You'll Rhu the Day

I looked across the inkyblue ocean. There in front of me was Thailand, land of the Siamese, but not joined at the hip.

Paddling the canoe out from the bay shaped like the horns of a Stag Beetle, I figured that it was less than seven miles across the straight to the mountainous tropical island in front of me.

I was so glad that I had packed my beany hat and pieces of colourful fabric to keep the sun off me. It was seering hot and the humidity was awesome, like standing in a warm shower.

Stoked up on bananas and fantasies about finding an island full of nubile women all gagging for me to pleasure them senseless, I rowed on heroically I thought.

I imagined being one of our ancestors, facing the unknown thousands of years ago, crossing oceans on the back of beer matts and prehistoric pool tables.

Three Miles out and I was leaving Malaysia behind, sure was pretty, I hope they let me back in.

At a rock outcrop a very large fish passed by, a Marlin I think, it was whopping, I had to stop to and watch it glide beneath the boat.

My friend Iqbal had always told me about Marlin fishing in Mauritius and how dangerous they are, how powerful.

It was all that and more. An eye stared intently from beneath the crystal water and then with a nonchalant flick of its tail it shot away.

'Hey Matt Saleh!', 'Matt Saleh', 'Excuse me Sir' came the cry from thirty feet away.

A Malaysian Fisherman pulled his small boat up to my canoe, big smile on his face, he asked me what I was doing, curious rather than nosy. We chatted-in broken english and I got to use the smattering of Malay that I had learnt-for a few minutes and then I continued with new vigour.