“Love, I can’t sleep! They’re biting me! I’m getting bitten and I can’t sleep!!!!” Emily said at 2 am.
I was not getting bitten and was sound asleep.
“I’m so sorry. What do you want to do? Maybe put on the blanket?”
“No, I’m going to use the mosquito net,” she said as she untied it.
“Do you need help?”
“No…..” she said sort of sobby…. “I’m just so itchy…..”
“Have you put on the Benadryl?”
“Not yet….I will…. I’m just so itchy….they won’t stop….I can’t sleep….”
In the morning, Emily proclaimed it the worst night of sleep of our trip. I was not surprised. Koh Samet is not an island that encourages comfortable sleep. I don’t know why – but I can tell you the island is completely against it.
I realized yesterday that one of the great advancements of Koh Samet is a steady electricity supply. When I used to frequent Koh Samet, each bungalow and place had its own generator – which it usually cut at 2:00 or 3:00am. This meant that your fan or air-conditioner quit and the morning sun would turn your wood or cement lodging into an oven at first light. I always awoke in a sweat.
This wasn’t our problem. Our fan was running on high. Emily – probably because of her sweetness – was just popular among the mosquitos who either didn’t go after me or whose bites I became immune to, like Thais. You can eventually lose the allergy that creates the itching and swelling.
Neither one of us were surprised that it happened or had any question as to how and why. We’re staying in the most absurd wooden “bungalow” I’ve ever seen in my life. Our hotel/bungalow place offers very plain, average fan and air-conditioned rooms in a hotel-like cement structure. It also offers bungalows.
When figuring out Koh Samet lodging, I used high-speed WiFi as the primary criterion. A lot of the lodging places here don’t have their own websites or a tremendous amount of information available online. It’s still a use a guide book or walk the beach kind of place. Most don’t even take reservations. We couldn’t chance showing up and not having the WiFi we need to work during the weekdays, so I hunted and scoured until I found two options, one of which was absurdly priced. That left Sinsamut, where we’re staying.
Because a cement room is extremely un-interesting and not at all my idea of island living, I requested a bungalow. I’ve always stayed in bungalows. It’s cool to have your own little house. It seemed the obvious choice.
It turned out that our bungalow is part of the very Thai, Sinsamut version of the Hameau at Versailles. They cleared a section of the second floor to install soil and fake grass, fake streams and little ponds stocked with goldfish (not Koi – goldfish) and four wooden bungalows that were originally designed by Roger Rabbit for his vacation use in the outskirts of Toon Town.
The very wide, heavily lacquered wooden planks leave significant gaps between them – the mosquitoes’ entrance. Our “front door” consists of two wooden planks designed to look like tree limbs which do not come anywhere close to touching. In fact, they leave a gap of about a foot between them. You can – and we do – use a chain and padlock to secure them, but I’m not altogether sure why. A privacy curtain helps fill in the giant gap between the two planks.
The bathroom door works much the same way – only it leaves a wider gap between the small wooden planks on hinges. It has a shower curtain to create “privacy”. Emily just talks through it as if it were all one room – because let’s face it, despite best intentions… it is.
In classic Koh Samet style, we have a mattress on the wooden floor, no closet and a tiny mirror in the corner. The features “upgrades” compared to the bungalows I’ve known in my time, include refrigerator, television, hot water heater and flush toilet. The mattress is also a real mattress, not a mat on the floor. So, that’s nice – except that it’s really uncomfortable. Our top sheet/blanket is a thick-ish piece of satiny, blue fabric. Linens are at least very clean and we have daily maid service.
Security-wise, Smokey The Bear could fit through the window if he wanted, let alone suck it in and walk through the chained door. So, we have to be careful with our valuables. Luckily, the staff – who seem like very good people – have their family living/eating area a floor above and across the courtyard. They can see whatever happens in our little “village”.
Without a doubt, it’s the most absurd place either of us have ever stayed and the #1 most absurd place of this trip.
Unlike the guesthouse we stayed at during our trek in Nepal, it doesn’t use plastic pillows…our pillows are leather. It appears they went around cutting the arm cushions off leather sofas and put pillowcases on them.
Should you ever find yourself in the conundrum so many people find themselves in when decorating their homes….”Should I use plastic or leather pillows on the guest beds?” Despite the extra cost, leather is really the nicer choice for the comfort of your guests.
Wisdom distilled from field research.
There are pieces of field research that only leave us questioning and guessing. Last night we chose a beachside restaurant (as they all are) with a nice vibe and particularly good food. As we were finishing our dinner, we saw two boys – 10 and perhaps 12 dressed like fire twirlers we have seen performing elsewhere on the island. They were gathering equipment and carrying cans of kerosene.
“Look they’re fire-twirling apprentices…” I said, assuming they were probably emulating and helping their elder brothers or cousins who they probably think are cool.
A few minutes later, the boys were dipping sticks in kerosene, lighting them and twirling away. The restaurant suddenly changed from it’s easy listening, Norah Jones to a techno Vegas-style pyrotechnic jam. The boys were performing – eventually joined by their slightly older brother why might have been as old as 16, but that’s highly debatable.
The youngest one was the entertainer. He was twirling, dancing, shaking his butt and shaking his moneymaker – which indeed made him money later in the night when he came around with a tip box after the show.
We took note of people’s reactions. The tables of Thai patrons (there are lots of Bangkok Thais who come to Koh Samet for weekends and vacations) were whooping and hollering, encouraging and clapping. The foreign tables were universally not clapping and in many cases not acknowledging.
“I feel so bad, but at the same time, I’m SO completely entertained….” Emily said.
We recalled the little girl and her father we saw in front of a restaurant in Agra, India. The father played music while the little girl wearing a traditional Indian dancer costume performed for anyone who entered and exited and begged for tips. We were horrified. Total child labor and most importantly, the little girl was being exploited and demeaned by her father. The whole thing was heartbreaking.
In this scenario, nothing was quite so clear. At least two of the boys seemed to really like it. It’s completely possible that they begged the restaurant owner to give them a shot. The restaurant owner was proud of them and showing them off like he was Barry Gordy and they were the Jackson Five. It’s equally possible that the Thai Gladys Knight and Thai Diana Ross came later to argue with him over who really discovered them.
The boys were talented. They had to have studied this for a long time to become so proficient. The ten year-old was having a great time, especially when he came around with his tip box and received the absolute adoration of all the Thai tables. The Thai women fawned on him and he received a lot of money.
In fact, every single table gave money to the tip box. How could you not? These kids just performed amazingly and then the cutest one came around with a tip box. No begging. No demeaning. Just walking around with a giant tip box smiling in the afterglow of both the fire and his performance.
These kids twirled sticks, chains and eventually specially designed hula hoops of fire. Had anything gone wrong, they could have been seriously maimed and disfigured for life. The Judge Wapner voice I keep in the back of my head for legal reference said these kids were not capable of comprehending the risk they were taking and therefore, not able to make the decision to fire twirl on their own.
A man who appeared to be their father was sitting over on the side, helping them with their equipment when they needed.
Was he an exploiter? Was this completely wrong? Was it good fun? Were these kids pursuing a dream? Were they just doing what they saw so many young men do on this island? The kids’ performance was clearly seen as fine within their own culture. Was this a story of restaurant owner gives talented, ambitious kids their big break? Or was it exploitation?
All I could think is that the little ten year-old thinks he’s a stud and is probably the most popular kid in his class (I’m sure they go to school during the week and perform weekend nights). I also wondered if this was a third-world issue? It would be so easy to conclude it sitting here in Thailand.
The question that muddied the waters most sounds like an Oprah special: “Kids living their dreams or child exploitation – What would Michael Jackson say?”
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