To the edge of the World and back PART 1

(Picture 1 - Destination Laos)

Meaw and I were entwined and enraptured by one another, well and truly now, as the month of October sped along beside us.

I was still in residence at the prolifically botanical Gap's House but I was rarely using the place to sleep, anymore. Instead, I shunned my spacious and air-conditioned room, with it double bed, hot water shower, flush toilet and cat-swinging accomodating openness for Meaw's room.

Anyone who has watched Oz or Prisoner Cell Block H or even The Shawshank Redemption can quickly garner my meaning when I say convicts have better living arrangements than Meaw. Exaggeration? Not by much!

My room here in Blighty is certainly bigger than her room (which includes a shower room - no warm water - with a squat toilet). It has been her home for about three years now and she even misses it when away from it; I suppose there's no place like home. Frankly, I was glad when we moved to a new room in later days, so that I could spare the two of us anymore cold showers, sweltering nights and "EH AWWWWWW!!" - ing giant geckoes outside the window at 4am. I realise a fellow's got to get his game on, see if there be any girly girls on the lookout for a scaly young stud with the biggest tail in the Hood...but must you do it at such an unholy hour, sir!?

But I digress on a gecko that shall one day find himself looking down the barrel of my camera lens.

Where was I?

Ah, Meaw's room! Yes! Very small! We would not be staying in it for much longer, though.

With some convincing on my part, Meaw agreed to take some time off work - a whole three days, no less! - and we were going to....

....well, we hadn't got that far yet.

I should point out that my Oriental darling was so reluctant to take time off, simply because she had only been working at Lucky's Massage - named after it's lolita-like matron, by her creepy middle-age Afrikaans boyfriend, no doubt - for only a little longer than she had known me. She was rather worried about losing her job, you see. I concede that it doesn't look good for the new girl to take a week off after only working for a fortnight. Still, I wanted more Meaw-time, dammit!

Anyway, we had the time. Now we needed a destination. Meaw knew that Laos had been on my original - and I use the term very loosely - itinery. She wasn't quite sure why I wanted to go to Laos, and neither was I, to be honest. I'd simply heard great things about the rustic and secluded place, from other travellers. Meaw herself had never been and quickly caught my contagious enthusiasm for the place, as she poured over the pictures in my guide book and listened to me babble animatedly about my desire to find a place beyond the reach of so-called civilisation.

(Picture 2 - A bit of Gap's House guesthouse)

So, in the time it takes for her big - and I mean big - kettle to boil some water up for the first cup of the day, which happens to be a bloody long time, we decided to go to Laos.

That's a silent S at the end of 'Laos', by the way, for the ignorant and the indifferent amongst you. Just so you know.

Truth be told, I had only the vaguest idea of where Laos was, in relation to Chiang Mai and I imagine Meaw was not much better off. She did know that we could get there from the bus station, though, so that seemed like a good start.

So, off we went!....

...except, my bags were not in Meaw's room. They were back at Gap's House. So, planning on a short detour, we headed there first, aback her trusty motorcycle.

We had risen early - once in a blue moon event, even when she had to work. Lazy girl! - that day, determined to be well on the way to Laos by mid-morning. By the time we arrived at Gap's House, it was about seven thirty, some time before the manager would arrive with his adorable duo of dogs, One and That Hairy One, and it was to be my great nemesis who greeted Meaw and I at the padlocked gate to the courtyard.

The Caretaker! If my chest had been a cannon, I would have shot my heart upon him!

Well, now that I've got the theatrics out of the way, I will say that mean old bugger was certainly a character. It was he who poured the gallons of water upon the lush and verdant greenery of the guest house, irregardless of guests getting soaked, it was he who swept the paths and spied through the windows at Meaw and I canoodling and it was he who, smoking quietly in the dark, waited as gate-keeper for late stragglers to arrive back at the guest house in the wee hours of the morning.

And by stragglers, I mean me. Usually a little drunk, before Meaw taught me the errors of my merry and often melodious ways. Nonetheless, after being locked out by the old coot on more than one occasion, having lost track of time and gone to get some late supper with Meaw more often than not, I made my residence at her room more permanent. I would have checked out of Gap's House sooner and saved myself some cash but Meaw's place is simply too small for herself, meself and me bags. For our trip, now, though, it would do. We planned to get my bags, stash them in her room, pack some clothes into a couple of smaller ones, and head off for strange new lands!

Old Man Misery waddled up in his trademark grey shirt and shorts, mumbling to himself, whiskery chin on his chest as he searched for the right key amongst his impressive and wholly authentic ring of gaoler keys. With more grumbling, he opened the gate a smidgen, allowing me through. I flashed him a thankful grin, nodding my thanks and strutted off toward my room. With uncharacteristic forethought on my part, I had paid my room tab the night before, and kept my key, knowing Meaw and I would be leaving early, well before the manager and his ledger were open for business.

(Picture 3 - A bit of Meaw )

Turning to wrap my arm around my darling's slender shoulders, I found her still on the far side of the gate, talking animatedly with the old man.

"Meaw? Coming?" I asked.

"I can't. He won't let me in" she replied, frowning slightly, and rumaging about her bag for ID.

"Why?" Good humoured bemusement rather than annoyance began to creep into my voice, as I returned to the gate, to stand beside the old man, who cast me a surly glance, shaking his head at Meaw, and saying simply "No!".

The old man grumbled something in Thai, which Meaw translated for me.

"He says it not safe for you to have me in room. Not allowed." She handed the old man her ID, which he scutinised with squinted eyes, furrowed brows and pursed lips. " He think I'm lady bar"

My first reaction was to laugh out loud, much to the startlement of the Old Buzzard. That was, until I realised what Meaw was saying and what the old man's assumptions were.

A 'lady-bar' is what Meaw, in her idiosyncratic and ever-so-endearing English calls a bar girl. A bar girl is a Thai girl who spends her nights in bars, unsurprisingly, with the aim of buttering up the farang patrons, and - for a price - going back to the tourists' room for some carnal shenanigans. These girls make a profession out of this nightly activity, make a lot of money from it and are almost always outnumbering the patrons in the bars, especially in the bars just down the street from Meaw's massage shop.

One need only to walk past the bar front and they will call out to any appropriate farang man - such as myself - trying their darndest to intice one in. They are another sad aspect of Thai culture, spawned from tourist, rather than local, tastes. A great many of Meaw's friends have become 'lady-bars' to make ends meet, or simply out of greed. Her boss, Lucky - the walking doll, I mentioned earlier - was a bar girl when her boyfriend met her, and bought her a business all of herself, gee whizz!

It makes me shudder to think of Meaw being driven to such a change of profession. However, she has always been in dire straits, financially, well before I arrived but never lowered herself to doing such things for money. I'm sure the temptation was always there but at the end of the day, she says she could not live with herself, if she did such things, even if it were to feed and clothe her son. One more reason why I adore her so.

Anyway! At this point, my temper flared briefly, until the sheer obsurdity of the situation hit me.

"Oi! You cheeky old sod! She's not some hooker! That's my bloody girlfriend, you're talking about! I oughta' sock you one!" It might have had more effect if the old chap could understand more than a scattering of English. It might have carried some measure of menace, if I had not been stifling laughter and wholly-manly giggles as I went on my brief tirade.

At the end of the day, it was classic Thai calm that won through, as the old caretaker finished scrutinising Meaw's ID and, with great reluctance, let my girl through.

This was not the first time she had been to my guest house room, of course, but before now, there had been some sneakiness involved in smuggling her in, and facing a padlock, I was flummoxed. I had left my lockpicking tools in my other trousers. Naturally.

We made it to the room, picked up my bags, became somewhat distracted, sought out our clothes, and set off again. It was eight thirty but things were still proceeding according to plan.

...and then the nausea hit.

Whilst she did not turn green, as we made our way back to her room, Meaw did look decidedly ill, as we packed our traveling clothes, consumables and comforters. A combination of nerves, bad papaya salad (oh, bloody hell, I'll tell you about her love of that heinously spicy stuff in a later blog) and still vivid thoughts of our last expedition together, sent Meaw running for the toilet and had her quiet and decidedly queasy as we reached the bus station.

(Picture 4 - Chiang Saen, and beyond! )

To make matters worse, the place was packed solid. Not liking my chances of looking like a monk, we passed their reserved and spacious seats - lucky monks! - and squeezed in amongst the rabble.

Thais. Farang. Everybody, no matter creed, colour or wealth, used the bus, it seemed. In between deep breaths, Meaw pointed me in the direction of the right desk, to buy our tickets. Apparently, we were destined for a place called Chiang Saen, up North. That sounded about right to my vague recollection of a south-east Asian map. Chiang Mai was north. Somewhere more northerly, should be Laos. Great. Sorted. Gimme ticket!

Queuing up, and casting worried glances back at a hunched and thoroughly sorry-looking poppit fighting against the urge to upchuck her morning coffee, I shuffled ever forward. Beside me, an Australian with the biggest calf muscles I've ever seen asked me if I spoke English. I replied, I had been known to speak it from time to time, with classic British wit. He seemed more relieved than amused, carrying the look of a stranger in a strange land as if it were a kabuki mask. He asked if this was the queue for the bus to Chiang Rai. I told him I had not the slightest clue, helpful as ever. Probably, though, I assured him. Not quite convinced, he thanked me anyway.

As I reached the desk, wondering what to say, an arm slid around my waist, and Meaw was beside me, speaking in Thai through gritted teeth to the ticket seller.

A moment and a thousand baht - bargain! - later, we had our tickets...except they did not leave until lunchtime.

With a collective groan, seeing the clock on the wall strike 9am, we decided to head back to Meaw's room. It would get us somewhere quiet and maybe Meaw could sleep off her sickiness. Truth be told, at this point, I wondering if we should be travelling at all. She obviously was not up to what would turn out to be a six hour bus journey.

I told her as much as she was flaked out on her bed, with me beside rubbing her belly. Always the stalwart trooper, though, she declared that we would be going to Laos. Despite much protesting that I would be just as happy to spend the three days off in Chiang Mai with her, Meaw used some of her imfamous stubborness and, even in her unfortunate state, managed to wear me down.

We were going to Chiang Saen, dammit! Even if the inside walls of the bus ended up sprayed liberally with Nescafe-flavoured vomit!

After an hour's snoozing, we headed back once more to the bus station, boarded our coach - a plush and luxurious steed, to our relief - and set off for Chiang Saen, and beyond!

What followed was a seemingly never-ending slog up and down mountainsides, occasional stops for roadside snacks of candied tamarinds (just like dates, huge stones and delicious!) and cookie biscuits - "You eat so many, why you not fat, Jamie?" Meaw would ask whenever I opened yet another bag - and a lot of sleeping.

My sweetie spent most of the time asleep, seeking escape from the roiling in her tummy and the pounding in her head. I spent most of the journey awake, feeling somewhat guilty for being the one to suggest this long journey to a girl I knew to suffer considerably from motion sickness. True she had pills for it but still...

(Picture 5 - The mighty Mekong river, as seen in every single VietNam movie ever made)

It was early evening when we reached the little town of Chiang Saen and, despite the trials - for Meaw, at least - of the journey, we both quickly realised that we had come to the right place. It was, to put it succintly, idyllic.

(Picture 6 - Our guest house in Chiang Saen...I think it was called Gyp's Guesthouse...)

Next time, Chiang Saen in detail! And the Golden Triangle! And, of course, Laos! Sort of!!

- Jamie

Oh, dear

Oh, dear, indeed!

A dog, a bastard, a scoundrel, a wretch, an utter shit, a playboy.

These are some of the evocative names I was given shortly before and shortly thereafter telling Oh the truth about my activities in Chiang Mai. The words came strong and harsh and I deserved them every one. I know because I was the one doing the labelling. Well, except that last one. That was Meaw's. She is still convinced - somewhat lightheartedly - that I have a woman in every town across Thailand and a bevvy of beauties waiting here in England.

Unfortunately, due to the language and culture gap, I was unable to explain to her that the last redheaded playboy was Lord Byron in the middle of the nineteenth century. And that's not because he had red hair; it's because he was a poet, a born Lothario, a champion of the Greek independance movement and an aristocratic rogue. Not because he was a redhead. That was merely sauce for the goose!

Anyway, as can be expected, I could not easily explain this to Meaw but needless to say, I have more to worry about her, a beautiful Thai girl surrounded by naked rich white farang all day than she does about me, in rural Norfolk, where the average age of top totty seems to be 45+. And not one of them Asian!

But, as always, I digress. I think I was supposed to be talking about Oh, the dainty little sweetie from Koh Samui?

Yes. Yes, I was.

So without more stalling for time nor pining over my beloved Meaw, I shall begin.

Oh. Oh is a masseuse, working in the tourist-trap town of Lamai. At least she was the last I heard from her. I'm assuming she hasn't turned to the bottle, now.

If ever you want to see a den of inequity, hedonism and gluttony, look no further than the little strip of shops, restaurants, bars, tailors, travel agents, hotels and massage parlours that makes up the entirety of Lamai. I can scarcely imagine what the town looked like before the tourists and their deepest desires arrived. It was probably a handful of wood and thatch huts, a few fishing boats and a mangy dog. Not too dissimilar to North Lopham. And Lamai kept the dog.

There is nothing in Lamai that the average Thai would want. The food is too expensive and too farang. The hotels are too expensive and filled with farang. The tailors, bars, travel agents; none cater to the indigenous population. It is fortunate then, that these very people who cannot afford what Lamai has to offer, are the ones doing the selling.

What Oh was selling was something that a great many tourists - solely male - were looking for.

An oil massage from a pretty girl in a private little room beneath dim lights clouds of incense.

I had walked past Oh's shop every day of my time on Koh Samui; not because I was hmm-ing and hah-ing over whether or not to go, you understand but rather because it was one the main drag, for all to see, to peruse and use. Without fail, one of the decidedly bored-looking masseuses out front would holler in my direction as I strolled, sauntered and scurried past, on my way to a bar or restaurant or internet cafe or bar. Sometimes it was Oh. Sometimes it was this overly amorous girl who would look quite the peach if you turned the lights down low enough and looked in the direction of her surprisingly - for an Asian... girl - ample cleavage and not her face. More than once, she did grab me by the arm and attempt to physically drag me into the glow of pink neon that affronted the shop, and into the smokey depths within. I resisted.

However, it was on the final night in Koh Samui, that I, James Stephen Ashfield - Jamie to his contemporaries - stepped beyond the light of virtue and healthy living, into the shadowy and rather seedy realm of the unknown, more commonly called Koh Samui's massage parlours. I got my first massage.

(I should state at this point that there are two kinds of massage parlour in Thailand. There is the clean, decent kind where no naughtiness takes place - in the shop, at least - and then there are the other kind. Before you ask, Meaw works in the good kind of place, and is the good kind of girl. Oh worked in the other kind of place. On with the blog! )

Not just any massage, mind you. This was with oil and nakedness and everything of the sort! Heavens to Betsy! Oh, my word! What would my dear old - figuratively speaking, of course! - mum say? Well, I imagine I'll find out in short order, once she reads this here blog.

Anyway! I made this decision whilst collapsed on the beach, half-way between Lamai and a alcohol-induced coma...er ...I mean, between Lamai and my bungalow. With some choice and rather coarse words of encourage for myself and a few slaps across the face in the near perfect darkness, I staggered to my feet, declaring to the shadowy figures happily walking hand in hand along the beach before and ahead of me "Eh guh oh min one leef!"

Translation: You only live once.

Especially on Koh Samui. So, with some small amount of reorientation, I headed back toward the gaudy red and green lights of Lamai a half mile down the beach.

And then promptly turned around again.

And then headed back toward Lamai.

As cowardice, decency and curiosity got into a right royal rumble inside my drowsy and decidedly delerious head, I manage through some small miracle to make it back to Lamai, working up my nerve as I walked past massage parlour after massage parlour, until one grabbed me by the proverbials and forced me inside.

That one eventually turned out to be Oh's place, right across the street from Max's shop; the ever so enthusiastic tailor who declared every shirt I wore to be "beautiful, baby!" His associate, Mr Jhon, saw me come to a halt outside the parlour, I saw him laugh and give me a grinning wink and I laughed back, giving him a cheerful wave. That was it. There was no turning back now.

Which was fortunate, because my arms at this point had already been ensnared by the big-boobed, buck-toothed masseuse who seemed quite unable to take her hands off me whenever I entered groping range.

Thankfully, whatever powers in the cosmos are out there decided to take an interest. For, no sooner had the mascara-laden Medusa started to slide her purple nailed fingers southward - we were still on the street at this point, remember - than did Oh appear, like a diminutive angel, or at the very least, a pixie, to save me. Resplendant in a pink halter-top and short-short ensemble, she was like...well, an angel. Dammit, where's my thesaurus?!

Yes, she did indeed save me from what could have been an uncomfortable and wholly terrifying - perhaps even painful - first massage.

"Come with me" she giggled in English that seemed perfectly accented to sound both impish and seductive, all the better to garner better tips, I'm sure.

I followed, the alcohol in my system battling alongside heavy duty medication to overcome my quiet anxiety and rising heartrate.

I followed the little Thai woman, who probably weighed ninety pounds soaking wet, as she did glide into the shop, shaking her bum with practiced fluidity. On the way, we passed a couple of heavily overweight madams counting money and gossiping in rapid Thai. They did not so much a spare Oh and I a look. We passed curtained beds and at the rear of the place, a corridor extended deeper into the gloom, and I saw scantily clad women coming and going.

I couldn't quite put my finger on it - probably because I was so drunk - but there was something about this place that reminded me of the Wild West. And there was something about the girls that did not really say masseuse but rather...

...I shan't go on. I shall assure you that nothing untoward happened behind curtain number two but she did meet me for coffee the next morning. We spent the day together. And then I left the next morning.

She was a nice girl. Fun. Sexy. She might be worth coming back to Koh Samui for, or better yet, taking with me on my travels; a prospect she was very enthusiastic about.

I had every intention of doing just that.

Until I met Meaw.

Meaw was something else. Where Oh was nice, Meaw was the paragon of kindness. Where Oh was fun, Meaw laughed and made me laugh until we were both in tears. Where Oh was sexy, Meaw was a goddess.

In short, Meaw outshone Oh in every department.

And more than anything else, Meaw was a good girl. Oh was not. On more than one occasion, she alluded to what was expected and what she was often paid to do for her customers, no questions asked. It was a unsavoury aspect to her life and one that I was eternally relieved to hear that Meaw herself never so much as considered, despite her need for money to support family and son.

No one was forcing Oh to do this - as far as I knew - and I highly doubt she subject to the kind of life Meaw lives yet still she did those things. My darling, on the other hand, is faced with temptation to make quick and copious amounts of money only at the cost of her dignity most days, when the filthy tourists she deals with whisper that they want something extra besides the usual massage. And that, I think is one of the reasons why Meaw is so dear to me, why I hold such love and respect for her. It is the stronger person who faces temptation and resists than the person who is never tempted at all.

It makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about her being asked to do such things, and if I thought her a lesser woman, I would never be able to be with her. Yet I know and have seen what kind of person she is. Her honesty and integrity is unparalleled, made all the more precious because of what she faces in a profession where some customers expect more than decency would suggest. Should any customer speak too loudly in my presence, there will be blood on the street of Chiang Mai. As you will see in later blogs, this very nearly came to pass. But I am getting ahead of myself.

And this isn't a blog about why Meaw is the strongest woman I've ever met. It's about my breakup with Oh, the girl I 'dated' for a day, made promises to for a week, and betrayed in the blink of an eye.

Meaw and I were at the salon at the time, as seen in the previous blog. She was getting poked and prodded in the head by some mysterious, hissing contraption that only women could possibly hope to identify, Naed was leafing through hairstyle magazines and I was asleep on the couch.

And then my phone buzzed on the coffee table, waking me and gaining Meaw's attention.

"Oh, your girlfriend call from Phuket, eh, darling?" she said, impishly. It is something of a running joke between us - at my expense - that she would constantly refer to Oh as my "girlfriend" despite the fact that Meaw and I were firmly together at this point.

"Koh Samui" I replied through gritted teeth, wrinkling my nose at her in mild annoyance. I had told her innumerable times the previous night that I only had eyes for her, and that Oh was never in the running, ever since I had first met Meaw. She knew this but she was not going to let me off the hook so easily.

"Ah, best call her back, quick quick!" Meaw laughed. Beneath the surface, though, I heard, felt, sensed worry in her voice. At this point in our relationship, my dear poppit was still unsure of her place in my life, quite convinced that she had allowed herself to become just another conquest for the lothario farang she knew only as Jamie. This problem has since been rectified but at this point, she was still a worrier...(I'm the one who worries nowadays, so far from Chiang Mai)

Where was I?

Oh right! The call!

"I'm going to call her. Tell her it's over between us" I said firmly, to no one in particular. The stylists ignored me. Naed read on. Meaw just smiled at my reflection in the mirror, trying to look nonchalant and almost pulling it off. I made for the toilet.

Once inside the tiny room, decorated in shells and frogs and corals and pebbles, I dialed Oh's number, listening absently to the babbling brook fountain bubbling out of the floor.

"Hello? Jamie? Ahahaha!" Oh exclaimed in enthused excitement, as she did whenever I called. "When do you come back to Koh Samui?"

"Oh" I said, steadying my breath, determined not to break and run, as the coward in me so very much wanted to do. "I need to tell you something"

"Hmm?" she replied, confusion in her voice and that psychic understanding that we all have when we know, know, we're about to get some bad news.

"I'm seeing someone else." I stated, a little too forcefully, before continuing, refusing to lose momentum and draw out the inevitable. "It's over between you and I."

Oh did not say anything.

"I'm a terrible person, Oh" I said, exorcising my guilt with self-deprecation "I am a dog and you deserve someone much better than me. It's ok to hate me, Oh. I need you to hate me. I've treated you horribly and you need to hate me"

"I don't hate you" was all Oh managed to say, quietly, shellshocked. I had promised this girl everything, an adventure, a new life. I had broken that promise and relegated her back to a life I would not wish upon anyone. I was a dog, a bastard, a scoundrel, a wretch and an utter shit. Yet all Oh could say was,

"I don't hate you. You made me happy. I don't mind what you do. Come back to me, Jamie. I don't mind."

I had just cheated on Oh, had confessed my sins...and she still wanted me back.

Perhaps she was desperate for the money I could give her. Perhaps she was desperate for some company that wasn't paying for her attentions. Perhaps she had set her hopes on me taking her away from that life. I suppose I'll never know. A week or so later, I lost my first Thai sim card, whilst giving money to a begger woman, my damnable phone breaking into bits on the hard concrete of the sidewalk. I lost all contact with Oh because of that goodwill gesture.

"I have to go now, Oh" was all that I could manage to say and "Ok" was all that she could whisper in reply.

I left the toilet and Meaw looked at me with a sad smile on her lips, perhaps wondering if I had really done it, or, maybe, if she would get a call like that one day.

I walked over to her and kissed her upon the forehead, took a long swig of her coffee and smiled with genuine joy at the sight of Meaw's beautiful face. "It's done. No more Koh Samui. Only Chiang Mai"

Meaw did not say anything, simply stroking my arm soothingly, as she always does when she knows I'm stressed.

And that, boys and girls, was how the Oh situation was resolved. I text messaged her several times afterwards to check she was ok. She replied often with pleas to come back, talk of insomnia and crying. After a week or so, she seemed to be overcoming her loss of the guy she knew for just a day, and then, as I've said, I lost contact due to the fates, a beggar woman and a slippery phone. She's a pretty girl, she's a smart girl; she'll find someone else. And hopefully, she'll forget she ever met that redhaired farang in October of '07.

I made the right choice. I don't regret it in the slightest;

Meaw is my sun and stars, and it is fair to say that I live each day for her, now. I only wish I had not hurt poor Oh in the course of realising that fact.


By the way, I promise the next blog won't be so melacholy! It has snake whiskey in it! And Meaw in shorts! Huzzah!