THE BACKPACKER - DAY 5
Camp 4, approx 20km from Camp 3, Somewhere in Northern Thailand
It was a strange old night. I shared a tent with Thijs for the first time. He’s quite an enigmatic chap really. I am beginning to think he might be a spy or an assassin – and not the interior designer he claims to be. Certainly last night, the way he said he would kill Matt, didn’t sound like the words of a man devoted to spatial awareness. Anyway I made sure I apologised again for bludgeoning him with the wheel brace. We had a chat about everyone in the group. What a revelation he was! I was amazed at how much information he had gleaned about everyone. I mean, I had hardly even seen him speak. For instance, he knew Phil was a graphic designer and bisexual and that he’d left his wife for a double glazing salesman from Ely. I quipped that must have been a real pane for her - but it was lost on Thijs. “Yes, much pain”, he responded. He also knew that the gorgeous Maria worked in the University of Stockholm and that she was here to get over the untimely death of her long-time boyfriend. (Excellent news – she’s single). He knew that Morag owns a pet grooming business and wants to get travel out of her system before she settles down – Gawd help whoever with. I feel she should have saved her money for plastic surgery and elocution lessons. He knew that Matt is an estate agent – which is not a surprise. But then again, who would buy from him? His mum? A blind deaf masochist? The mere thought of having to endure his cheeky chappie sales pitch makes my stomach feel queasy.
Now call it an alternative take on conversational etiquette - or call it continental differences - but I was right in the middle of explaining the nuances of being a product specialist in a telecommunications company, when Thijs turns over and goes to sleep. What's that about? For badness, I jabber on inanely for the next twenty minutes or so. I would have talked for longer but I heard a couple of loud shushes from outside the tent. I shut up and go to sleep.
The next morning as we packed up after breakfast, I saw some weird looking prints beside the tent. I called Hy over and he tells the group that they were made by a giant lizard (probably a ‘monit-ur luzzard’ says Morag)
"That’s all I need - a giant reptile that doesn’t like the sound of my voice", I jest to the group.
Matt kidnaps my joke. “I work beside one of those”, he quips.
“A monitor lizard?” asks an amazed Maria
“Na-ah! A giant reptile that doesn’t like the sound of my voice”, grins Matt.
“In your office? In London?”, Maria continues.
“Yeah!!! It’s my boss – he’s the giant reptile that doesn’t like the sound of my voice! Ha!”, states Matt, now with a weak smile.
“And he has this reptile in his office?”, asks Thijs.
“Oh, fuck off!” snaps an exasperated Matt, and he storms off, leaving Maria and Thijs looking at each other, blankly.
It was wonderful to watch his attempt at a joke crumble under the pressure of a logic that would make Mister Spock seem like Ken Dodd.
The day’s trek up until mid-afternoon was fairly uneventful. The heat, humidity, mosquitoes, and muddy ground underfoot, for some reason, had become more tolerable. It wasn’t until Morag fell down a hole – some kind of animal trap, actually – that things started to go awry. Fortunately(?) she was unhurt, but since the pit was about eight feet deep, it was a bit of a logistical nightmare trying to get her out. Initially, Hy held his (unloaded) rifle out for Morag to get hold of, but when she started to pull herself up, the barrel sheared off. I don’t know who uttered the most profanities, Hy or Morag. However, it was Morag’s temper that made her propel the sheared barrel out of the pit with such a force, that when it hit Thijs on the temple, he fell like a sack of yams. Phil made for the first aid kit, whilst Matt consoled(?) Maria, who for some reason started to go a bit jittery. Lo then shouted abuse at Hy for apparently either stealing the rope, not packing it, or both. Hy then went to a tree and macheted off a large branch to use as a rescue pole, whilst Lo scrambled into the pit to comfort and console the cursing Morag. Matt was strangely subdued - and being a prize tit, fabulously superfluous. In true war photographer fashion, I detached myself from the chaos and clicked away on my fabby digital camera, recording history – or possible litigation. Amidst the confusion, Maria called me over to help Phil support Thijs, as he hobbled over to an open area where he could lie more comfortably. Unbelievably, I handed over my camera to Matt to look after. In the short space of time it took me to get Thijs moved 10 metres or so and walk back, the twat had deleted all the photos on the disc – probably about eighty of them. What compounded it all, was I was actually thinking of changing the memory card in it this morning. Rare plants and flowers – one that apparently only blooms for a day, endangered wildlife, stunning scenery, special moments of the group, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Gone. Forever.
“I just wanted to ‘ave a gander at yer photos. I must ‘ave pressed the wrong button. I'm gutted , bro’ “ he uttered, by dint of an apology.
I wanted to kill him. Really. And throw him in that pit.
In my desolation, I failed to notice that Hy and Lo had successfully extricated Morag from her trap. My spirits were not even lifted by the sight of her covered in mud and rotting vegetation, and spitting out animal droppings.
“See if ah fun’ who fuckin’ put that therr, ah’ll fuckin’ malky thaim, so ah wull”, she ranted in broad Dundee-ese (or somesuch).
It was agreed we should set up camp soonest and just chill out. Where Thijs lay prostrate seemed the obvious place. Lo went off into the bushes and came back half an hour later with a small (dead) wild pig draped around his neck. Soon the smell of the best organic bacon you have ever tasted filled the air. Even Maria succumbed and guiltily ate some – comfort food, I suspect. Great as it was, I wish I could have enjoyed the food better but my mind was on the lost photos.
I share with Phil tonight and fortunately for Matt he shares with Thijs. I’m too annoyed to write any more.
It was a strange old night. I shared a tent with Thijs for the first time. He’s quite an enigmatic chap really. I am beginning to think he might be a spy or an assassin – and not the interior designer he claims to be. Certainly last night, the way he said he would kill Matt, didn’t sound like the words of a man devoted to spatial awareness. Anyway I made sure I apologised again for bludgeoning him with the wheel brace. We had a chat about everyone in the group. What a revelation he was! I was amazed at how much information he had gleaned about everyone. I mean, I had hardly even seen him speak. For instance, he knew Phil was a graphic designer and bisexual and that he’d left his wife for a double glazing salesman from Ely. I quipped that must have been a real pane for her - but it was lost on Thijs. “Yes, much pain”, he responded. He also knew that the gorgeous Maria worked in the University of Stockholm and that she was here to get over the untimely death of her long-time boyfriend. (Excellent news – she’s single). He knew that Morag owns a pet grooming business and wants to get travel out of her system before she settles down – Gawd help whoever with. I feel she should have saved her money for plastic surgery and elocution lessons. He knew that Matt is an estate agent – which is not a surprise. But then again, who would buy from him? His mum? A blind deaf masochist? The mere thought of having to endure his cheeky chappie sales pitch makes my stomach feel queasy.
Now call it an alternative take on conversational etiquette - or call it continental differences - but I was right in the middle of explaining the nuances of being a product specialist in a telecommunications company, when Thijs turns over and goes to sleep. What's that about? For badness, I jabber on inanely for the next twenty minutes or so. I would have talked for longer but I heard a couple of loud shushes from outside the tent. I shut up and go to sleep.
The next morning as we packed up after breakfast, I saw some weird looking prints beside the tent. I called Hy over and he tells the group that they were made by a giant lizard (probably a ‘monit-ur luzzard’ says Morag)
"That’s all I need - a giant reptile that doesn’t like the sound of my voice", I jest to the group.
Matt kidnaps my joke. “I work beside one of those”, he quips.
“A monitor lizard?” asks an amazed Maria
“Na-ah! A giant reptile that doesn’t like the sound of my voice”, grins Matt.
“In your office? In London?”, Maria continues.
“Yeah!!! It’s my boss – he’s the giant reptile that doesn’t like the sound of my voice! Ha!”, states Matt, now with a weak smile.
“And he has this reptile in his office?”, asks Thijs.
“Oh, fuck off!” snaps an exasperated Matt, and he storms off, leaving Maria and Thijs looking at each other, blankly.
It was wonderful to watch his attempt at a joke crumble under the pressure of a logic that would make Mister Spock seem like Ken Dodd.
The day’s trek up until mid-afternoon was fairly uneventful. The heat, humidity, mosquitoes, and muddy ground underfoot, for some reason, had become more tolerable. It wasn’t until Morag fell down a hole – some kind of animal trap, actually – that things started to go awry. Fortunately(?) she was unhurt, but since the pit was about eight feet deep, it was a bit of a logistical nightmare trying to get her out. Initially, Hy held his (unloaded) rifle out for Morag to get hold of, but when she started to pull herself up, the barrel sheared off. I don’t know who uttered the most profanities, Hy or Morag. However, it was Morag’s temper that made her propel the sheared barrel out of the pit with such a force, that when it hit Thijs on the temple, he fell like a sack of yams. Phil made for the first aid kit, whilst Matt consoled(?) Maria, who for some reason started to go a bit jittery. Lo then shouted abuse at Hy for apparently either stealing the rope, not packing it, or both. Hy then went to a tree and macheted off a large branch to use as a rescue pole, whilst Lo scrambled into the pit to comfort and console the cursing Morag. Matt was strangely subdued - and being a prize tit, fabulously superfluous. In true war photographer fashion, I detached myself from the chaos and clicked away on my fabby digital camera, recording history – or possible litigation. Amidst the confusion, Maria called me over to help Phil support Thijs, as he hobbled over to an open area where he could lie more comfortably. Unbelievably, I handed over my camera to Matt to look after. In the short space of time it took me to get Thijs moved 10 metres or so and walk back, the twat had deleted all the photos on the disc – probably about eighty of them. What compounded it all, was I was actually thinking of changing the memory card in it this morning. Rare plants and flowers – one that apparently only blooms for a day, endangered wildlife, stunning scenery, special moments of the group, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Gone. Forever.
“I just wanted to ‘ave a gander at yer photos. I must ‘ave pressed the wrong button. I'm gutted , bro’ “ he uttered, by dint of an apology.
I wanted to kill him. Really. And throw him in that pit.
In my desolation, I failed to notice that Hy and Lo had successfully extricated Morag from her trap. My spirits were not even lifted by the sight of her covered in mud and rotting vegetation, and spitting out animal droppings.
“See if ah fun’ who fuckin’ put that therr, ah’ll fuckin’ malky thaim, so ah wull”, she ranted in broad Dundee-ese (or somesuch).
It was agreed we should set up camp soonest and just chill out. Where Thijs lay prostrate seemed the obvious place. Lo went off into the bushes and came back half an hour later with a small (dead) wild pig draped around his neck. Soon the smell of the best organic bacon you have ever tasted filled the air. Even Maria succumbed and guiltily ate some – comfort food, I suspect. Great as it was, I wish I could have enjoyed the food better but my mind was on the lost photos.
I share with Phil tonight and fortunately for Matt he shares with Thijs. I’m too annoyed to write any more.
posted by wardperfect at 2:00 am
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home