Alas, Old Bill is no longer with us. For over three months he has been my faithful travelling companion and has had my back (well the back of my neck anyway) covered right from the first day we met. But tragically in the rush to board a train to Chaing Mai a couple of nights ago he disappeared. A search of the train revealed no signs and now I have no doubt that the worst has happened and that he is gone.

Old Bill was of course my trusty straw hat that I finally managed to buy in Krabi Town after a long and fruitless search through much of Thailand. Here is why he shall be sorely missed, not just on every sunny day.

Carrying a hat around while backpacking is a suprisingly challenging pastime. Unlike other traveller essentials a straw hat cannot be rolled/folded/stuffed into a rucksack and forgotten about until something lower in the bag is needed. No, a hat requires far more attention. With each move it must be worn. No matter what the weather is like, or how many low hanging obstacles will be obscured by its brim, it must always be worn. It cannot be carried on the back either for that is obviously already the home of you rucksack. It can be tried to the pack, but it will only hit every single person on the train/bus/plane… no, a hat must be worn when moving. However, it is this forced intimacy that makes the heart grow fonder and the loss more upsetting.

But it was more than just the number of hours Old Bill was worn for. We’d been through a lot together: we’d climbed mountans, explored ancient ruins and ultra-modern supercities, and all the while he had faithfully shaded my brow. That is not to say that we didn’t have our fallling outs: in KL he was hurled to the floor in a fit of anger destroying the bead that held his string to my neck or onto my back (later to be replaced by Lou’s hairband). Time after time he was stuffed into overhead lockers or chucked onto dirty floors, and the wire in his brim was rusting after protecting me from one too many rainstorms, his brow becoming increasingly frayed by lack of care. Yet through all this the only hints of dissent were a constant attempt to straighten himself out and a tendency to jump off my head everytime I got off a bus, hardly mighty crimes.

About a week ago I thought the end had come. Old Bill had been left on a bus in Java only to be returned to me by a grinning Indonesian 3 hours later when our new bus stopped at the same cafe as Bill’s. A miracle! But woeful tidings, the lesson was not learned, and finally Old Bill was lost. I’ll miss you old friend, your end was too meek to be fitting.

Old Bill R.I.P.: March 2008 – July 2008.