Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 9: 1 man, 4000 islands

18.10.12
I was at an American high-school, and there was a Jamaican kid who was bullying and beating up on a load of little guys whilst having it filmed, to then upload onto his Youtube channel. He was a good looking, light skinned boy with a greasy little ‘fro and piercing, dark eyes. I was afraid of him, but I couldn’t let him get away with being a prick and embarrassing all these kids with no comeuppance of his own, so whilst he was preoccupied with another beating, I stole his hard drives and went on the run. He somehow realised what I’d done, and came chasing after me as I sprinted up and along a maze of hallways with cream coloured lockers on either side. I stuck his drives in a locker and kept going. When he finally caught up with me we scuffled and he got me in a headlock. This would be the point where I’d usually wake myself up, but I remembered my earlier conversation about lucid dreaming and instead, I turned him instantly into a bookish looking French girl in a black roll neck, then tried to fly away from her, but with a jolt, I awoke. Looking back now, I see the bully as my lost, younger, inner-self, hitting out because he doesn’t know what else to do, and seeking some sort of validation for his being, by being an invalid. I was also the little guys, taking blows whilst in desperate fear of the humiliation that would surely follow. I was also the French girl, the untouchable, harmless, calm presence that can sooth anyone in seconds with an earnest look of love into the eyes of a stranger. They were all creations of my subconscious mind, and I was excited by the proof that now I too can make things happen how I want them to, in both realms of my existence.

We were made to get off of the sleeper bus, wait another hour in another travel operators place, then get onto our final bus to the 4000 islands. It was pretty empty and we all fell asleep. I woke up to see a load more people sitting down, and asked some white dude with dreadlocks if he was going to the islands too. He said “We’re here, this bus is going to Phnom Penh” which is my destination in Cambodia, but not for another week or so. I called for the driver to stop, woke up the girls, pulled our bags out onto the dusty road and awaited further instruction. Ten minutes later we were told to walk up the road and get a boat to take us to Don Det. We did exactly that, and were joined by a couple on our short trip across the river. We all went into the first restaurant, starving after twenty-two hours on the road, and I asked the couple if they’d like to join us, which they did. I was in need some male companionship so we could talk about man things, like fighting and how big our cocks are, and cock fighting, which is exactly what was happening just outside as a few of the locals had their prized pets fighting in a ring made of human bodies. It was interesting to see them going at it angrily, whilst also amazingly composed to each other’s onslaught. I heard a bell ring. My chicken sandwich was ready. The new guys were Ryan, another Australian, and his girlfriend Marie, who was from New Zealand. I liked not being around other Londoners, I don’t know why, I suppose you don’t go travelling to feel like you’re at home, even though my home life boasts a vast selection of antipodean brothers and sisters in its own right, so it didn’t feel too foreign, just a bit foreign. The perfect amount, perhaps? They checked into a lovely place called Little Eden, which was £18 a night, and we went next door into Mr B’s Sunset Bungalows, which were £3.50 a night, split between two sharing. They were stuffy little huts with a ceiling fan, but they were only for sleeping, the rest of the time we had four hammocks and a number of chairs all outside on our private decking area.

The first rule of cock fight club is "You do not talk about cock fight club".

Maddie, Kat, Rachael and I decided to eat at Little Eden as the view of the sun setting across the river was outstanding, as was the food. We slowly became silhouettes as the moon replaced the sun and no other light was switched on for a while.  Whilst we were chatting, a guy at the table next to ours joined in, talking to me about London and how he is playing at XOYO soon with his band. It turned out that his name was Andrew and he was soon to be the new bassist for Darwin Deez, a New York band whom I already knew a few members of and was a fan. It’s a small world, which seems to be shrinking even more as everybody joins forces. After dinner we all went to the Pool Bar for a few drinks, and Ryan bought a couple of joints from a kid that worked there, then we gathered on the small, sandy inlet to smoke by the water and draw our night to a close. Stoned publicly, like lovers in Afghanistan, we all rolled back to our bungalow for beddie-byes.