, I went to the small bar I'd taken a liking to. When I arrived back at my bungalow later that night - a bit worse for wear - I was astonished to find a birthday cake set on the bench of my bungalow's porch. It was a small, round cake, coated in white icing, and embossed with cartoon-like animal figures - a smiling mouse, alligator and zebra. I vaguely recalled seeing a photograph of a similar cake I'd got on my second or third birthday. On its side were written the words, 'Happy Birthday', above some Thai characters which I took to mean the same thing. I'd had quite a few drinks that evening - quite befitting of a birthday in fact - and had also accepted a few joints passed to me by a generous, over-stoned, stranger sitting nearby. So I sat and stared at this cake for quite a while in stunned confusion. After some time, I realized that in my stupor I was unlikely to make any logical sense of the cake's sudden appearance. But there it was. I wasn't that out of it. I prodded it once or twice, picked it up and turned it around. Then my curiosity and surprise gave way to an onset of the munchies. For whatever reason, the cake was there - and I was hungry. Before I tore into it, somehow I had the presence of mind to take a few snaps of the mysterious delicacy.

I woke up in the morning, my head pulsating, with bits of cake plastered to my face, bedding and pillows. I spied the remainder of the cake looking rather forlorn. It sat on the floor, withered and globby - the night's humidity had taken its toll. A trail of ants ran from it, down between the wooden slats of the bungalow's floor. Its cutesy cartoon animals were now joined by a variety of bugs that had found the cake too tempting to resist and then too sticky to escape. It had tasted good the night before, but had certainly had its day. Gingerly, I got out of bed and dumped the glutinous remains in the garbage can outside my bungalow. After drinking a few cups of coffee and lounging in the sea for a while - the best hangover tonic I know - I began the task of tracking down the origin of my unexpected birthday cake. There was no way I could just let this mystery lie. I was intrigued and also utterly confused. Who, on this small island, could have known it was my birthday and gone to the trouble of getting me a cake? And why had it been done in secret? I had seen nobody I knew here, and even if I had, would they have known it was my birthday and got me a cake? Then a thought hit me. Facebook! Facebook friends' birthdays appear on the website's screen. I had got dozens of facebook messages wishing me a happy birthday, but from nobody who was here. However, on my first night on the island I'd got chatting to a Czech guy, Marek. We sat late into the night at a quiet bar. His sleepy-looking girlfriend sat beside him, tugging at his shirt sleeve every now and then in an effort to get him to leave, but he had a lot to say and wasn't easily moved. They were heading to New Zealand in a few days as part of an extensive travel itinerary. Much to the relief of his patient girlfriend, Marek eventually tired and they got their bill. I wished them well and they left. In the course of our chat, Marek and I had swapped facebook details - he had since become another of my 'friends' whom I barely knew. My birthday would have been announced on his facebook page. Then I thought about it; sure, we had gotten on well enough - talking football, travel and the history of our respective countries. He had been impressed when I casually mentioned the city he came from, Ostrava. But surely he hadn't grown so fond of me from our solitary conversation that he'd gone out and bought me a birthday cake! What would his girlfriend have thought? He must have met countless other travelers who he'd added to his facebook list. Was he in the habit of regularly buying birthday cakes for people he'd just met? It didn't make sense, and then when I thought back to our chat, I realized they would have left the island a few days earlier anyway. No, it wasn't Marek. Come to think of it, I hadn't even got a birthday greeting from him via facebook, let alone a cake.

I went to the beach bar of the resort I was staying at. It doubled as the reception and was staffed by three young Thai girls - Nidnoi, Bell and Pancake. Pancake was biologically a boy but seemed to much prefer being a girl. They were a bubbly trio - sweet, helpful and quick to smile, even if communication was at times difficult. The three girls often seemed baffled by the antics of their western guests, but handled them with a warmth of spirit common to most people on the island. They took everything in their stride; where I may have been tempted to clobber some visitors, given their rude behavior, the girls found it quirky and laughed it off. Nidnoi worked efficiently and was in charge of the cash box. She was tall and busty for a Thai girl, and I'm sure feisty enough if she needed to be. Bell was the baby of the bunch. Short with a bob, she had a mischievous, dimpled grin and was apt to finish off any excess cocktails that had been prepared at the bar. Pancake, the boy, was the most striking of the three. He was beautiful - long-limbed and willowy, with cascading hair, curves in all the right places and a killer smile. All three of the crew were in the bar-cum-reception, babbling on excitedly about something or other in Thai. I decided not to mention that it had been my birthday, and instead just asked them if they'd seen anybody around the previous evening with a white cake. They all gazed at me, puzzled. Bell, in particular, looked at me as if I'd just asked her if she'd enjoyed her dinner with a spaceman the night before. She had the most infectious smile, but here it was supplanted by an expression of blank befuddlement. It was Nidnoi, who was the most senior and whose English was best, that spoke first. "Maybe you have new girlfriend here and she brought you a romantic cake."
"But if new girlfriend, Pancake is very jealous," quipped Bell. They all cracked up laughing. The svelte, coquettish Pancake didn't miss a beat. "It's ok. Can have girlfriend. We share. No problem for me."
"But Nick is too old for you," said Nidnoi.
"Yes. He not strong any more. Pancake - you in love with boy from Sweden," chimed in Bell again. Pancake blushed a deep red, and turned away. The cake inquiry seemed to be getting nowhere, but I thought I'd keep up the playful banter. "Swedish guy, hey Pancake. Which one? Have I ever seen him?" Pancake, half-serious now, replied, "No, cos you wake up too late Nick. He always here in the morning. You still sleep I think, come home too late at night." Nidnoi gestured towards her midriff. "He has a six-pack. Blonde hair. Sexy sexy."
"But never look at Pancake," said Bell, half in sympathy, half in jest. Pancake didn't mind the ribbing. "Whatever. Many sexy guy. Even Nick ok. But not handsome enough for cake. No way." They all burst into laughter. These were honest, down-to-earth girls, and if they had any knowledge of the cake or an inkling of where it had come from, they would have let me know. I would have to take my investigation elsewhere. I hadn't bargained on becoming a holiday sleuth, but the world has a strange way of throwing up unanticipated situations.

A tasty, well-made cake on a sweltering tropical island? Not many kitchens on Ko Lipe could have been responsible for producing this. If I'd come home the night before to find a surprise bowl of steaming hot noodles, or a chunk of grilled fish, on my porch, I wouldn't have stood a chance - these were the island's staples. But it struck me that only a bakery could have made my unexplained birthday gift. Once the girls were done teasing me and each other, Nidnoi assured me that there were only three bakeries on the whole of the island and gave me directions to each; Harmony Bakery, Pee Pee Bakery and Flour Power. I set off, my camera in hand.

Harmony was as much a refuge for those suffering from heat exposure as a bakery. It was one of the few air-conditioned establishments on the island, and was frequently packed with bedraggled, sweat-soaked tourists who looked less like they were in need of a dainty pastry than a return to more customary, cooler climes. Air-conditioning comes at a price, though, and customers would dutifully toil their way through one of the confections the bakery had on offer, while gulping in the frigid air like a fish returned to water. I explained my story to the staff on duty and showed them, on my camera, a picture I had taken of the cake. Everyone looked at the picture with slightly confused expressions then shook their heads. It hadn't been made at Harmony bakery. Next, I walked down the island's main thoroughfare, aptly-named Walking Street. Near the end of this street, a sign indicated the location of Pee Pee Bakery. In contrast to the breeziness of the rest of this sign, its slogan, 'We knew your taste', suggested a cherished familiarity sadly lost - like meeting an old friend after a long time, only to find you no longer have anything in common. It was a much more basic set-up than Harmony, and the friendly owner told me, in broken English, that she did not bake birthday cakes. I showed her the picture anyway. She smiled and laughed softly. "You lucky man. Somebody here love you. Sometimes something is mystery. It is ok. No need to understand all mystery. Just be happy with mystery." I smiled and thanked her. They were kind words but my mind, mired in rationalism, wouldn't permit me simply to leave things at that. Across the island, on Sunset Beach, I found the signs leading the way to Flour Power, but when I arrived there, the place looked closed. Not just closed for the day, but closed down. A local man, passing by, confirmed this for me. "It closed maybe 6 months ago. Too far. People don't want to walk here. Maybe when we have new roads and taxi cars they open again." To me, that was a sad prospect. To make matters worse, I was back to square one. It was getting late and I was getting tired. Legwork in the tropical heat, I had discovered, was very draining. I headed home.

News travels fast on a tiny island. As I got back, Bell jogged up to me. "Why you not tell it your birthday? The cake is birthday cake. Why you not tell us?" Her lips scrunched up in a look of feigned disappointment, and then she laughed. I followed her over to the others. "We were just gossiping about you," announced Nidnoi unabashedly.
"Gossiping about what?" I asked.
"We cannot tell. We can only tell when you become Pancake's boyfriend."
"Ok, I'll think about it, but that's not really fair." It was Pancake's turn now. "You also not fair. You did not say yesterday was your birthday."
"I'm sorry. I didn't feel like anybody knowing. I didn't want a big fuss made. I just wanted a low-key birthday. How did you all know anyway?"
"Our friend, Pee Pee bakery tell us," explained Bell. "She say you have photo."

At that point, a voice rang out across the beach. "Yoo-hoo. Yoo-hoo. Hello. Banaaana, coconut, Sinnammmmon. Yoo-hoo. Yoo-hoo. Banaaana, coconut, Sinnammmmon. Ok. Ok." It was the old lady who made the rounds of the island daily, selling buns, muffins and donuts. She had a distinctive, high-pitched sing-song call, not unlike some of the birds that called the island home. "Yoo-hoo, Yoo-hoo." I started to walk towards her, on the off chance she had been involved in my cake's fabrication. Nidnoi stopped me. "Nick, she never makes or sells cakes. Never." I turned around and walked back. "Why did you spend all day looking for someone who made your birthday cake? You are funny. Maybe it's a magic cake from a magic place. You think I'm joking, but I'm not. Sometimes magical things can happen. It's true. You should be happy about such good magic, about a good mystery." Her words echoed those of the lady at Pee Pee bakery. Bell and Pancake were sitting on the low wall next to the bar, their legs dangling listlessly. They were nodding in agreement. "Ok. Ok," I said, "You're right. It's all magic. A cake from heaven!" Nidnoi, sensing my sarcastic tone, gave me a slightly annoyed look. "Can we see the photo of the cake please?" she asked. "Sure." I turned on my camera and scrolled to the picture. All three girls huddled around me, Bell on her tiptoes and squinting in the late afternoon sun. They looked at the picture and then at each other. Something was up. "What's wrong?" I asked.
"It's funny," said Pancake. Nidnoi elaborated. "The cake is nice but the message is strange."
"What's so strange about 'Happy Birthday'?"
"It says 'Happy Birthday' but the Thai writing is funny. Strange."
"I thought it also said 'Happy Birthday', but in Thai."
"No, it doesn't."

Bell shuffled back from the restaurant, holding a tray in her hands. Nidnoi had tried her best to describe the word to me, but I still wasn't sure what she meant. "Dong," she said in Thai. On the tray were the four pots of condiments usually provided in thai eating places. Nidnoi took one, opened the lid and pointed inside - slices of chilli soaked in vinegar. This is what had been written on my cake? "This one! Nam som sai chu, Dong," Nidnoi exhorted me to understand. A stranger sitting at the bar knew what she meant. "Chillis in vinegar. Pickled chillis."
"Yes, Pickle," said Nidnoi remembering the word. "Your cake is funny. It says 'Happy Birthday Pickle'." Everyone laughed. I turned white.

I returned to the beach bar later that evening, my mind strangely calmed. As I got there, the girls leapt out at me, screaming 'Happy Birthday'. They brought me a small candle, a bottle of beer and demanded photos be taken. All the other guests at the bar wished me 'Happy Birthday' too. I thought about telling them it wasn't actually my birthday but changed my mind. I might as well enjoy the moment. If I didn't like celebrating my birthday, it kind-of followed that I should enjoy celebrating my non-birthday. The party went on late into the night. Looking back on it, in many ways it was a magical birthday.

Bell

Nidnoi

Pancake

The girls at work

Yoo-hoo, Yoo-hoo

The King, and Lai

Ko Lipe is a stunning island. It's picture perfect. Ringed by numerous less inhabitable islands, it's blessed with powdery white beaches, crystal-clear sea and swaying palm trees - it's that kind of place. People come here to relax, whether they choose to do so by diving, drinking, swimming, sunbathing, or doing exactly nothing. Underneath the gloss, there's also an interesting social aspect to Ko Lipe. In contrast to much of Thailand, and many of its numerous idyllic islands, it's not home to a homogenous society. And I'm not including the hordes of transient tourists who pass through it in the mix. While most of the people living on the island are ethnic Thais who have moved there from various parts of the kingdom seeking new opportunities, its native inhabitants are the Urak Lawoi, or Chao Ley in Thai, somewhat disparagingly translated as 'Sea Gypsies'.

In the island's steamy interior is a bar and restaurant, abutted by a string of bungalows, called Jack's Jungle. The owner of this establishment is Jack, a short, bearded Thai gentleman. Although it's a somewhat lazy comparison, Jack gives off the same 'humble, wise old Asian man' aura as the character 'Mr. Miyagi' from the film 'The Karate Kid'. He doesn't say much, but when he speaks, you listen. So it was my good fortune to be in Jack's bar - and in earshot of his table - one night while he was recounting a story to a group of eager and attentive visitors. At first, I was surprised to hear him so talkative. It was only when I noticed the almost finished bottle of Johnny Walker Black on their table that I realized why Jack was so forthcoming that particular night. While the whiskey had warmed him to the task of storytelling, it hadn't robbed him of his calmness. He delivered his tale in a quiet, measured manner that had his companions gripped. It felt like it was not only me, but the whole of the restaurant that was tuned in. The only dissenter was Jack's dog 'Spot'. Lying on the floor at his master's side, head slumped over his paws and a frown on his face, the dog would occasionally look up as if to ask 'What the hell are you going on about?'.

"Lai was born on this island. She was Chao Ley, original original. Her family, from a long time ago, were living here. Her great-grandfather was a very famous man. His name was Tokiri. He brought his people here from Lanta island, one hundred maybe one hundred fifty years ago." "So not original original then?" one of the people at the table piped up. "It's ok. Original enough. Before Thai people came here, for sure," Jack replied. "Chao Ley people are sea people - catching fish, trading fish, selling fish, drying fish, eating fish. They even worship the sea and its fish! The Chao Ley say they must live where they can see the ocean. If not, they cannot live. But Lai was different. She never put one toe in the ocean and stopped eating fish when she was very young. Not only stopped eating fish, but she complained about fish. The smell, the bones. For her fish tasted bad, smelled bad. She could not stand fish and she was scared of the sea." There were a few chuckles at the table.

The Chao Ley are ethnically distinct from the Thai people. They are nominally Buddhist but, in reality, they adhere to their ancient animist beliefs. There are no temples on Ko Lipe. They have traditionally followed a subsistence way of life, living off the ocean's bounty. These days, more and more of the Chao Ley are becoming involved in tourist activities, primarily serving as tailboat taxi drivers for those wanting to move about, or explore, the island and its surrounds. A few own and run some basic guesthouses and restaurants. However, they are still largely tied to the ocean and supply the island's mainly Thai-owned restaurants with their freshly-caught seafood.

"Lai wasn't yet a teenager at that time and was getting very thin. She was eating only rice brought from the towns in Thailand. Maybe some coconut. And she could not sleep in any home because of the fishy smell. Every night she slept on the beach. If it rained, she slept under a house, but not inside. Never. She had no friends. The other children teased her. Sometimes, the really naughty boys chased her, holding a fish in their hands. She would run away and hide for a long time. Then one day she disappeared. Gone!" The table, along with the entire restaurant it seemed, was hushed. "Some people wanted to look for her, but not everyone. Others, even from her own family, said, 'No, leave her. She just complains. That girl hates fish. She hates the sea. She never even learned to swim. She is a strange one. She is not a normal Chao Ley. Her great-grandfather, Tokiri, would be very sad to see this child.' Even Lai's own father agreed. 'It's true. She is never happy. She only makes problems and what can we feed the girl? We cannot force her to eat our fish. She is growing thin and weak, but we are not to blame.' After some discussion, it was decided not to search for Lai; to leave her to her own fate." Jack stopped talking and the restaurant fell silent. He leaned down to his side and gave Spot a rub. The dog rolled over onto its back, legs in the air, asking for more attention. "This one protects me. If there is a snake nearby, he will yap yap yap to tell me." Jack righted himself and poured another scotch, disappointing his dog in the process. The visitors at his table also clearly weren't satisfied at the cliffhanger in Jack's story. "So what actually happened to Lai?" asked one of them. "Oh, there were many rumors. She died in a cave. She was taken out to sea."

It was here that Jack's story seemed to converge with one I'd heard on a previous visit to the island. A group of divers had been on a day's trip to some dive sites in the area surrounding Ko Lipe. In between dives, they'd set course for a small island with a white sand beach, with a view to stopping there for lunch. Some of the divers were taking the opportunity for a quick snooze aboard the boat, soaking in the midday sun. On the way to the island, the boat passed nearby another, even smaller island - no more than a rocky outcrop really. Those who were awake couldn't believe what they saw. On this tiny island, on her haunches among the rocks and glaring at the passing boat, was a wild-haired old woman. She was dressed in rags and looked weather-beaten but otherwise relatively healthy. The divers watching this sight shook their sleeping friends awake, needing confirmation that they weren't imagining this scene. The awoken divers saw the same haggard creature perched amidst the rocks. Then, as if she'd suddenly remembered that it was something she needed to do, the woman picked up an object from beside her, stood up and raised it above her head. It was a framed portrait of some kind. It was fairly small in size and they were too far away to make out exactly what it depicted. The woman stood there brandishing the portrait, thrusting it violently towards the passing onlookers. It was almost as if she was trying to throw the image on it at the people staring at her.

When the divers asked the boat crew and dive staff about the woman and the portrait, they were met with shrugs for the most part. A few words were passed in the local lingo, and then one of the diving guides explained that the woman's husband was a fisherman who dropped her at the island while he went out to get his daily catch. "She's bored at home," he said. "She prefers to be near her husband when he goes fishing, but he can't take her on his boat because she disturbs the fish." There was a sprinkling of laughter from the locals and one or two of the foreign divers joined in. They moored at a pristine little island, ate their packed lunch on the beach and spoke nothing more of the incident for the remainder of the day.

I began to surmise what had actually happened to the outcast, Lai. Not willing to put up with her odd behavior and rejection of the things most sacred to them, certain members of the community had forced her aboard one of their vessels, carried her out to sea and dumped her on a tiny, unpopulated island. There she could cause nobody any bother. She had remained on this island, marooned, ever since. I could only guess what portrait she carried with her. Perhaps it was of her pioneering ancestor, Tokiri; a cynical reminder of all she'd rejected. It seemed a terribly cruel thing to do; to banish a helpless young girl to a solitary existence on an island where she'd grown old and wretched. I wondered how she'd survived all this time; what she'd eaten. I could sympathize with the frustrations of her family and community, but this was going too far. The indifference of the locals who left her there to rot, as well as their audacity in taking foreign tourists straight past the island, in full view of this poor soul, left me with a bitter taste in my mouth. Not to mention that Jack appeared to get some kind of joy out of telling this story. I ordered my bill.

Apparently, one of the guests seated at Jack's table had heard the same story as I had, about a woman being spotted alone on an island. This was hardly surprising as it was pretty much folklore on Ko Lipe. The young man gave a brief version of what he'd been told and seemed to come to the same conclusion as me. "So Lai was left alone on the island! That is not right! It's just not fair." Before he could continue, Jack gently interjected. "No, no, no my friend. I know the woman from this story. Of course. This is a very famous story on this small island of ours." Jack looked around his table. Nobody said a word. I put my bill, unpaid, to the side. "I expect you know about our king."

On the surface Ko Lipe seems the very picture of tranquility and harmony, and for the most part this is true. The gorgeous little island is complemented by a rustic, peaceful atmosphere. However, as with any space shared by different groups of people, there are disputes and disagreements. These pertain mainly to land and water rights. There is a severe shortage of water on Ko Lipe - a situation getting worse as the island develops and more tourists arrive. The Urak Lawoi, or Chao Ley, have no tradition of land ownership and much of the land they historically occupied has been seized by local landowners and outsiders. As a result of this, many Chao Ley have migrated inland, beyond sight of the ocean. They have also had to abandon many of their traditional fishing methods - sometimes in favor of the destructive practice of dynamite fishing - in order to compete with large commercial fishing fleets. Despite these differences, and their separate ethnicity and identity, the Chao Ley remain utterly loyal to the Thai king. As in the rest of the country, the king is bestowed a God-like reverence. His image – in some or other guise - adorns most shops, restaurants and homes on the island. Dissent against the monarchy is rare in Thailand - though said to be growing - and those deemed to have defamed or slighted the king in any way are liable to be charged with the crime of lese majesty and face strict punishment. Several foreigners have found this out to their cost over the years.

"I must respect the king. Because I am a Thai person," Jack continued. "And the Chao Ley also love and respect our king because, actually, they are also Thai people. They have lived inside Thailand for a long time. They are Thai citizens, they can have a Thai passport. That is why they love our king. But this woman, she is too much." Jack tapped his index finger against his temple. "She is a bit crazy I think. She loves only two people. Her husband and the king. Even her children, not. They stay with her sister. Every day, when her husband goes out fishing, she goes with him. She does not want to stay in the village without him. And she carries with her a portrait of the king. Her husband needs to concentrate while he is fishing. He cannot have this crazy wife with him, so he drops her on the island. There, she is not alone because she carries with her the picture of the other man she loves, the king. At the end of every day, when her husband is finished fishing, he collects her from the island and they return to the village. This is the lady that people see. I know it sounds strange, but it is true." Jack, enjoying the disbelief on the faces of his friends, grinned. A big, toothy grin. The whiskey was finished by now and it was getting late. Nobody said a word for a while until Jack spoke again. "I hope you all enjoyed your meals tonight." As most of his table companions murmured their approval, the same young man who had spoken up earlier did so again. "But Jack, we still don't know what happened to Lai." "Oh Lai," said Jack, "Lai." And then he spoke the name again, this time much more loudly and assertively.

A pleasant-looking, elderly lady emerged from the kitchen in front of their table wearing an apron. "Everybody, this is Lai. She cooked your delicious meals. And she is also my wonderful wife." Lai smiled warmly at the guests. As if he felt it unfair to leave the story finished with such a twist, Jack explained. "Lai left the village at that time because she couldn't bear the cruel teasing any more. Of course, she also hated the ocean and its fishy smells. She walked into the interior of the island and came across a family who lived alone in a small hut. The couple had a son but no daughter, so they happily took Lai in to help the mother with the cooking. This is where she learnt to cook so well. This family had their own chickens and grew vegetables, which they mostly ate. Sometimes, they would barter these things for fish from the fishing families but this was ok for Lai. She even grew not to hate fish so much. Now she will cook fish, but she still won't eat it." Lai blushed a little. "Lai didn't return to see her family for a long time. When she was seventeen, she met a young man who had just moved to Ko Lipe from the mainland. He was a Thai, and she a Chao Ley but they fell in love. That man was me. And here we are." Jack laughed heartily. "You see, Lai is not so different to her great-grandfather, Tokiri. They are both pioneers. Tokiri brought his people to the shores of this island where they lived for many years. Then his great-granddaughter moved away from the beach into the interior, beyond sight of the ocean, and now her people are also following. Time changes many things. The Chao Ley thought they could not live without seeing the ocean, but now they learn they can and they have to. Just like Lai."

Approaching Ko Lipe

Sunrise Beach

Sunrise Beach, also known as Chao Ley Beach

The Chao Ley village

Raised Chao Ley home

The King - as a Boy Scout

Lily

I sat in my seat for the flight from Cape Town to Singapore; 36A - the A denoting a window seat and a hemmed in, uncomfortable flight. Surprisingly, I found myself quite garrulous, almost giddy. This was rare for me. I'm usually cynical, taciturn and brooding, though prone to occasional fits of friendliness. Now was one of those times. Use it while it lasts, I thought. The girl seated next to me was the recipient of this sudden onset of bonhomie. She was on the way to Singapore to meet her husband. He was flying from Brisbane. Meeting in the middle. This seemed like a good example of marital compromise. Not that I would know. I'm 38, almost 39, and single. I've never had to compromise much.

I pried a little. Her name was Lily. She was Asian looking but said she was from Cape Town. Her accent was indiscernible. She'd met her husband during the football World Cup in South Africa. She was attractive - petite with a doll-like face, sleek, unblemished skin and a great curve to her chest. Her manner was polite and unaffected. “So where in Cape Town are you from?” she asked. I tried, as succinctly as possible, to summarize my background, growing up in Woodlands. “I used to work in a restaurant that moved there.” My mind began a mental sweep of the area, hoping to preempt her telling me the place's name - and impress her at the same time. “But it closed down a while back,” she announced, stopping my thoughts in their track. It was just as well. I'd been in and out of the area for a while and wasn't up to speed on all its eateries. “You probably wouldn't know it anyway. It wasn't very good. That's why it closed.” She had a playful giggle.

She asked me what I did. “I'm in computers,” I lied. The truth was so much more complicated and would merely invite more awkward questions. I made a mental note of this lie. Should a topic be revisited, it is important to have the facts straight. It was a bold-faced lie, but it was a fact that I'd told it. And where was I going? “Just for a short holiday. I need a break.” I declined to elaborate. In truth, I was going away for an indefinite period. As the aircraft ascended, so I grew fatigued and surly. The conversation, shorn of its pleasantries, waned.

During meal time our elbows touched. We looked at each other and smiled. I said sorry when a sudden jolt caused a drop of my juice to land on her tray. Later she reciprocated my apology when her thigh nudged me as she stood up to leave her seat. We both tried to avoid using the shared arm rest between us lest our skins brush. Typical airplane civility. Next to Lily, in the aisle seat, sat a middle-aged man. He had a grey complexion and hair and a permanent sneer on his face, even when he slept. He slept almost the whole flight. The flight attendant tried to wake him once, when the first meal was served, but was met with an annoyed grunt. Nobody disturbed him after that. Only once did he wake up during the flight. He muttered something, stood up and shuffled off to the toilet. He had a pronounced limp, although he may just have been stiff from having remained seated and still for so long. When he came back, he shot both me and Lily a look of disdain, resumed his position and went back to sleep.

I settled on a movie by a director I admire. His movies are of the disgusting but delightful type. In hindsight it was the wrong choice. The dialogue-driven piece - not as visceral as many of his others - required a lot of attention. Seated next to the noisy plane engine, I missed a lot. The shrieking performance of the female lead - looking perpetually on the verge of an epileptic fit or orgasm - also put me off. Lily and I knocked back four glasses of red wine each. I was counting. It seemed like a contest at one point and we both called it quits eventually. A slurred, faintly nauseating tie.

Above the whirring hum of the aircraft, we made only one more attempt at conversation. It was feeble. She hated landings, while I was afraid of take-offs. Was her husband meeting her at the airport? Yes. He was arriving two hours before our flight and waiting for her. So much for the faint hopes I'd been harboring of taking this stranger back to my hotel. Nothing wrong with a spot of fantasizing, I guess. We landed and made our way off the plane. Lily, who’d been swept into the aisle, turned and wished me farewell. I did likewise. Our voices were barely audible above the excited din of bleary-eyed but relieved passengers.

With time on my hands, I thought I'd try a bus into town. The bus routes, however, were indecipherable to my eyes and so I settled for a cab. The driver's English was halting at best. Who was I to judge? I couldn't speak a word of his language. “No wife Sir?” I replied that I had a wife and two kids, but I was traveling alone on business. I couldn't face the inevitable question of why I wasn't married at my age. Better to lie, even if my shabby clothes were a giveaway. Neither a businessman nor a man subject to the approval of a proud wife was likely to be dressed like I was. I asked him the same question. “Ya, of course-lah. And too many girlfriend.” Ok loverboy, just get me to my hotel.

The hotel room was a box. Cheap fittings and linen - but not cheaply priced. The remnants of a previous occupant's time spent on the toilet were found smudged and speckled on its porcelain slopes. What did the housekeeping staff do? Still, it's hard to blame them - day in and out working at such an unedifying job. Cleaning up strangers' piss and shit and come and blood and gob. The curtains were thick enough and I was able to enjoy a decent post-flight slumber. The TV was showing reruns of old football games. I lay down and closed my eyes. Not everyone's idea of good background noise, but a lullaby to my ears. A ruckus amongst the players had the commentator agitated and stirred me momentarily, but only momentarily.

I was eating a waffle I'd been served by Lily at some obscure Woodlands restaurant. Butter, treacle and jam dribbled from my mouth, ran down my chin and dripped onto my chest. I grinned, exposing my yellow fang-like incisors. My crooked nose arched like a tensed bow and my furrowed forehead rose and narrowed. I became a caricature of myself. Lily was taunting me for being so foolish. “I'm a married woman. I told you that. And even if I wasn't, what makes you think I'd go with you? Or with anyone for that matter. Do I look easy? An oriental slut? Is this some kind of perverse, built-in prejudice you have against women? Against Asians? You disgust me! You're a fucking pig!” She then started shrieking, not unlike the girl in the film I'd watched on the plane.

My eyes opened slowly. They were dry and crusty. I reached for the complimentary bottle of water by my side and slugged a good portion of it back. I needed to brush my teeth; to get rid of the stale taste that had enveloped my mouth and extended down my throat. I realized that I'd forgotten to charge my electric toothbrush. It was dead. Someone had asked me before I left - on seeing this toothbrush - whether I traveled with it. There was a vague hint of surprise in the question. I answered that it would be my first time traveling with such a toothbrush, but never followed up on why this might be of surprise to her. Perhaps this was the answer. It needs to be charged. Often, simple things don't occur to me.

After fumbling around the cell-like hotel room for a while, I made my way out onto the streets of Little India. It smelled like India without the shit. I was ready to eat. In fact I was starving. I was craving curry and a beer. I found a seat at the first place offering both. The meal came on a banana leaf. No cutlery was offered and so I dug in fingers first, just like most of the locals around me were doing. Two girls, obviously tourists, walked by staring at my turmeric-stained hands with bits of rice and meat glued to them. They tried, unsuccessfully, to conceal a look of distaste. They sat at the table to my side, ordered and were duly given a knife and fork. As they waited for their food, an elderly Indian man approached them. They obviously didn't appreciate the intrusion but the old man was oblivious to this. Or he just didn't care. The smoke from the cigarette dangling between his fingers drifted past their twitching, disapproving noses. The wizened old man had a raspy voice, doubtless due to many years of smoke inhalation. “Where you girls from?”
“Austria,” the brunette replied.
“Oh. I been there. Sydney. Beautiful. And the girls too.” They looked at each other awkwardly and nodded. “I sit, ok?” He didn't wait for an answer. “Bring me some mutton,” he called out. “This my cousin place. Anything you want I can do for you.” His mutton arrived in a bony heap. He carried on talking while shoveling the gloppy mess into his mouth. Occasionally a piece would lodge itself on his lips or fall to the table. The girls' food had arrived but they were yet to start eating. It seemed likely they never would. They sat, heads slightly bowed, silently cursing their luck.

“Perhaps you would like to join me Sir.” The man's bald head turned slowly to face me. He surveyed me like he was watching a stinking garbage truck drive by. A snarl formed on his lips. “Why you interrupt me. Can't you see I'm talking to these beautiful ladies?”
“I just thought you might like to chat with me until they finish their dinner.” He didn't need much convincing. Leaving his half-eaten mutton meal, he shifted his chair towards my table without lifting it. It made a loud, grating sound. “So what you want with me?” I repeated that I just wanted to chat while the girls finished their meal. “So you think I'm a rude bugger?”
“No,” I lied.
“Where you from?” I told him I was South African. “Oh. I been there. They cut me and robbed me. My first night there. Steal my wallet. Three men. Black. Big fuckers. They held me and cut me. See here.” He pointed to a spot on his wrist. I could see no scar. “They cut me here too.” He lowered his head and pulled down on his shirt, indicating somewhere on the back of his neck. Again, I could see nothing. “They say they gonna slit my throat. Take my money. Sixteen thousand dollars. And my credit card. Another eighteen thousand. I worked hard for that money. They want the pin for the credit card. I told them there is no pin. You want to use pin, you go to Singapore. They took the card. They could kill me that time. I couldn't care a less. But I got a wife and kids you know. Anyway, I cancelled the card. Those fuckers couldn't use it. Next day, the embassy flies me home. I got to pay them back you know.”

The girls to my side clearly hadn't bargained on such an animated meal. Barely a word had passed between them, though they seemed grateful that events were unfolding at a table other than theirs. I had been midmeal when the man pulled up next to me, and the sheer forcefulness of his tone demanded my attention and prevented me from finishing my dinner. He wasn't done yet. “Anyway, I divorced my wife. Now I got a new one. She's twenty-eight, twenty-seven, twenty-six. Filipina. I told her I'm fifty-eight. I'm not strong anymore. She said she love me for my heart not down here.” He pointed at his crotch. “I said if I see her with another man, I'll cut her into pieces. Eighty out of a hundred Filipinas are bad but she is a good one. And if I take viagra then she better be careful.” His last comment made him chuckle and I also smiled. The man's diatribe carried on for a while, getting gradually cruder. He occasionally glanced at the two girls beside us as if to make sure they weren't eavesdropping. They didn't need to. They could hear every word. Eventually, the old Indian man grew tired of the sound of his own voice, mumbled something about being the best tailor in Singapore and staggered off.

By this stage, my curry was cold and cloddy but I finished it anyway. I got up and washed my hands at the basin provided for this purpose. The brunette Austrian tourist thanked me as I made my way back to my table. I told her it was no problem. “What is Sydney like anyway?” They laughed. I sat back at my table and asked them how long they'd been traveling. The blonde girl spoke this time. She gave me a short rundown of their plans. They were students on a term break. They were young and naïve, but also clearly wary of being cornered by another predatory male. I didn't push the conversation. More out of courtesy than interest, I sensed, they asked what I did and why I was in Singapore. “I'm in computers and here for a short holiday. I need a break.” The girls left shortly afterwards, their dinner hardly touched.

The next day, I flew to the Malaysian island of Langkawi en route to my ultimate destination, Ko Lipe, a tiny island off the Thai coast. Again I found myself in an affable mood, and engaged my neighbor, a bespectacled and impeccably well-mannered Korean man. Well, a boy really. He had been posted by his construction company to one of its subsidiaries in Singapore and was taking a weekend break in Langkawi. He spoke English slowly and deliberately - and mostly very well. He prefaced his comments with fusty but endearing phrases like, 'To my sorrow', 'In a manner of speaking', and 'If I am to be honest'. He struck me as wholly honest. He liked Singapore but found it expensive, and was slightly annoyed by a girlfriend who had been supposed to join him on this trip but cancelled at the last moment. They had 'quarreled', he told me. I failed to requite his honesty. When asked about myself, I trotted out the familiar line that I was in the computer industry and away for a short break. It was wearing thin, but only in my mind. Pushed on the matter, I would concoct some vague, half-baked specks of information to give the story a more concrete feel. He didn't inquire about my family. A young man tends to overlook such matters. I was relieved. I may have been tempted to lie again, and lying was tiring.

In Langkawi, I stayed overnight at a guesthouse run by a Japanese woman and her Iranian husband. She wore her hair neatly cropped and was well-traveled, worldly and informative. He'd been in the Iranian airforce, had suffered some injuries in the Iran-Iraq war in the early eighties and been on a pension ever since. An unlikely pair if ever there was one. He was a bitter, cantankerous and opinionated man and treated his patient, kind wife badly. I'd stayed at their place before and seen several guests leave prematurely, their European sensibilities offended by his coarse manner. I was a little more hardened and even found him charming at times. However, there was no mistaking the fact that, at heart, he was a chauvinistic bastard. How he and his wife had met I never asked. I'd never witnessed any physical abuse but his verbal tirades against her were regular, and ugly. I'd heard some outraged travelers express their amazement at how she stayed with this man. Somehow, despite his loathsome character, I sensed a great loyalty and tenderness on her part towards her husband. And love, no doubt.

The following morning I packed to leave. My boat to Ko Lipe was leaving in a few hours and I thought I'd pay up and get some lunch before departing. I asked the Japanese lady where her husband was and she told me he’d been ill all night with a bloated stomach and gas. “He's gone out to buy lots of drinking water. A guest here, an English lady, told him that he needs to drink lots of water - only water - and rest. He went to get extra water immediately. He listened to her. I could have told him the same thing, but then he would say, 'what do you bloody know? You just tell me that so you don't have to cook for me anymore.'” She shook her head with a resigned look as if to say, "What can I do?" I smiled, perhaps inappropriately. At that point, her ragged, silver-haired husband burst through the gate. He was clearly in some discomfort, groaning and clutching his stomach with one hand, the other carrying a shopping bag full of water bottles. I had to suppress an even broader smile. The scene was comical to me. “This woman is trying to kill me,” he blurted out, his hand leaving his stomach momentarily to gesture towards his wife. “This is all because of the cashew nuts she gave me last night. One bag full of cashew nuts. She didn't warn me not to mix the cashew nuts with whiskey and now look at me. What is she good for?” I thanked both of them, paid and left.

I took my lunch at a bustling budget restaurant. This place, oddly called Tomato, was packed with hungry diners day and night. I sat at my table and ordered. The food arrived in no time. While I was eating, a man passed by my table from behind, his back to me. He was limping. It was a bad limp and several other customers were staring at him. He looked strangely familiar. It was only when he turned slightly that I recognized him. It was the bad-tempered man from the aisle seat on my flight from Cape Town. What a coincidence that he was also here in Langkawi. He approached a table with three young women sitting at it. This surprised me even more. The women were chattering away in the local language, Malay, smiling and giggling. They looked like a group of friends who hadn't seen each other for a while and had lots of storytelling and gossiping to do. The airplane man sat down next to one of the women. They were a couple. This was obvious from the way she grasped his hand, touched him and spoke to him. I kept watching, intrigued, and realized a few seconds later that I recognized her too. It was Lily. I carried on staring, my mind trying to make sense of the situation; trying to square what she'd told me on the flight with what I was seeing; trying to understand how the man neither of us had spoken to on the plane could fit into this scenario. Suddenly, Lily's eyes caught mine. She held my stare for a moment, clearly recognizing me too, but showed no emotion. I looked down, embarrassed. Without missing a beat, Lily reverted to the animated conversation at her table. I felt deflated and foolish. I got my bill, paid and left.

The boat from Langkawi to Ko Lipe was fast. Too fast. It leapt over the hefty swell and banged hard onto the water's surface through much of the trip. There were only 5 passengers, including myself, on board. Everyone looked a bit queasy and there was no conversation among any of us to begin with. As we neared our destination, the sea became calmer and the boat slowed down a notch or two. Color returned to all our faces, and the sight of the beautiful island before us perked everyone up. A young couple made their way to an outside section at the front of the boat. I followed. Standing beside the couple at the boat's bow, I asked the obligatory question of where they came from. “From Holland and you?” the boyfriend answered and asked. I told them I was South African. I said I was on a much needed short break from work. “Tell me about it,” he said.
“Stressed out huh? What do you do back in Holland?” He looked me straight in the eye and said, “I'm in computers.” I thought I saw his girlfriend standing next to him wink at me, but I wouldn't swear to it.