Song: “Comin’ Around” – Andrew Duhon
It is a general rule that the more beautiful a place is, the more difficult it is going to be getting there. If these places were closer and more accessible, they wouldn’t be what they are. Koh Lipe was no exception.
A van driven by a psychotic and mildly deranged man picked me up from the hotel in Hat Yai. Luckily, I got to sit up front, rather than be crammed in the back with the other twenty victims. Unlike them, I was able to put my hand on the dashboard as the man, wailing on the horn and screaming in multiple languages, proceeded to try and ram every single other car and scooter in his path. A warning tone chimed incessantly, calling out his excessive speed, underlying his utter disdain for any of the ‘rules’ of the road. With each near fatality, he swerved into the opposing lane, grimacing as he took a big swig of his drink. I assumed it was soda.
Still dazed and most likely in a form of mild shock, the crew then ushered us onto a speedboat with all the grace of cattle drivers. At first glance, this sounds ideal. I mean, a slick wave skater, flying across the Andaman Sea, destination: paradise? What could be better?
The reality sets in, however, when you are crammed shoulder to shoulder with other tourists, the sunscreen from their perspiring, bare skin pressing into more of your crevices than you knew that you had. You cannot see the water over the windscreens, leaving the only place to affix your gaze on the oil-slicked humans across from you. In my case, there were two grown men on either side of me with selfie sticks, one of whom began to livestream the journey. The poles crisscrossed in front of me, almost touching my face before I shooed them away. At least one of them had the sense to appear bashful.
But, remember: paradise. The journey is almost always worth it. And this one was no exception. Pulling up to the island was like falling back through time into an overly saturated cartoon. The cerulean blues and jade greens of the water bit upwards into the warmly beckoning sky. White sand glistened in the background. Long-tail boats, with giant propellers angled up out of the water, bobbed in the shallow water, their well-polished hulls darkly gleaming in the bright sunshine. And through it all, a shimmering glimmer rose from the buildings huddled along the seashore, all whites and tans, glass and netting.
Paradise.
I waited my turn behind impatient tourists. I clung to patience and my better judgement. You have two choices when you travel as much as I do. One: you can become prejudiced, jaded, and mean. Which I certainly have been at many times in my life. Or two: you can walk fully in the light, your heart bared, forgiving these fellow travelers for trespasses that they haven’t committed yet. I strive for the latter. I frequently fall short. That time, however, I was successful.
Despite the crappy way that most people travel, it is hard not to give them a break. They are caught; trapped in a prison that they can’t even see. We all start there. And these folks have given countless hours of their invaluable time to be able to go to that island. Oftentimes, their holidays are their only break from a strangling reality. This is their chance to actually live the life they see on television every night.
Therein lies the rub, because the oppressive weight of reality sets in as you make your way from plane to hotel to bus to boat to ferry and then finally to the beach… where hundreds of other people are. You find out instantly that it is nothing like the pictures some influencer took. It is still paradise. But the mental image you undoubtedly had in your head becomes tainted and cheap, as if someone has deeply betrayed you. If you haven’t experienced this before, and aren’t prepared for it, this can be a jarring experience.
So, option #1… or option #2?
I was soon walking down the captivatingly white sands. The beach was packed, overweight and deeply tanned bodies lounging in every position imaginable. The heat pounded down in unobtrusive tyranny as I slowly meandered through the shallows. The water was so warm that I could barely feel it against my pale skin. As the sun set, I found myself sitting on the gnarled and splayed roots of (what I think was) a kou tree. The sun gradually disappeared beneath the horizon, leaving waves of grenadine reds and clementine orange in its wake. The walk back to the hotel was slow, relaxed, and purposeful.
The rest of the night was spent on a warm balcony, a good book in hand. Impossibly cheap cocktails kept appearing. My breath became something indistinguishable from the gently rolling surf. The beach-themed ambiance music receded into the background of the background, no more notable than the rustling of leaves or the grinding whine of passing scooters. Pages turned. My breath breathed me. When sleep came, it arrived easily. My glasses were still on my face when I awoke.
***
As the bright light of day made it’s way through the overhanging palm trees, several wet suit-clad tourists and myself assembled next to a beach long-tail boat. I’d booked a snorkeling trip across the nearby islands. As the tour operator droned on in Thai, we climbed aboard, cameras and bottles of water lofted above our heads. The scent of sunscreen, acrid motor oils, and salt assaulted the nostrils. The boat was long and shallow-keeled, a squat sun-roof covering most of the deck. We bent deeply and smiled across at each other in a handful of different languages.
The engine fired up with a deeply throated roar and we quickly crossed over mooring lines, rocky outcrops, and chalky sands buried underneath the crystal-clear water. The tour guide was a diminutive, skinny man, barefoot and so deeply tanned that he might as well have had ‘melanoma’ tattooed across both arms. One long cigarette burned atop his lips, seemingly never touching his oil-drenched hands. He spoke absolutely no English, other than the word ‘ahoy!” He cut a glorious figure, jumping back and forth across the stern with remarkable dexterity.
After a day full of snorkeling and sunbathing, we stopped at ‘Monkey Island.’ The guide handed out prepackaged lunches, then waved a finger while impersonating a monkey. Naturally, I ignored him. Monkeys. I had faced down moose and bears. I had held koalas and tigers, and recently befriended elephants. I was a man of the world, one with nature, the second coming of Noah.
Monkeys? Bah.
We swung from the gunwale and landed on the pristine white sand. Water gently licked the shore, reaching for the roots of the encroaching jungle. A pair of our simian ancestors were standing further down the strand, eyes furtively darting between passing tourists, some of whom were standing and snapping photos. I moved around them, just inside the tree line, holding my food tray aloft-
He was there before I could blink. A monkey, larger than the others, massive balls hanging far from his body. The thickly-muscled beast was directly in front of me, hanging from a branch, snarling in a thoroughly unadorable fashion. I wanted to punch him just as bad as I wanted to throw him treats. But I was hungry. So, I stepped to the right and snarled back. A whisp of understanding seeped beneath the layers of sunscreen…
Maybe these little shits are more than they appear.
I walked away and dug into the spicy blend of rice, meat, and peppers. I was sunburnt and tired, which meant I was ravenous. As soon as I finished I was looking for more food. But this was an isolated island in the middle of nowhere. There was absolutely no way that there would be a mini-mar-
Holy shit. There was a snack stand.
I waited my turn and gleefully bought a large bag of potato chips. It popped loudly as I pulled. I took one out with relish, tossing it into my mouth. There was nothing in the world that could bother me. If someone had handed me a coconut full of rum, I would have assumed that I had died and gone to heav-
It took me a full second to realize that the monkeys had crawled up my sides. One was hanging from my left hip before I could connect my brain to my throat. The other went straight up the bean pole, right to the back of my head. I held the bag of chips out prominently in front of me…
I finally conjured a squawk and got to swatting. The monkey on my hip jumped off and took two steps back, snarling. It was the same one as before! And somehow, his nuts had gotten even bigger! A smaller and lighter one was still attached to my neck. I raised a hand and felt mangy, tattered fur under my hand. Then the little shit was flying through the air. Hopefully there were no Park Rangers around. I could faintly hear voices nearby… yelling…
“…the food!”
“Drop…”
“Throw…”
“Back up you little fucks!”
Then it hit me. The food. They were after the chips. But it was my food. And I was hungry. So hungry…
Ah, fuck it.
I tossed the bag over. Big Nuts snatched it up and immediately scrambled up the nearest tree. He glanced over his shoulder once, flashing a primitive smirk, then began to pull out one chip at a time. Slowly. Mockingly. The sound of crunching came loud and clear across the entire beach.
I stood there, dumbfounded. Fellow tourists had flocked, paying attention only to the monkeys. When they did look at me, it was in disdain, their own bags of candy and diabetes medicine safely tucked away in their fanny packs. The monkey had completely forgotten me. He turned his head and stared stoically into the distance, taking one chip at a time and gently gnawing…
But there was something more. The irony of it all cascaded down, carrying me away on a tide of ignominy and absurdity. I realized that I didn’t give a single shit about what these people thought. Or that damn monkey. I was just a hungry man, now chip-less, waiting for the boat to leave. I caught nasty sidelong glances and laughed in their faces. I patted my stomach a few times, happy for Big Nuts. He probably needed it more than I did.
A weight that I hadn’t known I was carrying was abruptly released. Laughter spewed from my chest and mouth in a cascade; a fountain of youth that transported my entire frame down the river. There was no fear, no embarrassment, no virulent overthinking. It was nothing. I went back to the boat, tossed my shirt and sunglasses inside, then walked straight and dove into the cerulean blue, bath-like waters ahead. I turned on my back and threw casual backstrokes for a long time. Every so often I would stop and just float along… bobbing along with the gentle current.
The rest of the crew was aboard and waiting when I returned. I smiled and waved, then crawled up the ladder. I pointed to my back, laughing.
“Monkey free!” I yelled over the blaring engine. The two wetsuit-clad men ahead of me said nothing and stared straight ahead.
I leaned back, pulled a purple bill from my pocket, and handed it to the guide. Then I held my fingers to my lips in a universal sign. The man cracked a smile that was mostly brown with what I am assuming were still functioning teeth and pulled a pack from somewhere on his body. With oil-stained hands he lit a cigarette off of his own and handed it to me. I leaned back, feeling salt water dripping from a crack somewhere in the stern, and took a nice, long drag.
Monkey free.