The last few days have passed in a blur of new faces and new experiences and many times I have had to remind myself about that books and their covers.
An electricity cable is down somewhere between Samui and the mainland. I am not sure how it came down, rumours abound. Some say it is an underwater cable that was cut buy a passing ferry, others that it is an overhead cable on the mainland.
The result has been to throw tourist land into disarray and make for very snappy resort staff. We have had no power for 2 days and are now limited to an hour or two a day when a mass exodus to power sources occurs as everyone rushes to charge their iPads, mobile phones and kindles.
Barnard and Eva arrived sometime in the evening of the first day of no power. A few years older than me and very hospitable. They were keen to introduce themselves as they tried to find someone to book them in and somewhere to deposit their rucksacks.
Originally from Poland they moved to Sweden in the early 70’s. The part of Poland they lived in having vacillated between German and Polish Authority for decades, making building any kind of lives difficult.
Eva’s father had made his money after the second world war when Poland was left with nothing, including, much like ourselves in paradise today, peripatetic electricity and few electrical goods. He started a small electrical business and thrived but the family could never show their wealth in a country where communism was in the ascendant. They lived simply in an apartment, had no car, no bank account and, to the outside world looking in, little wealth. Her father would tell Eva that it was safer to behave like that. “Don’t let people know you have money” he would tell her.
They would holiday in Yugoslavia, and Bulgaria where they could spend freely and enjoy the comforts they daren’t enjoy at home; for Eva and her siblings it was a happy childhood.
Her parents eventually divorced for whatever reasons, only to remarry when they were in their late 70’s. A strong glue must have bound them and Eva regards them as a great influence in her life. So much so that when she met Barnard at 20, he so reminded her of her father that she knew he was the one for her and they have been happily, and monogamously (women love to share secrets) married for 45 years.
Barnard is retired from a well know Swedish manufacturer. He has a good pension and they love to travel widely. They now have homes in Sweden and in Poland and in the summer months divide their time between the two. In winter they prefer to travel to the warmth, although Barnard enjoys ski ing somewhere in the alps with their 2 sons and their families in March. Eva does not join them as, like me, she sees no pleasure in chasing down snow clad mountains with planks of wood on her feet, nor does she enjoy sitting at the first stop up the mountain drinking Gluck wine with noisy, bragging strangers. She is warm and gentle and, despite being ‘shy’ to speak english, when we are alone she chatters on delightedly, enjoying, I think, the company of another woman.
Barnard is gregarious and loves to talk on any subject and in many languages. He tells me that as a young man in Poland when someone asked him for directions in English, he was so disturbed at being unable to reply that he vowed at that moment to learn as many languages as he could. He taught himself. First English then enough French to get by and later Swedish and some Spanish.
We talk about literature and film and find we have many favourites in common. He compiles a list of books ‘I have to read’ and I do likewise. They want to know about the British royal family and Eva is delighted when I tell her that Kate is pregnant; they were travelling when the news broke.
Eva is a huge ‘Diana’ fan and Barnard tells me they were staying at the Ritz at the same time as she was when the fateful ‘accident’ occurred and that they drove through the very same tunnel the next day and found it to be awash with flowers.
The Swedish royal family is somewhat of a thorn in their flesh, constantly demanding more money from taxes and seemingly giving little back in return.
I confess that I quite like our royal family who, as I see it, bring in millions in tourist revenue and act as a pleasant if non effective backstop to the ambitions of our various scurrilous politicians.
We discuss politics and age and sex and they tell me I am very un British. We decide we are the lucky ‘old generation’ and that those who follow will not have the freedom to travel nor the pensions to facilitate it.
We discuss the british press and whether or not they are now too intrusive. Eva says that women love to gossip and if the press didn’t uncover the stories then title tattle would. We agree that this has been the case throughout history and it will never change.
We talk about men. Eva tells me that Swedish men do not covet younger women as they get older in the way that Polish men do, or Italians, or many of their non Swedish friends who have mistresses and find Barnard an oddity and ‘a perverse’ in being happy with just one woman (this over lunch while Barnard is running on the beach, keeping his already bronzed and well toned body in shape).
Barnard is not happy with the resort and tells me that the staff are very rude and have done nothing to help solve their problems of no hot water and a bad smell in the room and that they were surly and downright rude when he asked for hot water to make coffee. As yet I have not found this.
They decide to move on to Koh Tao and, having swapped emails, they invite me to stay with them in Sweden. I can tell by the way Eva hugs me closely that this is a genuine offer and I hope to take them up on it at some point in the future…I probably won’t.
I wander down the beach that evening determined to find a passable pedicure, my previous manicure experience being little short of a disaster.
Having walked past the first ‘beauty parlour’ two nights ago thinking it too rowdy, filled with laughing, chattering women and a pack of dogs and their puppies, I decide to give it a second chance – and we’re back to those books and their covers.
What a lovely ‘family’, what delightful girls, and their menfolk. They had seen me walk past 2 nights ago and had decided I was ‘good Farang’. They welcome me with open arms and much fuss.
Joy is maybe 24 and in charge of the manicures and pedicures, I think it is her business. Mai who is 45 is busily stamping all over a friend and shrieks with laughter at my grimaces when she pulls body parts into impossible positions and I hear bones crack. Joy tells me she is the most experienced masseur and it takes 14 years to learn how to ‘foot massage’. Mai has been masseur for 24 years, here in Samui and Phuket.
Another Farang is being pummelled by the third woman, just as cheerful as Joy and Mai, whose name I wouldn’t dare attempt and Joy’s husband is giving Enya, the spanish photographer, an oil massage. A lively, merry bunch.
Night falls and my toes are still being primped and preened. I am the last one there. Joy’s husband brings a torch so that Joy can paint my now almost attractive nails and, before I leave, she insists on covering my throbbing sun burn with lashings of aloe vera gel at no extra cost. I promise to return so that Mai can pummel me to death.
Joy asks if it will possible for me to return tomorrow as Mai has not had work for 2 days? I think that Mai may be slightly ‘Down’s syndrome’ as she has a broad flat face, somewhat hooded eyes and loves to touch, which might not make her the Farangs’ first choice, but if Joy says she is the best then she will be my masseur.
Yesterday another book revealed it’s true contents. No electricity, no hot water, no air con, no apologies or even explanation from the staff or management and even I am beginning to get a little bit grumpy. Last night I had to feel my way to my room where I could hear a cockroach scampering across the floor.
I go to the office and a sign says ‘ask in restaurant’. I go to the restaurant and ask to speak to someone, the owner? A manager?
One of the young men comes over to me.
“Why? What you want?!” No longer smiling or charming.
I explain quietly (I know being strident will only court anger) that I have a few problems and that nothing is working and his eyes narrow.
“What I supposed to do?! No power! Nowhere power! I have business to run! You yak yak yak Farang all the same!”
Stung, and beginning to understand what Barnard had experienced, I try to explain that I did understand but that he really shouldn’t advertise for amenities that he couldn’t deliver and perhaps like the other resorts should invest in a generator, perhaps he should explain the situation to his guests and, at the very least, perhaps he should provide torches so they can safely navigate the pool on the way to their rooms.
Off the Richter scale he goes, poking his fingers in my face, shouting, waving his arms around.
“How I get generator?! Generator 1 million Baht! You go. You go now! You go stay other resort!
On and on.
When he stopped (I remained unusually silent during the tirade), I just said quietly:
“You Mai Dee”.
Mai Dee means no good and I suspect that tipped him over the edge.
“YOU MAI DEE !!!” He screams and more poking of the air in front of me, waving his arms, cackling to the other staff, whose heads are bowed, and ranting followed.
I walk away to the sound of his screams and along the beach to the girls, feeling somewhat tearful and abused.
The girls are brilliant. It is the king’s birthday and also father’s day. They have to contact their fathers at some point during the day as a mark of respect and they have to celebrate the king’s birthday, Buddhist style.
They share fruit with me, hard red round shells the size of an apple cut in half to reveal orange like segments of delicious white pulp. One section containing a hard stone, a bit like the fruit of the lychee but native to southern Thailand. Ten maybe twenty they cut in half and place on a plate, handing me a spoon, which I decline (they are happily eating with their fingers), and then they produce a tower of paper napkins.
They plonk a young puppy in my lap to cheer me up and promise me that all Thai people are not Mai Dee. Joy brings me over a bag of Thai purses that she says they give to all their good customers and she had meant to give one to me last night but it was too dark to choose
Mai, who I think may be poorly named or more likely I have spelt wrong as ‘Mai’ means ‘bad’, strokes my arm and makes clucking noises, repeating one word over and over.
“Souwai”
I look questioningly at Joy as she is the only one who speaks english.
“She says you are beautiful”.
I smile at Mai who beams in return.
One fantastic, and surprisingly gentle, oil massage later, I am in far better spirits and prepare to leave.
Joy again covers me in aloe vera gel and presses a bunch of bananas on me.
“Thank you but only if I pay” I insist, “and only one”.
“No, it is King’s birthday. We have to give friends gifts. It is good for us to give gifts, it brings good luck.”
We settle for 2 bananas and I press my hands together and thank her.
Mai has disappeared and I need to pay. I ask Joy where she has gone.
“She gone get torch for you.”
I feel tears welling up in my eyes for the second time that day, but these are tears of a different kind.
Mai returns and hands me the torch.
“Dee Mac Mah” I say, as I gratefully take it.
Dee Mac Mah means ‘very very good’, I hope they understood that I meant them.