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Saturday 27 August 2016

The pestilential pup

Myself, my bestest gal pal and her man, were sitting on the fabled paradisical white sandy beach of Koh Samui, Thailand.

However this was not the picture-postcard setting that we had anticipated on our sun-soaked boat ride over from the mainland, as the salty sea-breeze had lightly stirred through our hair, cooling our faces, whilst we hungrily devoured the surrounding scenery.

Our actual experience was more akin to an out of season trip to Grimsby, although perhaps somewhat warmer.

We hit up the beach as soon as we'd checked into our hostel, but now the sky was a blanket of grey cloud hanging oppressively low, the sea a reflection of the above. Grey. Grey. Grey. We shared a dishevelled sarong, far too small for three, watching the waves crash before us with heavy handed force.

As we sat here, sipping lukewarm beers, contemplating our next move, the dog arrived.

We were the only people on the beach, unsurprising considering the conditions, so this raggedy, bald-patched, frankly pestilential-looking pup made a beeline straight for us.

My bestest gal pal was terrified, she hates dogs, even clean, well-kept, pooches fresh from a visit to the vet.

'Don't look it in the eye, if you ignore it, it will go away' was her man's sage advice as the dog sauntered up. So this is what we did. With the dog all of a foot away from us, searching our faces, we strenuously avoided eye contact.

We looked up, we looked down, to the left, to the right, anywhere and everywhere except at the mutt. This lasted, honestly about 15 minutes, 'its not working' my pal trembled. Yet we continued. Feeling increasingly ridiculous as the time passed.

This dog remained, well dogged, in its persistence. Another 15 minutes passed.


In the end my pal's man shooed the dog away and it scarpered instantly, leaving us in the the blessed peace of our greyscale slice of paradise, after what was perhaps the most awkward half an hour of my life.

Thursday 18 August 2016

Boat to Gili Air

At the crack of dawn I gingerly descend from my bunk bed, change, cram my remaining belongings into my backpack, hoist it over my shoulder and leave. Bound for the neighbouring island feeling excited and nervous: new place, new people, new experiences await me.

After about fifteen minutes my ride arrives and a two hour journey dozing in the back of a minivan ensues. Pretty uneventful.

I am then dropped at the port, alone, my driver (after reminding him that my fare included the boat ticket) buys said ticket, hands it to me and leaves without so much as a backward glance.

Ok. I can do this.

This port is small but busy. Mostly trade: people packing bananas, pineapples, crates of cola onto small boats. I pluck up the courage and ask a trader where I should be, he gestures to some boats but tells me I have to wait a bit.

A bit passes, then a while. I grab a coffee and a chocolate. I'm milling around and decide to ask someone how much longer I must wait - she cuts me off 'that's your boat there, you have to run'
Oh god. I hate running at the best of times and this certainly wasn't the best of times. Sunglasses perched perilously on my head, scolding full cup of coffee in hand, backpack on back, rucksack on front, I run ... People begin shouting all around me 'hurry hurry' : I am I was thinking.

Now these boats don't actually come all the way to the shore ... So I had wade (in trainers and socks because no time to remove them) mid-shin deep to get to it.

Then I couldn't get up. Shit. Wet, heavy and now bright pink and panting. I handed a man my coffee. I still couldn't get up. I offered up my hand and he pulled me on board. Phew - I made it.

I faced a boat full of staring faces, 95% of which belonged local traders and families, watching this red-faced overladen woman struggle to seat herself.

I perched on a box with an old lady - she didn't seem pleased to share but I had to sit. So sit I did.

The journey was maybe half an hour but it felt like years. Where I sat the side of the boat came barely above my ankles and I swayed dangerously with every wave, envisioning myself falling overboard and then sinking beneath the weight of my bags, pulled down like a drowning beetle.


Needless to say this did not happen. I made it. And the destination made the journey worthwhile : although this may not have been the case if I had fallen overboard ....

Monday 8 August 2016

My Oscillating Pod

I have never been known for my elegance. Some people are graceful: everything they do is a fluid motion of class and sophistication. Others (like me) can't even perform the simplest task without resembling a great lumbering bovine creature in human clothes. I'd wager that you've never seen anything less elegant then me attempting to get into a bed suspended from the ceiling.

When I arrived at my hostel my first reaction was extreme excitement: the dormitory room consisted of eleven beds with bamboo frames, suspended about a foot and a half above the floor by thick ropes, on each corner net hangings were artfully bundled and tied together with little bows. Adorable. I could not wait to get in.

However, this was my first day on the island and having much to see and do I resisted the urge and went exploring.

When I returned it was past dark. I realised at once that I should have tested the bed out in the daylight, but I hadn't so I had to make the best of it.

Wary of waking my bedroom buddies I gingerly clambered onto the bed. Immediately it began to swing violently beneath me, oh god, I thought I was going to crash into one of my neighbours: back and forth, side to side, I was being buffeted to and fro. Meanwhile, incomprehensibly, everyone else's bed was completely motionless....

I then struggled, with my eternally fumbling fingers, to undo the hangings and clip them together, to thus seal myself within my oscillating pod. This took ages and still I was swaying dangerously, when I eventually lay down I was feeling sea-sick: waves of nausea rushed over me echoing the waves of my hanging bed.

It was only then that I noticed the fan. Great, I initially thought, but the cord was so high up.... I would have to stand.

Getting to my feet like a new-born giraffe, knees shaking with the tension, legs spread like some sort of ill-prepared surfer, I rode the waves, turned the fan on, almost toppled over onto my neighbour, mercifully managed to keep my balance, and return to a seated position with a bump.


Then I was lying back down, still swinging as wildly as a 1970s suburban house party, feeling sicker and sicker. Eventually the motion calmed and I was rocked peacefully asleep, glad that it was at least too dark for anyone to have seen what a scene I created.