Apparently there is a novel
called The Beach, which has apparently spawned a film called, I believe, The
Beach. My limited understanding of these cultural phenomena extends as far as having
been told that the opening scene takes place in Khao San Road, Bangkok. This
place, to the unfamiliar, is hard to describe in any fashion that does justice
to the depths of its depravity. A wise man once told me, long before leaving
the UK, that when we were in Bangkok we were not to stay anywhere near Khao San
Road or I’d end up killing someone. What he didn’t say was that even wandering
down a few blocks of it, with its cavernous British pubs, full of white
backpackers, eating British food, drinking British beer and chatting happily to
each other in English over the blare of British music about the delights that South
East Asia has to offer, was cause enough for justifiable homicide. These
people, apparently, are highly motivated to find the “perfect beach”, and this
quest takes them to places like Sihanoukville. This, of course, is merely a
jumping off point, for Sihanoukville is achingly uncool, with its crowds of
other beach bums, hawking children, cocktail merchants and occasional beggar. I
suspect that the perfect beach would be one that is populated by the minimum
number of locals required to service the needs of a very small and
self-selecting group of fairly wealthy gap year students with a high alcohol
tolerance and a languid enthusiasm for adrenaline sports. Some sort of
backpacker version of “terra nullis”, except with a well-stocked 7/11 hidden
out of sight.
