-- | A Thai Christmas tale

TEMPO FA SCRISSI UN PICCOLO RACCONTO. Fu nel giorno di Santo Stefano del 2006, per ricordare quella terribile mattina in cui la furia dell'oceano spazzò via centinaia di migliaia di vite, di sogni, di storie, nello stesso giorno di due anni prima. Lo pubblico oggi senza un particolare motivo, se non quello di non perderlo per sempre.

He walked on the wet sand of Ao Nang, enjoying the fresh breeze of the morning and thinking back to the warm Christmas’ night which had finished no longer than a half hour before. The feeling of the waves caressing his feet let him smile to the memories of the party just faded, too beautiful to be real but too vivid to be just a dream.

Eight hours before he jumped in one of the many longtail boats waiting greedily for passengers in the small Noppharat Thara beach. On his right the Danish guy looked excited as him to the idea of that unconventional tropical Christmas, without plastic threes and Coca-Cola’s Santas everywhere: just the wooden deck of the boat under their feet and a dozen of young persons sat in the rough benches behind and beyond them. All around, many other longtails full of a mix of Thais and farangs, and the silent Andaman Sea, like a huge giant of dark water.

He knew the Danish guy that same morning, on an journey on the crystal waters of Ko Lao, a tiny island on the course to the more famous Phi Phi island. The whole day elapsed quickly, talking with the five friendly Thais of the crew and sharing the unique sight of that green sea, a liquid emerald embellished by huge high-arched rocks here and there, inflexible guardians of that coast or a stone copy of the starry sky on the Earth.

After that nice journey they agreed to have dinner together, protracting their floating chat with a beer and a pizza in one of the many restaurants of Noppharatthara Beach Road. While there, they heard of a party on the close beach of Rai Ley, an incredible sandy half-moon magically planned by a god of Nature and positioned between two rounded capes, as that place was the only possible amongst thousand coast in the world. The place itself was worth a night visit, and the idea of a party there, under the moonlight, was a plus that made them decide to go.

They finished their food and had a walk on the pretty crowded seafront of Ao Nang, spelled by restaurants, shops and peddlers. At the end of the road they had a short bargaining with a boat owner and they jumped on a humid seat just behind a couple of girls, who were looking back cheekily to the other passengers, and laughing softly and cattily turned back to the gloomy horizon ahead. When every seat was booked by some young guy or girl impatient to reach a drink or a dance, the craftsman turned on the old spitting engine and started to direct them all in the whisper of tiny waves, driving confident after thousand spans to the same destination, like there was an invisible track under the keel.

He kept on talking with the Danish guy for the short time of the span which separates Noppharat Thara beach and Rai Ley beach, then he came down quickly like everybody, but not as swiftly as his blond friend, whose unpredicted initiative pushed his white legs in a short run to hug from the back the two catty girls, exactly in the point where during the day the sun kisses the tonic bronze skin between the shorts and the tight t-shirts. The guy’s move caught him out, but after a short moment of amazement he joined the Norse and his pleasant company.

A wooden bar lay down on the beach like a shipwrecked vessel which let pop a heterogeneous crew of party pirates driven by a pleasant chillout music.

Few beers and some foggy sexual hints later, the girls, pestered, left them and roamed looking for that kind of green fun that comes by friendly faces as those of uncle Jackson or uncle Grant. Since the guys didn’t agree with that, they let them go without think too much to the previous minutes.

They spent the rest of the night sitting on the cold sand and speaking about nothing and about the Universe, inebriated by the natural, wonderful sensation of freedom and peace which permeated that dot of Thailand, mashed up between a sweet sea and a sky so starry to make him think that all the pulsars settled there just to give an impressive show of Infinite to the lucky public of Rai Ley.

The rising sun swept away all those thoughts and reminded him that he had to get his stuff ready before ten, if he wanted to take the bus to Phuket airport. He planned to stay in that dream nook of the Andaman Sea for some days more, but a phone call the previous day made him change his plans: a good friend persuaded him to fly to Bangkok to spend some days together, until the new year’s eve. He agreed, despite the surfacing feeling of sadness that comes when we have to leave a place we are starting to fall in love with.

The shoes in his left hand, he turned to watch the golden disc in the horizon for a last greeting, then he plaintively moved on the sidewalk which led to his hostel. Twenty-four hours later, he woke up in Bangkok smelling the freshness of his clean sheets, kissed by the sunrays which seeped the white curtain of the bedroom.

In the same moment, seven hundreds kilometres southwards, a mocking caprice of the sea – the same sea partner in crime for happy moments just few hours before – flung a frightening howl which broke thousand dreams, thousand wishes, thousand lives, in a second long a whole eternity.The world cried all its tears that day.

It is still crying.

Dedicated to those they loved, dedicated to those who loved them. Thanks to Pern, who probably saved my life.