The Backpacking Housewife: Escape around the world with this feel good novel about second chances!
mess and my hair a fizzy muddle on the back of my head. I have my sunglasses on against the dazzling sun, but they keep sliding down my nose and I desperately wish I had a hat too, as the sun is beating down on me like a blowtorch. I scuttle sideways dragging our bags into the shade of the wooden canopy over the ticket office.
When Summer comes back, I see she’s not only bought us a cold bottle of water each, she has strawberry ice lollies too. I haven’t had an ice lolly since I was a kid and thoroughly enjoy sucking and licking it as fast as it was melting off the little wooden stick and running in scarlet dribbles down my chin and over my sticky fingers.
Soon, several long-tail boats turn up. A long-tail boat is named after the long prop shaft sticking into the water at the back of it that propels it forward. The boat itself is a traditional narrow wooden one with rows of bench seats – a bit like a large canoe – and to me it looks and feels wholly unstable. The front, where all our backpacks are being precariously stacked for the journey, has an extended bow and this is decorated with colourful garlands and wreaths of flowers that look really pretty but that I know are specifically there to provide good luck and to ask for protection from sinking from the spirits of the water. There is a roof of sorts, but it’s just a metal frame tarpaulin, designed to offer passengers some protection from the sun or rain.
Our boat has sixteen passengers aboard and one Thai boatman, who operates the ‘long-tail’ with one bare foot while a cigarette dangles from his lower lip. The engine looks like it’s something he’d salvaged from an old car and as he revs it up and steers us out into the open sea it pours out a reek of black smoke all the way from the pier and around the monumental headlands to Railay Beach.
I sit completely still on the wooden bench in the midsection next to Summer. The boat rocks and tilts as it smashes its way through the choppy waters. The large rolling waves that crash against the front of the boat are soaking all the bags and spraying those of us sitting at the front.
I’m petrified but trying desperately not to show it. I try to recall the last time I was on a boat.
It was in the Lake District, I think, when I was about twelve years old. In a little flurry of panic, I wonder if I can still swim? I try to remember the last time I went swimming. Properly swimming, I mean, because I can’t count the time Sally convinced me to take up water aerobics and we never left the three-foot end of the local pool. I tell myself that swimming is like riding a bike. Once you’ve learned, it comes back, no matter how long ago you did it last.
Over the sound of the roaring diesel engine, I ask Summer if she’s already got somewhere to stay at Railay. She shakes her head, flicking her long glossy hair from side to side like a show pony. ‘No, but don’t worry, it’s early in the season. I’m pretty sure we’ll find somewhere reasonably priced to stay for one night.’
I keep my eyes trained on what I can see of the horizon over the large moving expanse of deep water ahead of us. I worry about being seasick. To distract myself, I play a guessing game on where the lifejackets might be kept in case of a capsize. Then I hear Summer laugh.
She’s enjoying another conversation with the gap year lads from the minibus.
They’re all sparring over ‘where is the best … something … in the world?’
I enjoy listening to their animated and enthusiastic conversation, probably because they are all so impressively well-travelled and confident. Their parents must be so proud of them, I think to myself, knowing how proud I am of each of my own two sons. This time, German Peter has asked for the consensus on ‘where is the best full moon party in the world?’
‘Without a doubt, Koh Phangan has the best full moon parties!’ Summer tells them emphatically. I can see the lads all nodding their heads in agreement. Although I also notice they tend to agree with Summer whatever she says. And who can blame them?
‘Yeah, you haven’t lived until you’ve been to one of those crazy nights on Phangan!’ yells one of the American lads, punching the air to make his point and to let everyone (most importantly, Summer) know that he’s one of the cool cats who’s actually been there and done it. Almost everyone in the boat nods in agreement with him. I guess I haven’t lived?
‘So where would you guys say is the best for scuba diving?’ German Peter asks.
I listen keenly for the answer, grateful for another distraction. I’m starting to feel queasy.
Summer immediately pipes up again. ‘That would be Geluk Island. I learned to dive on the reef there and it got me totally hooked on scuba. It’s got the best diving in the whole world’
‘Yeah, man, Geluk!’ Nate yells. ‘I went last year with the GGF and did my thesis in marine ecology and conservation. The reef is so alive, man. I swam with dolphins. It was awesome!’
The other’s look at him enviously as they obviously can’t make the same claim.
Prince Harry is suddenly winning big over the Americans.
‘What’s the GGF?’ I ask him curiously.
‘The Goldman Global Foundation. It’s a conservation charity organisation.’
‘That is SO cool, Nate!’ exclaims Summer. ‘I love dolphins.’
‘Where is this island again?’ I ask for clarification. ‘And how is it spelt?’
‘G-E-L-U-K,’ Summer spells out for me. ‘It’s pronounced “gluck” and it’s on the Meso-American reef in the Caribbean, the second largest barrier reef in the world after the Great Barrier Reef in Australia, only it’s in much better condition and, like Nate says, the diving there is incredible.’
My eyes are wide with interest. Summer and Nate have painted such a vivid picture of this beautiful tropical island paradise. I immediately dream of going there one day to scuba dive.
I mentally add it to my bucket list.
I mean, why not, right? There’s nothing to stop me because I’m a backpacker too!
Just then, our boat comes around the headland that successfully cuts Railay Beach off from the rest of Krabi province, and we all gasp at the sight of the picture-perfect utopia in front of us. The photos in my guidebook did no justice at all to the incredible beauty of this place.
The soaring limestone cliffs look like giant fingers pointing into a cloudless blue sky.
Having entered the protection of the bay, I see the water all around us is now a flat calm shimmering emerald green sheet of pristine clarity. Just ahead of us is the much-anticipated white-sand half-moon curved beach with its backdrop of lush green forest and swaying palm trees. Our boat takes us right up to the shore line, beaching itself so that we can all clamber out, straight into the calf-deep, bathtub-warm water that is gently lapping the soft powder white sand. I look around me. Happily, so far, the place doesn’t look too overcrowded or trashy.
The boatman throws us our backpacks. I grab mine and trudge with everyone else up the beach until we reach a sand path between the low-lying buildings sitting under the palm trees.
‘Where shall we try first?’ I ask Summer, thinking the hotels on the beach looked very nice.
‘Oh, not here, Lori. Not for me anyway. These hotels are way above my budget.’
I shrug it off. ‘Then they’ll be over mine too. I imagine this place is pricy, right?’
Summer nods. ‘Right. If you stay on West Beach you’ll pay a fortune for the privilege of watching the sunset from your balcony when you could actually just watch it for free on the beach. But don’t worry, I’m sure there are places far less expensive further in.’
‘Okay. Let’s go. I’ll follow your lead,’ I say to her, trying to hide my concern over ending up in a shared dorm with one bathroom and with all the lads from the bus and the boat.
As it is, on East Beach, just a five-minute walk away from the idyllic West Beach, while Summer checks out the shared hostel dorms, I find a pretty