transtrion

We’ve decided to stay here, so for those of you feeling like they miss us might have to wait for some time. We even booked a couple of nights at another hotel, but decided to stay at our current location after just a peek back home in the evening. It’s just too good here. There might be cheaper places, there might be places with less mosquitos and security worth the name, but none of them would be better. No place would be better. The question would rather be, why would we want to leave?

The sun warms my face as I walk back from the restaurant across the street were we had breakfast. I slow my pace for a while and raise my head to praise the warmth. It’s like light-therapy; it fills me with energy and positivity. I feel packed with so much more of the good stuff, whatever it could be. The essence of life and hope maybe? Could it be the lust of paradise, perhaps the holy being incarnated? It’s the good stuff at least, whatever you call it.

I head for our bungalow, were the three of us share two double beds. Built on poles and made of largely bamboo they are just what the typical bungalow should be. I love staying here. I find myself not bothered by all the small imperfections about this place, like how the stairs up are a bit shaky, how uncomfortable the hammock on the terrace is and the fact that the windows can’t be locked. I realize that I forgot the key so I step in through the window instead.

I head back to the restaurant, stopping briefly to play with the big dog always lying outside. We’ve gotten to know each other quite well the past days, his tail flapping every time he sees me. The restaurant looks like an almost sturdy shed, painted and then covered with as much junk as possible. The boys are sitting at the same table as I left them, just by the edge to the beach. We’ve claimed this place, much to the waitress delight.

A few shells on a string clink on a string above us, The Best of Sting goes on the sound system and the waves gently crush in on the beach. A few drops of sweat are created on my forehead and a passing lady offers a massage. That’s about the only downsides of this of this place, those and the bugs being drawn to our sweaty tanned bodies. I wouldn’t want to complain about something as trivial as that.

We’ll most likely sit here the entire day; maybe move down to the beach a couple of hours but unlikely move beyond the sight of our table. The restaurant owner knows this and lets us keep the tab open from breakfast to the pitchers late at night. The young waitress is the only one of them speaking English but it’s mostly smiles that we share as far as conversation goes. It doesn’t bother me the least, now I can fully focus on doing as little as possible.

//Nisse