Three hours before my ferry to the mainland was due to depart, I decided to stay on the Thai island of Koh Tao and train as a divemaster. Breathing underwater and letting the ocean carry my weight felt strangely right, and there is the vague possibility of a job after I finish my training.
Two and a half weeks later and I finally have a day without any diving. I spend it in bed catching up with the backlog of editing, when the first of several waves of sadness pass over me.
I’m leaving Laos for Bangkok tomorrow. I think I shall miss the laziness of the tuk-tuk drivers (many of whom bring their hammocks to work, and seem to dislike being asked to drive anywhere), the outrageously chilled out working manner of the local traffic police, and the abundance of sticky rice and rather good French-style bread.
But, with a little luck, I will find someone in Bangkok to replace my hard drive and my whole netbook will be good as new.
Another day, another misadventure which, in hindsight, was highly preventable.
The large bowl of pho you’d just had for lunch was not quite enough to satisfy your roving eye, and a woman’s basket of little banana leaf packages proved too tempting to pass up. You pick three at random and ask the price, to which the woman raises an eyebrow.
Did you know: A Boeing 747s wingspan (197 ft) is longer than the Wright brother’s first flight (120 ft)? Their second flight covered 200 ft, and now we’ve all forgotten how incredible commercial flight is.
You toasted the new year alone with a bottle of stale water and some antibiotics in your friend’s apartment in Chumphon. Fireworks burst behind the cover of coconut trees as the clock on your netbook reset and a fresh wave of nausea passed over you.
A brush with a jellyfish off the coast of Koh Tao put a premature end to your diving lessons and left you with an expensive doctor’s bill and several symptoms you would rather have gone without; namely, a heart rate as high as 114, fever, breathlessness, muscle weakness and constant and severe nausea and stomach cramps.
Usually I am grateful for gravity. It is nice being able to walk around in flipflops without floating off into the ether. Without gravity the planet would also float away from the sun, and I would not enjoy spending the last days of Earth’s existence in a polar winter.
Unfortunately it sometimes works against you, and on this occasion I can emphatically say that gravity was not my friend- though I accept that a force has no feelings and the idea of it being friendly, unfriendly, on my side or otherwise, is fallacy.
My late camera survived knocks and falls in three continents, the zealous attentions of dogs and children, the sticky caress of orange juice, the heat and humidity of a greenhouse in London and dozens of hours of juddering in the seat storage compartment of dirt bikes in the Thai countryside. However, it was a small fall in Chiang Mai that finally put an end to my little black capturer of light.
I am happy that we adventured together, and I am sad that you are dead, but all I am worried about now is whether Photoguard insurance will replace you. Looking at everyone else’s photographs causes me something close to physical pain so I hope they make a decision soon. Also, having to lug your useless corpse around with me is annoying.
In short, I have been busy mourning my camera and tending to a jellyfish sting. I’ll be back soon.