Running into the riptide

by Sophie Mehta (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

A leap into the unknown United Kingdom

I stood alone in the room of my Bangkok guesthouse – I had no idea what to do. Outside, the raucous and uncertain streets of Khao San Road awaited me. The adventure I had dreamt of my entire life was waiting to begin, all I had to do was step outside, but all I could do was think of what I had left behind. Yesterday I woke in the familiarity of my own bed, 9,500 kilometres away. I opened my eyes in the same room, stepped out of the same door, and walked the very same streets I had walked most days, for the best part of 21 years. But today, just 24 short hours later, I found myself somewhere unfamiliar, tucked away in a guesthouse somewhere in Bangkok’s epicentre, searching for the courage to step into my new life. Khao San Road was the backpacker mecca of Bangkok, with Bangkok being the gateway to South East Asia. This was the first destination on many a nomad’s bucket list when travelling this part of the world – just as it was mine. It was the stage for countless anecdotes and tales from throughout time, but for me, it was merely the first chapter of my consequential story. But first, I had to step outside. Just one week later, having taken those first crucial steps, I found my feet submerged into the golden sands of Sairee Beach, Koh Tao. My hair was salty, my skin was stained, but even though I now looked the part, I felt unsure about where my new life was taking me. Don’t get me wrong, it had been an unforgettable seven days – seven days in which the word journey had started to mean a lot more to me than it did before. A journey was no longer something that could be measured in miles and metres, in minutes or months, facilitated by trains and sails. A journey could now be measured by the depth of my feelings, by the number of tears I had shed and laughs I had shared, how far I had voyaged into the unknown, how many paths I had crossed and in the quantity of friends I met along the way. My journey so far had physically taken me from North to South, but had taken my mood in the opposite direction. From the chaotic streets of Khao San Road we had taken the overnight train to Khao Sok National Park and eventually travelled across to the islands. It was our first night on the island. I swayed under strobing neon lights, long leafy palm trees, and under the iridescent glow of a not-quite full moon. My hands were occupied by my cool, smooth, bucket of booze – known all too well by any visitor of the Thai island. Coarse sand swallowed my naked toes and every few seconds I would feel the damp encounter of someone’s sweaty body sweep past my shoulder, like a wet paintbrush stroking a fresh canvas. The beach came alive at night. Shacks decorated the shoreline of Sairee Beach each with their own prevalent music style, their own shade of luminous lighting, and with their own take on the infamous bucket. Bohemian, bronzed bodies filled their bar stools. My head was hazy from the cold, fruity liquor I had been sipping on all evening – it was empty of thought when the song came on: “Lady, running down to the riptide…” Riptide, by Vance Joy – I hadn’t heard it before that night, but boy has it stayed with me ever since. As the girls in my group danced to the anthem, with every word on the tip of their lips, I realised how far I had come in seven short days. I had traded in my bedroom for a backpack, my once styled hair was now curled and twisted in every direction; I no longer lived to see the number increase in my bank account, but to see the number of stamps increase in my passport. I had given up all of my worldly possessions in order to see the world, and now I was finally ready to run into the riptide of my new life.