Diary of Lisa Taylor, reluctantly 42 (and a half)

Or.. 'f.ck me I'm forty.. two.. and a half', though can look 38 on a - not so deluded - good day. Or 'How to reconcile a well experienced mind trapped in a still - but for how long? – youthful body.' Don't have the 30somethings angst/problems, neither have the resigned (?) ageing baby-boomers in safe family territory outlook yet. Here's how I cope, one day all sexy women will get old... but never invisible. © Lisa Taylor 2005/6/7/8/9. Jeez.. so much for the 42 and-a-half delusion

Monday, December 14, 2009

12th December - Railay and Tonsai Beaches

Ah finally a place after my own heart. Ok so on Railay you have one of the top hotels in Thailand, the Rayavadee and some other five star but you also have the sort of treehouse complex where Toph stayed 5/6 years ago when he was on his tod and you have our lovely one, Princess something with the pond in the middle. Me like this place. When you get off the boat you don't see any buildings through the trees, everything is built below palm tree top level and so you think you're going to disembark on some sort of Robinson Crusoe island. Ok, there are longboats moored on the beach and people on the beach but you get my drift. And it's a peninsula with a narrow middle so in ten minutes you can walk from the East beach to the West beach for variety though the East beach doesn't really have a beach, just the landing areas if you were approaching from Krabi rather than Phuket. Lots of nice bars at night though nothing like the nightlife of Koh Phan Gan on the other, Samui side but still.
Next door but takes a while to scramble to it or a cheap boat ride, is the rockclimbers paradise. They can indulge on the beach, in their swimming costumes and they clearly are good enough to know they won't cut themselves on razor sharp rocks. I currently can't do even a beginners climb due to malfunctioning big toes after my surgery, you need them to grip the rock to go up. But I can watch. Hidden away from the beach are more travellers' style accommodations here but also just lovely twentysomethings on their gap years. I could watch them all day and be jealous of their unencumbered lives.

Next door on our beach there's nowhere to go with a super pretty dress. Darn. The Swedes and their happy go unclassy lives.
Nothing seems busy at all thanks to recession so we can move hotel room after first night (don't know who's next door but she has louder orgasms than me) but it's 80% Scandinavians so I can't find a second hand novel in English anywhere. How odd. Or rahter, can't find one I want to read. I leave behind a booker prize winner and I have to make do with Emily Barr and her stalker novel set in Brighton and Cuba. It's worse for Toph. He took my about to be abandoned copy of The Road. I told him not to. He keeps interrupting to read me sections of monotonous same same stuff. I keep telling him not to. I suffered enough already. He tells me of when John Hillcoate, the director of the movie, had phoned him years previous to offer to collaborate on something Toph was maybe doing on John's mate, Nick Cave. There you go, one year you're doing promos, and a few years later you're helming big Hollywood movie, though can't imagine it will do amazingly well at box office. Am only going to see it because Viggo is on screen pretty much close up throughout I imagine.

Back to the holiday. Men and kayaks. What is it? I said 'That island over there is a) much further than you think and b) it's not just getting there... it's coming back'. He over-ruled me with 'If you get tired, I'll do all the paddling'. Yeah.
Last famous words of course. My contribution was invaluable. And yes, my objections were proven correct. Getting back was touch and go. The current was against us, the wind was up. We were heading straight and mysteriously constantly finding ourselves going left left left to ... far away. Of course we had no suntan lotions on our feet, easily missed or not re-anointed in the 2 hours it took to reach the right shore again and they were burnt. Mine uniformly, Toph with attractive stripes of his birkenstocky sandals. Toph keeps saying there are boats about who could rescue us. Funny I don't see any as I plow on with my Lady Gaga veil draped over my face. No sun is going to make crepe paper of my face, that I swear. He says I am wearing a life jacket and it's not that rough. I tell him through gritted teeth that it's not as rational as all that. It's in fact irrational and I said that before we set off. I am not a water babe. Hence my dust gathering PADI and the snorkelling stuff that travels with us all the time to remain unused. Give me a black run and I'll go down it despite being a crap skiier but open seas are not me. P Diddy would get a 'no thanks' if he invited me on his yacht cruising the Med. But there you go. I remain calm. We make it back. Toph's penance is to buy me half the stall of this not so cheerful woman called Joy. She is partly travel agent, partly rock climbing school and bookshop and mysteriously she's selling tons of eye and lip make up from Mac and Anna Sui. Really really chep but it appears to be the real thing. Upon enquiries she says she gets if from a friend who works at BKK airport. Makes sense. Only later when I get to BKK and see what it really costs, I wish had really bought all her stock. I never buy make up, I mean, am still using pressed powders 20 years old so I didn't know that some shitty plastic compact thingy with 4 colours in it can cost up to £30. It's unreal. I'd be outraged if it wasn't that moisturizers galore seem to command even more silly prices for incredibly small amounts. I mean there's an area of BKK airport that 's like a separate room selling only Creme de la Mer and another one I forget, but you know, one of the scientific ones. What a con. I have cut out that photo of Twiggy at some do as herself, ie not as retouched in those ads for Olay or whoever pay her and which show her with just a few lines. The woman has plenty. She's 60. Just about right, so you know, if the lotions and potions don't seem to work for the rich and famous of this world, imagine if they work for you. Suckers. But I digress. Back to the beach. It's like The Beach. Boy did I enjoy that book when I read it in situ ten years ago.


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