It had all been going so well. I'd even managed to stretch an extra four months out of an already lengthy decade by returning to Thailand ten years on just in time for New Year. They call it Song Kran out here and make sure celebrations go with a splash by having the biggest waterfight I've ever been involved in. What turned out to be an epic day started with DIY sunlounger waterslides on the beach, progressed to the town-wide delugingม then drunken beach volleyball before being rounded off by another night on the buckets.
Prior to that we'd snuck a in few days on Koh Tao where the highlights included Pitcairn screaming like an excitable teenage girl when a Trigger fish looked in his general direction and JT having a, sadly unwitnessed, comedy fall to cap off a lamentable kayaking performance. There was a very short game of killer pool on a snooker table, a very long night drinking buckets of Sang Song and much fun had by all.
But the main event and raison d'etre for the trip was the day before Song Kran: the nuptials of Claire and Dave, back to exchange rings on the island where they first met in a ring, at a Muay Thai training camp. Both were taking the occasion seriously and were well prepared having spent the last three months working on their tans. They were beautiful, the setting was beautiful and as the sun set on their engagement and a honeyed moon rose on their married life a strange mood fell upon the gathering. Maybe it was the romance in the air, probably it was the alcohol in the system, but by the end of the night most of the guests had given themselves up to naked revelry in the sea. There were some who thought this a good photo opportunity, should any of them be unwise enough to distribute the resulting images I ask only that you bear in mind that the sea out here is much colder than you'd imagine.
The fun continued into Song Kran the next day, a night at the boxing the day after and then it was time for the party to start breaking up. Premature as ever, Ned was the first to leave, like a thief, in the dead of night. Well actually, bucketed-up after a night out, in the dead of night. And then, amid fond farewells from friends old and new, I took my leave of the group and headed for home.
Two days later I was meeting Pitcairn and the Physio Crew at Bangkok airport and heading into town to meet up with the wedding refugees spread across Bangkok. We joined other Volcanic Ash Victims in a hotel near the Koh San Road, huddled together round the rooftop pool exchanging information and rumour. In keeping with our stranded predicament there was a considerable Dunkirk spirit, everyone with reasons to be home, but determined to make the best of things while we waited not for the small boats, but the big planes to come to our rescue.
This unexpected reunion prompted an impromptu night out with about ten fellow wedding guests before it was time for the fellowship to break up again. Some waited in Bangkok for updates, the PPC flew off to Malaysia to do their waiting there and I made a speculative phonecall to a longlost cousin.
Joel and I seem to meet up about once every fifteen years, the last time being the day Gazza score that goal against Scotland in Euro '96, but he didn't let that get in the way of his hospitality and I spent a very pleasant couple of days chez Harding recuperating, monitoring the situation and taking advantage of his expert local knowledge. A visit to the airline office on the second of those days revealed that I was unlikely to be going anywhere for a week so, ever the pragmatist, I resigned myself to a few days on the beach and headed for Koh Samet.
Proving either that great minds think alike or that fools seldom differ, I was greeted on arrival by Jo and John who had grown tired of waiting in Bangkok and had the same idea. They were lured back to the city by the (sadly incorrect) possibility of a flight yesterday and so I now keep a lone vigil in my room overlooking the sea, watching the boats come and go, wondering when my ship will come in.
Hasta… no se quando
Don Simon.
Photos as usual at: www.don-simon.smugmug.com
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