Usually people who go on a trip are trying to escape. From something, from someone, a shitty job, family problems, routine, ghost of ex boyfriends… That last case was my situation. And I say ghost because he was kind of dead, but not really. For him I was dead, for sure. He had been over me, and apparently quite fast. What are 7 years in the life of someone? Nothing. He, with a new woman in his life and a kid, while I was still crying like a baby. So, when my friends started to plan a lovely trip a round the globe, it felt only natural to go with them. Every one of us was looking for something different and I’m not too sure that everyone ended up finding for what they were looking for. We spent new year’s eve in a fantastic beach in Thailand and we made some wishes while we light some candles and some flying balloons.
Everything was very movie like. A little bit too much actually. I can picture the typical horror movie. A paradisiac beach, 4 friends, party, drug, alcohol, fun, sex… and all of the sudden… a murderer. A serial killer, or one of my friends ended up being a killer, or there is a tsunami, or one of these lovely natural catastrophes. Miraculously we survived that night, and actually the entire trip. I guess it was because while everyone else was too busy finding the new drug to taste, we were going to sleep at 10 pm max after a long game of Uno. I wished to fall in love and that love, would love me back. Also I wished for that love to be as sane as possible. You don’t know this, yet, but my bound with men was not always the best. Tons of passion yes, we have a great fuck, we laugh a lot and then the problems begin. Either there is glasses of whiskey flying over my head, or I end up crying waiting for my cellphone to ring. As you can see thing don’t have to be huge for me to be affected by. I’m not saying that your boyfriend cheating on you is worst that an illness or dying but what I’m trying to say is that being in my drama queen shoes is not easy either. I am an itsy bitsy intense, that means that I love and I hate with the same intensity, same passion, no grey areas, never! I don’t know what my friends asked for, but I wanted a relationship. I was getting tired of being alone. After a month of travelling around beaches and successfully achieving the dream skin color that I always wanted, we went north. My plan of living forever in the beach was way cooler than trekking in the north of Thailand. Obviously! But in that moment the decision of my 4 male friends was stronger than mine. So: to the north we went and with a gun in my head I signed up for a 3 day trekking in the mountains. Never in my life I hated anyone so much. I hated the tour guide for talking English like a shit; the fucking son of a bitch was dressed as a “let’s go to the shopping” theme. A little 10 years ago style and too cheesy for my taste, but still a pair of jeans, a short sleeves shirt, belt, indoor shoes and sunglasses on his forehead. I was sweating like a pig while cursing fucking Buddha, his country, my country, flies, mosquitos, dengue, you and everyone on your stupid fucking family and of course the assholes of my friends who were walking at least 20 km ahead of me. The worst part is that they didn’t seem to be tired at all. I was dying for a cigarette, but I couldn’t breath. So when we stopped for lunch during day 2, I grabbed my courage and without telling my boys I went to ask the tour guide if I could go back home. I was sick and tired of walking, my feet were a disgrace. Nobody told me that we were supposed to do any walking activities so I was not ready for that. 3 days in the mountain with my beautiful and very used Converse, it was definitely not a good idea. The tour guide grabbed me before I could articulate any word and he offered me an interesting plan B. There was a van that was going with the provisions to the next camp, so if I wanted I could hop on. Me, van, camp, no more walking, no more hate, no more sweating. That equals some sort of a happy girl. A little bit sticky, full of mud but definitely happier. This was not the first time that we went camping, 20 kilos lighter and a non-smoker kind of life before I used to camp with my friends. And we were used to not showering too much if it was a week-end thing. We guessed that we were going to a remote place in the middle of nothing so carrying a shampoo, conditioner, towel, brush and body cream seemed useless. I arrived to the camp wishing that the Mr. Thai who was driving the van didn’t feel too much the will of fucking (me). The camp was not at all remote, actually it seemed like the part not yet constructed of a 5 stars hotel (Thai standards). It was like the barn of a country house, great view and fully equipped with showers. And there I was, without any possibility of having a proper shower. I didn’t have any other option than staying as stinky as I was. I had to make two braids to disguise that my hair was looking more like a gigantic dreadlock than actual hair. I had a nap while waiting for my friends in a mattress on the floor covered by blankets of Mickey Mouse and my little Pony. After a month of sharing beds and sleeping in dorms, having my own private room was more than I could ask for. I woke up hearing some voices and I thought that they were my guys but no, I met 2 guys 1 girls. A Swiss guy, a French one living in Switzerland and an American girl. An eye candy, 2 great people. Pierre was not only hot but he actually looked very similar to James McAvoy (years later I found out that one of his half-brother looks exactly like Stellan Skarsgard). Of course Pierre didn’t know who James McAvoy is and we were in a mountain in Thailand with no possibilities of googeling anything at all. I don’t now if I was clear enough, I was travelling with 4 male friends. 4 friends, very handsome guys. I love them to death and they are the best but I know them so much and for such a long time that for me, every one of them has a pussy. People tend not to know this fact. So I knew that as long as I was travelling with them I was kind of doomed, and I was not going to met anyone new. I knew it, and I was ok with it. The truth is that I didn’t even tried to met anyone in that month and a half together with them. So, despite my Swiss version of James McAvoy was a hottie I didn’t have any intention of letting him know I was thinking that way. While I was thinking about it, my Swiss cheese and his friend were having a shower (they were way smarter than us) and they were chatting, in French, so even if I had heard them I would not know what the fuck they were talking about. It seems that Pierre also suffered of a love at first sight (coup de foudre) and I was definitely his type. Latin with a strong personality. He has a thing for this part of the globe. His friend told him that he didn’t have a chance with me, that it was obvious that I was fucking at least one of my 4 friends, if not the 4. But Pierre didn’t care too much. That night we drank beer while being super cold, we talked a lot and we laughed a lot altogether. That night, when it was time to go to sleep and I was already tucked in my Little Pony and Mickey sheets, the only thing that I really wanted was Pierre knocking on my door and sleeping with me. But it didn’t happen. The following morning, the American girl that was travelling with them told Pierre that looking like James McAvoy was indeed a very good thing (and probably meant that I wanted to fuck him). Thank you American friend for cooperating with my love life. I also thank Buddha that we did the walking back to the village separately because he already had seen me quite dirty so at least he did not have to see me complaining every 5 seconds. My friends heated me, I hated them and I decided to continue walking with my flip-flops because my feet were killing me. I wanted a love story, like “Love story¨ but I didn’t wanted to die. I wanted a love like “The Lover”, passionate, sickish, something that marked me for life. I think that, in this case, things got a little bit better. Differences and similarities with “The lover” (movie based on Marguerite Duras novel)
1. We were in Thailand, spoiler alert, after we went to Myanmar. Not to Vietnam.
2. Pierre is Swiss, not Chinese
3. I am not French but I do live in a 3rd world country
4. Then, again, I’m not 15 anymore. Stop it!
5. Pierre is not a millionaire (or only in Indonesian rupees)
6. Like the Chinese guy, Pierre was also married
7. I’m quite sure that all the sun that I got in that trip made my skin look older
8. Technically, we were in Indochina. I scored.
When we came back to civilization, we talked about the idea of having a drink altogether. Of course, the lazy bastards of my friends didn’t want to go. I didn’t give a fuck and I went by myself. I’m not going to lie, the possibility of seeing that Swiss again seemed quite nice. At the bar I had a million Mai Tais when I saw coming my Swiss white chocolate all covered in soap, new clothes and perfumed. And to my surprise, he ended up siting next to me. I had always the sensation that if I wanted a guy to like me, I had to work. A lot. I thought it was unfair, but also I considered it as the rules of the game. I was in peace with the idea of committing and go all-in for a relationship, especially if I liked the guy. But was it necessary from the beginning? Nope, but I didn’t realize it yet. Or you like me or you don’t. So, when the conversation started heating up so naturally, so without any effort and he gently started caressing my leg, it seemed the best thing on earth. For me the touching part is very important. I suffered a lot having conversation with guys that I had big crushed on them and they did not even bother touching me. Not even my arm. That got me crazy. For me the touching, the caressing part meant: everything is ok, maybe now we are not making out but this night you are gonna end up with me. And I needed that. It seemed like all the men in my life didn’t got that simple rule. And there I was, many kilometers far away from home, talking with a stranger, a guy whom I didn’t know too much (banks, cheese, clocks, chocolates) but he knew exactly what he was doing. At some point of the conversation he asked me if I wanted to go to Myanmar with him. I said yes. Travelling to a “not so safe country” in the middle of a military coup with a random guy sounded kind of perfect.
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