I am definitely one to notice the constant dawn-til-dusk industry around me. The thing I most willingly dedicate my Smile Surfeit /Sore Jaw Syndrome to is The Invisible Ones- the teams of gardeners, cleaners, porters, ‘pool boys’, waiters, handymen and engineers whose presumably minimally-paid jobs here here make my life as a fat wealthy tourist (in world terms) so comfortable. Some are cheerful in Buddhist acquiescence, some are friendly extroverts with open faces and genuine smiles, who will stop and chat, perhaps confident because their English is good. Others, especially the gardeners way down the pecking order, swathe their heads in towels and hide like beekeepers behind their canvas hats, avoiding eye contact, protecting themselves from both the sun and the guests with whom they have no desire to chat, counting down the minutes to their working day.
I’m especially in awe
of the young men who shimmy up walls and sit astride pitched Thai rooves the
shape of Viking long boats, as if they are coconut palms. I cannot clasp my
hands together prayerfully enough in ‘sawatdee’, nor bow deeply enough in thanks
to this hive of silent drones.
Earlier today, I caught a pool cleaner enjoying a secret dip in the corner of the lagoon-style pool nearest my villa. He looked embarrassed to have been sprung. I tried to smile as encouragingly as I could and wished I could speak to him more fluently about how much it sucks that I can swim here openly, and he can’t.
Earlier today, I caught a pool cleaner enjoying a secret dip in the corner of the lagoon-style pool nearest my villa. He looked embarrassed to have been sprung. I tried to smile as encouragingly as I could and wished I could speak to him more fluently about how much it sucks that I can swim here openly, and he can’t.
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