My cell phone has revolted in the heat and will take no more pictures. I can send the one I did manage to take of the bright green long-boats that serve as water taxis, with their green/red/yellow/pink flags flying on the stern, but the internet connection here is too slow to load photos.
So let it suffice to say that the beaches are pristine, the sand actually pieces of white coral worn to pebbles, the coconut palms bearing nuts with very thirst quenching juice, and the air so hot and humid it feels like it should rain. I sweat just walking up 100meters over the hill to the next “resort” which is actually a Thai Boxing camp. There are dozens of little nooks and valleys around the island, each hiding a series of teak bungalows, little pointy thatch-roofed houses on stilts, each with it's own hammock and terrace overlooking the Gulf, or the dense green trees. And it's chock full of tourists. Hundreds of us. Froam all over. I've met 6 Dutch (though one is actually Syrian I think), 1 woman from Kazakhstan, 1 Iranian who works in Pakistan, 5 English, 1 Canadian, 4 Aussies, and 2 Czech, who actually live here and have a 2 month-old baby and work at the resort. That's the oddest thing, there are so many babies around. It's heaven for the parents, Thais love babies more than any country I know of, even the men come over and start cooing, eventually grabbing the kid from the relinquishing parent and carry it around with great unfeigned joy. Parents can pass of their kids and go to the spa or beach without a care in the world.
When I lie on the beach I read a book by an Italian journalist who lived in Asia for 40 years working for Der Speigel. He saw the fall of Saigon, the takeover by the Khmer Rouge, and knew these countries as they were before real tourism set in. He rails against the commercial aspect of the resorts and speed boats, the hundreds of shops all selling the same crap that was actually made in China. He in fact blames China for being too industrious and the West for being to easily mimicked.
So as I lay there among the variably sunburned and oiled bodies of the English, Dutch and Germans around me, I understand that this is precisely the unfettered commercialism poor Tiziano cannot accept. And I see his point. It's not pleasing that every full moon there is a wild drunken fest for all the backpackers not but a Thai party-goer in sight. Thais work all the service jobs but it's westerners who own 90% of the resorts. Sometimes, if you sneak up quietly to the reception desk , you can see them talking dramatically amongst themselves, or SMSing, looking at MP3 players, then they suddenly snap to attention and smile, “yeahs, may I hep yooo Miss Jessica?.” But they are really quite kind, very patient, and such a welcome change from people I've interacted with in Morocco, for instance. I've learned to bow my head and say “Kaap khun ka” - thank you.
Lastly, there are not many mosquitoes here, which is strange since it has been raining (cool breezes!) and there is a murky river that runs through this resort. Once on the veranda I was set upon by one damned blood-thirsty insect at I high-tailed it for the bug-free comfort of my air-conditioned room. Blast the wasted energy, I'm not getting Dengue again.
Soon I'm off to eat dinner with a Dutch acquaintance. He fasted 13 days poor devil, still can't bear to eat anything but salad and papaya still, stomach too sensitive. I'm already back to eating all fruits and yogurt, even had sweet potato yesterday. Tonight I want lime squid and Pad Thai.
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