Travelling brings people together from all over the world. As I have previously stated, the selection of nationalites that I have encountered and embraced along my relatively short journey thus far has been as varied as it has been delightful. Prior to Koh Chang the main ratio had been pretty evenly split between Canadians, Germans, Dutch, Americans, Brits and Swedes. This place was bout to swing it though, and It wasn't even going to be close.
I will go out on a limb and say I have never seen so many Swedish people in one place.
And I have been to Sweden.
There came a point when it became easier to assume someone was Swedish before even asking what other geographic locality may have spawned them. Luckilly I have a lot of affection for the Swedish. This experience forces you to find ways to establish common ground with any individual that crosses your path. Whether its discussing the minutae of the small local geographic knowledge you have for remote countries, or whether it is being greeted by a Cambodian tuk-tuk driver with the phrase 'lovely jubbly' upon discovering your British identity, everyone manages some form of connection. With the Swedish though, it comes pretty easily.
From my respect for burgeoning UFC star Alexander Gustaffson to the fact that I spent a significant portion of my life being raised by a fleet of Swedish au-pairs, there is always something to say. Being taken to task on my table manners and eating habits by a 19 year old swedish girl took me back in an entirely unexpected manner of nostalgia.
One individual stood out though. I think he is my new personal hero.
When we first got off the ferry to Koh Chang, we were tired, hot, confused and stuck. Being the last people on to dry land, all the previous taxis had departed and the one awaiting us was only half full. It clearly served the drivers financial ends to make us wait for the next ferry to arrive, providing him with a greater passenger load and a fatter pay off. The problem was the next ferry wasn't due for over an hour and we were getting increasingly worn out.
When the heavy set, middle aged guy with the closely cropped slightly greying hair stood up to talk to the driver and get us going I was relieved. When he returned a few minutes later with a smile on his face and a bag full of beer I was impressed. When he informed me that my journey was now going to cost less then it was before, I was amazed. When he introduced himself as Bjorn, I was in love.
Bjorn and his wife Tris were holiday makers. He was a removals truck driver from an area of rural Sweden with a name I could hardly pronounce, let alone remember. They took one big holiday a year to a Thai island to relax, drink, party and re-embrace their inner youth.
Having found themselves in an equally remote and antisocial part of the island as the one I had ended up, they coincidentally moved to the same location as I did the following day. Finding my way solo to a local bar on my second night, I established a fun conversation with a pair of fellow British travellers who had to excuse themselves due to early on-set dissentary or something of the like. Looking across the bar I suddenly saw Bjorn and Tris sitting happily with a beer and a bucket in their respective hands.
I made my way over, intending to make light chit chat whilst I finished off the last of my current drink. Many hours later when we all stumbled home together, the world had been put to rights and as much as I could be sure of anything at that point in time, I knew that boundaries of generation of geography meant less to me than they ever had previously.
In the following days we watched a Thai blues band make unique art of Clapton and Hendrix, we occasionally met each other lounging by the pool and eventually we both moved on without getting to exchange parting pleasantries. Company round here can be many things but it is certainly fleeting. The beauty of it all is that there is still a whole world of other people to meet along the way. Any bets of who they will be next are firmly off.
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