Displaced Montrealer: 2007

Our plane landed a midst a golf course, a first, as we parted with Saigon along with our lovely new found Israeli friends. After the hypodermic needle cityscapes and manic cavernous streets seen in China Bangkok failed to live up to its reputation as the bustling metropolis of south-east Asia. The place is a backpacker mecca, things are easy and accessible, and everyone seems to be in the beginning or end of their travels. A few tuc-tuc rides (a 3-wheel motorized rickshaw) to the beautifully gaudy city sights and two good night outs with Sash we tearfully parted and I decided to fly to the islands, the east tsunami-less ones.

My initial focus was on Kho Pagnan, an Island that gets infested with backpackers once a month to party under the full moon. I arrived two days prior to the event and managed a bungalow on the main beach. My brief encounter with solitude was interrupted by a Swede desperately looking for a place to stay – he was referred to me because everyone here assumes I'm Swedish. I had a spare bed so I let him crash, and an avid party buddy he became.

The days that preface the full moon are miniature full moon parties of their own where crews form for the main event and fornication crimes commence. The party itself consists of 5-6 clubs open onto the beach forming slots, like a parking lot of differing sounds, that seamlessly manage to drown each other out. Fire shows are elegantly performed by ripped sweaty tattooed Thais in martial art fashion. Your beverage of choice is served in a sandbucket and usually mixed with what can only be considered a dangerous amount of red bull.

Sugar rushed, drunk, and fucked from the drugs consumed people party unpretentiously: everyone gyrates to full effect, clothes are scarce, shoes and flip-flops are constantly lost or stolen, the candid fuck around by the water – the same place that is later used as a piss pan by massive Aussie guys. Shroomshakes are served on one side of the beach and chill martinis on the other with a beautiful view of the ongoing cacophony.

I got lost in the mayhem of the party only to find myself rocking out to psy-trance as the moon fell and the sun rose. The spectacle was all recorded on a video shown all over town the following day – all so surreal to wake up in the early evening of that day and be enveloped by images of you flailing your limbs with a glint of madness in your eyes.

Also in the surreal party vein:
I stepped out of an internet café having just read that two Montreal friends partied under the full moon as well. First bar I glanced into I spotted Mike and Santi along with two lady friends, all so classic. A mass consumption of buckets begun to celebrate our chance encounter. Influenced, we partied on the beach with a backdrop of lightning and rain until the calm came with the sunlight. The end: I tackle Mike into the sand, Mike tackles Norweigian girl into water, Norwegian girl loses her money to the sea, Mike feels bad, Santi talks shit to Mike, Mike gets punished by losing his shoes and breaking his belt, all of us make a morning schnitzel and crepe run, and the boys take of to Bangkok as T-storms hit the island shaking my bungalow and awaking my sore body.

Between the fray, I rented a motorcross and explored the island's crooked roads and hidden beaches. I inhaled delicious curries, pad thais and frothy fruit shakes. I indulged in thai massages in an open air bungalow over looking the beach by a women who decided to confide to me her most personal problems, she would thank me after each massage for listening and entertaining her – symbiotic therapy.

Along with some fellow Swedes I jumped islands on a boat ride that sickened 60 % of the passengers, I was spared – I attribute my seasickness immunity to my arduous 2 week immigration from Poland by boat. The leap took us to Ko Tao, the supposed best place for scuba diving. The place is a bubble of laid back friendly people mostly here for sports, I fell for it right away and will be coming back. I got certified for open water diving – the course ended with the group emulating Matrix moves under water with flippers on hands as schools of yellow zebra fish intertwined us with curious eyes.

I rented another motorcross to explore Ko Tao. The dirt roads are soft, steep, rocky, and infamous for their creative hazards. I attempted a visit to the white sand Mango beach on a remote part of the island. All went fine until the road was suddenly blocked by 6 growling dogs, wolves really. They looked mean, they obviously didn't like me, and in not so many words they told me to fuck off and go home. As I turned around they gave chase, the glint of their white polished teeth was frighteningly blinding. As I tried mounting the massive hill I previously descended the bike slipped out from underneath me and the engine stalled. At this point the dogs paw signaled each other and took an elliptical formation around me – smart little fuckers. Their rhythmic growling, which got louder as they got closer, filled me with abnormal levels of adrenaline which enabled me, in one swift motion, to push this massive bike up the hill, jumpstart it, and cast a euphoric grin back at the wicked pack. 15 minutes later the bike died (spark plugs), the smile faded, I was stranded and alone, I cried.