The following entries were found in a journal, the contents of which seem to refer to events dating to early November 2014. Through the unknown author’s words, we can piece together a picture of the authentic experience of tropical island beach bums.

Captain’s Log, Day 1:

I find myself unsure of where to go and what to do out here. Earlier today, I took a bus and a boat, two hours and then another, respectively, to make my way out here to the island of Koh Rong. I’ve surrounded myself with something of a posse; there’s strength in numbers, both in bargaining and safety. After some first impressions, the savages, local and foreign alike, seem to accept me, albeit warily. I’ve been doing my best to assimilate into their culture, already having forsworn wearing a shirt of any kind until I return to the mainland.

If I return.

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Captain’s Log, Day 4:

Whether due to attrition of funds or intolerance of the swarming mosquitoes and sandflies, my original group has petitioned some locals and made it off the island. Will they reach the shore? No one can be certain in this feral-dog eat feral-dog world. Speaking of, there are more than the usual number of dogs out here, fighting with each other and begging for food. Far more. I wonder why that is.

I had originally planned to leave today as well, but found myself charmed into staying at least one more day. Not from the nightly howling, growling, and whimpering every night, but by another set of travelers and an old friend. This new tribe and I vibe even better than the last one, and we spend hours sharing stories of our lives around the game table. I am the clan chief of gaming. Though many challengers have risen, all have failed; no one can unseat me from my throne.

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Captain’s Log, Day 5:

The barbarians of the island are leaving us tonight. Temporarily, but at least we’ll have a respite. They’re ferrying their numbers to the far beaches for drinking, orgies, and human sacrifice in celebration of the full moon. As long as they leave and avoid my beach, my side of the island, I can accept their perversity.

Is this ‘my’ beach? The memory of that first day seems so far away now. The sun and stars melt time into a blur, and only my notes can tell days apart. It’s all lounging and conversations punctuated by excursions for food. And WiFi.

Many of my companions and those I meet in the locale have been completely seduced by the siren song of simple island life, but not I. I was born in a city and matured alongside the internet. As glamorous as the ‘simple island life’ and travel can seem, I find myself wishing for the familiar comforts of home: a work space for origami and crafting, Chinese food delivery, 24/7 electricity…

That will come in time. I’m not yet wholly ready to come home. So tonight I make the most of my time here, blending in as I can.

Tomorrow I leave the island.

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