The Backpacking Housewife Read online

  Happily, we arrange to meet up again here again at the bar for sundowners at six-thirty.

  Feeling a lot less grumpy, I spend the rest of the afternoon reading and relaxing in my hammock, which takes the pressure off my swollen knee and helps to stop the blood seeping any further through my bandaged foot. All considered, it’s a pleasant way to while away a few hours. Then with the sun low in the sky, I put the book down, realising I need to think about my onward plans for the following day as I’d only planned to stay here for two nights after extending my time on Koh Lanta.

  The next island further along this chain is a similar island to Koh Ngai and is called Koh Kradan. I had planned to spend a whole week there because it has the most beautiful sandbars. Not the kind of bars for buying drinks, but the white sand kind of sandbars exposed only when the tide goes out, that you can swim out to and sit on and feel like you are on your own private tropical island like a castaway.

  The next tiny ‘no news, no shoes’ destination in this idyllic chain after Koh Kradan, with beaches that are always ranked up there in the top beaches of the world, is called Koh Bulon – and Koh Bulon is supposed to be even more idyllic and perfect.

  But what use are perfect beaches, quiet retreats, and undeveloped, off-the-grid islands with sandbars and fabulous tropical reefs full of amazing marine life, if I can’t walk on the sand or swim or snorkel or go diving until my foot heals? I know I’m going to be horribly bored.

  I want to spend time in a hammock but I think I might go crazy if I can’t do anything else, and the thought depresses me. It seems my plans are completely ruined.

  My only option seems to be skipping Koh Kradan and Koh Bulon completely.

  This will mean heading straight on to Koh Lipe, the last island in the chain that also serves as the border between Thailand and Malaysia. If I’m lucky, because it’s en route, I might get to see the other two islands that I’m giving a miss from the boat as we go past them.

  At least from Koh Lipe I can get to Langkawi, where I’ll have far more options, and I can gather my thoughts and reorganise my plans.

  I shower standing on one leg with my bandaged foot covered with a plastic bag.

  Then, once I’m dressed, I hop over to reception again. Mr Lee tells me that there is a speedboat transfer scheduled to pick people up here in the morning and take passengers south.

  I put my name down as a passenger and head over to the tikki bar to order a drink while I’m waiting for Laura and Jodie. They arrive after a few minutes later looking sunny and smiley and glowing after their day on the beach. ‘How’s the foot?’ they both ask me at once.

  ‘Getting me down, actually,’ I tell them and I’m unable to hide the extent of my misery over my time here now being totally ruined. We order more drinks and they both listen sympathetically. ‘I was hoping to put my new dive qualification to good use,’ I moan. ‘Now I’m at a complete loss what to do. I guess I have no choice but to leave here tomorrow and head to Malaysia until my foot heals and I can decide what to do next.’

  I shrug and sulk, until I realise I’m lowering the mood of the mellow evening.

  ‘Anyway, tell me about your travel plans?’ I ask them, before they can decide to dump me.

  ‘We are heading onto Koh Phi Tao tomorrow. There’s a turtle conservation project on the island. It’s funded by the Goldman Global Foundation and we’re volunteering for the last two busy weeks of the nesting season. We did it last year too and it was fantastic.’

  Jodie sounds really excited and I can’t blame her. It sounds wonderful.

  ‘It’ll be especially good, as we’re joining the same small group we worked with last year,’ Laura adds with equal enthusiasm. ‘There are a couple of smart Australian boys, George and David, and there’s our project leader, Ethan Jones. It’s going to be so much fun as well as totally worthwhile because we’ll be saving endangered turtles.’

  ‘That sounds amazing. You know, I met someone recently who’d been volunteering in Borneo at an orangutan sanctuary and that sounded really worthwhile too. I was even thinking of doing the same thing myself. I’m sure it’s funded by the same foundation.’

  ‘It probably is. Mr Goldman is a billionaire philanthropist,’ Jodie explains to me. ‘He has conservation projects all over the world and I hear he has a special interest in orangutans. I’ve never actually met him but he’s my hero. Someone who makes a real difference in the world.’

  Laura laughs. ‘Ethan Jones is my hero. He works for the Goldman foundation and he’s so cool. He’s always off having wild adventures all over the world, so I call him Indiana Jones!’

  Jodie rolls her eyes. ‘Ah, so that’s why we’re going back. You’re lusting after Ethan!’

  ‘No. I don’t fancy him. I want him to adopt me and be my dad!’ Laura protests.

  ‘So, tell me, what do you do on the island exactly – to help save the turtles?’

  ‘We mostly monitor their nests and protect the eggs from poachers,’ Laura tells me.

  ‘You mean to say that people actually steal turtle eggs?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah, they’re a delicacy in Asia,’ Jodie explains. ‘Green turtle numbers have declined more than twenty per cent over the past few years because of poaching or beach erosion. We also guard against natural predators too and, like Laura said, we monitor the nests until they’ve hatched. I love the moment the baby turtles emerge. They’re so cute and full of energy and determination as they dig their way out with their tiny little flippers flapping away.’

  ‘That’s the most dangerous time for them, you see…’ Laura elaborates. ‘Getting safely from their nest into the sea. We make sure they have a clear run across the beach and we cheer on each little brave turtle.’

  ‘It’s heartwarming. I get so emotional about it,’ Jodie says, with a sigh.

  ‘And the poachers? How do you stop them? I mean, is it dangerous?’ I ask.

  ‘No. It’s more like a standoff. We are simply a presence on the beach to discourage them.’

  ‘It all sounds so fantastic. I’ve not heard of this island. Is it between here and the border?’

  ‘Yes, it’s sort of between Bulon and Lipe but it’s well off the tourist trail. The name means “the island of the old turtle” and there’s nothing much on it except lots of monkeys and turtles and the research station. It’s not listed on tourist maps and so no one else really goes there.’

  ‘So how did you first hear about it?’ I ask, becoming even more fascinated by the idea of this hidden island of green turtles, with its very own Indiana Jones.

  ‘Through volunteering with the Goldman Global Foundation. We’ve been involved since our university days. Mr Goldman usually recruits student volunteers from Biology and Ecology courses, although not exclusively – he wants people of all ages and practical skills to volunteer too. Year on year, we all keep in touch with each other and we share news of any new opportunities or ongoing conservation projects where we can volunteer.’

  ‘I love the idea of it all. It makes perfect sense to me,’ I say. ‘Why simply backpack around the world when it is possible to volunteer for important projects to help people or animals and the environment and really make a difference?’

  ‘If you really are interested, Lori, you can come with us. We were supposed to be bringing a friend along with us to Koh Phi Tao but she couldn’t make it at the last minute. It sounds to me like a perfect way for you to spend the next couple of weeks?’

  There is a moment of silence before I feel my eyes practically pop out of their sockets. Before I realise what’s being offered to me.

  Then I remember my damned foot injury.

  ‘I’d really love to come, but what use could I be to the turtles if I can’t stand on the sand or in the sea?’ My voice is so full of woe that I sound like I might start weeping.

  ‘That won’t stop you from helping out. There’s always lots of camp jobs – cooking and stuff that we generally all share and there’s admin too because all the turtles n
eed to be identified and catalogued,’ Laura insists.

  ‘Then, after a few days, when your foot is better again, you could stick a bag on it and help us patrol the beach and monitor the nests. You should think about it,’ Jodie tells me.

  I’m already sold. I decide I’m going with Jodie and Laura to Koh Phi Tao.

  I’m excited, but they warn me that facilities at the camp are quite basic and the island is quite remote, with only weak access at best to a mobile phone signal or to the internet.

  So on my way back to my room, I pop into reception, which seems to be the only place I can get a decent wi-fi signal on my phone on this island, to message my sons and to tell them I’m going offline.

  I’m going to a remote island with some friends to help save turtles. Don’t worry if you don’t hear anything from me for the next two weeks. I’ll message once I get to Malaysia. Love, Mum xx

  Chapter 8

  Koh Phi Tao

  I have a horrible dream. In it, I’m desperately trying to escape from a tiny island in the middle of nowhere. I’m living with a tribe of backpacking couples but I’ve ran away and now I’m trying to hack my way through an impenetrable steamy jungle inhabited by giant monkeys. When I finally reach an idyllic-looking beach, I discover that the only way off the island is through a long dark sea cave full of snakes and sharks and razor-sharp rocks.

  I wake at sunrise in a terrible sweat. I give myself a good shake, tell myself that dreams are just random and, after heading for the shower, I grab a cup of coffee and my backpack.

  An impressive looking speedboat with three outboard engines has arrived to pick us up.

  There are already a few passengers onboard who are also heading south. Laura, Jodie and I climb onboard and strap ourselves into our seats and soon the wind is whipping back our hair as we travel down the Andaman Sea in style, skimming the waves at great speed under fabulous blue skies and on a flat calm sea.

  We stop off at Koh Kradan and also Koh Bulon along the way, to let out some of our fellow passengers. I immediately realise on seeing these beautiful islands, that if I hadn’t been going onto Koh Phi Tao with Laura and Jodie, I’d have been weeping with regret because they look so picture perfect.

  We continue on our way with three other people who are travelling down to Koh Lipe and the Malaysian border. Around an hour later, we spot the shape of a tiny island ahead of us. The boat’s engines slow and everyone on the boat unclips their seatbelts and stands up as the island appears to us from a veil of vaporous mist. It has a tall volcano-shaped mountain at its core and a dense green interior jungle tumbling all the way down from the misty peak to its rocky coastline. The island is ringed by a calm, dark blue lagoon and is protected by an azure green coral reef. Suddenly, the mist clears from the volcano, and we see a rainbow appear.

  It looks so perfect and unreal, like a Garden of Eden.

  As we get closer, all eyes are now on the bay with its shimmering, blindingly white sand beach fringed with gently swaying palm trees. The other passengers immediately demand to know where we are. It’s as if they can’t believe their eyes.

  ‘Oh boy, where is this place?’

  ‘Jeez … what’s it called?’

  ‘This is not on my map!’

  Jodie grabs her backpack and answers them. ‘This, my friends, is paradise.’

  The high tide allows our boat to pass safely over the coral reef and into the lagoon. We wade ashore. The water here is warm, clear and shallow, and the sand is soft underfoot. As the boat speeds away, we are met on the beach by a small welcome committee of four people. Three men and one woman. I hang back while Laura and Jodie enthusiastically greet the men and introduce themselves to the woman. There’s a lot of hugging and kissing and backslapping before it’s my turn to be introduced.

  ‘Hey, everyone, this is Lori,’ Laura announces. ‘She’s kindly agreed to come along to help us out and to replace Kim, who had to bow out at the last minute.’

  ‘Hi Lori and welcome!’ the welcome party chorus.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Lori. I’m Marielle,’ says the woman in a heavy French accent. She shakes my hand and kisses me on both cheeks. I’m really pleased to see another woman here who is around my age. She is very slim, unlike me, gorgeously suntanned, and wearing tiny white cotton shorts and a loose-fitting top through which I can see a blue patterned triangle bikini. She has straight, fine, mid-brown, shoulder-length hair. She’s not what you would call a classically beautiful woman – she has full lips and a strong nose and deep-set eyes – but she is so completely natural-looking that she is quite striking to look at.

  ‘This is David and this is George,’ Marielle tells me, introducing two guys, who stepped forward to shake my hand. I see they are both around the same age as each other – mid-twenties, I’m guessing – blond, tall and lean, both wearing board shorts and the same style of sunglasses. They give me a cheery Australian greeting. ‘G’day, Lori’.

  I didn’t realise Australians really said that – I thought it was a myth.

  ‘Hi, I’m Ethan,’ says the last, very good-looking, man.

  And I realise I’m now looking at Ethan Jones. The real-life Indiana Jones, hero and sugar-daddy-figure, who Jodie and Laura have told me about. ‘Hi Ethan. It’s great to meet you.’

  I shake his hand and he bends forward to kiss me on both cheeks just as Marielle did.

  Ethan is tall and slim but wide across the shoulders. He’s wearing khaki shorts and a loose-fitting, bright yellow-and-green pineapple print shirt, so I guess he has a sense of humour.

  His eyes are narrowed against the sharp morning sunlight as he looks at me. His hair is dark, short, and flecked with a little silver grey at the sides, which together with his morning shadow of facial stubble, makes him look classically distinguished rather than middle-aged.

  I realise his good looks and his kisses have me blushing.

  ‘I’m the project manager here,’ he tells me, taking my rucksack and insisting on carrying it up the beach for me. ‘Thanks for helping us out, Lori. We really appreciate it.’

  ‘I’m happy to be here,’ I tell him, realising he also has a very nice soft Scottish accent.

  He asks about my foot. ‘What happened there – shark attack?’

  I laugh. ‘Nothing as exciting, but it really hurts and look, I managed to get it wet again.’

  ‘We’ll get you a dry bandage. You don’t want to get it infected.’

  We walk up the beach to the tree line where there is a sign that reads No White Lights!

  It’s then I see the camp. It’s much nicer than I imagined it to be.

  From the way Laura and Jodie had described it as ‘extremely basic’, I had envisaged nothing more than little tents on the sand and no electricity. But there are in fact several large wooden open-plan buildings on wooden stilts with palm-thatched roofs and I can hear the hum of a generator. One such building has tidy racks of scuba gear hanging up in it and air tanks lined up in orderly rows. Another looks like a kitchen and dining area with dining tables and chairs.

  On the beach, between the trees, there are several hammocks strung up in the shade.

  It all looks wonderful. I thank Ethan, recover my rucksack from him and follow Marielle and Jodie and Laura along a narrow sandy jungle path between the buildings towards our lodgings. It’s almost unbearably humid. It must be nearly noon. The sand underfoot is burning my feet through the rubber of my flipflops and sticking to my sodden dirty bandage.

  As we make our way along the path, enormous monitor lizards, sunning themselves and looking like prehistoric creatures, scatter back into the edges of the jungle fauna. High in the trees, I spot a black-haired monkey with a long tail and white patches around its eyes. It’s the size of a small child and it’s watching us. It’s just like being in Jurassic Park.

  To my surprise, our lodgings are in four small wooden palm-thatched bungalows, all set back in a staggered row under a dark and dense canopy of tall trees. ‘Wow. I thought we’d be roughing
it but these bungalows are gorgeous,’ I enthuse.

  Jodie laughs. ‘Hold on, you haven’t seen what’s inside them yet. Don’t expect a soft bed!’

  ‘This place used to be an eco-resort and that’s why we have nice buildings,’ Laura explains.

  ‘You will be sharing with me, if that’s okay, Lori?’ Marielle says to me, indicating to her bungalow. ‘Of course, that’s fine by me,’ I reply, smiling at her warmly.

  Inside the bungalow it’s surprisingly dark and dingy and earthy smelling. I note there is only one small window with a mesh screen and no glass. There’s no air-con – not that I expected it – but I can’t see a fan either. Jodie is right about there being no soft beds as there are no beds at all – only a couple of hammocks with mosquito nets hanging over them.

  They look like large white cocoons hanging from the ceiling.

  ‘That one is yours, Lori.’ Marielle says, pointing to a hammock. ‘They are surprisingly comfortable once you get used to them. Le salle de bain is just through there. It’s outside but it’s private.’

  I put my rucksack down and go to check out the bathroom through the door that Marielle had pointed out at the back of the room. There’s a Western-style toilet and a vanity sink and a pretty pebble-clad shower area courtesy of a bamboo pipe. I also spot a clamshell soap dish that has a startled looking green gecko sitting in it. The area is clean and enclosed but it has no roof, so it’s completely open to the canopy of the surrounding jungle and presumably to the stars at night – as well as bugs and mosquitoes of course, but I would have to get used to that.

  I come back into the room smiling. ‘I love it!’

  Marielle looks relived. ‘Tres bon, but please don’t ever leave the doors open as that will invite in all sorts of trouble. I’ve had monkeys sneaking in and stealing my stuff before now.’

  I nod, thinking of far worse consequences – like snakes for instance.

  ‘What happened to your foot?’ she asks me, looking concerned.

  ‘Oh, I cut it in the sea. It’s going to take a couple of days to heal and then it will be fine.’