I’m not quite sure if you can call it beautiful. Bits of it certainly are, but the onslaught of the tourist has ruined it somewhat. Somehow it has resisted the urge to become westernised though: no MacDonalds, no Burger King, no Starbucks. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before it all goes wrong. Instead you have rows and rows of restaurants with Family Guy on repeat and bars lining the beach serving up absolutely lethal buckets of alcohol and red bull to the up-for-it party goers of the night. The beach itself is pretty amazing, discarded bottles and buckets aside: it’s a crescent shape with gorgeous soft sand and jungle on either side. The sun rises over it so at 7am the remaining dancers are treated to quite a view.
Just a quick update for you so you don’t all think I’m dead.
I’m out on Ko Pha-Ngan right now, which is basically where the party happens. All the time. It’s pretty crazy and I can’t seem to escape a hangover: there’s really not much to do here apart from drink lots and sleep. I suppose there’s diving and stuff too but for a poor traveler like myself it’s not financially viable.
I found myself in much better spirits by the time I got to Sydney airport. When I said goodbye to all my friends, something clicked and I got all excited about traveling again. My flight and the day surrounding it was mercifully uneventful and I met a couple of travelers at the airport who pointed me at a good place to stay, so I got myself settled into the country really easily, even if I was confused by the time difference, not sure that my watch was right, and running on 2 hours of awkward plane sleep.
I usually sleep uninterrupted but today I had a bad dream and when I woke up all that was in my head was the realisation that I was leaving Australia in 3 days. For some reason it never hit me before. I feel sick, and scared, and sad. It feels different this time around: when I left the UK I knew I was coming back, I knew that I had all my things there, waiting for me, some kind of investment in the country that kept me feeling like it wasn’t goodbye. When I leave here I’m cashing in my chips and leaving nothing, and that feels strange.
Last night, while I was cooking a rather delicious vegetable curry, my housemate asked me,
“Why did you leave your career and travel thousands of miles from home, just to work in a bar? You’re not using your education, you’re not advancing your career, what’s the point?”
She’s right to be confused, of course. Why on earth would anyone leave a career they’re trained in to earn roughly half their annual wage doing unskilled work on the other side of the world? I’ve often asked myself the same question, and while I can answer it with the simple statement “I was a bit bored”, it’s not quite that simple and I think that it’s a fairly interesting story so I thought I’d use words and punctuation to tell it.