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Published: December 26th 2013
Lordy- a crazy week. I was sad to leave NLF but very ready for a new adventure (and a gin and tonic). Journey was largely uneventful in retrospect (it was no caledonian sleeper and a bit weird being the only farang on the train but, most importantly, they served beer).
After 24hours of travelling I made it to my new place of work. Staff accommodation at the hostel leaves something to be desired ( a few things actually, a door, linen, sanitary washing & lavatory facilities, a stick to keep out chickens and mental German men). The place is a ramshackle collection of bamboo and clay huts and has a reputation as a laid back, hippyish community (ie everyone is stoned and the music is very, very loud). My thinking was that I'd save some money by volunteering (4 hours per day for bed and one meal) and meet some nice people to spend Christmas with. In reality, as food and accommodation is very cheap anyway I ended up working for the equivalent of £1.20 per hour (slightly less than my salary in my previous life). The owner is a lovely guy but VERY laid back (see above) which meant
the schedule was non existent. This became increasingly frustrating. Coupled with the resident German lunatic and the challenging facilities, I realised after a couple of days that I needed to skedaddle. I wasn't looking forward to the awkward situation of extricating myself as I'd initially agreed to stay for two weeks. Tasks included washing dishes (without a sink), preparing rooms and caring for the owner's daughter. Her favourite game was throwing things at your face, really hard.
Christmas Eve would have been amazing- a trip to four islands on a longboat with lunch on the beach. It started really well until we stopped off for lanta's "must see" attraction- the emerald cave. This is a lie, if you are a crap swimmer who is terrified of small places, deep water and the dark this is an attraction that you really, really don't ever need to see. Unfortunately nobody bothered to mention what it involved before I got out of the boat. Getting into the water was a feat in itself and I was the last one in, just in time to see the rest of my party disappear through a crack in the rock. My special Courtney-style-doggy-paddle-cum-breast-stroke was never
going to be enough to catch up, by the time I had my wits about me I realised I was all alone in the pitch black, SWIMMING. The mere thought of it now is inducing a post traumatic episode. My family will remember the ill-advised pot holing trip in a boat in Cumbria which induced a major freak out ( panic attack assuaged by higgsy's reassuring repeated "shut up!" Thanks again xx). This trip was like that but more terrifying to the power of ten. Thankfully when I completely lost it and shouted for help my cries were heard by a European guy who dragged me the rest of the 85 metres to safety. The passage led to a stunning lagoon which you can only reach via the tunnel. I joined my fellow travellers on the beach- they were all whooping with delight and urging me to agree that despite my fear the experience had been worth it. Frankly, no it wasn't. The only thing that spoiled my elation at having survived was the thought that I had to do it all again to get back. Merry fucking Christmas.
Christmas Day was a mixed affair- half of the guests
had already celebrated on 24th (weird Europeans). I helped with Christmas dinner- mish mash of barbecue chicken, barracuda, mashed potato and Brussels sprouts. We exchanged gifts secret Santa style- I received a bottle of water, a deck of cards and two cigarette lighters. The mental guy upset one of the other volunteers, reducing her to tears and at that point I decided it was time to move on. I explained to the owner this morning and he was very nice- even wiping out my Christmas Day bar tab. So I now have a little beach hut which has not only a door but a lock, and not only a toilet but a WESTERN one. Life is good again.
Seasons greetings friends and family xxxx
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