Monday, 23 January 2023
The Gulf of Siam
I have now worked out I am 15 degrees north of the equator. The sun is still rising and setting in the east and west. That the temperature, when I open the door of my friend’s beach house in Rayong, is always hotter than I think it will be. That humidity will turn smooth hair curly.
It was such a gentle and dignified way to ease from Woolen to cotton, from lace-ups to sandals.
To land in Thailand and be driven, I think it is south, my sense of direction has got a little wobbly here. to the beach house of which I have heard so much over the years.
It was a long drive. Mostly flat. With dribbles of buildings either side of the road. If the road doubled in size or if there were street lamps in a rural lane, my friend, Carl, would say “ you’re looking at corruption.” If there was a large and very ornate house behind gates but clearly visible from the road, he would say, “ corruption.” The strange thing seemed to be, that very wealthy Thai people will often demonstrate their wealth in full view. No long and hidden driveways for them. No copse of trees shielding them from the passing traffic. No. Every Baht is front and centre.
The long awaited beach house is all that was promised in the many photographs I have seen over the years. Clean, calm, white, verdant, comfortable. Carl lives with his partner Chaiyo and their dog Baobao in the middle of Bangkok city and here on the gulf of Thailand. Chaiyo, to ease his mind after long sessions in the city hospital in charge of the emergency room, does Lego. But we are not talking a tank or a miniature “ White House.” No. He does whole streets. The entire set of “ Friends.” His next project is a full size vintage typewriter. So alongside Buddhas in different sizes and ancient wooden doors there is a village of brightly coloured plastic, it makes you long for an old fashioned train set to chuff around the coffee table.
Rayong is a lot of beaches strung along the side of a road that travels, ( not sure I can do this….) west? On the weekends all the locals come and spread out their picnics on mats under the trees. The fishermen go out every night in their painted boats hanging with green lights to catch the squid. Why squid will surrender to the colour green I honestly don’t know.
Our beach is called “ One Beach.” Again, I know no logic for this. One beach has a cafe which does excellent chips and a really good Pad Thai. They also have an open air massage shed, where these four women take their hands and make anew the tired muscles on our tired bodies.
Most of the foreigners or Pherenge ( spelling courtesy of WM) as they are called, are Swedish. No answer for that one either. Except the King of Sweden bought a place down here and maybe everyone else followed. There are young Swedes and older Swedes. They come down for months and their brown bodies lie comfortably in the sun in bikinis and trunks that are not on their first outing.
And Oh-how-happy they must feel as they remember what their countrymen are opening their doors to, on a freezing day in Stockholm in January.
It couldn’t have been a lovelier time. Crafted by the other King, King Carl of Hospitality. There was never a moment when I felt I was at sea, unless I was bobbing around it in myself. What is in the personality of someone so vigilant for the well-being of people under his roof. What umbrella did he stand under that would make him hold one so colorful and protective over his chosen friends? I stand under it warm and thankful.
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