This is the second time in my life I’m disembarking from an airplane. Thank you, Air Asia! It’s nice to descend alive from a plane. I could get used to this.
I didn’t really know it, but it seems like I have flying in my blood. I didn’t have any emotions, no fear of flying. Remember? Maybe I have the makings of a pilot.
Why not? At my age, I have my whole life ahead of me.
But before I can look around carefully, a dozen guys swarm over me:
“Taxi, sir? Taxi? Cheap! Do you want a taxi?”
“Fine,” I approve with a bored nabob’s voice, then I choose the nearest one. “Hey, you! Tell me honestly, what’s your education? College, something? Master’s?”
“No!” the man replies, surprised.
“Perfect! You’re my man. I’ll go with you! Where’s your car?”
I get into the man’s taxi, and this time, I use a polite and correct English preemptively. I’m responded to in the same manner.
“Where are we going, sir?”
“To the beach, of course!” I reply without much thought.
“Yes, but which one?”
What the hell?
Problems?
Already?
“Uh… the nearest beach. Go straight. And to the cheapest hotel, add quickly.”
I’m not in the mood for conversation. I look out the window, and for the first time, I feel like I’m in a foreign country.
It’s like a big pipe burst on these streets, spilling a wave of scooters. It’s a flood of motorcyclists. The two-stroke engine noise buzzes and hums everywhere. I’ve never seen so many motorcycles, scooters, and bicycles in my life. And Thais.
It’s full of these Thais everywhere.
I don’t know how long we’ve been driving, but the streets are starting to clear up, and my stress begins to ease.
I’m silent. I have enough time to study the people, the lush vegetation that appears at every step, and the small, loudly colored buildings that pop up like mushrooms everywhere, in the most unexpected places. Poverty. And luxury.
And poverty again.
I don’t like to travel. I sink deep into the taxi seat, close my eyes. I breathe deeply.
The driver has the decency to keep his mouth shut. He minds his own business. English music plays from the radio on the dashboard for normal people.
I don’t know which hotel to choose, but at the first one that appears, I get out, pay, and ask the taxi driver to wait for me. Yes, yes! Make sure to wait.
Damn it! I guessed right: the hoteliers in Thailand are crooks.
“$1,200 for one night?” I ask and can’t believe my ears.
But if I don’t believe my ears, maybe I can believe my eyes. The receptionist points with his finger to the price displayed: $1,200.
“$1,200, mister tourist sir!” he confirms, smiling.
“Per night?”
“Per night, sir.”
“Do you sleep in levitation here?”
“I don’t understand.”
I take a deep breath, then smile sweetly and leave. I feel like I’m about to have a stroke soon. I get into the taxi.
“Let’s go somewhere else,” I mutter disgustedly. “These are bandits!”
But I’m disappointed with the next two hotels as well. Unreasonable prices everywhere. Robbery in broad daylight. Pigs!
“What do we do?” I ask the driver. “Do we go further south? Do we go another hour?”
“Why not?” he replies cheerfully.
He smiles. Yeah…
Thailand is a land of smiles. Everyone smiles.
They smile on the street, on terraces, at counters. I bet Thais smile even when they’re on the toilet. But they especially smile when they ask you for $1,200 for a hotel room.
After about a quarter of an hour, my driver stops the car and talks for a few minutes with a compatriot.
I hear a kind of “Hara hara, ciuba buba” from which I don’t understand absolutely anything, but I understand that they’re talking about me because both of them smile while the driver gestures towards me and my kidneys.
He starts to play it cool with me, but I breathe a sigh of relief when the man starts the car and tells me he found something cheap.
“Define ‘cheap,'” I grumble from the back seat. What does cheap mean?
“Not more than $200 per night,” he replies, smiling.
A quarter of an hour later, the man stops the car again right on the edge of a cliff. He shows me the view with his hand:
“Look! Do you like the Andaman Sea, sir?”
I think it’s time I see what I’m about to spend my money on.
My jaw divorces from my mandible. What a wonder! It was worth coming here, every penny was worth it. The Andaman Sea is the most beautiful, wonderful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
In fact, it’s the only sea I’ve ever seen. And it’s ripped from Paradise.
“This sea is part of the Pacific, right?” I ask, dazed by so much beauty.
“No,” my man replies, shaking his head. “This sea is part of the Bay of Bengal. What you see in front of your eyes is a small part of the Indian Ocean.”
“Oh!” I deflate. So, this isn’t the Pacific?
“No. The Pacific is on the other side of the island, to the east. We are in the west of the island. The beach here is called Kata. But here, on the west side, everything is expensive. You’re right.”
“I’m interested in a beach without crowds. A quiet beach.”
The Thai scratches his head thoughtfully.
“In that case, you have more to go. But it’s worth it. The beach you need to get to is called ‘Freedom Beach.’ It’s the quietest beach this season. Quiet means few tourists. Few tourists mean low prices. Yes, I recommend Freedom Beach.”
“Beautiful name! It’s promising. I hope it lives up to its name!”
“From there, at the foot of the cliff, you’ll have to take the boat. You’ll reach Freedom Beach in under an hour, and it will only cost you about 50 baht.”
I unfold the map on the car hood. The man is right. But since I’m in Southeast Asia, I would have loved to see the Pacific.
Still, the Andaman Sea isn’t to be sneezed at. It’s beautiful. Fine, this is good too. I’ll stay here.
I bid farewell to the driver in as cordial terms as possible. He leaves satisfied, I remain satisfied on this little piece of cliff. I look left and right. No one has anything to do with me. It’s good.
I descend the cliff.
In a quarter of an hour, I take the boat, and it doesn’t cost me 50 baht, but 70, but it’s worth it. It’s my first boat trip. I don’t vomit. I’m not afraid.
I think I have the makings of a sailor in me.
The Andaman Sea is calm, and the path the boat takes follows the coastline sinuously. The foamy water throws salty drops on my face. It’s beautiful! I’m suddenly very emotional.
The entire coastline is a bustling of people who seem to have escaped from madhouses. Screams and a continuous din are heard everywhere. I’m glad to be getting away from them. I don’t like Kata beach. There are too many people bustling around here. It’s very good that I didn’t stay.
I hate crowds.
We reach Freedom Beach, and a small boy catches the rope thrown to him by the boatman and ties it tightly to the end of a wooden platform.
I take off my flip-flops and jump out of the boat like Columbus.
“The hotel?” I quickly ask. “Where is it? How far is the hotel from here?”
The boatman points his hand towards some huts on the shoreline.
“There! Directly on the beach? But isn’t it dangerous?”
The man laughs, then turns his back and minds his own business. Maybe it’s not that dangerous. He’s a local, right? He knows what he’s saying.
I quickly arrive. Another smiling guy who takes care of these huts enlightens me. He has an honest face.
I don’t know how dangerous it is to sleep in a hut twenty steps from the water, but the price he asks for isn’t unreasonable at all.
“We have few tourists now and a lot of uninhabited huts. Freedom Beach is a more secluded beach,” he explains and shows off his white teeth. “The rent for one night is only seventy dollars.”
I twitch.
“What? How much did you say?”
“Seventy dollars.”
Oh, boy! That’s it! I’m a very lucky guy! I quickly rent a hut for ten nights. How could I not?
From $1,200 per night to $70? Phew!
Done!
It’s the best deal of my life.
Hurrah! I love Thailand! It’s a country with honest people!
And for the first time in a long time, I smile too.
With my whole mouth.
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