A Place called Bumtore

 

A Place called Bumtore

 

 NOTE: NO PHOTOS IN THIS BLOG; ALL PICTURES ARE ADVERTISEMENTS.

Genre – Fiction

Sub-genre – Comedy

Length of blog – 1800 words

 

                “There is a place called Bumtore in your Excel sheet?” Selim continued, “I checked on Google, no error in spelling, maybe the pronunciation is bimtorey, or
bumtire or boomtaur”

                “It’s pronounced – ‘bum-tore’”, Thawatchai continued, “I know coz it’s my hometown.”

                Selim looked at his friend fromthe navigator seat of the car.

                “And why am I hearing about this now”, Selim said.

                 “It is just an ancestral home used once in year by a handful of my relatives, that is if they care to visit”, Thawatchai said.

                They were off for a weeklong coastal road trip. They had hired a car and would be stopping at the various pre-scheduled spots.

                “I got to hand it to you”, Selim continued, “Using Microsoft Excel to formulate the plan.”

                “We use excel at our offices to help us work better, why not use it to better our personal lives as well”, Thawatchai said.

                 On Thawatchai’s coaxing, Selim had taken half day leave and readied himself, picked his bags and reached the car rental place before 4 p.m.

                “We beat the weekend traffic out of the city. That’s a good start to our vacay”, Thawatchai continued, “I thought you would be late, and a miniscule part thought that you would cancel.”

                “Nah! I am too lazy a person to give up on a holiday”, Selim said.

                They headed westwards into the sunset and began to recce for a hotel. They setup their alarms for daybreak and left southwards. They decided to take all the roads that would be hugging the coastline. However, they had to move inland to crossover an upcoming creek.

                “That is the only bridge that takes us far from the west coast”, Selim said.

                “Yes, the next three creeks we would be crossing via ferries”, Thawatchai said.

                “I did not know that this was a trip to your native place”, Selim said.

                “No. Bumtore is not our destination, but we would be spending a night there”, Thawatchai said.

                Selim was on the phone checking the excel sheet.

                By afternoon they had reached their second destination. A lazy white-sand beach greeted them. A fishing village accompanied with a marina. Here they played it by ear and got lunch at one of the fishermen’s houses. The village was trying to attract tourists without trying to be too commercial about it. And they found themselves being guided towards a home-stay. A huge hall with many bunkbeds in it constituted their stay. They were lucky that it was only the two of them in it, that too on a weekend. They were informed that the place had just been vacated by a gang of bikers. The townsfolk showed them a plethora of things that could be done in their village which included, boar hunting at night, shell collecting, volleyball with the local boys in the evening, help with fishing lines out in the ocean on one of the trawlers, etc.

                A hearty breakfast the next day and they were off.  

                “Seemed like we could have stayed out our entire seven days there”, Selim said.

                “Yeah, a wonderful little nook”, Thawatchai said.

                The sea view on their right was breath-taking. They stopped whenever they felt they wanted to give justice to the view. Lunch was at another beach – this time the beach had dark sand. Tea at another beach. Their journey to their night stay was atop a hill.

                “Can’t wait to see the view in the morning”, Selim said.

                They had reached the place after sundown. The enquiries at the hotels near the bottom of the hill had eaten into the daylight. The view of the waves being formed in the middle of the sea, the next morning was as awesome as they had imagined the previous night. The view to V-shaped beach below was obstructed by the coconut tree tops and the red-tiled roofs. But they could see all the way from the horizon to the waves forming way out in the middle of nowhere and rolling towards land.

                “Next stop, our first ferry”, Thawatchai said.

                There were not more than a handful of cars plying to the other side in the ferry. Mostly commercial vehicles. It was Monday morning after all. They passed many fishing villages, some small, some set away from the main road, all gaudily coloured. They went through one – the narrow roads of a fishing village not meant for cars – when Selim read the map wrong. A couple of dead ends too. Their oath of sticking to the coast, always their motivator.

                By lunch they had reached the next ferry crossing. A quick snack and the journey continued. A few more beaches and they were settled in another home-stay. This time it was the local priest’s son’s house. That was realised by the singing that went late into the night.

                “Yes, he looks very noble, but he was accompanied by the chicks of the village, dude”, Selim said.

                “Too bad we are not religious”, Thawatchai said.

                Both laughed as they finished their breakfast and carried onwards.

                “This is my favourite spot”, Thawatchai said.

                They had stopped passed a small stream. And Thawatchai had led Selim off the road into a thicket. The vegetation covered a cove formed where the sea water met the fresh water. Shells rolled In the sand.

                “On it’s like a secret mini-beach”, Selim said.

                A couple of beers later, they ate lunch at the next spot they could.

                “We will stay at a place one hour from here, but we won’t stop there. For no, we will continue south to the third ferry and check out the earliest boat we can take, as it would save us time tomorrow” Thawatchai said.

A dubious factory loomed in front of them. It was on the other side of the river. They had passed the inn where they would spend the night and were headed into the industrious looking town which included the jetty from where they would catch their ferry. They understood the first one next morning was at 6 a.m.

                “Let’s check and see if we get a good place here, it would save us a couple of hours of travel time tomorrow morning”, Selim said.

                A couple of stops and they summarized that this was not their kind of place.

                “Were those hotels or make-out places?”, Thawatchai said.

                “Hardworking salted men need those services”, Selim said.

                They both gladly did the back and forth away from the brothel-like inns. The next day, after their ferry ride, they faced the factory that seemed to have made this area into what it was. They left the gloom behind onto the last stretch to Bumtore.

                “Did you notice, that this could be any country having a coastline. Rivers running into the ocean at periodic intervals, the beaches close to the rivers have black soil, while the ones away from the silt, having white-sand. Hills with roads that seem to exit into the ocean, except to wind away into a fishing village”, Selim said.

                They reached Bumtore around lunch and booked themselves into a hotel close to the only entrance to the long beach.

                “No. I do not have any relatives still living here. Hence, we are staying in the hotel”, Thawatchai continued, “My ancestral house is way south on the outskirts of Bumtore. I will show it to you when we are passing it tomorrow”

                They were in their beach clothes, heading for the beach for an evening swim.

                “The south end of the beach is a gated community while the north is encased by Hilton Hotel group of Hotels. So, this is the only entrance”, Thawatchai said.

                On the beach they headed northwards, away from the throng of locals at the south end. The beach was flat except for a few car sized rocks at intermittent intervals.

                “Don’t you find the name peculiar – Bumtore”, Selim said.

                “The joke grows on you”, Thawatchai continued, “I’ll tell you what I have found peculiar- these rocks are peculiar. I have come to this beach many a time, during low tides too, these rocks seem to be placed here without any correlation to the surrounding terrain”

                After a few more paces, they entered the water where it seemed like a good secluded spot. They saw two bikini clad women jump over the short Hilton fence onto the beach and head their way. Soon both the groups were ogling each other up.

                “Go and speak to the tall one”, Selim continued, “I have dibs on the short dark one.”

                The weather had turned breezy and dark clouds seemed to gather on top of them. Neither the girls nor the boys in their flirtations noticed the gathering of storm clouds coming in from the sea. Until there was loud clap and it began to pour. Both the groups looked at each other.

                “Count the seconds after you see the lightning” Selim said.

                “Dude look the clouds on top of us seemed to have formed a circle”, Thawatchai said.

                Two more thunder claps without any difference in time between the lightning strikes and the thunder, made Selim and Thawatchai get out of the water. They saw the girls follow suit. In the distance, the crowded south end of the beach was empty. They walked fast not wanting to run like sheep in front of the two girls.

                “Lets head for the Hilton hotel”, Thawatchai said.

                “Trees dude, lightning strikes the trees first”, Selim said.

                The rain was relentless. They crossed the first set of rocks. Another two more to go before they could exit the beach. They walked faster. The storm clouds had curled overhead and were rumbling on. As if waiting to let out another lash of lightning.

                “Badagboodoog”, said the clouds with a flash of lightning.

                Selim saw Thawatchai looking down at the sand. Selim looked around to see where the flash was. No luck! Everything was hazy and the light seemed to come from all around. The girls behind them too, had avoided the woods and were following them to the exit.

                “Do you know how glass is made?” Selim said.

                Thawatchai did not look up from the sand.

              “Sand when heated forms glass”, Selim continued, “And when lightning strikes people standing on sand, these rocks are formed. You found these rocks peculiar, right? Now you know why?”

                Thawatchai walked away from Selim towards the woods, while Selim laughed his anxiety into the rain. Selim tried to get close to Thawatchai.

                “Blood has made the glass brown in colour”, Selim continued his laugh, “Tomorrow people would simply see a new set of rocks.”

 Thawatchai zigzagged away from Selim, as if the silly rock-becoming joke would come true. Or perhaps He did not want any part in Selim’s mockery of mother nature at her wildest.

                At long last, they reached the beach exit and the boys went straight to their hotel room.

                “Now I know the reason why this place is called Bumtore”, Selim said.

 

— THE END —