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.
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| Bell |
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| Nidnoi |
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| Pancake |
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| The girls at work |
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| Yoo-hoo, Yoo-hoo |
Nice one...Days like this are few and far between!
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