Trash, buckets and a Watford circus

FULL MOON PARTY

I'd heard bad things about the infamous Ko Pha Ngan F.M.P.

TRAVELLER A6: Oh yeah I got my bag nicked and contracted syphilis off a body painted unicyclist.
ME: So maybe I shouldn't go?
TRAVELLER A6: Oh you've got to go. It's an experience.

An experience: 4000 people on a massive beach so drunk/fucked that they start collapsing in piles like they've just been sprayed with mustard gas. Not that I didn't have a good time. I made over 10,000 Bart going through their pockets.

The music wasn't so great at the various places along the beach. It was rather like Watford with good weather. I happily guzzled some infamous Thai buckets. A typical bucket contains a fair whack of Samsong, (Thai whiskey that churns your stomach and drives you loopy), some coke and a bottle of wickedly concentrated Thai red bull (found in medicine bottles; has been known to wake the comatose).

At the full moon party people lose consciousness and shoes. I have never lost my shoes no matter what state I have been in. A foolish boast perhaps, inviting disaster. I don’t care – HA HA HA I will never lose footwear as long as I live! Another common occurrence is the ‘Crying Game syndrome’ ie. Where the lovely Thai girl with whom you are getting on very well turns out to be a man. Both of these FMP cliches were achieved with some style by our travelling companion Bob.


BOB (STEVE)

Bob is Scottish, lives in London next to a bunch of Chasidim in Stoke Newington (they drag him out to turn on their lights on Shabbat), and can drink for at least 24 hours longer than anyone I have ever met. What effect did this have on Dan and myself? As an anthropological experiment I have been attempting to match him. I have started to develop a Scottish accent and I can no longer drink water or eat food without vomiting. I haven’t accidentally snogged any ladyboys yet, but I’m trying not to feel too bad about it.


THE ASIAN WAY

Back on Perhentian I had many serious discussions about arse wiping. In Asia no toilet paper is used. A tap next to the toilet provides for all your cleaning needs. No soap of course - are you joking? Dan has become quite the afficionado at this method. He LOVES it. Much more efficient, less wasteful. Less hygenic. I was building up to it. How can more than one entire continent of the world shun the use of toilet paper, whilst I buckle at the thought of such intimate hand to shit contact? Is it me, or am I just a product of our superficially sterile society? Anyway this must change. I vowed to deal with my shit demons. I talked to Dan about it in a panicked tone. He suggested inserting my middle finger up to the hilt. I thanked him for his advice.

I ran into the toilet and sat down before I had a chance to change my mind. There was the tap, dripping lasciviously. Whoosh - the rest was a blur. Before I knew it I was in the shower vigorously scrubbing myself down all over – PURGE PURGE THE EVIL! I returned to the dive shop ashen faced and sat clutching a coffee. I couldn’t talk about it then, and I haven’t tried it since. Maybe I should just go to Japan with their remote control toilets that make you a cup of tea and lecture you on Nietzche.


NIGHT BOAT

The night boat from Ko Tao to Surat Thani left at 9 to arrive at 4:30am. It was a slightly more rickety version of Noah’s Ark. This is fun, we thought as we set sail. Then the winds started to rock the boat almost vertical. It creaked and cracked like a rotten rocking chair. We lay in the quarterdeck (many thanks to Bob for this item of boating jargon) on massive mattresses sliding backwards and forwards. Only another 6 hours. It was lovely on the bow until a tidal wave drenched me from head to foot. Inside, water cascaded in through the windows every so often just to keep everyone refreshed. Fortunately we had purchased some freely available valium from a chemist. I had never taken it before. Within ten minutes I started to see the boat journey not as a churning voyage of discomfort and probable death but as a pleasure cruise through a fluffy meadow. ‘This is so niiice, guys, aren’t you having, like the best ti…zzzzzzzzzz ZZZ z’ I woke up with my leg folded behind my head and my face pressed against the floor. Here we are!


THAI MASSAGE

A 300 year old monkey women pummelled the crap out of me for an hour. As she was kneading my stomach like a sack of dough I thought I might have to run to the toilet. But through sheer will I made it through to the head slapping stage.


KHAO SOK

We are below staggering limestone cliffs and among cool winding rivers in the National Park of Khao Sok. I am now consuming 12 banana milkshakes a day. We went tubing in the river yesterday – you pay, and they give you rubber rings and let you play in the river for a bit. There is a spot of the river where monkeys go every day at 5 o’clock sharp to wash. Off to intercept them today with a banana on my hip.