Just A Small Dose Of Koh Samet!
The Lola Boys had decided to head back to the north of Thailand. Not because they were remotely scared of the irritating new virus that seemed to have infected everyone with fear, but because they were looking for somewhere more remote.
Plus they had left a rucksack full of toiletries at a small guest house in Chiang Mai and Paul was missing his conditioner and a couple of face masks.
Not the viral kind.
In fact the whole ‘masking up’ business was beginning to pall Paul. The only facewear he’d ever contemplate attiring was during a sex game.
At least that was more effective than sticking a bit of bog paper over one’s eek!
Anyway, as he’d mentioned in his previous blog, he believed he and Andrew had earnt ‘symptomatic immunity’. They’d been in many an embassy over the years – and smoked more than a few.
Paul had once played at the British Consulate in Hong Kong.
It had been a riot.
Especially as the ‘dressing room’ doubled as the library. A ‘Cluedoesque’ affair containing a drinks cabinet to die for. He, and some of the company he’d been travelling with, had helped themselves to quite a bit of the claret not on offer. Miss Scarlett would definitely have approved, though their uppity company manager, a veritable Mrs White, would certainly have been more disparaging.
Still, Paul had paid his taxes, so surely any ambassadorial alcohol was on the house.
Or rather, the mansion!
Sadly, he and Andrew would not be visiting Hong Kong on this trip as they had planned. The ‘Coronavirus’ had now made that almost impossible. They knew they would get in – but maybe not get out.
And that was never fun!
Paul and his partner were no cowards – but their travel insurance company was obviously far less cavalier, as they had already advised them not to go.
Paul also knew he may catch a touch of ‘Hong Kong Fluey’ quicker than the the human guy.
So they had decided to eschew China, as it now most definitely was, and hit the hills in search of some tribal entertainment.
Neither of them had ever been to the part of Thailand to which they were heading. Nor had many others by the sound of it. An injection of adventure was needed.
Koh Samet was stunning, but Paul could only take so many package tourists staring at his package. He had no idea why he was so interesting to them, but they seemed to find him fascinating.
Like a zoo animal.
Wild. Akin to something from a dodgy market in Wuhan!
It had begun to needle him.
He was yearning for somewhere less lovely. And less crowded.
Although he and Andrew had met some wonderful people on the island. Not the locals, they seemed somewhat jaded. Foreigners were quite unforeign to them. They were mostly interested in Andrew and Paul’s ‘Pink Baht’! But the Siberian couple they had partied with in the hut opposite theirs had been utterly charming. Ivan had brought them beer at seven in the morning as a gift … ‘Friendship, friendship’ he had beamed. It was so sweet. As was his wife and their two adorable children, who were accompanying him on his trip.
‘You have children?’ he asked Paul and Andrew, after a particularly heavy session on the voddy.
‘Niet’, Paul had replied. ‘No time for that.’
He wondered if Ivan would be less amicable when he worked out the reason why there was no pitter patter of a tiny Misha to occupy his and Andrew’s time.
The car mechanic, from a remote town on the border with Mongolia, was well aware of their relationship. And was not remotely bothered. Remoteness was obviously not a drawback. He needed no ‘Putin’ to dictate to him what constituted a family. As far as he was concerned they were all ‘friends’.
‘And dat vos dat! Da?’
It restored Paul’s faith in ‘The Russians’. Their leader obviously did not always represent their true feelings and often made Paul see red. But without the politicians involved, he knew people to be fairly similar.
Apart from some exceptions he knew on the Costa Del Crime. But he knew it would be criminal to mention them. And they weren’t worth the sentence. Only some of them should have been doing one!
They had also met a wonderful Roman couple, Sara and Philippe or Philippo – who cared? She was an ex-model – quite stunning. Whilst he worked as a physiotherapist to the Italian elite.
He also had his own attributes.
Paul and Andrew couldn’t help but notice. And he obviously didn’t mind it when they did. Italian men, Paul had found, generally love to be worshipped. By whomever!
The pair had been a bundle of fun.
But it was definitely time for the boys to move on.
One could have too much of paradise.
They both needed a little danger.
A taste of the unknown.
An antidote to perfection. There were far too many tourists around – Paul had grown anti-body.
And there were more rubber items in the place than in a Durex factory.
He knew how to find the cure.
He and Andrew would travel north.
Into the the bush. Not literally of course.
That was the only remedy.
He hoped he’d found the vaccine!