“. . . So well traveled . . . was on Sudan Airways when the pilot and co-pilot decided to shake hands with all the passengers and the cockpit door shut behind them! They had to hack it down with an ax. So witty. He’s staying at the Oriental—he said to come over.”
“I thought we didn’t want anything to do with men,” I said grumpily.
“No, no, I just think if we’re in a strange place it’s useful to talk to someone really well traveled.”
6 a.m. Finally got to sleep at 4:30 only to be woken at 5:45 by Sharon bouncing on the bed saying we should go to a temple and watch the sunrise (through three hundred ft. of cloud?). Cannot go on. Gaah! Something v. horrible seems to be going on in stomach. Keep having little eggy burps.
11 a.m. Sharon and I have been up for five hours, four and a half of which have been spent taking it in turns to go to the “toilet.” Sharon says suffering and simple life is part of spiritual epiphany. Physical comfort is not only unnecessary but an impediment to spirituality. We are going to meditate.
Noon. Hurrah! We have checked into the Oriental Hotel! Realize will cost more for one night than week in Corfu but is emergency and what are credit cards for? (Shazzer’s is still working and she says I can pay her back. Wonder if is all right to have spiritual epiphany on someone else’s credit card?)
Both agreed hotel marvelous and changed immediately into powder-blue bathrobes and played with bubble bath etc. Also Shazzer says it is not necessary to completely rough it all the time in order to be a traveler since it is the contrast between worlds and lifestyles that makes one have a spiritual epiphany. Could not agree more. Greatly appreciate, for example, simultaneous presence of toilet and bidet in view of current stomach scenario.
8 p.m. Shazzer was asleep (or dead from dysentery), so decided to go out for walk on terrace of hotel. Was just beautiful. Stood in inky darkness with soft warm breezes lifting plastered-down feathers off face, looking over bend in Chao Phraya river—and all twinkly lights and lurking Oriental-style boats. Flying is marvelous thing—only twenty-four hours ago was sitting on bed at home surrounded by wet washing—now all is unbelievably exotic and romantic. Was just about to light cigarette when suddenly posh gold lighter appeared under nose. Glanced at the face in the matchlight and made odd noise. Was the airline Harrison Ford! Waiter brought gin and tonics that seemed quite strong. Harrison Ford, or “Jed,” explained was v. important to take quinine in tropics. Could quite see why Shaz was going on about him. He asked what our plans were. Told him we had decided to go to hippie island of Koh Samui to stay in hut and have spiritual epiphany. He said he might come too. I said Sharon would like that (as obviously he was hers though did not say that to Harrison Ford), and maybe I should go wake her up. By this time was feeling rather woozy what with all the quinine then panicked as he brushed one finger gently down the side of my cheek and leaned towards me.
“Bridget,” hissed a voice, “call yourself a bloody friend.”
Oh no, oh no. Was Shazzer.
THURSDAY 7 AUGUST
118 lbs. or maybe 114?, cigarettes 10, appearances by the sun 0.
Koh Samui Island, Thailand. (Hmm: rhymes in manner of rap song or similar.)
Have arrived at v. idyllic—apart from teeming rain—hippie beach: lovely crescent of sand and little huts on stilts and restaurants all along it. The huts are made of bamboo with balconies overlooking the sea. Things are still rather frosty between me and Shaz and she has developed an irrational aversion to “Boys Who Have Huts Near One” with the result that even though we have not yet been here eighteen hours we have had to move huts three times in rain. The first time it was fair enough as after three minutes the boys came over and tried to sell us something that was either heroin, opium, or fudge. Then we moved to a new hut hotel where the boys in the next hut looked v. clean-cut in manner of biochemists or similar. Unfortunately, however, the biochemists came over and told us someone had hanged himself in our hut three days ago at which Shazzer insisted we leave. By this time it was pitch-black. The biochemists had offered to help with our bags but Shaz would have none of it and we had to tramp along the beach with rucksacks for ages. The upshot of it was, having traveled about twenty thousand miles to wake up by the sea, we ended up in a hut overlooking the back of a restaurant and a ditch. So now we have to go up and down the beach looking for another hut that is on the sea but does not have the wrong sort of boys near it, or posthanging karma. Bloody Shazzer.
11:30 p.m. Hurrah! Es wor blurry brill in ganja restaurant, Shazz blurry fantastic. Bessfrien.
FRIDAY 8 AUGUST
112 lbs. (marvelous by-product of stomach explosion), alcohol units 0, cigarettes 0 (v.g.), magic mushrooms 12 (mmmmm wooooo weeeeee).
11:30 a.m. When woke up, admittedly quite late, found myself alone. Could not find Shaz anywhere in the hut, so came out on the balcony and looked around. Worryingly, the frightening Swedish girls next door seemed to have been replaced by a Boy Who Has Hut Near One but clearly this could not be my fault as travelers constantly coming and going. Put on prescription sunglasses as lenses not in yet and on closer inspection, Boy Who Newly Had Hut Near One turned out to be airline Harrison Ford lookalike–Oriental Hotel snogger. As I watched he turned round and smiled at someone coming out of his hut. It was Shazzer, revealing whole “be careful while traveling, avoid Boys Who Have Huts Near One” philosophy to contain gigantic “unless they’re really attractive” caveat.
1 p.m. Jed is taking us both to the café for a magic mushroom omelette! Initially we were doubtful as strictly against classified substances but Jed explained magic mushrooms are not drugs but natural and will provide a gateway to our spiritual epiphany. V. excited.
2 p.m. I am beautiful in a striking, exotic way, beautiful and part of all colors and life with its laws. When lie on the sand and look at the sky through my army hat pinpricks of light shine through and it is the most beautiful, beautiful, precious thing in imagery. Shazzer is beautiful. I will take my hat into the sea so the beauty of the sea will combine with the precious pinpricks of light like jewels.
5 p.m. In ganja restaurant on own. Shazzer is not speaking to me. After the magic mushroom omelette, nothing happened initially but on the way back to our hut everything suddenly began to seem most amusing and I unfortunately began to giggle uncontrollably. Shaz, however, did not seem to be joining in the joke. On arrival at our latest hut I decided to put my hammock up outside, using thin string, which broke, so that I landed on the sand. This seemed at the time so very amusing I immediately wanted to do it again and, Shazzer is claiming, reperformed amusing hammock crash repeatedly for forty-five minutes finding the amusingness undiminished by repetition. Jed had been in the hut with Shaz but gone off for a swim so I decided to go in to find her. She was lying on the bed moaning, “I’m ugly, ugly, ugly, ugly.” Alarmed by Shazzer’s contrasting-with-own-mood self-loathing, hurried towards her to cheer her up. On the way, however, caught sight of self in the mirror and had never seen a more beautiful or entrancing creature in entire life.
Shaz alleges that for the next forty minutes kept attempting to rouse her spirits but I became repeatedly distracted by sight of self in the mirror, striking poses and beseeching Shaz to admire me. Shaz, meanwhile, was suffering total trauma believing her entire face and body to be grievously deformed. I went off to get her some food and returned giggling with a banana and Bloody Mary, telling her the waitress in the restaurant had a lampshade on her head, then returned besottedly to my station at the mirror. Following this, Shaz claims, I lay on the beach for two and a half hours staring up at army hat and waving fingers softly in the air while she contemplated suicide.
All can remember was being in midst of happiest time of life, sure that had understood deep, permanent laws of life and that all that was necessary was to get into deep Flow state—as fully described in Emotional Intelligence—thereby to go along with Laws in Zen-like fashion, then suddenly it was as if a switch had been turned off. Returned to hut and instead of radian
t Buddha/Yasmin Le Bon–type female incarnation in mirror it was just me, bright red and sweating in the face, one side of hair plastered down my head and the other side sticking out in peaks and horns, and Shaz on the bed looking at me with the expression of an ax murderer. V. sad and ashamed of behavior but it was not me, it was the mushrooms.
Maybe if I go back to the hut and talk about spiritual epiphanies she will not be so grumpy.
FRIDAY 15 AUGUST
113 lbs. (in slightly rounder mood today), alcohol units 5, cigarettes 25, spiritual epiphanies 0, disasters 1.
9 a.m. We have had a fantastic holiday though not a spiritual epiphany. Felt a bit left out because Shaz was often with Jed, but the sun made really quite a few appearances so swam and sunbathed when they were shagging, and at night the three of us had dinner. Shaz is a bit heartbroken because Jed left last night to go on to some other islands. We are going to have cheer-up breakfast (though not magic mushrooms) and then can be just the two of us again and have fun. Hurrah!
11:30 a.m. Oh my bloody God and fuck. Sharon and I have just got back to our hut to find our padlock was open and our rucksacks have gone missing. Definitely left it locked but they must have broken in. Fortunately we had our passports and not all the stuff was actually in the bags but our air tickets and traveler’s checks appear to be no longer there. Shazzer’s card is not working after Bangkok with all shopping etc. We only have $38 between us and the flight to London from Bangkok is on Tuesday and we are hundreds of miles away on an island. Sharon is crying and I keep trying to cheer her up to little effect.
Whole scenario reminiscent of Thelma and Louise when Thelma sleeps with Brad Pitt who steals all their money and Geena Davis is saying it’s all right and Susan Sarandon is crying and saying, “It is not all right. Thelma, it is definitely not all right.”
Even to fly to Bangkok in time for the plane will cost us $100 each, and then who knows if they would believe us at Bangkok airport about lost tickets or whether we could . . . Oh God. Must keep head and spirits up. Just suggested to Shazzer that we go back to the ganja restaurant and have a couple of Bloody Marys and sleep on it and she went mental.
The trouble is part of me is frantic and part of me thinks it is brilliant to have a crisis and adventure and it is such a change from worrying about the circumference of my thighs. Think I will just sneak out and get the Bloody Marys. Might as well cheer ourselves up. Can’t do anything about it till Monday anyway as everything closed: short of going to a bar and raising money by doing exotic dances with Ping-Pong balls coming out of us but somehow do not think we would stand up to the competition.
1 p.m. Hurrah! Shazzza I going tor live in KohSamui like hippies off bananas sell shells onsbeach. IIs y spiritual epiphany. Blurry brilli. Nothing but selves to re on. Spirtal.
5 p.m. Hmm. Shaz is still asleep, which I am glad about as she seems to be taking things rather hard. This, I feel, is an opportunity to test our self-reliance. I know. Am going to go to the big hotel and enquire at reception as to what facilities are available to deal with a crisis. For example I could ring the traveler’s check company. But then we’ll never get the refund in time. No, no. Keep positive.
7 p.m. You see. As long as you keep your spirits up something always comes along to get you out of a hole. Who should I bump into in the hotel foyer but Jed! He said his trip to the other islands had been rained off, he was going back to Bangkok later tonight and was just about to come to see us to say hi before he goes. (Think Shaz might be a bit upset he didn’t come to find her straight away, but still. Maybe he thought we’d already gone or . . . Look, I am not going to start obsessing on behalf of Sharon.)
Anyway, Jed was really sympathetic, though did say we should never have left anything valuable in the hut, even if it was padlocked. He gave me a bit of a lecture (bloody sexy, sort of father/priest figure) then said we’d be pushing it to get to Bangkok in time for Tuesday’s flight, as all the flights from here today and tomorrow were full, but he would try to get us tickets for the overnight train tomorrow, which should make the connection. Also offered to give us some money for taxis and to pay the hotel here. He thought if we rang the travel agent in London first thing Monday they would definitely reissue the tickets to pick up at the airport.
“We’ll pay you back,” I said gratefully.
“Hey, don’t worry,” he said. “It’s not very much.”
“No, we will,” I insisted.
“Well, when you can afford it.” He laughed.
He is a generous, wealthy dreamgod, though obviously money not important. Except when missing in crisis.
MONDAY 18 AUGUST
On train from Surat Thani Koh Samui to Bangkok. Is quite nice on the train, watching all the paddy fields and people with triangular hats go by. Every time it stops, people come up to the windows offering us chicken saté, which is delicious. Cannot stop thinking about Jed. He was so kind and there for us in way that reminded self of Mark Darcy when not gone off with Rebecca. He even gave us one of his bags to put our stuff in that wasn’t nicked and all his little shampoos and soaps from his various hotels. Shaz is happy because they’ve swapped numbers and addresses and are going to see each other as soon as she gets back. In fact, to be perfectly honest about it, Shazzer is smug to the point of insufferability. Is good though, as she had horrible time with Simon. Always suspected she did not hate all men, just crap ones. Oh God. Hope we get the plane in time.
TUESDAY 19 AUGUST
11 a.m. Bangkok airport. A terrible nightmare seems to be happening. Blood all seems to be racing through my head and I can hardly see. Shaz went on ahead of me to hold up the plane while I brought the luggage. Had to walk past an official with a dog on a leash, which was straining at my bag and barking. The airline officials all started jabbering, and then an army woman took me and the bag away to a separate room. They emptied the holdall, then took a knife and slashed open the lining, and inside was a polythene bag full of white powder. And then . . . Oh God. Oh God. Someone help me.
WEDNESDAY 20 AUGUST
84 lbs., alcohol units 0, cigarettes 0, calories 0, likelihood of ever eating Thai takeaway again 0.
11 a.m. Police custody, Bangkok. Calm. Calm. Calm. Calm.
11:01 a.m. Calm.
11:02 a.m. Am wearing leg irons. Am wearing LEG IRONS. Am in stinking Third World cell with eight Thai prostitutes and a potty in the corner. Feel like am going to faint in heat. This cannot be happening.
11:05 a.m. Oh God. It’s all falling into place what has happened. Cannot believe anyone could be so callous, to sleep with someone then nick all their things and dupe their friend into being a pigeon. Is unbelievable. Anyway, I expect the British ambassador will be here soon to explain everything and get me out.
Noon. Becoming slightly anxious about whereabouts of British ambassador.
1 p.m. Sure the British ambassador will be along after his lunch break.
2 p.m. Maybe the British ambassador has been held up, perhaps by a more pressing case of real drug trafficking as opposed to an innocent dupe.
3 p.m. Oh my bloody God and fuck. I hope they have bloody well told the British ambassador. Surely Shazzer will have raised the alert. Maybe they have got Shazzer as well. But where is she?
3:30 p.m. Look, have got to, got to keep myself together. All I have got now is myself. Fucking Jed. Must not hold on to resentment . . . Oh God, I’m so hungry.
4 p.m. Guard just came by with some disgusting rice and some personal effects was allowed to keep—one pair of knickers, a photo of Mark Darcy and another of Jude showing Shazzer how to have an orgasm and a screwed-up bit of paper from jeans pocket. Tried to ask guard about British ambassador but he just nodded and said something I couldn’t understand.
4:30 p.m. You see. Even when things seem bad, still enlightening things happen. Screwed-up paper was Dad’s poem from book club that Mark gave me. Is literature. Am going to read it and think of finer things.
“If” by Rudyard Kipling
If y
ou can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and . . .
Oh my God. Oh my GOD. Do they still have beheading in Thailand?
THURSDAY 21 AUGUST
70 lbs. (v.g. but imaginary), alcohol units 14 (but also imaginary), cigarettes 0, calories 12 (rice), no. of times wish had gone to Mallorca instead 55.
5 a.m. Hideous night huddled on flea-infested old sack stuffed with socks masquerading as mattress. Funny how quickly you get used to being dirty and uncomfortable. Is the smell that is the worst. Managed to sleep for a couple of hours, which was great except for moment when woke up and remembered what happened. Still no sign of British ambassador. Sure it is just a mistake and will all be OK. Must keep spirits up.
10 a.m. A guard just appeared at the door with a Sloaney-looking chap in a pink shirt.
“Are you the British ambassador?” I yelled, practically flinging myself on him.
“Ah. No. Assistant to the consul. Charlie Palmer-Thompson. Jolly good to meet you.” He shook my hand in a manner that would have been reassuringly British had he not involuntarily wiped it on his trousers afterwards.
He asked me what happened and took down the details in a Mulberry posh leather-bound notebook, saying things like “Yar, yar. Oh Christ, how frightful,” as if I were telling him a polo anecdote. Started to panic as (a) did not seem quite to grasp the gravity of the situation, (b) did not seem—not to be snobbish or anything—exactly brain of Britain and (c) did not seem nearly as certain as I would have liked that this was all a mistake and I was about to be released any second.
The Edge of Reason Page 22