Patong was seething. The heart of Phuket, Thailand, it was a veritable throng of seediness, a confused and inextricable web of vice and innocence. Everywhere I looked, I saw at once the dark and the light. I saw the hustling tuk-tuks, the street scammers, the hush-hush whispered offerings of drugs. I saw children holding their parents’ hands as they walked down the bar-lined streets, filled with expatriates looking for a bit of alternative escapism, seeking to fulfill sexual fantasies I couldn’t begin to understand.
But that was Patong. That was, more generally, Thailand. A mish- mash of good and bad, so impossibly intertwined as to be utterly inseparable. That was Thailand’s charm.
At least, that’s what the travel book told me.
It was nice to know that things had stayed the same since I was last in the country nearly eleven years ago, on my university graduation trip.
Back then, I was much younger, and with a bunch of other kids, too. We had been stupid. We had taken whatever was offered to us, peeked our drunk and juvenile heads into bars we had no business setting foot in.
I allowed myself a broad grin as I ambled down a busy road, coming to a four-way intersection where moped, car, and tuk-tuk traffic all merged without any semblance of grace or order. Of course, there was order. It was just an alien kind to my senses, which were softened by the rigid traffic rules of back home.
“Phi Phi?” a lady asked, falling into step with me. “You want to go to Phi Phi?”
“How much?” I asked, hoisting my sun-specs onto the top of my head and looking down at her. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen years old, but already she wore an expression of weary confidence.
“Phi Phi Island, very beautiful. Where they filmed The Beach. You know Leonardo DiCaprio? Very handsome. Very beautiful.”
“I know what it is,” I said, smiling at her. “But how much?” “Two thousand baht. Return trip to your hotel.”
“Two thousand baht?” I echoed. “My guest house offering for just nine-fifty.”
“No, no. No good. My company is the best.” I laughed. “No thank you.”
“Come on,” she persisted, walking in front of me and handing me a leaflet. I took it, but didn’t look at it.
“No thank you,” I repeated. I watched as her expression turned to annoyance, and she scurried off to find some other lone tourist woman to ask. I knew that I was a target. Any tourist on their own was a magnet for hustlers, salesmen, scammers, and pickpockets.
I might not have minded going to Phi Phi Island if I wasn’t alone, I reflected. But the tiny beach whose sole claim to fame lay with a Leonardo DiCaprio flick would be packed shoulder to shoulder, edge to edge, with tourists, many of them less than savory. Beyond that, I wasn’t keen on mixing with so many people, nor being forced to wear my bathing suit, or at the very least, shorts, in front of so many. I was quite comfortable in my summer skirt that reached my ankles. I didn’t have the confidence nor inclination to explore beyond that conservative fashion, and nor did I, quite honestly, have the body to, either.
I’d let myself go with Bradley. Not much, just a little. But combined with all that had happened to me within the last two weeks… well, I simply wasn’t up for it. I’d taken a beating to my confidence, and just wanted some peace and quiet. I wanted to get a massage, sit on the beach and read my book while sipping on a cheap white wine, or maybe even a beer, and relaxing.
And possibly seeing Scarlett.
I stopped walking, and sighed. Scarlett. I hadn’t even told her that I was coming to Thailand. That was complicated. Her and Mum had fallen out years ago, over a boy, no less, and Scarlett had left Britain, followed him to Thailand, and made a life for herself here.
At least, that was as much as I knew. I hadn’t spoken to her in over five years. I rummaged through my rattan purse it was a cute thing I’d
seen upon arriving in Phuket just the day before and found the piece of paper I had with her address scrawled down on it.
“Fuck it,” I murmured, pulling out my street map. She wasn’t far, an easy walk. She lived in a nice set of newish flats down one end of the beach, and so I continued my easy walk to the seaside, through the hordes of tourists lying on recliners sunbathing and drinking, until I was able to dip my feet in the lukewarm seawater.
Jet skis sprayed water endlessly, and paragliders were tugged along by speedboats fifty feet in the air. Salesmen roamed the beaches, offering scuba tours and other fun, overpriced things to do, while children built
sandcastles and couples lounged languidly on towels. Farther up the beach were where the old-timers had staked out a bit of land to call their own, and there I could see at a glance two dozen lobster-red, white-topped retirees reading and relaxing.
Thailand was so different from back home. Asia was in general, I supposed, but poorer countries in Southeast Asia doubly so. I’d brought along a Lonely Planet travel guide and there were teaser chapters on
Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam. Suffice it to say, my interest had been piqued, and on the plane ride over, I’d wondered if I could somehow swing a planned two-week trip to Thailand into a two-month long trek of Asia. It would be nice to travel.
Wading ankle-deep through the slurping waves, I approached the end of the beach, and saw the compound that Scarlett lived in. There was a gate, a guard, and a fingerprint scanner, which I found quite funny.
The guard flagged me down, and I walked toward him, crossing a road. “You live here?”
“Um, no,” I said. “My sister does.”
He thought for a minute, before his creased face broke out into a broad smile. “Scarlett, right?”
“Yes,” I said, nodding. “That’s my sister.”
“Ah. You look just like her. But she has red hair.”
“She dyed it,” I said, feeling distinctly bitchy, like I might be outing her. “Her hair is normally like mine.” I pulled at a strand that had worked free from my ponytail and showed it to him.
“Brown.”
“Chestnut.”
His blank stare reminded me that I was in a country where English was not the first language. “Light brown, yes,” I said, nodding. “Can I, uh, go in? Is she in? Do you know?”
“She’s at home,” he said. “You can go.” He walked to the gate and simply pushed it open. I looked between the gate and the fingerprint scanner, and he followed my gaze.
“Oh, it does not work.” He quickly put a finger to his lips. “But don’t tell anybody.”
I laughed, shaking my head. Truthfully, I wasn’t all that surprised. “Thank you,” I said walking past him.
“First building, second floor, unit F.” “Thanks. Bye.”
“See you later!”
I shook my head to myself, wondering if it was simply because he recognized me that he had let me through, or if he was always so accommodating to strangers.
Taking a deep breath, I knocked on Scarlett’s door. “Coming,” I heard yelled from inside, and when she opened it, hair a ferocious and burning crimson, we locked eyes for whole seconds.
“Maya,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “Oh my God!” She laughed, and then flung open the door so that it banged off the wall and wrapped me up in her arms. She held onto me tight, and though it didn’t come easily at first, I hugged her back with every ounce of strength I had.
“Hey, Scarlett,” I whispered. I blinked out tears from my eyes. “I’ve missed you.”
“Me, too!” she squealed, pulling me into her flat. It was spare, tastefully decorated, but ultimately lacking in furniture. “You couldn’t have come at a better time!”
“Oh yeah?” I asked, putting my purse on the table. “Why?”
“Jimmy’s finally moved out, and I’ve got this place to myself, and I’m taking a holiday. It’s so good of you to come! Did Mum tell you?”
I blinked. “Sorry?”
“I sent a letter to Mum. Actually, I’ve sent loads, but she hasn’t been replying to me. I can’t believe she’s still angry at me.”
I found it difficult to find the words. “Um, Scar, she’s not angry at you. She thinks you are with her?”
“What? Well, I mean, I was. Up until I found out Jimmy had a little local thing on the side.”
“What?” I asked, widening my eyes. “When was this?” “Just a couple of months ago.”
“The same thing happened to me.”
Scarlett’s entire demeanor softened. “Bradley?” “Yeah.”
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Oh, Maya,” she moaned, coming back to me and hugging me again. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s better.”
“Exactly,” she said, squeezing my arm. “You’ve put on weight.” “You were never a delicate one.”