It’s the eleventh day since I’ve been here, in this forgotten corner of Thailand. The bartender was right: this is Paradise on Earth.
This is where Adam and Eve were banished from.
Sun, sea, and relaxation. Good Lord! Paradise!
In eleven days, I haven’t been sober for even a single minute. The drinks flow abundantly from morning till night.
Sometimes the sky is a bit cloudy, but it has never rained, not even a drop.
The only thing that bothers me somewhat is the salty, humid wind that blows incessantly. It’s the refreshing breeze of the Andaman Sea.
Oh, what a wonder! My life here is so simple and lovely.
In the morning, I wake up around nine. Nine something. Sometimes ten. Maybe eleven… who cares?
I open the fridge, grab a cold beer, and then open the door and step onto the beach. The sea is not far. Twenty steps. What more could I want from life? Simplicity is at its peak: I get out of bed, peacefully sip my beer, and open the door wide.
The beach with its white, fine sand awaits me. The sun also patiently awaits me.
Everything is ready for another day of lounging around. Everything invites me to sleep and do absolutely nothing.
I have my beach chair, and, most importantly, I have Anurat.
A-nu-rat! Three syllables, six letters! My personal slave.
He’s the nicest Thai guy in the world, and I feel like I’ve known him for eternity. He knows me as well as I know myself. I have no secrets. I’m a simple guy, and my needs are few.
We have our code:
If I raise one finger, I get a whiskey on the rocks.
If I raise two fingers, I get a whiskey neat.
Three fingers mean I’m hungry and need a slice of lemon in my whiskey.
Four fingers mean I want a double whiskey.
And, finally, five fingers mean I want to receive five beers.
Oh, yes, I’m a simple man, easily satisfied.
Today I felt a bit lazy. Maybe because of the heat. I stayed quietly on my beach chair all day, under the umbrella, and raised a finger from time to time from morning till evening.
Now it’s getting late. Evening is a time for work and crazy efforts, meaning I have to walk the 158 steps to the restaurant up the beach.
There I can eat a lot of delicious crap sprinkled abundantly with some spicy seasonings that take your breath away. I’m not particularly fond of Thai food, but when you’re in Thailand, you have to try to act like the Thais.
So, whether I like it or not, I suffer like a dog and make those steps, then silently serve the only meal of the day.
Oh, there’s one more thing that sometimes requires an extra effort: Neither Anurat nor the guys at the restaurant accept card payment. So, once every two or three days, I have to walk 217 steps to get some cash from the only ATM on the island.
But life sometimes means sacrifices, so I arm myself with patience and slowly take those steps.
At first, it was very difficult. Now… it doesn’t bother me anymore.
I admit, I’m content and happy.
I never believed that one could live like this in any corner of the world, even in the most beautiful dreams. I’d be a fool to go back home.
The sea water is warm, the sun is warm, the hut is warm… I live in a continuous and warm daydream.
Sometimes I don’t know what is reality and what is a dream.
My main activity is to lie down and listen to the waves of the sea for hours. I fall asleep like that.
From time to time, Anurat comes stealthily like a cat and adjusts the umbrella a bit to shield me from the relentless Thai sun. Then he leaves just as silently and lets me sleep. And while I sleep, I dream of listening to the waves, and that makes me sleep even in my dreams. Sleep within sleep.
The downside is that I sleep so much during the day that sleep doesn’t really stick to me at night. Even numbed with large glasses of whiskey, I still can’t fall asleep. Yes, I need to get some sleeping pills. Night sleep is important.
Lounging all day long, living in a warm country, having a slave who brings you whatever your heart desires means… being rich. What else are money for?
I am a rich man for many days to come. All the trick is to quickly get some sleeping pills. You know: all the rich folks have sleep problems.
My daily routine eats up about 110 – 150 dollars including rent. If I divide all the money I have left by 150, it means I’ll have a long vacation of… 379 days.
Not bad at all!
I have no other expenses. I’m very careful with money. Only on the first day was I taken advantage of. I bought a toothbrush and a pair of sunglasses. I use the sunglasses daily.
Ah, where’s that plump customs lady to see me? See, cow?! See? Did you see that I don’t need luggage?
I raise a finger with great effort. The whiskey glass with ice lands smoothly under my nose. The umbrella is adjusted a bit. The ashtray is quickly taken and replaced with a clean one. Just as I said.
I sip from the glass, moaning, close my eyes, and yawn. Damn insomnia! I’m like a rag.
I sigh and let out a big fart! The Andaman Sea breeze takes it and carries it along the beach.
There’s not the slightest chance I’ll be unhappy in the next 379 days. Money means happiness, no matter what all the losers say. Money means freedom. Money is good. Hallelujah!
The only thing that bothers me a bit is that my residency visa expires in three days. What will happen after three days? Does it need to be renewed? How? I have no idea.
Anyway, I’m so drunk right now that I’m almost falling asleep. Damn the visa. What’s the point of paying attention to all this nonsense?
Ah… and there’s something else that bothers me: pushy foreigners trying to strike up a conversation with me.
But I handle them very easily. I tell them in English, “Me don’t understand at you!” and that’s it.
It works every time.
I nestle even better into my lounge chair.
It’s a pleasant evening. The sun sets. Its edge slowly sinks into the blue depths of the Andaman Sea. I sigh and yawn. Another one of those 379 days has passed.
My stomach grumbles. Soon I’ll have to get up from my welcoming lounge chair and go get something to eat.
Or maybe it would be better to stay here, quietly.
Or maybe I’ll leave, after all.
Hmm… I’m not feeling well. I’ll stay here. I’ll ask Anurat to bring me something to nibble on, anything… maybe a slice of lemon.
Life’s harsh! My stomach is protesting. I don’t feel like leaving, but I’ll make an extraordinary effort nonetheless.
I grab my purse, sling my shirt over my shoulder, and take the sad walk up the 158 steps of Golgotha.
I’m as enthusiastic as a cow heading to the slaughterhouse.
It’s a long and deserted road. There’s not a tourist in sight on the beach. They’ve all retreated to yachts, rooms, screwing like rabbits.
In the distance, two yellow lanterns slowly rise into the air, both at the same speed. I watch them closely. The two lanterns merge slowly into one. Yep, it’s clear. No matter how much you drink, you still have to eat.
Come on, Tiberiu, another fifteen meters, what the hell?! Courage…
Are there thirteen or sixteen meters left? Nah, I lost count, but I’m not going back to start over.
Finally, the small terrace pretentiously named “Restaurant” is getting closer and closer. There are two terraces, but as I approach, they merge into one. I shake my head.
Hmm… I really need to get my eyes checked.
A group of four retirees are talking quietly at a table. They’re Swedish or Norwegian. Or Icelandic. It’s all the same, those languages are similar.
I sit at a table as far away from the old folks as possible and boredly check the menu. The pictures of the dishes keep moving, so I move the menu as well. Two twin waiters approach my table.
I order a soup. The soup comes quickly and looks good. It’s tangy with plenty of fat shrimp, but the chef sprinkled it a bit too much with stuff that burns your tongue.
Geez, is this soup or fire?
I signal the waiter (yeah, there’s only one) and he quickly brings me a glass of water. Water? Is this guy an idiot or what?
I’m unable to speak, but I shake my head. The waiter understands and leaves with a dumb smile. He disappears with the water and returns with a big glass of whiskey without ice, which I gulp down in one go.
“Okay, yeah,” I say, tears streaming down my face as I shake the glass upside down. “I want another one.”
He disappears. I have no idea what the hell is wrong with him, still smiling like a fool.
I glance at the menu to know what to avoid next time. I can only decipher some worms and a “Tom Yam Kung.” Is that English? Well, alright, I’ll remember.
The smiley guy reappears with my whisky. I push my soup plate towards him angrily. I’ve only had a few spoonfuls, but I’m afraid he’ll want me to pay for it in full.
“You know what? Give me the bill,” I say calmly. “Uh… those guys over there, are they Icelandic or Swedish?”
“Netherlands,” he says. “Europe.”
Oh yeah, I suspected they were from around Sweden or Iceland.
So, I wasn’t wrong.
“I could have sworn they were from the Netherlands,” I say, nodding. “The land of tulips, legalized drugs, and bartender marriages. What a bunch of hippies! Speaking of legalized drugs, do you know if the pharmacy is still open? I urgently need about two sleeping pills. Sleeping pills, you understand?”
Damn luck! It’s closed. I pay the smiley guy and remain annoyed to finish my drink.
The Dutch guys chatter like mice. One of the oldies tells a joke and they all laugh in Dutch.
A family of blondes slowly ascends the alley and then the stairs to the terrace. There are three of them. Dad, mom, and the kid. A little boy. Obviously, the kid won’t shut up. Not for a second.
Fortunately, the blondes avoid me and sit at the Dutchmen’s table. I start seeing double again, so I close one eye and spy on them with the other. None of the blondes want to order Tom Yam Kung.
I sigh.
“Hey!”
“Hey,” I respond, surprised, looking at the Thai guy who pulls up a chair and sits at my table.
“I have what you need,” he whispers with just a smile, then opens his palm and shows me a blue pill.
I look at him with my only eye. His face is like a spitting image of the waiter’s and the bartender’s. These guys are playing with my mind. You can’t tell who’s who. Most Thais look like they’ve been cloned.
Luckily, they dress differently.
I look back at the blonde’s table. They simply refuse to order Tom Yam Kung. They just want juices. I feel myself getting annoyed.
“What’s with this square pill?” I ask irritably. “Are you a pharmacist?”
“Yeah, somewhat,” he chuckles. “You wanted a sleeping pill. This one’s better than a sleeping pill, hi, hi! You’ll sleep like a horse. Have vivid dreams.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, rummaging quickly in my purse. “You’re my savior! How much is it? A dollar? Two dollars?”
“No dollars,” he says, smiling. “Zero dollars. Here… Take it! It’s a gift for you. That’s the first one. If you like the sleep, come later and ask for more. Look for me here, tell the waiter, okay?”
“But what does this ‘Q’ on the pill mean?” I ask, amazed.
“That’s what it says on it, ‘Super Q.’ Sleep well. Dream. A good sleeping pill, very good. Good, good, good!”
“Done! Give me two more. It’s hard for me to come here every night.”
“Very well. Ten dollars.”
“What? So expensive?”
“Ten dollars each,” he whispers.
I stare at him, gritting my teeth. He looks at me smiling. I don’t like how he smiles and he doesn’t even look like a pharmacist.
“Ten fucking dollars?” I frown. “Just one pill? No, thanks. At that price, no way. I’d rather not sleep at all. Here, take it back. I don’t even know what this ‘Q’ is for. Where does it come from?”
“Very good ‘Q.’ Ten dollars each.”
“Too much, ‘Mr. Pharmacist.’ Too much!”
“Not too much, Mr. Tourist,” he smiles with all his white teeth. “You try first. After that, for sure, you come looking for me. You’re very nice. Ten dollars each. Yes?”
“Five!”
“Okay,” he suddenly says, then hands me the ‘Q’ again. “This one’s free, and I’ll bring two more. Coming now.”
In less than a minute, he returns and sits back at my table. In the end, I hold three blue squares in my hand, and he holds ten dollars in his hand.
“You’re a nice guy,” he smiles with his whole mouth. “Is there a girl for you?”
“What?”
“A girl… friend,” he repeats. “A nice girl for tonight. Or for the whole vacation, if you want.”
“No,” I say curtly. “Thanks, no! I’m not interested in women. Just sun and beach.”
“Ah. So you like boys. A boyfriend for you? Want? I’ll arrange. Doesn’t cost much.”
I feel the need to punch him in that xeroxed face. My right palm starts itching even more.
The man looks at me calmly. He has a peaceful face, but he talks nonsense. Yeah, I could wipe the smile off his face, but I’ve just found a supplier of sleeping pills, and I don’t want to lose him.
“Thank you for the offer,” I say, looking at him coldly. “I’m not interested in boys, just the sleeping pills. Forget it, okay?”
The pharmacist shrugs, then leaves without a word. I look suspiciously at the pills. There aren’t three, but six. I close one eye and throw them into my mouth, chew them, then take a sip of whisky.
What crap! They don’t even taste like sleeping pills. The world is full of scammers.
I’m preoccupied with a thought, it bothers me constantly. What the hell am I going to do with that visa expiring in three days? Does the pharmacist deal with visas too?
“Would you like another glass, sir?” the waiter appears next to me.
Around here, in Thai bars, there’s no policy of “Oh my God, I can’t serve you anymore.” It’s a progressive country, with forward-thinking views.
“What’s the date today, buddy?” I ask gloomily.
“December 20th. Oh, that’s right, sir, we’re expecting you at our Christmas party in five days! Another glass?”
So today is the 20th. I arrived in Thailand on December 9th. The visa is valid for fourteen days. That means it expires on the 23rd.
What a mess! In just three days.
But what do I care about your Christmas party?! I’ve got a toothache, and you guys are all about parties?
“Yeah, I’d have another glass,” I slur. Damn Christmas! Man, why do you give such short visas?
The waiter looks at me stunned, then leaves and brings me the drink. I gulp it down quickly, pay, and get up.
Good Lord! Now I’m seeing triple!
What the fuck is this?
I’m hot. Very hot. My legs are numb. I stagger. I know, I know… falls and head knocks are coming.
It shouldn’t have been called “Q,” but “K”… for knockout.
And damn Tom Yam Kung set my guts on fire.
But the crowning glory of my evening, the cherry on top, is that… I still have 158 steps to go back. I barely make it down the stairs and attack the alley. After about twenty meters, I almost fall. I stretch my hands forward and sit down, my butt on the pavement. I breathe heavily, sweat pouring down me. I take off my shirt, wipe my face, and fan myself with it.
Suddenly it’s terribly hot.
Will they deport me from Thailand in three days? Where should I go? I absolutely need to sort this out. It’s on my mind.
Come on, Tiberiu, get up! Move your butt! Like this… now move your right leg. Move it, damn it! Come on, one leg at a time, okay? Who made me drink so much? Who? Why?
Oh, Jesus!
If You help me get back to the sun lounger, I promise not to drink a drop tonight. Nothing! Maybe one or two beers, just for thirst, but nothing else. I promise, Lord!
Can you hear me, Lord?
I’m immersed in my religious world, and I don’t even realize when I take those 158 steps. I reach the haven, so it’s clear: God is great and good!
I drop heavily like a sack of potatoes onto the sun lounger. I stretch out and suddenly realize how tired I am. Very tired.
I’m wasted, hammered from drinking. The beach sways beneath me. My eyelids start to droop. A good sign. That means I haven’t wasted those ten dollars.
“Anurat,” I whisper, “are you still around? Help! I’m thirsty! Hey! Hello!”
The xeroxed face of a Thai appears out of nowhere. What the hell? It seems to be Anurat. I mean… I hope it’s Anurat…
These people should diversify their DNA a bit.
“Anurat,” I mumble, “is that you? One more small… one before bed, and then I’ll leave you alone. I promise!”
I raise a finger and receive a whisky on the rocks. Forgive me, Lord, I know I promised you, but ice is the best remedy against Tom Yam Kung.
I ask Anurat – for the eleventh time in eleven days – if his acquaintance found my cherry-flavored rolling papers. I know for sure they exist in Southeast Asia, and Thailand is in Southeast Asia, right?
“Bah luke gah-ree!” he barks.
“In English, boy!”
“Not found cherry cigarettes, Sir!”
Oh, these cloned xeroxed guys aren’t talkative at all. For eleven days I’ve been telling them about my cherry-flavored rolling papers and… nothing.
“But you’ll both look, right? And in the end, you’ll find them, right? Tell your friend that I’ll pay royally for them.”
“We search for sure. We find, sir!”
“Bravo, Anurat! You’re a good boy, and look, this money’s for you. I won’t lift a finger tonight. See you tomorrow. How do you say ‘See you tomorrow’ in Thai?”
“C̄hạn ngò.”
“Damn it! Weird language! Chango, Anurat, chango!”
The Thai brings me a clean ashtray and takes the other one, full of Marlboro butts.
I suck on an ice cube and suspiciously eye the third presence that appeared out of nowhere. He’s a man in his thirties, big as a church door.
What’s he doing on my beach?
He stops in front of my sun lounger and looks at me with a slightly mocking air. He holds a bottle of drink and sips from it now and then. A fellow, then.
Judging by how much is left in the bottle, I probably have a church door with tired hinges in front of me.
Doesn’t this guy know that two drunks don’t fit on the same beach? What the hell does he want to do?
The guy grabs the nearest empty sun lounger and simply drags it onto the sand next to me, then lies down on it.
The sun lounger creaks.
That’s it, my peace is over! Fucking Paradise!
NEXT