I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking here he goes, out to get totally mortled, do a shit load of drugs and letch onto anything with breasts like a demented Jimmy Savile on speed. A leopard can’t change his spots right? Well boo to you because that’s exactly what I didn’t do. Kinda.
You’ve seen the pictures, you’ve heard the stories. Hell – I’m sure some of you have even been here. When you’ve got 30,000 nutters descending on a beach for one night every month since 1985 – you’re bound to know a few of them. It looks disgusting. There I was, ready to verbally and literally tear the whole insalubrious mess a new one, strictly going in with a reporter’s hat on, ready to take a damning photograph of the aftermath that would go viral and land me a Nobel Prize. For something. I was about to experience Kavos (worst place in the world) Mark II.
And then something strange happened. I began to have a good time.
Reunited again – still roasting hot and dripping with sweat – and not even having the wherewithal to look into the right hole in the camera phone
Now I attribute this more than a little to the company I was keeping. My good friend Applebury has lived in Bangkok for the past two years, and when last we met, we were tearing shit up in a party hostel in Lima, Peru, circa 2012. The man is a force of nature, but he – like me – is more than a little slowing down. We’re getting old. A new breed of crazy is catching up and overtaking us. Dare I say it – we’re ready to settle down.
It’s all kicking off
And as a result, I actually do spend much of the time on periphery of the licentious drug fest, wandering around with my friend, dodging locals offering pills in cupped hands, and slurry drunks claiming they’ve taken too much ketamine. No you haven’t mate – you’re not even on it – someone’s sold you a bag of Persil.
Loads of this
Thusly – I manage to avoid many of the full moon party wankers I commented on in my last post, although there’s a fair few of them about, knocking back buckets (literally) of spirits, yobbing away in wife beaters and board shorts, yelling how “fucked up” they’re going to get and “wot birds” to bang. The place is awash with neon, dayglo paint vendors and artists (some of which are really quite cool), and the street food is – for the most part – delicious. The plan of attack was always to limit the time on the actual “club” beach, and set up shop in the bars of the town. In keeping to ourselves – and to my utter astonishment – we have a decent night.
Applebury said the best thing to do is get your own and go around painting girls’ boobs
The only real sour note was when a pair of Brazilian girls I met in Bangkok rob me of my new pack of smokes. On a beach with thousands of people, it’s astonishing to run into some random you met a week previous – but it happens. They tell me they’ve run out of money and beg me to wire them some – promising they’ll pay it back in the future. This I refuse to do anymore (even to my own sister) as I’ve been burned so many times after being generous and helping “friends” out. As it stands I’m still owed over a grand.
Where was I? Oh yes – thieving scumbags. But we still offer to buy them a drink at the next bar over, turn our backs for a second and they’ve vanished. Applebury is particularly displeased as one of them was incredibly hot, while I instantly notice my smokes have gone, and put two and two together. It’s not a big loss – a professional would have taken us round a few bars, used us for booze, and then robbed us blind. Amateurs. I wonder how they fared on their spree of crime? It wouldn’t be hard to pull the wool over most of these muppets – and light fingers attend these things solely with the express intention of doing just that. I learned the hard way back in Nicaragua.
Not going in there
As we arrived at the island very late, it’s no surprise that the sun is starting to peak its head up as the speed boat surges us back to Koh Samui and home base. I originally wanted to stay to photograph the devastation at the end – and even help clean up a bit just to feel morally decent – but I’m shattered and just want my bed. Another of my reasons for going was to try to do something helpful or useful – particularly in regard to the environment or stopping some young girl getting date raped. I had delusions of grandeur I was there as some force for good; some wise, all-knowing, cocky bastard travel snob that would somehow save the day. In the end I felt I contributed to the whole shit show – although I never threw a bottle of beer on the beach or littered in any way. I’ll donate a fiver to the WWF.
Get wankered, stagger in, order a picture of David Hasselhoff on your face. So much for it being illegal to be drunk and get inked up
Applebury and I are separated on return to our island, and I’m ordered out the mini-van nowhere near my digs. The driver is convincing me this is my hotel and street, and although I don’t immediately recognise it I attribute that to being a little hazy. He speeds off and I realise my glaring error after walking a couple of kilometres and not seeing a damn thing I’m familiar with. Then yet again that Thai magic kicks in.
Wandered down here for miles…
A young woman is setting up her shop for the day and she motions me over. She speaks a little English, but – like the total plank I am – I’ve forgotten the name of my hotel. This is probably why I’m in this predicament in the first place. I’m clutching at straws and spouting locations I think are near to where I live, confusing the living hell out of her. Eventually she gleans where I need to be, and – too tired to worry about fear – I hop on the back of her scooter.
Wearing a kilt on a scooter doing 50 mph is an interesting experience. My knuckles are white as I grip the hand bar on the back of the machine – but she motions me to hold her round the waist. Hardly daring to let go, I nonetheless believe she to be a better judge of how to be a passenger on these things, and swiftly switch my hands to her sides.
Now this is a little odd I ponder – made all the more strange by the fact I can feel she’s unclasped her bra. I don’t know what the area on a woman’s body is called where the boob meets the tum, but that is where I found my hands. Totally – and I stress – totally by accident dear readers – I just needed to grab something and quick. Don’t think me some 7 am, serial bike-scooter rapist.
I adjust to a less suggestive position (although it strangely appears that she’s orchestrated it) and we speed on. This island is much bigger than if first appears, and without the aid of my saucy saviour – I would not have a chance in making it home. Eventually she stops at the beginning of my street, as she cannot take the vehicle any further. She’s driven me for miles. I kiss her on the helmet (the one you wear on your head you filthy animals), and march towards bed.
It’s still some distance to home, and I’m getting a lot of strange looks as the town comes to life. Still they’re more than used to it and it’s fun to cheer and wave as people acknowledge me. Eventually I collapse into my bed with thanks.
So there we have it my friends – there I stood on the outside of the debauchery looking in – and lived to tell the tale. Not today am I to wash up dead on a beach in Thailand, missing several vital organs. I went in with the mindset that it was just another festival, and I came out clean on the other side. I just wish I could say the same for the ocean.
Full moon party mess, Koh Phangan, Thailand
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking here he goes, out to get totally mortled, do a shit load of drugs and letch onto anything with breasts like a demented Jimmy Savile on speed. A leopard can’t change his spots right? Well boo to you because that’s exactly what I didn’t do. Kinda.
You’ve seen the pictures, you’ve heard the stories. Hell – I’m sure some of you have even been here. When you’ve got 30,000 nutters descending on a beach for one night every month since 1985 – you’re bound to know a few of them. It looks disgusting. There I was, ready to verbally and literally tear the whole insalubrious mess a new one, strictly going in with a reporter’s hat on, ready to take a damning photograph of the aftermath that would go viral and land me a Nobel Prize. For something. I was about to experience Kavos (worst place in the world) Mark II.
And then something strange happened. I began to have a good time.
Reunited again – still roasting hot and dripping with sweat – and not even having the wherewithal to look into the right hole in the camera phone
Now I attribute this more than a little to the company I was keeping. My good friend Applebury has lived in Bangkok for the past two years, and when last we met, we were tearing shit up in a party hostel in Lima, Peru, circa 2012. The man is a force of nature, but he – like me – is more than a little slowing down. We’re getting old. A new breed of crazy is catching up and overtaking us. Dare I say it – we’re ready to settle down.
It’s all kicking off
And as a result, I actually do spend much of the time on periphery of the licentious drug fest, wandering around with my friend, dodging locals offering pills in cupped hands, and slurry drunks claiming they’ve taken too much ketamine. No you haven’t mate – you’re not even on it – someone’s sold you a bag of Persil.
Loads of this
Thusly – I manage to avoid many of the full moon party wankers I commented on in my last post, although there’s a fair few of them about, knocking back buckets (literally) of spirits, yobbing away in wife beaters and board shorts, yelling how “fucked up” they’re going to get and “wot birds” to bang. The place is awash with neon, dayglo paint vendors and artists (some of which are really quite cool), and the street food is – for the most part – delicious. The plan of attack was always to limit the time on the actual “club” beach, and set up shop in the bars of the town. In keeping to ourselves – and to my utter astonishment – we have a decent night.
Applebury said the best thing to do is get your own and go around painting girls’ boobs
The only real sour note was when a pair of Brazilian girls I met in Bangkok rob me of my new pack of smokes. On a beach with thousands of people, it’s astonishing to run into some random you met a week previous – but it happens. They tell me they’ve run out of money and beg me to wire them some – promising they’ll pay it back in the future. This I refuse to do anymore (even to my own sister) as I’ve been burned so many times after being generous and helping “friends” out. As it stands I’m still owed over a grand.
Where was I? Oh yes – thieving scumbags. But we still offer to buy them a drink at the next bar over, turn our backs for a second and they’ve vanished. Applebury is particularly displeased as one of them was incredibly hot, while I instantly notice my smokes have gone, and put two and two together. It’s not a big loss – a professional would have taken us round a few bars, used us for booze, and then robbed us blind. Amateurs. I wonder how they fared on their spree of crime? It wouldn’t be hard to pull the wool over most of these muppets – and light fingers attend these things solely with the express intention of doing just that. I learned the hard way back in Nicaragua.
Not going in there
As we arrived at the island very late, it’s no surprise that the sun is starting to peak its head up as the speed boat surges us back to Koh Samui and home base. I originally wanted to stay to photograph the devastation at the end – and even help clean up a bit just to feel morally decent – but I’m shattered and just want my bed. Another of my reasons for going was to try to do something helpful or useful – particularly in regard to the environment or stopping some young girl getting date raped. I had delusions of grandeur I was there as some force for good; some wise, all-knowing, cocky bastard travel snob that would somehow save the day. In the end I felt I contributed to the whole shit show – although I never threw a bottle of beer on the beach or littered in any way. I’ll donate a fiver to the WWF.
Get wankered, stagger in, order a picture of David Hasselhoff on your face. So much for it being illegal to be drunk and get inked up
Applebury and I are separated on return to our island, and I’m ordered out the mini-van nowhere near my digs. The driver is convincing me this is my hotel and street, and although I don’t immediately recognise it I attribute that to being a little hazy. He speeds off and I realise my glaring error after walking a couple of kilometres and not seeing a damn thing I’m familiar with. Then yet again that Thai magic kicks in.
Wandered down here for miles…
A young woman is setting up her shop for the day and she motions me over. She speaks a little English, but – like the total plank I am – I’ve forgotten the name of my hotel. This is probably why I’m in this predicament in the first place. I’m clutching at straws and spouting locations I think are near to where I live, confusing the living hell out of her. Eventually she gleans where I need to be, and – too tired to worry about fear – I hop on the back of her scooter.
Wearing a kilt on a scooter doing 50 mph is an interesting experience. My knuckles are white as I grip the hand bar on the back of the machine – but she motions me to hold her round the waist. Hardly daring to let go, I nonetheless believe she to be a better judge of how to be a passenger on these things, and swiftly switch my hands to her sides.
Now this is a little odd I ponder – made all the more strange by the fact I can feel she’s unclasped her bra. I don’t know what the area on a woman’s body is called where the boob meets the tum, but that is where I found my hands. Totally – and I stress – totally by accident dear readers – I just needed to grab something and quick. Don’t think me some 7 am, serial bike-scooter rapist.
I adjust to a less suggestive position (although it strangely appears that she’s orchestrated it) and we speed on. This island is much bigger than if first appears, and without the aid of my saucy saviour – I would not have a chance in making it home. Eventually she stops at the beginning of my street, as she cannot take the vehicle any further. She’s driven me for miles. I kiss her on the helmet (the one you wear on your head you filthy animals), and march towards bed.
It’s still some distance to home, and I’m getting a lot of strange looks as the town comes to life. Still they’re more than used to it and it’s fun to cheer and wave as people acknowledge me. Eventually I collapse into my bed with thanks.
So there we have it my friends – there I stood on the outside of the debauchery looking in – and lived to tell the tale. Not today am I to wash up dead on a beach in Thailand, missing several vital organs. I went in with the mindset that it was just another festival, and I came out clean on the other side. I just wish I could say the same for the ocean.
I’ll never do it again. Promise.
No really…I promise.
Seriously…
No…come on now…I’m serious.