29 Sunset: AoNang Beach

The day is ending and there are long-tail boats returning from Railay Beach. Despite the building presence of cloud cover folding over on itself along the horizon at Nopporat Thara, the setting sun should be visible through it soon. Already colours are changing in the sky. Long white streaks of high, cirrus cloud are tinted with orange and pink. As the Andaman Sea reaches the shores, these incoming boats switch off their engines and use momentum to glide into the tidal shallows, dropping anchor into the sands of AoNang. Passengers climb overboard and wade in ankle deep waters up onto the beach, moving up towards a concrete ramp outside the bright blue Ticket Office (where boat rides can be bought). The Ticket Office sits on the corner of AoNang Beach Road and a small, narrow Soi which branches off and runs along the sea front down towards the end of the beach (where the mountain meets the sea).

Along this Soi – between the Ticket Office and just before the AoNang Villa Resort  KungKing and her massage team rest on small chairs outside their shop: Dada & KungKing BF Massage. There is a short lull in business, a pause in their day. The staff take this moment to rest. They sit and watch the sunset together. The sun pours out from a crack in the cloud cover. In an instant, honeyed sunshine fills this part of the world. Selfies and cameras instantly appear all over the beach. Those on the sand all become a part of this brevity of being; each person belonging to the colours and backgrounds as they begin to appear in the photographs of others.

The staff take this moment to rest. They sit together outside their shop, talking, exchanging conversation, looking at the beach. Each member is highly visible by their jade and teal coloured uniforms, which shines in a contrast of colour to the setting light of the sun. Most of the staff finished work here at ten o’clock last night; some were in at a half-past seven this morning: cleaning, sweeping, preparing for the day (there are no days off). Suddenly along the Soi arrives a novelty: a blue tuktuk selling ice-cream. In unison, the staff all jump up off their chairs and stop the ice-cream seller – an elderly man who struggles to keep up with their orders. Jade green teal swarms around the blue vehicle, money exchanges for ice creams and smiles as the orange light of dusk sets across wet sand. And the sunlight seems to shine brighter for this moment.

Like many people in AoNang, everyone is aware that high season is approaching. All are hoping that the tourists will return. It has been a long two years for everyone and many stories exist concerning survival and hardship during the pandemic and its lockdowns.

One of the reasons I began writing the Siesta del Somewhere series was as a creative response to the pandemic. With travel restrictions imposed, I began to go through journals kept over the past twenty years of travelling and enjoyed re-visiting places, moments and observations long-forgotten but written down in ink. The decision to share these, along with photographs taken on the journeys, was an attempt to offer a distraction from the saturated coverage and anxiety of the pandemic. It was hoped that the ‘postcards’ uploaded would offer some kind of reminder that ‘normality’ could and did exist in the worst of times. One of the promises I made to myself was not to mention the pandemic in this series – something I managed up until now. But the purpose of writing, along with the purpose of travel, is elusive to define; sharing one’s experiences is only one aspect – telling the stories of others is equally as important.

The pandemic has changed this corner of the earth. Many people have been displaced – having to move elsewhere looking for work (to rural areas, to the cities, or back home with families). Many people had to leave what lives, friends, communities they belonged to in order to take care of themselves and their loved ones. A small roadside bar further down the Soi (just before the Centara Hotel) sells smoothies, roti pancakes and meals. The owners told me that they had no customers for two years. Without tourists there was, of course, no income. No income for two years. Many businesses, so reliant on tourism, disappeared. Stories are told of local restaurants providing free meals to those who lost their incomes during this period.

A little further along the Soi is the Beach Bar of the AoNang Villa Resort. It is happy hour and there is a good mix of people milling about and sharing the sunset. Guests sit and face out onto the Andaman Sea and Poda Island. The sun makes a final reprise – long rays stretch one last time across the beach. Down on the sand a mixed soccer match takes place. The pitch is unmarked on the receded shore line as the incoming tide or coming darkness will soon stop play. Colours of sunset are changing again; deepening and bruising, burning with the embers of intensity. A warm wind blows in off the shore. Bar managers and hotel managers are chatting with each other. People shift seats to photograph the sun and its colours – one last attempt to catch this beauty before it disappears into the night.

Casual customers wander up off the beach, past the large swings hanging from giant trees, and join the remains of the day. The bar is open to all. Some order food, some order drinks. Wait staff are working behind the bar, a red Mai Tai cocktail is being served in a poco grange glass (earlier this afternoon the food and beverage staff were having fun learning to make new cocktails in preparation for the high season). A woman is finally joined by her husband who has had a final fitting at De Marco’s Fashions just behind the bar. He is happy with his shirts, so very happy, and shows them to her (pointing towards the tailor’s shop).

Slowly, slowly, tourism is returning. Even for more established businesses such as the Ao Nang Villa Resort (one of the first hotels in this area in 1989), the pandemic affected lives, friendships and business here. Rather than returning to normal, life has learnt to move on and adapt for now. Through the haze over the ocean, through the lost sunlight, another longtail boat cuts its engine and glides into the shallows at Ao Nang.

The sun has now set. Light is fading. Banks of cloud are stacked up on the horizon over at Nopporat Thara. Hanging lanterns blink into life with pin prick of greens, oranges and yellow illuminating a haze of colour around light bulbs strung within the dark branches of the palm and almond trees. The outlines of the islands along the horizon seem to grow in stature, embolden, standing taller in the dusk. The ocean changes colour with a milk-jade sheen washing through its surface as a shower of light rain falls. The air is moving but feels thick and humid. Mosquitos buzz about. Stray cats weave through the shadows. Darkness comes and it is time to eat.

Many bars and restaurants also have their stories to tell from the past few years. The Fisherman’s Bar survives and, for now, is the last stop along this Soi which faces out onto the Sea. Should you wander further along, towards the Monkey Trail and the small Buddhist shrine where the river meets the ocean, now only abandoned and disused buildings stand empty. There was once a large community of around fifteen massage huts there – all open air, thatched roofs, standing on sand, facing out onto the Andaman Sea. It was a destination in itself for many returning tourists who established friendships and community with those who worked here. Currently, only two huts are still standing and in operation (the rest were cleared); KungKing was one of the fortunate ones who had the luck to find new premises.

So many places had to adapt, so many disappeared, a few relocated and can be found elsewhere. As the Ao Nang Beach Road moves up away from the ocean, away from the bright blue Ticket Office and away from this Soi, it heads towards the Ao Nang Mosque and eventually on to Krabi Town. Along this road, new places can be found alongside the old: Jeseao, Boogie Bar, Thai Me Up, Thanya Kitchen, Lobster Restaurant, Ton Ma Yom. These, of course, are only a few of the many businesses here in Ao Nang – all have their stories to tell. All are waiting for the high season.

The wind has started blowing and it sounds like rain on the roof of the Fisherman’s Bar. Night has now come. Sounds move all around me – different languages flowing in conversations. Bells bing for service. Soft jazz and bossanova play in the background. I sit up on one of the high bars, which looks out into the darkness covering the beach. I can hear the ocean; I can taste it on the wind.

What a place this would be to come to write in the evenings, to sit here at the day’s end, to talk with strangers, to try to capture these moments forever in ink (and hope someone else reads them on another day). As travellers all we can do is to follow the beaten tracks of others and then explore our own. Whatever stories we discover they are never ours to keep; they encounter us in the hope they will be told again to others. The ocean is the perfect place in which to find dreamers and storytellers. Yellow light falls down on this blank page.

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