I have brought Cadbury's chocolate bars all the way with me to give to friends who live here (it's hard to find chocolate in Cambodia). But, to my frustration and slight horror, as I rustle through my pack this morning, I discover a pesky rat has nibbled through the partition in my (rather expensive) hiking pack. I guess I only have myself to blame. And I'm lucky it's probably repairable. But now I have no chocolate to give Patricia.
I need to find another guest-house to stay the night. I originally only booked four nights with the Slovakians, thinking I will spend Saturday at Serendipity just to get a taste of the party scene. But I went off that idea and asked Alex if I could stay another night.
Yesterday morning as our boat is just about to head out to the islands, Alex, tattooed-chest bare, whiskey in hand, wades up to me, "there's a bit of a shit with the bookings", he says, grimacing with embarrassment and showing his missing front tooth.
"What kind of shit?" I ask.
"We got bookings."
"Oh, that's okay. I only booked for four nights to start with. Not your fault."
"Sorry dude. You can sleep in the hammock, or in the dorm or something."
I like the sound of sleeping in a hammock at the Slovakians' bar, but I wouldn't feel comfortable without my bags locked up, so I book a bungalow 100 metres up the beach.
Away from the Slovakians and their partying ways I am very productive and catch up with lot of writing for this blog.
I get a massage on the beach from a lady I promised the other day (they pester and badger and flirt until you cave in, and promise you'll get a massage). For seven dollars it's supreme.
The sunset tonight is magnificent.
The big orange orb sinks into the horizon, and then the colours painting the clouds change from purple to blue to apricot and orange, and then, the same colour as the sun that has just slipped away, the sky lights up one more time, turns to crimson, and then the palette drains slowly out of the clouds as the earth rolls on, taking these clouds away from the sun's reach, which is still illuminating other, distant skies, skies in Latvia and London no doubt.
Then, a party boat floats into frame, bringing with it European house beats and disco-ball lights. Maybe Otres will soon be another Serendipity. No, it probably will. I'm lucky to have known it as a quiet, lazy stretch of sand, peppered with loners, thinkers, dreamers, lovers, runners, sleepers, and drinkers.
I'm starting to think what one knows isn't at all important, or not as much as I had always thought. I've been spending a great deal of my life acquiring information like it was a precious commodity, like my life and well-being depended on it, and maybe I've dropped my gaze from other important horizons. Just maybe I'm letting myself become Sartre's autodidact. I hope not.
I have one last beer at my original guest-house, and with no ceremony, and barely a nod of a head, I part ways with the Slovakians and their crazy, beautiful entourage.
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