The Ladykillers

KOH SAMUI, Thailand - New Hut is accurately named: it consists of a couple dozen thatched-roof bungalows 50 meters from one of the world's nicest beaches. That it still costs $5 a night to rent these when the Thai baht is rapidly appreciating and budget long distance travels means it's easier than ever for Israeli, Swedish and German backpackers to get these is a minor miracle.

Yesterday I arrived with Zach, my traveling companion, and Katy, a 22-year-old Brit who recently decided to drop out of the University of Nottingham and travel for several months. We met on the ferry, where downstairs the Spike Lee movie "Inside Man" screened in a cabin air-conditioned to meat locker levels and upstairs a couple hundred people craned toward the boat's bow to catch the first glance of the Koh Samui. After a couple hours of conversation (interrupted by visits to check on the movie's bank heist), we decided to look for accommodation together.

New Hut's bungalows look the same from the outside, but this belies a plethora of sleeping options. I saw a twin bungalow, a double bungalow, a bungalow that slept four in different, a bungalow with an attached bathroom and a bungalow with an additional fan. We settled on two: a twin for Zach and I and a double for Katy. This decision had consequences.

This morning I woke up around 10:00 a.m. to an overcast sky and an empty beach. August is the end of Thailand's monsoon season, and so far paradise has been cloudy.

Zach went to the bathroom. He came back with a brown leather object in his hand. "This was sitting outside," he said.

It was my wallet, empty of cash. Thankfully there hadn't been much to take: about $10 in Thai currency, and less than a dollar each in Indian, Chinese, Bhutani and Nepalese currency.

We inventoried the bunglow. I couldn't find my shorts (the location of my wallet) or my iPod. I hung the shorts on a clothing hanger near the bungalow's entrance prior to sleep. Whoever stole the cash must have grabbed the shorts, removed the money and left. But I wondered how they could have stolen my iPod which I fell asleep listening to underneath my mosquito net.

I went to the owner of the guesthouse and told him about my loss. He was Thai with an accent that emphasized nasal sounds in his vowels and therefore a little like Daffy Duck.

"I sorry," he said, and looked around the front of our bungalow. "Maybe three o'clock, four o'clock, after bars close Ladyboys come through. They want smoke, they need money, they take your stuff."

So here's his explanation: In the pitch-black, middle of the night, a bunch of transvestite prostitutes stumble home a couple kilometers from a bar, checking beach front cabins along the way. They find our door slightly ajar, reach into the left side and take a pair of shorts hanging on a nail. They also sneak into the cabin, under the mosquito net and remove my iPod and the long, tangled headphones, all without a flashlight or waking Zach and I. Pretty reasonable.

My instinct tells me that it was an inside job, that someone employed at the bungalow made an early morning run through easily-accessible bungalows, but then again, if I listened to my instinct, I would have realized that cabin of my dreams doesn't come without a price.