The Backpacking Housewife

by Janice Horton

  I see that Summer has gone off snorkelling with the lads. I watch them swim over to the rocks underneath the wrap-around cliffs. I can hear them whooping and shouting, ‘oh wow look – you gotta see this!’ I’m curious to wonder what they have seen in the water.

  Soon Summer comes running back up the beach to insist that I go snorkelling too.

  ‘Come on, Lori. It’s amazing. There are so many fish. It’s so beautiful – it’s like a tropical fish tank, and it’s so shallow and close to the rocks that you can stand up if you want.’

  As comfortable as I am sunning myself on the beach, Summer won’t take no for an answer and she is being so sweet to want to include me. It does look like fun. I reason with myself, that if I intend to learn to scuba dive then I really should try snorkelling first, so I agree to rent a snorkel and mask and join them.

  Well, from the very first moment I put my face into the water, I find I’m utterly spellbound.

  The sea is warm and clear. Below me, lying on the sandy seabed are starfish, and all around me there are tiny colourful fish. I’ve never seen anything like it.

  It’s like being in Finding Nemo. I float on the surface, with my face in the water and my arms and legs splayed out so I look like a starfish myself, watching all the fish darting about in the corals and rocks and sea grasses. It’s so fascinating that I soon forgot to panic about breathing through a narrow tube or getting a little bit of water in my facemask.

  I’d absolutely no idea that the underwater world could be this stunningly beautiful.

  I’ve watched Blue Planet, of course, but even that hadn’t done the real thing any justice.

  From above, I watch the underwater creatures going about their fishy business, looking for food, having little fights, falling in love, chasing bubbles and each other, and all the while being unaware of the crazy world of people who inhabit the land above them with their lives and loves and wars and politics. I decide that I’d much prefer to be part of their watery world than my complicated earth-y one. I swim up and down that rock face for I don’t know how long. I completely lose track of time. It’s so peaceful, so very tranquil and calming.

  Now I’m even more determined that while I’m on the islands I will learn to scuba dive.

  I’m sure there will be scuba diving schools on the next island of Koh Lanta, which is the first and the largest island in the chain that I plan to visit and explore. Once I get my dive certificate, I’ll be able to do even more scuba diving, and build up my experience and confidence in the water.

  Eventually, despite the expensive factor thirty sunscreen, I’m sure I’ve got rather too much sun on my back, and so I decide to head back up the beach. Summer and the boys are all lying flat out on the sand and in the sun but I know that I must find some shade. It has to be the hottest part of the day right now. But I see that all the palm tree shade has already been taken.

  I wander up and down the beach for a while, until I spot a just-vacated chair in the shade of a palm-thatched parasol and I run like a sprinter to plonk myself into it. It isn’t long before a hostess comes over to ask me what I’d like to order. It seems the seat comes with a price. I order an iced tea and it’s by far the most refreshing iced tea I’ve ever tasted and well worth the exorbitant cost.

  Later on, that same afternoon, spruced up for the evening and while Summer is taking her shower, I’m feeling mellow and reflective so I take a walk along the shoreline. The beach is quiet and the tide is going out. There are just a few families still building sandcastles with their kids now the sun had lost its burning intensity. A few local people are walking their dogs. The lads have invited both Summer and I to join them for sundowners on the beach tonight. I can see the bar owners at the top of the beach are getting ready by expanding their pitch and putting out beanbags and rugs and low tables on the beach in front of their bars. I imagine that I’ve been invited out of kindness and because Summer and I are travelling together. They clearly all have the hots for Summer, and must be at least a little furious at me for finding the only available bungalow on the beach – when they’d all had high hopes of sharing a dorm with her! I smile at foxing their plans. I do remember what it was like to be their age. Young and high on hormones, trying to fit in, desperate to fall in love.

  Even if it was a long time ago.

  Although, generally, I think the youth of today are far more confident and self-assured than people of my generation were at the same age. That’s a good thing. As a young woman, I hadn’t known anyone who went on a gap year around the world. Or anyone who did their thesis in the Caribbean. I only knew one or two people who had managed to go to university.

  Most people I knew left school and got a job and then got married and had kids. The end.

  But now, being around lots of people who travel extensively makes it seem normal.

  Today, while almost out of earshot, I’d overheard Brad (or Chad or Rick) asking Summer if she and I were mother and daughter. Summer had responded so sweetly. She’d told him we were just friends but that she wished she had a mother who was as cool as me, who might be old, but still brave enough to go travelling through Thailand on her own.

  Old? I had laughed to myself. I might not be young but I’m certainly not bloody old!

  I take a deep breath of sea breeze and toss back my freshly washed hair from my shoulders. Tonight, I’m letting it lie in damp waves down my back. Back home, I’d always considered my long hair too thick and too difficult to ever let it wild and loose, so I’d scrape it back off my face and twist it up on my head in a prim-looking topknot or I’d braid it out of the way to lie behind my back and out of sight. Once upon a time, my long hair had been my crowning glory, but now it’s the only thing that makes me feel different in a town where every woman of a certain age has a shoulder length ‘housewife’ bob cut and they all look just the same. Although, every few weeks, I’d consider having it all chopped off.

  Now I’m glad I didn’t because when I’d come out of the bathroom tonight with my hair loose and damp from the shower, Summer had looked at me with some surprise and said to me so sweetly, ‘Oh wow, Lori, I didn’t realise you have such fabulous hair!’

  ‘Really? You think so?’ I’d said, feeling flushed with delight.

  ‘Yeah. You look ten years younger with your hair down like that. It softens your face. You should wear it down all the time.’ So, I’ve decided that from now on I will.

  I stop walking at the midpoint curve of the beach, where the sun has created a golden line across the water, making it look something like a shimmering divine pathway. I hitch up the white cotton dress that I’d bought at the market stall in Chiang Mai and I wade in just past my knees. I look down into the clear warm water to see the white sand between my toes and the almost translucent fish swimming around my legs. I lift my face once more to the warm salty breeze and I look up at the towering cliffs all around me. Then I let my gaze wander over the traditional long-tail boats bobbing on the shoreline, decorated with their colourful ribbons and garlands and flowers and I take a moment to acknowledge how free I feel right at this moment. Today has been an unimaginably lovely day.

  I pull at my wedding ring and with a twist it comes off my finger quite easily.

  How strangely bare my hand looks without it.

  I realise it’s the first time I’ve ever removed it.

  I raise my arm in the air and I throw the ring as far as I can into the sea.

  I watch it twirl in the air, catching the golden light, until it disappears … and is gone forever.

  Chapter 5

  Koh Lanta

  The next morning, I wake up from a lovely dream to hear movement in our room. I realise it’s still dark. In alarm, I put on the bedside light, to find Summer trying to get dressed.

  ‘Oh, Lori. I’m so sorry. I was trying so hard not to wake you,’ she whispers.

  ‘It’s okay. What time is it? Where are you going?’

  ‘I’m going to the beach to practice my surya namaska
ra.’

  ‘Practice your what?’

  ‘My sun salutation. It’s almost dawn. You wanna come?’

  ‘No thanks. It’s way too early for me.’

  I pull the sheet back over my head grumbling something about it having been a late night.

  ‘Oh, come on Lori, let’s go and do yoga together while the sun is coming up on one of the most beautiful beaches in Thailand. I promise you’ll be so happy you made the effort!’

  And there was that word again – happy – and the actual promise of it.

  My sleepy head reminds me that if I don’t open my heart, I’ll never receive the sign that will lead me to my place of happiness, and who knows if that place isn’t in yoga?

  Summer always has a serene look about her, not to mention really great posture, so it works for her.

  To my surprise, we aren’t the only ones on East Beach ready to do yoga just before the sun begins to rise. We start off standing in what Summer says is Mountain Pose in honour of the tall rocks around us. Then, in the moments before the actual sun comes peeping over the horizon, we hold our palms together at chest level and we focus on our inner sun.

  We inhale noisily; this rushing breath is important and called ujjayi or ‘ocean breath,’ taking in great gulps of warm, humid morning air, sweeping our arms to the sky and stretching our bodies up while gazing at our thumbs. Then we fold our bodies down again before going into a lunge with our palms and soles pressing into the sand for the Downward Dog pose.

  I struggle with the next couple of poses – a sort of planking that Summer calls Chaturanga and then we rise up into Upward Facing Dog followed by yet another downward one. I find it quite exhausting trying to keep the flow of movement, but I follow Summer and when we come back to the standing pose again with our palms together as if we’re praying, I find myself silently thanking the sun for coming up this morning.

  And I do indeed feel very happy.

  After a hastily bought and quickly eaten store-bought breakfast of tinned iced tea, a carton of yogurt and a banana – all for the price of just a few baht – Summer and I head back out into the already blazing hot morning sun onto West Beach where, with our backpacks and lots of other people, including the lads, we must wait to be taken by long-tail boats out to the ferries.

  The boys are taking a different ferry from Summer and I this morning, as they are going onto Phuket and we are making our way to Koh Lanta. We thank them for being a lot of fun and such great company. Last night, we’d all sat on the beach on beanbag cushions drinking beers, listening to pulsing music and watching around a dozen fire dancers twirling their brightly burning torches in a cleverly choreographed show. It was fabulous.

  After the fire show, the dancers had set fire to a long, heavy and fuel-drenched skipping rope, and encouraged the audience to participate by offering a free bottle of beer to all those who managed ten skips. Summer had instantly jumped up, thrown her phone to one of the lads for safekeeping and grabbed me by the hand to join in. The lads had clapped and jeered their encouragement at us but I really didn’t want to go. I didn’t think I’d be nimble enough on my feet to jump the flaming rope even once never mind ten times.

  But for some reason, I found myself running across the sand with Summer towards it and in we went, jumping, jumping, jumping. As I leapt in the air, the rope and the flames whipped past my feet and my head and I worried that my hair or my dress might catch fire. The crowd were all counting ‘one, two, three…’ I was panting hard and breathing in the awful kerosene fumes from the twirling burning rope.

  But I couldn’t stop or I’d get burned.

  When we got to ‘nine’ I simply couldn’t jump anymore. My legs felt so heavy trying to clear the burning rope. Each time I landed, my feet were becoming ever more deeply entrenched in the sand. I felt like I was digging my own grave. Then, hearing ‘ten’ and seeing the rope slow, I saw my chance to escape. I tried to exit sideways as gracefully as I could, but unfortunately, I misjudged things and got the rope caught around my legs.

  The lads came to my rescue, picking me up and dusting me down and telling me what a great sport I was. But I see this morning that I have two angry red welts across both my ankles.

  After our fond farewells on the beach, Summer and I wade into the sea and hand over our backpacks and flip flops to our boatman before climbing aboard via a short slippery metal ladder that has been hooked insecurely onto the side. Then we sit on the rough plank seats and bob about waiting until the boat is full of people and their luggage.

  I watch those clambering on board. Only one or two are un-savvy types who have brought suitcases on their travels rather than backpacks. I watch them drag these painfully heavy suitcases across the sand on their useless wheels over to the boatman, who rolls his eyes and struggles at the effort of manhandling these fancy slippery hard-shell cases on board. I’m also excruciatingly aware that under any other circumstances, I’d absolutely be one of those un-savvy travellers, too.

  I know that once Summer and I arrive on Koh Lanta we will be parting company, as she is going into a rainforest yoga retreat in the centre of the island and I’m hoping to find somewhere to stay near to a beach. My plan for the next few days here is to sunbathe, read, swim in the sea, get lots of Thai massages and eat lots of delicious Thai food. According to my guidebook, Koh Lanta is the largest island on the Andaman Sea. It is known primarily for its long coastline and beautiful beaches and for being a little behind the times with regard to tourism – a bit like me, I suppose, a slow developer in the world of backpacking. It’s also said to have the last of the original and authentic Thai fishing villages and is home to a semi-nomadic people – the sea-gypsies known locally as Chao Ley.

  For some reason, the very idea of a sea gypsy evokes in me a fantastical and romantic image of magical mermaids and handsome mermen. When I tell Summer this, she laughs, and suggests that while I’m on Koh Lanta I should find myself a real-life Chao Ley.

  As we approach the island, we can see many of the surrounding uninhabited islets and rocks just off its coastline. Tall limestone rock formations protrude from the sea and there are clusters of small islands that have been formed from ancient collapsed volcanos.

  I spot Koh Haa (this is a group of five small islands known for soft corals and marine life) and Koh Muk with its emerald cave, Koh Phi Phi (that’s the one of The Beach fame again) and Koh Rok with its reef of amazing rainbow corals. These islands are also famous dive sites.

  I remind myself that I’m absolutely going to give scuba diving a try while I am here.

  Before we part company and get caught up in the ensuing chaos on the landing pier on Koh Lanta, Summer and I make sure to swap phone numbers and to connect with each other on social media. I’ve enjoyed being in her lovely company and want to keep in touch.

  ‘I’m excited to know where your next adventure will take you, Lori,’ she says with an affectionate hug. ‘I really hope we get the chance to meet up again somewhere someday.’

  I wave my hand in the air and blow her a kiss as she disappears into the steaming throng of touts and taxi drivers and welcoming committees who are all crowded on the pier here. Then I take a tuk-tuk for my ten-minute commute into town, where I sit in a roadside café with free wi-fi and an iced tea, checking out the accommodation possibilities nearby using my guidebook and my phone. I’m in an area called Long Beach, which boasts a main street lined with lots of rustic, open-fronted shops and massage parlours and stalls and bars and restaurants, all running alongside a five-kilometre stretch of golden sand beach. I haven’t really had a chance to book anywhere in advance but the general consensus from all those I’d met travelling, was that this early in the season, there is plenty of choice for places to stay and reasonably low prices.

  Indeed, I soon find a place listed nearby on an internet booking site.

  It offers cute looking individual rattan-and-wood-framed palm-thatched huts set back from the beach. I finish my tea and decide to set out and investigate.
Then, as I’m ready to settle my bill and get on my way, I hear my phone ping and see that Summer has already tagged me in a couple of photos she’s just uploaded to Facebook.

  One of them is of both of us sitting together on the beach last night.

  We are so happy and we are smiling, holding up our sundowners and saying ‘cheers’ to the camera. It made me smile. It’s such a good photo and it’s clear from the rosy glow on our faces that we’d just spent the whole day on the beach and in hot sunshine.

  The second photo is a close-up of me on the skipping rope. I stare at it in amazement.

  In the photo, I’m poised in mid-jump with my legs tucked up beneath my white dress and my arms are held out wide. My dress looks like gossamer wings against a backdrop of pitch black night sky. In the trailing blurry yellow flames of the skipping rope my body is twisted in mid-air and my face is obscured by my riotous mass of flying golden curls.

  I hardly recognise myself. I look like a mythical fire-sprite.

  Within moments, friends and family back home are clicking ‘like’ on these photos.

  Then to my alarm, I also get an immediate comment from Paula Chadwick, who works as Charles’ secretary. Amazing photos, Lorraine. Looks like you are having fun in Thailand!

  I feel my stomach churn over. I wonder if she’s showing this photo to Charles right at this moment. My finger hovers over Paula’s profile to delete her but then something stops me.

  I realise it’s my old ego.

  What if she does show this picture to Charles or indeed to Sally?

  It might not be a bad thing for my self-esteem because it is an amazing photo.

  My finger falters over the delete button and then I remember the Chiang Mai monk’s words.

  There was once a lady who said to Lord Buddha, ‘I want happiness’ and Lord Buddha told her that she must first remove ‘I’ as that was her ego…

  And so, with a sigh, I accept the lesson graciously and press delete.

  I rent the hut near to the beach. It sits under the cool shade of a line of pine and palm trees with open views to the sea. There’s just one room space inside and it’s small but spotlessly clean, with a polished wood floor and a double size bed covered in a white sheet and a mosquito net. There’s also a small fridge, a few items of furniture and a bathroom. No air conditioning, but I do have a sea breeze and a ceiling fan to keep me cool.