Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 16: Once upon a time, nothing happened. The End

25.10.12

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.

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.

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.

Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 15: Angkor Wat? Angkor Who?

Angkor Wat

24.10.12

My alarm sounded before those annoying roosters even got a chance to crow their first of the morning. It was 4.30am which is usually my bed time, and I wasn’t that happy about getting up. However, it was a necessary evil as we’d planned to make it to Angkor Wat for sunrise, which would be coming up like Bez from the Happy Mondays in about an hour. Katherine and Rachael’s friend had just flown over from Australia and was feeling jet-lagged, so they decided to do it another time, leaving Maddie and I with her tuk-tuk driving friend, Buntan, to head towards the temple. We drove for about fifteen minutes to the ticketing office and bought a one day pass which had our tired mugs printed onto the front, then went back on the dirt road towards the temple. After another couple hundred metres we unexpectedly ground to a halt. Buntan told us that we had a flat tyre due to a nail in the road and would have to wait for a replacement vehicle to take us to the temple. Dawn was cracking through the black blanket in the sky, and it started to rain. Heavily. I sparked up a banger and remained cool with our bad luck, feeling that perhaps it wasn’t meant to be, and that such a special moment should only be experienced when I have my lover in my arms.

I wrote:

“You can’t stop the rain from falling,
you can’t avoid every nail which is in the road.
If you miss the sunrise there will be one tomorrow,
what will be, will be.”

whilst sitting patiently as the rain lashed against our broken vehicle and the sky got lighter and lighter. After about thirty minutes, a tuk-tuk pulled up next to ours and was positioned perfectly by the driver so that we could hop across from one carriage to the other, like The Beatles running through black cabs in e from ‘A Hard Day’s Night’. We were on the road again, and arrived shortly after. There was not much sun to be had on this gloomy morning, and it was still pissing down, so we remained seated until it lessened, then got out to explore the temple in all its peaceful early morning glory. There were few tourists at this early hour, which meant we had the place pretty much to ourselves, and we strolled around admiring the sheer extent of the work. Everywhere you looked, something was carved. Be it ceiling, wall or floor, hours and hours of repeated pictures and patterns adorned the spaces, leaving no inch of the building anything less than majestic. It was quite incredible. After an hour or so, we found Buntan, who took us up to the beautiful ruins of Bayon, and we spent another couple of hours walking around the fallen stones and dark, damp tunnels, exploring the area, which was now getting busier with tourists. We befriended two old American couples from California, and spent some time walking and talking with them about Obama, Romney, and Lance Armstrong’s recent fall from grace. I stated my disappointment in all three. We visited a few smaller temples on the outskirts of Bayon, then met Buntan who whisked us off to Prohm, which would be our last stop on this temple run. Prohm is the temple where they shot Tomb Raider with Angelina Jolie, a kind of in-door jungle which has huge concrete faces carved into the side of the stone rooftops. By this point it was nearly mid-day, and the place was swarming with Japanese tourists, all slowly ambling around and squeezing as much time as possible out of every photo op. At one famous point from the film, I posed for a photo by throwing a punch towards the camera. The twenty-odd Japs that were looking on all cheered and clapped at my gesture, saying “Kung Fu” excitedly and smiling at me as I disappeared through the stone doorway, feeling like David Caradine’s illegitimate lovechild. By this point, I was tired and templed out.

Bayon

Boom Raider

Maddie and I had agreed on getting some Cambodian barbeque for lunch and a blind massage, but we stopped off to visit the café that her friend Cassie was opening first to say hello. It looked really nice and I was happy to see these guys setting up new lives for themselves in this beautiful, developing land. Cassie and her friend were on their way for lunch at Viva, and Maddie decided to join them, but I’d had my last meal there, and my heart was set on barbeque, so I went off on my own again to eat. I was sat at a table with a metal container in front of me, it had coals in the middle which heated the grill part above it, and there was a circular channel around the sides that was filled by the waitress with stock, poured from a big metal teapot. She presented me with a wicker basket filled with chicken, beef, pork, crocodile and squid, and a variety of greens, noodles and rice. I threw the greens and noodles into the stock to make a soup, whilst grilling the different meats as I went on, then throwing the whole concoction into a bowl to be devoured. It was delicious, and I enjoyed cooking for myself for the first time in weeks, another one of my passions that I’d been living without.

Feeling pretty drained, I returned to Siem Reap Temple Villa, dived into the pool to swim off my lunch, then got back to my writing until the sun went down. I returned to my room at 6pm for a one hour power nap, and ended up sleeping until 10pm. Hungry, I went into town and had a small supper whilst writing some more at my table in the midst of the madness, as various music blasted loudly from each surrounding bar, then returned home, again writing into the early hours of the morning, then having my last sleep in one of my huge, comfortable beds. 

Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 14: Getting off your boat, alone

23.10.12

I was awoken by a banging on the door, I opened it whilst rubbing the sleep from my eyes to be faced with Maddie. “Wake up, lazy, it’s 11am”. I explained that I’d been up late writing, and she explained that she’d been there since 9am, waiting for the sisters and I to arise and that they were downstairs having breakfast. She left me to get ready and I joined them by the pool soon after, swimming away from yesterday and into a new afternoon. I wrote, then swam, then wrote some more, then had a final swim before going upstairs to shower and get myself ready. The previous evening my darling in London had told me that I must visit the floating village whilst in Siem Reap, as the lake nearby is one of the most peaceful she’d ever been to, so I rolled myself some tweed blazers, smoked half a sleeve, then found a Tony to take me away for $5. I was told it was about an hour away, and during the journey I noticed my driver had Lucky written on the back of his helmet, and since 8 is my lucky number I decided that I’d give him $8 for his services instead. When I got dropped off I was informed by a guy in a booth that it’d cost me a further $20 for a boat ticket, which would then take me another hour down the river. I only had $30 in my wallet, but I begrudgingly handed the guy a twenty, then got whisked away by a kid named Sok across one longboat and onto another, then we were off. As my boat slowly chugged its way up the river I sat writing a story about two fishermen and their friendship, arriving at the village before I could find a suitable happy ending. Not that kind of happy ending, just a written one. I don’t think two mates tossing each other off into a river when they’re meant to be feeding their families would suit any story, except in Brokeback Mountain, but that’s already been done and I don’t like to plagiarise my homo-erotica, I just let it come from the heart. And the penis.

I grabbed hold of some sheet metal roofing and pulled myself into a floating restaurant on the river. It was a very basic building, but enough for them to chuck a few tables and chairs on, selling cold drinks from a cool box. At this point, I was welcomed by a guy who told me that in order to see the floating village and forest I’d need to make a donation to them and be taken on another small raft. I only had $10 left and still owed my driver, but I gave them a high-five in the hope that it would actually reach the village instead of lining the pockets of some tubby rip-off merchant. There was a raft which must’ve measured about ten feet by four, and I slowly sat my big frame behind that of my guides, a tiny teenage girl in a brown floppy hat and orange shirt. I immediately felt like a fat fucking tourist being paddled around by some poor kid whilst drinking coke and talking about forthcoming meetings on a cell phone. I don’t even like waiters pouring my water for me, I see myself as a servant and dislike being served myself, so I wanted to paddle, although if I’d suggested it she wouldn't have understood me, and I’d have probably sunk her clapped out vessel in a matter of minutes anyway. She paddled us through a few tree-tops which looked like bushes in the water, and we soon reached the flooded village. There was a population of around six hundred Cambodians that lived in these houses that were built on high stilts about eight feet above the water level, with stairs going up to each front door and boats anchored underneath most of them. As we paddled down the water street children on either side would wave and say ”Bye bye”, or stare at me with puzzled expressions on their faces as both the adults and I smiled on at each other. They were all grubby and barely clothed, running around playing as I went by, blissfully unaware of anything beyond their simple existence and seemingly happy to be where they were. I couldn't blame them, it was beautiful, the sort of place where community spirit still exists in abundance and trades are made so that everybody had the same. Very little, but equal. I’d be happy if the whole world was like that. As we paddled back through I saw a boat with various supplies delivering orders to the houses as it drifted past them, and a kid no older than four years old trying to row his own boat somewhere. It was infinitely more impressive than “Oh look Bill, Daisy has learnt how to turn on the iPad”. I waved goodbye to the villagers and said “Hello” so as not to upset the status quo, and then removed a sparkler from my packet of cigarettes and took a toke or two as we drifted into the forest. Now this is nature as you’ve never seen it before, the trees were deeply submerged and we made our way past the top branches of each one, through the path that was created by the spaces in-between. It seemed rather haunting, but so peaceful at the same time, both of which were probably enhanced by the stonedness coming down like the sun.

The flooded village of Kompong Pluk

In the ghetto, hanging out on the stoop

Mystic river, setting sun

A forest

It was dusk as I arrived back at the restaurant and the twists and turns of my tummy reminded me that I had forgotten to eat all day, problem was, I was running out of money. I wanted to tip the girl, so I gave her a dollar out of the five I had left for the driver, then gave another two to the woman at the restaurant for a can of Fanta and some home-made sweet potato crisps which I swallowed whole. I jumped back onto the boat and Sok took me out to a spot on the lake so I could watch the sun set and admire the twilight. Sarah was right, it was one of the most peaceful spots I’d ever found myself at, and I stayed there admiring it for a long while until Sok asked if I was ready to return. We were the last boat out on the water and by the time we arrived back it was pitch black, and I had finished my story. I gave him a dollar, then went and bought a water with my last buck, before asking ‘Lucky’ to take me home. When there, I ran into my hotel room and grabbed $10, then ran it outside and explained that because his helmet said Lucky on it, I would give him $8 instead of five. He said he didn’t have any change for the ten, so I told him that he was extra lucky, and he rode off into the night with double the dough we’d originally agreed. After what he’d taken me to go and see, money seemed even more insignificant than it usually does to me. I spoke to Sarah briefly whilst waiting for Katherine and Rachael to return so we could go out for our Mexican dinner date at 8pm, but when they got back they’d only recently eaten and had decided to stay in instead.

I shot off into town feeling pretty starved and tired, but got waylaid by a bright sign which read ‘Night Market’. I went inside and there was a lot going on. I followed the sound of the music to find four young girls doing a traditional dance for forty or something forty-somethings and their offspring. I watched for a while before going into a silver jewellery store and buying a bangle for my baby. There was a tank full of fish and a sign that read ‘20 minutes for $1’ so I stuck my feet in and let them nibble until it became too ticklish to bear, then taking them out for a break before returning them for another round. I don’t know how good it was for the smoothness of my soles, but I enjoyed chatting to the young boy about Cambodian Kings, and The Beatles, which it turned out his English teacher was teaching him about. If only I’d had teachers like that at Kingsmead School, I might have been a musician sooner than a prize fighter. After my time was up I made my way out, past a massage place. I’d still not gotten one and would have considered it after dinner, but I was accosted by one of these masseuses saying “Please come for a massage, handsome man, I have private room” and clinging onto my hand like she was about to fall off of a mountain. I shook her off with my usual ‘I’ll come back tomorrow’ spiel, and she made me promise before letting go that I would. It was a promise that I’d have to break, in order to keep a more important promise to a more important person. By this point, I was ready to pass out from lack of sustenance and I got to the Mexican joint, Viva, just as my legs started to feel weak. I went to check out the menu, then saw that they were showing the previous night’s Arsenal match and walked straight in, ignoring all else. They even turned the volume on so I could follow exactly why my team ended up losing to Norwich, whilst stuffing my face with an amazing array of dishes, drinking extremely strong strawberry margaritas, and not doing the writing which I’d planned to catch up with. By the end of the game I felt sick and woozy, from both the overindulgence of my feast, and my teams underwhelming, average display. I staggered back to my princely suite, washed the delicious grease from my pores and poured the alcohol from out my skull, then tucked my tipsy body in bed. A lovely day spent with myself, now over, I disappeared into tomorrow.

Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 13: Unlucky for none

Siem Reap Temple Villa, not bad for $8 a night.

22.10.12
I was woken about four hours after I’d gone to bed by Maddie, who was leaving to stay at her friends’ yoga retreat nearby. I said goodbye and got myself ready, then took the ten minute march towards the old market in the town centre. There were goods galore on offer from the persistent but friendly market traders. “Hello sir, you want something?”, “Have a look, sir”, “You want buy dress, sir”, “A silk scarf for you, sir”. It was non-stop, but they weren’t as pushy as their Indian counterparts that I’d experienced a year earlier. I bought myself a white cotton tunic shirt, and a similar silk one in black, both of which I’d haggled down from $15 to $5 each, a hammock for the bargain price of $2 and a few gifts, generally paying a third of whatever price I was originally quoted. I returned to my hotel, stripping off as I entered and jumping straight into the pool to cool down. After a few laps I sat down, rolled a Boom Boom Bat and went to start writing. Pretty much immediately the sun disappeared, I heard thunder breaking in the distance, and the skies opened up, lashing down on everybody around the pool. I calmly closed my laptop, put it in its case, said “If you can’t beat them, join them” to the Dutch guy beside me, stepping out from under my parasol and diving straight into the pool. It felt incredible. I raised my hands to the sky and goaded the Gods, who responded by increasing the force of the rain upon the water. It felt like the pool was now warm, contrasting the cold blasts of rain that beat down against my body like a power shower. It was clear to see that I was having a great time, and one by one the other people all jumped in too, until there was no one left on the outside. The energy between everybody was electric; we were all giving a middle finger to sky and splashing around ecstatically. I remarked “It’s hard to feel anything other than free when you’re swimming in the rain” to the Dutch guy who had followed me in in his canvas shorts and sandals, and he agreed. This wasn’t your average Monday to Friday monotony; I was guzzling from the lake of freedom, chugging at it like an American frat boy on spring break, and wasn’t going to stop until I passed out.

The rain stopped after twenty minutes and I went up to my room to write for a few hours. When I’d finished I knocked next door for Kat and Rachael, and we went downstairs for dinner, also scoring some weed off of the waiter after we inquired about the inclusion of ‘Happiness’ as a topping on the pizza menu. We got a lot less for our money than I’d had in Laos, and it was nowhere near as nice, but a top up was necessary and it filled a void in my decreasing stash. I gave the sisters a master class on how to roll an L-skin, then we sat around the pool smoking it and chatting about our lives back home. I wished them goodnight and went back up to my room to continue writing. I was loving the frequent spells of solitude after nearly two weeks travelling with others, finally having the freedom to walk around naked singing to myself, and the luxury of having two beds, one to write on and the other to sleep. By the time I’d finished a couple of days’ worth of my diary I looked at the clock and noticed it was gone 4am. Time flies when you’re recalling times of time spent so that you don’t forget spending those times when you’ve spent other time spending time. Time for bed.

 

Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 12: Off The Road

21.10.12
“THIS IS BULLSHIT” I declared to the skies as my 6am alarm clock tipped me out of bed and into another day. I packed all of my possessions in thirty seconds flat and headed off with Maddie to pay our debt to Mr B’s society. We met the other four horsemen and ordered breakfast from a set menu which was included in our excursion. After eating, we took our backpacks to the travel agents store to be shipped across the river,and then driven down to the border for us to collect in time to catch a bus. We all got into the kayaks which were lined up and waiting for us at the little inlet, then started making our way towards the border, which was 17km away. After about an hour of steady rowing, our kayak hit one of the 4000 islands that was almost completely submerged. I tried to push back away from the branches that were stabbing me, and rocked the boat, don’t rock the boat, baby. I rocked the boat, and tipped the boat over, smashing me knee onto an underwater rock. Maddie was bobbing there laughing, then instructed me on how to get back on, before doing so herself. My knee felt alright, I felt refreshed, and we carried on going. Soon after we pulled in to a little island, and were told by our guide in English which wasn’t so much ‘broken’, more ‘smashed into pieces’, that we were now in Cambodia. Unfortunately, we’d soon have to leave, kayaking back into Laos to then cross the border officially.

"Excuse me mate, which way is Cambodia?"

"Oh, here it is!"

Our guide handed us some lukewarm egg baguettes and we had lunch, at 10am, and started paddling the rest of the way down the Mekong, where we were lucky enough to see some very rare Irrawaddy dolphins swimming about in the distance. I put my hand in the water and sent out a mind message, willing them to come closer. A few seconds later I saw a water snake, and the little bastard was coming right at me, looking like he was on a mission to attack. I raised my paddle and took a big swing at his head, nearly tipping us back into the water with my blast, and he fucked off sharpish. After another hour and a half we rowed ashore, and awaited the van, which arrived with our bags about fifteen minutes late. Worried that we’d not make the last bus to Siem Reap, the gang decided that we’d have to miss out on the waterfall that we were meant to be going to see prior to our border crossing. I was the only one that was willing to risk it, and was sad to have to let the opportunity pass me by, however, being stranded at the border on a Sunday didn’t seem like a great prospect either, although I’m sure we’d have survived. Regardless, the instruction was made, and we were driven right up to the border.

Now, although I generally have weed on me wherever I am, whatever I’m doing and on any occasion, I’d never attempted to smuggle drugs across any borders or check points before, but I thought the chances of getting checked by any of these lazy arsed Laotians or their Cambodian counterparts was so miniscule that it was worth the risk. I put my baggy into my cigarette box, and stuck them in my now dry Arsenal football shorts that I’ve had since I was about eleven years old, which still fit me now. That’s single Mums for ya, they are basically wired so that whatever they buy will be optimised to last forever, passed on, and never get too small. They’ve gone from royal blue to grey over the years, but I’ll probably be rocking them until they’re white, at which point my son or daughter can have them to wear until they turn blue again. It was fucking hot. I was sweating, but trying to seem cool, which isn’t easy when you’re doing something that could get you thrown into a foreign prison. All these dodgy motherfuckers live off of bribes anyway, so I thought I may as well at least get my monies worth. To exit Laos we needed to be stamped out at a small window which I was too tall for. I hunched down and the guy asked me for two dollars, so I handed him a ten. He handed me back my passport. I waited for my change which didn’t come, so I hunched back down, sticking my head in the window and said “Change?” He handed me back a five. “What about the other three?” I enquired. “No exit card, five dollar” he replied. Now I’m ninety-nine point nine percent certain that it was stapled in there when I handed him my passport, but I wasn’t going to argue when I just wanted to get across. I bet they make most of their money from people on that reasoning alone, nobody wants enemies at customs, especially not me. Next stop, we had to go through quarantine to make sure we weren’t ill, and that cost us another unofficial dollar each. We then had to pay for our Cambodian visas, which were $25, which was the only official fee there should have been. Finally, I passed through passport control, and I didn’t give them a dime.

I had made it, and I didn’t have to throw my baby away again. Having to throw an ounce of Cali bud and over an ounce of ‘shrooms into a bin in Tombstone, Arizona, still hurts me to this day. Now, after your first time successfully smuggling drugs across the border, I’d imagine it becomes a hell of a lot easier to do. I’m sure I’ll find out at some point, although it’s not something I’d like to make a habit of, especially as drugs are available pretty much everywhere in the world if you ask the right people and it saves the stress. It’s just that it seemed too easy, plus I was a big fan of this stronger than usual Thai weed from Vang Vieng.

We were approached by the guy with the only bus there, which was soon to be departing and quoted $35 each to take us to Siem Reap and $30 each for Ryan and Marie to get to Phnom Penh. We weren’t best pleased with the price, but it was clearly a sellers’ market, and we had to buy. We rolled off and along the bumpy road. Sorted, we’d made it. Then all of a sudden I heard a bang and the bus screeched to a halt. We’d been driving for less than ten minutes and were already broken down. Brilliant. The A/C had stopped working and it heated up real quick in there, so everybody got off and stood on the left hand side of the bus, in the slight slither of shade that it provided us from the scorching mid-day sun. “Twenty minutes” said one of the bus company’s crew, which I believe are the only time related words that get taught to South East Asians when learning English, as that’s all I ever seemed to hear. They are probably told “You want farrang to shut up, say twenty minutes”. I tested my theory by asking him how long an hour is. “Twenty minutes”, he replied. Good work. After an hour, I started feeling a bit weak and weary, and I turned to my mobile notes to put this situation into poetry form, laying down a little story based on these events. Half way through writing it, I was glad we’d broken down. That’s the thing with the art of alchemy, you can take a turd and polish it into a piece of gold. I’m generally thankful for all the practice I get.

“I forgot what I was thinking at the side of the road, the sun was too much to bear.
It was mid-day by the border, we'd just crossed over there.
We'd been on the bus for 10 minutes, then beside it to wait for a tyre,
as the minutes grew longer the intensified heat began to feel like a fire.
The flames in my brain they were flaring, no water to cool off the heat,
the tarmac seemed near boiling point as it burnt the soles of my feet.
‘This will make me stronger’, I told myself, as I grew weary and weak,
I laid in the shade like a dying dog, I had no strength to speak.
The wait seemed to last for hours, nothing moved but the clouds,
as I clung on to my sanity, I lost all the baggage I'd found.
All I cared for was survival, I had to keep my grip,
until salvation is on the horizon I mustn't let it slip.
A car hummed out in the distance, it was approaching at speed,
as it pulled in, there was no driver, just a note which read 'Here's what you need'.
I screamed to high heavens, 'Thank you world', with great relief, I laughed.
We're always first tested, then given what we need, when we're travelling on the right path.”

A car pulled up, and the bus operator said that we could pay his friend to take us to an ATM as a few of us needed dough, so Rachael, Ryan and I got into this car. We were whisked away from our other three amigos who stayed to wait for the bus to be fixed, before picking us up elsewhere along the way. After fifteen minutes of being driven by a boy that looked no older than thirteen, our second vehicle now grinded to a halt. What are the odds? Probably pretty low in Cambodia. Somehow or another he’d seized the engine, and we were stuck there. We were told to walk the rest of the way to the ATM whilst they waited for the ‘car fixer’ to come. After a ten minute walk we reached the cash machine, and withdrew some dollars, then instantly went and bought beers from a stall on the street with a kid who spoke amazing English. He was a chubby cheeked cherub, and I complimented him, saying that he’d be rich one day, he was clearly a bright spark and a born salesman, even trying to sell us some beef jerky which he had hanging on display. We cracked our cans and said cheers, then walked back to where the car was. After about twenty minutes the drivers mate pulled up on a ‘ped. He whisked Rachael off first, then came back for me and Ryan. We both got on as he was hurrying us, and he worried me by using his mobile, whilst carrying our two precious lives, along with his own, which he was welcome to risk if he wanted as far as I was concerned, just not with me there to witness it. Regardless, we didn’t die, so that was good, and got back on the bus to explain to everyone that we’d broken down again, which they all found amusing. We were finally on our way, and only two hours behind schedule. Because of this, we had to take a faster route down even worse made roads, which meant a much bumpier ride. The driver didn’t seem to mind, singing whilst simultaneously texting and rolling a cigarette. My best advice when being driven around foreign countries is to not watch the road, or the driver, or you will be freaking out the whole time. Valium may also aid this, by knocking you out the entire time, however in this case I didn’t partake. I tried to sleep, managing to drift off only to be jolted from my seat when we nearly crashed into the back of a truck. We had a stop for sandwiches, then got back on, and were driven another three hours by the same maniac, but I managed to catch a few Z’s as by this point I was shattered.

We stopped again for dinner at about 10.30pm, then said farewell to more family as Marie and Ryan went to get on a different bus. I would miss those guys. Ryan was really great to have around, and a lot like my brothers back home, and Marie had an amazing wit, that sometimes seemed to go under the radar, but not with me, she cracked me up constantly. The four of us then got on another bus, which would carry us for the next four hours into Siem Reap. We each had more space now, and passed out from exhaustion. Finally at 3.30am we were there, and we got onto a tuk-tuk, telling the driver that we wanted a hotel with a swimming pool. After a rough few days, we wanted a little treat. We managed to score two rooms at the Temple Villa with two double beds, en-suite bathroom, and a TV, for $8 a night. Sold. I got into my room and had internet, so I called Sarah and we ended up chatting until it was around 6.30am. I sent her some digital love, then disappeared into my white sheet like a member of the KKK getting ready to rally.

Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 11: Waking up dead

20.10.12

I woke up fucked at 8.30am, we got showered and ate, then the six of us hired a boat to take us to Don Khong, which is the largest of the 4000 islands (the smallest of which I suspect I’d be unable to stand on). It was a two hour boat ride upstream and the sun was out in full force, burning our battered brain-boxes. Rachael was telling me about how her third of a cookie made her trip, and as I watched her lips moving with a blank mind, I realised that mine hadn’t fully worn off. It was still lingering around my temple of doom, slowing down everything in front of me. To remedy this, I decided to smoke some medicine, which funnily enough worked a charm, levelling me out to a more relaxed state, and feeling lean, I leaned on the side of the boat in silence for the remainder of the journey. Ryan was clearly still suffering the effects too, laid back on the deck with his eyes closed and his hand on his head for what seemed like a good 40 minutes. We got off the boat and swiftly realised that although maybe the biggest, Don(key) K(h)ong was a lot less developed than the others. After a short walk and a spot of lunch at one of the two restaurants on offer, we returned back to the boat feeling bemused. We asked the little old boat man to take us down to Don Khon, which is like Don Khong, but minus a G. I spent the next hour and a half laid on the front of the boat with the sun blazing down upon my browning body, writing a couple of new poems and recording the sounds of the waves hitting the boat as we drifted past island after island, some with just a single tree, others looking big enough for a good party, and some almost non-existent. I could feel my soul re-synching itself with the Earth, increasing the inner peace that big city life seems to stifle at times. I was happy. When out and about making new friends, and travelling from place to place, you forget the importance of having some alone time. Then you get some and realise what you’ve been missing, however, have too much and you’ll end up desperate for a conversation with anyone other than your inner monologue. You have to find the happy medium within Everything, perhaps it’s half a cookie…

We disembarked at Don Khon, and ultimately regretted staying on the nearby Don Det, as the energy and vibe of the place seemed a lot lighter and nicer. It was kind of like the grown-ups version of Don Det, which was more of a haven for twenty-something stoners with no money, and nothing to do for a month. We were told later that it was more expensive on Don Khon, which made sense, so it was probably better that we were grouped in with the exact people I’d just described, which is pretty much what we are anyway, minus the month. The boat dropped us back at Don Det just as darkness was descending on the Mekong river. I took a shower, then went out on a mission for a couple cartons of Honghua cigarettes, some cheap, tasty smokes in an old fashioned, yellow, soft packet. They worked out to about 40p per twenty deck, which is nineteen times less than you’d pay in the U.K. BOOM! I also bought a litre of Lion King Whiskey, which actually tastes like a decent quality rum and only costs 10000 Kip (£1) a bottle. I could see why all the broke stoners came to Laos.

I went back to Little Eden to do some writing, but ended up speaking on the phone to Sarah, who was on her lunch break back in London’s west end. After about forty minutes, my dinner arrived and it was as beautiful as I remembered it from two days earlier, a catfish steak in white wine and mustard sauce. I asked the owner for the recipe and he obliged me, taking me in the kitchen to chat with the chef, who I gave my compliments to, of course. Ryan and Marie popped out for a few minutes and joined me, but said they were just going to watch a film and chill in their room. I was somewhat envious, I wanted to do exactly that but with Sarah. Instead, I rounded up the girls who were in a nearby restaurant, and we returned to our deck with a bag full of snacks and smoked a few jazz cigarettes before going to bed around midnight. We had an early start the following day, kayaking to the Cambodian border, then heading to Siem Reap.

Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 10: It was written

19.10.12

We’d agreed to meet for breakfast at 9.30am at Adam’s Bar in order to eat and devise a plan, but due to the service in Laos being more cheap bronze than silver by the time we’d all eaten it was gone 11 and the hours of sunlight were dwindling. I went to enquire about getting a boat for the afternoon, but time was looking a bit too late to organise. Then we thought about hiring bikes, but the girls were procrastinating, as girls often do, and by the end I just gave up and went off on my own to write whilst they stayed on the decking, painting their toenails and drinking.

"This is the spot where the flames get hot".

I walked through the quiet part of the village, which was all cabins and the odd empty restaurant, until I found a sweet spot that had no music, no customers, and a table facing the river with the sun shining down upon it. I asked if their wireless internet was working and the owner said no. I bought a big bottle of Beer Lao anyway and rolled myself a Marley. As I was smoking it a young girl approached me and asked if the internet was working yet. I checked and said no, then few minutes later, she came back and it was on. It turns out she’d gone and topped up the credit on my behalf, and even though I didn’t really need it, I was touched by the accommodating and thoughtful service. Bless her. After ten days and only a few little poems which I’d written on the go, this was my first time alone to really sit and crack on with my diary, and I took full advantage. I ended up sitting there facing the sun, spilling my memories onto the page for a good six hours. I had to order a pumpkin burger from them after my second joint and zero water intake had left me feeling light headed around about the time the sun set.

“19.10.12

I watched the sun go and the moon arrived,

I went from hell to heaven, but I survived,

I saw a thousand soldiers slowly die,But we hold on to all spirits floating in the sky.

The energy came and the energy came,
the energy that leaves keeps everything the same.
‘No one ever really dies’ is something we all know,
every single soul still balances the status quo.

I live for everyone, I’ll never die, I swear,
you’ll be breathing in my presence when you inhale air,
it’s true, the thought of death should be nothing to fear,
and regardless of the distance, you are here.”

I left at 7pm with a few days of diary down, and a new poem, marching back to my room buzzing from my perfect afternoon. Unfortunately I couldn’t find my key, and the girls weren’t there. I swayed in the hammock and listened to the whole of The Doors’ ‘Strange Days’ album, spaced out from my hazy day in the sun. When it finished I went to knock for Ryan and Marie, who were just setting off for a spliff on the beach. I joined them, and we found the girls shortly after. Marie went to bed, and the five of us went to the Reggae Bar to buy a ‘happy’ shake, but all they had were ‘happy’ cookies. Still, they sounded pretty happy so we went for it. The girls went three ways on theirs, and I asked Ryan if he wanted to go halves, but he suggested that we have one each. In my quest for YES! I could hardly say no to that, of all things, so we each chowed down on a whole one, I rolled an LL Big J and by the time it had gone around I felt suitably stoned. The overly loud music was getting on my nerves, I’m sure neither our table, nor the one other table of four were really up for dancehall music too deafening to speak over, so we shot back to our hammocks to hang a while before bed. By 1am I knew I was in for some trouble as my mind went into overdrive, so I just shut my eyes and surfed into the slipstream, trying to force myself to sleep before my overdose of happiness fully took a hold of me. By 2am I was awoken by a sharp pain in my gut. I made my way towards the outdoor toilet fifty metres away, staggering into walls and falling over myself, then spent the next twenty minutes moaning and groaning on the throne, and trying to hold onto control of my mind and body, which I could feel slowly slipping away. I somehow ambled back to bed and passed out. Then at 5am I awoke again fully tripping and laid there in my hot box, staring at the ceiling and floating like a space cadet. One cookie was too much. They often are too happy too late. Another lesson learned, again.

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.

Freewheelin’ in S.E.A – Day 8: Battered babes and the blue lagoon

17.10.12
I was walking down some street in London, and kept amusing myself by quickly turning towards young kids, stepping to them with a loud stomp like I was going to attack. I found it hilarious how they’d all jump. One of the boys I did it to had a really attractive mum, and we got chatting. She said she was glad that I’d shit him up, saying that he was naughty and deserved it. As we strolled along conversing, an old guy tried to school boy me by kicking my back leg into the front one as I walked. It was clear he was trying to show me up. He took another kick at my bag, but I turned and caught his leg with one hand, pulling him down and dragging his old arse across the road. I pulled myself away from the old man, and back into my bed, just as my alarm went off and I realised I’d been having one of those vivid dreams that I often get, which leave me equally as tired when I wake as I continue living for all those lost hours in a different world, then returning to this one. If there is any lesson I can take from this dream experience, it’s that I’m now at the perfect age, 28, to beat people up, regardless of whether they are in the older or younger brackets. If they’re young and smaller than me, chances are one dig will lay them out, and if they are old, they are easier to push over and then punish. Being a practicing pacifist, all of this is irrelevant as I never want to throw another punch again, but it’s an interesting thought nonetheless.

I snoozed for ten minutes to make sense of what was going on. With the second alarm, I jumped up into my dehydrated shell of a body and hurriedly threw all of my crap into my bag, before checking out downstairs. Ben, Eran, Ieke, Maddie and I discussed my dream, and lucid dreaming in general, as we ate breakfast at the organic cafe, and I told them that my usual mechanism is to wake myself up as soon as I realise I’m dreaming, in order to avoid the disturbing things that usually occur. I agreed to remind myself to change that function, and instead try to control things when it happens next.



We went to a tour and travel store and I haggled a guy with a van down to a reasonable price for our group to go and see the Kyang Nuai waterfall and the Blue Lagoon for the afternoon, before our bus back to Vientiane arrived at 1.30pm. After a 20 minute drive we were dropped off, it was another small village with a few wooden huts and some locals with large red cool boxes brimming with icy drinks, smiling at us as we passed by. We trekked along a rocky path up the mountain, across a dangerous looking bridge made of rope and wood which took us over a small waterfall below, and further into the forestry to be greeted with an 80ft, heavily gushing, turquoise waterfall. We all stripped off and skipped the stones across to get as close to its full force as possible. Now even when three metres away from it you’d still get splashed by it, however, underneath it was a whole different ball game. It felt like taking a power shower with rocks instead of water, and I took the lashing for a good minute or two before backing off and laying a few feet away up against the rock face beside it. It was so refreshing to wake up by being blasted in the face with the full force and power of Mother Nature. My own Mother had never woken me up in such a way, perhaps if she did I’d be a doctor now instead of a poet. Or perhaps I’d have killed myself. Who knows.

Celebrating my morning power shower

We dried off on the ten minute walk back to the van, grabbed a couple Beer Lao’s from the lovely ladies cooler and went on our way, arriving at the Blue Lagoon just as I’d finished my last sip. We all clambered out of the hot van, and stripped off once more before diving in. There was a great tree that hung over the lagoon which had been rigged with ropes, swings, and steps up to two branches, one notably higher than the other. I climbed up to the first level, tip toed my way along the branch with a rope in hand, then jumped off like Tarzan, gripping the rope with my legs for a fair old swing, before letting myself fly. I crash landed in the fresh water and swam to the shore, noticing a series of cuts up my shin which must’ve been from the rope. We all took it in turns to dive whilst the others took sequenced snap shots, capturing our journey from air to water.

When I’d finally readied myself, I made the mission up to the trees’ second branch to complete my leap of faith. This man made route definitely could’ve done with some repair work after probably thousands of feet had scaled each step and some of them were missing, but I steadily ascended, and wobbled my way across, feeling weak at the knees. It looked higher than James Brown in his prison mug-shot now that I was standing there, but there was no turning back on my quest for YES! As my legs were about to leave me, I left them. On my descent I heard a high pitched shriek, it was only as my head hit the water that I realised it was coming from me. I laughed underwater bubbles at myself and checked to make sure I still had two testicles, before emerging from the pool safe and semi-sound.

Again, we dried in the sun and watched as others followed our earlier movements, then at 12.30pm, returned to our van and headed back to Pan’s Place. I had a quick wash and said goodbye to my three day family that I’d grown really fond of, then threw my bag onto the first of a series of vehicles that would be taking us down to Si Phan Don, the 4000 Islands. Maddie and I were first so we scored the front row of seats behind the driver as he did the rounds, collecting a bunch of sun tanned travellers, a lot of whom we’d already crossed paths with in the bars and river. I got chatting to a funny nineteen year old kid called Ben from Chelmsford. He said that he hated London and that it was a shit-hole, but when questioned further, he hadn’t really been there except for Oxford Street and Dagenham, which is a fair shout if I’m honest. We had a good laugh along the 5 hour drive, sharing stories of what we’d seen and done so far. He handed me a little container, and when questioned told me it was his appendix, which he’d had taken out one week prior. He also told me that he got his scrotum pierced. I said that I hope that decision doesn’t come back to sting him, but in all honesty it probably will. The ball bag is ugly enough as it is. No amount of work, short of chopping them off completely, was gonna make them look any more becoming. You can’t just whack a pearl earring in and hope they gain some sort of distinguished reputation. It’s all bollocks to me anyway, he was happy, so I was too. He got out his laptop and we watched about an hour of The Other Guys, both cracking up constantly whilst the maniac driver drove from side to side of the road often narrowly escaping impact by inches. I’d survived with the drivers in India, so this didn’t faze me like it would have done a few years ago. We arrived at a travel office in Vientiane and everybody went their separate ways. We were told to come back in an hour, so went off for a stroll through a nearby night market.

I grew bored quickly and wanted some more barbequed meat after passing a place that had enticed me earlier, so I left Maddie and headed back, stopping on the way at a stall that sold stress balls with the globe on them. I liked the idea of holding the whole world in my hands, and if I ever feel evil enough I might give it a squeeze, just to shake things up a bit. I demolished my half roast duck in record timing, downed a bowl of rice, then found a quiet spot to smoke some Bethnal Green outside a housing complex down the street from the store. I went back in and waited until Maddie and a van arrived to take us to the bus depot. As we waited two more girls arrived, one of whom seemed to be struggling, so I gave her a hand, pulling her ridiculously over-stuffed bag onto the back of the van as she swung her leg over and sat. She looked in real pain, I hated it. “Fucking mopeds”, I thought in my head. You see it a lot, holiday makers limping around, scratched up to shit and bandaged all over after taking a spill on a hired scooter. Fuck that for a laugh. We all got chatting, and it turned out that they were two sisters from Australia, Rachael and Katherine, and also heading to the 4000 Islands. Maddie asked Rachael what had happened and she explained that they were out drinking with locals the night before, and pretty drunk when they decided they wanted to find a club or bar with foreign travellers. They were led by two cops, who then took them into a room in some place that quite clearly wasn’t a bar. They were somehow separated, and the cop put his gun down on the table and stuffed his tongue down Rachael’s throat. Fearful that reacting badly or causing a scene could anger him, she allowed it for a second, knowing that a kiss is no big deal, but when he opened a door and gestured for her to go inside, she burst into tears. Somehow as this was happening her younger sister Kat managed to get her out and they both sprinted off, being chased by the crooked cops. Whilst running, she tripped on one of the open holed street drains and went flying, smashing her knee and face in the process. She was so thankful that her little sister saved her, and dealt with the situation well, as things could have been so much worse. I was so angered by her story that I could feel my blood boiling, I abhor the cowardly fucking cunts that put women through shit like this, and felt instantly protective of the poor things. It made me think back to some of the treatment Sarah got in India and I felt extremely upset for these girls. They said they just wanted to get out of town, and that they’d feel safer when they did. I told them that they’d be safe from now on and that we’d stick together. After a short wait I loaded our bags onto the sleeper bus which would be taking us overnight to Pakse, and we tunnelled past the series of cots on either side until we reached our bed numbers. We were the only four foreigners and were all thrown together at the back of the bus. Rosa Parks wouldn’t have stood for that, but we were thankful as it meant that rather than having to squeeze two into the space of a single bed, we had enough space for the four of us to lay quite comfortably. That was until the bus started moving, then we felt every bump.

A line popped into my head so I went to write it down, and it turned into another little ditty for my darling, who I was well aware wasn’t having the best of times dealing with my absence:

“Distance is deceptive when you’re in my heart,
never too far from each beat,
now that I’ve found my missing part,
every moment feels complete.
There’s no need for sadness, no reason to cry,
when love is all we see.
Each night I’ll write you a lullaby,
if you dream a little dream of me.”

I had a big bag of sugary sweets and some valium, which I’d bought in Vang Vieng, and shared both with my three companions. Like somebody had hit my off switch, I was out for the count.

Freewheelin’ in S.E.A - Day 7: Darkness at the break of noon

16.10.12

I was almost unmovable as Maddison shouted at me to get up. I was still surfing through one-hundred mile an hour dreams and it felt as if I hadn’t slept at all. I slowly washed the unreality down the plug hole and plugged the hole in my head with my middle finger, telling my brain to go fuck itself as I got dressed and went for breakfast.

We were met by Paul who arrived just before 9am to join us for our excursion, then driven to a small village about 10km away, trekking through it in the early morning heat as the roosters crowed and chickens clucked around freely. We reached a small temple with a shrine to Lord Buddha. There were lots of different numbered pieces of paper on a table and a cup full of numbered sticks. I asked our guide what they were for just as he was about to walk off, and he told me that it was for fortune telling. I asked if I could try and she said yes, turning back towards the table. He handed me the cup which I shook from side to side until a stick rose and fell to the floor. The number 18 was on the stick, and the guy translated it via Paul, who spoke great English. The main gist of my fortune was to make more effort to contact my parents, be charitable, and pay attention to my future kids. Check, check and double check. My old man left my mother when I was a few months old and I’ve always been adamant that when I have kids of my own, I will be ready and willing to give them my all. It’s what every child deserves. I am going to be a great Dad, I promise my unborn children that.

We made our way through to a pool of cool water in a stream next to an underwater cave. I dived straight in and did a few minutes of swimming around to wake me up. We had to wait about an hour, floating around in tubes and comparing travel notes with others until it was our turn to go inside. There were a series of ropes to pull your tubes against the current, deeper into the pitch black depths of the cave, which was only lit by the head torches which would flicker across the walls as we all looked around like excited children. Paul was at the back, and Ben remarked that the one at the back always dies. A few seconds later, I somehow ended up there. I wasn’t fussed though, death cannot scare he who has died a thousand times, in fact, I welcome each rebirth that allows me to rise like a phoenix from the flames of every demise, reincarnated as myself, but stronger. I stopped pulling the rope, turned off my torch, and lay floating in the blackness alone for a few minutes. It was so calming and peaceful that I could’ve stayed for hours, however the guide obviously didn’t fancy letting me do that and called out to see if I was ok. I pulled myself along to a walking point, a 5ft crevice within the cave that I had to slowly walk my 6ft 3” frame through. It wasn’t easy, there was 2ft of water and I almost immediately lost my sandal, which floated off in the quick current. Modern day Jesus problems. I turfed my other one so I could walk easier and made it across, jumping back in my tube and floating to the far end of the cave to find the others. When there, we all turned off our torches and sat silently for a while. I begrudged the others when they turned their lights back on, I wanted to stay there in the darkness forever. We made our way back out the way we came, admiring all the jagged rocks which hung from the ceiling like babies in the Alien movies, amazed at how years and years of slowly dripping water can create such formations.

As we exited the cave, a polystyrene takeaway container with freshly barbequed chicken and vegetable skewers on a bed of rice was handed to us, along with a small baguette, for lunch. We ate by the lake, then walked back through the scenic village, admiring the misty mountains in the distance, and how the clouds gathered around them. It was the perfect scene, it had everything for the makings of a great postcard. I pressed CTRL+PrintScreen on my iHead and stored it in my memory bank for future dark days.



We were driven further up the Mekong to a starting point 9km away from our guest house, then the kayaks were taken down from the roof and placed by the river. We gathered for a quick lesson in how to paddle and were told that the most experienced should sit at the back. Having done it once, when I was thirteen on a school trip, I went to sit at the back only to be put in my place by Maddie, who is a qualified P.E teacher. This stoned writer went in the bitch seat with little argument. I lucked out having her as my team mate as she actually gave worthwhile instructions and tips, using my strength as her engine whilst she steered and corrected us with relative ease. At one point I even had a spliff break, laid back toking with my oar down, letting her do all the work as I admired the beautiful views and scenery on either side of us, which we’d witnessed from a different perspective the day before. After about 2 hours paddling we reached the same end point, had a little swim, then walked back to the hostel. I hung in a hammock on the balcony listening to Dylan’s ‘Blonde on Blonde’ for the first time in too long. “Everybody must get stoned” he told me, I obliged. It was now around 4.30pm and the skies turned grey. I heard a rumble in the distance, and somebody told me a rain storm was on its way. I planned to go and dance in it, but it never materialised, so I did the cha cha slide under the shower, then went out for a spicy seafood salad before returning to the courtyard for a few beers with the gang. I managed to persuade them to join me for one last drink before I left, so Ben, Eran, Ieke and I went and hit The Moonlight Bar for ‘one bucket’. We attempted to play pool around the fuck-face piss-heads that were drunkenly hanging off and sitting on the table. I damn near lost my voice shouting “EXCUSE ME MATE!” at the back of their heads, but I won the game so it was worth the twenty minutes of aggravation, I suppose. Eran and I stayed for another Beer Lao and chatted to some girls from Barnet, which is pretty close to my old abode, and an Irish guy that was doing his country’s’ stereotype no favours by slurring his words and spilling his drink all over the shop. We needed food to mop up our mess so I bought a chicken, bacon and cheese pancake which tasted better than any fast food I’d ever had, and was half the price, BOOM! We were followed by hungry dogs, so I ended up having to share. I completed my ultra-clean nightly routine, then laid in bed slightly less twisted than the previous evening. I even managed to write a little love poem to my sweetheart, which read:

“I wish you were here so I could have you near,
I wanna hold your hand, my dear.
Not just now, but forever and more,

I adore the missing piece of my jigsaw.

We go together like love and peace,
every day spent apart sees our bond increase.

We thought that impossible, but it’s proving true,
you belong to me and I belong to you.”

and then I drifted off to sleep with my mind on my lady and my lady on my mind.

Freewheelin' in S.E.A - Day 6: Tyre-d of waiting for you

15.10.12

We had planned to get an early start and hire motorbikes, then ride around the area seeing sights, but after waking up at 8am, showering and getting ready it took everyone two hours to eat breakfast, then the guys stated they still had to shower, meaning it would be gone 12pm before we’d even got started. Now, ever since I was younger I’d always thought I’d die in a road accident, which has meant that I’ve always avoided riding bikes, but I was willing to overcome my fears in my quest to say YES! to everything I’ve ever hated or been scared of, however when Maddie stated she’d rather join the other three amigos and go tubing I concluded that that was a better idea. We grabbed a few cans of Beer Lao from the local store, and I bought a waterproof sealed bag to hold my camera, iPod and mini speaker before grabbing our tubes, signing a declaration that it was at my own risk, then being marked with the number 22 on my hand.

Let me stand next to your tyre

They drove us up river on the back of a truck which held our tubes on the roof, and dropped us off at the starting point. It was dead quiet, and along the riverbank stood a plethora of abandoned bars. I could imagine it popping off on a busy mid-afternoon, I could see the spirits of a thousand ravers, staggering around, slipping into the water and doing stupid shit to each other for the amusement of their imaginary friends. I was glad that they had been shut down. This was infinitely more peaceful, the way you’d imagine it was meant to be enjoyed before a couple dealers and opportunists took a strangle hold to the neck of the community in order to generate the wrong kind of tourism. It was bliss as I drifted along smoking a chopstick and staring at the sun. I saw some waves breaking up ahead and thought ‘Yippee’ as my tyre dipped into them. I didn’t realise that the breaking was caused by high rocks being hit by the water floating past them, until one of them met my back with a sharp sting which felt like it may have sliced me. The impact nearly knocked me out of my ring, and my beer got lost in the battle to save my spliff, which was a success. Ieke followed, also taking a hit, then Eran’s ring got caught, and he ended up standing on the rock. It looked like he was walking on water, which for an Israeli Muslim could be considered by some as a slight against the power of Lord Jesus. Either way, it looked pretty cool. We found a nice sandy spot and drifted towards it to check out each other’s wounds and catch some rays. Thankfully we were relatively unscathed, but you could imagine the panic of that same situation whilst on ‘shrooms or opiates. Not recommendable. I broke the silence with my mini speaker sending sounds of the sixties, and beyond, across the river which everybody was happy about. After about forty-five minutes, we jumped back in our tubes and floated for the last hour to the end point. We then sat along an old bridge that crossed the water for another hour, sharing a spliff and blaring some tunes, the bridge swaying along with our hips as we danced under the lowering sun.

A bridge over formerly troubled water 

Now in much need of food, we hit up an organic spot that farmed their own vegetables, and once we’d ordered, the waitress shot off on a moped, returning ten minutes later with a bag full of food. Even Jay-Z’s trainers aren’t as fresh as that. Speaking of fresh, I took my 66^th shower of the week soon after, got ready and went outside to hang with the Spanish armada, who had recently returned on their bikes. I nicked Diego’s keys to take his scooter for a ride, no helmet, no experience, just keys and a throttle, which I turned fully, whizzing up the street for about half a mile, then taking four left turns and ending back at ours ten minutes later. Another first, and I didn’t die. Win, Win.

My day crew were all ready by this point, so we hit up The Otherside again, this time getting involved in the squared off seating area, drinking cheap whiskey with coke and red bull by the bucket load, singing along to a load of suspect songs, and speaking with the others about our respective lovers that we were all missing even more, in our emotional states, before being joined by Paul and Eric. Then the DJ dropped it again, Celine Dion doing my first name no favours at all as the strangled cats all shrieked along. We downed our remaining drinks and joined the rest of the revellers next door at the Moonlight Bar for another bucket. Standing in the toilet queue I said hello to a stranger, and he introduced himself as Dion. I excitedly told him that was also my name, and we hugged. He’d never met another Dion before, and I’d only met two myself, up until then, both at the Secret Garden Party on consecutive years, which is a strange coincidence in its own right. After another hour, the lights went off, and everyone stood chatting in the dark bar, unfazed. I assumed by the lack of reaction that this was normal protocol, but I thought it was pretty shit. I swiftly regrouped the crew and we all left together, grabbing burgers and pancakes from the street sellers outside. My last J left me swerved in the kind of way that smoking when really drunk does to most people, although I’m usually immune, or maybe just levelled by other substances. I noticed it in the wet room, nearly slipping as I reached for my towel, and as I laid on my bed the contours of the room span like a vortex. I clung onto my covers, buzzing whilst simultaneously sinking into a semi-surf sleep. I had to be up in 5 hours. What a pickle.