Letter from Koh Phi Phi

Ben Wildsmith 

I’m at the end of a long travelling adventure and, as with any lengthy enterprise, things are coming apart at the seams.

Five weeks ago, when I was touching down in Singapore with it all in front of me, I was a model of order. The suitcase and hand luggage were organised to military standards; I’d been on a pre-trip diet of low-calorie water and macrobiotic kale. I was honed and ready to experience the world, with the flinty aspect of a seasoned traveller and clean underwear.

Now, though, I resemble one of the seedier characters in a Graham Greene novel. Everything is crumpled: my clothes, my face, and my sense of decency have all been hurriedly stuffed into a suitcase with a faulty zip and hoisted into yet another taxi.

Mrs W has joined me for the last week and we’re leaving Phuket for Koh Phi Phi. Arriving there is a bit fraught, as it’s a squillion degrees and the throng of passengers from the ferry are jostling on a narrow bridge to be met by the sight of a Burger King. Very magical.

A few minutes’ walk, though, brings us to the beach with its iconic rock formations. I’m not supposed to be talking about politics. If I do, eyes roll and lips narrow.

It’s hard not to notice, however, that everywhere is packed with Russians, just like Goa was last year.

Just sayin’.

We’re not staying here though.

We’re off to the far end of the island, where it’s quieter. There’s supposed to be a longtail boat here for us, but we’ve returned to the pier a bit late and there’s no sign.

Taking husbandly control, I agree to pay a touting taxi boat operator a small fortune to take us instead.

Later, when we arrived, the resort owner agreed with Mrs W that I should have called him to sort it out.

Well, sorry, but that’s just not how I roll.

Merriment

Clambering into the boat, up the makeshift chrome steps that have been slung over the side proves to be a bit of a trial. Heaving my great frame into the wooden craft, I land on my backside with a sickening thud that provokes unbound merriment from the teenage captain and his oppo.

Recovering the remaining shards of my dignity, and scrutinising Mrs W for flickers of amusement, I resolve to enjoy the trip.

Monkeys! I truly pray that I never reach a state of such jaded desiccation that I lose my enthusiasm for our irrepressible little cousins. Rounding the headland that bounds the harbour, I spy a little, deserted beach. No sooner have I spotted it than half a dozen of the cheeky fellas skitter on, no doubt with capers in mind. This is the good stuff!

And I need some of that, because in the middle of my trip I had horrible news. It sat with me like a dangerous weight on the flight from Sydney to Bangkok, threatening to cause a tailspin at any moment.

I was the saddest person on the plane, I reckon.

Blessed

But now I’ve been reunited with my beloved and I’ve seen monkeys. As we approach Loh Ba Kao Bay, I’m feeling blessed. It’s so beautiful here, with verdant cliffs towering behind the white sand.

‘You walk!’

Captain Giggles says we can’t go any further and must disembark a hundred yards shy of the shore.

‘Oh. Okay.’

I gingerly descend the chrome steps, concentrating as hard as I can and trying not to slip. Once in the water it’s good.

The Chuckle Brothers are marching towards shore with our luggage above their heads.

Mrs W has negotiated the steps too. All is well until I encounter a rocky part of the seabed. I recoil my foot from each rock only to land on another one.

Twister

It’s like an aquatic version of Twister which would be all fun and games until I inevitably lose my footing, ending up on my backside only in two foot of seawater this time.

Even that wouldn’t have dented my post-monkey-sighting bonhomie were it not for the man bag around my neck which contains my phone, Kindle, money and passport. Struggling to my feet requires three subsequent dunkings for me and my man-bagged essentials.

Later, with the passport drip drying under the air conditioner, sodden Thai currency spread out on the table, and my phone apparently beyond help, I indulge a little misery in paradise.

Why is it always me?

Definitely time for a beer. We find a place that backs on to the river and settle in, talking of this and that. Presently, something moves in the corner of my eye.

‘Jesus!’ I whisper.

A six-foot Asian Water Monitor crawls into view on the shallow riverbed. It stops for a moment, flicking out its tongue before ambling mechanically under the bridge with its peculiar turned in feet and magnificent tail behind it.

Then come its pals, six that I count, one of whom scampers through the water at top speed, showing us how he could take a monkey or worse.

There are things other than politics, I concede.