Long Beach: Paradise Lost, Then Found

The beach here is sublime — soft white sand, turquoise water, and a steady cool breeze. My $11 bungalow sits right on the water’s edge with a hammock and a view that was stolen from a travel magazine. I should be completely content. But I’m not.

There is nothing wrong with the scenery, certainly, and the bungalow I’m staying is basic but comfortable. It’s the people I don’t connect with. The place is swarming with stoned neo-hippies who cling together in small cliques and hangout at the main chill area.

They’re all tanned, trim, and good-looking despite a tendency to sport filthy dreads. It’s a meat market of vegetarians. I’m a good 20 years older than 90% of the other guests and I feel it — it’s the first place I’ve found in Thailand that I’m not comfortable.   

On my first day here, it rains nonstop and we’re all crowded into the restaurant. I meet a couple of interesting people but for the most part, my smiles and greetings fall on deaf ears. Even the old French, weird-beard expat avoids me.

The worst of it all, though, and the one thing I truly can’t stand is the bongos. What is it with drummers? Would a trombone player walk into the middle of a room full of people having dinner and cut loose with “When the Saints Come Marching In”? Really? Drummers seem convinced that everyone just loves it and once one starts, the others come creeping out of the jungle like some patchouli-fueled tabla strike force.

As the volume rises and the sun goes down, thousands of flying ants are drawn to the lights and descend upon us. After 30 minutes of shooing bugs from my face and plotting hippy murder (hippicide?), I give up and head to the hut. I’m done.

Surprisingly, the part I thought would be most uncomfortable has been the most pleasant. There is no electricity until 6pm, when the generators are turned on. Internet access can only be had at another cafe atop the hill after dark, where you can plug your laptop into one of 2 available ports and share bandwidth the equivalent of a telegraph wire.

I thought this would be a real test of my OCD, but the forced hiatus has been good for some much-needed introspection. My laptop batteries are dead, but at least I can write in my journal or on my iPhone — this post is being written on it, actually. I look like a complete geek, I’m sure, but my give-a-shit meter broke years ago.      

I decide to leave the following morning and spend some time pruning my gear and organizing my pack. I have to do a visa run into Cambodia within the next three days anyway, so I may as well start heading in that direction. The guest houses offer ‘border run’ packages for 1200 baht but 10 minutes spent with a guidebook suggests I can do it myself for half that and see the sights along the way.

That afternoon I wander down the beach to the southern end and find tiny Zion Restaurant, a lovely cafe staffed by a group of genuinely-friendly Thais. Their English is about as good as my Thai so we can’t exactly debate Nietzsche, but they are warm and real. The oldest man rubs my belly and then howls with laughter when I explain that it is my “beer baby”.

The beer is cold and bamboo tables sit just 20 feet from the water, in the shade of stubby coconut trees. I dig my toes into the cool sand and contemplate taking a swim. There are no bongos to be heard.

I decide to stay another night.

Tagged as: ko chang, long beach, Thailand, travel