tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91816029083107193062024-03-12T16:26:50.151-07:00The Freewheelin' TroubadourThe Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.comBlogger63125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-30372092451588058292013-02-19T08:12:00.001-08:002013-02-19T08:35:03.677-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 40: Back to the future<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">18.11.12</span><br />
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After what felt like five minutes sleep, our 5 o’clock alarm rang. This would
be the last time I wake in a bed that wasn’t my own, the last time I have to
carry all of my possessions in a half-broken bag, on a half broken back, out of
a half-broken hotel, the last blurry Bangkok morning I would witness through
hazy eyes. I wasn’t ready. I could’ve stayed for at least a few months more,
although I needed to stop living so I could catch up on my adventures. See<span style="background-color: black;">, t</span><span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="background-color: black;">he life of a writer is a
difficult balance between living and writing. If you're not out living the
moments, you will have no experiences to draw from in your work, but if you're
doing too much living you can scarcely find the time to get your experiences
documented, and you end up with a back-log of life weighing you down as you get
around. I'm searching for a happy medium, but think perhaps it can only be
achieved with great discipline. I've always been a naughty boy. Exhaling the
last of our smoke out of the window I went to get some water from the 7-Eleven.
As I returned back down the narrow alleyway, I saw a Thai girl coming towards
me, doing the walk of shame from our hotel. I assumed it was my brief
neighbour, although it could have been one of many. I gave her a cheeky smile
as she approached, one of those ‘I know what you’ve been up to’ grins, and she
gave me a friendly little punch in the arm as she passed. I would miss this
place.</span></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">God was waiting to wish us goodbye</td></tr>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After
a few minutes our mini-van arrived and whisked us away from Four Sons Place.
One thing I wasn’t going to miss was the crazy driving, as much as I enjoy the
thrill of fearing for my life in near-death experiences, ten times a day was a
bit too much. Still, the lunatic got us to the airport in good time, we checked
in our dead weights and I felt like Atlas, with the weight of the world finally
removed from his shoulders. I did a little boogaloo, moonwalk, and electric
slide through passport control and boarded the sixth flight of my trip, which
would be taking us back to India. I had hoped to spent this time like all the
other spare time I’ve had, writing, but my mind was too tired to concentrate on
such things and I spent it instead staring blankly at a screen which had some
shit film or another for me to doze
along to. Sarah and I were both excited to land in Delhi, secretly hoping that
a problem with the plane would mean we had to stay for the day, however, no
such luck occurred. Still, we had a few hours in the airport which we’d gone
home from a year before and we first visited a store which did free henna so
that Sarah could get her hand done again. There was also a guy doing free palm
readings, so I sat down with him on a tiny stool, offering my hands as reading
material. He took them and then started explaining each line in detail. He said
I had two head lines, which is very unique, but also meant that I over think. A
running theme in my life, it seems. He said I had a long lifeline which has no
breaks, meaning I won’t suffer any big illnesses along my journey. He told me
that I’d be lucky up until the age of forty-five, and then I’d have to work
harder to achieve what I want. He said that I had good karma, a good balance
between hard work and luck, and good creative mercury, but I won’t be satisfied
with my level of fame. He told me about the power of stones, telling me that I
should try and get a 7 carat emerald on a silver ring and wear it on Wednesdays
to improve my creative mercury and gave me a card, offering to guide me in more
detail if I ever wished. That’s the second day in a row that I’d been pretty
satisfied with fortunes for the future, and both were similar, so I must be doing
something right.<br />
<br />
Sarah had something on her phone which allowed us access into a fancy lounge where
you could have a drink, eat and wait for your flight. Everything was my
favourite price, free, so I filled my boots with a variety of different Indian
dishes, snacks and a rum and coke, mixed extra strong on my request. Within an
hour our flight number 111 was called and we swiftly boarded and got seated by
the emergency exits, which is always a blessing for my long legs, thanks to a
bit of pre-planning with my friend Johnny who works for Air India in London. Even
though I’d just recently eaten, I had a good go on the Indian food that was
served on-board, not wanting to miss out on another free meal, although this
time I washed it down with a valium, and then edited some of my writing until
my eyes grew heavy. I must’ve slept for around two hours and awoke to an
announcement from one of the cabin crew asking for any doctors on-board to make
themselves known. I felt sad upon hearing that, it was the first time I wished
that I’d listened to my Dad when I was eight, and become a doctor. Still, I
wrote that everything would be ok and it was written. No further alarm.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">DUN-DUN-DUR-DUR JET! </td></tr>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
Our wheels bounced down on the ground of London town, nobody cheered as the
pilot told us that the temperature was 2 degrees centigrade. I stepped off of
the plane feeling positively buoyant, almost giddy, which could be put down to
my lack of sleep, or the knowledge of the present I had left myself at home. No
more expensive twigs, only the most darling of buds. We navigated our way
through baggage collection, then customs, where I stopped at their ‘anything to
declare’ section to declare that I love Sarah, before making our way onto the
tube. I sent a message to my best friends to let them know their boy was back
in town and was delighted to received a reply from Mike, reminding me that we
had tickets to see The Dandy Warhols that Thursday at an underground club
called Heaven, which to me sounds more like a cunning trick by the Devil to
attract people to Hell. It was amusing to witness London’s tube culture after
forty days away, until I ended up having to shout at two naughty teenage French
boys for constantly trying to open the door of our moving train. ‘Ain’t nobody
got time fo’ that’. We didn’t have time for anything other than getting back to
Bethnal Green as quickly as possible, and everyone else smiled at me for
telling them off. It was the first time in a long time that I’d acted like an
adult. I didn’t like it.<br />
<br />
It was freezing outside and we couldn’t face waiting for the bus with our bags,
so we took a taxi from Bethnal to our Hackney home, which I managed to haggle,
still in holiday mode, and arrived through the door of our expectedly messy
manor to cheers from our housemates. Henry, Pete and Damien were gathered in
the living room and welcomed us back with huge hugs, Henry throwing his stinky
bag of skunk at me, which I immediately rolled into a homing missile and aimed
directly towards my lungs. We spent an hour with our family of friends and then
made our way upstairs where a big hot bath was waiting. We both climbed in
together and lay in the heat watching steam hit the ceiling as the knowledge
that we were no longer travellers with the world at our feet started to sink
in. This automatically made mine itchy, but that’s to be expected, you cannot
stay on the rollercoaster forever or you’ll never know what it’s like to queue,
the anticipation of excitement is half the fun, and now was the time to
anticipate the future. I knew that I had much to be getting along with, at
least three books worth of material to release, music to finish working on and
a script or two to finally write, once I’d transferred each days’ worth of
memories from this trip onto page.<br />
<br />
Although it could be looked upon as the end of an adventure, I still have a
mountain to climb and with the support of my best friends, lover and all of my
fellow Freewheelers, I’m certain I will overcome everything before me.<br />
<br />
THE END. THE BEGINNING.<br />
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The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-65664844102368989362013-02-12T06:32:00.001-08:002013-02-12T06:35:54.614-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 39: Sex, Shower, Spliff<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">17.11.12</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We slowly rose at 10am, chucked on some clothes and headed
straight to Milano the tailors to meet Sanjay. On the way there I was stopped
by a plump Indian fellow who wore a blue turban and we started talking whilst
Sarah was checking out some dresses at a market stall. He told me that he was a
fortune teller and could see into my future. I’d wanted to see a fortune teller
for quite some time now but had yet to get the chance, so I gave him a few
minutes of my time and listened carefully to what he had to say, sceptically
seeking signs of fraudulence. He first asked me to think of a colour and
guessed blue correctly, probably quite easy to implant, if you know what you’re
doing. He told me that December 21<sup>st</sup> 2012 (the date of the supposed
end of the world) would be lucky for me, and that my aura would be cleansed. He
asked my date of birth and told me that I wasn’t born on a good day for me, but
I’d live a long and healthy life until I’m eighty eight years old. Jesus. He
told me various other things, like I’d soon have a new job, I’m a peaceful,
happy man and I have a clear temple but I think too much. No shit. He told me
that I have good karma and would become successful and famous. He was trying to
get me to pay him about £20 for a full reading, however, my funds were all but
spent and I doubted Sarah was willing to fund it and then wait, so I thanked
the man and went to meet Sanjay. We walked in to see a maroon pair of trousers
hanging there, in the same colour I’d chosen for in the jacket, however we’d
asked for black trousers and this little error worried us slightly. Sanjay
apologised and I ended up saying I’d take both colours as they looked nice and
I got them cheaply. The jacket was dropped off shortly after, but I was in no
rush, talking football with my new homie until it arrived. I tried it on and he
marked out the exact fit and length I wanted, and then off we went to grab a
quick bite before returning to our hotel for the beautifully alliterated combination
of sex, shower and spliff.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
We jumped into a cab full of creepy crawlies which took us back to Chatuchak
market, where I’d been twice before, once with my hostel crew and once with
Sarah. We spent a few hours running around, spotting so many things which we
wanted for our imaginary future home and haggling our way around, getting lots
of nice bits and pieces at knock-down prices. The pick of the litter was a
carved wooden elephants head with a lamp light framed above it, which shines
down upon the dark brown head and the elephants on either side. Sarah also
bought a traditional puppet to go with the ones we’d bought in India and we
also got more little gifts for friends and family. With our money now
drastically disappearing and the night sky settling, we headed back to Khao San
road, went into our room to try and pack everything we had into our bags, and
sparked up a cannon as the Arsenal match kicked off on the TV. Tottenham scored
within a few minutes, our former player and general scumbag Emmanuel Adebayor
putting one in, but unlike last time, he didn’t run the whole length of the
pitch to celebrate in front of his former clubs fans. In a fantastic turn of
events, he was swiftly sent off after a horrendous tackle on our genial
midfield man Santi Cazorla, and we got a goal back shortly after. Sarah and I
had to go and meet Sanjay for the final fitting, so we made our way out and
down in the elevator. As we walked along the alley there was a guy standing at
the end, eyes closed and hands to the skies in a salute to whichever God he worshipped.
I smiled at him as he came back to Earth and he looked up and said “Ping pong
show?” I laughed at the contrast between his actions, and gratefully declined.
He said “Are you London?” In a sporting mood I replied “Arsenal” and he said
“Ahhh, 1-1” referencing the score which I was unsure how he was aware of.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sanjay said the jacket was coming and took us to the outdoor
bar nearby, ordering pints for the three of us. We sat chatting, watching the
score-line increase as the ten men of our Tottenham rivals struggled to deal
with the constant attacks, and then he shot off back to his shop, which was
still open and attracting customers, leaving us there awaiting his return. The
game finished 5-2, a perfectly happy ending to the trip on the footballing
front, now all that was left was my suit. It was getting really late but I
trusted Sanjay, and I was right to, because despite the delay, my tuxedo style
maroon jacket with black lapels and black trousers both came back looking and
fitting like a dream. He was a little more expensive than the original guy in
Phuket, but worth every penny of the still minimal price for a tailor-made,
bespoke suit. We both thanked our new friend and bid him farewell, returning to
the gauntlet for one last stroll. Sarah’s remaining money was burning a hole in
my pocket and when I came across another elephants head, this time a bejewelled
version which had been painted red, I told her I had to have it. The salesman
was deaf, but it didn’t stop him from whacking huge sums into his calculator,
and me replying with low-ball amounts at the other end of the spectrum. I think
I got it for around a quarter of what he started on, my final haggle of the
holiday. We got a couple cheap shopping bags to take as hand luggage and
returned to fill them with the last bits which our cases couldn’t take, and
stuff for the flight home. Sarah fell asleep with ease as usual, but I
struggled, it was too early for me. I rolled around on the bed trying to get
comfortable and as the bottom sheet rode upwards I realised that it wasn’t just
the pillow which was covered in a leathery feeling plastic, but the mattress
too, which left me slightly puzzled. I heard footsteps in the hallway and the
slam of the door next to ours, then within a few minutes strange noises. At
first I thought it was a couple fighting, but a few moans and multiple pained groans
later had me left with little doubt that there was some hardcore fucking going on.
As furniture banged and screams rang out along the corridor, the purpose of the
plastic pillow and bed finally made sense, the room was spunk proof, and the
hotel was in all likeliness probably a low price haven for whore-mongers, who
had no care where they sprayed their jizz, as long as it was being sprayed. The
bed grew even less comfortable, but thankfully it didn’t last forever. Once my
neighbour had seemingly stopped smashing his lady to pieces, I was happy to get
a couple of hours shut-eye before our van to the airport arrived. I guess at
least my day ended with a bang.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-49672373881643291912013-02-06T08:22:00.001-08:002013-02-06T08:24:09.975-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 38: The beginning of the end, again<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">16.11.12</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peace be with you, and a side order of fries.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In every story, there comes a point which can be defined as the
beginning of the end. This is that part, rolling slowly into Bangkok at 4.30am
surrounded by smog and dark grey skies, which were slowly becoming lighter
shades of the same dull tones. Gone were the beaches, gone was the sunshine,
gone was the time, and we’d soon be following suit, getting gone, from here to
there to still remain, in-part, everywhere. We’d planned to wind down over the
next two days, do a bit of shopping and run a few last minute errands, but
first, we needed a place to stay. We sleepily exited the bus and got straight
into a taxi which took us to the Khao San road, where I’d spent an entertaining
evening on my second night with the gang from the Lub D hostel. I went to find
a decent place to spend our last nights, and after checking out two terrible
looking joints I found one in a small hotel called Four Sons Place, which
seemed clean and neat, bright white walls, black wardrobe and desk, flat-screen
Tell Lie Vision and an en-suite wet-room, for roughly £13 a night. Done.</span><br />
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<br />
By the time we’d headed out for breakfast it was 8am and we sat in a big, quiet
bar/restaurant, watching the last men standing from the night before, still
boozing at a much busier pub across the road. There were a few Thai girls
hanging around and we sat amused as a chubby, chavvy, bald dude practically
begged one of them to come back with him, before getting into a small
disagreement with some other leftover guy that she was making eyes at. I
assumed he’d been buying her drinks there for hours, and now in the still light
of morning, she just wanted to go home alone. You wouldn’t have blamed her.
Before we did anything, we needed to snooze, broken bus sleep leaving us still
shattered. We slept away the morning, swimming a bit more steadily into the
afternoon. I’d found the name of a decent local tailor online and wanted to
inquire into the possibility of having a new suit thrown together for me in the
same style as the one which the tailor fucked up in Phuket. I walked in and was
greeted by Sanjay, who assured me that despite the time constraints, it was
definitely do-able. He measured me up again, as Sarah again gave clear
instructions and we were again assured that it’d be fine. We told him of the
last place and how they’d not listened and he promised all would be perfect. It
turned out that Sanjay was a massive Arsenal fan, and I excitedly chatted with
the first fellow follower I’d found in a while about current form and our
oncoming derby against our arch-rivals Tottenham Hotspur. I asked him where it
would be shown on TV and he said ‘everywhere’, but that he usually watches it
at a nearby Irish owned bar. I said I’d probably join him there tomorrow and he
told us to return at 10am the following morning for a first fitting. It turned
out that Sanjay and his co-worker were Burmese, which automatically excited
Sarah as she had set up and led an Amnesty International group at university
and based her whole fashion collection on the Free Burma campaign. She asked if
he would write something in Burmese which she’d wanted to get tattooed for a
few years but didn’t know any Burmese people who could translate it, and after
some deliberation he handed her back a piece of paper which apparently read
‘Freedom for all’ in his native script. I asked him if he knew of any areas or
markets which were more Indian based as I wanted to search for some new
princely robes, and he told us to go to the Phahurat market to find what we
seek.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Damn WRITE!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was nearing 5pm as we were dropped off by our tuk tuk
Tony, and rushed into the market which would soon be closing on a mission to
find their sexiest Sherwanis, which I get taken up and wear as shirts, and
there seemed to be a good few planted around, but nothing perfect. We walked
into an outdoor market section which all seemed to be packing away, and found a
stall which had a few I quite liked after trying on. I opted for a black one,
which had a tunic collar, a body of beads and fancy embroidery. I managed to
haggle the tired looking Indian Mama down to the reasonable price of around
£20. It would’ve been half that in India, just like everything else, but I had
something nice to add to my collection of evening and stage wear. Obviously I
don’t wear them to bed. We went back into the market and found another shop
which had some in a display cabinet. I looked through loads and liked a few,
but she was going crazy on the haggle front, starting me at something like £80
each. I opted just to buy one, explaining that my endless pot of imaginary
money wasn’t so endless, or imaginary. She understood, but I had my heart set
on a deep dark red one with a shimmering paisley print woven into the cloth,
sporting a collar and embroidery that only a Prince could pull off, and I was
rocking it royally. We managed to get her down to £40, and Sarah said that
she’d treat me to it for Christmas, which was handy for the both of us, as good
presents are often hard to come by and you rarely end up getting something you
really want or need without asking. Happily skipping out and past some more
shops along the outside Sarah saw a sign which said ‘Masala Dosa’ and nearly
had a heart attack. A masala dosa is a south Indian crepe, traditionally filled
with potatoes, onions and various spices, cooked to a crisp and served with
Sambar, a curry-like side dish and coconut chutney. They are delicious, and
pretty hard to come by. We rushed in with tummies turning in anticipation and
were not disappointed, being shot straight back to New Delhi on first bite, our
last night there, which was very similar to today. We thanked the owner, gave our
compliments to the chef, placed a good tip with the pittance we’d paid and left
them with love. Namaste.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEer2vhFqNL-S7F1957HTtE3p9iivGWLWsQbDzcyZgebb6alzUWffiG9-91AfAssKnPURDMd1yNW0Ina1THj_IxeOvcjoMTareT8R8x_1jn5h34cXI4DnFvnj530AC2IEgcdVsNBCUrgeq/s1600/IMG_8266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEer2vhFqNL-S7F1957HTtE3p9iivGWLWsQbDzcyZgebb6alzUWffiG9-91AfAssKnPURDMd1yNW0Ina1THj_IxeOvcjoMTareT8R8x_1jn5h34cXI4DnFvnj530AC2IEgcdVsNBCUrgeq/s400/IMG_8266.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Masala Dosa and a happy customer</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Next
stop was a loose end which needed tying up, so we headed to Silom, first taking
Sarah around the night market, which is bang in the middle of the red light
district, getting some odd bits and pieces to give as gifts to folks back home
and somehow getting lost in the neon Jungle. I could’ve sworn I knew those streets
like the back of my hand, but in all honesty I don’t know the back of my hand
very well at all, and it showed. After walking for what seemed like an age in
the night time humidity of this sweaty city, we came upon a place I remembered,
and then the woe was over. I entered the building where my journey began, and
greeted the guy on reception fondly. It was he who recommended the museum of
the arts to Brady and I on my first proper day there, and he let me into the
luggage storage room where I’d faithfully left my Mac jacket and Chelsea boots
after swiftly realising that they were surplus to requirements. I dug them,
safe and sound, from behind a load of cases on a shelf, signed it out and
thanked the guys, wishing them many blessings.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Buggin' Out<br />
<br /></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
Finally our days work was nearing an end, and we hopped into a tuk tuk so Tony
2 could drop our tired bodies back at the Khao San Road, unfortunately, he
dropped us at the wrong entrance, meaning we had to walk all the way down to
the other end through a gauntlet of tourists shopping the night markets, and
boozed up revellers stumbling around, to get back to our hotel room. Perfect. The noise
pollution on this street was ridiculous, at any one standing spot you could
probably sing along and dance to five different songs, with a football stadiums
worth of chanting and shouting over the top. There were people everywhere on
this street, where the seedy underworld entwined so flawlessly with the
seemingly innocent, creating a vibrant mess of civilisation building itself up
and knocking itself down simultaneously. I liked it. There was a good vibe.
After twenty five minutes of fighting through various opponents, we reached our
sanctuary. I started my ritualistic writing, and after another of my days
immortalised on page I became hungry. It was the barbeque meats we’d walked by
on the way back, they always get me. I hit the streets on a solo mission, up
and down between stalls to score a Pad Thai with chicken and squid from one
street vendor, and a pineapple shake from another, returning to my lady with
some tasty eats for the equivalent of £2 in total. We scoffed the lot, Sarah
passed out, and I continued with my consistently expanding memoirs until 4am,
when I rested my head on what seemed to be a plastic covered pillow, which I
recycled into a cloud and floated off on.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaSkg9sAPKTmBSamjO8WVewes4mbp3rkokZJcdIKGjvX-UWjOxsOSnHNHVGBU6zmUjxhvcCLQ0NSW9o3vlGnPVsTupk0aYVERrGC64KXe5Z9UbuHqpqFCa05CAVKIGkibPa_JHjmw2qc0x/s1600/IMG_8282.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaSkg9sAPKTmBSamjO8WVewes4mbp3rkokZJcdIKGjvX-UWjOxsOSnHNHVGBU6zmUjxhvcCLQ0NSW9o3vlGnPVsTupk0aYVERrGC64KXe5Z9UbuHqpqFCa05CAVKIGkibPa_JHjmw2qc0x/s400/IMG_8282.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Gauntlet of goons</td></tr>
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The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-22055612572471051112013-02-06T08:09:00.001-08:002013-02-08T10:33:46.432-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 37: Dead and Breakfast<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">15.11.12</span></span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtd7CKVzQb4h30ozNcQ-3g-iTBbeFvwflDMciN86sLsi7mAqEMB_VkifZOweuWvOoBae7-HljZf1bMhfBQS-iNeTvOCTmv-ayChUfqiJh6vfKsql9vX3ghQQpipuHm4PVI-8tJbSbZim3z/s1600/IMG_8250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtd7CKVzQb4h30ozNcQ-3g-iTBbeFvwflDMciN86sLsi7mAqEMB_VkifZOweuWvOoBae7-HljZf1bMhfBQS-iNeTvOCTmv-ayChUfqiJh6vfKsql9vX3ghQQpipuHm4PVI-8tJbSbZim3z/s400/IMG_8250.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Our breakfast dining area</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">I jolted </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">upright in our huge comfy bed and quickly jumped out. There are few
things that can make a man act this way upon wak</span></span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ing, one of which is an all you
can eat breakfast, which is exactly what we had coming. I looked out from our
balcony and heard talking, so I knew some of the others were already down in
the poolside dining area. I shook Sarah like an excited kid does to his mother
on Christmas morning, throwing clothes at her, then rushing downstairs to have
my hung-over hunger satiated. James, Andrea and Taijahna were already seated at
a round, rotating table which had a variety of cereals, croissants, pastries
and juices. One of the staff on hand came straight over to take our order and
we asked for the full works to help steady our heads. A few minutes later and
we were delivered plates with sausage, eggs, bacon, hash browns, mushrooms and
toast. Half way through I asked for more bacon and hash browns, which were cooked
up swiftly and brought over as I continued to gouge away, adding various baked
goods to my plate. Richard arrived looking slightly faded, with a fresh faced
Aimi beside him, then the bride and groom arrived, wearing matching robes that
had their names embroidered in the back, which the resort had made especially
for them. We sat chatting and admiring our beautiful surroundings, wishing we
could somehow stay there for longer, but we only had the place until 4pm so we
returned to our suite to make the most of the big bath, and sat soaking,
staring out across the sea in a state of bliss.</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrqs9AeOotwIrWktklgXNwNA5JADfBBOhS1cRMQ_4d6P4_V1DUD2bYKOxrvYjJxbkbcJfRki-LDF8THZvab2E5-6D4WqcgEiItdcQpcNVVhY6-XOXat8_Q3J8sgn3V6wFUhUz9UAOTeNX2/s1600/IMG_8248.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrqs9AeOotwIrWktklgXNwNA5JADfBBOhS1cRMQ_4d6P4_V1DUD2bYKOxrvYjJxbkbcJfRki-LDF8THZvab2E5-6D4WqcgEiItdcQpcNVVhY6-XOXat8_Q3J8sgn3V6wFUhUz9UAOTeNX2/s400/IMG_8248.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The view of Heaven from down on Earth</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
As much as I enjoyed the comfort of staying in such lavish dwellings, where
everything is taken care of and everything you need is to hand, I couldn’t help
feeling slightly like an imposter, like a hobo that had drunkenly stumbled
through a back door and somehow ended up being served dinner in Buckingham
Palace. I’m sure most of this places guests didn’t stroll in with over-stuffed
back packs and joints hanging out of their mouths, but what can I say, that’s
how I roll, no need to put on any airs when you’re already flying. So fresh and
so clean, clean, we fell together onto our bed and christened it as the most
expensive bed we’d ever had the pleasure of making dirty, proudly rolling around
and making the most of it, before our forthcoming evening spent trying to sleep
in a bus seat all night. We packed most of our stuff, then returned to the
poolside, where Alexa’s mum Karen and her brother Easton had joined us to swim
and sunbathe for the afternoon. Sat in paradise, catching rays, is definitely
not a bad way to waste a day. Unfortunately the sands of our hourglass had all
but fallen, and a cab arrived to take Sarah and I to the bus station. We
thanked Alexa and Hayden, wishing them all the best for their honeymoon and
said goodbye to our temporary family of friends, whom we had both greatly grown
to love. The doors closed, and we were on the road again. After forty-five
minutes we reached the bus station, bought two tickets for the night bus to
Bangkok, then waited an hour in a little cafe getting some cheap, local grub
from a serve yourself buffet. Our bus was ready to depart at 5.30pm, and we
boarded, leaving our bags stored below. We amused ourselves doing arrow word
puzzles until it became too dark, then I spent an hour or two tapping away at
my keyboard, still ascending the mountain which you’ve been reading, until I
became tired around 9pm. I popped a valium and it knocked me out. I was shaken
back to life around midnight, as the bus jolted me upright in my seat, so I
popped my second helping and faded back to black. An off switch to life is a
tempting thing to have, however I’d tend not to opt for such an easy way out if
I wasn’t stuck between two narrow chairs for 12 hours. Either way, needs must,
and they worked a charm. No harm.</span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Relaxing beside our own personal infinity pool</td></tr>
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The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-49419709987970378782013-02-04T05:38:00.000-08:002013-02-04T13:07:48.556-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 36: Love is in the air. The air is everywhere.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">14.11.12</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The sun rose in the east and planted a kiss upon the chest of the westerly moon
which was stirring in the sky. I opened the curtains and space disappeared,
making way for wedding bells to ring. We grabbed our growing sacks of crap and
chucked them on our backs, marching in the boiling heat towards the bride’s
hotel. The sun was shining for them and we were thankful that it had chosen a
good day. We got to Alexa, who was chilling out in her room and seemed like she
didn’t have a worry in the world. She had her wonderful husband to be, her
friends and family, and we were all in a tropical paradise, so I suppose it
makes sense that she was like that, however I thought I’d get to see some stereotype
of a bride panicking about her hair or shoes, or cake, or veil, or dress, but
no, nothing. She was cooler than an iPhone 6 wearing sunglasses and a BOY
London baseball cap.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<br />
I went off to find a place where I could print the poems which I’d written for
Alexa and Hayden, as they’d asked me to read them later on at the wedding. Once
sorted I went up and down the roads trying to find the cheapest quote on bus
tickets to Bangkok for the following day but had no joy and gave up, returning
to the girls who were dancing around the room listening to a DJ playlist on my
iPod called ‘Music to make girls dance’. Perfect. Our cab arrived and we were
whisked away, bidding Patong beach farewell as we made our way out and up along
the coastal road towards Phuket town. For their special day Hayden and Alexa
had hired a five-star luxury villa at a place called Andara resorts, along the
west coast of Phuket on Kamala beach. Just driving in was like entering another
world, a palatial building with black marble floors and warm wooden walls,
beautifully decorated and dripping with class. A vast step up from the wooden
huts on the river that we’d enjoyed three days previously. The villa they
originally wanted, number twenty-four, was unavailable, but the owner of
another had agreed to let them rent his for the wedding. There were thirty
villas which increased in both size and bedrooms as their numbers got higher.
We were in number thirty. Pure swank. After thirty five days roughing it, and a
whole life mostly void of the fancier things, I was looking forward to seeing
‘how the other half live’, as were Sarah and Alexa. From the moment we walked
in, people were there on-hand for whatever was needed. I left my maid of honour
with the mother of the bride to take care of Alexa, and carried my own backpack
towards our suite, I always feel too bad to let one of the little locals carry
it as I know how heavy it is and I’m bigger than them. We jumped in a little
car/buggy hybrid and whizzed up a driveway which wound around to a big gate.
The gate opened and I walked along the pathway, towards a staircase. I was led
by a member of staff to a great wooden door which slid open to reveal a beautiful
looking room with a king sized bed, which had two towels folded and twisted to
resemble a pair of swans which together form a love heart sitting on top of its
plump looking duvet, a huge flat screen TV, wooden floors, wardrobes and
ceiling, a sliding door which led to a balcony, two sinks, a wet room and the
biggest bath I’d ever seen, which I immediately started running. It had been
five weeks without having one of my beloved baths I was ready to freshen up in
style. I rolled myself a jazz cigarette and sat out on the balcony, looking
across at the Andaman Sea in all of its deep, blue glory as the sun shone down
upon it. The bath was taking a very long time to get full but luckily I had
every goal from the most recent premier league football games being played back
on the wall, which was an adequate distraction. I asked one of the workers for
an ironing board and iron so I could smarten out my garm’s and did my first bit
of ironing in three years. It was still a waste of time. I then called
reception and asked them for the wireless password and was very surprised to
discover it was ‘ZION8888’, leading me to believe I was in the holiday home of
some powerful religious zealot. I
daren’t lay on the bed or mess up our pretty swans until Sarah had her chance
to witness the room, before it gets Dionified with my upturned bag and general
spreading of crap, but I waited for a good half an hour, making myself busy
until the huge bath was finally run. When I got to it, the water was ten times
hotter than it was when I’d left it, so I then had to start adding cold.
Unfortunately time was running out, everyone was meant to be downstairs by
4.30pm and it was already 4, so I had to get into the boiling hot bath and have
the shower head constantly cooling different bits of my burning body and slowly
lowering the bath temperature. It was a disappointing situation to say the
least, but I don’t think a wet Dion running over half way through the service smelling
like bubble bath would’ve been a viable option, so I hopped out, had a cool
blast with the shower then got dry and ready in a matter of minutes.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKDBaHhTiyo_0Kz26m_tL-O9brCz6bd_F0tCFH3yIdYQGC6JM7VOYzIRi7nfh4bO9vpqKiO2VeqyEh_f8yR_YMODFA8hD6AxQswDReX83ye3RHPQ_o2IecWC3SzYmUvVYXKIq_mEpCzjdL/s1600/IMG_8132.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKDBaHhTiyo_0Kz26m_tL-O9brCz6bd_F0tCFH3yIdYQGC6JM7VOYzIRi7nfh4bO9vpqKiO2VeqyEh_f8yR_YMODFA8hD6AxQswDReX83ye3RHPQ_o2IecWC3SzYmUvVYXKIq_mEpCzjdL/s400/IMG_8132.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I left my
towel by the sink, along with my hair stuff and a brush, then rushed downstairs
to be greeted by James and his gorgeous little girl Taijahna, and Hayden’s
brother Darryn, who is a professional photographer and was snapping pictures of
them and some other guests, awaiting the arrival of the bride to be and her entourage.
Within five seconds the heat took its toll, even in the late afternoon it was
sweltering. They had the walkway set up so that it led onto the infinity pool,
where Hayden and Richard were stood, having a quiet exchange with the minister.
Hayden was in very good spirits, as ever the superstar Superman, but you could
see a few nerves as he cracked jokes and paced around, waiting for the love of
his life to arrive. I saw Aimi, and asked if I could join her, since both of
our partners were on duty with the bride and groom, and we sat together getting
increasingly excited at the beautiful scene. Then some movement started, people
positioning themselves for the oncoming arrival of the bride and Darryn running
towards the gate to get some snaps. Next came the music, and I looked down to
see the bride making her way towards us, with my lover following behind
smiling. They both looked gorgeous, tip toeing over scattered flowers until
Alexa met Hayden above the pool and they looked at each other with such love,
and readiness. The ceremony started and the Australian minister who was leading
the service very casually started reeling off facts about</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the meaning of love, Greek gods, and some
other stuff that seemed to have everybody a bit lost as they sat admiring the
brides stunning dress, she looked beautiful and he handsome, the perfect match
for this fairytale. It came time for the vows, which they’d written themselves,
and they did not disappoint, both making such heartfelt dedications to each
other, promising the world in such a way that you’d have to believe they will receive
it. It was too much for Aimi and I, sat there crying our eyes out at the lovely
display.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgmpwaemONr-iiUmv6YQjWyC9YvYevfqovymevLcReRPr7_n2OV9Hp1kXvl-07rZ2rd4RZ5N8gep3Iug8SrjMnDGZPTlLIELL0rV9i-cCp-3_wp9Cw868K8xFQq6drtpMkrJZ5UIxMg7KA/s1600/IMG_8160.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgmpwaemONr-iiUmv6YQjWyC9YvYevfqovymevLcReRPr7_n2OV9Hp1kXvl-07rZ2rd4RZ5N8gep3Iug8SrjMnDGZPTlLIELL0rV9i-cCp-3_wp9Cw868K8xFQq6drtpMkrJZ5UIxMg7KA/s400/IMG_8160.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If it wasn’t for this moment, so many moments would have
been missed. My journey was only decided upon because Sarah and I were invited
to witness these two spirits come together, and without that, none of the
experiences I’ve had would have happened at the time that they did, and never
in the same way again. I was grateful they’d given me the excuse to see some
more of the world and escape London for an extended break, and this magnificent
scene was the culmination of Everything.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtZ6sJqoRL1n2RVyRLILwOGV0FXpg3A6cyGzejiorw8ktvnSci7OLUmvLFVRSF24tHH7pRbJW4aXd9FcNNgR8puafyH7MvPO4cedmGNGLBO2c_tPWHhXRdxPx9i5kpw5CftnMeKkx2_yTO/s1600/IMG_8182.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtZ6sJqoRL1n2RVyRLILwOGV0FXpg3A6cyGzejiorw8ktvnSci7OLUmvLFVRSF24tHH7pRbJW4aXd9FcNNgR8puafyH7MvPO4cedmGNGLBO2c_tPWHhXRdxPx9i5kpw5CftnMeKkx2_yTO/s400/IMG_8182.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
They each had a glass of sand in a different colour and a larger empty chalice
in-between them. They lifted their glasses, simultaneously pouring their sand
into the new container, joining their separate lives together in matrimony as
the sun lowered behind them. The groom kissed the bride, the bride kissed the
groom, Aimi and I cried some more and our other halves signed the witness declaration,
then returned to our loving arms, where we all gathered to throw flower petals
at the newlyweds. After a half an hour of photographs with everybody, whilst
knocking back constant glasses of champagne, it was now dark and we were
loaded into two vans and driven out of our villa and down to the nearby
beach. We were each given sky lanterns, which we lit, and let go after making
wishes for the bride and groom, then watching them as they quickly rose, slowly
disappearing from sight. Back at the villa, dinner was served, and it was out
of this world, a buffet of numerous fancy dishes, of which everything tasted
divine. Soft shell crab, fish, prawns, various meats, curries, the lot. Some of
the best food I’d ever eaten. There was even somebody on hand at our table who
kept filling Sarah’s glass of water every time she had more than a sip. To say
we were well looked after would be an understatement. I popped back up to our
suite quickly and was amazed to see that in the time I’d been away somebody had
come in, replaced my wet towel and placed my hair stuff on a small towel,
neatly by the sink. Blew my mind. If I’d known they were that good I would have
jumped on the bed earlier, when I had time to burn waiting for my bath. Back
downstairs it was time for speeches, Richard went first and nailed the best man
speech with ease, lightening the already bright mood further with tales of his
and Hayden’s past drunken adventures and saying some genuinely nice things
about both bride and groom. Alexa’s Dad followed, seeming very happy and proud
at his successful, lovely daughter and her new lovely husband, and Hayden’s
father put in a good turn too, cracking everybody up just like you’d expect an
Australian Dad to do. I was up next, and took a minute to explain how much of a
powerful blessing it is to witness true love such as theirs, and how I knew
they were on a good path for the future, because they have something very
special between them. I then read the poem I’d written a few days earlier
whilst on the long-tail boat in Khao Sok, followed by another which I’d written
prior, which went:<br />
<br />'Something special here is found, four feet floating happily above the ground,<br />
we gather celebrating the love they’ve made, which grows a little more from day
to day.<br />
With those two rings, you’ve become one, your love burns brighter than the sun,
<br />
together, safe when harsh winds blow, you’ll warm each other through the rain
and snow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We all know that whatever the weather, like birds of a
feather you’ll stick together,<br />
under each other’s wings you’ll fly, two souls becoming stars that light up the
sky.<br />
Live for one another, until the end, and cherish every day you spend,<br />
be strong, united, forever stand, you can take on the world when you’re holding
hands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We’re here to witness true love combined, creating something
that’s divine,<br />
so kiss the bride and kiss the groom, let pride and happiness fill the room.<br />
We’ll toast your future and your past, share this joy and raise a glass,<br />
whilst you dedicate your hearts to each other’s lives, as Alexa’s husband, and
Hayden’s wife.'<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span><br />
Believe it or not, in 35 days of travelling, this was the first time anybody
had asked me to read something. Considering it’s what I do, I did find that a
bit strange, and a bit of a shame for them, but I didn’t ask any office workers
to send an email for me either, so it’s fair enough I suppose. It was an honour
to have been asked to take part, and it went down perfectly. Two of my best
friends had gotten married earlier in the year and they had the groom’s auntie
read some horrible piece about doing the housework and shit, instead of getting
me to write one for them, which I didn’t really get, but perhaps he was worried
I was going to expose our history of mushrooms and weed to his unaware parents.
Nevertheless, Alexa and Hayden followed me, thanking everybody for travelling
across the world to join them and then BOOM out of nowhere the guitar and
saxophone came out and they started doing a duet, Alexa’s delightfully strong
singing voice accompanied by a backing track whilst Hayden strummed a few
numbers and made his way around the saxophone in a virtuoso fashion as we all
danced along and cheered them on. It was brilliant. After a few songs the P.A
broke, so we switched over to a playlist for the rest of the evening. We were
steadily getting through the drinks as we sat around chatting, and at 10pm
Hayden informed me that he’d just had to pay a small fortune to hire the staff
for an extra hour to continue serving us all the free drinks, and we had an
hour to get our monies worth. Game on. Sarah and I repeatedly took it in turns
to get each other glasses of vodka and orange, which we’d swiftly take in the
elevator, one floor up, to the fridge in our room. By the time the hour was
over, we had at least twelve glasses, as well a few beer bottles and ten shots
of tequila, which I had one of the waiters measure out for me before they left.
As our numbers depleted we were left with just those who were staying at the
villa, Hayden and Alexa, Richard and Aimi, James and Andrea, Darryn, Sarah and
I. Hayden pulled out his guitar and strummed away as we all sang along to
‘Killing me softly’ by the Fugees whilst Sarah rolled up some confetti, before
getting into our swimsuits and diving into the pool for a late night swim. It was
weird being in such a place after all the staff had left, the whole villa was
truly our playground and we had a great time knocking back shots and hanging
out together. The guys asked if I’d read them some other poems of mine and I
delivered ‘The Ballad of James Tanner’ and ‘The World of the Day’ which they
all admitted enjoying more than the lovey-dovey, family friendly pieces from
earlier.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcO_R2mnusf6Fi9Xyn1MO-TBUzNS1D3ptx3q4zzlFhyphenhyphenhwaaAVevvAOrh1Kfyz3ookHtWs_5l4tIqJGoNyfCHWdl2-XYqGS1Od817EIRqJusgnmDgxLnUiJITn8sJ1p6uVWLqjh3sMyIjzO/s1600/IMG_8222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcO_R2mnusf6Fi9Xyn1MO-TBUzNS1D3ptx3q4zzlFhyphenhyphenhwaaAVevvAOrh1Kfyz3ookHtWs_5l4tIqJGoNyfCHWdl2-XYqGS1Od817EIRqJusgnmDgxLnUiJITn8sJ1p6uVWLqjh3sMyIjzO/s400/IMG_8222.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Musical matrimony</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPauRgLXlua0HrFUi925rIfwdnYYFm32M0WSvp5nlHhIEujxxNaIF-cI2so3sXhWX39DEAWqJBen_j41SHM9cZUZKdeHyXh8RQe884uiCBsMLACGVUl5JwPJy28R4aQi54Yr7ES00KpHHP/s1600/IMG_8233.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPauRgLXlua0HrFUi925rIfwdnYYFm32M0WSvp5nlHhIEujxxNaIF-cI2so3sXhWX39DEAWqJBen_j41SHM9cZUZKdeHyXh8RQe884uiCBsMLACGVUl5JwPJy28R4aQi54Yr7ES00KpHHP/s400/IMG_8233.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">A well-stocked fridge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By this point it was 1am and we went into the games room. It was
another huge space which had a pool table, a ping pong table, another huge flat
screen television (a feature in every room) and its own kitchen, complete with
popcorn machine. I excitedly tried to work out how to use it, and found a can
of unpopped corn, as well as all the salt and boxes to put it in, the only
thing I couldn’t find was a can opener. I looked all around for one but no joy.
I refused to be defeated, looking at the can again, and then I realised that it
wasn’t made of tin. I grabbed the only thing I could find, a biro pen, and came
down upon it with a stab, like John Travolta in the overdose scene in ‘Pulp
Fiction’, tearing a hole in the side of the can. I ripped it open and got the
machine popping, and within a few minutes, we were all munching on some salty
goodness as we shot pool and listened to The Beatles. Darryn was off on one and
kept disappearing on solo missions, running around the huge empty villa and returned
telling us how he’d done a few naked laps in the pool. Unfortunately on his way
back he’d smashed his foot on a step, which had left his little toe sticking
outwards away from the others, clearly broken. He seemed pretty confused by it,
and said “Cool, I’ve never broken a bone before”. Sarah went off to get our
first aid kit and I joined him in his room as he was feeling queasy at the
thought of her bandaging it, and needed to be sick. I stood with him, and his
vomiting made me need to do the same, so I emptied a ridiculous amount of
sympathy sickness into the toilet bowl too, drastically lessening my
forthcoming hangover, before joining him on the bed to be bandaged by Sarah. We
returned to the others to find the bride laid out on the sofa, sleeping like an
angel as the groom and best man noisily attempted to play ping pong in their
inebriated states. As the clock struck 4, there could be no more, and we each
made our way to our bedroom doors, wishing each other a good night’s sleep
after an amazing day. Cupid stayed awake, watching over every room, feeling
successful in his work.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinKRQkgB4lt5R-Bp5MHkMhPu7Q0pqwVXO0yEyX_O9M3Ca5zjaSG9JqZSjBCrNM61gOke_0JtB9EjvtdBHQbEBvSuBPT-r_2PNAG3pMeJkS47CTElElPrbUIKfRBvuEz_qNdgvsysRf1ZuI/s1600/IMG_8242.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinKRQkgB4lt5R-Bp5MHkMhPu7Q0pqwVXO0yEyX_O9M3Ca5zjaSG9JqZSjBCrNM61gOke_0JtB9EjvtdBHQbEBvSuBPT-r_2PNAG3pMeJkS47CTElElPrbUIKfRBvuEz_qNdgvsysRf1ZuI/s400/IMG_8242.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Busted</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-26111860061656620442013-02-01T06:52:00.000-08:002013-02-01T06:52:13.646-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 35: Early rising and happy endings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2geMgbmaSJqTrtGrn67jNPBKCVR0z7hyphenhyphenNf8xyjzodw-bKfc_zLe8cPllSMWFW9C-G1AcaG-Ip9HsebzFaWdtEbd76bPdDjANuC0Fnhol4Qtk3cC13wol7ykLXSjV7Rt7DNkArdiwtLFAZ/s1600/IMG_8068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2geMgbmaSJqTrtGrn67jNPBKCVR0z7hyphenhyphenNf8xyjzodw-bKfc_zLe8cPllSMWFW9C-G1AcaG-Ip9HsebzFaWdtEbd76bPdDjANuC0Fnhol4Qtk3cC13wol7ykLXSjV7Rt7DNkArdiwtLFAZ/s400/IMG_8068.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Koh Phi Phi</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">13.11.12<br />After roughly four hours slumber our 7am alarm sounded, shaking us out of bed
and towards Alexa and Hayden’s hotel for our early departure to visit a few
surrounding islands with most of the wedding party. The sixteen of us loaded
into a van and were driven roughly an hour away from Patong beach, finally
reaching the pier where we were to depart from. We loaded onto our boat which
had a large cabin with around one hundred seats, and a roof deck which we all
proceeded to climb up to, catching a good forty-five minutes of the new
morning’s sun before reaching Khai island. The main man on the boat who was
guiding us with regards to the activities had a very interesting mic technique.
Interesting in as much as he spoke with a deep boom, like a boxing announcer,
and repeated everything he said a minimum of three times. “So now, we are at
Khai island, we are at Khai island. We have one hour to spend snorkelling, to
spend snorkelling, one hour at Khai island, to spend snorkelling. One hour”. It
was fantastically amusing/annoying to listen to, but we did as instructed and stepped
ashore. It was a tiny island with quite a disturbing amount of litter spoiling
the yellow sand, which was covered almost entirely with sun-loungers. It was
clearly a haven for tourists on flying visits who didn’t really care where they
threw their rubbish, and small food stores who didn’t mind how their customers
got rid of their leftovers as long as they were buying snacks. We walked a
hundred metres or so to the other side and were faced with roughly one hundred
and fifty Chinese tourists in a small section of water, all snorkelling or
posing for photographs with a variety of amusing poses and facial expressions.
I joined them, diving under to admire the coral reefs and schools of fish which
would gracefully swim by, almost unfazed by the movements of everybody around them.
Being under the water was very peaceful and I took my time going from rock to
rock, admiring all the different species that would come out to greet me before
returning to their dark dwellings. The water was extremely choppy and we had to
make our way back to the boat, unfortunately, due to their dock being smashed
to pieces by a recent storm, they had a long line of blue and white blocks tied
together, which floated on top of the water creating a wobbly walkway to get us
back on the boat. The best man, Richard, and I helped everybody else along, and
then bounced our way back to the safety of boat.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq7J7aynr5HT2Gv23U3wg5G_4KP4gxEKbN3rgAhURRzGW9h-1D5_sJhP9LI-EyYL-QBafRR1m37bVFW3zR2Y3r1Ejd8takXd7PGHAO2OQBCIzSXbPRQIQSDTeOpZo4eXiUsB_IiHKITTS2/s1600/IMG_8058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq7J7aynr5HT2Gv23U3wg5G_4KP4gxEKbN3rgAhURRzGW9h-1D5_sJhP9LI-EyYL-QBafRR1m37bVFW3zR2Y3r1Ejd8takXd7PGHAO2OQBCIzSXbPRQIQSDTeOpZo4eXiUsB_IiHKITTS2/s400/IMG_8058.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hanging out in Heaven<br /></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After another thirty odd minutes of sailing, we arrived at
Koh Phi Phi, the location where they shot ‘The Beach’ with Leonardo DiCaprio,
and all jumped out excitedly to explore our beautiful surroundings. It wasn’t
as peaceful or deserted as it is in the movie, what with a couple of hundred
people scattered about the small space sunbathing, but Sarah, Richard, James
and I swam across fifty metres of treacherous rocks covered by shallow water,
to a secluded section where we lit up a peace pipe and passed it around. The
difference between the two sides was drastic, and the seclusion created by the
towering rock faces around us made things seem very peaceful. I could’ve stayed
there for days but unfortunately we had a boat to catch so, after a little
exploring, I followed the others back across, making it back to the boat just
in time for it to set off towards Phi Phi town. A buffet was served on the boat
and we all stuffed our hungry faces and sat chatting for the next thirty
minutes before our final stop. Phi Phi town had a really laid back vibe to it,
immediately after arriving we thought it was a shame we only had an hour, but
Sarah and I made the most of it, setting off on our own to have a look around
whilst the rest of the gang hit a bar to rest up with a drink. We headed
towards the point where the Tsunami hit, but must’ve taken a wrong turn as we
never made it there, instead we just found a beach which inexplicably had
hundreds of huge black boulders all along the sand. Walking back, we checked
out a few local stores and then returned to the boat, again just in time for it
to set off. It is great being on tours and getting to see many different places
in one go, however, I would’ve preferred to have spent the whole day on ‘The
Beach’ instead of being given an hour at each place. Regardless we returned to
the top deck, where Hayden pulled out his boom box, supplying us with some
crunchy grooves to bop to as we sailed along the now calmer waters, getting a
good burn going on our skin for the next hour and a half.<br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJhUiuyx59vWEwjkbvhUkS4feVGPrOqC2ZDn_xa9r6oOwaoIPBm9LY7hGXOmDXyAZgUDUoTmVf4qxBeS7DXNL5fvGrmupO2FCoaciP-hsPIqcr4Cp_JGcDU5wKFYSHLnrwFTA3TFa7hyOW/s1600/IMG_8089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJhUiuyx59vWEwjkbvhUkS4feVGPrOqC2ZDn_xa9r6oOwaoIPBm9LY7hGXOmDXyAZgUDUoTmVf4qxBeS7DXNL5fvGrmupO2FCoaciP-hsPIqcr4Cp_JGcDU5wKFYSHLnrwFTA3TFa7hyOW/s400/IMG_8089.JPG" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cheeky monkeys<br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXA3G7kgHMUqjfBZYk9xfMAAJQzBqQJ2Yacf00oxl8CtUZ1fNUQuqzxnwRlq7kW6VKirTEhECMB8doOuGIvZ061tBVaEtXjtdq92qbToNrUkJ1aD1nU32c69HgiAD2XFcQWR_CtIw9QxP_/s1600/IMG_8115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXA3G7kgHMUqjfBZYk9xfMAAJQzBqQJ2Yacf00oxl8CtUZ1fNUQuqzxnwRlq7kW6VKirTEhECMB8doOuGIvZ061tBVaEtXjtdq92qbToNrUkJ1aD1nU32c69HgiAD2XFcQWR_CtIw9QxP_/s400/IMG_8115.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Sea</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
We made it back to the pier where we started at and were met with a table full
of plates. Upon inspection, I spotted one with a picture of me on it, then
another with Sarah’s beautiful image. Despite the obvious tack, I thought they
were worth the £2 each so I bought both, then we got into our awaiting van
which drove us back on the long journey, through the evening traffic, finally
arriving at the hotel in darkness. Absolutely shattered we showered then fell
asleep, only to be woken by my 9pm alarm. It was time to see the tailor for my
second and hopefully final fitting. Sarah was dead in bed but I managed to
blackmail her into joining me, dragging her sleepy head up the road and into
the shop. Again we waited, and waited, and then finally the suit arrived. I
tried it on, and Sarah immediately spotted errors where after all of his
bigging himself up, the tailor had not listened at all. There were pockets
where there shouldn’t be, flaps where we said no flaps and the fit was far from
perfect. She pulled it to pieces, obviously annoyed at how the moron had fed us
lies about his competence when he was clearly just a bullshit guru. He wasn’t
happy to have his failures pointed out, I wasn’t happy with his work, and due
to him being unable to correct the whole thing by the morning he reluctantly
handed back my 2000 baht deposit and I left feeling extremely disappointed. We
spent pretty much our entire dinner time bitching about his stupidity, the
waste of time and his utter disregard for his customers wishes, how he brushed
off our requests so easily, as if he could psychically envision what I wanted.
Arrogant fool.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hayden and Richard had been talking earlier about getting an
aloe vera massage and I thought it sounded good after our day getting blackened
by the sun, however Sarah wasn’t interested, so she went back to the hotel and
I went out on a mission to differentiate between massage parlours and brothels.
After passing a few dubious looking joints, walking for about ten minutes, I
came by a place with a price board outside and a few girls waiting. One
immediately approached and asked if I wanted a massage, at which point I
decided they’re probably all the same anyway, saying yes as I was taken inside
by a chubby fifteen or sixteen year old with braces on her teeth, wearing some
ridiculous silver, strappy platform shoes, which she removed at the door, and
white socks. Very ‘on trend’. It turned out that she would be my masseuse, so I
stripped off as instructed and laid on my front with a towel covering my bum.
She proceeded in covering me with aloe vera and massaging my back and arms. She
was nowhere near as good as the little gay fellow who I had in Chiang Mai, and I
felt a little hard done by this time, as I lay on a thin mattress on the floor
with her straddling my back. She asked me to roll over so she could do my
front, and after a few minutes more, she asked if I wanted “special for 500
baht”. I said “Excuse me? What’s that?” and she said “Hand job” gesturing in a
wanking motion. As much as I’d have liked a happy ending from a plump little
dumpling of a child after an average-at-best massage, I declined her kind
offer, at which point she all but gave up on my massage, leaving only one side
of my front with the sun treatment. I requested that she finish what I’d paid
for, which she did quickly, before getting my clothes on and running back to my
sleepy lover to tell her of my encounter and requesting that she give me 500
baht’s worth of satisfaction. Never one to disappoint, I was gifted a very
happy ending to another good day, and passed out within two seconds.</span>
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The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-18368808056340419162013-02-01T06:21:00.001-08:002013-02-04T13:14:08.921-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 34: Underwater Angels & Jesus in Space<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">12.11.12</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">
I was walking through a desolate city. Nobody else was there and the buildings
were deserted and crumbling. Abandoned cars were scattered all along the low
bridge that I was crossing, but there was a certain serenity to the chaotic
scene. Everything was calm, like being out in the middle of a sea without
waves. I peered over the side of the bridge to look into the water and saw my
lover, laying in a shallow pool fifteen feet beneath me. I noticed her hands
clenched around her throat, her legs kicking as she struggled and realised she
was trying to kill herself. In an obvious panic, I immediately dived head-first
into the water and arrived at a new day.<br />
<br />
Now I don’t know about you, how realistic your dreams are, or whether you
remember them at all, but for me, what I see is seen and often remembered as
realistically as any other memory would be. Sometimes even realer than reality
seems to be. Because of this, I could be excused for not really feeling the
‘vibe’ for anything other than getting over what I had witnessed. Despite this,
Sarah and I headed to catch the final rays of an overcast day after waking up
still drunk at 1pm, hitting Patong’s white sandy beach, a thriving spot for
merchants who come by every few seconds doing their rounds to all the tourists,
peddling everything from cans of 7up to wooden hands. There was nothing I
wanted, except escapism, so I swam into the awaiting Andaman sea. The sea is
where I want to end up. I know part of the sea is within me, just like
Everything else, but I look forward to giving myself to it completely when I
disappear, to remain still here. After some distance, I reached danger, as a
bunch of loons riding jet-ski’s seemed to be heading incredibly near to where
I’d set my target. I turned and hurriedly swam back to shallower waters, where
I floated around with my arms stretched out, like a crucified Jesus in space,
bringing my mind back to its positive centre.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdaMAvUn5_vd7hJ6vNFc3NWq7JOrHF2ImAnuxLiSYNByjr8WLz6b6ai4vVKlg4H1fzDOGGzFouH8gcUfUhaA9MlTzToujjER8rPoxy3iF55RU5lsJ6cq1vvr4VgI9C6r0QEebfOicjC9SO/s1600/IMG_8035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdaMAvUn5_vd7hJ6vNFc3NWq7JOrHF2ImAnuxLiSYNByjr8WLz6b6ai4vVKlg4H1fzDOGGzFouH8gcUfUhaA9MlTzToujjER8rPoxy3iF55RU5lsJ6cq1vvr4VgI9C6r0QEebfOicjC9SO/s400/IMG_8035.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I returned to Sarah and the ‘Steppenwolf’ and spent a couple of hours reading
more about the books’ intriguing protagonist and his attempts to understand the
world around his routine existence. Sarah decided that it was imperative that
she got sausage and mash in order save her insides from creating a black hole,
so we made our way back to the bar we’d had breakfast the previous day. On the
way, we walked past a tailor’s which had a sign saying ‘2 suits for $79.99’.
Always in the market for a bargain, I entered and we were swiftly sat down, our
swimsuits dampening the owner’s red sofa as he loaded the table in-front of us
with books featuring the collections of all the top designers. As always,
Sarah’s skills in this field left me in good stead to get what I wanted made
well and she explained everything in detail to the Indian owner, who assured us
of how professional and experienced he was and how he guaranteed it would be
great, whilst taking my measurements and talking to his colleague. Then came
the pricing. What the sign didn’t say was that the advertised price only covers the making,
and you still have to pay for the material on top. After a few ridiculous
quotes and some subtracting of items, we agreed a good price of roughly £75 for
the suit. Forty-five minutes later, with Sarah slowly fading away we left the
tailor and got some grub, which replenished both body and mind with its simple
homely Englishness.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC0r2h6pBJkPRUE5gZWwSWeA0y42lNca-pZyKNMNb8WUq2THxwj53fA3j3OlQM3ASgsbpb9jJ0dIkOSUxlwXGORGP4v5yD1TcFWODDIJl102fWUt1TElXjmC54yHytNk-8hEUgcQbxSY27/s1600/IMG_8037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC0r2h6pBJkPRUE5gZWwSWeA0y42lNca-pZyKNMNb8WUq2THxwj53fA3j3OlQM3ASgsbpb9jJ0dIkOSUxlwXGORGP4v5yD1TcFWODDIJl102fWUt1TElXjmC54yHytNk-8hEUgcQbxSY27/s400/IMG_8037.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">After a few hours laid up in the comfort of our lovely Kamilla, entertaining
each other as we always do, we then had to return to the tailors for the first
fitting at 9pm. We needed the suit before we left for the forthcoming wedding,
but they told us at the time that they have a very quick turnaround when needs
be. After being sat waiting for around twenty minutes a tired Thai tailor
arrived on a motorbike, chucked a strange looking rag of the maroon material I’d
chosen over me, then chalked markers onto the shoulders before whipping it off
of me and running away. The owner told us to return and collect the jacket the
following evening, and then disappeared. We left and found an Egyptian
restaurant, so stopped by for barbequed kebabs and hummus to finally rid us of
the remaining poisons of the previous days. I was settled in the wake of the
storm, and sat writing as Sarah slept. ‘300’ was on in the background, and as I
rested my eyes I hoped that my Spartan compatriots would join me in my slumber,
just in case the demons reawaken.<br />
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The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-87154378228542606632013-01-30T08:09:00.000-08:002013-01-31T06:33:13.682-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 33: Superman’s Stag Party<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">11.11.12</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Following a glorious lie in we awoke in each other’s arms around mid-day,
stopping at yesterday’s football bar for a traditional English fry-up before
heading into a nearby mall in search of some suitable footwear for the
forthcoming wedding, due to storing my Chelsea boots at the Lub D hostel in
Bangkok at the start of my trip. After strolling around and purchasing a few
little bits and pieces for our future home, we went to a nearby market where I
picked up some fake Birkenstock sandals for £4. That’ll do. We made our way
back to our room, got showered and ready for the Stag and Hen parties, leaving
our guest house around 7pm and taking a ten minute stroll to Alexa and Hayden’s
fancy hotel, where all of the wedding party were gathering for drinks. It was
lovely to see our soon-to-be happily married friends and being introduced to
the thirty-odd family and friends who had flown over from England and Australia
to this magical middle ground, to witness true love combined. I was introduced
to Aimi, who was the female version of me in the sense that she was married to
the best man, Richard, whereas the maid of honour, Sarah, was on my arm. Aimi
informed me of Richards plans for all the guys to go and watch the Muay Thai
boxing, and said he’d organised some VIP tickets for 2000 baht a pop if I
wanted to join them. I jumped at the chance, it was something I had been
interested in seeing, but there was no chance of going with Sarah who is not
one for organised displays of violence. Richard took Hayden away after secretly
distributing a bunch of Superman t-shirts to the six of us guys who had opted
in for the boxing, and we all put on our kit for the evening. The groom and
best man returned shortly after, Richard also wearing his t-shirt and Hayden in
a full Superman outfit, blue spandex, red cape, complete with bulging padded
muscles on his chest and the hugest cod-piece ever, stuffed down the front.
Beautiful. We all cheered as he got straight into character, ready to save the
world, or destroy himself trying. Sarah had been carrying a bag full of hen
party accessories around Thailand for the past two weeks, and shared out an
assortment of pink feather boas amongst the girls and adorned Alexa with a
tiara and white veil, a garter belt, and a sash which read ‘Bride to be’.
Despite the general tack of such things, she still managed to make it look
classy. </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSKpwNzczn8VVvOtaqiJUV-Zu7WLRgwUkawqyocPGX099zuJ1obnW5V6l9mvVfPH0OdbKKnBdEDw9Bh-ovyYovv0CeAGh7LZ7eH-K4-hzz4P5xPz78az_NObOcnPVJg8JfCcum-_2RPN8h/s1600/IMG_7768.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSKpwNzczn8VVvOtaqiJUV-Zu7WLRgwUkawqyocPGX099zuJ1obnW5V6l9mvVfPH0OdbKKnBdEDw9Bh-ovyYovv0CeAGh7LZ7eH-K4-hzz4P5xPz78az_NObOcnPVJg8JfCcum-_2RPN8h/s400/IMG_7768.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Happy Hens</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
With an hour until the van came to separate the men from the boys, I decided to
do Sarah and I the favour of going back to the hotel to get us more cash as I
didn’t have enough to cover the boxing, let alone the boozing which would go
alongside it, and Sarah hadn’t brought much either. We were still in the travellers’
mind-set and hadn’t considered paying for any extras. I found my way out of the
mazy corridors at their hotel and started walking at a fast pace. After about a
hundred metres, the skies opened up, a torrential downpour the level of which I
had yet to be caught out in. I considered going back, but I hate turning back
once I’ve set off for something, so instead I started running. The more I ran,
the wetter I got, it was after all still thirty odd degrees so my clothes were
acquiring water both internally and externally. I stopped at a market which was
closing down, in search of salvation in the form of an umbrella to save my
clothes from being fully drenched through, and after some panicked running
around I found a guy who had them. I pointed to a crappy little one asking how
much, “500 baht” he replied. I looked him in the eye with an expression of ‘as
if it’s worth that’ before saying “give me the sunshine price”. He was playing
hardball, but said he had some rain Macs, which he spent a few minutes looking
for but couldn’t find in his mass of hidden boxes. That’s the thing with
shopping in Thailand, it takes seconds to find what you want, but ages
bartering over prices whilst they try and stitch you up for as much as they
can. After what was probably nearing ten minutes in this increasingly flooded
market, I managed to get him down to a much sunnier price, and darted off,
arriving back to our hotel looking like a drowned rat. I grabbed a towel, dried
myself quickly as best I could, took a few thousand baht out of our hiding
place behind the fridge and shot back into the ocean-like street. Time was
running out by this point so I tried to get a tuk tuk to take me back, but
literally no one was willing to take me without first ripping me off, so I
ended up jogging all the way back under my flimsy new umbrella. I arrived back
at the hotel to be met with the pity of the others as I sat, soaked through next
to a small fan, trying unsuccessfully to dry myself. By the time I knocked back
a much needed beer, the minivan arrived. There was a couple sitting on the
front row who found it very amusing to see eight Supermen loading in behind
them, and they took a few photographs as we set off. We pulled up outside the
place and were directed up a narrow stairwell with a policeman waiting at the
top. Hayden was in front of me and was immediately stopped by the cop, who said
“YOU SUPERMAN, WELL I POLICEMAN” and then grabbed a massive handful of his crotch
whilst cackling like a deranged Lex Luther with a pocket full of kryptonite to
take down our hero. We ran away, laughing at the sexual assault he had
committed on our groom, but this was a stag party in Thailand after all, so you
have to take the assault which a pinch of salt, a few tequilas, and then worry
about the counselling a few years later.
I think it was mainly just his balls anyway, the balls are ok, I guess.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDdPkzx1-58NIJSkEkZXGrVG8jWwx4A7iTSnyMkW-K-GwfzalRABGe0V3YjACyWVp3dTfcngWOfsZO7fS0Zi-qtfNFUjlBAXF4rReXfh6ZzPOteTjzBKEboikpO0M6LHndfMljWqIP1SR-/s1600/IMG_7778.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDdPkzx1-58NIJSkEkZXGrVG8jWwx4A7iTSnyMkW-K-GwfzalRABGe0V3YjACyWVp3dTfcngWOfsZO7fS0Zi-qtfNFUjlBAXF4rReXfh6ZzPOteTjzBKEboikpO0M6LHndfMljWqIP1SR-/s400/IMG_7778.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The Super Stags</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOcV9cr-F9Rn-sy6mrqtGNgFR2lW6CPFiiwtDo4KqMqBPu9JWQcIoJ3inBcxeoc6kIJxHMPK3QZW7IK7RdbFKSWHEH7n5gVsn8LLAP37CMiPiE7Wsu1w4igjsh58kdEiy7BIURmE9Dx_jF/s1600/IMG_7790.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOcV9cr-F9Rn-sy6mrqtGNgFR2lW6CPFiiwtDo4KqMqBPu9JWQcIoJ3inBcxeoc6kIJxHMPK3QZW7IK7RdbFKSWHEH7n5gVsn8LLAP37CMiPiE7Wsu1w4igjsh58kdEiy7BIURmE9Dx_jF/s400/IMG_7790.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Little kids warming up</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
We were lead to our seats in the small, brightly-lit arena to rounds of
applause and cheers from people in the crowd, and were shocked to see that by
some stroke of luck Richard had scored us the front row. Now when I say front
row I don’t mean five metres away with a railing separating you, I mean we
could actually use the ringside as a place to rest our beers. I was at one end
next to Richard, Hayden was beside him, then Bob, Alexa’s father, followed by
Hayden’s old German friend Borg, Alexa’s seventeen year old brother Easton,
Hayden’s good friend James and finally his older brother Darryn, who completed
our motley crew of mainly Aussies and Englishmen, being served constant beers
and chain smoking cheap cigarettes as we waited for the fight to start. There
was an announcement being played on loop, repeatedly saying “TONIGHT! MUAY THAI
BOXING. TONIGHT. 9’OCLOCK. TONIGHT” which wasn’t in the slightest bit annoying.
The announcement stopped and the first fighters entered the ring. As I was on
the end, every fighter in that corner had to walk right by me, up the metal
stairs to my right and over or under the ropes, depending on their size. I was
aware that young kids always fight first, but I was pretty shocked and
surprised to see a little boy in my corner and a little girl in the other, both
of whom couldn’t have been older than eight years old. It was an uncomfortable
first fight, it felt pretty wrong to me, even though there’s nothing to say
girls shouldn’t fight if they want to, seeing such a young little thing going
head to head with a boy just wasn’t that enjoyable to witness. I was urging her
to win, and she gave as good as she got, but I think the little lad just pipped
her to it. Between each round a fighter would come back to my corner and I’d
get splashed by the ice buckets and water being poured over them, a great
addition to the experience. It also made for some great photo opportunities of
capturing the tired fighters in their brief moments of rest before going
straight back into trouble. The boxers got progressively older as we got
progressively drunker and more into it, making a few bets with each other and
the local bookies there, who were clearly more ‘in the know’ than any of us
drunken foreigners. I took a trip to the loo to piss away some cash, and went
to wash my hands at a sink where five or six young Thai lads in shirts and
trousers were waiting. As I turned on the tap, one guy gave me some soap and
another stood behind me and started slapping my back with cupped hands, which
made a strange popping noise as he went along my spine. It felt good so I left
him to it for a few seconds, then he put his arm up and underneath mine and
cracked my whole back sideways to the left, then to the right, then straight,
making my spine pop numerous times and leaving it feeling wonderful. Another
guy gave me a towel for my hands, and then used another one which he quickly
whipped up underneath my Superman t-shirt, wiping my back, then chest before I could
even realise what he was doing. Another guy came from behind and pulled both my
ears downwards simultaneously, causing an unusual crack in them which I’d never
experienced. At that point I started to back away whilst handing over a tip, a
flurry of thirty seconds or so had seen me attacked at all angles and I left
the toilet feeling fresh to death. Richard was watching on and found it all too
amusing, I told him it was the best value £3 tip I’d given in a long time.
There was a really good fight between two teenage boys and I could see it going
one way so I decided to shoot some video. Within one minute, I’d captured the
knock-out blow. The other kid laid watching birdies tweet for a few seconds
then came to. His opponent came over to make sure he was ok and gave him a hand
up. It was a nice moment in amongst the madness; respect within battle always
shines through.</span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4hrA9mHAwi-cHbAY-78mIeKhRfnEdaE85u4GHWX11Y-JpjUqCfAo0XsKMPd2afWFipqLV8xdZpZvBU_en0Zx5JaTcx78jqceo3poqVBPJ4uiHGfXxjiVwyDxxXCgvuY2iH_QSteCBcnpY/s1600/IMG_7855.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4hrA9mHAwi-cHbAY-78mIeKhRfnEdaE85u4GHWX11Y-JpjUqCfAo0XsKMPd2afWFipqLV8xdZpZvBU_en0Zx5JaTcx78jqceo3poqVBPJ4uiHGfXxjiVwyDxxXCgvuY2iH_QSteCBcnpY/s400/IMG_7855.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">K.O</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
Every fight was accompanied by a couple of live musicians who created
atmosphere which some repetitive, engaging beats on their tablas, backed by a
guy laying down some atmospheric flute which danced in-between each hit. The
fighters seemed to sway, bounce and attack according to the steady rhythm that
filled the hall. They were like the snake charmers of the affair, except when they
played, people would fight. The main event saw an Australian guy named Victor
against a French guy called Anthony and we were all cheering on the Aussie to
the point of losing our voices. It was pretty back and forth, but Victor edged it.
They all left the ring, and we clambered up to get a few photographs of our
gang, before going down to congratulate Victor the victorious and get another
snap with the sweaty lad.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF4PBXjZ8VqgU-nZiP-aab-v8Iugdo75ll_Mc3Xw-RQUJC4JeVgcCZjc37yHVo9n_1y2Sis-1nSWn9NIwoLbiYn-bULYwPv658P3-Wh77XJQEtKpryW6Onm3905o314j8MBtJZts2qmoGY/s1600/IMG_7877.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF4PBXjZ8VqgU-nZiP-aab-v8Iugdo75ll_Mc3Xw-RQUJC4JeVgcCZjc37yHVo9n_1y2Sis-1nSWn9NIwoLbiYn-bULYwPv658P3-Wh77XJQEtKpryW6Onm3905o314j8MBtJZts2qmoGY/s400/IMG_7877.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BOOM!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs8GldHDeaqImAjc2l1S55teHvGi9YQYXQUECAPKK-kAQDBv9EcbGQBlSIjKXJBZkKiBonV3v1zyrPCF-0pT1riGNj2OPBNlndTEhIqqnqjslrHXm2IqPhvmX2HiT8zdDHTsaczLCmOKqD/s1600/IMG_8012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs8GldHDeaqImAjc2l1S55teHvGi9YQYXQUECAPKK-kAQDBv9EcbGQBlSIjKXJBZkKiBonV3v1zyrPCF-0pT1riGNj2OPBNlndTEhIqqnqjslrHXm2IqPhvmX2HiT8zdDHTsaczLCmOKqD/s400/IMG_8012.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy hard-nuts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We left the venue feeling elated, with around an hour and a
half before we’d planned to reconnect with the hen’s who had been off for
dinner, before moving on to some sort of gay man’s sex and karaoke show. Borg
walked us along the dodgy street that Sarah and I had been down the previous
evening, and we were all getting a lot of attention. The women were not shy
about grabbing at our crotches as we walked past every bar, I suppose it’s a
cheaper way to advertise than printing flyers.
We were led into some strip club which had two long platforms forming an
L shape and televisions everywhere showing the live match between Chelsea and
Liverpool. It was a strange juxtaposition of football and pussy in one, a bar
built purely to satisfy the needs of typical men. I’m sure they would’ve had
food to gorge upon along with the constant booze, should we so desire, although
most of the dudes in there looked hungry for something else. I found myself
amused by my urge towards watching the game, rather than the women, but every
so often a pimply little arse would pop in face, vying for my attention, and
money of course. The line ups were ever
changing every few minutes and each girl was numbered, so you could pay a bar
fine in order to have the girls company. It was like a vending machine, except
you type the number into the waitresses head and out pops herpes. I’d rather
have a Kit-Kat. The match ended 1-1, a decent result for an Arsenal fan, and we
vacated the premises after emptying our glasses of rum and beer, only to go
straight into another bar, except this time it was a ping pong show. As I
walked in, there were a few punters onstage with balloons held between their
knees and a girl bent over in front of them with a straw held in her Minnie
Mouse house. With one blow, all three balloons were popped and I spotted our
girls all sat along the opposite side of the stage laughing. I went over to
reunite with my favourite person in the world and we shared one of those
passionate kisses where everything around you falls away and only you remain,
just two figures, floating through space and time before being warped back to
the here and now. Magical. We couldn’t believe the coincidence, of all the ping
pong shows, in all of Patong, we had to walk into the same one as them. Perfect
timing. I remained on the girls side (where I’ve been for most of my life),
whilst the guys were getting harassed by the feverish working women of the
night across the other side, and they filled me in on their evenings exploits.
The next thing you know, Hayden is onstage, sat up with a woman laid down in
front of him, shooting half of a banana out of her own makeshift fruit basket,
urging him to catch it in his mouth. We stood there screaming “NOOOOO”, whilst
the bride’s Mum and Grandmother looked on in stunned disbelief. It was
priceless. Luckily he is a smart guy, and only caught it with his hand,
although when he cheekily popped it back in I felt a collective cringe. Good
job he was marrying someone with a great sense of humour or he’d have been in
the dog house before even saying ‘I do’. I walked back over to gather the guys so
we could hit the Banana Bar and Disco (no relation to the showgirl) we’d heard
about, and looked up just in time to witness the new girl onstage drop
something from her insides into her hands. Then I saw movement. Then all of a
sudden, the spreading of wings. It was a LIVE BIRD! My jaw hit the floor, it
was too much. Almost speechless and fully disgusted, I returned to the girls
and Aimi said that it was the first time she’d seen a real life ‘pussy’ eat a
bird. I cracked up and told her I would write that down. Done.<br />
<br />
I ran a little upfront and blagged the club manager to let Hayden and Alexa in
for free, and then hit a few shots of tequila with James, Richard and Superman,
bonding further with my new brothers. Every one of the gang were such open,
great people, and I knew that we were in for a good few days in each other’s
company. I have no recollection of the music which was being played, but I
remember dancing along pretty happily with our joint forces until the older
members of our crew were nearly falling asleep and the younger lot perfectly
paralytic, and ready to drop. We left our family and ended up getting lost,
wandering aimlessly for twenty drunken minutes, away from the direction we were
meant to be heading in. Ready to
collapse, we jumped onto a passing tuk tuk and were swiftly dropped off, only a
staircase away from sweet sleep, where we laid to rest and let another day die.</span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYBVXvfZ278blyEnE9sObw90Fqcxj9Xmrq7YzJzrqLqwGhfsYJtQBFsJfk5xVs8COUKySr7Sa-5La1MtKaX5GVZt4ZmNt4oc-z8pMAs9WtG4nM3ENCY3Zbr-XwOpM8-JwiEmyWg2Tw_w31/s1600/IMG_8024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYBVXvfZ278blyEnE9sObw90Fqcxj9Xmrq7YzJzrqLqwGhfsYJtQBFsJfk5xVs8COUKySr7Sa-5La1MtKaX5GVZt4ZmNt4oc-z8pMAs9WtG4nM3ENCY3Zbr-XwOpM8-JwiEmyWg2Tw_w31/s400/IMG_8024.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The Last Shot</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-51248678216539846352013-01-28T07:27:00.000-08:002013-01-28T10:34:03.247-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 32: Life’s a leech<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">10.11.12</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The feeling of excitement at the
sound of your morning alarm is a rare occurrence, but that’s exactly what I
experienced as I awoke in our miniscule shack just before 8am, knowing that
another good day was there for the taking. Yet again, there was building works
right outside of our room, this time two guys hammering more wood onto another
of their half made huts. Noise had been a common occurrence for the past few
days, wherever we’d been staying, but was probably due to the early season
which we were visiting in, where everywhere was preparing for the onslaught of
sun-chasing travellers looking for somewhere a bit nicer to spend their winter
months. We gathered with the gang for a quick breakfast, then hopped on our
long-tail boat which took us back the way we’d kayaked the previous afternoon.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We had a one hour hike which would lead us to the Namtaloo Cave, followed by
another hour inside, then the trek back to our temporary, humble abodes. As we
started our guide told us that there would be a few spots where we needed to
cross small rivers, and after navigating through various jungle on our narrow
pathway we reached the first. We were also warned about the leeches, something
which Sarah had been shitting herself at the thought of for the past few days,
but there was not much that could be done to avoid them, except prayer and good
luck. I suppose long trousers could’ve helped, but I only packed one pair of
black shorts and they barely covered my lanky limbs, which probably looked even
more appetising than the four hot wings for 99p deal, which you can get from
Big Portion Chicken in Hackney, to the awaiting bloodsuckers all around. I
pulled off my trainers as did Sarah, to avoid having to march around for hours
in drenched footwear, and we followed the others. By the time I got my trainers
back on, it was time to take them off again, and we were falling behind with
all the messing around, so I walked into the river with my trainers on my feet
and my lady on my back, dropping her off at the other side safe and dry. We did
this method another two or three times, but were both getting stressed out,
Sarah by the fact that she was doing something she really didn’t want to, and
me by the fact that she wasn’t having a good time. I knew she was doing it for
me, and that made me feel bad because I’m only ever happy when she is. It
didn’t help when she decided to hop over a few big rocks on another watery path
and ended up slipping, smashing herself, thigh first, down onto harsh rock, and
soaking her feet in the process, rendering my previous work of carrying of her
pointless and her having an even worse time than before. I found my first leech
having a go on my hand after exiting another watery trap, and spivved out in a
‘GET THIS FUCKER OFF OF ME’ kind of fashion, whilst Natasha smashed it off of
my hand with a rock. It was much smaller than I’d imagined, obviously yet to be
filled with my blood, however because of how they hook into your skin, the
bites don’t stop bleeding for ages after you’ve ripped the little shits out of
you. Nasty likkle raas clarts. </span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuRXw4_d8JMPA0JMW6fQLFnKmDZG3yFTMY96leGhErwUvStBg4E27uqbeIgNF7ikPciT-ZksUJ4vdVXgQI0QAnnMph5TK8aelUqcMIoig7Gp9Nz_vjYGxVAWFmPtS_HQVmXhHyxzcB9FG5/s1600/IMG_7731.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuRXw4_d8JMPA0JMW6fQLFnKmDZG3yFTMY96leGhErwUvStBg4E27uqbeIgNF7ikPciT-ZksUJ4vdVXgQI0QAnnMph5TK8aelUqcMIoig7Gp9Nz_vjYGxVAWFmPtS_HQVmXhHyxzcB9FG5/s400/IMG_7731.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><span style="background-color: black;">Entering the cave that I nicknamed 'Nick'</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We reached the entrance to the
cave,</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">where Sarah’s worries were forced
even further by the fact that there were a few points inside which were flooded
by a freshwater forest stream, and we’d have to swim through them, in the dark,
with only head torches to light our way. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few
years back a big storm made the water level rise so high that a group going
through it all died;</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> another factoid to worry my wonderful woman. Nevertheless,
we all entered slowly, the lights from each of our heads flickering like
fireflies as everyone looked around excitedly. We reached the first flooded
part, which we all jumped in to, one by one, swimming across for a few metres
before clambering out into the serenity that only ultimate darkness can bring, this
is until your mind starts thinking about what else could be in there with you.
I wasn’t thinking about the leeches, I wasn’t worried about insects, I was just
enamoured by the beauty of the surrounding rocks, admiring the formations within
this secret dwelling. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the past, this cave was
a hideout for communist students fighting the Thai Government back in the ‘70's,
but now it’s a key point for trekkers from around the world to navigate. Sarah
was struggling through, quite clearly scared and not having the best of times,
but she was brave and persisted with the support of our gang, myself and the
Belgian boys all giving her a hand when needed. My favourite point of the cave
was when we had to head upwards between two rocks, there was a narrow gap
between them, and no floor, just rushing water beneath us as we split our legs
and arms on either side and jumped ourselves along the gap. On the other side
was another pool of water which we had to jump into and swim across.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It was up
to our necks or further and took some heavy swimming in our clothes and
trainers, then we climbed out at the other side, checked for more leeches, and
then looked up to see hundreds of bats, all hanging from the ceiling. A number
of them would fly around when we shined torches on them or made noise, whilst
others remained still and seemingly asleep. There were huge exotic looking
spiders everywhere as well as scorpions, frogs, and god knows what else, but
that didn’t stop us all turning off our torches to experience the pure,
peaceful blackness until one by one, people switched back on. My torch came on
last, I could have stayed there for a good few hours, or at least until ‘The
Fear’ crept in. I kept trying to placate my lady by assuring her that it’d be
over soon, and we had a branch to smoke upon our exit. We walked through for
another fifteen minutes, until we could see natural light cracking through the
distant exit. We splish-splashed through the final dash, stopping only for our
guide to pick up a couple of toads, which both reacted by instantly playing
dead, in order to protect themselves. He sat one of them against a rock, and
placed the other right in front of it, so that it looked like they were having
a snooze and spooning. We took our final steps back into the scorching
sunlight, looking back to see how the trees and bushes almost fully hid the
hole which we came out of. All of that mounted tension immediately lifted at
this point, Sarah didn’t die and neither did I, all was well in the world, and
would be even better once we’d made it back to our floating salvation. Despite
another leech trying to have its way with my foot, the returning march through
the forest seemed a lot easier than on the way there. Perhaps we’d just gotten
used to it by this point, everything is easier to deal with when you’ve had a
bit of practice. After a short trip back to the floating raft houses, I dived
straight into the lake to cool off, then we gathered for a final spot of lovely
lunch before grabbing our bags and bidding the delightful local folks a fond
farewell, before smoking our joy on the boat ride back to the pier, then
driving back to our original accommodation in Khao Sok.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaeht504qb-Ztt5JgDpmk-Byuipr0j-cctX2yl9xUNhv3TjxJJAzH8Z-620TNzkbOvmncbDRiIsippgItjSY7K3aWYaKBFudo0den2J2jJoOWqMdTe59xdbj8heLSqMODxc0NsFRMyz46V/s1600/IMG_7734.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaeht504qb-Ztt5JgDpmk-Byuipr0j-cctX2yl9xUNhv3TjxJJAzH8Z-620TNzkbOvmncbDRiIsippgItjSY7K3aWYaKBFudo0den2J2jJoOWqMdTe59xdbj8heLSqMODxc0NsFRMyz46V/s400/IMG_7734.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><span style="background-color: black;">Hanging off the ceiling, I know the feeling.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTxV8ttDYCx7k8slVZgGZb-_gNaN0E_4XpaHFGGSrn590OwNPdi8UwbHtssGJHUKWNbPdaJ99v6doZknwcTEzUZOR7LZ10zUs7oqgvijI-1aK8Yxg1TdRIXwlJqk3irXwRCpAnMCEX_KyD/s1600/IMG_7750.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTxV8ttDYCx7k8slVZgGZb-_gNaN0E_4XpaHFGGSrn590OwNPdi8UwbHtssGJHUKWNbPdaJ99v6doZknwcTEzUZOR7LZ10zUs7oqgvijI-1aK8Yxg1TdRIXwlJqk3irXwRCpAnMCEX_KyD/s400/IMG_7750.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black;">Spooning frogs</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ZKAJRLAbwmsRhyphenhyphenzi6ufyfjmpYu53NREorrOU7VjY8dZJFUAydp-zlrZ7Z8LnmNimnu_ZrYfElYsGbyJcItNJg61UXmD5CtPAA09BIMagaZBPHgqEZV_DAvfUI0PpPcD3NKrcZ9nvwjVg/s1600/IMG_7752.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ZKAJRLAbwmsRhyphenhyphenzi6ufyfjmpYu53NREorrOU7VjY8dZJFUAydp-zlrZ7Z8LnmNimnu_ZrYfElYsGbyJcItNJg61UXmD5CtPAA09BIMagaZBPHgqEZV_DAvfUI0PpPcD3NKrcZ9nvwjVg/s400/IMG_7752.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black;">Sarah the Survivor</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><br />
</span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6tANS_HF9KW3dhSxD1VD2qjfrD6eXohwQdC6cL-7kYArALF5z_WwBYp0apslP30MUHwqSn8n2EX4iug-cMED8AFiR0FbeY04DwMDtxsVWPufeCJHPd5h4nuT-ax7toJ4M8J8h3LpZdHDF/s1600/IMG_7761.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: black; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6tANS_HF9KW3dhSxD1VD2qjfrD6eXohwQdC6cL-7kYArALF5z_WwBYp0apslP30MUHwqSn8n2EX4iug-cMED8AFiR0FbeY04DwMDtxsVWPufeCJHPd5h4nuT-ax7toJ4M8J8h3LpZdHDF/s400/IMG_7761.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><span style="background-color: black;">Tired Team Canada</span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">We decided that rather than staying another night at the Jungle Huts, we
should pool our money with Team Canada and try and get a ride to Patong Beach
that night. After a fair amount of haggling with our guide we managed to get
his boss to drop the originally ridiculous quote down enough to make it
worthwhile, and the seven of us waited at the huts with our worldly possessions
for a new driver to turn up. I went to grab our laundry back, and get some
drink and snacks for the journey, and after handing over a 1000 baht note for
110 baht worth of goodies I left the store and soon realised the girl on the
till had given me 990 back, 100 baht more change than she was meant to. I
walked back in and tried to explain, but she didn’t seem to fully comprehend
her error, still I gave her back the 100 anyway and left with my karma fully
intact. As much as I like free money, if she’d had it docked from her wages I’m
sure she’d have felt it a lot more than I would. It’s despicable how little the
Thai workers get paid, however, I’m sure just like everywhere else, their
bosses do alright for themselves. After the best part of two hours wait, having
our first chance in a few days to contact the world outside, a van rolled up
and we loaded in. To kill a bit of time, Sarah and I decided to co-write a silly
little story, one word each continuously until the end. She went first, and it
ended up like this:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">
<br />
</span><span style="line-height: 115%;">‘Ten
thousand years ago there lived six magicians. Many students eagerly gathered at
Glastonbury trying hard to understand the secrets of their ancestors. All minds
together would unlock the bubble world, but there wasn't enough love leafs to
create transsexuals. Fire breathing dragons appeared; everyone started laughing
at their cocks. Later the demons from limbo stole the magicians’ sleeves so
they couldn't fly anymore...’</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br />
<br />
I spent the next few hours doing my usual writing in the dark, doggie chasing
his tail trick, ending up in Patong Beach after two hours of fast driving from
our man with van. We bid him farewell, and walked into the place we’d heard was
pretty decent. It was full. The place next door, named Kamilla, looked decent
enough, and had a sign in the window saying ‘Rooms 400’. I had a quick chat
with the lady owner, and managed to get three rooms for our gang at a
discounted rate. Sarah and I took the first one, and went up the stairs,
straight into a pretty fancy little room which had air conditioning, a lovely
double bed, wardrobe, TV, fridge, table and en-suite wet room. Comparing it to
where we stayed the previous night would be like comparing Johnny Depp with
Johnny Vegas, it was more than adequate for our needs, and only a five minute
walk away from the main streets. After a quick bang and shower in succession we
hit the streets to scope out our surroundings, and within two minutes I passed
a bar, and noticed that Arsenal was playing against Fulham on one of their
screens. I looked at Sarah and she read my mind, leaving me there to watch the
last five minutes whilst she went into a shop. It was 3-3 at home, another not
great result as it stood, but I hoped that my watching would somehow swing the
balance in our favour, since I’m a very lucky man. Whilst standing at the
doorway I noticed a few local ladies of the night standing nearby, fanning themselves
on the corner. Three big Indian men with moustaches approached a slim little
thing, trying to work out a deal with her, which judging by the interested
looks on all of their desperately depraved, drooling faces would’ve meant a situation no human should
ever have to experience. I don’t know the quoted price, but it was no dice, and
they shuffled off down the road to try and satisfy their twisted urges
elsewhere. I was thankful. Back in the world of football, the dying seconds of
the game saw us given a penalty, and I excitedly pointed it out to Sarah who
was walking back towards me. Our dynamic Spaniard Mikel Arteta stepped up to
the spot, but had his effort saved by the goalkeeper. “FOR FUCKS SAKE!” I
shouted as the final whistle followed right after, and a Thai guy beside me laughed
at my aggravation. At least some happiness was caused by our inadequacy to get
a decent result.<br />
<br />
We walked through the seedy main streets, Sarah somewhat un-enthralled by what
was on offer whilst trying to scope out somewhere decent to lead Alexa’s hen
party to the following evening. I was excited by my ugly, flashing, vibrant
surroundings, it reminded me a lot of the dodgy places in Bangkok where I’d had
a good laugh with the Lub D hostel crew during my first few days away, and I
was looking forward to experiencing more of the same madness with my best
friend now in toe. By this point we hadn’t really witnessed the ultra-seedy
side together, and I was eager for us to see some crazy shit . We
went full circle, ending up back at Kamilla, where we firstly searched for our
favourite movie channel (the only thing that was good in Koh Samui), which
wasn’t available, but we found another showing films in English, which went on
in the background yet again as I wrote myself to sleep whilst Sarah was zonked.</span></span></div>
The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-9590408340956433172013-01-24T07:15:00.003-08:002013-01-24T07:19:26.670-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 31: Thank you, forever<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">09.11.12</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghHo1i-JDibGmkmpfZGsrFa677ZNSoxqMXpLsmEdlINg5odS4jHAcyLgWxxgufF498oXc0tmlfRsTdIZFo7vu6V-I0L6gK7JWKitc9BTW6ZJiFY1EBNDip0JDxAJoR7-qYRGWBg0Tlp-Jc/s1600/IMG_7709.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghHo1i-JDibGmkmpfZGsrFa677ZNSoxqMXpLsmEdlINg5odS4jHAcyLgWxxgufF498oXc0tmlfRsTdIZFo7vu6V-I0L6gK7JWKitc9BTW6ZJiFY1EBNDip0JDxAJoR7-qYRGWBg0Tlp-Jc/s400/IMG_7709.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cheow Lan Lake</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">8am always comes too soon, usually four hours too soon for
me, but this was another day where sleep would be sacrificed in exchange for
adventure. I rolled out of bed and headed up the road with a huge bag of
laundry, dropping it at the only family store that was open and telling them I’d
be back the following evening. We had a quick bit of grub before being loaded
into a van with five strangers who would also be joining us on this trek, three
Canadians, Mark and his two children Natasha and Connor who were in their late
teens/early twenties, their friend Stephanie and her Australian boyfriend
Julian. Our guide stopped after thirty minutes or so, so he could shop for
supplies whilst we checked out the local market, before driving us to the pier
where the long-tail boats were docked. We chucked our bags and bodies onto the
awaiting vessel, and spent the next ninety minutes sailing across a huge
reservoir, passing towering walls of lime stone and various tree tops which
stemmed up from underneath the clear greeny-blue water. The loud clattering of
the engine behind us was near deafening, and somewhat ruining the peace for us
both, so I ripped a few bits of material from my vest for Sarah to put in her
ears, and put the other bits in mine. Much better. I sat back in peace,
thinking about love, and the fact that I had yet to write a poem for Alexa and
Hayden’s wedding, which was the reason we were in Thailand in the first place.
I like to let ideas stew, and then come out naturally, so just thinking about
that lovely couple, their forthcoming wedding and the strong bond they clearly
shared had the words flowing as easily as the river we were drifting on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let
your love be like the stars, dazzling the sky in spectacular style.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">
Let your love be like a river, flowing continuously for miles and miles.<br />
Let your love be like the sun, the golden glow which lights the day.<br />
Let your love be like the moon, illuminating the night to show us the way.<br />
Let your love be like a forest, rooted deeply to the ground.<br />
Let your love be like a flower, a blossoming beauty uniquely bound.<br />
Let your love be simply love, a bond of happiness, deep and true.<br />
Let your love last forever, a new beginning from the moment you say "I
do"</span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyEKxcB9shFnbGMLaVYeXD7nRVUmSUIrDBzWBE9d47eiSLOlGp7HEQGWxVfaMws1e7dSUN7_4-NlXgAFv6f9-4SctyhpMWT2g7SQHbWiug4GKzlznyjq-iSpHdY_JiUGhlByLDFbkFQ2-u/s1600/IMG_7712.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyEKxcB9shFnbGMLaVYeXD7nRVUmSUIrDBzWBE9d47eiSLOlGp7HEQGWxVfaMws1e7dSUN7_4-NlXgAFv6f9-4SctyhpMWT2g7SQHbWiug4GKzlznyjq-iSpHdY_JiUGhlByLDFbkFQ2-u/s400/IMG_7712.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">By the time
I’d finished writing and shared it with Sarah, the ride was over, and we
arrived at our destination, a series of bamboo raft houses which were built
right on the water at the edge </span>of the Cheow Lan Lake<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">, surrounded by a
mountainous backdrop with jungle just beyond. It was beautiful. We put our
stuff into our huts, then dived into the cool water to relieve our skin after
too much time sat on a boat in the mid-day sun. We had a spot of lunch cooked
by the locals running this little site, which consisted of Massaman Curry, Sweet
and sour chicken and vegetables, and a load of rice and fruit for dessert. It
was all delicious and definitely filled the final hole of the two day hangover
which was nearing its end. Suitably stuffed, we decided to go out for a little
kayak ride with Connor who was raring to go. He hopped into a yellow, one man
kayak, and Sarah and I jumped into a blue, two man version. It was by far the
worst one I’d rowed in since being away, and we struggled to sail smoothly as
it’s flimsy body rocked on the water, but we did ok, riding for a while, then
stopping by a cliff where we looked up to see a few cheeky monkeys swinging
around the treetops and making noises at us. Connor was a really cool young
chap, very chatty and funny, and we had a good time talking as we paddled along
to the end of the route, before turning around and paddling back to our base.
Julian and Stephanie were waiting, so I dived out of my kayak and held it
steady for them to board, before doing a bit of swimming then getting out to
dry off. By the time we made it back to our hut it was starting to spit, then
it got a little worse, then a lot worse, lashing down upon the tranquil lake,
and dripping through holes in our roof. We were glad we’d gone first in the
kayak, and were now in the relative comfort of our hut, lying on a mattress on
the floor, keeping warm in each other’s arms. The sound of the rain got louder
and louder, masking the sound of our lips meeting, and bodies pressing
together, and by the time our romantic episode was over, we were too tired to
care about the rain, or move from the wet spot which the leaky roof had created,
we just lay there satisfied, staring at the ceiling until we dozed off shortly
after.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipphWBVZ_fonN6p4Rn604hkoyRkiT0BHzseZ_yT1Tp-dMn8KWcQIjHSjturElmLgKVL3IOkMZgv7HQJSJjH22Bg0_7aLYI6CuSDumaLjgR6eK_1kGyF4OEhmH9EVdteqQEqjuytSwK1IKO/s1600/IMG_7722.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipphWBVZ_fonN6p4Rn604hkoyRkiT0BHzseZ_yT1Tp-dMn8KWcQIjHSjturElmLgKVL3IOkMZgv7HQJSJjH22Bg0_7aLYI6CuSDumaLjgR6eK_1kGyF4OEhmH9EVdteqQEqjuytSwK1IKO/s400/IMG_7722.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Peace on Earth</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background-color: black; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
I was in a sweet shop at the airport, and as always, I was on the rob. Eating
whilst choosing, putting some in my pockets, purposely miscounting the amount I
had to pay, whatever it took to score as many free sweeties as possible. When I
left the shop I was chased by security and spent the rest of the dream running
around the airport hiding. I could look further into why I often have this
reoccurring theme in my slumber, but considering the amount of sweets I consume
from day to day, I just put it down to my addiction. A couple of hours later I awoke and went out to
find that nobody was around, and we’d seemingly been left behind, but it turned
out that there wasn’t much happening, so I just got chatting to a Belgian guy
who was also there for the night with a few friends, before returning to my
lady, who was stirring on her soggy mattress. We all regrouped for dinner
around 7pm and were served with what was quite possibly the best meal of my
trip so far, huge freshly caught fish grilled to perfection, Thai style
omelette, and loads more vegetables and fruit. These guys live good. By 8ish we
got back on our long-tail boat and went on a night safari, on the promise that
a lot of the animals would be waking around this time and we’d see a few. It
was pitch black on the river, and our guide spent his time sailing from place
to place, and shining his big torch into the trees, to no avail. I’ve seen more
wildlife under our living room sofa, but I found it pretty amusing to be on a
safari with no animals. At one point there was apparently a big white bird
sitting at the top of a tree, but it could have been a branch for all I could
see. After nearly an hour of floating around aimlessly like a turd in the
ocean, we stopped at a spot where our guide told us that you could see shooting
stars every ten minutes or so. We waited. We waited some more. There was a lot
of space to cover but I hoped that I could see another if I constantly flashed
my eyes around the sky, and it worked. I’m pretty sure that I saw one briefly, however
it was ten times duller and nowhere near as sparkly as the one that I’d seen in
Koh Phangan a few days before, still, beggars can’t be choosers, unless of course
they are choosing to beg, in which case they get what they want. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: black; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Back
at the raft houses, we went to roll some coral reef relief for our new family and
I realised that one of my wooden beaded crosses was missing. I usually wear
them everywhere, all the time and didn’t remember taking it off. I assumed it
must’ve been pre-coitus, so we overturned everything, emptied our bags, checked
under the bed and still it was nowhere to be found. I began to panic, those
necklaces have been with me through all of my adult life after one of my best
friends gave them to me, even during my near death on the mountain in Monument
Valley, I remember feeling the cross cutting into my chest, which was laid
across the rock face as I clung on for dear life. If they were gone, I would
have been devastated. I rushed out to the decking where we ate to ask the
others if they’d seen them, and as I arrived to where our group were gathered,
I could see what looked like them, hanging around Connor’s neck. Near
speechless and shaken, I said “Are those my beads?” to which he replied saying
“I found these earlier, are they yours?” I walked around the table to where he
was sitting in his chair and hugged him around his back, gripping him tightly
and thanking the God which resides inside him. He explained that whilst
swimming in the water he saw them floating towards him, and kept them because
he thought they were cool. He put them back around my neck and I thanked him
profusely, explaining the significance in the story of my life. There are few
objects I treasure in this world, and these were definitely one of them. I
rushed back to tell Sarah who was over the moon, and we both returned to the
table to have a cup of tea and a smoke with the gang. After a couple of hours
conversing over various card games it was time for ‘lights off’, and we all
retired to our wooden shacks. We pinned our mosquito nets and lay on the bed.
The still of the night provided us with hundreds of different sounds which
created various visions, nature’s soundtrack. It reminded me of the night we’d
taken mushrooms in Udaipur and were listening to the infinite life outside, the
steady chirps like a metronome and the odd oncoming car providing a bridge to
the insect orchestra, which would always kick into its short chorus, signified
with a beep as the vehicle drove by. It was quite a struggle to settle, what
with the constant bats flying in and out through the uncovered sides of our hut
whilst we listened to the bubbles rising up beneath us, scurrying around the
sides and general movements and flickers, constantly conjuring up images which
were likely more scary in our heads than in reality. Nevertheless, I pulled out
my iPod and speaker and stuck on Tropic Thunder to watch and listen to instead
of what was in my inquisitive head. Unfortunately, I didn’t reach the bit where
Tom Cruise dances, but I instead danced my dreams across the water, taking me
back to my own unreality.</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-85068021252084226642013-01-24T06:53:00.001-08:002013-01-24T06:53:15.196-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 30: The day after the night before<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">08.11.12</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Feeling about as stable as the British economy I somehow
managed a cold shower, before packing once more and getting out the door. It
was noon and a truck had arrived to take us to the ferry. No time for
breakfast, no time for a morning swim in the sea, instead we surfed on the back
of the bumpy vehicle, trying not to puke our empty guts up as we bounced
towards the dock. We had enough spare time for me to sit on top of our
backpacks whilst Sarah scored a couple ‘shakes and sandwiches from a stall
nearby. I off’d the Pineapple ‘shake in seconds but couldn’t stomach the
sandwich just yet, so I let my bag carry me for a change, and somehow ended up
on the ferry. We found two empty rows of seats right away, and laid out on them
trying to snooze for the two hour journey. It was less difficult than our
previous attempt, still with a thousand grams of sugar from the energy drinks
making us dream wildly whilst semi awake, but not the best rest we could’ve hoped
for. We arrived at a place called Dan Sak, where a bus was waiting to take us
to Surathani. Another few hours of bumping through tiredness and multiple naps
and we arrived at a hut where we were told we’d have to wait for our final part
of the journey, which would take us to Khao Sok National Park. We had nowhere
to stay upon arrival, but the lovely old chap that ran the stopping point was a
great help. He showed us a variety of places that he could book us into, and
answered every question we posed to him with “OF COURRRRSE” before sorting us
out with a nights stay in a jungle hut in Khao Sok. It turned out that he’d
actually visited Sarah’s hometown of Scarborough, and the neighbouring town of
Whitby and was raving about some fish dish he’d had there, making a smacking
noise with his lips like a baby drinking milk from a teat to signify how tasty
it was. He was great, I loved him, despite my raging brain he provided some
much needed light relief, and looked after us well. Bless him.</span><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT9v2cgT7cr54cNfiyyR9-_kDIdufTnXPF_7n6DbEgUIHJK6uCMPRuhu33YOHssLRjX4qDIIUn6PyJecaR5WZXDXNABNMonLc41UG3G_7iLWzF0XtmwXyJnrS2yAjl0GjxrcgY9_XL_723/s1600/IMG_7707.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT9v2cgT7cr54cNfiyyR9-_kDIdufTnXPF_7n6DbEgUIHJK6uCMPRuhu33YOHssLRjX4qDIIUn6PyJecaR5WZXDXNABNMonLc41UG3G_7iLWzF0XtmwXyJnrS2yAjl0GjxrcgY9_XL_723/s400/IMG_7707.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Lion King whiskey: Guaranteed to leave you royally fucked.<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A
van came and we were told to board, but rather than take us to Khao Sok, it
instead dropped us at another bus depot, where we then hopped into a different
van and went on our merry way. By this point it was gone 6pm, and we were
stopping and starting every few minutes, picking up and dropping off locals
whilst the driver pocketed cash from each of them. By 9pm we arrived at the
location of our jungle hut, in a location aptly named ‘Jungle Huts’, which had
twenty odd stairways, each leading up to huts of varying sizes. We dumped our
bags, booked a trek the following day with the manager there, then went off in
search of dinner. I had my heart set on something super stodgy, preferably
pizza, and low and behold, the last joint on this one road of commerce was a
pizza place. I did a little ‘feed me before I die of starvation’ dance, ordered
a couple of pizzas and stuffed my face with sustenance. I was saved. We got
back to our room and started packing a few bits into a smaller bag to take with
us to the huts on the lake where we’d be staying the following night, and just
as we had everything out, the lights started to flicker. I got up and turned
them off, then back on. They continued to flicker, made a strange noise, and
then plunged us into darkness. I sat in the dark whilst Sarah went off to find
someone to help us, arriving back with two guys and a torch. They were clearly
not electricians, and had no idea what the problem was, so we had to pack in
the dark, then drag everything to a new, bigger room which they’d opened up for
us. By this point, we were both ready to die, so I put the dream gun into my
cake hole and blasted my conscious brain all over the bed. Dead.<br />
</span>
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The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-30789532124070724522013-01-22T07:29:00.000-08:002013-01-22T07:30:12.794-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 29: The half-moon psychedelic jungle dance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">07.11.12</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I
came to about thirty minutes before mid-day and staggered out of my room to be
faced with a glorious view of the sea. I was still half asleep as I stepped
into the blue, but soon woke fully as the cold water reached my family jewels,
throwing my shoulders under to acclimatise before going for a morning swim. I
arrived back after fifteen minutes, joining Sarah who was sat on the sand
reading. I started getting into the ‘Steppenwolf’ book that I’d found in Pai,
which is offered up as uncovered documents of a former lodger at the author’s
aunt’s guesthouse, an alcoholic recluse who kept diary-like recordings of the
events surrounding his lonely life and strange encounters.<br />
<br />
After an hour or so of roasting on the beach we shared a Pad Thai for lunch,
then moved a few metres over to the pool, where I spent another couple of hours
doing my usual write, swim, write, swim, whenever the heat got too much to bear.
Sarah slept for much of this time, joining me for my final swim of the afternoon.
As we worked our way around the pool our lips met and, like dogs on heat, we
were off. The throws of passion ignited and we gripped each other closely,
doing terribly in our attempts to seem inconspicuous whilst in full view of
builders noisily working through the window of the building beside us. It
didn’t matter, we’d gone too far to stop and it felt too good to care. After
increasing the fluid levels of the pool by at least a tablespoon, we returned
to our room without being arrested, before taking a short ride up the road on
our scooter, where we found a travel agent to book our onward journey to Khao
Sok national park, and bought some yoghurt, which we’d be consuming our
mushrooms with. Back in our beach hut we mixed our ingredients and scoffed the
lot. I can’t believe that in all those years of munching on the nasty mush’
like a straight up sicko, always seeing it as the hell you must overcome to
reach heaven, I’d never before thought to simply put them in a yoghurt. Not
only was all of the nasty fungus and psilocybin taste masked completely by the
strawberry flavour, I’d actually go so far as to say I enjoyed consuming them.
Then the wait was on.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0gG2bv2FTknkexZ8wyHyx6HuMH_uiq5kY6DITqlltyPk50AN8WbRy9yyiDHtdJSGdPuQk2r4PPmPY27POk1c2iogQ_E-vJojqvqr9E3mqVhEF5P9_8uub-1p3_aPAQZoHHDZ-nuRP_aUJ/s1600/IMG_7692.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0gG2bv2FTknkexZ8wyHyx6HuMH_uiq5kY6DITqlltyPk50AN8WbRy9yyiDHtdJSGdPuQk2r4PPmPY27POk1c2iogQ_E-vJojqvqr9E3mqVhEF5P9_8uub-1p3_aPAQZoHHDZ-nuRP_aUJ/s400/IMG_7692.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Hanging high</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I always quite enjoy the unknowing after you’ve eaten a dose and await the
effects. Mushroom trips are generally always different, as the strength and
amounts vary greatly with every new batch, but I had faith that they’d be
decent as I let the poison make its way around my body gladly, in my usual
position sprawled out on our bed, offering myself up to the skies, ready to be
taken. Just like when on the acid in Pai, I was in a vegetative state, the calm
before the storm, and completely refusing to move as we listened to ‘Strange
Days’, which is probably my favourite album from The Doors, before Sarah followed
it with ‘P.S I Love you’ by the Beatles. By this point, she’d given up on me
and went out front to hang in the hammock. After a few minutes of time with my
thoughts, I had a vision. I called out to my lover “Sarah, when we get married,
can we have a yellow ribbon tied around our hands?” She laughed and replied “Yes,
but only if you come outside!” After another minute or two composing myself for
the big move, I then took three wobbly steps out of the door, and laid straight
on the hard marble deck beside Sarah’s swinging spot. The end of the Fab Four
saw us joined by Patti Smith, who provided the soundtrack as Sarah and I
laughed our arses off being increasingly silly with our shared thoughts and
conversation topics. We concluded that if you had to pay to take a shit, there
would be a hell of a lot more panicking young people on the streets of East
London, running around on the rob, desperately looking for money, and also that
although the general consensus of a down and out who is laying drunk in the
gutter with piss running down his leg is that he’s in a bad way, he may be
having the time of his life, feeling freer than ever before. I’m glad we took
time to delve into these interesting theories, I mean, other than literally
‘talking shit’ what else is there to worry about? As we chatted, I saw what I
first thought was a firework flash in the sky. As I followed its movement
diagonally downwards, its effervescent glow illuminating the black blanket sky,
I realised that it was a shooting star. Sarah had witnessed its flash too, but
didn’t realise what it was until I called out in excitement before kissing her
as I made a wish for us both. We made our way over to the pool as I was adamant
that we have a little swim around before we reached the 9pm curfew which was
stated on the rule board beside it. I dived in, feeling at one with the water
as I flipped about like a dolphin, returning to collect my lover who I carried
around like a baby, spinning under the stars and making us both dizzy. Then we
kissed again and Sarah laughed, explaining that every time we’d kiss, she’d get
the image of me as a cat in her head, one who had stolen my identity as her
beau. With open eyes, however, I looked more like a seal or a fish, as my wet
hair clung around my ears like a black swimming cap. I explained that I was Cat
Top the Merman, half feline, half fish and half human, and splashed around like
a hyperactive schoolgirl to amuse my lady, and myself.</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2B6deolgZp6-sOYByWzPhQttTrWqBPNnve230an4g2IZpkwKwrUrbKEO-9MRXdeqf5yM0LtYSbDlWCK-WGCJ8IMldz4pcGH5SwFwdDqZbqx0e_0AP8zMvIpPkPzzSFJ3O04UD8z1HE78/s1600/IMG_7698.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2B6deolgZp6-sOYByWzPhQttTrWqBPNnve230an4g2IZpkwKwrUrbKEO-9MRXdeqf5yM0LtYSbDlWCK-WGCJ8IMldz4pcGH5SwFwdDqZbqx0e_0AP8zMvIpPkPzzSFJ3O04UD8z1HE78/s400/IMG_7698.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Neon jungle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We’d been unsure as to whether or not to attend the half-moon party all day, due
to the fact that neither of us were the slightest bit into psy-trance and
rarely attended any sort of raves, plus we thought it might be a bit too
intense whilst tripping, however after another hour or so hanging in front of
our beach hut drinking my bottle Lion King Whiskey, which I’d brought in Laos
for us to share, we both started considering whether or not to bite the bullet.
I was being happily lazy in my own world, but after being joined by Matt and
Mikaela, our neighbours who we hadn’t yet met as they’d been snoozing all
evening, and making friends with them in the space of a few seconds, we decided
to join them for a dance in the jungle. We caned our drinks, chucked on some
threads and flagged down a truck that was on its way to the party, arriving in
less than five minutes to be faced with a gaggle of goons in glowing garments,
a neon army getting sloshed on cheap plonk by the bucket load. This wasn’t even
the entrance, it was a makeshift bar outside for people to get their first
drinks, screams and drunken fondles out of the way, setting the scene for the
melee which was sure to ensue as they walked through the door. I kind of felt
like an animal that’d just been shifted from the wild to a zoo, I was seeing
all these strange creatures, and although I felt akin with their species, I
knew I was a foreigner. Sarah re-affirmed to our new pals that “this isn’t
really our thing” as we went through the entrance, noticing that we were quite
possibly the only two people out of roughly a thousand that weren’t in neon
t-shirts and vests. I wasn’t bothered by this, unless they had neon black ones
I’d have to make do with my glowing plain white t-shirt swinging about under
the ultra-violet rays. Matt and I knocked back our complimentary vodka and
red-bulls and stood chatting, before I felt a tug, looking down to realise that
a midget Thai woman was grabbing at my dick. I backed away bewildered and she
gave me a cheeky smile, before disappearing under the legs of a passing
stranger. </span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5O58Opsqraqgt_41c5tBGJvIUm3vi2F_KyRborQtQJkxFxt9H11V14e2QkpjUsAiohkyaj7sgfjzuPaxa1xQADqaUhY5a6Fch11H7I1Q_B8uiCDIszLnBi7xEnDB-8n6HBoRvTnh81vt5/s1600/IMG_7702.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5O58Opsqraqgt_41c5tBGJvIUm3vi2F_KyRborQtQJkxFxt9H11V14e2QkpjUsAiohkyaj7sgfjzuPaxa1xQADqaUhY5a6Fch11H7I1Q_B8uiCDIszLnBi7xEnDB-8n6HBoRvTnh81vt5/s400/IMG_7702.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Wired weirdos wandering wildly in the wilderness</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />The girls returned carrying a bucket filled with the usual concoction of
rum, coke and red bull, heavy on the rum, as always. Out of nowhere, a blonde
girl came and grabbed me, and I turned to realise that it was my dear friend
Ieke, who had been part of my lovely gang in Vang Vieng a few weeks prior. We
had a massive hug and a good chat, catching up on each other’s movements before
Sarah came over with the biggest balloon of laughing gas I had ever seen. I
introduced her to Ieke, who had been hearing all about her when I was on my
own, then we proceeded to start inhaling on the nitrous oxide. The first hit
was big, it rippled across my eyes and into my brain, I had a quick break for a
second to greet someone we’d met in Chiang Mai, Olaf, who had also spotted me
in the crowd and came over to say hi. I clung onto the conversation like a cat
thrown at the curtains, whilst simultaneously using the balloon as a third
lung, until the switch in my mind flicked, sending me into a kaleidoscope of
multiple realities before rebooting my brain, returning me to the spot where we
all stood. We carried on having a laugh and a catch-up and then Matt turns up,
holding yet another big bastard balloon. Not wanting to look a gift horse in
the mouth, especially in my quest for YES! I squeezed the end to my lips, and
started hitting number two, whilst still holding our bucket of booze. In this
instance, like many that have come before it, I forgot my history with these
balloons, how the second one is always much more of a mind mash and often
twists me in uncomfortable ways. This was no different. After only a few blasts
to the head something happened, I don’t quite recall the time frame, just a
tornado of spinning, then a wobble, then an outer-body experience, watching as
the floor moved closer towards my face. I came to, to find myself on my knees,
clutching the bucket in one hand and tightly gripping the balloon in the other,
with a shocked Sarah standing above me saying “What are you doing? Are you ok?”
Despite my all too often dances with the Devil, I always remain in control,
this was the first time she’d witnessed the big tree fall hard, but rather than
panic, by the time I’d recovered she was a metre or two away, holding the
bucket, hitting the balloon and bopping to the beats that blared across the
jungle. That’s my girl, I thought, laughing at her priorities in the face of
destruction. Usually, being wiped out so publically may be somewhat embarrassing,
however, due to never having experienced being taken out so massively, I was
actually pretty ecstatic it had happened to me. Perhaps I should start fighting
again, except let people knock me out instead of punching back, it would
definitely save me a pretty penny.<br />
</span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAY7MQVZurdNHc-bEfdwWDC7vhVdJzkhpUZ3DwEe94HQE44LMdQ4601JgwqEFFIoMVk7z7t2QObTg9EQVnHCsWYPGQ8mlcldhdKDFw31PVKPUCOFynO-ZKvanWut8k7eiwcQOZychLGlC5/s1600/IMG_7705.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAY7MQVZurdNHc-bEfdwWDC7vhVdJzkhpUZ3DwEe94HQE44LMdQ4601JgwqEFFIoMVk7z7t2QObTg9EQVnHCsWYPGQ8mlcldhdKDFw31PVKPUCOFynO-ZKvanWut8k7eiwcQOZychLGlC5/s400/IMG_7705.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Jungle Boogie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The party was kicking, we had a good gang, and the buckets were in constant
succession, even the dreaded music was a lot more up our street than we’d
expected. After all, we do have a past in which clubbing featured frequently,
my DJ father owning a night club in Ayia Napa and Sarah being a former electro
head, we were prepared, whether we liked it or not, and we shook the ghosts out
of our souls as the beats thudded against our skulls. I found it funny to see
Miss “This isn’t really our thing” dancing on a podium, mesmerized by the music
and cocktail of cocktails. Some dude was standing nearby with his vest rolled
up, showing off his abs to whoever would look, and it rang familiar with me. I
looked up to recognise the baby face that they belonged to, a guy from
Hertford, near where I’d lived a few years back. I’d recognise those abs
anywhere, he used to go out with a friend of mine and every picture of his on
Facebook saw him exposing himself, much to the amusement of my best friend and
I who would always laugh at such embarrassing behaviour from the young lad. I
went over and confirmed that it was him, and he told me they’d split up and
he’d gone travelling. I left him and his six best friends, alone and exposed,
grabbed my trashed woman explaining that it was now 5am and I wanted to go, and
ambled outside, where we managed to find a guy with a motorbike who was willing to ride us both
home on the back of it for 100baht. Sarah held him, I held her and we whizzed off. This was
another moment where I could have feared for my life, up and down the hills on
this chicken-chaser, but I just wanted my bed and to escape my beating head.
Back in our room, we both threw up a load of booze and some dignity, which was
running pretty low, and then got into bed, where I span out, trying to end what
had been a heavy day and night. I got what I wanted.<br />
</span>
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The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-55612269069633267202013-01-16T06:22:00.001-08:002013-01-16T06:22:18.739-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 28: Operation: Sky High Supplies<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">06.11.12</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was at a festival in Victoria Park, it was dark, and Kings
of Leon were playing to a cage full of people. My best friends, Mike and Sav,
weren’t impressed, we were all big fans of the band in their formative years,
but once they swapped their screaming rock and roll roots and tenderly
delivered metaphors for catchy indie trite with pop sensibilities, like most of
their original fans, we switched off. God knows why we were there, and he
wasn’t talking. Then the music took a good turn, and the opening notes of
‘Tranny’, a song from their debut LP, blasted out from the speakers, exciting
the gathered masses. I crowd surfed across the top, towards a gang of little, pasty
faced, rude boys, wearing backwards caps and hoods, who started having a go at
me for crowd surfing. I came down beside them, then spent the next few minutes
explaining to them why you should always carry and catch kids who are crowd
surfing, and how I once saw someone end up paralysed because I couldn’t be
bothered to reach out and catch them (which was a lie). They got where I was
coming from, picked me up, and passed me back onto my bed where I awoke beside
my Queen of Dion.<br />
<br />
I washed my face by diving head-first into the pool outside our room, spent
half an hour swimming, then went back to pack and checkout. Sarah returned our
scooter and we marched up the road in the heat of a bright, mid-afternoon,
lugging our luggage lethargically. After fifteen minutes we were at the dock,
sweating and dehydrated like we’d just crossed the Sahara. I got us some water
and a big corn on the cob and we sat waiting for our ferry, with a sticker
stuck on us which read ‘Koh Phangan’. We boarded with a bunch of other young
adults and a few families, and sat at the outside back part of the boat, discussing
where to stay and admiring the island views from the middle of the water. I
decided I wanted to write, so went and sat in the cool comfort of the
air-conditioned top deck to spill a previous dream onto page. Time flew by and
we arrived at the island most famed for its drug and alcohol fuelled full-moon
parties. Funnily enough, this is originally what put us off of coming here,
Sarah not enthused by the stories she’d heard of such gatherings, vomit, death
and decadence. I’d heard similar stories, but the sound of a wild party in
honour of my glorious Moon at her fullest still sounded like something to
experience. I often feel like it’s my duty to see and experience as much as
possible, in order to have more to draw from in my future writing, this is why
I’d been on my quest for YES! and although it is not always the best to put
yourself through things in which you doubt, if you don’t go, you’ll never know.
Everyone has different opinions on things, sometimes you speak to the guy who
hates the smell of flowers, other times the one who fills his house with them.
I wasn’t too bothered that we’d missed the full moon; instead it would be half
full. At least we weren’t seeing it as half empty.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEE-F1o-SAxfIZpfSXUJkyyY_hiMiVeH8-nEjPr54rugXNLZOHleuFiXLHr3rgIrIHsmINmJR6J44I6Vx-imiADAwVTJI23HlDuxLJAWwZXxsz6eFKtO3yEiBGMVJb2LKSRwea4yfmpz0s/s1600/IMG_7656.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEE-F1o-SAxfIZpfSXUJkyyY_hiMiVeH8-nEjPr54rugXNLZOHleuFiXLHr3rgIrIHsmINmJR6J44I6Vx-imiADAwVTJI23HlDuxLJAWwZXxsz6eFKtO3yEiBGMVJb2LKSRwea4yfmpz0s/s400/IMG_7656.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Due to having nowhere to stay we referenced a passage in the bible on Koh
Phangan, and picked a spot in-between the place where we were told we could
score weed and mushrooms, and the place where the half-moon party would be
taking place the following evening. After a short drive we were dropped off at
Macs Bay Beach Resort, on Ban Tai beach. It was a big, relatively fancy resort,
which had a strip of simple and much less fancy beach huts along the sand,
facing the sea. This was much more up our sandy street. I haggled the price of
a hut down to roughly £10 a night for two nights, then chose the one which was
furthest from the main resort, as they also had building works going and I
didn’t want to have my peace ceased at 8am again. I hung my hammock between two
beams and tied it tightly, testing its strength successfully using my body as a
crash test dummy before relinquishing my spot to Sarah whilst I went for a swim
in the sea. The water was a lot murkier here, you couldn’t see that clearly
beneath you, and after a while, my paranoia brought me back ashore. What lies
beneath is beyond most men, my imagination runs wild. We took a walk towards
the pool, which was right next to the building works, and spent some time doing
what we do when doing nothing, before showering, hiring yet another scooter
from the manager of our place in order to go out on our evenings mission,
Operation Sky High Supplies.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLSkgKTDXxuyhYnHbM5svkAyeXPWx-y7G0tK6_eI1UPEmxt0ItsTpOj6SmVMI_YSZkj7IQdzlHEog_Og5gk7ntfp93XIY1mt_EuCJCaPTfNplMicwoU4SeJKRR6hz2scZx_sJTABm-Ra4d/s1600/IMG_7663.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLSkgKTDXxuyhYnHbM5svkAyeXPWx-y7G0tK6_eI1UPEmxt0ItsTpOj6SmVMI_YSZkj7IQdzlHEog_Og5gk7ntfp93XIY1mt_EuCJCaPTfNplMicwoU4SeJKRR6hz2scZx_sJTABm-Ra4d/s400/IMG_7663.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The view from our beach hut<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It had been a few days without weed, but we knew we were in a much safer spot
to score than before so we headed towards Haad Rin, where the full-moon parties
usually take place. Unfortunately, what the map didn’t tell us was that the
five kilometre drive was riddled with mountainous peaks and equally steep
drops, nor was we informed by the bike owner that he was renting us a clapped
out piece of shit that had trouble just starting, let alone navigating this kind
of road. I’ve been in car crashes that were less scary than these summits which
we struggled to overcome each time we reached one. We were literally cheering
on our weak engined warrior to make it up each time, which it did, but not
without its fair share of struggle and panic. By the time we reached Haad Rin
Sarah was shaken up, as was I, and we were both fearing the forthcoming ride
home. I saw a hostel with a bar and pool table, so I went and bought a beer and
then got chatting to the guy behind the bar, a Mauritian named Robbie who was
on a working holiday. He advised us on the best place to pick up some love, a
place called Magic Reggae Bar. Who would’ve thought? He also told us a good
place to get some nice, decent priced food, called the Crazy Elephant, so we
went down the road where he’d directed us. After a few minutes a blonde Dutch
guy called Morten who was at the bar with Robbie came in and said that he was
off to get some weed, so could get some for us. I trusted his story so gave him
1000 baht and off he went, returning just as our meals did, with a small
package to deliver. We thanked him, and then continued with our meal. As simple
as that.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBwiJxPvQrFYo0wlW672qiRbjJIbVj48qCdgIlYGDKce3tF-00bX6CY77gX6JdLZ_f67S-0uz_BrRDx3QYWkqFICmAWPmcqUPcvzqKHWafZttsSEaG9-jGGXHhu28TleiBPPkWGZEu6NXm/s1600/IMG_7675.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBwiJxPvQrFYo0wlW672qiRbjJIbVj48qCdgIlYGDKce3tF-00bX6CY77gX6JdLZ_f67S-0uz_BrRDx3QYWkqFICmAWPmcqUPcvzqKHWafZttsSEaG9-jGGXHhu28TleiBPPkWGZEu6NXm/s400/IMG_7675.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">This is how the world looks on good acid.<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We still wanted to find some mushrooms so, feeling replenished, we
rode along the beach for a few minutes, then got off when there was no more
rode and walked a few steps to the reggae spot. It was a shack facing the beach
that was full of ultra violet lights and covered from floor to ceiling in
quotes, people’s names and messages, obviously added to over time by patrons of
the place. We enquired about mushrooms but the main man wasn’t there, so we
were invited to wait and have a beer, and offered to buy joints, which we
declined. We didn’t smoke any of our own as we had the death ride to endure and
Sarah obviously didn’t want to do that stoned, so instead we had a drink and a
chat, taking it in turns to find empty spaces, which we filled with messages of
our own. Sarah first painted</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gandhi’s
‘Be the change you wish to see in the world’ on the wide leg of a table, then I
wrote the most important piece of advice that I offer to everybody and anybody,
simply ‘Love Yourself’, in bright yellow across a ceiling beam. The second most
important piece of advice I always offer is ‘Make sure you sniff water and
properly clean your nose after a night of snorting drugs’. That may seem
somewhat comical advice, but some of the shit I’ve expelled after a heavy night
has looked like somebody’s had a home abortion in my bathroom sink, so take
note. After about an hour, just as we were getting antsy, the employee returned
saying that his boss was back, and handed us two small paper cups, half-filled
with mushy ‘shrooms. We tipped them into a plastic bag, thanked our friend,
giving him 1000 baht and retreated gleefully to our vehicle.</span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggS6S36ylXzfdVVOgh38TpF821UNVxr82ckjjhsPa1GMYEsSMVRbrWKE95ZUdAn0uO1FjkeDby6CVLfoPqmAgHAb88VnhZvdpTvqsMAs9T89qCwWV6s4dNnb5cAjYbkUiqMYo2VLgF4tcQ/s1600/IMG_7681.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggS6S36ylXzfdVVOgh38TpF821UNVxr82ckjjhsPa1GMYEsSMVRbrWKE95ZUdAn0uO1FjkeDby6CVLfoPqmAgHAb88VnhZvdpTvqsMAs9T89qCwWV6s4dNnb5cAjYbkUiqMYo2VLgF4tcQ/s400/IMG_7681.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My simple advice</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Perhaps
it’s because we were expecting it, or perhaps it’s because we’d already
experienced it, but for whatever reason, the drive back wasn’t anywhere near as
bad as the one there. We still had to navigate numerous ups and down, but it
was more downs then ups this time so it didn’t seem so much of a struggle. We
picked up some munchies from the 7-Eleven and rode our spluttering bike back to
our hut, where I tied the bag of ‘shrooms to our fan to keep them cool, and cut
up the weed with some nail scissors. We had a fair bit more than we’d got from
Richard in Chiang Mai, but still less than in London, which I think is crazy
considering it’s grown around there in mass amounts. Regardless, we were
pleased with our haul, rolled up some seaweed, and hit the beach in all its
dark beauty to celebrate before bed. BOOM-BAT! Just as Sarah dropped off, I
realised that Arsenal would be starting their Champions League match against
Schalke at 2.45am local time, so I did some writing until then, and spent the
next two hours trying to stream it on my crappy excuse for a laptop, with a
crappy internet connection somehow reaching our little hut. The written updates
on my phone informed that we were 2-0 up at one point, only to go back to 2-2
by the end of the game. The only brief spell of video I saw lasted roughly 30
seconds, and blasted out of my speakers unexpectedly, just enough of a clip to
wake my sleeping girlfriend, then disappear again. Quality. 5am, nothing
watched, a restless lover and a draw. What a way to waste a sleep. Still, even
paradise comes with its downsides.<br />
</span>
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The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-37757768173881515982013-01-16T06:06:00.000-08:002013-01-16T06:06:53.161-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 27: Mermaids and Fishermen<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">05.11.12</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At 8am, the banging in my dreams started again. I awoke to
find that it had now manifested itself into reality, as a bunch of builders
were gathered just outside, chucking slabs around whilst smoking cigarettes
simultaneously. We somehow suffered it for another few hours before waking up
tired around 10am. We looked up another hotel in a different part of town which
was meant to be near a fisherman’s village, and hailed a cab to take us there
in the hope of some peace and quiet. The fact that the driver was charging us
over £8 for a ten minute drive wasn’t the best start for him, nor was it
bettered by the fact that we were still a way away from the village itself at
this new hotel and wanted him to take us a little further, a concept which he
couldn’t grasp. We begrudgingly offered to pay extra, but he was having none of
it. He and Sarah ended up both shouting at each other for a few minutes before
I had to step in, telling him to quieten down and chill out. Sarah was emotionally
drained and upset at this point so we just gave up trying to reason, gave him
his 400 baht and checked into The Mermaid Resort, about two kilometres away
from where we wanted to be.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUx6DBvoaEP5gsmXBe6nGrAGegM2M9rio4Gk1qJzG9QgVP9FjZIFFZfS5kFIeEOCqhfRqTtiz2qNd879vpxVx1WqQipMm7ljRIVesUCazpmbkusJbwWO7ZtUKnfPsxRyrfPrvJLcdsDqqG/s1600/IMG_7625.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUx6DBvoaEP5gsmXBe6nGrAGegM2M9rio4Gk1qJzG9QgVP9FjZIFFZfS5kFIeEOCqhfRqTtiz2qNd879vpxVx1WqQipMm7ljRIVesUCazpmbkusJbwWO7ZtUKnfPsxRyrfPrvJLcdsDqqG/s400/IMG_7625.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The hungry fisherman<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
After checking in, we went straight for our first bite of beach life, walking
through the expensive side of an adjacent resort and onto the awaiting sand.
Unfortunately for us, there wasn’t much of it. The beach itself was a long,
narrow strip, with no more than twelve feet of sand between the ocean and the
face of each resort. Despite this, and the overcast sky, we set down for a few
hours, reading, watching a fisherman laying out circles of nets, listening to
The Beatles, swimming, watching the fisherman retrieve his empty nets from the
cold, emerald water, and catching a few spells of sun before resorting to our
resort, where I sat writing around the empty pool for another hour, then
showered. Less sand, more man, we entered a three-walled wooden shack down the
street, hiring another scooter so Sarah could shoot us around for the evening.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtf9TuNGehGbwPGwghTFCo7mVfnl45n-SScOF15-eZSXM4eeWN7toLgvitA30bTXMDKricfoDEis4dCz1u7XENaUkUezGGvQ1UKG-xMSAt-6zOjEK3Ka3Rta8En83EScKhuk2DJQUs9m-o/s1600/IMG_7639.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtf9TuNGehGbwPGwghTFCo7mVfnl45n-SScOF15-eZSXM4eeWN7toLgvitA30bTXMDKricfoDEis4dCz1u7XENaUkUezGGvQ1UKG-xMSAt-6zOjEK3Ka3Rta8En83EScKhuk2DJQUs9m-o/s400/IMG_7639.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The Big Buddha, just chilling...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First
stop, we headed north for a few minutes and hung a Louis towards Wat Phra Yai,
home of the islands most famous landmark, The Big Buddha. We paid our respects,
and inspected the surroundings, shaking another pot of fortune sticks and
collecting our numbers from the first ones which fell to the floor. I found the
corresponding translation, which was even less coherent than the ones you find
on Google, failed to relate, removed my shoes and moved on, up the stairs
towards the Lord. He was big and gold, like Mr T’s jewellery, and surrounded by
more jewels than the Queen, however, the area seemed pretty dilapidated,
probably due to the fact that they didn’t charge us to visit and therefore
can’t generate enough for its upkeep. If I had a big golden Buddha statue, I’d
polish it like Ron Jeremy’s trophy penis. The ferry port was nearby, so we
quickly rode there to book tickets for our escape to Koh Phangan for the
following afternoon, then drove to the fishing village, Bo Phut, which seemed
more like Shoreditch-on-sea, with its vast array of overpriced eateries in
decent looking buildings, littered with more shops selling the same over-priced
shit. Everywhere seemed too dear. I don’t mean to moan, I can afford to eat out
in London once in a while, but I couldn’t afford to do it every night of the
week. However those are the sort of prices each restaurant was offering, so we
had to once again bite the bullet. We’d seen a Mexican joint on the way in, so
we walked there, but were told as we seated that they couldn’t serve any
Mexican food that night. I thought the lady was having me on, but it turned out
that their chef was ill. I was bemused by this as cooking Thai or Mexican is
pretty similar, and considered offering my services to quickly whip something
up, but there was another place down the road, so we went there instead. We
shared a few dishes which ranged from disappointing to underwhelming, paid our
extortionist for the rank food and headed back to our bike, glad to be leaving the
next day.<br />
<br />
Back at our hotel, the film channel was showing Good Will Hunting, so we popped
another tramadol and I got writing whilst Sarah watched. After that, Goodfellas
came on, which somewhat distracted me from the task at hand. “GO GET YER
FUCKIN’ SHINE BOX, TOMMY!”. This was immediately followed by Gran Torino, then
a stupid Adam Sandler comedy called Grandma’s Boy. I’d had enough of writing,
smoking and watching by this point, but was happy to see Half Baked come on
just as I was getting ready to sleep. I realised at this point that the films
were being screened in alphabetical order, and probably being broadcast from someone’s
computer hard-drive, somewhere across the island. If I were being harsh, I’d
probably go so far as to say this channel was the best thing about Koh Samui.
This channel WAS the best thing about Ko Samui. Remember, remember the fifth of
November, Ko Samui is shit.</span>
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The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-37887396011225553812012-12-13T10:38:00.000-08:002012-12-13T10:38:45.836-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 26: Today’s salvation will be televised<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">04.11.12</span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After some well-spent time enjoying the north, it
was time to go down south and finally experience some beach life, so we chucked
our loads onto the back of a truck and headed back towards Chiang Mai’s
airport. Due to time constraints, we couldn’t waste the best part of two days
travelling down on numerous trains and buses, so instead forked out on a ninety
minute flight which shot us straight into Koh Samui by mid-day. We realised
soon after getting there that neither one of us had checked a weather forecast,
both assuming incorrectly that it would be sunny. It wasn’t. It was gloomier
than Jimmy Saville’s recently uncovered past, and started to rain as we rode
towards Chaweng Beach. We got to a place called Z Hotel and hoped that its name
wasn’t based on a rating scale. I checked out the room and it seemed nice,
bright white walls and a Bob Marley stencilled canvas above the bed. “Alright
Bob”, I said to our man, then turned to the manager saying we’d take it. He
told us to return in an hour as the bed wasn’t made up, so we left our bags
there and went off for a walk to see what was about. After going into a few
shops it became apparent that shopping would be cheaper in London, where you
aren’t quoted prices based on your complexion, so we headed back to check in to
our hotel, and each other, after which I fulfilled my role as male by rolling
over and going to sleep. After a few hours snoozing we awoke to the sound of crashing
and banging outside of our ground floor window, and it turned out that a new
hotel was being built next door, and they were still working at 7pm. Great
news. We hit the street in search of somewhere to eat, and further realised
that we’d made a big mistake. This place was a fucking cultureless tourist
trap, offering overpriced everything, everywhere. We settled for one place on
the beach after a long walk in disdain, witnessing the depressingly
underwhelming faux paradise we’d found ourselves in. Why no one ever warned me
against it, I’ll never know. You’d at least expect some great seafood, being on
the beach and all, but I’ve made better calamari at home using frozen squid
bought from my local Chinese supermarket in Hackney. How depressing. We bowled
back, bemused, opting that an evening in together would greatly surpass that of
going to a bar around there.<br />
<br />
On recommendation from Rachael I’d picked up some tramadol in Cambodia, as she
said they were a really strong painkiller with opiates which give a good high,
so I gave them a try. We had no weed, as we had to finish it in Chiang Mai
before flying, so we popped one each and stuck the telly on. In amongst the
fuzzy Thai soap operas and foreign news, which I could just about ascertain was
describing war everywhere and money ruling all, as always, I found one saving
grace, a channel showing films in English. The first was the Martin Bashir
documentary which he did on Michael Jackson. It was pretty sad viewing. We’ll
never know for sure what he did and didn’t do behind closed doors, which I
think is most likely bullshit stemming from the greed of immoral individuals
and the media completing its celebrity cycle of building them up and then
knocking them down, but either way he was clearly an abused individual,
destroyed by those around him from an incredibly early age. I was feeling
pretty mellow as I went outside to smoke one of my now favourite branded,
Honghua Laotian cigarettes, and returned to find Sarah drifting off as Fight
Club was just starting up on the screen. I sat up, in a blissful haze, and
wrote a few days away as the film rolled on in front of me, and by the time I’d
finished my down time, it was time to lay down. Finding Nemo was just starting,
and I let it play in the background. As 4am became 5 sooner than I’d hoped, I
finally slipped off the slope and slept.<br />
<br />
I could hear builders banging outside, I was laying there, awake in my dream,
getting more and more aggravated as it continued and rueing my luck at the choice
of room and lack of warning I’d been given. It was too much. I woke up,
realising it was still before 6am, and there was no building works currently
happening outside. My earlier worries had obviously manifested themselves into
my dreams, so I lay there, tired and then I heard it again. “BANG BANG BANG
BANG” coming from somewhere outside my room. I opened the door to my room,
shouted “SHUT UP”, slammed the door and then laid back on our bed. After a five
more minutes of shouting and banging I walked out of our room and down the
corridor in my boxer shorts, trying to see where the noise was coming from, but
there was no sign of life, even my reflection in a hallway mirror didn’t seem
to be there. Then all of a sudden a tubby Thai guy who I could only assume
worked there came through the reception door. “What’s going on? I’m trying to
sleep” I exclaimed. He looked at me blankly, I went back to bed.</span></span></div>
The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-21253465916754214782012-12-13T10:35:00.001-08:002012-12-13T10:35:53.593-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 25: Poo Pie<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">03.11.12</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the things I love about psychedelic drugs (of which
there are many) is the lack of hangover or comedown the following day. I
remember the morning after my first mushroom trip, when I was nineteen, waking
up feeling great and wondering why alcohol was ever made legal over mushrooms.
Of course, you might have to deal with those introspective thoughts on your
existence, which probably wouldn’t inspire you to get up for your assistant
team leader job at Argos, but if you ask me, that’s infinitely better than
having a heavy hangover from a Tuesday booze-up. Despite our mixing of both
acid and alcohol, we awoke feeling decent, had a shower with a few thousand
ants, then started making waves away from yesterday.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I find it somewhat unusual how, when travelling, your trust
in strangers seems to increase drastically. Few people in their day to day
lives would leave all of their valuables with someone they don’t know, or in
unsecured rooms, whereas when travelling the rules of karma always seem to be
faithfully adhered to, you do good to others and expect the same in return.
Once again everything we owned was left by a bookshelf at our guesthouse and we
scooted off to enjoy our final hours in Pai before our 3pm bus back to Chiang
Mai. We wanted to find the pool which we’d missed out on yesterday, but we had
little idea where it was, and after driving for thirty minutes around where we
thought we’d lost the gang the previous day, we realised we had no hope of
finding it alone. We drove back to Ting Tong as the boys were getting up and
readying themselves for another lunch, but time was short so we couldn’t join
them. Tutu gave us directions and told us it was called the Phu Pai Art Resort,
how I couldn’t recall ‘Poo Pie’ as a hotel name was beyond me, but with his brief
but helpful directions we arrived around 11am, as the sun was reaching its
peak. We ordered breakfast, and did a few laps in their incredible infinity
pool, which was circled by a backdrop of rice fields, mountains and fluffy
white clouds painted onto a bright blue sky. We remained there getting roasted
like cheap chickens on a Tesco rotisserie until 1.45pm, then whizzed back to
the bike shop to drop off our death-trap. As we were driving there, Tutu
whizzed by, late for our date at the pool. He turned and drove along behind us,
beeping wildly as we ground to a halt. He apologised for his lateness, gave us
both a hug and handed me a watermelon, which he must have been bringing to
share with us by the pool. What a lovely man.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPjApUqSp10xGgO7HnfDDeSOAQAKMxl1wQy20bPHP8qm7SmA2Sp_k-ovxANFbFkQlY1tqrMdgYANV0pQuwZX1NVHsQ_FOfL057gGwWytEuOATx69t260r6d4hCVf-i7sctnKrqOtxuR8MI/s1600/IMG_7614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPjApUqSp10xGgO7HnfDDeSOAQAKMxl1wQy20bPHP8qm7SmA2Sp_k-ovxANFbFkQlY1tqrMdgYANV0pQuwZX1NVHsQ_FOfL057gGwWytEuOATx69t260r6d4hCVf-i7sctnKrqOtxuR8MI/s400/IMG_7614.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Poo pie has never tasted so good</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We collected our safely stored luggage and lugged it to the
bus station and by 3pm we were ready to head back down the seven hundred odd
bends and curves to the larger, louder city of Chiang Mai. Sarah believed that
some money had been removed from our stash whilst staying at the Top North a
few days before and didn’t want to go back there, I personally thought we’d
more than likely spent it without realising, but regardless, we checked into
some cheap dive opposite, dropped off our bags and then headed straight for my
date at John’s Bar where we’d had a drink a few days earlier, to watch Arsenal
play Manchester United. After the first three minutes seeing my former
favourite player, Robin Van Persie, score against us after a calamitous
clearance from our new captain, Thomas Vermaelen, I knew that things weren’t
going to go our way. I suffered the full ninety minutes drinking Chang and
smoking cheap cigarettes like they were going out of fashion, fulfilling my
role as a typical Brit abroad by shouting profanity at the screen, as if the
players could hear the echoes of my discontent. A fantastic consolation goal in
the dying embers of this lukewarm game by one of our only glimmers of hope, the
Spaniard Santi Cazorla, did enough to soften the blow of this wasted time, and
then it was time for some guaranteed relief in the form of a hand-rolled
goal-post. I toked myself happy, then took a brown-water shower as the
dysfunctional plumbing coughed its catarrh all over my once clean body, then
swan-dived onto my mascot for a cuddle and fell soundly to sleep.</span></div>
</div>
The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-63048586826053080642012-12-04T07:11:00.001-08:002012-12-05T13:31:36.494-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 24: Too much Thai-high for one guy in Pai<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNYs4sH9sSVqfbxN46KUjzpNsJotXz-FzKXYt0pkPinYP-X2_Ci5z1afKesbjJdSVgDQxybew1_CIYG4J3o2n7aL-tXL0ONysxrMFvFMP5xyrrlH4_1HcalCto9kyoMAQgGXYS6eSW7nwP/s1600/IMG_7529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNYs4sH9sSVqfbxN46KUjzpNsJotXz-FzKXYt0pkPinYP-X2_Ci5z1afKesbjJdSVgDQxybew1_CIYG4J3o2n7aL-tXL0ONysxrMFvFMP5xyrrlH4_1HcalCto9kyoMAQgGXYS6eSW7nwP/s400/IMG_7529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue sky thinking</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">02.11.12</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like so many cash cows that came before us, we handed in our
Blue Lagoon room key and moo-ved on to greener pastures. After a short walk up
the road and down another we reached the Pai Pura, which had a series of small,
clay-like huts, stone pathways, various greenery and an authentic buzz of bugs
and life emanating from its simple but well-kept grounds. The room was formed
with stone interiors and a raised platform which the bed rested on. It was
quaint. The bathroom, however, nearly made us faint. There was a rather bad ant
infestation, and even a few blasts from the booty hose beside the toilet couldn’t
eradicate their existence in and around our crapper. This would have to be
deemed a necessary evil in exchange for the greater character on offer at this
relatively inexpensive guesthouse.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">My first hot bath in three weeks...</td></tr>
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My own personal highway code is to always have the power on my side. I like to drive
cars so that I have greater safety and power over cyclists, and if I’m ever
cycling, I prefer to do it on the pavement, so I have power over the
pedestrians. I don’t ride bikes anymore for that exact reason, and I don’t want
to fulfil my own prophecy of dying in a road accident, as that is a lame way to
go after surviving my near death experience in Monument Valley (see my first
book) which would have been an infinitely cooler demise. Despite all this, I’d
agreed with Sarah that we could hire a moped, so that we could meet the guys
from Ting Tong, as planned the previous evening, and go out for the day to a
nearby pool at a fancy hotel. My one condition was that I’d drive. I’d had my
first ever practice in Laos and thought I’d be alright, which I was, whenever
going in a straight line, but as soon as I had to turn, my arms would lock and
I’d make some diagonal attempt at getting around a corner. By the grace of God
alone, I managed to get us to the petrol station, handed Sarah the keys and didn’t
bother after that. We drove to the Ting Tong bar to meet Tutu, Tek and Kwan,
who were having lunch with a couple of American girls and greeted us fondly,
offering up some home cooking. By the time everyone was ready to leave, we all
hopped onto our bikes, and as we struggled to start ours up, the others all
shot off. We tried to catch up and follow, but it was too late, they must not
have realised that we had no clue where we were going and were nowhere to be
seen. After a few kilometres of driving we saw a sign for the hot springs,
which was the one thing we had wanted to do in this town, so we decided to go
there instead. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As we walked along there were a series of baths built out of
stone which filtered down into the next one in the row. There were four or five
which got progressively hotter, and after more than three weeks without my
usual daily hot bath, this was heaven, I dived in and became more and more
prune-like as I ascended. By the time I reached the hottest spot, which came
with a warning against children or the elderly entering, like a teenage boy
losing his virginity to a porn star, I approached it bravely but was in an out within
sixty seconds. The next one up had a sign which said not to enter as it was
eighty degrees, and you could boil eggs in it. It reeked with the eggy stench
of a constant mass boil-off. We bought a small basket with three in it and
submerged them, then stood waiting with the gathering locals, who were arriving
in droves to make their dinner. After chowing down on our runny snack we headed
back to our room just as it got dark.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We put all our eggs in one basket, we like to live dangerously.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My mischievous madam had chucked a couple
microdots of acid into her first aid kit before leaving London, and had been
carrying them ever since. They are the size of a grain of sugar and scentless,
so the chance of discovery by customs was minimal, but this caused us a problem
in itself, as we could only find one of them. After some advice from my Dr
Feelgood and the internet, we discovered that the dosage was inside the red outer
layer, and the best bet of splitting one was to crack the grain between two
spoons, and somehow separating the tiny white inner core, which we did. We
divided it as fairly as possible and hoped for the best. After about twenty
minutes, I knew that something was going to come of this, as my body became heavy
and my mind started fearing the forthcoming strangeness in a strange place.
Sarah wanted to get out and get going, but I was functionless, allowing myself
to be pulled further and further into the waves that were washing over me. We
played ‘Heads or Temples’ with a 5 baht coin for an hour, every time Sarah said
let’s go, I would let the coin decide. Head, we feed our heads with the
weirdness beyond our four walls, and temples, we remain in our temple, safe
from the uncertainty of the outside world. Fate kept deciding that it wasn’t
time to leave, and by the time it did, I was just about ready to drag my body
along with the spirit that controls it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Outside, we lit the lantern which Tutu had bestowed upon us
the previous evening, and made a wish as it rose into the atmosphere and became
a golden star. After a short walk we reached the main streets, where a plethora
of stalls had been set up, and everywhere was brightly lit and bustling.
Instantly Everything became more vivid, and the intensity of our consumption
was amplified tenfold, we weren’t ready for the world we’d entered, but it was
too late now, we were in it. All the faces around us were slightly twisted, like
we were surrounded by inbreeds with strange colourings and warped features, and
their eyes all seemed to peer at us as we laughed our way down the street,
checking out the odd stall until the fear crept in, or we were approached by
sellers, who automatically gave us the urge to turn and run instead of
communicating. “Are those lights moving?” asked Sarah, as we looked at a
display of plug in glass air fresheners with small bulbs inside. “No, but the
inside of your mind is” was my reply. We backed away after enjoying them for at
least a minute more than we should have.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dion and Sarah on acid.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I noticed a guy sitting behind a board
which read ‘Your portrait, five minutes, 150 baht’ which had some atrocious
looking examples of his work. It was so brilliantly terrible and reminded me of
this guy called Chris (Simpsons artist) who draws hilarious attempts at copying
the Simpsons and other characters from popular culture, usually backed up with
hilarious descriptions which are completely incoherent. Look him up if you get
the chance. I stopped Sarah and said “We need to get this guy to draw us”, but
she didn’t feel capable of sitting for ten minutes without cracking up. Despite
this, I convinced her that it was a must, and we approached him to request his
services. I noticed him sketching one of the stalls to his left, and on further
inspection I saw that he’d drawn a square box and a stick man in black marker
pen. This was going to be great, I just knew it. He was a goofy looking guy of
undetermined age, like most Thais he could’ve been fourteen or forty, and wore
round spectacles and a red shirt. He reminded me of Simon from The Chipmunks and
I found his odd demeanour to be very cute, albeit rather odd and jittery.
Drugged and delirious, almost, or was that just me? He sat us down on two stools
as we were already in fits of giggles. He gave Sarah an eye-line to look
towards, and was acting rather professionally as he scanned her face from a low
angle. I nearly lost my shit when he started drawing her, trying to hold down
the shakes and ended up forcing myself to not look at what he was doing as it
was too much. Sarah took a look and was uncontrollable, we hoped the guy just
thought we were crazy as we’d been laughing the whole time, and obviously
didn’t want to offend him or make him think we were laughing at his drawing, even
though we were. I mockingly tickled Sarah under the armpit to try and style out
her over-exuberant shaking. After a couple of minutes he’d finished her half,
and gave me an eye-line in the opposite corner. ‘Don’t look down, don’t look
down’ I kept saying to myself, like I was back on the mountain, ready to fall
to my death. I fell, my eyes dropped and I was lost. It was too much. I was out
of control. Once he’d done the outlines we sat and watched him further
desecrate his drawing, mixing a few watercolours to paint us in a washed out
yellow, and giving me a smoky grey mane of chest hair. Sarah’s usually wide,
beautiful smile was depicted as a scrunched up little buck-toothed hole, and I
was perfectly represented as a boss-eyed, square head with a glazed gaze. Good
work. The phrase ‘on acid’ is often used to describe a twisted version of
something, and this perfectly described the final product. Dion and Sarah on
acid, although it looked more like the artist had been high, not us. I suspect
that he and Chris (Simpsons artist) may be kindred spirits, or perhaps even one
and the same. We happily handed over our cash, taking our still wet piece of ‘art’
away, stopping after one hundred metres or so to crack up completely, looking
at what we’d just bought. It may have costed £3, but this shit was priceless.
We marched it right back to our guesthouse immediately, worried that we may
lose or damage this masterpiece, and discussing the clearly thriving art scene
that Pai has on offer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Feeling hungry and seeking further hilarity, we hit the
streets once more. I’d seen a sushi stall and I wanted in on the action, but
after half an hour rambling around the same streets it had seemingly
disappeared. We said it’d be funny if we went back and got the guy to draw us
again, but as we passed his spot, he was nowhere to be found. Had he existed at
all? We’d have to check when we got home. As we strolled Sarah stalled at a
stall and said “You should try that on”, pointing at a maroon linen tunic which
had various embroidered panels, gold bells for buttons and two sun symbols
which she originally mistook for 3D plastic patches and was hanging from a rail
behind the seller. I tried it on but was unsure, and there was no mirror, so
she took a photo. I wasn’t convinced but she was adamant, I thought it could be
a drug impulse, but asked for the price anyway. ‘250 baht’ was the response, we
didn’t even barter, £5 for a lairy jacket was hardly going to break the bank,
which I’d already been smashing to smithereens. I left it on and became happier
with it as we proceeded. Sarah also found a tie-dye dress at the next place along
which we liked, haggling the seller down to 300 baht, using my tunic as a
reference against his attempt to rip off us ‘rich’ foreigners. We agreed that
we’d each treat each other to our new finds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We passed a stall selling chicken nuggets, and opted to
share some of them to line our stomachs before we started drinking. We were
served by an odd, little lady who was very animated. She resembled a shrivelled
prawn and scurried around, counting out nuggets with her claw like hand and
chucking them into her oil-filled wok. She looked up, almost mesmerised by my
presence and said “Oooh, nice jacket, where you buy?” I told her that it was
just a few metres down the road and she asked how much. When I told her the
price she was flabbergasted, spinning in circles and raising her hands to the
sky. Her reaction was that of both shock and disbelief, she even summoned a
couple of friends who quickly checked it out and agreed that I’d got myself a
steal. Part of me wanted to give it to her, but the other part fell in love
with it due to her reaction. An Italian guy beside me said “Give him one
thousand nuggets for it”, and she fell about laughing her head off and nodding
in agreement that she would. Bless her, I wanted to cuddle her, her presence
was so uplifting. We’d doubted we’d laugh as much at anything else after the
earlier drawing, but she gave us our second round with her sheer love for my
new purchase. It was the sort of thing you couldn’t make up, too magnificent
for words to fully do justice, another priceless moment in an amazing
adventure. I found another sushi stall a few steps down from our new friend,
but put it down to luck that we’d got to meet the nugget lady instead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We heard some live music being played and entered a
courtyard which was decked out with seats and tables and had a band playing
indoors beside a small bar. We joined the twenty odd customers that were
drinking there and ordered a couple Sangsom rum and cokes. This was the first
time we’d stopped in hours, and I felt like I was in a crooked house as I
admired the angles of Everything around me. We sat and drank for an hour,
settling ourselves down and pointing out the strange things we’d spot in our surroundings
as the musicians played covers of Bob Marley, Peter Tosh, Dire Straits and
various other classics. We agreed on the need for some weed, so finished up our
cups and set off towards the Ting Tong. As we approached we found Tek and Tutu
who greeted us with love and we explained how we’d lost them that afternoon. We
bought a bucket of Sangsom and coke with our last remaining 200 baht and
retreated to the back room to sit on some orange sofas and smoke. We spoke to a
fifty-something year old Thai guy called Tom about our night, our trip, his
life in Pai etc, and then showed him a photo of our portrait from earlier. “I
don’t think this guy knows how to draw” was his reply. Fuckin’ ay, Tom, fuckin’
ay. We got chatting to the English barmaid whose name was Sofi, and she said
she’d let us know about where to stay in Ko Phangan. Sarah added her on Facebook
and it turned out that she went to school with Victoria, Sarah’s best friend at
work. It’s a small world after all, but you already knew that. I laid out
front, by the fire, in a stoned haze as tiredness crept over me and I witnessed
the waning moon being passed by clouds, she looked beautiful. She always does.
We wished the guys goodnight, then made our way back to our ant farm to lay
beside each other, laughing at the events of the evening, and taking frequent
looks back at our superb drawing, which we planned to frame upon our return. As
Ice Cube would say, ‘Today was a good day’.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Misty Moon</td></tr>
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The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-30042963206429918762012-12-04T06:18:00.001-08:002012-12-05T13:30:36.828-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 23: Pai in the sky<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">01.11.12</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My usual habit of waking up and hurriedly packing occurred
once again, Sarah had sensibly packed the night before but my shit, as always,
was spread out around the four corners of the room. The minivan which was
taking us to Pai arrived promptly at 10am, got us first, then spent nigh on an
hour picking up its other passengers. You win some, you lose some, we lost this
one. After all the milling around we hit the winding roads towards Pai.
Apparently there are over seven hundred twists and turns on the three and a
half hour drive, but I was busy doing my homework whilst we winded up and
around the mountain roads, so I didn’t notice much else. We stopped off half
way and sat amongst some sunflowers, sharing a friend-maker with two Irish guys
called Gerry and Philly who had been to Pai already and loved it so much that
they were heading back. My friends Kat and Rachael were also planning to do
that, which says a lot about the place. We arrived and checked out a hotel
called Blue Lagoon which was meant to be pretty nice and have a swimming pool,
which is useful in places where there’s no beach nearby, and checked in for the
reasonable price of 400 baht. We realised soon after that the place was in
major need of upheaval. The pool was really dirty and filled with dead bugs,
there was only one sun lounger, a few broken chairs, a rusted, unusable
exercise machine and a busted up pool table on offer to what few guests
remained in this dilapidated dwelling. Regardless, I did a few lengths making
sure my mouth stayed closed, as I’d already eaten lunch, then lay with Sarah
catching the last rays as they dropped behind our building, and watching the
highlights of Arsenal’s match the previous day. It was a strange, entertaining
game which excited and annoyed me in one fell swoop. Typical Arsenal, conceeding
a load of goals but still scoring more. Not only was our hotel in need of some
drastic T.L.C, it had absolutely no vibe or character to it at all, it was the
hotel equivalent of a bookish fifty year old that got left by their lover
twenty years back and didn’t have the heart or confidence to try again. We
decided to leave the next morning. We cleaned up, then went off to explore the
town. The first thing I saw was a sign outside which read ‘Hotel for sale’,
which I hadn’t originally noticed when lugging my luggage in the sweltering
heat of the mid-afternoon. It all made sense after that. We checked out the
main square, and walked along a rickety old bamboo bridge and back as the sun
was lowering in the sky, then went off for an early steak dinner. I’d heard
this town was laid back and stoner friendly, so we thought we’d test the water
by smoking an appetizer at our table in the restaurant’s front garden. Nobody
seemed to care or notice. Nice…nice.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">A river runs through it</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our next stop was a happy hour bucket of Mai Tai at a small bar called Almost
Famous, after I’d heard them playing ‘Who loves the Sun’ by The Velvet
Underground as we were walking by. Whilst drinking from our bucket I noticed
that one of their signs said ‘Est. 1978’ underneath the bar’s name, and another
said ‘Est 1987’. It made me laugh, because both of those dates were probably
made up anyway and the place was more likely only a few years old. As we were
leaving they played ‘Nas is like’ by the man himself, so I insisted we stay
until it finished. Pretty good work for entrance and exit music in the film of
my life. As recommended by Kat and Rachael, the sisters I’d befriended in Laos,
we sought out a bar called Ting Tong, which apparently means ‘crazy’ in Thai,
and took a seat in front of a fire that was burning out front with chairs and
cushions all around. There was a mirror which had ‘Are you Ting Tong?’ written
above it, and a sign in a tree which read ‘Welcome to Pai’. There was a good
energy in this place, and some cool looking Thai guys working there. I started
chatting to them and it turned out that they were Tek and Tutu, the two guys
who the girls had told me to find. I passed on their messages of love to the
guys, had a few drinks with my lady and found a book called Steppenwolf by
Hermann Hesse, which somebody had left there. Sarah said it was a great read,
and as I wasn’t really enjoying the ‘Gig!’ book by Simon Armitage, which I’d
been given for my birthday, so I asked the guys who it belonged to and they
said that they didn’t read, and I could have it. As we left we made plans to
spend the following day with them, and Tutu gave us a paper lantern to send into
the skies with a wish. We decided to save it for the following evening as we’d
been planning to make it special one, then turned in for the night at our
neglected step-child of a hotel. I could hear the walls weeping after another night with no supper, so I gave them a stroke and said that I loved them, before switching the light and ending my night.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">YES!</td></tr>
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The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-48343611114390206082012-11-28T11:30:00.002-08:002012-11-28T11:30:26.923-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 22: The Free-flyin' Troubadour<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">31.10.12</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I awoke to a text message from my home boy, Sav, telling me
that Arsenal had beaten Reading away from home in the Capital One Cup, 5-7
after extra time, and that we were 4-0 down at one point. Part of me was glad that
we won, but shipping five goals to Reading hardly screams out ‘Title
Contenders’ to me, so I was a little bit annoyed at the same time. We grabbed a
couple croissants from the restaurant and got into an awaiting mini-van, which
had four Canadian twenty something guys already seated at the back. We said
good morning, then started our adventure of the day with a one hour drive up a
mountain, and into a rainforest where we’d be spending the day zip-lining. The
company we’d chosen was called Jungle Flight and our guide introduced himself
by saying “Hello, I’m Singha, I’m crazy” and that was it, we were strapped into
our harnesses and taken off to our first zip line. The forest was full of enormous
trees that were one hundred feet high and centuries old, which they had somehow
managed to rig with thick wires and platforms to stand on in-between each
potential death spot. We had clips on both our chest and back, which would be
used individually and one hanging from our hip which would always be attached
to a safety wire of some sort so there was minimal chance of taking a plunge. I
was surprised at how safe and well put together it all seemed to be, until I
saw how Singha was pushing people off of the platform, then I had my doubts
about survival. Nevertheless, I’d bought the ticket, now I had to take the
ride. My front clip was attached, as was my hip clip to the second line, just in
case, and I took a leap of faith off of the platform, dropping a few feet then
whizzing across to the next platform. Now things could only get easier, I
thought, unfortunately that wasn’t the case, as after a couple more zips from
tree to tree it started raining. Hard.</span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Swingers<br /></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The rainforest was living up to its name
as buckets full of cold water lashed down upon us, soaking the platforms and
making the terrain infinitely more treacherous. Then we came to a platform with
no line, and before I could ask, Singha pushed a small Chinese girl off the
side, then stepped on a rope which was whizzing by just in time to stop her
from splattering onto the platform below. He did the rest of their group the
same way, then it was just Sarah, the Canadians and I left, and Sarah was first
in line. She stepped up gallantly, and he attached the clip to her back instead
of the front like everyone else, she begged him not to but with a shove and a
scream she shot down safely. Usually if a guy was to push your lover thirty
feet down from a tree you’d swing at him without hesitation, but instead I just
laughed. My laugh, however was short lived as I was next in line, and beg as I
might, I too had nothing to hold onto as I was clipped to my back and dropped
like ecstasy at an acid house rave. It was terrifying, so much worse than the
zip-lines where you got to fly, this was just straight falling with only a
thin, white rope and a tattered, white plimsoll to stop your body being
pulverized below. Still, the crazy bastard had his shit together, and the funny
Canadians followed, all screaming “STONEY” as they plummeted. By this point we
might as well have been seasoned professionals, the fear decreased dramatically
and the buzz and excitement heightened with every line, which were increasing
in length as we progressed through the now sunny forest.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We reached the mid-way point well in need of a break, so we
stopped with the group to rest and sat eating these small, dry cakes with the
most minimal, pointless swirl of icing sugar on top of each of them, which
amused us probably more than it should have. It was like the baker only had
enough for one cake but decided to split it between fifty instead. Yum. We
washed it down with some warm water, then hiked off in front of the other
groups and guides, across a rickety old rope bridge and through more forestry
for five minutes. One of the other guides came running past us and told us to
wait, then a second rushed by, then a third. By the time the fourth arrived, we
asked what was happening, and he replied “Snake”. I could see the commotion
twenty metres ahead, culminating in one of the guys striking five or six times
downwards with a huge piece of bamboo. Each hit rang out, like bullets echoing
through the trees. We moved forwards to see a giant, blue-ish snake which was nearly three metres long and headless, trapped between two sticks. These guys
definitely don’t fuck about. We all said we were lucky that we didn’t reach it
first, as we quite easily could’ve. Sarah asked how I’d have reacted and I told
her that I personally would’ve strangled the fucker and made myself a new belt
or two, but I’m obviously more conventional with my techniques than these raggo
Thai guys.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tonight's dinner for these happy snake charmers.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By the end of the route we’d done more lines than Kate Moss at a Rimmel
Christmas party, thirty-two in total, and the last couple were the best. One of
them was one hundred and sixty metres long, the other was three hundred. Sick.
The view across the forest was amazing as I practiced my Superman pose,
shooting along at sixty miles an hour. Unfortunately, due to the existence of
gravity, what goes up must come down, and we still had fifty feet of tree
between us and the end, so once again Singha lined us up, clipped our backs and
bid us farewell. I screamed as I headed down first, being stopped with enough
impact to nearly lose a nut, but luckily I checked as I made the ground, and
the world had not been robbed of my potential future offspring. Next my lady
fell, more or less into my loving arms, and we looked up to see a sign which
said ‘Happy Ending’. Unfortunately, this didn’t mean our guides were going to
masturbate us to relieve the stress of the day, but we did get a cheesy picture
in front of it, before being taken for lunch, which was part of the package.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We both managed to squeeze in a power nap on the drive back
to Chiang Mai, then spent the next few hours by the pool, where Sarah slept and
I wrote. We returned to our room to become one, then split again for more
sleepy Sarah time, whilst I continued to catch up with this beautiful albatross
which I’ve carrying around my tired neck. Another two hours passed before I
shook the dreams from Sarah’s hair and we showered and shot out of our room,
and down towards a place called The Saloon, which we’d read about in the
travellers bible and wanted to try out. It was decked out like the Wild West,
except all the tables had writing in black marker pen all over them, and the
menu consisted of some all-time American greats aka deliciously fattening,
fried shit. I ordered chicken fried steak with mash potatoes, bread and white
gravy, with a side of crispy onion rings and mozzarella dippers to share with
Sarah, who had a burger with some of the tastiest meat I’d had in a long while.
It was sickeningly superb. Sarah took a pen and wrote ‘Sarah + Dion’, and drew
a heart around it, then for the second time on this trip, I wrote ‘The
Freewheelin’ Troubadour loves YOU!’. We
gladly paid our bill and left feeling more satisfied than a nymphomaniac at a swinger’s
party.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was only one thing that could top off this day, a massage.
After twenty-two days, thousands of miles and a number of missed opportunities,
it was finally time to get soothed by some healing hands. We made our way down
through the red light area and back towards our hotel. It was Halloween, and
although there wasn’t much happening a few of the girls and lady boys had
spooked themselves up a bit for the occasion.
In India, I would always walk ahead of Sarah to fend off leering men
with their eyes on my lady, but after being grabbed up quite heavy-handedly by
what I assume was a really strong woman giving me the ‘handsome man’ spiel, we
swapped roles, and I made her walk ahead to stop them from intimidating me with
their overly forceful come-ons. We reached a massage parlour near our place and
I spent the next hour being fondled by a small Thai guy who was camper than a
row of tents. The oil massage was amazing as I lay fully naked, being cracked
into place, but I could’ve sworn the muscles around my bum and balls would have
been alright had they been missed. Either way, they weren’t, and I left feeling
more liberal and looser than I had in a while. All oiled up like St Tropez
swimsuit models; we slid across the street to our beds, and drifted off on an
oil slick that wasn’t caused by BP’s gross mishandling of their rigs.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-61856768283211103072012-11-27T04:18:00.003-08:002012-11-28T12:59:21.815-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 21: When nature calls, answer your phone. It might be important.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">30.10.12</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We jumped on the back of the truck at 8.30am and said good
morning to an American couple, three guys from Belgium and an older guy from
Australia, then drove off to collect an Englishman who was born in Hong Kong
and a girl from Argentina, who immediately said “I think I’m going to regret this,
I don’t even want to go” as she got on and sat beside me. “That’s the spirit” I
replied. We drove about an hour and twenty minutes away from Chiang Mai to the
Mae Tang area and hopped off in a sandy little spot with a few huts dotted
around and some stairs which led to a platform. We swapped cameras with the
other couple, Dawn and Brian, in order to snap a few shots of each other from
afar, then climbed on top of the thick skinned jumbo I named Dumbo. He was big
and beautiful, like a fat girl with a nice smile, and his skin had course
strands of hair sticking out, like a vegan chick’s armpit. I stroked his hairy
head and stuck a banana in his trunk which he rolled around and into his mouth.
There was a naughty little one that kept trying to nab all of our small, sweet
bananas, we gave him a couple but had to save some, teaching the young kid the
lesson of sharing. The elephants were all pretty disobedient, even with guides
there to lead them, if they fancied stopping off for a munch on a few bushes,
there was no way some feeble little humans were going to stop them. They weren’t
whipping them or mistreating them, which we were glad to see, and we were happy
to wait whilst they did their thing. We rode down and along a river valley
where Dumbo had a drink and a few blasts of water out of his long schnoz, then
hung out for five minutes with his mate and the little big nipper, before going
around and back up the hill that had brought us there. We struggled to get
snaps of Dawn and Louis as we were behind them and a few others, but they got
some good ones of us, and we also bought one for 100 baht which was encased in
a frame made out of elephant dung. Recycle, save the environment, have a house
that stinks like shit. Sounds like most East London house-shares anyway, may as
well take it to the next level, I thought as I handed the little old woman my crumpled
cash.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our group was whisked off on another twenty minute drive,
but after that bonding session everybody seemed a lot more talkative and awake
than before. We had lunch of egg fried rice, followed by some chopped pineapple
and watermelon, then set off on an hour-long hike, hopping rocks and climbing
gradually up a mountainside, until we finally reached a beautiful, cascading
waterfall. I pulled a doobie brother from my box of tricks, and had a few number
one hits, then pulled my Doors vest from off my back and dove into the blue
pool of fresh water. The waterfall wasn’t as powerful as the last one, which
was too powerful. With this one, although strong enough to blast me back, I was
able to stand my ground with it a bit more, lashing blows into its mouth as it
spat down at me, taking it on until I became tired, at which point we made
friends and I laid next to it for a while, enjoying its onslaught of love. After
half an hour swimming and splashing around with Sarah, we started heading back
towards the van. Unfortunately for our gang, we were caught behind a group of
Japanese tourists who clearly weren’t up for or informed about the hike. Most
of the girls were wearing heels of various heights and screaming like Godzilla
was attacking Tokyo again, every time they had to walk on uneven ground or skip
a stepping stone. It was kind of funny for the first ten minutes, then it just
became excruciating. Luckily Mikey, our guide, also got tired of the snail’s
pace, and arranged with their guide for us to overtake them. He led some of us
around them, and somehow I ended up crossing on a narrow log, all sweaty and stoned,
feeling like I was tightrope walking with no prior warning. I noticed the older
guy wasn’t on the same death trap as I was, so I jumped down the ten foot drop
at a suitable point before I had the misfortune of falling like a fool. After
around forty-five minutes trekking through the heat we made it back to our
truck, which then drove us to a spot on the Mae Wang River where two inflatable
yellow rafts were waiting. We split into two groups and started paddling down,
through a few spots which you’d struggle to call grade one white water, but we
had a few big splashes and drops on our thirty minute journey, so I was happy
with that for a first try, although I’d quite like to try out some grade fives,
but I’d have to do that without Sarah as she is scared of the water and doesn’t
like being splashed in the face. I like to joke that she has a really dirty
face because of this, but that is untrue, it is simply beautiful.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Don't go chasing waterfalls...walking there is less tiring.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZBWwRPJ1wtsBykpkyNtqTmPwlNktI3nfZEQyZ0U4VLVWe89esrHmJAShB5XmnyeuPa-HqYDvKOMsK91tzH5IarSsy7NFB64xS3LPjtFxagg1ZD1rEXUA2icFg0aFYWjULZCssHA_l_WW7/s1600/IMG_7437.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZBWwRPJ1wtsBykpkyNtqTmPwlNktI3nfZEQyZ0U4VLVWe89esrHmJAShB5XmnyeuPa-HqYDvKOMsK91tzH5IarSsy7NFB64xS3LPjtFxagg1ZD1rEXUA2icFg0aFYWjULZCssHA_l_WW7/s400/IMG_7437.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We were promised a ride on a bamboo raft for the
last part of our journey down river, and were expecting a venetian gondola type
experience, so we laughed when Mikey said it was time for the bamboo submarine,
however, he was serious. They loaded all twelve of us onto one raft, which
completely submerged it and we sat for the next fifteen minutes in the murky,
brown water which had more bugs than a Windows PC. It was far from peaceful or
romantic, but it was pretty funny nonetheless. We got back to where the van was
parked and Mikey told me to get on the roof. I asked why, and he said “for fun”,
he seemed intent on getting me up there, so I didn’t argue. All I’d have needed
was a straight road and ‘Surfin’ USA’ blasting from the stereo and I’d have
been able to perfect some flips like Michael J Fox in Teen Wolf, but instead I
laid back on the roof, drying off whilst numerous bumps and bends were
navigated by the driver below, with various leafs and branches brushing over me
every now and then. Ten minutes of roof rack on back brought me to the Shan
village, and I jumped down to re-join the group. We had a little look around as
the locals tried to peddle their wares, then made our way back for the hour and
a half drive back to Chiang Mai. After dropping everybody else back to their
hotels we were the last to get home, had a quick shower then went for an all
you can eat sushi, which I demolished and Sarah despised. There was a nearby
night market, and I managed to find myself a shirt to wear to the wedding that
we’d be attending in Phuket, then we headed to a bar named Bo Bo Ba Ba which
had the Rolling Stones lips and tongue symbol as its logo. We’d recalled it
from passing the previous evening, and told the others from our trek that we’d
be going there for drinks if they wanted to join us. Maria the Argentinian girl
was already there with some Dutch friends she’d made at her hostel, and an hour
later the Belgian guys arrived. We sank a few beers and shot some pool, and
then headed back to the Top North to hit up a Buzz Lightyear before shooting
off to infinity, and beyond.</span>
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The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-10933749124719299742012-11-27T03:56:00.000-08:002012-11-27T03:56:06.571-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 20: Subconscious Terrorism<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">29.10.12</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
I was driving on a busy city motorway in the not too distant future when all of
a sudden a happening occurred. The view of my front windscreen suddenly
switched with the rear view, so I could only see what was behind me, not in
front. After a few seconds of panicking I felt the impact, my car crashing into
another and flipping over. I managed to pull myself out of the wreckage with
blood pumping from my badly sliced foot. I phoned my best friend Sav to come
and help me, but he was chatting to our old friend Dimitri about Arsenal’s
recent poor form, so I had to wait for him. It turned out the car I smashed
into was a futuristic police car and the officer was also injured. We were
taken to a metallic shell of a room, in what looked to be a surgery, and my
foot was stitched up hastily by an automatic needle and thread. A towering,
powerful figure entered the room and stood over me as I sat tending to my wounds.
He looked like the illusionist Derren Brown, but on a mega dose of steroids and
sporting a shaved head. He warned me that what I had endured in the car was
just a dummy run for what would be the largest terrorist attack on this future
world, and it would soon happen to all the cars at once, causing carnage everywhere.
He told me to say no more to the police, or I would suffer his wrath. I was
unsure what I could do in order to stop this terrible attack, and he could read
my mind, and knew that I was wondering how to save the world. He bought out the
police woman, who had a large metal device pinned into her arm and was crying.
He looked me in the eye with an evil stare, then as I looked at the police
woman the device on her arm aimed at her head and blasted needle after needle
into her skull, making a complete mess of her face and killing her almost
instantly. I awoke in a cold sweat, scared shitless, buried my head into the
soundly sleeping Sarah, thinking I may still be in trouble and then she awoke
and calmed me down as I explained what was happening in the other world.<br />
<br />
It was only 7.30am, but I had too much on my mind to go back to sleep so I laid
there for an hour whilst Sarah snoozed and my tummy turned. I could hear the
downstairs restaurant workers clattering around and I could smell the food, so
when Sarah came to again and noticed I was still awake she said we could go and
get something to eat. It was an all you can eat buffet, so I stuffed my face
with an odd array of different dishes, then we returned to our bed where I soon
passed out into a food coma. At around 1.30pm, we both awoke and I finally felt
rested enough to start my day. We went down to the pool which was empty except
for one guy who was with a Thai girl. After a while sunbathing we had a swim,
and whilst in the pool I saw the guy smoking what looked to be a bifter. The
way he was toking it made me think that it must be, so I went over and asked
him if it was weed. He said it wasn’t, but that he did smoke it, so I asked if
he could get us some, which he confirmed he could. He said his name was
Richard, he was a thirty-something guy from Holland, although he looked more
Spanish then Dutch, who had been in Chiang Mai for a few months. He said he
could get us a portion for 1000 baht, so I said that’d be great, and he said
he’d sort it in a few hours after he’d had ‘a shower, a massage and perhaps some
sex’, looking towards the Thai girl who didn’t seem to notice his comment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By 5pm the sun was getting low, and Richard
handed me a cigarette packet that seemed empty as we were heading upstairs to
our room. When I got up there I opened it to find a shy amount of compressed
weed, probably weighing about a gram and a half. I took it back down to the
pool and said that although I appreciate the favour, there was no way that was
worth £20. He said that he had bought it for me, so there was nothing he could
do. I showed him how much was there and he agreed it wasn’t a great amount, and
said he’d try and speak to the guy and get us a bit more. Now the chances are
that he probably only paid half of the money I gave him, if that, for this
measly bit of turf, but we had to bite the bullet and hope to find a better
hook-up in future. I’d been ploughing through cheap cigarettes in the absence
of weed, but Sarah doesn’t smoke them, so she was happy to finally have
something she could pollute her lungs with. We showered then skinned up,
smoking only half before both feeling happily high, then immediately going to
complete stage two in the order of stoner living. Eat. We shared a few Thai
dishes at the relatively swanky Hotel M, then went and booked an adventure trek
for the following day. We strolled the streets looking for a decent bar,
stopping at a place called Inter Bar, where there was a covers band churning
out classic rock hits with a Thai guy singing. They were pretty tight
musically, but the vocals killed it. The singer, a term I use loosely, was
hilariously tone deaf and it sounded extremely similar to when the South Park
guys do comical Asian impressions. Sarah and I were in fits of giggles as they
did ‘Living on a Prayer’, ‘Smoke on the Water’, ‘Sweet Child of Mine’ and even
Franz Ferdinand’s ‘Take me out’, to muted applause from the patrons of the
place. After a couple of drinks, the band had finished and almost immediately
another band started, you can’t beat that kind of efficiency, however they
sounded worse that the guys before them so we decided to make like a rubber
ball, and bounce.<br />
<br />
We grabbed a bottle of water and some crisps from one of the ten million 7
Eleven’s that occupied the one mile radius, then headed home for a smoke on our
balcony. There was a French girl sitting opposite us, having a Skype chat in
her native tongue, so I pretended to Sarah that we were watching the French Big
Brother on TV and that the girl was in the diary room complaining. I made up
translations of everything she said, to make sense of my suggestion and we sat
there laughing until the scented candle was burnt out. We returned to our
chamber and laid silently in the darkness, awaiting the return of light.
Goodnight.</span>
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The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-32402504949464685462012-11-22T08:27:00.003-08:002012-11-23T12:55:53.500-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 19: Everything in its right place.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">28.10.12</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
I awoke with my arms around my lover, she said I had been sleeping like that
all night, I said I was just making up for lost time. We snoozed for a few
minutes then ambled downstairs at 9.30am for our complimentary breakfast of
fried egg, frankfurter, tea and toast. We packed our bags, leaving them with
the front desk when we checked out and headed off in a tuk-tuk to the weekend
market at Chatuchak Park which I’d visited a fortnight previously. Due to the
early hour the market wasn’t as busy as the last time I’d been, but it was just
as sweaty as I remembered it, squeezing down the narrow isles filled with
various goods. We both grew tired after two hours or so of passing pretty much
the same stuff in different locations, but left with a few bags each. We took a
taxi back to Sarasinee Mansions to collect our bags and change, then hailed
another to take us to Don Mueng airport for a domestic flight to Chiang Mai. An
hour later our plane touched down on the northern grounds of Thailand, and we
followed the recommendation of some girl I’d chatted to in Phnom Penh, asking
the taxi booker to take us to the Top North. She said there was both a hotel
and guesthouse by that name, so I asked which had a pool and she said it was
the hotel. The driver dropped us there, and rode off with our fare before we
could discover that this place was way beyond our price range, and that the
guest house also had a pool. My back was killing as I lugged my heavy backpack
back and forth up the road numerous times trying to find exactly where this
place was, spitting angry venom at the annoyance the taxi lady had caused us,
and wondering why I’d paid for the pleasure of breaking my back walking around.
Sarah kept her cool, asked somebody on the street and got directions for us to
follow. Five minutes later, we were there. I threw my bag down, along with 300
baht, and went up to our room. We had a decent sized bed, our own bathroom and
a small balcony with a view of another guest house ten metres away. It was
perfect for what we needed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK-ECbsYFNt5ST8TO5rel9RbuVVYTrLdObGQbfws8g2lsnfqpmgAKTqatcwzIgm_U8iJuMnTdSkhlFVieDhyphenhyphenA9ZXwhV5RpRhe4oRGLM3SCpOzgC2aLsb7B9oYULip6MURokrsbMGrPNGsy/s1600/IMG_7372.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK-ECbsYFNt5ST8TO5rel9RbuVVYTrLdObGQbfws8g2lsnfqpmgAKTqatcwzIgm_U8iJuMnTdSkhlFVieDhyphenhyphenA9ZXwhV5RpRhe4oRGLM3SCpOzgC2aLsb7B9oYULip6MURokrsbMGrPNGsy/s400/IMG_7372.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Multi-talented, some might say, but his musicianship left a lot to be desired.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rachael and Kat had spoken highly of the Sunday market and
it’s variety of street food, so I’d planned our flights to bring us here in
time to go out and sample the grub and goods on offer. We hit the strip by 8pm
and browsed the stalls selling handicrafts and clothing, then grabbed some
dinner. I opted for a decent selection of freshly made sushi rolls, which were
all priced between 5 and 10 baht each, knocked them back in record timing, then
returned for the same again, whilst Sarah sat at a plastic garden table behind
the stalls, eating some delicious pork shoulder and rice. I concurred that the
food there was excellent, feeling the sushi buzz as we strolled around picking
up nice little bits and pieces at decent prices. I was digging Chiang Mai, it’s
a fairly big city, but a completely different vibe to Bangkok, more laid back,
not so intensely polluted by noise, smog and dirt. We followed the crowds down
Walking street, and were faced with even more market stalls. It started getting
a bit too much for me, I get stressed when unable to freely move through crowds
and it was starting to feel like a festival for foreign tourists all wandering
around aimlessly with no sense of direction or social awareness. We ducked down
a quiet side street to avoid the crowds and made our way quickly back to the
main street where the market started. We stopped into a place called John’s Bar
to have our first drink together. Sarah opted for a large bottle of Chang, a
local beer that is 6.4% alcohol, and I went for a Mai Tai, because I was tired
of drinking beer, which I don’t even like, except for Beer Lao, which for some
reason I find excellent. It made for a funny photograph of us with our first
drinks, me looking like a dandy whilst Sarah sipped her man-sized bottle
happily. They were showing the Liverpool vs Everton derby, so we sat watching
that, rooting for Everton who are by far the superior team in my opinion. It
was stuck at 2-2 for most of the second half, until the dying seconds when
Liverpool banged one in. The scousers there all cheered, but their celebrations
were short lived as the goal was ruled offside. I laughed and we left. We
returned to the Top North hopped onto our bed and back into each other’s arms,
where we would stay until the roosters started crowing again.</span><br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXa3cnT_l6p7WkmB6RS55qtPtLyCABNBgX_2S5o9nsErMdR8lISIQY-qvN4MbL7RfxGuc7HSi5I-7CVdBsLcqoihj6a69bpktr-b2gtMoqizMpVhYOv8XxBx9mBkB_ezOp0mUAn8IuZv6q/s1600/first+day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXa3cnT_l6p7WkmB6RS55qtPtLyCABNBgX_2S5o9nsErMdR8lISIQY-qvN4MbL7RfxGuc7HSi5I-7CVdBsLcqoihj6a69bpktr-b2gtMoqizMpVhYOv8XxBx9mBkB_ezOp0mUAn8IuZv6q/s400/first+day.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">His and Hers beverages.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
</div>
The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-75415054654307308812012-11-22T07:57:00.000-08:002012-11-23T12:52:52.556-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 18: The Return of the red-eye<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">27.10.12</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My alarm rang at 11.30am and I woke up dead. I rolled off of
my lower bunk and promptly expelled a pint or two’s worth of alcoholic orange
bile and noodles, that had still been doing its devilish work on my insides as
I slept, into the blurry toilet bowl. After over two weeks without her, I was
finally going to be reunited with my Sarah, and I felt both drunk and hung-over
at the same time. Brilliant. I staggered around slowly packing, having breaks
every minute to sit on the edge of my bed and hold my weary head, before making
my way downstairs. Randy and Eric were sitting with two girls from America whom
he’d told me about the night before. He’d been hoping to hook up with one of
them, but he put her on the back-burner and she’d ended up copping off with
some European guy or another, much to his annoyance. It worked out well for me
though, as we had a great time together, but I’m sure he’d rather have had a
cheeky bang instead of a six man dance-off, and who could blame him.
Regardless, we sat around in a state of zombification questioning how we ended
up like this. Randy’s eyes were redder than a prostitute’s lipstick and my
tummy was turning like a washing machine on its final spin. I couldn’t bring
myself to eat anything on the menu, so opted for a Fanta which I slowly sipped
through a straw, then returned to the toilet to puke some more. I had enough weed
for two more Boom-Bats so I rolled them up and sparked up the first. Weed is
funny like that, whatever your ailment, I swear a few hits on a James Blunt and
you’ll be feeling beautiful, it’s true.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I joined Randy and the girls for a
swim in the dirt and pube infested pool, then showered and got ready for my flight, said my goodbyes and met
Pauli, who was waiting outside for me. I sparked up numero dos, and floated
towards the airport in my space-face-ship. By the time I’d checked in I was in
dire need of food, so I stopped into some nearby joint for some fried squid and
garlic bread, which I swallowed whole, then made a dash for the plane. It was
only a one hour flight which I spent pouring Pringles and water down my throat
at an alarming speed, trying to fix my battered bod’ as excitement reached
boiling point. Not long now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I made it back to Bangkok feeling a lot better than I had
done earlier, hopped on bus 150 towards the Sarasinee Mansions where I had
booked us a junior suite, then spent twenty minutes lugging my bag up and down
the streets until I found it. The little cash that I had was all but spent, and
Sarah was bringing me some more, so even though I’d paid for our room entirely
upfront, the little old woman on reception wouldn’t give me our room key
without a 500 baht deposit which I didn’t have. I was too tired to argue. I
waited in the lobby for about an hour before leaving my bag there and making my
way back to the Saphan Kwai train station to find Sarah, who had now landed and
was on her way to meet me. I danced around the platform listening to ‘Baby it’s
you’ and ‘Do you want to know a secret’ by The Beatles repeatedly, singing
along and staring out across the barrier whenever a train arrived. After about
half an hour, I looked up to see her, my heart automatically kicked in, pumping
harder than it had done in weeks, the wait was over, my best friend and lover
was finally here. We kissed immediately as she came through the gate, gripping
each other tightly as if we were in the midst of a tornado and didn’t want to
risk being separated again. It felt magnificent. At long last, we were home, in
each other’s arms once again. We hurried back to our hotel, finally got our key then
headed upstairs. After a quick shower we fell straight into bed, our energies combining passionately, dancing through each other's souls for what seemed like an eternity in heaven. I held her tiny body
close to mine, she laid her head on my chest, Everything was right in the world
once more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Both drained and feeling slightly peckish, we
hit the street to search for supper, but neither of us really fancied anything.
We saw a sign which said Tesco Lotus, so we decided to grab a few bits from our
favoured supermarket back home. I didn’t get any Clubcard points and they never
gave us a Tesco carrier bag, it was just plain white. What a jip. We spent the
rest of the evening catching up, exchanging small gifts and getting used to
being with each other again. As great as it felt to be reunited, we both agreed
that something seemed odd, I assumed that it would just take a few days to get
ourselves in-sync again, but after eighteen days apart I was more than happy to
put the work in. As my eyes finally flickered to a close, the butterflies in my
tummy rose, I had my best friend back, and the whole world was our oyster card.<br />
</span>
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The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-40256150321208602402012-11-20T08:44:00.001-08:002012-11-20T08:44:26.104-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 17: Death and Disco<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">26.10.12</span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I showered the sleep from my tired eyes and jumped into
Pauli’s tuk-tuk which was waiting for me outside. He whisked me off to my first
stop, the Tuol Sleng Genocidal Museum, aka S-21, a former school turned prison
under the ruling of the barbaric Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge between 1975 and 1979.
As I went to go in I was approached by a guy whose face looked like it had been
melted with acid, it was a featureless puddle of muddied orange skin, swirled
together in scars which looked like they’d still cause him great pain to this
day. His eyes were filled with agony as he gestured towards me with his cap in
hand. I dropped a few bills in it and moved along quickly. This was all the
introduction I needed to a day in which vast quantities of both pain and
suffering were on the menu. I walked into building A, the first floor had ten
rooms, each with a rusted iron bed in the middle, some sort of container for
excrement, and an array of chains or bars, differing slightly in each. These
were formerly used for jailing, interrogating and torturing prisoners who were
once high officials. The idea behind this genocide was to eradicate all of the
educated Cambodian civilians and turn their nation into one of agriculture and
submission, with no intelligent people left to lead the population away from
slavery. Apparently even the slight sighted would be killed for wearing
spectacles, even though we all know that despite that old stereotype, having a
stigmatism is no sign of intelligence. That goes to show both the stupidity of
these murderers, and their utter disregard for human life. Each room would only
feature one picture, that of the decomposed body which was found there when the
area was reclaimed by the resistance. They were in such bad states after being
left there to rot that they were unidentifiable when discovered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbNJUC7R0hnZ70X2q-fUpSxcyv4Jy6ZUxfxg82DZOY0Eva6FXXv92CLAmohMxEm74Rql264-iCA3NzDtL-9AFJ0uWDYlSxWGBGJb_IWPQW2mdD6FIidHP8_Oe9uY2OtpxQ5nHJw5Burit7/s1600/IMG_7195.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbNJUC7R0hnZ70X2q-fUpSxcyv4Jy6ZUxfxg82DZOY0Eva6FXXv92CLAmohMxEm74Rql264-iCA3NzDtL-9AFJ0uWDYlSxWGBGJb_IWPQW2mdD6FIidHP8_Oe9uY2OtpxQ5nHJw5Burit7/s400/IMG_7195.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Faces or torment</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The second and third floors were both split into five large
rooms, with a few beds in each and a blackboard still on the wall. These were
used for the same purpose as downstairs, except large groups would be gathered
here. There was a sign on the bed of this former classroom which read ‘Do Not
Touch’. I followed my urge and placed my hand on the frame, instantly
witnessing the screams of the death and torture of hundreds of people flash
through my mind in that split second, before pulling my hand away. Should’ve
done what I was told. It’s not the first time I’ve thought that.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
<br />
Building B was filled with photographs of the victims, looking under fed and
desperately miserable at the fate they had been dealt. None of them deserved
this, but like many places, even to this day, thousands of people die for no
need due to the greed of their leaders. Building C comprised entirely of very
simply built cells, cement and brick shoddily thrown together to create these
claustrophobic sections which measured no more than three and a half feet
across and had chains cemented at the ends to shackle the prisoners. You could
imagine the mass wailing of forty chained people who were slowly dying, away
from their families and loved ones. It was breathtakingly grim.<br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikhTm3EWRI4_7BLwnJtJWbCs6yGqzqt8F4-CHqdSOcgXD39ANM5Yhr4RFksxWnzH0k62MOsPkjJX5HIt-PBaynGlQWBCMzNH8qLBcjMVsyd3f1SKox7zL8pg_7dLWXtUzKySUGQUk0MfmD/s1600/IMG_7230.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikhTm3EWRI4_7BLwnJtJWbCs6yGqzqt8F4-CHqdSOcgXD39ANM5Yhr4RFksxWnzH0k62MOsPkjJX5HIt-PBaynGlQWBCMzNH8qLBcjMVsyd3f1SKox7zL8pg_7dLWXtUzKySUGQUk0MfmD/s400/IMG_7230.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<br /><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Building D was a whole different kettle of fish
altogether, it was now used to display various pieces of artwork from local
school children, all of which portrayed a future much brighter than the past
that they have been born out of. My favourite piece was a painting which
depicted an hour glass with missiles, grenades and barbed wire in the top half,
filtering down into water with a single leaf growing out of it. In the
background a young child prayed. It was titled ‘A sandglass to the future’.
Let’s hope so.<br />
<br />
To put this into perspective, approximately a quarter of the population were
murdered during this period, which basically means you would be hard pushed to
find somebody over the age of 35 that hadn’t lost either a friend or family
member under the ruling of this barbaric regime. The youngsters I’ve met have
all seemed upbeat, positive and generally happy at face value, however when you
look into the eyes of the elders you often get the feeling that there is a lot
of darkness behind their weathered smiles, and it is something that constantly made
my heart hurt during my stay.<br />
<br />
I left and waited for Pauli who was late to pick me up, but I ignored the
advances of some other Tony that was trying to steal me away, and after ten
minutes, he turned up to take me to the killing fields. On the way there, he
pulled over at a shooting range and gestured for me to go inside. I am of the
thinking that no human being should ever be allowed to own a gun, especially
when you factor in all the drugs, alcohol, aggression and greed that play a
part in our day to day lives. However, I played a lot of video games in my
younger years, ranging from Goldeneye, to Call of Duty, to Grand Theft Auto, in
which I must’ve shot thousands upon thousands of fake bullets, but never in the
real world (unless spud guns count). Curiosity had me, and the chance to try
out an AK47 saw me pulling $40 from my wallet to cover the cost of this new
story in my quest for YES! I realised it was a strange mid-point during my day
seeing the exact reason why guns and armies shouldn’t exist, but fuck it, I was
there, I had a full clip and a target thirty feet infront of me. I let off some
single shots, feeling the force of each bullet kick back against my shoulder,
then switched it onto automatic and sprayed my final bullets in a matter of
seconds. The guy filming asked me how it was, to which I replied “Fun. Now I
never want to shoot another gun again”. The power I feel when coming off stage
after doing a spoken word set to a silent room, filled with ears that hear and
then cheer, surpasses that of pulling a trigger one-hundred times over. True
power comes with love and is given gladly. It cannot be stolen, nor gained
through fear via the barrel of a gun. The most truly powerful people throughout
history have been those that share knowledge and enlighten the masses with
peace, and they remain revered continuously, with people still quoting their
thoughts and theories freely, because it makes sense to real life, and makes
that life more bearable. Those historical characters that have used force,
despite periods of power, always end up condemned for their actions, their
entire existence left to fester and stink in the cess pools of time. In a world
that’s constantly changing, only one of these paths is worthwhile, even if you
do enjoy a spell and the top, sooner or later you will die, and then all that
is left behind is the memories you instil in others. Obviously, as we all know,
history is often manipulated, but even if you do manage to polish a turd it
will still stink like shit.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGZAtCc5HjIjb5rZO3owwAJnAs7kOuo5rVkhNRKCk5DS9AyFja0F51VO__jow6duWo_1sj8RHY_Uul5ArDUAif7KczqwGbj_6Xne_MIFtP5khxIe6BzWYror1HIYWFcFrKg0oN7foh0dJr/s1600/IMG_7248.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGZAtCc5HjIjb5rZO3owwAJnAs7kOuo5rVkhNRKCk5DS9AyFja0F51VO__jow6duWo_1sj8RHY_Uul5ArDUAif7KczqwGbj_6Xne_MIFtP5khxIe6BzWYror1HIYWFcFrKg0oN7foh0dJr/s400/IMG_7248.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">True power lies in peace</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
I arrived at The Killing Fields and it was beautiful, from a distance it was
just a blossoming landscape in a rural area of Phnom Penh, but when the headphones
were turned on and the tour began it soon became ugly and sad. I was led around
by numbered signs, walking from spot to spot and sitting to listen to the
atrocities which took place. Even with the grass and greenery growing all
around you could still see the signs of past terror on the ground, where bone
fragments and items of clothing were scattered around, semi buried with the
soil but protruding enough to make you aware that they were there. This was the
spot where the prisoners from S-21 were brought to be killed off like diseased
cattle, in the most efficient and cheapest ways possible. Many skulls found
were cracked from blows with axes and hoes, headless skeletons were grouped in
mass graves, hundreds at a time, and blood stains still remain on the floor as
throats cut with jagged saw-like leaves from trees would have dropped victims
to their knees. Death was everywhere. The worst point for me was the killing
tree, where soldiers would take the children of the prisoners by the legs,
swinging them head first into it to kill or badly injure them, then tossing
them into a nearby pit, one by one. The most precious possession of each
parent, left as wasted scraps of worthless life. It’s unthinkable to us
uninformed westerners, but whilst we were dancing to the early sounds of disco,
this was happening on the other side of the globe.</span></span><br /><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4SVtpd7B8ClsTRi9mfDghxt5lJ8J4dUJqoZKukxdfFlsiszxEe-meaDlVxGp9_qUedQ5fjwOIR3iPVXdxpitcJZrY6kJcQu0HC_HaprS-86DoEOT5YNl0Ys0wYT-7W3hQuUbH-jJTrB1C/s1600/IMG_7295.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4SVtpd7B8ClsTRi9mfDghxt5lJ8J4dUJqoZKukxdfFlsiszxEe-meaDlVxGp9_qUedQ5fjwOIR3iPVXdxpitcJZrY6kJcQu0HC_HaprS-86DoEOT5YNl0Ys0wYT-7W3hQuUbH-jJTrB1C/s400/IMG_7295.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">The Killing Tree</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
The tour concluded at a building which was erected in more recent years to commemorate
those lost, and it held many of their recovered remains. On each tier sat
hundreds of skulls, assorted bones, and the clothes of the victims. As shocking
a sight as it sounds, I was so numb by this point that it didn’t really faze
me, the tears had been and gone, and like the beautiful people of Cambodia, I
was moving on.</span></span><br /><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNwmSWUbUWlNWfWwwlWEo8mP2jDV13SbnPmWZJlqGZHezvdWZxJAxW5qKgCisZKgR0-TLYy25cxcH9P63peBOw75HoJo2IIQrWLQijotVdesExZR3XTo0PbGM3VJAiS4GncE4izLCoFGeW/s1600/IMG_7327.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNwmSWUbUWlNWfWwwlWEo8mP2jDV13SbnPmWZJlqGZHezvdWZxJAxW5qKgCisZKgR0-TLYy25cxcH9P63peBOw75HoJo2IIQrWLQijotVdesExZR3XTo0PbGM3VJAiS4GncE4izLCoFGeW/s400/IMG_7327.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Just as the body is destined to perish, the spirit will never die...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<br />
I arrived back at my hostel, threw twelve bucks at Pauli and thanked him, then
arranged for him to take me to the airport the next day. I dove into the pool,
then swam into the evening, sitting and writing a while whilst the staff set up
for a pool party that they were hosting. The manager, an American guy named
Eric, told me it was the biggest night in Phnom Penh and would be pumping. I
was sceptical to say the least. What with the events of my day, I wasn’t in the
mood to party at all, I just wanted to catch up with some work and get a good
sleep so I was well prepared for the arrival of my sweetheart the following
evening. Then the music started. Hip hop and funk classics were shaking the
walls of my room as I wrote, and after an hour I gave up, showered, then went
downstairs. There was one person staying there who I’d met briefly in Vang
Vieng. Her name was Hannah and she was friends with the other Dion I’d met. She
was playing pool with some other early arrivals, so I went and befriended them
and stuck my name on the board to play. Over the course of the next hour the
place turned from the equivalent of a sedated school disco into a wild party at
the playboy mansion. By the time the main DJ, some guy from San Francisco, got
spinning it was popping off big time, there must have been about two hundred
party people in the place, off their face, dancing wildly, diving fully clothed
into the pool, or simply playing pool with me and our new gang. I ended up
playing all night, on and off, it was not like I had friends to dance with, nor
the need to try and pick up some skirt, so pool seemed the best bet to escape
boredom. It was pretty great fun to be fair, bantering and teaming up with both
locals and fellow travellers, chatting and getting progressively more
inebriated as time went by. Before I knew it, the music was over, and I spent a
while hanging with my two remaining pals, Denny from Holland, and Simone from
Italy. When one of the locals asked us out for more drinks, we all declined,
but something inside felt wrong, so after a few seconds discussion, we all
changed our minds. I got chatting to Randy, a fellow Freewheeler from Australia
who worked at the hostel and convinced him to show me what Phnom Penh was all
about. Whilst devising a plan I got chatting to one of the other managers, a fifty-something
Liverpuddlian wide-boy by the name of Anthony, who wouldn’t stop going on about
how ‘Cambodia rocks’. I challenged him to show us why, and we headed out with a
few of his young staff, Nob, Tona and Randy, along with Denny and Simone.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had
about $10 on me, and the rest of us had the same or less, but it didn’t matter
because Anthony was on a big boy buzz and said he’d get the drinks in. “Watch
and learn” he exclaimed, as we entered his chosen destination, The Rose Garden,
a bar full of working girls and very few guys. I watched from close distance,
sipping my free beer, as Anthony was seemingly rejected by every prostitute in
the place. It was astonishing. They treated him like his breath smelt of death
and they were all rich. It was unimaginable in this kind of environment, or so
I’d have thought until seeing it for myself. The rest of us weren’t digging it
at all. We wanted to dance, so we managed to drag the money man away from the
uninterested brasses and hopped into a tuk-tuk, which took us to a club called
Pontoon. This place was kicking, Kanye blasting out from the speakers as we
bowled in, ready to move. Anthony got me another drink, followed me to the
dance-floor, and then vanished almost immediately. Perhaps the less obvious
hookers there had yet to bear witness to whatever it was that soured the mouths
of the girls in the last joint. Regardless, we remaining lads all got bopping,
shaking down the dance floor as the DJ played an array of genres with no
coherency from track to track, the tunes were all decent though and no one
seemed to mind. As the last song, ‘I can’t wait’ by Nu Shooz, faded out we
gathered our gang and left, except for Simone, who was chatting to a pretty,
local girl. It was his birthday, so we left him to it, and shot off back to the
Eighty8 without him. Five minutes later as we sat back smoking in the closed
bar, he turned up and we asked what happened. He said that the girl wanted
money to come back with him, and he wasn’t willing to pay for sex. Out of curiosity,
I asked how much she wanted, and he replied “Five dollars”. I don’t know what
was more shocking, the ridiculously low figure she had priced her company at, or
the fact that our man thought he was gonna get a free fuck at 5am, from a
Cambodian chick. Still, I respected his reluctance to pay when he was quite
clearly attractive enough to not have to, a stance which I also share. On the
other hand, I’ve spent more money than that on a bag of sweets at the cinema,
and I didn’t get to ejaculate into it after.<br />
<br />
We were all starving, so I went out on the hunt for food and found a little old
lady selling bowls of noodles on the street. It was all that was on offer, so I
purchased her watery concoction with the odd bits of mystery meat thrown in,
and shared it out amongst the three of us in a vain attempt to counteract the
booze. The new people that had moved into my dorm for the night were already
awake and getting ready to leave. I wished them safe travels, took a shower,
nearly slipping over in the process, then drunkenly fell into bed by 7am. I had
to check out at 12. Fuck.</span><br />
<!--[endif]--></span></div>
The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9181602908310719306.post-70932634144515104602012-11-20T08:19:00.002-08:002012-11-20T08:19:49.521-08:00Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 16: Once upon a time, nothing happened. The End<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">25.10.12</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I arose at 11am and threw everything into my bag, heading downstairs
to check out before diving into the pool. Maddie turned up to hang out with us
and wish me farewell, and we laid getting roasted for a few hours until my ride
arrived. I hugged my three sisters goodbye, hoping we’d meet again. I sat in
the van excited by the prospect of not knowing what was to come, except me,
when my lady finally arrived in a few days’ time.<br />
<br />
I was dropped at the office of the travel company that I’d booked my ride with,
and waited until 2pm so we could depart. We all loaded in to a fourteen seat
mini-van which would be taking us on a five hour journey to Phnom Penh. There
was a bigoted, old guy from New Zealand who spoke to me for a few minutes, but
he kept referring to me as a ‘Pom’ and coming out with crap about England, so I
ended up introducing him to another, younger Kiwi guy, then ignoring their banal
conversations . I see race and nationality as irrelevant to who I am, and who
others are. I am defined by my city, London, and the assortment of everymen who
inhabit it with me. We’re not English, we’re Everything. I spent pretty much
the whole of the first three hours writing, and was finally catching up with
the ten day deficit I’d given myself, which pleased me no end. We had a short
stop in Kampong Thom which allowed me some time to have a dance with sweet Mary
Jane, before exhaling my way back onto the van for another few hours. I wrote
until I could no longer see, as there were no lights in the van, and very few
along the windy, rubble roads to illuminate the night for me to write. I
shivered the rest of the way, as boredom made the air conditioning less
bearable to my near bare body, in only my old Arsenal Shorts and a vest.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik21Y8czGz3oK4h7ToZyU9BCBUdpH_NqjF6FbuntzGGmovnmmzBnIvxr4rlZauWQE4XG4_ZF3CCx9d_lU-yKirt65t18lUIdgWCq2ATjjhte2d7oA6dYPqFo6nDhN4_lHZZYMLsrI0r8Ej/s1600/IMG_7162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik21Y8czGz3oK4h7ToZyU9BCBUdpH_NqjF6FbuntzGGmovnmmzBnIvxr4rlZauWQE4XG4_ZF3CCx9d_lU-yKirt65t18lUIdgWCq2ATjjhte2d7oA6dYPqFo6nDhN4_lHZZYMLsrI0r8Ej/s320/IMG_7162.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By
8pm, we arrived, and I stepped onto the street to appreciate the evening heat.
A couple of Tonys approached me, and I told them I wanted another place with a
pool, so they took me to The Eighty8 Backpackers, a cool looking hostel with a
bar/restaurant and young staff. I booked Tony, whose name was Pauli, to take me
out at 10am the next day and went to check in. “How you do brother?” said one
of the two guys behind the counter, asking my name and introducing himself as
Lay Lay. The other, who checked me in had a name tag which read ‘John Mclane’,
and I told him that I loved that the name he’d chosen for himself was Bruce
Willis’s character from Die Hard. ‘Yippie Kai Yay, motherfucker’. I dumped my
stuff in a locker in my empty, eight bed dorm, then did a few laps in the pool
before going up to shower and change. I took a walk around the surrounding area
of the hostel but there was nothing there, not even a place for dinner, so I
returned to eat and write by the poolside whilst hip-hop classics were blasted
out in the background. After dinner, I returned to my room which was still
unoccupied, wrote some more, then fell into the world of my words, wrote myself
a dream, and drifted off downstream.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
The Freewheelin' Troubadourhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16221300924370992118noreply@blogger.com0