Friday the 13th in Khao San Road

Shamelessly yawning due to an eight-hour bus ride from Manila, I position my butt on the wooden edge of a 20-seater boat, with my legs sprawled across a slump of yellow-painted bamboo.

The boatman slowly pulls force on the mud and the dominantly red water vehicle glides across this familiar blanket of saltwater. I hear chuckles and loud voices from more enthusiastic passengers and smirk at the site of varying cliché tourist poses.

We pass by clumps of mangroves and I close my eyes and rest my head on my bent knees with arms wrapped around the top portion of my legs. I shut the motor’s persistent roar in my eardrum, pressing against my heartbeat and slowly welcome the caressing billow of the water against the boat’s base.

With sweat trickling down my bosom, I awaken with a red cheek and squinty eyes to a vast expanse of the most cerulean I have ever seen. I blankly stare at the water with eyes now wide open and hope against all hopes that the hue vividly implants in my memory. The color changes to the most beautiful shade of maverick I have not once seen in any gift of nature.

I glare at the view ahead and finally spot the island. The water’s color shifts to the lightest shade of aqua green then eventually clears up to nothing but creases of the current and the fine white sand beneath.

With tents in site, a long shore of fine white grains of sand, mango trees, the scorching rays of the 11am sun, and the gushes of wind that smells of seawater and sunblock, I say a little prayer of thanks for being nine hours away from paradise.