Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 34: Underwater Angels & Jesus in Space

12.11.12
I was walking through a desolate city. Nobody else was there and the buildings were deserted and crumbling. Abandoned cars were scattered all along the low bridge that I was crossing, but there was a certain serenity to the chaotic scene. Everything was calm, like being out in the middle of a sea without waves. I peered over the side of the bridge to look into the water and saw my lover, laying in a shallow pool fifteen feet beneath me. I noticed her hands clenched around her throat, her legs kicking as she struggled and realised she was trying to kill herself. In an obvious panic, I immediately dived head-first into the water and arrived at a new day.

Now I don’t know about you, how realistic your dreams are, or whether you remember them at all, but for me, what I see is seen and often remembered as realistically as any other memory would be. Sometimes even realer than reality seems to be. Because of this, I could be excused for not really feeling the ‘vibe’ for anything other than getting over what I had witnessed. Despite this, Sarah and I headed to catch the final rays of an overcast day after waking up still drunk at 1pm, hitting Patong’s white sandy beach, a thriving spot for merchants who come by every few seconds doing their rounds to all the tourists, peddling everything from cans of 7up to wooden hands. There was nothing I wanted, except escapism, so I swam into the awaiting Andaman sea. The sea is where I want to end up. I know part of the sea is within me, just like Everything else, but I look forward to giving myself to it completely when I disappear, to remain still here. After some distance, I reached danger, as a bunch of loons riding jet-ski’s seemed to be heading incredibly near to where I’d set my target. I turned and hurriedly swam back to shallower waters, where I floated around with my arms stretched out, like a crucified Jesus in space, bringing my mind back to its positive centre.

I returned to Sarah and the ‘Steppenwolf’ and spent a couple of hours reading more about the books’ intriguing protagonist and his attempts to understand the world around his routine existence. Sarah decided that it was imperative that she got sausage and mash in order save her insides from creating a black hole, so we made our way back to the bar we’d had breakfast the previous day. On the way, we walked past a tailor’s which had a sign saying ‘2 suits for $79.99’. Always in the market for a bargain, I entered and we were swiftly sat down, our swimsuits dampening the owner’s red sofa as he loaded the table in-front of us with books featuring the collections of all the top designers. As always, Sarah’s skills in this field left me in good stead to get what I wanted made well and she explained everything in detail to the Indian owner, who assured us of how professional and experienced he was and how he guaranteed it would be great, whilst taking my measurements and talking to his colleague. Then came the pricing. What the sign didn’t say was that the advertised price only covers the making, and you still have to pay for the material on top. After a few ridiculous quotes and some subtracting of items, we agreed a good price of roughly £75 for the suit. Forty-five minutes later, with Sarah slowly fading away we left the tailor and got some grub, which replenished both body and mind with its simple homely Englishness.

After a few hours laid up in the comfort of our lovely Kamilla, entertaining each other as we always do, we then had to return to the tailors for the first fitting at 9pm. We needed the suit before we left for the forthcoming wedding, but they told us at the time that they have a very quick turnaround when needs be. After being sat waiting for around twenty minutes a tired Thai tailor arrived on a motorbike, chucked a strange looking rag of the maroon material I’d chosen over me, then chalked markers onto the shoulders before whipping it off of me and running away. The owner told us to return and collect the jacket the following evening, and then disappeared. We left and found an Egyptian restaurant, so stopped by for barbequed kebabs and hummus to finally rid us of the remaining poisons of the previous days. I was settled in the wake of the storm, and sat writing as Sarah slept. ‘300’ was on in the background, and as I rested my eyes I hoped that my Spartan compatriots would join me in my slumber, just in case the demons reawaken.