The Secrets of Island Photography - Page 2
Our motley crew assembled at Secrets around midday, filled a rather spacious mini-bus and departed in the general direction of Rayong. After an initial burst of laughter and incessant chatter the rhythms of the mini-bus contrived to send most of the damsels into a deep sleep; apart from those still engaged in demolishing the remnants of light snacks purchased to keep starvation at bay.
Up front, Big Ben (aka, the London Clock), the English bar owner, and I talked, not of bars and bar girls, but of something of far greater significance: greyhound racing. We have both been involved with the sport of the long-tails for many years -he in England, me in Australia- so our chat made the trip to Ban Phe, the jump-off point for Koh Samet, seem far shorter than it was.
After going to a resort in Ban Phe we transferred from the mini-bus to a large pick-up that took us to the pier and the boat which was to take us to the island. The vessel was one of those two-tiered wooden craft designed to capsize in a bath-tub. It was being loaded with wooden planks (think: piracy) and bags of what I took to be cement (think: easily submerged). We were the only passengers, and we all went topside. That's a nautical term for the balcony. Some of the girls fell asleep, others demolished the last few morsels of food and snacks they could find, others danced and sang.
The Thaitanic, as we rather unimaginatively christened our briny highway conveyance, was headed to Ao Wai (probably pronounced 'Oh Why') beach, on the lower eastern side of the island. The sea was as calm as a millpond. We chugged around the northern tip of the island, slipped down the eastern coast and we were soon enough lying off our destination. Here we waited while a barge, painted a shade of yellow not seen since the flower power movement of the 1960s and 70s -with rust for added character- was sent alongside. We scrambled aboard and the barge headed off in the direction of terra firma in the form of a long and very clean looking sandy beach.
As we neared the shore the man charged with operating the outboard motor presented a disconcerting sight as he proceeded to lean over the vibrating machine as if trying to copulate with it. I wasn't sure if this was some kind of native Koh Sametian pre-mating ritual, although he didn't appear interested in any of the girls, or us, I hasten to add.
The barge stood a couple of metres off the almost deserted beach and three narrow wooden planks were laid out to the bow for passengers to disembark along without getting their feet wet. We booked into the Sametville Resort; by the next morning and after a closer inspection of the hired help we were put in mind of a tropical version of Deliverance and the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
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