We're still here. On the same vinyl couch we've been sitting on for the past month. The indentation where I sit is getting deeper by the day, as I further mould into a permanent fixture of the room. It's been another few days in observational paradise since my last story. And luckily for me, while the social dynamics change as often as the guests do, there's still no shortage of entertainment coming under my surveillance.
The growing cast:
The Matriarch: Mrs Boss-man. She runs a very tight ship, and is without a doubt the brains behind the business. She is the one solely responsible for the nautical theme decoration of the restaurant which includes thick, haggard, heavy ropes draping from the ceiling. Her stern demeanour as she confidently walks around, leaves me with an irrational fear that I will be told off for something, in that tone that only mothers can use.
The under-study juice-maker: The usual waitress has taken a few days off and so the waitressing duties have fallen onto the resident Malay dreamboat and hunk, The Fridge. This regretfully means he has been taken off his area of expertise - juice-making. This is a disaster for us. Now made by The Matriarch, our fruit juices have become a particularly unsatisfying type of frothy water. We suspect, in order to get maximum value from her bananas, rather than blending the banana for our banana shake, The Matriarch is simply using a banana to stir the water in the glass. Essentially making a banana infused shake. The actual banana is then used the following day in our banana pancakes. Sigh.
The SFT (Solo Female Traveler) trio: These three individual women, two Italian and one Spaniard, banded together immediately upon arrival, so quickly I initially thought they had come together. Alas, I was wrong, and they were each as independent as the next;
SFT #1: She wears a g-string bikini. Everywhere. Time for a swim? No problemo, I'll wear my g-string. Let's go for a walk down the main street? No problemo, I'll wear my g-string. Lunch in the restaurant? No problemo, I'll wear my g-string... I have learned that this is an article of clothing suitable for every occasion... apparently. I have to hand it to her, she wears it well and is by far doing the best in the 'no-tan-lines' department. I guess the joke is on us in the end, scoffing from afar with our tanned legs but bums as pale as a new born fish.
SFT #2: She's on a volcano-centric holiday. I don't know how Tioman came to be on her list as there are no active volcanoes here, but it's a really cool idea for a trip all the same. Except perhaps when the notorious Ring of Fire decides it's bored, and two of the three volcanoes you plan on visiting erupt, spewing liquid hot magma and sending giant clouds of ash into the atmosphere two days before you are flying to them...
Mother nature - 1, SFT #2 - 0.
SFT #3: Travel blogger and physiotherapist. She can be spotted a mile away, iPad in hand searching for stable wifi networks. When lightning (literally) strikes, and the router at the restaurant blows up, she's your go-to. She has the wifi password for every establishment along the road memorised. She can be spotted, with her long brown locks and grown-out undercut, stealthily positioned behind bushes trying to connect. She's invaluable not only for this, but because she offers craniosacral massages. Her advertisements - real coconuts, with her services hand-written on in Sharpie - are strategically placed all around the village.
The Cambodian Construction Worker: He 'rolls' in each night for our evening dice game of 'Nada', the Boss-man's favourite pasttime (except for maybe drugs and surfing), similar to Yahtzee. He doesn't say much, in fact, I've only ever heard him say numbers. I don't even know if he speaks English words. But, routinely, he waltzs in, wins, and leaves, like phantom of the dice-game.
The Italian sarong-wearer: He's extremely graceful, and is always smiling. I once asked him for the salt from his table and he gave it to me, along with a grin only someone who is truly content with life, just as it is, could give. He seems to glide through the room, his knee-length sarong blowing delicately in the ocean breeze. Yesterday, coincidently, my boyfriend (@madillorama) was given an impromptu (and unsolicited) lesson in Malaysian sarong tying by the Boss-man. Mid-lesson, while trying to perfect the 'tuck-and-fold' manouvre, the Italian sarong wearer glided past, with his aviator sunglasses fixed on his face, and coolly said, 'Welcome to the sarong club' (with a genuine smile of course).
The German lads: These two have decided that their small hut is not big enough for the two of them, and have claimed the path area out the front to compensate. Much to the annoyance of The Fridge, they constructed a washing line over the path to string up their bucket 'ghetto' laundry, making everyone have to duck beneath it to pass, or get slapped in the face with a wet t-shirt. Twice now, I have walked down the path and come face to face with one, or two German butts on display in their now 'front garden'. Both times they have been genuinely embarrassed and shocked that they have been caught, despite being in obvious clear view of everyone walking into the restaurant. Our communication now consists only of their faces turning a rich shade of maroon, and me diverting my eyes and making comments involving 'full moons' as I pass by.
The new fan: Boss-man just bought a new wall fan. After mounting, he eagerly asked us if the breeze could reach us where we were sitting. It was hard to tell, what with the copious amounts of real wind blowing through the open-walled restaurant. We said it did to make him happy anyway. He did a pelvic thrust and said 'fuck yeahhh' in self-satisfaction. A normal reaction from a 62 year old, no?
As my dent in the couch gets deeper, so does my love, and intrigue into the behaviours of those who surround me. In this hot and sweaty paradise, I'm stuck to my seat, literally and figuratively, in waiting hope that there is more ridiculousness to come.
Click Here for the first 'Characters of Tioman' story
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- Freeing minnows caught in the net - A proposal to propel quality content
- Volcanoes - Erupting and conquering
- Backpacks, Snacks and Fitness Hacks
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