Thai Girl by Andrew Hicks Page B

the storm there is much for them to do. Rubbish has blown into the restaurant, chairs are overturned and rotten branches lie scattered over the pathways. Long before the farang surface, they are up and about, having crawled out of their rough wooden huts or from behind the bar where they slept under a table with a mosquito net thrown over it.
    The sleeping farang make no sound, except perhaps an occasional groan. They are on holiday, indulging in a serial hangover. Silently cursing the sounds of the morning that wake them too early, they stay late in bed and so miss the best part of the day. But in a flimsy beach hut, it is hard to stay asleep once the island has begun to stir.
    After his late and alcoholic night, Ben was finally disturbed by the morning noises and by the light pouring in through thin cotton curtains. It was damp and sweaty in the hut and he was feeling seriously dehydrated. He went cautiously out onto the veranda in his sarong and surveyed what he could see of the world. Everything was wet and leafy, the ground dark and sodden, though he was surprised the storm had not done more damage. He was most intrigued by the chickens; red, original chickens, very skinny with long necks and legs, running everywhere like mini-dinosaurs. A bamboo ladder stood against a palm tree where a nesting box kept their eggs safe from the many rangy dogs on the island.
    As he went back into the hut, Emma was just surfacing.
    â€˜Christ, you look bleary,’ he said. ‘You okay Emm?’
    â€˜Yes, but no thanks to you. Think I need more sleep in this climate, and I’m not sure I’m over the jetlag yet.’
    They threw on their shorts and wandered down to the restaurant, an open-sided building by the reception hut. Breakfast was black coffee, scrambled egg and bacon, toast with butter and jam and a plate of fresh fruit.
    It was a big surprise when Chuck and Maca appeared a few minutes later and joined them at their table.
    â€˜Bit early for you guys!’ teased Emma.
    â€˜G’day Emma. I like an early brekkie … sets me up for a busy day.’
    â€˜So what are you going to do today then?’
    â€˜I’m easy Emm, but one thing’s for sure … I’ll be flat out like a lizard drinking.’
    â€˜Well, I’m not sitting around doing nothing!’ said Ben scornfully.
    â€˜Chill out man,’ droned Chuck.
    â€˜Slow down, Ben. Time’s on your side … you’ve got lots of it for once,’ said Maca.’
    â€˜Walk the middle path, seek Nirvana.’
    â€˜Yes, but how exactly?’ Ben asked, slightly puzzled.
    â€˜Well, you get your bathers,’ said Maca, ‘you pick up a book, a bottle of water and sun glasses and you find a deckchair. You sit on it and read the book. Get too hot, you walk to the sea and throw yourself in. Get too hungry, you eat food. Even roll a spliff.’ He filled his mouth with scrambled egg.
    â€˜Very droll,’ said Emma finishing the last slice of papaya.
    â€˜Anyway, I’m going for a walk,’ said Ben. ‘Want to come, Emm?’
    â€˜No thanks, I’m doing it Maca’s way today. Didn’t get much sleep you know.’
    Incapable of doing nothing, Ben had his usual urge to explore his new surroundings. He left the others and walked to the rocks at the end of the bay and across the headland until he could see the next beach through the trees. Along the way he passed several Thais selling sweets, cooked food and fruit, carrying their loads in baskets balanced at each end of a bamboo pole and slung across one shoulder. Most were middle-aged women and walked with a rolling gait to handle the weight, the pole flexing with the rhythm of each step.
    Ben stopped one of the fruit sellers and looked in her baskets. There was papaya, pineapple, watermelon, pomelo, mangoes, bananas and coconuts, the soft fruit carefully packaged in white styrofoam trays and covered in cling-film. He chose a coconut and