Thai Fantasy #2

The waves outside my window are lapping gently against the rocks, and I hope I can make it into the morning just as gently. I'm not wake enough to know how all those drinks with Mama-san last night are affecting me. I'm not sure I want to open my eyes yet, let alone think of getting out of bed. But there's some sort of awareness forming, an awful feeling I'm meant to be doing something. Then it hits, I'm booked for a tour out to the islands. Have I overslept, and am I going to be in any condition to go? I haven't even figured out if I have a hangover, but the hotel would have called me if the bus was there yet. I force my eyes open, fortunately the room is dim and so far my brain just feels sleepy. I'm facing the wrong way to see the clock, but it is easier to roll over than expected, and the relief at seeing I still have an hour to go before I leave is almost as great as the slowly dawning realisaton that I do not have a hang-over. I can't figure how I've avoided that.
A quick shower, throw on shorts and a clean t-shirt, grab the camera and down for breakfast. I'm awake enough to remember I didn't disgrace myself the night before. In fact I managed to beat a dignified if hasty retreat as soon as the shower-show ended. Something reminded me to leave a tip for the boys as well as for Mama-san. I was vaguely aware as I left that the dancing boys were getting down off the platform. I was still the only customer.
A handsome face and a flashing smile showed me to a table, poured my coffee and pointed out the various buffets. Only one other guest in there, Italian I'd guess from the clothes and the olive skin, cute - very cute. Is it the tropical heat, the island magic, or just my mood that is making me see almost every man as attractive. I can check him out more freely as I put my breakfast together from the buffet, and he is worth checking out. Good looking, black hair, big, dark eyes, fit. Choice. But its way too early in the day for thoughts like this.
I head out to the foyer to wait for the bus, which arrives a few minutes later. Except its not a bus, not even a mini-bus. It's a car. The driver, a pink-jacketed, gold-toothed middle aged Thai opens the front door for me, and promptly disappears into the foyer. He emerges again a few moments later with the Italian from breakfast, who is ushered into the back seat of the car. Barely time to exchange a brief nod and doors are closed, the motor revs, and we take off.
Half an hour later I find myself in the middle of a Thai long-tail boat. We picked up our guide along the way, twenty-something, razor sharp cheekbones, sporting an impeccably pressed if twenty years out of date cream safari suit, and spouting an amusingly idisyncratic turn of phrase. Non-stop. We chug slowly away from the rough pier, weaving our way through dozens of long-tail boats, only the colour and pattern of their awnings to tell them apart. Down a maze of narrow water-ways between baanks of magroves. Grey water, muddy foliage and grey, looming skies. Not an impressive start.
Suddenly the water opens before us, a huge expanse of vivid turquoise, pierced by sheer sided shards of limestone towering a hundred feet or more. An unreal landscape that truly takes the breath away. We go right through one, a narrow cave, dark and eerily quiet. Most of the outcrops are partially covered in emerald jungle, we can see ladders on some of them - they collect swallow's nests for birds nest soup, but no gatherers, its out of season.
Our destination is disappointing. They call it James Bond Island, part of "Man With A Golden Gun" was filmed here. It is one of the few outcrops that is readily accessible, there is a small beach between two rocky masses, but it is crowded with stalls selling the worst kind of cheap souvenirs, and far too many tourists, lining up to have their photo taken in front of the cave that was "blown up" in the film.
Moving on was a relief, and the Italian and I have finally exchanged a few words. His name is Paulo, from Milan. He is sweet and gentle and funny, and missing his girlfriend - of course.
We have lunch at a stilt village, a Muslim enclave in a very Buddhist country. The village is entirely on stilts over the water. The small parcel of land it is attached to is taken up by a very green mosque. With some dismay I realise lunch is sea-food, freshly and locally caught. Dismay only as I have just seen the sewerage system in the village is straight down into the water.
With that curious love of juxtaposition the Thais seem to have, on the way back we visit a cashew factory. Woman with their hands bound in plastic-wrap to protect their skin from the burning oils in the outer casings, which look like greasy dung, remove the nuts which look like tiny pink brains covered in vivid red veins. The process looks disgusting, the end product is delicious.
Back at the hotel I decide on a swim and some sunbathing. I am just getting comfortable on a sun-lounge when Paulo appears, and sits down next to me. He is decidely chatty now. He strips down to his trunks and I can only think how lucky that far-off girlfriend is. He is lean and well defined, a dusting of hair on his chest, as much at ease in his near-nakedness as he was sprawled in the back seat of the car. And he is funny, genuinely funny. We talk for ages, lying side by side in the sun , temptingly if almost uncomfortably close. And of course untouchable.
Eventually I decide I need to go for a nap before dinner. We promise to exchange e-mail addresses before we leave, and I head up to my room, determined that something is going to happen tonight.