‘Does Ho Chi Minh look like Colonel Sanders or am I crazy!?’
Bagels and cream cheese before we check out and bump into the Sandvika couple and join them en route to the pier to board the ‘Strong Sperm 3’ or once Robert and I put our glasses on- the Song Serm 9... Yeah myopia, entertaining and frustrating me since 2007. The Norwegians delight us with some more Swedish phrase gold. I love that the Swedish language is even a joke in Norway, where, to the untrained ear, they sound identical… They call sausage sandwiches ‘cock in canoe’ which is so fantastically Scandinavian, and the @ symbol is referred to as snabal ’a’ (snar bull ah) which translates closely in English to ’elephants trunk ’a’. How cute, the a curls like an elephants trunk so they just say it like it is. Calling a spade a spade. Wish the people took after the language.
Boarding the boat I take extreme care to utilise the support beams in the knowledge that this wooden pier had taken a monsoonal beating over the past few days and is more than likely on its last legs. The Ocean Girl in me was distracted however by the flourishing coral reef below the jetty, a meager 20 metres from the mediocre reef and mini long tail wreck where I snorkeled yesterday. Gayshit, or, shitass as the Norwegians would say. To our delight, even with Pramin in my nervous seafaring belly, the water was dead calm and dead clear. So calm in fact that it seemed to ‘melt’ into the horizon in the words of Norwegian cinematographer and fervent observer of people, Robert. I can see how we thought the world was flat. It certainly seems that way today with the sky bleeding into the water. So dead and so calm and quiet the end of the earth seemed almost tangible, like we were nearly there. Limestone crags covered in palms and thick jungle jutted out of the ceaseless calm as we sat beneath the Thai flag flapping in the breeze. Robert hums the Jurassic Park theme and we all snicker and nod in agreement. Our bare feet flapping in the wind as Eira and I hang over the side of the boat, like the other explorers, bare tattooed feet, cigarette smoke, shirtless, sweaty and golden. She tells me about a book by a German author called The Swarm, and insists because we share a love of all things under the sea I would adore this book, Robert interrupts to remind her this book was the catalyst for her fear of fish. Perhaps I’ll put that book on the backburner until I have my PADI. I also learn that Free Willy himself escaped and fled to Norway, dying in the Fjord. If I was a child -star-whale I’d probablay seek refuge in the Fjord too. Only Norwegians would be so accepting of a Killer Whale asylum seeker.
Continuing the theme, I spot several dads with loud shirts. One is sporting a bright blue T-shirt decorated with different types of elephants and those hideous sexual predator-esque sunglasses that extend straight across the forhead giving that ever seductive monobrow look. Just as I crink my neck to shake my head in knowing disapproval, I cop an eyeful of his backpack adorned with patches from every corner of the globe, countries that haven’t even yet seduced the longing adventurer inside me. I’ll let this fruit get away with his shirt.
…But the dad in the pink yellow and green tie dye, open at the front showing some sweaty grey haired chest and sporting oversized ‘I’m on vacation’ straw hat- you’re dead set kidding.
The Norwegians leave us on Koh Phangan, after Eira shows me the video she and Robert produced and directed for a 20 year old, fresh out of the closet, quote ‘dancer,’ who had decided making a video of himself ‘dancing’ around to Madonna would be an ideal wedding gift for his sister. The cinematography was spectacular and did much to mask the fact that there was a dude gyrating haphazardly attempting to give his disorganized bodily jolts as a wedding gift. The mark of a great cinematographer.
A backpacker removes his Dive shop T-shirt and pulls out a tan hiking boot, propping it under his head using it as a makeshift pillow. Beads of sweat form on his forehead and I watch them, waiting for them to drip down the side of his head and see what he does about it. He is asleep. I am jealous of his backpacker prowess, able to sleep on a boot in the searing Thai heat. Calico and fishermans pants flap in the cigarette smoke laced breeze. Ipod, out the window, hanging off the boat in the sun, skin burning, free thought. See below.
I am captivated with the idea of scouring the globe in search of moments of collective effervescence. Those out of body moments of palpable joy. Rare as they are, and difficult and challenging as they are to find, the fleeting experience of a slice in time where everything seems perfect, still and full seems worth the fervent and tumultuous pursuit. The times where happiness seems tangible, and you’re so full of it you feel like you need to shout or jump around to let some out just so you can breathe, so you do. Moreover, I find the people that choose to dedicate their life to searching for these moments, captivating, fascinating, brave. They are not the failures they are often told they are. I would like to be one someday…
I’ve had some of those elusive moments on this trip. They are the moments that stick out in vivid detail, sight, sound and colour.
Travel is like life in Technicolor. A life where everyday menial tasks suddenly take on new, deeper meaning and suddenly everything is interesting again.
Neutral buoyancy is something I only ever want when I’m diving.
The name Silverado, although we thought it unusual at first, has come to personify us with uncanny accuracy and has become quite functional. We have the Silvers, the parents, and the Rados, the kids. It denotes the Silver anniversary, and Rado, in Colorado. Then there is the Silverado car, tough and adventurous, just like us. Seven pieces of silver. It really suits us.
I think of Nick and his incorporation of Blackhawk signs into everyday vernacular. I think particularly of the fist with the other palm acting as a hat, denoting ‘trouble with load’, it has come in handy in South East Asia, he remarks.
Somehow, we are in Surat Thani on time. We have already changed boats and I anticipate a 6 or so vehicle transfer ahead of us. We miss a bus, wait for another. Driving through Surat Thani I take pictures out the window of the school children on their way home from school. In uniform they pile onto motorbikes, 4, 5, 6 to a bike, they walk along the busy highway, the older children guiding the younger, holding hands, in their pink and green uniforms and giant backpacks. An elderly man takes a kip in a roadside hammock. After an hour or so we change that bus for a terminal where we are flogged accommodation and scammed out of 300 extra baht for the remainder of the journey. After waiting for two boats, and an extended wait for a big bus and a minibus I am thanking my travel stars that I am relaxed and well used to travel in this country by now. Sick of Thailand, we refuse to pay and eventually get our way, although by the time we get our way, I am wishing we hadn’t because we would have ended up in Phuket Town for the night. I now have this bizarre pull toward Phuket Town and I am insistent on exploring it before I leave. So Lonely Planet bags the shit out of it, and it is the home of the dive of a hotel made famous by the movie The Beach, you know where Richard first meets Daffy and he kills himself? That shitty accommodation is the On On Hotel in Phuket Town. I want to visit that. I want to stay there, at 200 baht a night, it’s an offer any film buff/ novice adventurer cant refuse. Nobody goes there, to Town that is. It’s where all the workers who commute to Phuket’s beaches and Phang-Nga everyday go home to. It is Thailand, not some scummy Western establishment. I wanted to see those establishments, I’ve seen those establishments, I’m done with them. I want to eat real Thai food where the real Thai’s eat real Thai cooked by real Thais where pictures of real Thai celebrities adorn the walls. I want shitty décor and plastic seats and no English on the menu. I want to bleed out my eyes and run watery snot onto the table experiencing spice like the Thais do it. I want no carrot in my food, and a steaming noodle soup. I want to climb Phuket hill and soak in the view of the Andaman sea engulfing the island, which I imagine is so much prettier from far away. I want to descend the hill and not be attacked by packs of starving rabid dogs. I want to see the giant Buddha, and the Chinese Taoist temples and the places where the infamous and gruesome Vegetarian Festival takes place. I want to be here one September/October for the Vegetarian festival, once I have strengthened my apparently soft stomach, (I couldn’t even finish looking at photographs of this event! Google it!). I want to go to the markets and buy fresh fruit, shoulder to shoulder with the stall holders that will be buying fruit to take to Patong to put in fruit shakes and charge ten times the price for. I want to shop around and see how much a chicken retails for. I am sick of fruit shakes and pancakes and hairy, white haired, loud shirt wearing, sleazy Australian men. Maybe we wont stay overnight if the accommodation is shitty, but at least honour this ‘dive’ with a visit. Plus, its so close to the pier and Phang-Nga…
So the bus driver comes over offering us the ‘special price’ of 200 baht each to Patong, we know it’s a rip off, so we refuse and tell him to drop us in Phuket Town. Our services involves us feeding 4 very skinny poocats and their 3 gorgeously and dangerously tiny pookitties. Those chips were shit anyway. We make the turn off for Patong, and as predicted, we stop at a Travel Agency where we are bullshitted to, like clockwork, we politely refuse, although my politeness is wavering, and get back on the bus. Our driver offers us 100 baht each to Patong. Fine. Predictably, he pulls up in the ‘centre of town’ at his mates guesthouse. At this point, I am more than ever reluctant to refuse this guesthouse on principle, but its actually cheap and nice and not too bad location wise… Shit that backfired. We’ll take it…
Strolling the streets, we stop at Rosco’s. The menu looks decent, cheap, close to our guesthouse, and we have struck up a conversation with Darren, Australian, Grandpa-aged male, who assures us the food is top notch. It wasn’t until we sat down, looked around to realise we were the only western women in the ’restaurant’ and looked at the menu which boasted cheap ‘ladies drinks’ (basically you buy a drink for the prostitute of your choice) that we realized we were in one of those lovely hook up joints that dot the strip. We were dining in a brothel. Only in Patong. To make matters even more hilarious, the sleazy Brit we had met at Number 6 restaurant a few weeks ago, (you remember, the guy with the Lao ‘lady friend’) was flashing up repeatedly on a powerpoint slideshow of images of regular customers with the lovely ‘waitresses’. Fuck. I order chips, get shrimps, and deal with it like I always do. Appreciate that I am never too disappointed with food. It’s a good way to be here, saves a lot of stress. The shrimps were decent.
Internet, looked up how to get out of this seething, seedy swarm of the worst of humanity and to Phi Phi paradise, back to the Guesthosue, not sure what its called right now but it affords views over the Hotel Ibis which we cant afford so that’s a tantalizing extra. Our place has hot showers, my first in weeks. That was nice. I imagine what it would have felt like if I had been living in the Lao jungle with the Hmong tribes people for weeks, even better. How good would a pepsi be after that shit!? Rewarding as frig.
Sleep. I don’t have much time left before I have to get up again for another shitfight of a day of Thai transport dilemmas. Nothing is simple, everything is challenging, nothing is easy, taking it with a grain of salt, its all part and parcel of backpacking Thailand and these nitty gritty bits are what really makes a trip. Were not here for a holiday after all.
I have two fat rolls that I have never had before that are causing some serious chafe. Tony Ferguson, welcome me, and my new extremely large ass home with open, forgiving arms.
135 brekky
100 7/11
60 snacks on boat
100 extra trip
350 accommodation
50 pookitty chips
200 dinner
50 internet
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
I am I am amphibious.
Mmmm. Good morning and it is a good morning finally. Breakfast, booking the boat, shopping and then I was off to FINALLY snorkel!! I wanted to go to Sairee or somewhere a little more beautiful and snorkelly but I also didn’t want to risk arriving just as the monsoon does. Disappointment deluxe. So I decided to rent one and try my luck as close to our place as possible before the good weather retreats. I found the chair swings and as Amy read her book I frolicked in the water for hours like a small child. I pretended I was the little mermaid for a while and swam in and around rocks, face to face with the strangest looking fish I have ever seen as it panicked and puffed its cheeks in and out, staring me down as I stared back at it and continued to stare at me as I swam past it, as if to say ‘yeah that’s right swim on bitch’. A school of teeny tiny yellow striped fish swam around me, I saw a leopard fish, and found a dead clam shell, purple sea cucumbers, trevally, black white and orange fish with square heads, schools of fish I’ve never seen before, and my favourite, the rainbow fish! They were blue, orange, purple and green and had funny lips. Most of them seemed to scour the reef in pairs, but I found a whole school of them eating shit off a rock, took a deep breath and chased them for as long as I could stay underwater. It was so cool! They were so much prettier and bright up close and their darting about with fear just made them sparkle more!
It was so long so long ago
It was so long so long ago
When fish crawled onto land
With fins instead of hands!
We are we are amphibious.
I shat myself when I heard the unmistakable noise of a blowhole behind me and stopped dead expecting to see a dolphin (not sure why I was scared of a dolphin… They could do some damage if they got cranky and rammed you in the guts repetitively I guess) but to my relief, it was just a Swede clearing his snorkel. ‘Sorry for scaring you’. I followed the reef along, perving on reef life until my fingers were so pruny they were painful. I had rap songs in my head, that was also painful. I sat on the chair swing and sang songs from Disney movies, continuing with my playful child in the ocean theme, before the sun started to fall and it was time to return my snorkel. Sad face. I am so excited to snorkel on Phi Phi.
I get eaten by the worms.
And weird fishes.
Pad See Ew put the ‘Ew’ in Pad See Ew but we were delighted with our beachside shakes. I returned to the resort and as Amy sat with our gear, reading her book on a beanbag like a mum, I made like a toddler and joined the other kids in their frilly cozzies frolicking about the shallows finding shells and interesting shards of coral. I swam out to the turtle statue, considered climbing it, and because of my reef experience today wondered what lurked below, feasting on the limpets and algae that clung to its legs. Amy had mentioned she’d seen morays, I quite fancy having 10 toes, so I swam back to the shallows and sat in the water watching the sun fall, rocking with the waves. As the mums called their kids back to shore to bathe and go to bed and they threw tantrums I laughed and thought sucked in I get to stay longer, before realizing I was about 20 years their senior and that was totally lame of me. Amy comes over to me with a towel and the toddler inside me says ‘muuuuuuuum cant I stay’, but its getting cold and I am getting bitten by mozzies. CNN before we head back out for dinner number two. Oh my largeness.
Tomorrow we leave for beautiful Koh Phi Phi. Boat from Koh Tao to Surat Thani before a minibus to Phuket. A night in sleazy Phuket before we set our sights on paradise again. Spending a night on Maya Beach, the beach from The Beach, where we will have a campfire dinner, a tent sleep and early morning snorkeling before any other bitches get to the island. I’m so excited.
Crystal Dive Resort has served us well. I will miss Koh Tao, but monsoons are gay.
Today is the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin wall. The worlds most recognizable symbol of oppression. Wow it would be amazing to be there today. Berlin is a very special city, a city I look forward to returning to. The city of Berlin will witness the toppling of giant dominoes shadowing the path of the original wall, to symbolise the ‘domino effect’, well, the reverse of it I suppose, the communist regimes across Europe that fell from November 9, 1989.
‘… I believe it comes into effect, according to my information, immediately, without delay’
Incredible footage, incredible stories. The German Chancellor, Angela Merkel, both the first female and the first East Berlin Chancellor recounts her return from her routine Thursday swim and sauna, as she sees the crowds descending on the wall, and decides to join them, in her towel, crossing the border, recounting the palpable joy of the moment. ‘I just wanted to take a look, I had a few cans of beer’.
An ice sculpture was erected outside the German Embassy in London. The artist reflects on her work and, essentially says ‘the wall is invisible. You can see through. It will melt- but I wanted to show that even though the wall is gone, the divide remains.’
Mikhail Gorbachev and Angela Merkel along with the former polish president, leader of the Polish democratic movement cross the wall at the Berliner’s crossing, the same place where Angela crossed herself 20 years ago.
Reunification of families and couples, freedom, individuals with pick axes, chisels, hammers hacking chips out of the wall, holding sparklers, the unmistakable East German pig-feed Trabant cars crossing into the West, men in suits rejoicing, dancing like only Germans can, tears of jubilation, and who do we have to praise for this peaceful rejoining of Germany, this courageous revolution? David Hasselhoff in his leather jacket strung with fairy lights.
I’ve been looking for freeeeeeedom.
In Davids words, he took down the wall with his music, and that’s why there is a David Hasselhoff museum in his honour at Checkpoint Charlie, at his request of course. The man who eats hamburgers off the floor also single handedly reunites countries. Give him a shot at Israel/Palestine.
Wishing I was at the Brandenberger Tor this evening to celebrate, for this is a celebration not just for Germany, but for the world, a celebration of the new generation where the demarcations of East and West are invisible, reduced to stuff of textbooks and folklore. The global generation.
The people are the power to make change, so make way.
110 breakfast
800 boat
450 cozzie
100 snorkel hire
150 dinner
56 7/11
150 accommodation
It was so long so long ago
It was so long so long ago
When fish crawled onto land
With fins instead of hands!
We are we are amphibious.
I shat myself when I heard the unmistakable noise of a blowhole behind me and stopped dead expecting to see a dolphin (not sure why I was scared of a dolphin… They could do some damage if they got cranky and rammed you in the guts repetitively I guess) but to my relief, it was just a Swede clearing his snorkel. ‘Sorry for scaring you’. I followed the reef along, perving on reef life until my fingers were so pruny they were painful. I had rap songs in my head, that was also painful. I sat on the chair swing and sang songs from Disney movies, continuing with my playful child in the ocean theme, before the sun started to fall and it was time to return my snorkel. Sad face. I am so excited to snorkel on Phi Phi.
I get eaten by the worms.
And weird fishes.
Pad See Ew put the ‘Ew’ in Pad See Ew but we were delighted with our beachside shakes. I returned to the resort and as Amy sat with our gear, reading her book on a beanbag like a mum, I made like a toddler and joined the other kids in their frilly cozzies frolicking about the shallows finding shells and interesting shards of coral. I swam out to the turtle statue, considered climbing it, and because of my reef experience today wondered what lurked below, feasting on the limpets and algae that clung to its legs. Amy had mentioned she’d seen morays, I quite fancy having 10 toes, so I swam back to the shallows and sat in the water watching the sun fall, rocking with the waves. As the mums called their kids back to shore to bathe and go to bed and they threw tantrums I laughed and thought sucked in I get to stay longer, before realizing I was about 20 years their senior and that was totally lame of me. Amy comes over to me with a towel and the toddler inside me says ‘muuuuuuuum cant I stay’, but its getting cold and I am getting bitten by mozzies. CNN before we head back out for dinner number two. Oh my largeness.
Tomorrow we leave for beautiful Koh Phi Phi. Boat from Koh Tao to Surat Thani before a minibus to Phuket. A night in sleazy Phuket before we set our sights on paradise again. Spending a night on Maya Beach, the beach from The Beach, where we will have a campfire dinner, a tent sleep and early morning snorkeling before any other bitches get to the island. I’m so excited.
Crystal Dive Resort has served us well. I will miss Koh Tao, but monsoons are gay.
Today is the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin wall. The worlds most recognizable symbol of oppression. Wow it would be amazing to be there today. Berlin is a very special city, a city I look forward to returning to. The city of Berlin will witness the toppling of giant dominoes shadowing the path of the original wall, to symbolise the ‘domino effect’, well, the reverse of it I suppose, the communist regimes across Europe that fell from November 9, 1989.
‘… I believe it comes into effect, according to my information, immediately, without delay’
Incredible footage, incredible stories. The German Chancellor, Angela Merkel, both the first female and the first East Berlin Chancellor recounts her return from her routine Thursday swim and sauna, as she sees the crowds descending on the wall, and decides to join them, in her towel, crossing the border, recounting the palpable joy of the moment. ‘I just wanted to take a look, I had a few cans of beer’.
An ice sculpture was erected outside the German Embassy in London. The artist reflects on her work and, essentially says ‘the wall is invisible. You can see through. It will melt- but I wanted to show that even though the wall is gone, the divide remains.’
Mikhail Gorbachev and Angela Merkel along with the former polish president, leader of the Polish democratic movement cross the wall at the Berliner’s crossing, the same place where Angela crossed herself 20 years ago.
Reunification of families and couples, freedom, individuals with pick axes, chisels, hammers hacking chips out of the wall, holding sparklers, the unmistakable East German pig-feed Trabant cars crossing into the West, men in suits rejoicing, dancing like only Germans can, tears of jubilation, and who do we have to praise for this peaceful rejoining of Germany, this courageous revolution? David Hasselhoff in his leather jacket strung with fairy lights.
I’ve been looking for freeeeeeedom.
In Davids words, he took down the wall with his music, and that’s why there is a David Hasselhoff museum in his honour at Checkpoint Charlie, at his request of course. The man who eats hamburgers off the floor also single handedly reunites countries. Give him a shot at Israel/Palestine.
Wishing I was at the Brandenberger Tor this evening to celebrate, for this is a celebration not just for Germany, but for the world, a celebration of the new generation where the demarcations of East and West are invisible, reduced to stuff of textbooks and folklore. The global generation.
The people are the power to make change, so make way.
110 breakfast
800 boat
450 cozzie
100 snorkel hire
150 dinner
56 7/11
150 accommodation
armchair enjoyment.
Gayme and the advanced crew had an early morning deep dive with the master of staying down too long and flooding his brain with nitrogen, Shaun. To entertain myself, I had planned a mad day of snorkeling in paradise, hoping to see some of Koh Taos abundant marine creatures. I had a map, a place to hire fins and a mask, a plan, a budget, some snacks, and my Ocean Girl face and lung capacity ready to go.
Unfortunately, monsoons are gay.
It rained all morning, but after I ripped the fan out of the wall, I was able to get some shut eye listening to the rain. Until other Steve knocked on my door…
We went to breakfast together, trotting around in and out of puddles with my red umbrella from Amsterdam. Searching endlessly for a café with comfortable enough chairs, Steve insists these people don’t know that we need comfy chairs and I impart one of my Vietnam stories on his Brisbane ears.
‘… well in Vietnam, they often don’t even have chairs at all. You’re served your food and you either squat like the locals or you sit on a plastic toddlers chair at a table’
‘how long were you there?’
‘oh not long only like two weeks’
‘you must have hated that then!’
‘… well actually it was kind of cool. Different’.
Again. If you want your comfy Brisbane chair go back to your comfy Brisbane. End of rant.
After scissors paper rocking it to see which bakery we would choose, our breakfast delights delighted us as Steve toughed me several methods of counting cards in Blackjack. My Koh Tao visitors guide had a page of things to do if you’re not diving, which seems to be only me, Steve and a handful of residents. Unfortunately all the activities were outdoors. I left Steve, and we decided to reconvene once our advanced dive buddies had returned from their excursion to discuss perhaps going into Sairee town for a massage and a look around. Gayme is out of sorts, nitrogen-ated no doubt- so the other three head in for massages and I continue to walk around Mae Haad shaking my head. Sitting cross legged eating cup noodles outside somebody’s shop, I have an epiphany and frolic toward our friend at Best and Best Pancake and bring Gayme back a nutella, nuts and condensed milk delight. Some silver fox Anderson Cooper, and a dash of Larry King live before we kit up and get out fetching a taxi to Sairee.
I will miss the dangly magnolias and golden buddhas flailing about from the rear vision mirror.
Speeding past ‘OK View Bungalows’ I appreciate the honesty of the owners. How is the view? OK. The service? OK. The price? OK. Potholes and sand traps and falling coconuts and frolicking puppy dogs I can see why so many farang have serious motorbike accidents. Moreover, the bikes are designed to throw you off, the only suspension is the air in the tyres and the tyres are shitty and bald but the bikes look brand new. So you hit a rock, a pothole, a strip of sand, a puddle, a coconut, a small child, a sleeping dog, and you are thrown straight over the top of the bike and any tiny scratch you are charged out your ass for.
Dropped at Sairee beach we spot a Thai pancake stall with a Thai pancake man furiously flipping his pancakes at sub sonic speeds. He has naturally attracted a crowd as he chops his banana with precision and such speed that my eyes cant keep up with him. Ironically, we are all fascinated with the namesake of the cheesy tourist trail we so shudder at. The banana pancake. I guess its just proof it has retained some of its intricacies and mystique too.
Hitting the beach we walk up and down, the dead calm ocean lit by the fairy lights and tiki torches in search of Vibe Bar and the boys. We vent about the boys and what a crew of BMWs they are. I tell Gayme the chair story. She laughs and has many similar stories to share. We see a huge cone snail.
Giving up we take comfy wooden deck chairs facing the sea and order the two most potent cocktails for our cockateils. The boys find us and Steve, with hilariously skilled comic timing, suggests we find a place with more comfortable chairs as Amy and I choke back our giggles.
‘These are great.’
We enjoy our dinner and drinks and drunkenly soak in the fire entertainment.
‘My dad hit a deer. A female deer’
‘Doh. Haha’
‘And soon Angus and Enga the master deep divers from Lithuania will be taking on the Deep Blue Challenge so head up to the bar!’
‘I’m not moving, they can deep dive my big blue hole’
Off to Lotus Bar where the fire display is better than any I have ever seen. As we approach, a kid not a day over 8 stands in a ring of fire on a tall stool with two balls of fire swinging wildly around his head, way past his bedtime on a Sunday night. Swinging ropes, rings, sticks and whatever else they can pick up and light on fire, the exquisitely refined in the abdominal region thug-attired Thai twirlers dazzle the crowd as they walk amongst us, swinging the fire around our heads and lighting the cigarettes of the audience with their flames. They can dance. For hours we are captivated.
Our way home, we run into two Canadians who had climbed a tree and obtained a coconut, and unlike us, had found a surface to smash it on. We enjoy the sweet fruits of their labour before parting ways and jumping into an EXTREME Songtha ew and heading home to Mae Haad, past the OK guesthouse. Retrieve our buckets from the boys, bid them farewell, listen to the frogs that sound like dying cats, have a frog that sounds like a dying cat jump onto my foot in the dark and squeal like a girl, realise what it was, chase it, fan, underwear, CNN, bed.
140 brekky
56 internet
26 7/11
70 pancakes
75 taxi
50 laundry
935 dinner
50 taxi
30 7/11
Unfortunately, monsoons are gay.
It rained all morning, but after I ripped the fan out of the wall, I was able to get some shut eye listening to the rain. Until other Steve knocked on my door…
We went to breakfast together, trotting around in and out of puddles with my red umbrella from Amsterdam. Searching endlessly for a café with comfortable enough chairs, Steve insists these people don’t know that we need comfy chairs and I impart one of my Vietnam stories on his Brisbane ears.
‘… well in Vietnam, they often don’t even have chairs at all. You’re served your food and you either squat like the locals or you sit on a plastic toddlers chair at a table’
‘how long were you there?’
‘oh not long only like two weeks’
‘you must have hated that then!’
‘… well actually it was kind of cool. Different’.
Again. If you want your comfy Brisbane chair go back to your comfy Brisbane. End of rant.
After scissors paper rocking it to see which bakery we would choose, our breakfast delights delighted us as Steve toughed me several methods of counting cards in Blackjack. My Koh Tao visitors guide had a page of things to do if you’re not diving, which seems to be only me, Steve and a handful of residents. Unfortunately all the activities were outdoors. I left Steve, and we decided to reconvene once our advanced dive buddies had returned from their excursion to discuss perhaps going into Sairee town for a massage and a look around. Gayme is out of sorts, nitrogen-ated no doubt- so the other three head in for massages and I continue to walk around Mae Haad shaking my head. Sitting cross legged eating cup noodles outside somebody’s shop, I have an epiphany and frolic toward our friend at Best and Best Pancake and bring Gayme back a nutella, nuts and condensed milk delight. Some silver fox Anderson Cooper, and a dash of Larry King live before we kit up and get out fetching a taxi to Sairee.
I will miss the dangly magnolias and golden buddhas flailing about from the rear vision mirror.
Speeding past ‘OK View Bungalows’ I appreciate the honesty of the owners. How is the view? OK. The service? OK. The price? OK. Potholes and sand traps and falling coconuts and frolicking puppy dogs I can see why so many farang have serious motorbike accidents. Moreover, the bikes are designed to throw you off, the only suspension is the air in the tyres and the tyres are shitty and bald but the bikes look brand new. So you hit a rock, a pothole, a strip of sand, a puddle, a coconut, a small child, a sleeping dog, and you are thrown straight over the top of the bike and any tiny scratch you are charged out your ass for.
Dropped at Sairee beach we spot a Thai pancake stall with a Thai pancake man furiously flipping his pancakes at sub sonic speeds. He has naturally attracted a crowd as he chops his banana with precision and such speed that my eyes cant keep up with him. Ironically, we are all fascinated with the namesake of the cheesy tourist trail we so shudder at. The banana pancake. I guess its just proof it has retained some of its intricacies and mystique too.
Hitting the beach we walk up and down, the dead calm ocean lit by the fairy lights and tiki torches in search of Vibe Bar and the boys. We vent about the boys and what a crew of BMWs they are. I tell Gayme the chair story. She laughs and has many similar stories to share. We see a huge cone snail.
Giving up we take comfy wooden deck chairs facing the sea and order the two most potent cocktails for our cockateils. The boys find us and Steve, with hilariously skilled comic timing, suggests we find a place with more comfortable chairs as Amy and I choke back our giggles.
‘These are great.’
We enjoy our dinner and drinks and drunkenly soak in the fire entertainment.
‘My dad hit a deer. A female deer’
‘Doh. Haha’
‘And soon Angus and Enga the master deep divers from Lithuania will be taking on the Deep Blue Challenge so head up to the bar!’
‘I’m not moving, they can deep dive my big blue hole’
Off to Lotus Bar where the fire display is better than any I have ever seen. As we approach, a kid not a day over 8 stands in a ring of fire on a tall stool with two balls of fire swinging wildly around his head, way past his bedtime on a Sunday night. Swinging ropes, rings, sticks and whatever else they can pick up and light on fire, the exquisitely refined in the abdominal region thug-attired Thai twirlers dazzle the crowd as they walk amongst us, swinging the fire around our heads and lighting the cigarettes of the audience with their flames. They can dance. For hours we are captivated.
Our way home, we run into two Canadians who had climbed a tree and obtained a coconut, and unlike us, had found a surface to smash it on. We enjoy the sweet fruits of their labour before parting ways and jumping into an EXTREME Songtha ew and heading home to Mae Haad, past the OK guesthouse. Retrieve our buckets from the boys, bid them farewell, listen to the frogs that sound like dying cats, have a frog that sounds like a dying cat jump onto my foot in the dark and squeal like a girl, realise what it was, chase it, fan, underwear, CNN, bed.
140 brekky
56 internet
26 7/11
70 pancakes
75 taxi
50 laundry
935 dinner
50 taxi
30 7/11
Like a deep sea diver who is swimming with a raincoat.
Today I was going scuba diving…! Yay! I was pretty excited as I zeroed in on my crew. Me, Steve, the nervous, in recovery from swine flu Eira and Robert from Sandvika Norway (the same place as my uncle Wayne!) and Luke the alternative chic web designer from posh artsy fartsy east London. Our guide, Ingo, was like a playschool teacher turned DSD instructor. After 3 hours of lesson time, of which I would bet 2 hours was just Ingo repeating the same shit over and over, it was time to suit up and get on the boat. As if I hadn’t already been patronized enough, something which I am not particularly fond of, we are then expected to board the same boat as the advanced divers who delight in blissfully ignoring us as they buzz about the boat squirting oxygen and twisting knobs and using their veritable plethora of loosely impressive acronyms to dazzle us into a stupor of admiration. It didn’t work on me. I don’t mind if we have to buy you a beer each time we accidentally call our ‘fins’ flippers, because at the end of the day, you’re still a cockhead and all I am is 60 baht poorer. Bloody Kiwis. Nevertheless, we stretch on our wetsuits, report for roll call and before you know it our ‘pool skills’ lesson has morphed into a ‘beach skills’ lesson which is now a ‘dump you in the open ocean and teach you there’ lesson.
‘I’m not sure about this rain’
‘did you bring a suitcase or a backpack?‘
‘a backpack’
‘well then you’re here for adventure lets go.‘
Feeling like a less limber version of Scuba Steve, I waddle up to the end of the boat where our instructor loosely instructs me and beckons me to jump in. Oh well, here goes. We bob about in the water floating on the surface waiting for poor frightened Norwegian Eira to jump off. One by one, Ingo takes us underwater, holding onto a buoy and checks we have listened enough to his instructions to continue the descent.
‘Who will go first?’
‘…. I will’
I am the only student who gets 100% first go. A nerd even 2 metres underwater. Not that I’m particularly proud of that, its not like It was difficult by any stretch of the imagination and it certainly wasn’t as if you could have missed any instruction considering it was repeated at least 20 times in playfully simple english. As Ingo said himself, this is not rocket science. Great ders of history. Nevertheless, somehow, everyone else managed to fuck up something and we wasted valuable time waiting for them to figure out how to breathe underwater and interpret superbly simplistic dive signs. Frustration in the nation. Eventually, Ingo green lights us and we begin our descent holding onto the rope of the buoy. My main concern was equalizing my ears but to my delighted shock, no pain, no pressure, small bubbles no troubles. I was breathing underwater and it finally hit me when I looked above and gave Luke the OK sign and saw a school of tiny fish swimming 3 or 4 metres above our heads. I am breathing underwater! Fuck yeah! I was down first and we had to wait ages for the filmmaking Norwegian duo to get down, especially considering Eira was deathly afraid of fish… Go figure. So I knelt, impatiently dazzled by the tuft of coral in front of me frequented by tiny colorful fish, 10 metres under the ocean. Calm, breathing normally, naturally, loving it. It had taken a while to sink in, excuse the pun, that I was actually 10 metres under the sea. Once the fusion of excitement, anticipation and nerves settled, and I took a deep breath and looked around, to realise I was surrounded by infinite sand, anchors, and tiny inquisitive fishies. This is an incredible experience. We were wasting valuable oxygen and time and had not much time left to get into formation and begin our dive. It didn’t take me long to master using my breathing to keep me neutrally buoyant about a metre above the reef. I saw bright purple sea cucumbers, lots of bizarre looking fish and a clam. I even saw one of those brown spotted shells that Great Gran proudly boasts in her shell collection. You know the ones, they are purple inside and when you put your ear to them you can hear the ocean, unless there is still a creature inside, then it will come into your ear and kill you. This one still had a creature inside. No sharks, no turtles or jelly fish, no star fish or seahorses, no lobsters or cuttlefish, no big fishes, and not many small ones either, visibility was poor owing to the brutally miserable monsoon conditions plaguing the surface and before we knew it Ingo was signaling us to begin preparing for our ascent. Oh. No fair. My time under the ocean was fleeting, but incredible all at once. I remember floating along when we first started the dive just thinking wow this is so freaking cool. I hardly used any oxygen compared to the others. It didn’t take me long after the descent to realise all I had to do was stay calm and breathe normally, and a few times I had to remind myself I didn’t need to grip my regulator with my teeth, and everything was so peaceful- if ignored Ingo. I am going to have to do it again. I need my qualification though so I don’t have to wait for people and I never have to sit through three hours of some patronizing dude reminding me how important it is to breathe. And when I’m a diver, I will probably use the acronyms and be as big of a wanker as some of these dive-centric wet jive cats, but by then I’ll be qualified so who cares. We had the option of doing another dive for 700 baht but Ingo all but talked us out of it. What would the point be if we couldn’t see anything. I probably should have gone again regardless, if just for practice. Oh well, or as the Thai’s say, mai pen rai- never mind.
‘I feel like a fish out of water now’
Stipples and hot coffee as Eira, Luke and I talk about businesses stifling creativity and the phenomenon of art-centric suburbs. The pro-divers surface and pack up their gear and were en route from Sairee reef to Mae Haad pier. Amy, other Steve and Nick’s advanced instructor graces us with his worldly presence and his words of infinite wisdom delight us until we reach shore. Gee I was in really not in the mood to be wooed by people who by the sounds of their logic, had partaken in a few too many nitrogen aplenty deep dives. I’m not being fair, he wasn’t a bad bloke.
‘I’m like. I’m cranky but you say like, just add water’
We reach the shore, I pick up my bag and as the patronizing kiwi fellow follows behind me, I am determined to cross the three boats unassisted by anyone carrying all my gear. I manage. I pull my hair as the advanced group and the piddly discover scuba diving team have different plans for dinner. To be frank, I enjoy the company of Luke and Tim and the Norwegians, but I’m happy to settle for a no worries no need to be social dinner tonight. I’m exhausted, frustrated and a little disappointed about the dive, but only because I enjoyed it so much and it was so short. So, Steve and I leave our DSD crew (there I go with the acronyms already, watch me wank on!) and head to dinner with the wise old Buddha himself, Shaun and the advanced dive crew. Mai pen rai, I think to myself, he has been here for a year, perhaps he will take us to some off the beaten track fantastic Thai restaurant with menus only in Thai that nobody knows about. Instead, we go for pizza. As the boys continue to call Phuket ‘foo-ket’ and Koh Phangan ‘Ko-fun-ang’ the mix of vertigo, exhaustion, improper grammar and pronunciation is just too much for me and I socially retreat into my elitist gnocchi nibbling corner. Shaun tells us in his slow, drawn manner about how he went from running weapons in Malaysia to becoming a casino manager before taking up diving. Wow, I’m so impressed. Then, he proceeds to tell us he wants to take his own life underwater, because what would the point of living to 80 be if you are just going to be old and miserable. Such a ridiculous statement is enough to rouse me from the peace of my retreat from this senseless conversation if only to offer the interlude that my great grandmother is 91 going on 21 and still works and she is by no means ‘miserable’ and her contribution to the community is far more than yours, and mine for that matter. I don’t get it. Just because you’re a diver and you are all macho and you can teach a million specifications and dive to unprecedented depths doesn’t mean because you like taking risks you should die young!? Its not a package deal!? What about live fast die old!? doesn’t anybody ever consider that!? That’s my plan! Silly people. To be fair, perhaps I was just jealous of Shaun’s diving prowess, and that he got to see fishes and underwater-ness and was all qualified and shit but I cared about the ocean more and hadn’t wasted time running weapons cartels in Malaysia. More likely I was sick of being patronized, it was like high school sport all over again.
The gnocchi was nice. It complemented my less than sociable mood.
It was time to go to bed and unfortunately for poor amateur me, I hadn’t built up enough nitrogen to be as heavily exhausted as the other team, so it was another evening of bizarre dreams and restless sleep until I rip the fan out of the wall and get comfortable just in time for Steve to come knocking at my door at 8am ready for breakfast. I’m excited for new friends when we reach Pooki… Friends that wake later, are less Australian, more entertaining and can say Phuket. Takers? Wow I’ve takent his travellers friendships business to a whole new level, talk about dispensable friendships. Well, Steve was saying the same today about us so whatever, its mutual. We just don’t click as friend groups is all.
Shaun did mention something that I had been talking about the day before and that is that he can sense the island is in a transition phase. I mean, you don’t have to be some kind of guru to ‘sense’ it you can just take a look around at all the fancy-pants resorts being built and get a fair idea of how the islands focus is shifting upmarket. The first travelers planted their flag in the sands of Koh Tao, or turtle island, in the 1980s and the ‘backpacker network’ of whispers soon had many more intrepid explorers on the scent. Koh Tao is now one of the major dive sites in Thailand and with such a reputation comes business expansion, catering specifically to the backpackery clientele. Like Koh Phangan, in a few years, I, like Shaun, envision this still sleepy, alternative, backpackers destination will be gone, mowed down by upmarket resorts and helipads and Michelin star restaurants as the rich and famous zero in on paradise and fuck it up worse than we manage to. Glad I’m here now while development commences but the main beaches somehow manage to retain enough of their pre-backpacker fishing village charm. 100,000 visitors a year to this tiny 21sq km stretch of jungleous, mountainous, diving-ous, snorkelus paradisius and fortunately for us, the locals and the local businesses (unlike Vietnam) are rather eco-business savvy, realizing the long term impact of negligent practices. Unlike most South East Asian business ventures, here, although their adherence to the old minimum outlay for maximum return regardless of consequences rationale is well and truly in tact, they are taking cheap and effective measures to reduce the impact on the environment. Intelligent business practice also, considering most visitors on the island will be young, nature loving, adventurous, living on a shoestring, concerned about the environment alternative types who will be drawn to any business with a message and a cause. These long haired, weed smoking, eco warriors wont be here for much longer though, so I hope that doesn’t change when the flash packers and richies move in.
Sincerely a sincere bitch today,
Semi-Ocean girl.
100 brekky
2075 dive
150 accommodation
100 lunch
320 dinner
96 7/11
Songs to add to list of songs of trip
So beautiful
Dance like theres no tomorrow
Hotel motel
‘I’m not sure about this rain’
‘did you bring a suitcase or a backpack?‘
‘a backpack’
‘well then you’re here for adventure lets go.‘
Feeling like a less limber version of Scuba Steve, I waddle up to the end of the boat where our instructor loosely instructs me and beckons me to jump in. Oh well, here goes. We bob about in the water floating on the surface waiting for poor frightened Norwegian Eira to jump off. One by one, Ingo takes us underwater, holding onto a buoy and checks we have listened enough to his instructions to continue the descent.
‘Who will go first?’
‘…. I will’
I am the only student who gets 100% first go. A nerd even 2 metres underwater. Not that I’m particularly proud of that, its not like It was difficult by any stretch of the imagination and it certainly wasn’t as if you could have missed any instruction considering it was repeated at least 20 times in playfully simple english. As Ingo said himself, this is not rocket science. Great ders of history. Nevertheless, somehow, everyone else managed to fuck up something and we wasted valuable time waiting for them to figure out how to breathe underwater and interpret superbly simplistic dive signs. Frustration in the nation. Eventually, Ingo green lights us and we begin our descent holding onto the rope of the buoy. My main concern was equalizing my ears but to my delighted shock, no pain, no pressure, small bubbles no troubles. I was breathing underwater and it finally hit me when I looked above and gave Luke the OK sign and saw a school of tiny fish swimming 3 or 4 metres above our heads. I am breathing underwater! Fuck yeah! I was down first and we had to wait ages for the filmmaking Norwegian duo to get down, especially considering Eira was deathly afraid of fish… Go figure. So I knelt, impatiently dazzled by the tuft of coral in front of me frequented by tiny colorful fish, 10 metres under the ocean. Calm, breathing normally, naturally, loving it. It had taken a while to sink in, excuse the pun, that I was actually 10 metres under the sea. Once the fusion of excitement, anticipation and nerves settled, and I took a deep breath and looked around, to realise I was surrounded by infinite sand, anchors, and tiny inquisitive fishies. This is an incredible experience. We were wasting valuable oxygen and time and had not much time left to get into formation and begin our dive. It didn’t take me long to master using my breathing to keep me neutrally buoyant about a metre above the reef. I saw bright purple sea cucumbers, lots of bizarre looking fish and a clam. I even saw one of those brown spotted shells that Great Gran proudly boasts in her shell collection. You know the ones, they are purple inside and when you put your ear to them you can hear the ocean, unless there is still a creature inside, then it will come into your ear and kill you. This one still had a creature inside. No sharks, no turtles or jelly fish, no star fish or seahorses, no lobsters or cuttlefish, no big fishes, and not many small ones either, visibility was poor owing to the brutally miserable monsoon conditions plaguing the surface and before we knew it Ingo was signaling us to begin preparing for our ascent. Oh. No fair. My time under the ocean was fleeting, but incredible all at once. I remember floating along when we first started the dive just thinking wow this is so freaking cool. I hardly used any oxygen compared to the others. It didn’t take me long after the descent to realise all I had to do was stay calm and breathe normally, and a few times I had to remind myself I didn’t need to grip my regulator with my teeth, and everything was so peaceful- if ignored Ingo. I am going to have to do it again. I need my qualification though so I don’t have to wait for people and I never have to sit through three hours of some patronizing dude reminding me how important it is to breathe. And when I’m a diver, I will probably use the acronyms and be as big of a wanker as some of these dive-centric wet jive cats, but by then I’ll be qualified so who cares. We had the option of doing another dive for 700 baht but Ingo all but talked us out of it. What would the point be if we couldn’t see anything. I probably should have gone again regardless, if just for practice. Oh well, or as the Thai’s say, mai pen rai- never mind.
‘I feel like a fish out of water now’
Stipples and hot coffee as Eira, Luke and I talk about businesses stifling creativity and the phenomenon of art-centric suburbs. The pro-divers surface and pack up their gear and were en route from Sairee reef to Mae Haad pier. Amy, other Steve and Nick’s advanced instructor graces us with his worldly presence and his words of infinite wisdom delight us until we reach shore. Gee I was in really not in the mood to be wooed by people who by the sounds of their logic, had partaken in a few too many nitrogen aplenty deep dives. I’m not being fair, he wasn’t a bad bloke.
‘I’m like. I’m cranky but you say like, just add water’
We reach the shore, I pick up my bag and as the patronizing kiwi fellow follows behind me, I am determined to cross the three boats unassisted by anyone carrying all my gear. I manage. I pull my hair as the advanced group and the piddly discover scuba diving team have different plans for dinner. To be frank, I enjoy the company of Luke and Tim and the Norwegians, but I’m happy to settle for a no worries no need to be social dinner tonight. I’m exhausted, frustrated and a little disappointed about the dive, but only because I enjoyed it so much and it was so short. So, Steve and I leave our DSD crew (there I go with the acronyms already, watch me wank on!) and head to dinner with the wise old Buddha himself, Shaun and the advanced dive crew. Mai pen rai, I think to myself, he has been here for a year, perhaps he will take us to some off the beaten track fantastic Thai restaurant with menus only in Thai that nobody knows about. Instead, we go for pizza. As the boys continue to call Phuket ‘foo-ket’ and Koh Phangan ‘Ko-fun-ang’ the mix of vertigo, exhaustion, improper grammar and pronunciation is just too much for me and I socially retreat into my elitist gnocchi nibbling corner. Shaun tells us in his slow, drawn manner about how he went from running weapons in Malaysia to becoming a casino manager before taking up diving. Wow, I’m so impressed. Then, he proceeds to tell us he wants to take his own life underwater, because what would the point of living to 80 be if you are just going to be old and miserable. Such a ridiculous statement is enough to rouse me from the peace of my retreat from this senseless conversation if only to offer the interlude that my great grandmother is 91 going on 21 and still works and she is by no means ‘miserable’ and her contribution to the community is far more than yours, and mine for that matter. I don’t get it. Just because you’re a diver and you are all macho and you can teach a million specifications and dive to unprecedented depths doesn’t mean because you like taking risks you should die young!? Its not a package deal!? What about live fast die old!? doesn’t anybody ever consider that!? That’s my plan! Silly people. To be fair, perhaps I was just jealous of Shaun’s diving prowess, and that he got to see fishes and underwater-ness and was all qualified and shit but I cared about the ocean more and hadn’t wasted time running weapons cartels in Malaysia. More likely I was sick of being patronized, it was like high school sport all over again.
The gnocchi was nice. It complemented my less than sociable mood.
It was time to go to bed and unfortunately for poor amateur me, I hadn’t built up enough nitrogen to be as heavily exhausted as the other team, so it was another evening of bizarre dreams and restless sleep until I rip the fan out of the wall and get comfortable just in time for Steve to come knocking at my door at 8am ready for breakfast. I’m excited for new friends when we reach Pooki… Friends that wake later, are less Australian, more entertaining and can say Phuket. Takers? Wow I’ve takent his travellers friendships business to a whole new level, talk about dispensable friendships. Well, Steve was saying the same today about us so whatever, its mutual. We just don’t click as friend groups is all.
Shaun did mention something that I had been talking about the day before and that is that he can sense the island is in a transition phase. I mean, you don’t have to be some kind of guru to ‘sense’ it you can just take a look around at all the fancy-pants resorts being built and get a fair idea of how the islands focus is shifting upmarket. The first travelers planted their flag in the sands of Koh Tao, or turtle island, in the 1980s and the ‘backpacker network’ of whispers soon had many more intrepid explorers on the scent. Koh Tao is now one of the major dive sites in Thailand and with such a reputation comes business expansion, catering specifically to the backpackery clientele. Like Koh Phangan, in a few years, I, like Shaun, envision this still sleepy, alternative, backpackers destination will be gone, mowed down by upmarket resorts and helipads and Michelin star restaurants as the rich and famous zero in on paradise and fuck it up worse than we manage to. Glad I’m here now while development commences but the main beaches somehow manage to retain enough of their pre-backpacker fishing village charm. 100,000 visitors a year to this tiny 21sq km stretch of jungleous, mountainous, diving-ous, snorkelus paradisius and fortunately for us, the locals and the local businesses (unlike Vietnam) are rather eco-business savvy, realizing the long term impact of negligent practices. Unlike most South East Asian business ventures, here, although their adherence to the old minimum outlay for maximum return regardless of consequences rationale is well and truly in tact, they are taking cheap and effective measures to reduce the impact on the environment. Intelligent business practice also, considering most visitors on the island will be young, nature loving, adventurous, living on a shoestring, concerned about the environment alternative types who will be drawn to any business with a message and a cause. These long haired, weed smoking, eco warriors wont be here for much longer though, so I hope that doesn’t change when the flash packers and richies move in.
Sincerely a sincere bitch today,
Semi-Ocean girl.
100 brekky
2075 dive
150 accommodation
100 lunch
320 dinner
96 7/11
Songs to add to list of songs of trip
So beautiful
Dance like theres no tomorrow
Hotel motel
The reverse Ariel goes slightly coconuts in extended solitude.
The qualified ocean kids were out in the ocean and the girl who had forever dreamt of being Ocean Girl (remember that show?!) was stuck on the land, jealously perusing the sleepy Mae Haad town on her lonesome. I wandered up and down the beachy shops, picking up random gifts along the way and hoping I was heading in the right direction to get to Sairee, the main town. No map, no idea of general direction whatsoever, inadequate signage, most of which is in Thai, all I have is my spider sense. I spot a poodle in paradise, sniffing its way through a forest of coconut palms back to the main road. I stumble on a fresh fruit cart and stop for a mango shake. May aswell. I take a right turn and walk through the local village, where lazy Thais lazed on their hammocks in the shade. Women with whitening cream on their faces duck in and out of their houses tending to laundry. I decide to walk through the coconut trees back to the beach, ducking and darting holding my head as I recall a statistic that was used to make me feel at ease about participating in many unsavory ‘dangerous’ activities for a less than avid risk taker (like flying)…
‘don’t worry shitloads more people die from coconuts hitting their heads’
that’s comforting until you’re in the thick of a coconut palm jungle. Made it and strolled along the beach happening across a wooden rope swing suspended from a palm tree over the lapping waves. Hung out there for a while, watching driftwood do what it does best and be drifty and woody, feeling super tropical and shoeless amongst the coconuts and coral…. Oh, and the sand bags and debris from the tropical cyclone, far less romantic. Walking back along the pier I see a young, shirtless, Thai teen practicing his flaring skills with a bottle of Sang Som Whiskey and a silver shaker. He was quite talented. What a reflection of how this island has evolved, now kids that would once be out learning how to fish for a living are now learning how to cater to adventure seeking dreadlocked tourists and hopefully one day cross the gulf to Koh Phangan where the real dosh is to be found.
I am considering diving. Why not? Really? Its 60 bucks… I am beginning to get that pangy feeling, I know I will regret it if I pass it up.. Even if I’m sure I’ll be back to do my PADI someday. So I decide to call my folks to see if me scuba diving in Thailand unqualified would be something they would approve of, especially after the bungee jumping incident. Luckily I get to chat to my whole family while they are at my house and am green lighted for diving. Now I’m excited. I book in. I am like the reverse of Ariel the Little Mermaid. She wanted to be where the people are, and I want to be under the sea. We should have just done a temp swap or some shit then she wouldn’t have had to fuck around with Ursula the sea witch and lose her voice and all that shit and I could have had a pimpin’ tail for a few days. I would have loved that.
Wish I could be, part of that…
Woooooooooooooooooooooooooorld.
The dive crew return, and as they study and I nervously read about diving’s inherent risks and sign my life away to Crystal Divers I sit and watch the sunset over the beach. Just the black silhouettes of the old fishing boats and long tail boats clanking together calmly and a pretty grey and pink sky, aaand a coconut.
A quiet dinner with a Mexican flare before we retreat to our bungalows to attempt to get a good nights rest. Ofcourse I fail at that.
114 7/11
180 brekky
250 shirt gift
35 fruit shake
100 7/11 last night
750 calling home
200 tea
150 accommodation
‘don’t worry shitloads more people die from coconuts hitting their heads’
that’s comforting until you’re in the thick of a coconut palm jungle. Made it and strolled along the beach happening across a wooden rope swing suspended from a palm tree over the lapping waves. Hung out there for a while, watching driftwood do what it does best and be drifty and woody, feeling super tropical and shoeless amongst the coconuts and coral…. Oh, and the sand bags and debris from the tropical cyclone, far less romantic. Walking back along the pier I see a young, shirtless, Thai teen practicing his flaring skills with a bottle of Sang Som Whiskey and a silver shaker. He was quite talented. What a reflection of how this island has evolved, now kids that would once be out learning how to fish for a living are now learning how to cater to adventure seeking dreadlocked tourists and hopefully one day cross the gulf to Koh Phangan where the real dosh is to be found.
I am considering diving. Why not? Really? Its 60 bucks… I am beginning to get that pangy feeling, I know I will regret it if I pass it up.. Even if I’m sure I’ll be back to do my PADI someday. So I decide to call my folks to see if me scuba diving in Thailand unqualified would be something they would approve of, especially after the bungee jumping incident. Luckily I get to chat to my whole family while they are at my house and am green lighted for diving. Now I’m excited. I book in. I am like the reverse of Ariel the Little Mermaid. She wanted to be where the people are, and I want to be under the sea. We should have just done a temp swap or some shit then she wouldn’t have had to fuck around with Ursula the sea witch and lose her voice and all that shit and I could have had a pimpin’ tail for a few days. I would have loved that.
Wish I could be, part of that…
Woooooooooooooooooooooooooorld.
The dive crew return, and as they study and I nervously read about diving’s inherent risks and sign my life away to Crystal Divers I sit and watch the sunset over the beach. Just the black silhouettes of the old fishing boats and long tail boats clanking together calmly and a pretty grey and pink sky, aaand a coconut.
A quiet dinner with a Mexican flare before we retreat to our bungalows to attempt to get a good nights rest. Ofcourse I fail at that.
114 7/11
180 brekky
250 shirt gift
35 fruit shake
100 7/11 last night
750 calling home
200 tea
150 accommodation
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Gulf of Thailand in the aftermath of a tropical decompression.. WWRCD*
I wake up, throw my arm into the air and proclaim I cannot grip. I am so incredibly hungover. Amy heads down to the embassy guy to get the lowdown on the boat sitch. She returns.
‘for Gods sake tell me its cancelled’
‘… They’re running it’
‘nooooooooooo NOBOATFORYOU’
I don’t know who had the idea of ordering iced mochas but all I know is milk was a bad choice. We make it to the pier and I sit outside 7/11, catching the wafts of airconditioned air as people walk in and out and I try to eat my noodles and knock back a Yakult for good measure.
‘look she’s asleep already’
‘no. im here, just struggling with consciousness’
We kept our buckets. I’ve decided a Bawley theme night this year will be Full Moon so I need a bucket for everyone. I’m still a little drunk. No idea what time we arrived home, but judging by the size of the coconut and the size of our proudness of attaining it, it was late.
We board the boat. Steve buys us all magnums. Milk, Bad choice.
Everything is going great guns until we leave the safety of Koh Phangan pier. I head downstairs for fresh air. The boat is rocking unbelievably as we cling to the poles desperately.
‘If I don’t spew, I’ll be my own hero’
I was going to explode. I could feel it. Everyone around me was spewing. On themselves, on bags, on the guy in front of them, the seats, off the boat. I run to the toilet, falling left, falling right, falling over, running into poles, walls people, desperately scrambling for the toilet. There is a queue. Four other girls and myself stand around the bin, staring into it, eyeing each other off like one of those western movies, who is going to shoot first. ME. I spewed everywhere and the other girls scattered, heaven forbid our spew streams intersect. I run back to the side of the boat to have one of the massive crashing waves wash my face off as I grip desperately to the pole. I wanted to go upstairs but I couldnt get to the bottom of them let alone climb them. As if matters could get any worse, I realise (block your ears boys) that all this stress on my body would probably eventuate in the early onset of dining in at café rouge if you catch my drift. This was not a good day to freeball. Fuck. I was hanging over the side of the boat, spewing wildly as waves crashed onto me. Soaked to the bone, wind ripping at my shirt, I threw out my arm to stop my spew hitting the bloke who was standing downwind. It didn’t matter, he soon joined in the ruckus. All you could hear was retching, the slapping of already digested caroty chunks of thai food, whiskey and bile, and the crashing of the waves onto the boat and cracking of the underside of the ship. Every time I opened my eyes, through the sting of salt I could see the massive sets of waves coming in from all angles, and as far as I could see, it wasn’t getting any calmer. I wished I was Russell Crowe, he was such a man about it all. As my spew turned the familiar shade of stabilo yellow, signaling I was about to begin dry reaching, I decide this is one of those moments when you need to transport yourself to get through it. Everyone was too scared and sick to cry and nobody was talking at all. I grabbed onto the pole and braced myself against the side of the ship, thinking of how great it was going to be once we got on shore and I could shower the spew off myself, collapse into a fluffy bed and determine the downstairs situation. After hearing a scream and shout I duck as a wave crashes onto the rear of the boat. Back to my meditation I close my eyes and think about Christmas lunch and seeing all my family, I think of lobster * SPEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW * and then decide maybe to just think about family and not the seafood buffet. Catching glimpses of my cup noodle ridden yellow spew mush plastered on the side of the boat, I realise now is definitely not the time to swoon over lobster mornay. I feel like I have just stepped into an episode of deadliest catch. Those guys must eat aaaaaa lot of ginger in order to control their heaving stomachs. We travellers were a reeking retching wretched white faced white knuckled mess of wet and spew chunks. Occasionally as I dared to open my eyes and witness the massive waves, beyond them was pristine paradise. Turquoise water and coral reefs, palm trees bending over backward. On the horizon an island appears and I’m hoping its not a mirage and I’m certainly hoping if its not a mirage, that we don’t sail straight past the island.
'how much longer'
'i think thats koh tao there..'
Turns out it is Koh Tao and a rousing round of exhausted and relieved applause is well earnt as our stomachs continue to heave and one girl cant even get up off the floor. Our next danger mouse task was getting to land after the concrete dock was destroyed two days ago by the storm and has been haphazardly reconstructed in a very Thai fashion. We stop on support beams and wait for the signals to move quickly along the planks. I could kiss the ground but I’m scared I wont be able to stand up again with shaky sea legs. Gayme and I collapse into oblivion with the soothing sounds of CNN world news in the background, still with chunks of spew in our hair.
Dinner with the boys and Abby from cooking before a 7/11 run and some silver fox action on CNN. 20th anniversary of the Berlin wall collapse we talk politics and I fall asleep in a bizarre position.
It seems to be a craze to read about the most macabre aspects of SEA history when youre backpacking. I'm guilty as I read about the lost files of S-21... all the books for sale are about drug heists and Bangkok prison and mass murder. Maybe its the seduction of danger. Forgetting about the fruit shakes and pancakes and the ever present reminders of your safety and lack of isolation and making yourself feel like more of a rogue explorer. A lone wolf.
We have arrived in Koh Tao. Experienced divers argue it’s the worlds best stomping ground for beginner scuba divers. I’m jealous of all my friends who are partaking in the underwater magic. I want to be ocean girl. I've always wanted to be ocean girl. I’m worried about money though and the fact that I have had swine flu… Probably not the best time to dive. So today, I woke up, went to breakfast at 1pm and as everyone trots off to dive school, I’m going to peruse the town, jealously taking pictures of the land. I’ll be back to frolic in you Koh Tao so watch your back.
Globalisation, the realisation that I have had the best pizza in Thailand, the best Tapas in Cronulla, the best Pho in Laos, the best gelato in Spain and the best Sangria in Cambodia.
My notepad is soaked- FUBAR- cannot understand a thing.
The boat was 450 baht,
Dinner was around 220 I think
And our accommodation is 150 a night
I probably spent about 100 at 7/11 in the morning..
And 200 on ice coffees…
Roughly.
Need a new notepad.
* WWRCD= What Would Russell Crowe Do.
‘for Gods sake tell me its cancelled’
‘… They’re running it’
‘nooooooooooo NOBOATFORYOU’
I don’t know who had the idea of ordering iced mochas but all I know is milk was a bad choice. We make it to the pier and I sit outside 7/11, catching the wafts of airconditioned air as people walk in and out and I try to eat my noodles and knock back a Yakult for good measure.
‘look she’s asleep already’
‘no. im here, just struggling with consciousness’
We kept our buckets. I’ve decided a Bawley theme night this year will be Full Moon so I need a bucket for everyone. I’m still a little drunk. No idea what time we arrived home, but judging by the size of the coconut and the size of our proudness of attaining it, it was late.
We board the boat. Steve buys us all magnums. Milk, Bad choice.
Everything is going great guns until we leave the safety of Koh Phangan pier. I head downstairs for fresh air. The boat is rocking unbelievably as we cling to the poles desperately.
‘If I don’t spew, I’ll be my own hero’
I was going to explode. I could feel it. Everyone around me was spewing. On themselves, on bags, on the guy in front of them, the seats, off the boat. I run to the toilet, falling left, falling right, falling over, running into poles, walls people, desperately scrambling for the toilet. There is a queue. Four other girls and myself stand around the bin, staring into it, eyeing each other off like one of those western movies, who is going to shoot first. ME. I spewed everywhere and the other girls scattered, heaven forbid our spew streams intersect. I run back to the side of the boat to have one of the massive crashing waves wash my face off as I grip desperately to the pole. I wanted to go upstairs but I couldnt get to the bottom of them let alone climb them. As if matters could get any worse, I realise (block your ears boys) that all this stress on my body would probably eventuate in the early onset of dining in at café rouge if you catch my drift. This was not a good day to freeball. Fuck. I was hanging over the side of the boat, spewing wildly as waves crashed onto me. Soaked to the bone, wind ripping at my shirt, I threw out my arm to stop my spew hitting the bloke who was standing downwind. It didn’t matter, he soon joined in the ruckus. All you could hear was retching, the slapping of already digested caroty chunks of thai food, whiskey and bile, and the crashing of the waves onto the boat and cracking of the underside of the ship. Every time I opened my eyes, through the sting of salt I could see the massive sets of waves coming in from all angles, and as far as I could see, it wasn’t getting any calmer. I wished I was Russell Crowe, he was such a man about it all. As my spew turned the familiar shade of stabilo yellow, signaling I was about to begin dry reaching, I decide this is one of those moments when you need to transport yourself to get through it. Everyone was too scared and sick to cry and nobody was talking at all. I grabbed onto the pole and braced myself against the side of the ship, thinking of how great it was going to be once we got on shore and I could shower the spew off myself, collapse into a fluffy bed and determine the downstairs situation. After hearing a scream and shout I duck as a wave crashes onto the rear of the boat. Back to my meditation I close my eyes and think about Christmas lunch and seeing all my family, I think of lobster * SPEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW * and then decide maybe to just think about family and not the seafood buffet. Catching glimpses of my cup noodle ridden yellow spew mush plastered on the side of the boat, I realise now is definitely not the time to swoon over lobster mornay. I feel like I have just stepped into an episode of deadliest catch. Those guys must eat aaaaaa lot of ginger in order to control their heaving stomachs. We travellers were a reeking retching wretched white faced white knuckled mess of wet and spew chunks. Occasionally as I dared to open my eyes and witness the massive waves, beyond them was pristine paradise. Turquoise water and coral reefs, palm trees bending over backward. On the horizon an island appears and I’m hoping its not a mirage and I’m certainly hoping if its not a mirage, that we don’t sail straight past the island.
'how much longer'
'i think thats koh tao there..'
Turns out it is Koh Tao and a rousing round of exhausted and relieved applause is well earnt as our stomachs continue to heave and one girl cant even get up off the floor. Our next danger mouse task was getting to land after the concrete dock was destroyed two days ago by the storm and has been haphazardly reconstructed in a very Thai fashion. We stop on support beams and wait for the signals to move quickly along the planks. I could kiss the ground but I’m scared I wont be able to stand up again with shaky sea legs. Gayme and I collapse into oblivion with the soothing sounds of CNN world news in the background, still with chunks of spew in our hair.
Dinner with the boys and Abby from cooking before a 7/11 run and some silver fox action on CNN. 20th anniversary of the Berlin wall collapse we talk politics and I fall asleep in a bizarre position.
It seems to be a craze to read about the most macabre aspects of SEA history when youre backpacking. I'm guilty as I read about the lost files of S-21... all the books for sale are about drug heists and Bangkok prison and mass murder. Maybe its the seduction of danger. Forgetting about the fruit shakes and pancakes and the ever present reminders of your safety and lack of isolation and making yourself feel like more of a rogue explorer. A lone wolf.
We have arrived in Koh Tao. Experienced divers argue it’s the worlds best stomping ground for beginner scuba divers. I’m jealous of all my friends who are partaking in the underwater magic. I want to be ocean girl. I've always wanted to be ocean girl. I’m worried about money though and the fact that I have had swine flu… Probably not the best time to dive. So today, I woke up, went to breakfast at 1pm and as everyone trots off to dive school, I’m going to peruse the town, jealously taking pictures of the land. I’ll be back to frolic in you Koh Tao so watch your back.
Globalisation, the realisation that I have had the best pizza in Thailand, the best Tapas in Cronulla, the best Pho in Laos, the best gelato in Spain and the best Sangria in Cambodia.
My notepad is soaked- FUBAR- cannot understand a thing.
The boat was 450 baht,
Dinner was around 220 I think
And our accommodation is 150 a night
I probably spent about 100 at 7/11 in the morning..
And 200 on ice coffees…
Roughly.
Need a new notepad.
* WWRCD= What Would Russell Crowe Do.
Yo Yo Hos and a bucket of rum.
Yo Yo Ho’s and a bucket of rum.
We somehow rip ourselves out of bed in time to Join Oi’s cooking class, where I’m struggling to wake te gene that controls wanting to participate in social situations. I am instantly pissed off that some chick from Bondi had taken over the course and decided exactly what we would cook for the day and nuggets of wisdom about how she was going to do it. Go home if you are such a Tom Yum Kung expert and let us simpletons learn how to cook pad thai regardless of how easy you reckon it is. Wake up Bec you have been replaced with a raging psycho bitch. I crankily put on my apron and take a seat at my wok station. Nigga wok. Oi is a pro. First we prepare the ingredients for Thai green curry, which I’ll have to make for somebody that actually likes it. Maybe Olly. Basically the main thing I learnt about how to cook authentic Thai food is ‘smash it’. Any doubts about an ingredient? Just smash it. I learnt how to make my second favourite Thai dish, Tom Yum Kung and we also gave the uber spicy papaya salad a go. It was kind of fun once I surrendered to the experience and ignored how jealous I was that everyone next door was watching Semi Pro while I was in school. Lemongrass smells so good. We ate all our food and I wanted to punch myself in the gut so I could spew and make room for more spoonfuls of coconutty goodness. I cant wait to cook for my family and friends now. I eat spicy I am spicy.
The boys laugh at us as we pass through the foyer with our massively satiated guts in tow, dragging our feet. Heading down to the dive shop to see what the score is with the getting to Koh Tao sitch, I am distracted by the view down the corridor to the ocean. It appears the waves are lapping at the shops. There is next to no beach left and a lone surfer, who I bet has been waiting for swell for a painstakingly long time, runs out into the whitewash to take advantage of the mediocre breaks. The crackling and sizzling of the hundreds of knotted electrical wires has been disconcerting to say the least. They sway with frightening fragility in the breeze and at night you can actually see the sparks as the wires buzz and hum. With this the overture to our exploration of a bookshop with a giant puddle on the floor, our perusing was brief.
‘did you hear the electrical wires while you were standing in that puddle,’
‘yep tried to ignore it’
‘risk manage that steve haha.’
Steve is a risk management software guy. We laugh.
Seeking a second opinion, I’m keen to head down to the agency owned by the head of the British Embassy in Koh Phangan. We chat to him for a while. He’s erratic and in desperate need of a beer. Hasn’t slept in days, stressed to the max about organizing everybody off the island safely. He gives us the lowdown on the Lomprayah. It will run regardless of conditions because of the backlogs of already paid customers that are stuck on the island. Fucking glad we arent on that. He points at another two boats, one of which is in the same fleet of the vessel that sank in February and the vessel that burned down last December...
‘Guys to be honest I’d prefer not to book you on those if only they run, I’d prefer you to wait for our boat’
‘Look were not in a hurry.’
Haa. Oh my god.
Eventually we decide to book with this guy, he will make sure we get on the least dodgy of the four boats, provided they run. A decision will be made in the morning and will depend on weather overnight.
I’m keen to get the hell out of Haad Rin Nok today and see some of the less explored areas of the island. I’m thinking north east coast. Were informed because of bad weather, the songthaew will only take us one hour into the jungle and we would have to navigate the remaining terrain on moto or foot. Normally we would do two songthaews and a boat, but no boats are running today owing to the tropical cyclone. We abandon that idea and instead head for another dinner with shitty Simpsons on in the background. Phuck it, I thought, may aswell eat pizza. We had 406 dishes to choose from on the menu, not including drinks. Bullshit South East Asia, I’ll miss your novella menus.
2 snickers milkshakes and some gift shopping later, I decide the few things I will miss include the happy sleeping dogs outside 7/11 rip offs and cup noodles.
Nick and Steve and me and Gayme head down to the beach after chatting our our Norwegian pal for a while who was unlucky enough to muff her ankle on her way to the FMP, missing the festivities entirely and footing a bill for dodgy medical assistance that would make the dude that owns Ikea bawk. Bucket time. Steve has made good friends behind the bar and they serve us free drinks. He refuses to drink the redbull now owing to his day of comedown that had his heart near beating out of his chest cavity. It comes in tiny shot sized bottles over here. We go on a search for YO who makes the best mojito buckets on the beach, but we secretly want the free straw rings he made for us on full moon night. He doesn’t have any, but teaches us how to make them instead. What talent. They are mental for straws here, I have never ordered a drink and received a lone straw. At least two. The buckets give you about 8 straws to choose from. You can essentially smash your haed into the bucket, eyes closed and chances are, wind up with a straw in your mouth. The fire twirlers/jugglers/throwers are out in full force, although tonight they are understandably fatigued and have made some potentially disastrous mistakes. Seeing a guy squeal as a giant flaming ball lands next to his foot as he innocently orders a drink at the bar was a highlight, asw was the giant flaming stick landing in some spectators lap. Goodness gracious great balls of fire.
Another dude comes around selling knitted bracelets and I nearly wet my pants with excitement. Much like the titles of the temporary wooden bars that appear every night on the beach, these bracelets seem to woo us with their lack of adherence to political correctness and their overt rudeness. I purchased one that says ‘No Aids’ which I opted for over ‘Yes Aids’ and another special one for Nai that had me cracking up and a perplexed Swedish tourist from Falun investigating the catalyst for my purchase. We end up talking for ages and I flick him off to Amy with my well deserved and well researched words of wisdom ‘have fun, don’t get attached’. Two bracelets are available for purchase, one says ‘ I Love Rape’ the other says ‘I Love Raepe’. Take your very controversial pick. Just after we finished tying on our new vulgar jewelry, Steve is offered a job by the manager of Drop In Bar. He has a moment of panic. I want to stay. it’s a great idea to sit in the ocean and debrief the situation as sensible Nick, the super high paid Blackhawk mechanic talks the risk management software designer out of a career change that he insists will make him happy. Steve decides sensibly to make his decision in the morning, when the fire skipping rope is nothing but ashes and he can decipher his thoughts without the intrusion of giant buckets of potent alcohol. I stand up and am incredibly distraught to realise my shoes are gone. NOOOOO my havianas! It has been so lovely to have you on my feet… I walk around cautiously, as does Steve as we brevity of the situation. One minute they were delighting my feet, the next they were gone. In this climate of esoteric traveller thong knowledge, the haviana is a much sought after shoe. I will not be getting it back. To my delighted surprise, as if the gods of thongs winked and smiled at me, my foot somehow slips into a blue haviana, a real one, that is exactly my size! Ignoring the fact it could belong to a dead person, I slip it onto my foot and favour my rubber clad foot as it treads amongst coals and broken glass. Coco! Eh, we see Coco, the ice coffee man from our guesthouse. Meanwhile, Steve has scoured the beach and found two shoes of differing sizes that will do for protection in the meantime. Miraculously, I find the other matching shoe amongst the squalor of lost shoes and I am so delighted to be the proud owner of a new pair of blue havianas with yellow writing. How un-matchingly festive of me! Table dancing we bump into the girls from the cooking class who I didn’t make much effort to know this morning and I make up for it sharing around my potent concoction of cocktail. I’ve never been to Coral, Amy has disappeared into the night with our Swedish military friend who refused to tell us what he did for a living, and the boys and I decide to march to Haad Rin Nai to Coral Bungalows to witness their infamous pool parties, said to rival the FMP itself! Big call. I end up walking through the ocean, all my shit is wet, bits go blurry, I realise one of the thongs Steve found to wear is mine, we never find the pool party, I make a conscious decision to piss myself and then laugh about how I reached that decision, we find an outrageously giant furry coconut and lug it back to the guesthouse victoriously aboard a Songthaew, never end up finding the pool party, enter the guesthouse, request our coconut be opened, were rejected, and we head to bed.
Boom boom shake shake now drop.
900 cooking
160 brekky
250 book
210 dinner
150 paint
150 taxi
20
60 net
220
35
150
150
300 dvd
400 acc
190 pizza and snickers
50 ice tea
150 long island ice tea
We somehow rip ourselves out of bed in time to Join Oi’s cooking class, where I’m struggling to wake te gene that controls wanting to participate in social situations. I am instantly pissed off that some chick from Bondi had taken over the course and decided exactly what we would cook for the day and nuggets of wisdom about how she was going to do it. Go home if you are such a Tom Yum Kung expert and let us simpletons learn how to cook pad thai regardless of how easy you reckon it is. Wake up Bec you have been replaced with a raging psycho bitch. I crankily put on my apron and take a seat at my wok station. Nigga wok. Oi is a pro. First we prepare the ingredients for Thai green curry, which I’ll have to make for somebody that actually likes it. Maybe Olly. Basically the main thing I learnt about how to cook authentic Thai food is ‘smash it’. Any doubts about an ingredient? Just smash it. I learnt how to make my second favourite Thai dish, Tom Yum Kung and we also gave the uber spicy papaya salad a go. It was kind of fun once I surrendered to the experience and ignored how jealous I was that everyone next door was watching Semi Pro while I was in school. Lemongrass smells so good. We ate all our food and I wanted to punch myself in the gut so I could spew and make room for more spoonfuls of coconutty goodness. I cant wait to cook for my family and friends now. I eat spicy I am spicy.
The boys laugh at us as we pass through the foyer with our massively satiated guts in tow, dragging our feet. Heading down to the dive shop to see what the score is with the getting to Koh Tao sitch, I am distracted by the view down the corridor to the ocean. It appears the waves are lapping at the shops. There is next to no beach left and a lone surfer, who I bet has been waiting for swell for a painstakingly long time, runs out into the whitewash to take advantage of the mediocre breaks. The crackling and sizzling of the hundreds of knotted electrical wires has been disconcerting to say the least. They sway with frightening fragility in the breeze and at night you can actually see the sparks as the wires buzz and hum. With this the overture to our exploration of a bookshop with a giant puddle on the floor, our perusing was brief.
‘did you hear the electrical wires while you were standing in that puddle,’
‘yep tried to ignore it’
‘risk manage that steve haha.’
Steve is a risk management software guy. We laugh.
Seeking a second opinion, I’m keen to head down to the agency owned by the head of the British Embassy in Koh Phangan. We chat to him for a while. He’s erratic and in desperate need of a beer. Hasn’t slept in days, stressed to the max about organizing everybody off the island safely. He gives us the lowdown on the Lomprayah. It will run regardless of conditions because of the backlogs of already paid customers that are stuck on the island. Fucking glad we arent on that. He points at another two boats, one of which is in the same fleet of the vessel that sank in February and the vessel that burned down last December...
‘Guys to be honest I’d prefer not to book you on those if only they run, I’d prefer you to wait for our boat’
‘Look were not in a hurry.’
Haa. Oh my god.
Eventually we decide to book with this guy, he will make sure we get on the least dodgy of the four boats, provided they run. A decision will be made in the morning and will depend on weather overnight.
I’m keen to get the hell out of Haad Rin Nok today and see some of the less explored areas of the island. I’m thinking north east coast. Were informed because of bad weather, the songthaew will only take us one hour into the jungle and we would have to navigate the remaining terrain on moto or foot. Normally we would do two songthaews and a boat, but no boats are running today owing to the tropical cyclone. We abandon that idea and instead head for another dinner with shitty Simpsons on in the background. Phuck it, I thought, may aswell eat pizza. We had 406 dishes to choose from on the menu, not including drinks. Bullshit South East Asia, I’ll miss your novella menus.
2 snickers milkshakes and some gift shopping later, I decide the few things I will miss include the happy sleeping dogs outside 7/11 rip offs and cup noodles.
Nick and Steve and me and Gayme head down to the beach after chatting our our Norwegian pal for a while who was unlucky enough to muff her ankle on her way to the FMP, missing the festivities entirely and footing a bill for dodgy medical assistance that would make the dude that owns Ikea bawk. Bucket time. Steve has made good friends behind the bar and they serve us free drinks. He refuses to drink the redbull now owing to his day of comedown that had his heart near beating out of his chest cavity. It comes in tiny shot sized bottles over here. We go on a search for YO who makes the best mojito buckets on the beach, but we secretly want the free straw rings he made for us on full moon night. He doesn’t have any, but teaches us how to make them instead. What talent. They are mental for straws here, I have never ordered a drink and received a lone straw. At least two. The buckets give you about 8 straws to choose from. You can essentially smash your haed into the bucket, eyes closed and chances are, wind up with a straw in your mouth. The fire twirlers/jugglers/throwers are out in full force, although tonight they are understandably fatigued and have made some potentially disastrous mistakes. Seeing a guy squeal as a giant flaming ball lands next to his foot as he innocently orders a drink at the bar was a highlight, asw was the giant flaming stick landing in some spectators lap. Goodness gracious great balls of fire.
Another dude comes around selling knitted bracelets and I nearly wet my pants with excitement. Much like the titles of the temporary wooden bars that appear every night on the beach, these bracelets seem to woo us with their lack of adherence to political correctness and their overt rudeness. I purchased one that says ‘No Aids’ which I opted for over ‘Yes Aids’ and another special one for Nai that had me cracking up and a perplexed Swedish tourist from Falun investigating the catalyst for my purchase. We end up talking for ages and I flick him off to Amy with my well deserved and well researched words of wisdom ‘have fun, don’t get attached’. Two bracelets are available for purchase, one says ‘ I Love Rape’ the other says ‘I Love Raepe’. Take your very controversial pick. Just after we finished tying on our new vulgar jewelry, Steve is offered a job by the manager of Drop In Bar. He has a moment of panic. I want to stay. it’s a great idea to sit in the ocean and debrief the situation as sensible Nick, the super high paid Blackhawk mechanic talks the risk management software designer out of a career change that he insists will make him happy. Steve decides sensibly to make his decision in the morning, when the fire skipping rope is nothing but ashes and he can decipher his thoughts without the intrusion of giant buckets of potent alcohol. I stand up and am incredibly distraught to realise my shoes are gone. NOOOOO my havianas! It has been so lovely to have you on my feet… I walk around cautiously, as does Steve as we brevity of the situation. One minute they were delighting my feet, the next they were gone. In this climate of esoteric traveller thong knowledge, the haviana is a much sought after shoe. I will not be getting it back. To my delighted surprise, as if the gods of thongs winked and smiled at me, my foot somehow slips into a blue haviana, a real one, that is exactly my size! Ignoring the fact it could belong to a dead person, I slip it onto my foot and favour my rubber clad foot as it treads amongst coals and broken glass. Coco! Eh, we see Coco, the ice coffee man from our guesthouse. Meanwhile, Steve has scoured the beach and found two shoes of differing sizes that will do for protection in the meantime. Miraculously, I find the other matching shoe amongst the squalor of lost shoes and I am so delighted to be the proud owner of a new pair of blue havianas with yellow writing. How un-matchingly festive of me! Table dancing we bump into the girls from the cooking class who I didn’t make much effort to know this morning and I make up for it sharing around my potent concoction of cocktail. I’ve never been to Coral, Amy has disappeared into the night with our Swedish military friend who refused to tell us what he did for a living, and the boys and I decide to march to Haad Rin Nai to Coral Bungalows to witness their infamous pool parties, said to rival the FMP itself! Big call. I end up walking through the ocean, all my shit is wet, bits go blurry, I realise one of the thongs Steve found to wear is mine, we never find the pool party, I make a conscious decision to piss myself and then laugh about how I reached that decision, we find an outrageously giant furry coconut and lug it back to the guesthouse victoriously aboard a Songthaew, never end up finding the pool party, enter the guesthouse, request our coconut be opened, were rejected, and we head to bed.
Boom boom shake shake now drop.
900 cooking
160 brekky
250 book
210 dinner
150 paint
150 taxi
20
60 net
220
35
150
150
300 dvd
400 acc
190 pizza and snickers
50 ice tea
150 long island ice tea
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
