Southeast Asia on a Shoestring

It dawned on me not long ago on one particular bus ride that a day would come when I’d have to sit down, summarize my Southeast Asian experience, and lower the curtain on this grand opening act. And at that time I recall thinking it fitting that I lift the title to this blog from the famous yellow Lonely Planet guide – Southeast Asia on a Shoestring. On a shoestring? Well not always. Sometimes a shoestring, sometimes barefoot, and sometimes a leather tuxedo lace.

I fly out of Bangkok tomorrow at 8:40am. So how do I wrap this up, put a cute little bow on the experience, and neatly tuck it away on my Shelf of Life? Well a few things come to mind.

First, Southeast Asia by category. Drum roll please…

• Worst Accommodations: Vang Vieng, Laos. Floor ants plus a near physical altercation with an unpleasant Laotian hotel staffer led to a light sleep and an early morning check out.

• Best Meal: Chedi Club (Ubud, Bali). Deep fried duck. Impeccable service. Great company. Stiff cocktails. Majestic setting. Cohibas for desert.

• Longest Day: Tie. Indonesia/Indonesia. The 15 hour bus ride of unimaginable discomfort along the Trans-Sumatran highway set a precedent I never want to surpass. But the 22 hour marathon day from Sumatra to Singapore involving two minivans, two ferries, one metro, and a taxi? The best 37 hours I never want to experience again.

• Best Sunrise: Gili Trawangian, Indonesia. Standing alone atop the island’s highest point as the sun broke Rinjani’s volcanic crater rim…unforgettable…and unsurpassed.

• Closest Straight Razor Shave: Kalaw, Myanmar. He spoke no English but held a steady blade.

• Most Uncomfortable Travel: Tomato bus from Mandalay to Hsipaw, Myanmar. “Ethan, there are tomato crates occupying the entire area where my legs should go?” Third world discomfort finds a laughable new low.

• Dodgiest Meal: Denpasar market (Bali, Indonesia). Day 3 and consume something grey and very funky. Lab tests yet to ID said meat.

• Best Sunset: Maya Beach (Phi Phi Leh, Thailand). Watching the sun sink into the Andaman Sea from The Beach. Just barely beats Seaside Heights.

• Most Impressive Natural Site: Halong Bay, Vietnam. Look it up.

• Dirtiest Currency: Tie. Myanmar/Indonesia. The small denomination notes were like handling dirty diapers.

• Best Accommodations: Metropole Hotel (Hanoi, Vietnam). I’ll be back for my 50^th birthday party if not sooner.

• Longest Stay (Linger Award): Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Not by choice. By poor planning. Seven nights. Five too many.

• Shortest Stay: Ko Phan Ngan, Thailand. Bad vibe central. Some people spend a week. I spent 13 hours.

• Least Hygienic Public Moment: Forty-five minute flight from Lombok to Bali, Indonesia. Spending 57 hours climbing an active volcano without running water can do that. I still don’t know how they let us on that plane.

• Scariest Looking Police Force: Thailand. They look like futuristic cyborgs directing traffic.

• Country Most Likely to Return to Next: Indonesia. 34 days deep and only just scratched its surface.

• Most Pleasant Surprise: Jakarta, Indonesia. Jakarta! JAKARTA!?!? Who would have thought?

• Most Impressive Manmade Site: Temples of Bagan, Myanmar. The remoteness, beauty, and lack of tourists bumped Angkor to #2.

• Favorite City: Hanoi, Vietnam. The complete package. The buzz, the chaos, the food, the service, the price. Add some oriental Xmas cheer and you’ve got a list topper.

• Best Beach: Maya Beach (Phi Phi Leh, Thailand). End of discussion.

• Best Run In with the Law: Kengtung, Myanmar. Two hours of detainment alongside Lucius Polk by immigration officers for illegally riding motorbikes was an absolute pleasure.

• Best Beer: Tiger Beer (Singapore). Beating out Bintang (Indonesia), Dragon (Myanmar), Beer Lao (Laos), Leo/Singha/Chang (Thailand), 333/Biere Le Rue (Vietnam), and Angkor (Cambodia). The judge would like to thank all participants for their involvement.

• Best Cuisine: Vietnam. Gram for gram, dish for dish, dong for dong the Vietnamese stole the show.

• Best Cuisine (Honorable Mention): Sumatra, Indonesia. The Muslims of central Sumatra know a thing or two about curing beef. The lack of utensils or chop sticks (think hands) made for an all around unforgettable dining experience.

• Most Unforgettable Room: The Rock Backpackers (Phi Phi Don, Thailand). I might as well been in county lockup.

• Furthest from Home (figuratively speaking): Day Two hiking from Kalaw to Inle Lake, Myanmar. Waking up on the floor of a village hut; the closest airstrip a two day walk in either direction.

• Favorite Country: Myanmar. No surprise.

Second, Southeast Asia by number. Tomorrow, the day I leave, will be my 138^th day on the road. And for each I can tell you where I was, what I did, and where my head rested. By the numbers…

• Nights in Indonesia: 34
• Nights in Singapore: 4
• Nights in Malaysia: 7
• Nights in Myanmar: 24
• Nights in Thailand: 27
• Nights in Laos: 10
• Nights in Vietnam: 24
• Nights in Cambodia: 7
• Number of beds/seats slept in: 66

*Do the math. An average stay of two nights per location means three things: lots of packing, unpacking, and repacking.

• Overnight bus rides: 5
• Overnight bus rides without a foreign language musical accompaniment: 1
• External hard drives shipped home: 2
• Hours of 1920 x 1080 HD film footage contained on hard drives: 57
• Overnight trains: 2
• Airlines flown: 8

*Batavia (Indonesia), Air Asia, Myanmar Airways International, Yangoon Airways (Myanmar), Thai Airways, Lao Airlines, Vietnam Airlines, Bangkok Airways

• Countries where rode motorbike: 5
• Countries where received straight razor shave: 4

Third, Southeast Asia by the map.

http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?ie=UTF8&hl=en&msa=0&msid=113857108228539669434.000475cd617df8978ac81&z=3

Finally, Southeast Asia by scene. The only consistency in this journey has been the inconsistency. Traveling solo, with friends, with family, with partner, with strangers. Each dynamic has led to a unique experience. Each dynamic has crafted this journey. When I look back upon this first Act it’s pretty easy to slice and dice it. It’s easy to mark where the curtain fell on one scene and rose on another. Each scene defined differently by those people in it. Defined differently by the history, culture, geography, language, and cuisine. Each scene brilliant in its own right, but each very different from the next. By the scene…

• Act 1, Scene 1
  • Curtain up (September 11^th):
    • Pointing a camera out the window on final approach flying low enough over the Bali lineup to see the surfers faces.
  • Curtain down (October 2^nd):
    • Carrying for the first time a fully loaded backpack and a one-way bus ticket to central Java, saying goodbye to Devin, turning, and walking out of the Bali villa garden to begin traveling.

• Act 1, Scene 2
  • Curtain up (October 3^rd):
    • Standing alone at dawn outside a bus stop in Yogyakarta.
  • Curtain down (October 15^th):
    • Ringing Taylor Hurt’s doorbell in Singapore.

• Act 1, Scene 3
  • Curtain up (October 16^th):
    • Downing Singapore Slings at the Raffles Hotel and catching up with Devin.
  • Curtain down (October 26^th):
    • Carrying a fully loaded backpack, a bag of crisp US dollars, and a one-way plane ticket to a country without banks or ATMs, saying goodbye to Devin, turning, and walking out of the Kuala Lumpur hotel.

• Act 1, Scene 4
  • Curtain up (October 26^th):
    • Squinting closely to process the blood red betel nut juice dripping from my would-be taxi driver’s mouth outside Yangon airport.
  • Curtain down (November 22^nd):
    • Making eye contact with Jane, Laura, and a crutch-wielding Devin upon their arrival at Phuket airport.

• Act 1, Scene 5
  • Curtain up (November 23^rd):
    • Arriving into the Phi Phi Don via ferry.
  • Curtain down (December 4^th):
    • Checking out of a $4.50/night hostel and upgrading considerably in anticipation of an arrival.

• Act 1, Scene 6
  • Curtain up (December 5^th 1:25am):
    • Watching a foggy silhouette turn into Meghan at Bangkok airport.
  • Curtain down (January 26th 8:40am):
    • Pointing a camera out the window just after takeoff, leaving Southeast Asia behind…

I’m honestly surprised how quickly I’ve reverted back to my old fugal and efficient ways. I’ve had exactly five meals in four days…each from the street. I’m back in the $10/night room and back to planning five steps ahead. But it’s necessary for what lay ahead. See I’m ready to dive into the deep end again. I’m ready to claw at a new country. Ready to get dirty again.

The curtain is about to fall on Scene 6, but that’s not all. The curtain will also fall on Act 1 – the great opening act of Southeast Asia. But like all epics the real punch is found in Act 2. The plot will thicken, adversity will rear its head, and the pace (like my pulse) will quicken. Act 2 will be insanity. Act 2 will be frustrating. Act 2 will be breathtaking. Act 2 will be exhilarating. Act 2 will be brilliant. Act 2 will be coming whether I’m ready for it or not. Act 2 will be…

INDIA

Closing the Loop

I strive to not embellish or craft these write ups for the sake of entertaining those few out there reading. I tell it like it is. The good, the bad, the smelly. And occasionally something unfolds that might be construed as interesting. Crossing a border with a stack of money into a country with no banks or ATMs? Interesting. Ordering a banana shake on Khao San Rd (like I just did)? Not interesting. Interspersed in these random little rants I attempt to share a fair amount of myself. I try to put a bit more out there than just the Who, What, When, Where, How, and sometimes Why. There is more to this journey than just visiting countries, navigating rivers, and braving street food. There is of course a human story. My human story.

Most people value their privacy and I’m no different. Every time I hit “publish” to broadcast my life on this page I do so with a clear conscious because it’s about me. The words and pictures I choose to share are a reflection upon one person (for better or worse) – me. And I’m just fine with that. I’m fine with offering myself up for dissection…

“Christ…did you read O’Neil’s last blog? Did he go to school? Seriously his grammar is appalling. He’s always changing tense, misspelling words, starting sentences with and and but, and tacking ‘y’ on the end of words where it doesn’t belongy.”

And when I bring someone else into these words I do so delicately and with respect. So with that said I find myself here in Bangkok. Alone. I’ve never written at any length about Meghan Brown. From your seat she may read like nothing more than the reason my I suddenly changed to we. But that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Meghan disappeared fittingly behind a foggy glass partition at Bangkok airport last Friday morning at 5:36am. Fittingly because from that very same glass partition I got my first glimpse of her 50 days earlier. Fifty. I haven’t spent that much uninterrupted time together with one person since my birth. No job to interrupt. No girl’s night out to interrupt. No poker night to interrupt. 1,200 straight hours. And after 50 days we were still standing. Still standing tall. Still standing strong.

From Bangkok to Laos to Vietnam to Cambodia to Bangkok, it takes an amazing woman to cut her teeth on international travel with a line up like that. Quite the tour of Southeast Asia. Quite the loop. Our experience together was real in every sense of the word and had a profound effect on both of us. And that’s all I’m going to say about it. Not because that’s all I can say but because that’s all I should say. Some things belong here, some things don’t.

There will be two stories going forward. One will unfold on this page for all to read and will focus on the Who, What, When, Where, How, and sometimes Why of SBO traveling Asia. The other will unfold in private between two parties half a world apart. Each story will invariably affect the other, but only one will find its way to this page.

Fifty days never went by so quickly.

…and Introducing Meghan Brown

As she will invariably be mentioned in my writings over the coming months, I should briefly explain. Meghan and I met this past summer. Currently in between professional gigs, flush with unused airline miles, and of a like mind that economic downturns are really just great life opportunities in disguise, Meghan accepted my invitation and lands in Bangkok in a little less than 10 hours. I’m ecstatic about her joining this great journey and for the personal experience she’s about have. I think that pretty much covers things.

OK, maybe one more: Meghan has never been out of the United States…

One Night In Bangkok and the World’s Your Oyster…

As if there was any doubt what musical overture would accompany this write up…http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kmaJ4G6qhM8

“Man walks through door sideways….Bangkok!”    – J.C.D (Vice President – Evercore Trust Company, N.A.)

Some people abhor cities. I’m not one of those people. Taken in the right dosage there can sometimes be no better cure for everything that ails than the vitality, diversity, and ordered chaos of cosmopolitan living. The air gets dirty. The streets get even dirtier. And the nightlife, well, in the case of Bangkok…the nightlife gets just plain nasty.

Bangkok is the undisputed concrete heart of SE Asia. Geographically centered, BKK is the entry point for the overwhelming majority of SE Asian-bound backpackers and vacationers. So for most newbies Bangkok is their first taste of Asia…and what a flavor. A sprawling metropolis blending the old world and the new, BKK has everything you could hope for. Great hotels. Great food. Great markets. Great shopping. And a famous not-so-discreet sex trade catering to old shady Australian men who wear tank tops, handlebar moustaches, and crack beers at 9am on Wednesday mornings with such vigor as if there is nothing even slightly off about being in a go-go bar at 9am on a Wednesday morning.

Bangkok has a healthy and quick pulse and its pulse is contagious. If you’re in need of a cure for beach malaises…come to Bangkok. If you want to sample some of Asia’s finest food…come to Bangkok. If you want to put your morals on hold and get a soapy (just Google it)…come to Bangkok.

All that said there is something that this city lacks in my opinion. I found it in Jakarta many times over, but haven’t been able to nail it down anywhere in Thailand. Not in the far north of Mae Sai. Not on the beach in southern Phi Phi Don. I haven’t found it here. It’s pretty simple. I’m looking for a smile.

More a representation of the Thai people’s general demeanor than any personal distain against this particular farang (Thai slang for foreigner), the Thais are all about the business. Or at least it seems that way. Not surprising given the volume and history of travelers to this country, the Thais have seen many a pasty white Irishman arrive long before I showed up and they’ll see many a sunburn Mick leave after I’m gone. Like the back rooms of the red light districts of Pat Pong and Soi Cowboy, Thailand has seen it all before. And because of that there is no novelty for them. Novelty for us farangs? Absolutely. This is Thailand. It’s new! “Look honey, that woman is poor!” Yippee. But for the Thais it’s nothing new…its just…business as usual.

Where as Indonesia and Myanmar were dripping in originality, my human interaction with the Thai people has been disappointing. Thailand – come for the beauty but just don’t expect a warm hug.

The upside of this focus on capitalism is that I have no regrets or hesitations making sure I pay the absolute bare minimum for just about everything. Everything in this country is negotiable. Even if it’s in print. Hell, especially if it’s in print. Where as I felt lousy nickel and diming in a country like Myanmar where they don’t even have a word for capitalism, I feel no such sympathy here in the so-called ‘Land of Smiles.’

My haggling skills are getting better by the hour. I feel like there are two separate approaches for haggling. Approach A is for just about everything: ferry, bus, train, hotel, street food, sex (kidding), fruit, internet, etc. Approach B is for tuk tuks.

With Approach A you counter whatever offer is spoken/written with a bid that’s half.

The inevitable response is a chuckle, head tilt, and smile! You’ll immediately learn whether the seller has any discretionary leeway. If they counter with a lower price than their original it’s akin to opening the missile hatches on the Red October (you’re going down). You then work the seller down until you honestly feel they can’t go any lower from fear of not eating that night. Once you get to that point, you turn and walk away. If you hear silence from behind you…you know you’ve found the market price or at least their breaking point. If you hear another counter…you turn around and repeat.

My favorite aspect of the whole game is the sheer volume of people selling the exact same thing/service. The number of tour organizers and ticket sellers in most tourist towns / backpacker ghettos is laughable. If I know I am leaving in a day or so and need to buy something I will shop half the town. Its takes a minute to cut to the chase with a seller (if not less)…another minute to peel the orange you’re holding while negotiating…and another minute to walk to the next seller. All said it takes about thirty minutes to find the real market for just about anything. Yet I see very few tourists engaging in the game. But hell, without those suckers biting on every first offer…I wouldn’t have inflated prices to play with. So I guess, thanks guys. Keep getting ripped off.

And don’t even get me started on the leverage I felt entitled to wield when buying bulk, like when I was handling tickets for Devin, Jane, Laura, and I: Wait, I’m about to buy four tickets at once. That must be worth at least a 70% discount. We’ll start there…

Tuk tuks.

(Her face and body language clearly says I paid too much…”

It’s as if tuk tuk drivers have to complete an intensive course on how to rip off farangs in order to get a license. The same psychology of Approach A applies except I counter their initial offer with an insulting 80% discount. Take last night for example. I approach four tuk tuk drivers sitting around shooting the bull – not another customer in sight.

Farang: “How much to Khao San Rd?”

Driver 1: “500 baht.”

Farang: “Right. Let’s start at 200 baht then. 200 baht to Khao San. No detours.”

Driver 1: “No no. Good price for you. 300 baht. Good price.”

Farang: “250 baht to Khao San Rd.”

Driver 1: “Ok. Let’s go.”

Farang: “Wow. You jumped at that quickly. Looks like I need to retrade this deal my friend. Sorry. 150 baht to Khao San Rd?”

Driver 1: [Head shake and silence.]

Its at this point that I turn and walk away. This is the moment. I hear crickets from Driver 1. And then from over my shoulder comes…

Driver 2: “OK. OK. 150 baht. We go.”

Farang: “150 baht to Khao San. Direct. Lets go.”

And we go tearing off into the night. Oh it’s the little joys in life…

——–

The only other thing I feel like sharing from my three days in Bangkok so far is a moment I had yesterday on foot (I think I’ve walked somewhere between 10-20 km in this city so far – I mean I’ve covered this place – pushups and walking…). I was cruising up a largely forgettable main artery en route to the bookstore yesterday about noon when out from around a corner came a bronze plaque: Embassy of the United States of America. And in an instance I was standing in front of towering gates separating me from American soil. I was holding a coffee and a balled up brown bag that could have doubled as a hand grenade at a quick glace. I slowly raised my ball of paper shrapnel so the four well-armed security personnel could see that this farang was nothing to be concerned with. I stood there eyes affixed on the flag pole not thirty feet away through the steel gates. And waving in the wind in all its glory were the Stars & Stripes. With chills shooting up my spine I stood motionless for thirty seconds and watched that beautiful flag blow. It was a welcome, albeit unexpected and unplanned, reminder of home. With all its faults and issues, we are all blessed to call the greatest country in the world our home. When the moment passed I headed off. A smile ear to ear. What a treat.

America. I don’t miss Her, but I do love Her.

——–

And on that note I’m going to end this the way it began…in style.

Straight out of 1984…

Please welcome to the B Stage…

Ladies & gentlemen…

Murray Head…http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kmaJ4G6qhM8

Hoppin’ Still

Escaping unscathed from Ko Pha Ngan to the south, I hitched a lift forty some kilometers north to the tiny diving mecca of Ko Tao. This tiny island has It, and it has It in spades. Smaller, more manageable, and more mature than its younger bro to the south, Ko Tao is a place to linger. With more than half its visitors spending the majority of their time below water instead of above it…I continued my contrarian streak and sat on the dry sand for two days.

Off topic…

Whatever muscle a person had at the beginning of a journey like this, it sadly and quickly melts away in the absence of a gym. I didn’t have much to begin with but what I did was pretty much gone by the time I was riding the Highway to Hell in Sumatra. So with that I decided to steal a page from boot camp – push ups. I do lots of pushups. I do them before I brush my teeth in the morning. I do them before I walk out to the beach (but come on, who doesn’t?). I do them after supper. I do them in a box. I do them with a fox. I could drop and give you forty right now without breathing hard. (I double dare you to close your office door and try cranking out 15). No running shoes and no ocean means no real cardio. With no running and no swimming I’m down to two means of fitness: walking and pushups…

On topic…

My last beach for a long while would be a great one. Up early I headed out to the empty and quiet sand with the intention of running. Few lazy pushup sets and some old-man-like stretching out of the way, I trotted off down the beach. By the time I got to the other end I had a new best friend. The fattest yellow Labrador this planet has ever known eyed me as I came lumbering up his beach. As I passed his sandy hood, with tongue wagging, he joined my ranks with Blue Angel-like precision and kept me company for four lengths of Saree Beach.

Whenever we would pass another dog’s territory and summon his bark, Fat Ass would drop into the water positioning me between him and the local heavy. It was classic. When I finally couldn’t take the running gig any more Fat Ass joined me for a swim 15 yards off shore. I swear that butterball would have sunk to the sea floor like a kamikaze torpedo that missed its target had I not kept his Lusitanian-ass afloat. I think I bonded more with that fat dog during that hour together than I did with my actual dog during her entire life. I finally walked Fat Ass home to his dive shop, we hugged, and I ran out the back door before he could follow. Walking back to my beach hut I realized that Martin Riggs had it all figured out way back in the ‘80s. All you need in this life is a beach, a trailer, and a great dog. Life can be that simple. I guess a flowing mullet doesn’t hurt either.

And that was it. The dog was the highlight of my two days on Ko Tao. As the sun started doing its thing late in the day I knew the clouds and weather would cooperate for a killer sunset. I staked my spot on the beach, set up my camera’s tripod, locked in the frame I wanted and hit record. One hour and fifteen minutes later I hit stop. When you view that same footage at 4 times its normal speed (which takes about 20 seconds) the transformation of light and color from 5pm’s sweet spot to 6:15pm sundown magic is really incredible (if none of that made sense I’m sorry. It will one day in my film).

This last piece of seaside tranquility would be the final calm before the approaching storm (err, drizzle) of Bangkok…then Laos and Cambodia and Vietnam and India and Nepal and China and Mongolia and Russia and Kazakhstan and Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan…

The seas, for the two hour ferry ride from Ko Tao to the Thai mainland leaving at 4:00pm the following day, were so rough that more than a few people spent those hours hanging over the side (a la Cape May 1992). I felt fine and kept quoting George Costanza to no one’s amusement: the sea was angry that day my friends…like an old man trying to return soup at a deli.

With time to kill I did what any self-respecting ex-casino owner would have done…I acted as the House and started dealing blackjack hands. Two baht minimum and five baht max (for the high rollers). The casino was doing well until the two snarky Canadian girls from Manitoba got sick and went outside. And with that my off-shore gaming operation lost 50% of its clientele and folded.

Our ferry got to the mainland pier at 6pm. It was dark, drizzling, and rough. Our escape from the boat was something straight out of Fox’ Caught on Tape. I was the last passenger to get off and thankfully caught it on tape. There was no threat of sinking, but lets just say the 10 foot long gangplank (that we had to sprint over) was not stationary at any point due to wave activity. This stunt never would have flown in the states. At 8:30pm we were safety aboard a charter bus headed for Bangkok. By 5:30am I found myself in the legendary backpacker hive of Khao San Rd searching for a bed with two Californians. By 6am I was in that bed.

By 9:30am I was wide awake. Something just hung in the air outside. Something just inviting you to come outside and take a look around. Something different. Something funky. A little something called Bangkok…

http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?ie=UTF8&hl=en&oe=UTF8&num=200&start=39&msa=0&msid=113857108228539669434.000475cd617df8978ac81&z=8

Island Hoppin’

November 24th:

Ko Phi Phi Leh

November 25th:

Forgettable night in Ko Lanta forever to be associated with a world class hangover.

November 26th:

Early ferry from Ko Lanta to Railay Beach. To clarify Railay is not an island (as many believe) but rather a peninsula. “Oh how I love this island!” I would hear. “You’re on the mainland by the way…and your fly is down,” I would inject without invitation. Railay Beach has many things going for it. 1). No cars and no motorbikes. 2). A world class sunset beach. 3). World class rock climbing. The latter to be enjoyed on one of the endless towering cliff walls that pepper the seascape and surrounding coastline. RB is iconic Thailand at its best. All that is missing is Roger Moore and his Golden Gun.

My company for two nights on Railay would include two ex-Chanel employees and a Jersey-born, NYC-practicing corporate lawyer who may just have the world’s smallest hands (sorry Triple J – you know I love you). Laura + Jane + Devin + SBO = a Thanksgiving to remember.

Beach life, as many of you are well versed and familiar, does not warrant description. Read, eat, frolic in a giant bathtub of jade-colored water, and break out the camera when the sun heads for home…

November 27th:

…and repeat. Beach life is a simple & beautiful formula. It requires no modifications, no tinkering, no upgrades…

November 28th:

With an ambition travel schedule planned…Laura would find her way to Bangkok. With a new job start-date looming…Jane would find her way to Bangkok . With a serious case of the travel flu…Devin would find her way to Bangkok . With none of the above characters or hindrances…Steve would find himself heading off alone to the home of SE Asia’s biggest and most notorious party: the Gulf Coast island of Ko Pha Ngan.

Every month when the werewolves come out and our closest satellite gets fully illuminated, backpackers, travelers, vacationers, & thieves descend on the tiny island of Ko Pha Ngan for its legendary and lethal Full Moon Party. On Sunrise Beach on the peninsular of Haad Rin, on the southeastern most corner of the island, anywhere between ten and 30,000 people will come to party as the nightly low tide and lunar rotation sucks the ocean out of the bay leaving football-fields worth of dry sand…

30,000 people…

The stories are legendary…and alarming. While on Gili Trawangan two months ago I had a drink with an ex-Birmingham footballer who used to play in England ’s Premier League. Phil Warner was thirty years old. Handsome guy who you could tell did just fine with the opposite sex. He and his mate had been in Thailand for a month so I peppered them with questions. When we got to the topic of the Full Moon Party, they both kind of laughed. The story, as Phil told, involved him wearing a fake designer watch and a flashy button down shirt. All was well until his evening went black. When he awoke he was on the side of a mountain…watch-less…shirt-less…and wallet-less. At some point he had been drugged, robbed, and driven up the side of a mountain and left. Drugged? Everyone drinks “buckets” at the FMP. Picture a bucket that a child would use to build a sandcastle at the beach. Take that, add whiskey, add coke, and serve. With that visual in mind its not hard to picture a few Thai scumbags, working in tandem, dropping a roofy in Warner’s drink, trailing him, and taking action when his steps start to wobble.

Like I said…alarming. Unless your passport and valuables are on secure lock down while you’re on the sand, they apparently go walkabout with alarming regularity. But for all those stories people still rave about it. I’d had mixed feelings about attending since Gili T…

Back to Railay Beach. The trip to Ko Pha Ngan requires you to cross the isthmus of Thailand – from the Andaman Coast on the west to the Gulf Coast on the east. It’s a well traveled route by people who look and pack like me.

At 8am I boarded a long boat and left Railay. Twenty minutes later I arrived back on land in Krabi. Twenty minutes later I took shotgun in a mini-van. Twenty minutes later we were dropped off at a bus station. Twenty minutes later I was flashed a sign that read “Don’t leave valuables in your luggage.” I had heard about dodgy bus trips and Thai scumbags going through luggage underneath the bus. I took everything of value and stuffed it into my carry-on bag. Twenty minutes later I was sitting shotgun in another minivan. Sixty minutes later we were dropped off at yet another bus station. Sixty minutes later we boarded a charter bus. Forty minutes after that (apparently everything that happened took place in increments of twenty) we arrived on the Gulf Coast. The bus stops, you grab your gear, and quickly rush to make the ferry to Ko Pha Ngan.

With a seat secure on the topside I unzipped my big back to begin consolidating both bags into one. Zip….and there it was. A black journal…that wasn’t mine. And the light bulb goes off. Thai scumbags. Thankfully I hadn’t left anything of value or importance to steal, but it could have been worse. All that went missing was a bottle of Listerine and shaving cream. Oh what a sickening feeling. As you’re cruising along in your bus seat, some scumbag is going through your stuff down below. (Time to break out the Paksafe lock that I brought.) I walked the length of the boat holding the journal over my head until finally a very confused British girl came over.

So with that unfortunate experience leaving a nasty taste in my mouth, I arrived to Ko Pha Ngan at 5pm (with precious sunlight remaining). Ko Pha Ngan is not a small island, so accommodations are spread all over the place. Not about to pick a place blind and pay a taxi, I did the logical thing: rent a motorbike.

I had come to the part of the rental agreement form that asked for time and date of pickup. I reached into my pocket for my phone and found none. I ripped through my bag in a minute and realized it must have fallen out on the boat. I sprinted back to the ferry, showed my ticket, and was told I had “two minutes” to get on and off. In a mad dash I sprinted to the top deck and found my Nokia wedged in between the seats. I ran back to the rental office pouring sweat as the sun was dipping alarmingly low. I loaded up my gear, strapped on my helmet and mapped a course to the northern most tip of the island and a beach hut I’d read about.

As I’m navigating the winding roads I remember a passage I read: Ko Pha Ngan has more motorbike accidents than injuries at the Full Moon Party. Knowing of the island’s reputation, having already been robbed, and having nearly lost my phone, I had a bad vibe all over about this place.

It was dark when I pulled into Coral Bay. For two hundred baht I found what I was looking for. The clichéd thatch hut, on stilts, 50 feet from the water line. I figured I’d already spent the night on The Beach, so I might as well spend a night in one of those corny huts as well. I was physically and emotionally drained, so I hit the pillow at 8pm…on a Saturday night (sweet life…I know).

The other side of that coin was waking up at 6:15am and getting on my motorbike. Teeth brushed, long-sleeve on, I started the engine at 6:23am while the rest of the island slept. The clouds were gone and the sunrise over the interior mountains was sick.

It’s been emailed to me once or twice that I’m apparently “living the dream” or some such. Well we’re all living some kind of dream but for a few seconds that morning, as I leaned into the mountain turns of Ko Pha Ngan’s smooth asphalt, I thought to myself: “Yes, right this second…you are living the dream.”

Then I promptly crashed.

No. That didn’t happen. I rode towards Haad Rin and Ground Zero of lunar debauchery. Along the way I picked up a bald, twenty-something Brit who had clearly made some poor decisions the night before. From the back of my bike he informs me he drank a lot, doesn’t remember much, and just came to in a Lady Boy bar. I would eventually drop him off and get my first real look at his face. No eyebrows, just painted black line. Skin disease or something else? Either way, just flat out weird.

“You’re a life saver. If I see you at Fin’s Pool Party later I’ll buy you a drink. It’s off the hook.”

“Don’t worry. You won’t,” I mumble to myself.

Haad Rin was beautiful at 7am. Cute bars, restaurants, etc. But then again it was empty. It wasn’t hard, however, to imagine the carnage that goes down here once a month. I passed by a Seven Eleven and stopped. I smiled to a local sweeping the street. She approached my bike:

“Girl die last night. Right out in water [pointing to the beach]. They take her Ko Samui.”

I would hear this news again that morning. No explanation provided. Drowned? Drugs? No idea. Just some poor girl who came to the island looking for good times and never left. Sad.

I parked and walked out to that very beach where just hours earlier a girl had lost her life and where days from now thousands would celebrate on her grave. I surveyed the endless stalls of bucket dispensers and just shook my head. Maybe when I was 25 I would have gotten excited about the Full Moon Party? But not here and not now.

(Buckets don’t appear hard to come by. And from the looks of it…it’s from the ground floor to the 2nd floor…)

I ate breakfast, refueled, and stopped at Fin’s on the way out. Fin’s has a serious reputation as the daytime party spot. At 8am I stood and watched as several Thais poured enough chlorine into the pool to blind every man, woman, and child in China. Thanks but no thanks. I didn’t even so much as look back as I climbed the notoriously steep and dangerous hill out of Haad Rin (first gear all the way). That would be as close as I’d get to SE Asia ’s most legendary party.

With a full tank of gas and a hearty breakfast of banana pancakes I headed into the island’s interior – the only route to the northern beaches. The roads were garbage and unsafe. Sand and gravel. I took my time. When I arrived unimpressed at one northern beach in particular that was billed as ‘paradise found,’ I decided I’d had enough. Why not get the hell off this island and up to Ko Tao? It was 10:30am and I’d seen everything I needed and wanted. Ko Pha Ngan – not for me.

(Coughlin’s Law – As long as stupid people have access to stupid money, stupid ideas will manifest themselves in all sorts of stupid ways.)

I took my sweet time retracing my steps through the interior, the whole time convinced that something was going to happen. Just bad news, near misses, and lousy vibes since I’d arrived. And now, I thought, it was my turn. I navigated the dirt interior back to tarmac in one piece and shot over to the ferry pier.

“When is the next boat off this island to Ko Tao?”

“12:30pm.”

It was 11:30am. I was now on a mission. Get off Ko Pha Ngan in one piece. And get off fast. I shot up and over the mountain and back to my hut. I had already packed so I quickly loaded my gear and jumped back in the saddle. As I prepared to retrace my recent tracks back up and over the mountain the voice of Pat Jackson jumped into my head: “OK, Steve. Don’t eff this up. Just up, over, and back to the rental agency…in one piece…like a gentleman.” All I had to do was drop the bike off in one piece and board a ferry. On the final stretch, with the rental shop in sight, I slowed to a crawl expecting something (anything) to dart in my path and Shanghai my escape. Nada. Smooth return. Smooth ticket buy. Smooth boarding. Smooth getaway.

As I stood on the top deck on the tiny boat about to cross the 40km north to Ko Tao, another boat pulled up at the pier. And just like that…hundreds of backpackers disembarked and headed down the pier, all with likely the same goal in mind: good times Full Moon style.

The full moon is December 2nd and I’ve decided to trade Ko Pha Ngan for Bangkok.

What would you do?

(Vodka bucket, anyone?)

From Prison to ‘The Beach’

Over the footbridge from Myanmar and into Mae Sai, Thailand. Mae Sai to Chiang Rai. Chiang Rai to Chiang Mai. Its in Chiang Mai I would blow through The Damage Done, the real life account of Australian Warren Fellows and his 12 years spent in Bangkok’s notorious Maha Chai prison for drug trafficking in the late 1970s. As far as I’m concerned this book should be required reading for all 6th graders – just scare them straight. Don’t do drugs. But if you must, don’t traffic them. But if you still must, for the love of all that’s holy…pick another country to traffic in than Thailand.

From Chiang Mai I would fly to Phuket. I landed at 2pm. By 2:30, having retrieved my luggage and made my way into the army of taxi foot soldiers, I hated Phuket. But no big deal. I knew I was going to hate Phuket from the start. Phuket (aka The Bucket) – 1 part Ocean City – 1 part Myrtle Beach – garnish with sleaze & top with sex tourism. It doesn’t go down easy. At 8am the next day Devin Fitz, Laura Kapstein, Jane Jhun, and I boarded a ferry to the Phi Phi Islands. 18 hours in Phuket. 18 hours too many.

The Phi Phi Islands consist of two islands. The lightly developed Phi Phi Don and the untouched national marine park of Phi Phi Leh. Despite the vast numbers descending upon Phi Phi Don, I was in love the moment I stepped off the pier. Without a single car or motorbike in sight or earshot (zero on the island in fact), the village is a charming labyrinths of foot-traffic-only alleyways, lined on either side with tastefully done bars, restaurants, Internet cafes, coffee shops, second hand book stores, dive shops, tattoo parlors, enough tour organizers to keep you busy for weeks, street food vendors galore, and attractive accommodations to accommodate any wallet (thick or thin). If Phuket is community college for how to do it wrong, Phi Phi Don is a masters program in how to do it right. And then (or course there is a then), there’s the beach.

Gifted and bare-chested Slovenians, not shy about sharing their best assets with the rest of the beach, share sand with bleach-blond Swedes who make room for the rest of the well tanned United Nations. When a football circle develops between a Brit, a Turk, two Fins, and a really tall Brazilian, you can’t help but grin at the diversity you’re surrounded by. As the sun begins to set and the tide recedes, all that is left for 100s of feet offshore is a foot of water. And like that scores of Jesus-want-to-be’s head out and appear to walk on water. When the sun sets and the stars appear above, the bars come to life as if its Saturday night seven days a week. But isn’t it always the weekend in Paradise? Isn’t that how it works? In our case it was a Monday night but might as well have been the King’s birthday. Between the beach, the village, and the clientele…Phi Phi Don is without a doubt the grown-up version of newbie Gili Trawangan (back from the Lombok, Indonesia days). And for that reason I can only imagine how great of a place this was 15 years ago, in its infancy…

Day 75 (November 24):

I woke up in a jail cell at 8am. Ok, it had nothing to do with incarceration as I had the key to my cell. My rectangular, single room at The Rock (PPD’s legendary backpacker institution) measured mattress length + 2 feet long by mattress width plus 3 feet wide. Add a tiny barred window, one wall-mounted fan, slap some apple green paint on the wall and you have a prison cell – or my crash pad for the night. I took one look and said yes immediately for the sole reason that I could travel every continent and likely never find a smaller room.

At 11am I dropped off my key, met up with the girls, and boarded a long boat. Destination: Paradise.

Phi Phi Leh is the stuff of pure sand lovers fantasy. Towering cliff walls hundreds of feet tall hid emerald lagoons so drop dead gorgeous I pinched myself on the left wrist until it hurt…and knew it was real.

Following an afternoon that included cliff jumping and snorkeling, the long boat makes its way to the main event and our home for the night. You’ve seen the movie, you’ve read the descriptions, you’ve heard the stories from other travelers, but nothing can prepare you for what lies around the bend as our long boat glides into Maya Beach. A small channel is all that interrupts the 360 degrees of towering cliff walls that surround what is without question the prettiest beach these eyes have ever seen (sorry Bakes – Dewey’s got nothing on this patch of sand). You slowly round the bend and past through the channel and It appears as if unfolding on the Silver Screen. The Beach. But this time it really is…The Beach. Ao Maya hit the jackpot when it starred as the perfect beach in 1999’s The Beach, the film version of Alex Garland’s backpacker novel of the same name. My words won’t even scratch the surface so do yourself a favor (if you haven’t seen it), rent The Beach and see what Leo DiCaprio looks like at 104 lbs.

For $60usd you can camp on The Beach, which is all you can do as there isn’t a single roof on the entire national park island. At 5pm we pulled up onto the sand just as all the day-trip boats were doing exactly what I wanted them to do: leave.

I dump my bag and swim out to the channel to take in the view of the sun setting into the drink. The sky filled with just enough clouds to turn both the sky and the ocean’s reflection below a heavenly violet and pink. As the last boat pulls out, leaving The Beach inhabited by just 30 fortunate overnight guests, a football game breaks out on the sand. As Fitz and I take in the surreal setting I ask her what 5 people she would have join us right this second (if possible). She returns the question. With our rosters in place I swim back to shore in circles to take in every second of this experience. And it dons on me that for this one evening I truly am living The Beach. Its sounds corny but at that moment I was all about the moment. An international hodgepodge of bikinis, accents, and travelers all in pursuit of the same thing: Paradise. And for one incredible night paradise was found by all.

With all remnants of day light long gone and the half-moon sitting high in the sky, our four early-20s Thai ‘hosts’ broke out the ipod speakers, coolers of beer, dinner, and a guitar. I mean don’t all those nouns belong in paradise? With that the stage was set, and with all thirty campers chowing down on chix and rice I quietly slipped away into the bushes and down a path that lead to one of the world’s prettiest beaches. And when I got there, wouldn’t you know it – not another living soul in sight. Is this real? Seriously. Just me, my moon shadow, and arguably the prettiest beach on the globe. Completely surreal. One of the best highs of my life.

The night would include several rounds of the drinking game called Kings. The undisputed comedic highlight of which occurring when an Indian fellow pulled a 10 from the deck:

“Ten. Pick a category. Anything you want.”

“Punjabi swear words.”

His category surprisingly didn’t make it far, but the laugh was a great one shared by all. The night would end with an international skinny dip en mass before dawn, complete with an appearance from those famous phosphorescence from the movie. 7am would bring a sandy and rude awakening plus a hangover, the likes of which I hadn’t felt since America. We would leave at 10am as the first day boats started filing in. And with that my night in paradise came to an end.

Bad news: World class hangover and having to put my shirt on for the first time in 26 hours (I counted).
Good news: Can cross “Locate Paradise” off my Life To Do List.

Maya Beach
Ko Phi Phi Leh
Andaman Sea
Thailand

Check.

http://maps.google.com/?ie=UTF8&ll=37.0625,-95.677068&spn=51.310143,79.013672&z=4