Day 76 to 88: Koh Samui, Koh Phangan, Koh Tao and mushroom shakes

My eyes spring open. I need at least a minute to register where I am.

Make that 5.

After the revelation that I am in the bed of the hotel room that I’ve been staying in for the last 2 nights, a welders torch flares up inside my head and starts attacking my brain.

Hanging pathetically from the ceiling, the elusive fan above me offers no protection from the heat of the day – already in its prime –  as I lie sweating in my plastic sheeted, single bedroomed sauna.

What the hell happened last night?

I need clues.

I raise myself out of bed. I check my wallet. Its saturated, wet through. And devoid of funds.

Not a good start.

I check my camera. It’s also wet. I try and switch it on. Nothing.

Bollocks. Thats the second time I’ve broken it.

Sudden urge for toilet for post night dispensing. Where are my Flip flops?

No flip flops. Not again – that’s the 3^rd pair I’ve lost in as many weeks.

Plant feet on ground. OW!! Check under foot. Find big hole in foot. Just under the ball of my heel. How the hell did I do that?

Limp over to shorts – wet and covered in sand.

Seriously – CAN SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENNED LAST NIGHT????!!!!!!

There is a resolute fog clouding my mind that refuses to engage with anything past the beach. Oh yeah! I was on the beach. With the friend I’d met. And I was drunk. And she dropped her bucke-

Buckets. Hang on – were we drinking buckets? Ummm… yes. How many? Errrr… wouldn’t like to say even if I remembered. So why did get so drunk last night?

Then it dawns on me.

I check my mobile. It’s already 2pm.

Its 2pm, and its Christmas day.

Jesus Christ.

The islands of Thailand are supposed to be the crowniest jewels in its pretty impressive armoury of crown jewels.

Sprinkled liberally across clear blue water, skirting the country’s long southern arc, they effortlessly typify the standard view of paradise.

Having chosen the 3 islands (Kohs) off the southern eastern coast – Samui, Phangan and Tao – I was looking forward to the blend of isolation and party that the Thailand tourist board do so well to promote.

All I found after 2 weeks, was a LOT of tourists, a LOT of drinking, a LOT of noise and mere snippets of isolation and – to be brutally honest – very little relaxation.

I made several grave errors. Firstly, in my research. Lonely Plant circa 2007 is not as up to date as Lonely Planet 2010 (durr!) – and Thailand moves fast. Very fast. As soon as picture postcard beaches, untouched Backpackers paradises are found, the powerful engine of Thailands awesome tourist machine springs into life, to prevent anything from being untouched for long.

And every year more and more salivating, marauding, pillaging tourists steam roller in from December onwards and need satisfying. Koh Tao, in particular, was once a quiet diver’s escape. Now, like Phangan and Samui, the tones of tourist pandering echo from virtually its every pore.

Secondly, I wasn’t as mobile as I should have been. I only rented a scooter once on Ko Phagnan (and lo and behold, what did I find? An empty beach).

And thirdly, and most crucially, I’m weak and predictable. I didn’t plan to spend the 2 weeks getting pissed, but by some incredibly rare quirk of fate…

…I just spent 2 weeks getting pissed.

But before I sound like an old, cynical hack waiting to bemoan the ruination of the world’s natural wonders by the juggernaut of international tourism, let me say this.

I had fun. Sometimes I had wicked fun.

But before I sound like a young, energetic party animal, reveling in the islands’ tolerance towards carnage, let me say this.

I’m glad I’ve left. And all in all, the experience was a little unsatisfying.

Koh Samui – or more specifically its beach resort of Llamai – especially. It took me just 2 days to realize it wasn’t for me. Its stunning beach (and it really is cracking) and glamorous hotels are unfortunately backed up by streets dedicated to sleaze. Old men, from across the Western world, revel in their freedom to walk down the street with their young Thai bit on the side. Mcdonalds, KFC, Burger King, Subway are all in attendance. Tacky bars play host to shit music and high pitched, screeching Thai girls who are so eager and vocal to establish that:

a)      I’m handsome boy

b)      I want be loved long time.

If I was I an ugly, fat, balding, single 62 year old, then maybe it’ll be great.

But I’m only 32.

So the dirty spectre of Koh Samui was shed.

And so to Koh Phangnan. Via a Catamaran that bounced up and down on the water so much that the sick bags were being deployed at will.

Me? Don’t be silly. I didn’t need a sick bag…

…I just ran out the back and projectile vomited into the boat’s wake. Much to the delight of the 2 pissed up Brits standing nearby.

Still, Koh Phangan was to prove a very different proposition to Samui.

“Can I have a mushroom shake?”

“Certainly miss. 500 baht”

The Israeli girl who ordered looked a bit put out. “I thought 250?”

“No miss. 500”

She obviously wanted the shake, as she didn’t put up much of a fight for the extra fiver. As I watched, beer in hand, a couple of metres down from them leaning against the bar, I couldn’t help wondering: Why would anyone want a mushroom shake? And at such an extortionate price? It sounds disgusting.

So once the lady had departed, I said as much.

“You want try?”, the smiling, nodding, cheery barman said, seemingly keen to get my endorsement on his creation. He evidently had a lot left over,  and poured out half a glass. About 250 Baht’s (£5) worth by the sounds of it.

I agreed, and, grimacing, I finished off the remaining shake. Surprisingly it didn’t taste horrendous. He had mixed it with strawberries and a hint of sugar, to combat the overpowering umami nature of the mushrooms.

But though I finished it off,  it wasn’t great. I still wasn’t happy with the whole concept. Why would anyone genuinely want a mushroom shake?

“I’m still not happy with the whole concept. Why would anyone want a mushroom sha-“

His smile gave it away.

“Hang on. When you say mushroom, you mean MUSHROOM??!!!”

“Yeah, mushroom”

 How much had I just had again?

Koh Phangan plays host to the ‘legendary Full Moon Party’, on its beach resort of Haadrin. Immediately the differences to Koh Samui are obvious. The buses of young eager, teenagers and 20 somethings flooding in from the boats tell its own story. Sign everywhere promote Happy Hours and English Breakfasts in Ozzie bars. Lounge bars with huge cushioned sofas show movies all day to soothe the hangovers over grease and Chang. They’ve even got a typical British pub.

This island is for partying. It’s a simple brief that it sticks to very well.

But the reason my naivety with the magic mushroom shake sounds a bit stupid, is that it no longer promotes itself as having a drug fuelled rave scene a la Acid House days. Its policed heavily, and the horror stories of clueless young party goers smoking joints on the beach and being led off to jail (or the nearest ATM depending on the copper) are rife. So to be presented by what was a legitimate bar, supplying illegitimate hard drugs (as hard as shrooms can be) looking over the beach was a little surprising (and the only bit of anti-establishment that the Island really has).

Because the main drug of choice for these young scamps is the Bucket.

A Bucket, fully loaded with your spirit of choice, a can of pop and Thailand’s lethal Red Bull.

 And the damage they cause overshadows any effects from the special shake.

Tens of ‘Bucket’ stalls line the beach, calling out to whoever passes within earshot.

Hundreds of tourists stagger round swinging theirs along the streets trying to negotiate tricky challenges like ‘walking straight’ and ‘speaking coherently in their own language’. And Thousands of buckets are left abandoned on the beach, as if a bomb threat hit the international Sand Castle Building World Cup.

Until Full Moon hit (3 days into my stay on Phangan), I had stayed away from buckets – deciding that I would save them until the big night.

I had no idea what to expect from my first Full Moon, and while it was a great party, it wasn’t the spiritual event its name suggests. On the contrary, it’s a mix of the Dome, White Lion and Global Gathering on sand.

My dalliance with the Buckets on the Island was brief. The toxic concoction hadn’t got its claws into me. Yet.

I had to wait to Koh Tao for that.

After leaving Koh Phangan exhausted, thinking Koh Tao was going to a bit of peace and quiet, I relaxed on the boat across (no Catamaran this time) happy in the prospect.

Until Christmas Eve.

To be fair to Koh Tao, it’s the best of the 3 by a country mile. In fact it’s a really quite beautiful, laid back and relaxed. Tiny in comparison to the other 2. And if you want to do your Open Water diving qualification, it’s cheap, professional and its rich, clear blue waters are full of fish and coral.

However its still been done over by the tourist machine, and as I only opted for a one day dive (stunning mind) it left the rest of my time dedicated to one thing.

Hanging out at Lotus Bar.

This crazy little bar with cushions on the beach, had spectacular fire dancers every night, pulling off awesome tricks sometimes within a gnats pube of your face.

Unlike Koh Phagnans tourist torture chamber (their fire dancers would subject willing watchers to ‘skip rope’ and then raise the burning rope, whacking the fiery trail of molten string into a pissed up idiot’s thigh)...

...Koh Tao’s was about performance – and these guys were good.

The skipping rope came out, as well as other staples, but it was never about humiliating the tourists (though I did enjoy that about Phangan), but just putting on a great show and having a great night.

But it is a shame, that, having seen some of the ‘recommended’ islands of Thailand, my highlight was hanging out in one bar. And its not as if I haven’t seen firedancers before either.

I’m not massively into sunbathing and doing nothing. And though I loved diving and took to it pretty easily, the money – for now – is better spent on my Visa’s for other countries, leaving me a little devoid of options in these places. I’d happily come here again with friends or partners, but on your own, they don’t appeal to me.

People come for a week, and stay for 3 years. I get bored after 5 days.

Although I will remember fondly the people who I spent time with there. And one thing that Thailand does provide in the midst of the thousands of pissed up British, Israeli, Ozzie wankers…

…are some thoroughly nice boys and girls.

And also, from seeing the difference in personalities of the Islands I did visit, I know there’s plenty more to see, and in no way does this reflect what could be in store on the other islands.

In fact, returning to the mainland from Koh Tao, to the pier at Chumpon, my boat (another Catamaran, but  this time I kept my dinner firmly in my belly) passed a multitude of tiny lonely islands, small uninhabited beaches – the kind of isolation I had hoped to find, but never did.

So with not so much heavy heart, I’m back in Bangkok for NYE.

And back in BKK, and this time FAR from the Khao San Road, it feels like I’ve come home a little. This town – though filled with tourists, travelers, backpackers and ex-pats – is still principally Thai rather than a tourists playground.

You can find them all – the Israelis, Brits, Ozzies, Scandinavians – stumbling along, swinging their buckets. But unlike the islands I visited, its quite easy to stay far away from them. And this town has its own identity, crafted from its years of history and evolution, not from the culture of the Bucket.

And so to the New Year and 2011.

Let’s hope the bad times of the past year means that the next will be filled with the promise and hope we deserve.

I’ve learned some valuable lessons – not all Bucket related – and I can’t wait to learn a hell of more about life, love and the world through the next 12 months.

Like what the hell happened to my foot on Christmas Eve.

Anyone?

Happy New Year x