The Shack Out Back

It reminded me of a bamboo shelter I’d once built on a beach in Mykonos in that it had to lean on something to be of any use. In this case a sturdy coconut tree at the edge of the jungle. Only ten degrees to the left, give it a break.
My Amazonian partner had gone to a nearby island on yet another diving course, where she would meet Aussies who would give pet names to the more notable denizens and would ask her what her bloke actually did apart from swinging in a hammock all day with a beer. The virtual music studio that she’d helped me lug from London to Thailand was her probable reply.
I’m sitting at another studio as I write. It’s in the Algarve, all the latest gadgets, zipping my Moroccan synth-pop all over the planet, I used to be the same when I was a kid, any tunes, any technology. Big kid still.
Our house in Koh Samui was wooden and functional, but not immune to wildlife. I’ve never been that gooey about animals but I learned to respect them there, considering all the creatures that ran through the place all day.
And out back was this shack.
An educated Thai friend told me the score. Thai people move around a lot and would land on your doorstep.
‘Hi, long time no see. How long you staying?’
‘Dunno.’
‘Got any money?’
‘No.’
‘Shack is out back.’
It was getting dark, mossie alert. I burned a few green coils and waited on a friend as I dreamed away.
The latest occupants of the shack were a handsome young couple. They had seemed nice and quiet but suddenly exploded into life on that night. A massive row was afoot, with the lady of the manor creating most of the content.
I only understood the words ‘Nam’ and ‘Farang’. There was no doubt about this. These two words were the root source of her delivery.
Now this got me a little worried as I’d fixed the local water supply that very day, (nam) and I was the only foreigner in the village, (farang)
I went to the local beach bar to seek out another bright mate, Rat, and told him of my concerns.
He grabbed his torch and led us from the beach and back to the edge of the jungle. He silenced the rowing couple with a few quiet questions. They spoke back.
‘OK, Lolen, come back to bar for beer.’
‘Wassup man?’
‘I tell you in bar.’
But he didn’t tell me in bar. This playful little fella told the whole bar first and everyone collapsed into laughter.
So finally he put me out of my misery. The guy in the shack had only been there two days and had already sired another girl in the village and as his wife was so delicately suggesting, he could have been fixing the water instead of the rent-paying foreigner.
Game over. I’m normally a breezy and friendly guy, and I guess the locals had never seen me worried before.
Next morning I opened my door to see a perfectly lopped coconut on a china dish with a lotus flower beside it.
Everyone was saying “Mai Pen Rai” (never mind)
Boy, did I love those people.


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