I’m staring at myself in the mirror. Every travelers cliché stares back, sporting an attractive day-glow tattoo, neon devil horns and clutching the mandatory bucket that I’ve just bought from ‘Fuck it, lick it, suck my bucket' bar. (Sorry to any parents and grandparents who are reading). This isn’t me.
For 2 weeks I have settled into jungle life. I’ve dodged the local mafia who casually like to swing their sharpened machetes as they stroll down the beach, clambered over the rocky jungle trail to get to yoga practice on a platform set into the rock face, worked on my Marichyasana and Supta Kurmasana until I was blue in the face and flirted with the cute army doctor cum Thai boxer. But now I’ve reached one of those turning points when you catch sight of yourself and in that moment you know yourself better than you’ve ever known anyone, not because you can say without conviction that you know who you are but because you know who are you not.
For 2 weeks, I have done everything from Chakra Aqua aerobics (really, you don’t want to know), under gone past life regression, travelled to Penang (Malaysia) and back all in the name of visa extension, treaded the boardwalk (precariously made from bamboo and nailed to the rocks, above the ocean) from Had Thien to Had Yaun, eaten my own body weight in Pad Thai – or as my mum, who is quite incapable of grasping any foreign language, consistently calls it – Tad Pie, and gone to and then koh
avoided ‘Guy’s Bar.’ To elaborate, Guy’s bar redefines the concept of your average Jungle boogie. A well established Had Thien institution it pumps out party tunes for the party-hard from midnight Friday to way beyond sunrise on Saturday at a secluded bar in the middle of the jungle where you feel like you can just reach out and touch the stars. No friends are actually necessary; just your dancing shoes and a mushroom shake (if that’s your bag) is all that’s needed. Well, that and some ear plugs if you intend on getting any sleep at all. My personal preference was to party until 5am, go home, crash out, get up, have breakfast and carry on.
Anyway, now I find myself at Koh Phangans infamous Full Moon Party. This isn’t Thailand. This isn’t travelling. This is bullshit. As far as the eye can see there are (sadly) mostly, British tourist getting absolutely off their head on whatever they can get their hands on… and the music isn’t even good. I really fail to believe that these people are actually having a good time. From the guys who are trying to master the flaming skipping rope and getting their butt (and worse) burnt to the couple bitching at one another on the beach, I can’t seem to see anyone that is having genuine fun, although perhaps they think they are which I think makes the whole thing worse.
The Full Moon appears to be one of those things, that was good once. Maybe. But since the attractive tinkle of tourist dollars turned the whole affair into nothing more but a glorified beach barbeque its authenticity has declined.
I wonder if it’s my mindset or (God forbid) my age that is preventing me from having a good time. I mean I like to party and trust me, I’ve partied A LOT, but this really isn’t flicking my switch. On the contrary, I’ve completely short circuited.
Since arriving on Had Thien I have had this niggling feeling that I’ve been unable to put my finger on, but now it’s starting to make sense. Initially I dismissed it and put it down to my own restlessness and inability to live ‘in the flow.’ As someone who has always had a plan, the absence of a plan is like withdrawing a comfort blanket from an over tired child. I freak out. Without even the need to plan, I am utterly lost. This is the reason (well, amongst a couple of others) that I decided to stay on Koh Phangan longer than intended. If I’m always moving, how can I expect whatever it is I’m looking for to find me - if it’s forever playing catch up? Sometimes, you have to be still for the magic to happen.
But now, the urge to leave and leave fast was consuming me.
Honestly, I have indeed had some truly incredible moments on Had Thien that I shared with some awesome people. Sadly though, any tranquility I found was fleeting (and I see it now only in retrospect) because Koh Phangan tries too hard to be the real deal. It is superficially held together by the seedier side to Thailand; its mafia, the associated drug trade and the drippy, hippy, pseudo spiritual people that these little pockets of the world seem to attract. It didn’t feel right to me that a detox centre and those undergoing rigorous cleansing procedures were juxtaposed against a community of people, that (mostly) claimed to be ‘healers’ who sat smoking Opium all day, had an exceptionally high opinion of themselves simply because they think they’ve renounced the commercial world and now somehow think they’re special or different. People, I have news for you - you’ve chosen to eject yourself from society, because you can’t function within it and have created this little cushion around yourselves, to protect you from the outside, where you get to make the rules and feel good as a result… that is, when you’re not blitzing whatever brain cells you have left at this point, under the disillusion that drugs will bring you closer to yourself, or the ultimate truth or whatever it is you want to call it.
Of course, I’d just like to say that I do generalise, so please only take what I say with a pinch of salt. But I can honestly say, I don’t think I’ve found so much pretention amongst a bunch of people who are ‘supposed’ to support the exact opposite.
Before you begin thinking that I had an entirely bad time on Koh Phangan it was actually fantastic. It had a little of everything. I loved living in the jungle. I loved hanging out in the hammocks all day, watching eagles dive for fish in the brilliant blue water. I loved my little bungalow, including the cockroaches in the bathroom and the fact you never really know who you were going to meet.
There is more to this tale of course. There is always more, but talk is not cheap, even if you’re paying baht.
The day I left, I didn’t look back. I was ready to leave. I was ready for something new. For something authentic. Something that didn’t involve drinking anything from a bucket or opening your chakras. Although leaving wasn’t easy. I nearly got involved in a grapple with the absolute arsehole of a boatman, who thinking he was some kind of little Don with a tiger tattooed on his ass, insisted on charging me double to get off the beach and then took me to the wrong side of the Had Rin meaning I had walk to the ferry port in the roasting heat with my 21 kilo pack (yes, it gained a kilo - mostly in fisherman pants and Havana’s).
I was bound for Chiang Mai, in the hope of trading a beach full of tourists and drunks for temples and monks.
For 2 weeks I have settled into jungle life. I’ve dodged the local mafia who casually like to swing their sharpened machetes as they stroll down the beach, clambered over the rocky jungle trail to get to yoga practice on a platform set into the rock face, worked on my Marichyasana and Supta Kurmasana until I was blue in the face and flirted with the cute army doctor cum Thai boxer. But now I’ve reached one of those turning points when you catch sight of yourself and in that moment you know yourself better than you’ve ever known anyone, not because you can say without conviction that you know who you are but because you know who are you not.
For 2 weeks, I have done everything from Chakra Aqua aerobics (really, you don’t want to know), under gone past life regression, travelled to Penang (Malaysia) and back all in the name of visa extension, treaded the boardwalk (precariously made from bamboo and nailed to the rocks, above the ocean) from Had Thien to Had Yaun, eaten my own body weight in Pad Thai – or as my mum, who is quite incapable of grasping any foreign language, consistently calls it – Tad Pie, and gone to and then koh
avoided ‘Guy’s Bar.’ To elaborate, Guy’s bar redefines the concept of your average Jungle boogie. A well established Had Thien institution it pumps out party tunes for the party-hard from midnight Friday to way beyond sunrise on Saturday at a secluded bar in the middle of the jungle where you feel like you can just reach out and touch the stars. No friends are actually necessary; just your dancing shoes and a mushroom shake (if that’s your bag) is all that’s needed. Well, that and some ear plugs if you intend on getting any sleep at all. My personal preference was to party until 5am, go home, crash out, get up, have breakfast and carry on.
Anyway, now I find myself at Koh Phangans infamous Full Moon Party. This isn’t Thailand. This isn’t travelling. This is bullshit. As far as the eye can see there are (sadly) mostly, British tourist getting absolutely off their head on whatever they can get their hands on… and the music isn’t even good. I really fail to believe that these people are actually having a good time. From the guys who are trying to master the flaming skipping rope and getting their butt (and worse) burnt to the couple bitching at one another on the beach, I can’t seem to see anyone that is having genuine fun, although perhaps they think they are which I think makes the whole thing worse.
The Full Moon appears to be one of those things, that was good once. Maybe. But since the attractive tinkle of tourist dollars turned the whole affair into nothing more but a glorified beach barbeque its authenticity has declined.
I wonder if it’s my mindset or (God forbid) my age that is preventing me from having a good time. I mean I like to party and trust me, I’ve partied A LOT, but this really isn’t flicking my switch. On the contrary, I’ve completely short circuited.
Since arriving on Had Thien I have had this niggling feeling that I’ve been unable to put my finger on, but now it’s starting to make sense. Initially I dismissed it and put it down to my own restlessness and inability to live ‘in the flow.’ As someone who has always had a plan, the absence of a plan is like withdrawing a comfort blanket from an over tired child. I freak out. Without even the need to plan, I am utterly lost. This is the reason (well, amongst a couple of others) that I decided to stay on Koh Phangan longer than intended. If I’m always moving, how can I expect whatever it is I’m looking for to find me - if it’s forever playing catch up? Sometimes, you have to be still for the magic to happen.
But now, the urge to leave and leave fast was consuming me.
Honestly, I have indeed had some truly incredible moments on Had Thien that I shared with some awesome people. Sadly though, any tranquility I found was fleeting (and I see it now only in retrospect) because Koh Phangan tries too hard to be the real deal. It is superficially held together by the seedier side to Thailand; its mafia, the associated drug trade and the drippy, hippy, pseudo spiritual people that these little pockets of the world seem to attract. It didn’t feel right to me that a detox centre and those undergoing rigorous cleansing procedures were juxtaposed against a community of people, that (mostly) claimed to be ‘healers’ who sat smoking Opium all day, had an exceptionally high opinion of themselves simply because they think they’ve renounced the commercial world and now somehow think they’re special or different. People, I have news for you - you’ve chosen to eject yourself from society, because you can’t function within it and have created this little cushion around yourselves, to protect you from the outside, where you get to make the rules and feel good as a result… that is, when you’re not blitzing whatever brain cells you have left at this point, under the disillusion that drugs will bring you closer to yourself, or the ultimate truth or whatever it is you want to call it.
Of course, I’d just like to say that I do generalise, so please only take what I say with a pinch of salt. But I can honestly say, I don’t think I’ve found so much pretention amongst a bunch of people who are ‘supposed’ to support the exact opposite.
Before you begin thinking that I had an entirely bad time on Koh Phangan it was actually fantastic. It had a little of everything. I loved living in the jungle. I loved hanging out in the hammocks all day, watching eagles dive for fish in the brilliant blue water. I loved my little bungalow, including the cockroaches in the bathroom and the fact you never really know who you were going to meet.
There is more to this tale of course. There is always more, but talk is not cheap, even if you’re paying baht.
The day I left, I didn’t look back. I was ready to leave. I was ready for something new. For something authentic. Something that didn’t involve drinking anything from a bucket or opening your chakras. Although leaving wasn’t easy. I nearly got involved in a grapple with the absolute arsehole of a boatman, who thinking he was some kind of little Don with a tiger tattooed on his ass, insisted on charging me double to get off the beach and then took me to the wrong side of the Had Rin meaning I had walk to the ferry port in the roasting heat with my 21 kilo pack (yes, it gained a kilo - mostly in fisherman pants and Havana’s).
I was bound for Chiang Mai, in the hope of trading a beach full of tourists and drunks for temples and monks.
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