So picture the scene, for those that have worked on the islands, of a typical night on the beach. For those that haven’t fire ropes flash in the dark, music pounds, bodies gyrate and gasoline flies freely through the air. Five girls absently do the two step on a stage, the ever present buckets hanging from their mouths. I am one of them and apart from a random unidentifiable pain in my chest and occasional difficulty in breathing I’m loving it. I watch as the supremely and unbearably irritating Burmese child that works with us attempts the fire rope. Bearing in mind that due to the suspected bi polar/ADHD he definitely suffers from its advisable that he’s kept away from anything flammable, sharp or living, I know this is going to end badly. Sure enough as he trips, falls and writhes on the floor I cackle at his misfortune. I’m still chuckling 5 minutes later as I wonder vaguely at what point it became acceptable to laugh at 13 year olds burning in fire. (Just for the record he’s fine, it’s extremely common to fall in the fire show and having partaken in this myself many times I judge myself qualified to laugh at others sharing the same fate)
Soon enough 1am rolls around and our 400 baht (8 pounds) is duly handed out. We are all nicely marinated in vodka and red bull at this point and feeling the usual sense of hedonism that is rife on this island after 11pm. We naturally decide that we haven’t had enough and agree to head off to Stones bar for more. We happily hop off the stage, buckets in hand and chattering about nothing in particular, we toddle off down the beach – nothing unusual there. However we haven’t got far when all of a sudden a Thai person shoots past us so fast he disappears into the shadows before we can register what’s happened, it was almost a blink and you miss it moment, but we didn’t miss it – and this is not something usual. Rapidly the air becomes charged with something other then petrol. Something wild and uneasy vibrates through through the night. We stop uncertainly. And within seconds it’s like Hells greyhounds have been released. Thai bodies, lithe, limber and covered in tattoos bound past us on all sides, dark shapes flying through the night. Their teeth are bared and eyes like dark pools intent on nothing but hunting their unknown (and unfortunate) victim. Whatever carnal instinct is reverberating all around us instantaneously possesses one of my friends and without so much as one word she takes off with them into the night, as if its the most natural thing in the world. Me and my remaining friend stare open mouthed, buckets hanging limply by our sides as bodies fly past us, intoxicated by the imminent kill.
“oh my god its like a wolf pack or something” my friend observes, summing up the situation perfectly. Thats exactly what its like. Vaguely we discuss what could be going on, we have no idea but it can’t be good. We take a few uncertain steps forward, before stopping and looking at each other. The dark and the dangerous is infectious and the air is ripe with it.
“Well, shall we run with them then?” Asks my friend.
“Yeh” I reply, a manic gleam in my eye.
And the next second that’s it, we are sprinting down the beach, in full party attire, buckets splashing liberally all around us. And for a few minutes we are wild and free, running, hunting the prey, cackling primitively. Seriously, I almost howled. I genuinely believe that had there been a lion passing through at that time we would of set upon it and ripped it to shreds with our bare teeth. Unfortunately our run with the wild side was sadly short lived as we quickly reached the end of the beach and the big pile of rocks that resides there.
“What do we do now then” asks my friend, stumped, as the pack flies past us like Satans antelopes springing easily over the mountainous terrain.
“Come on we can do this” I say, and so cautiously we pick our way over the boulders to cries of “there’s a way through here look” “mind your foot babe” “use your phone light!” and “OUCH!!!” Eventually we make it to a sandy gap that’s attached to the sea, and deciding that its all getting rather Bear Grylls, that we have a perfect viewing point from here and that it’s unnecessary to actually tempt death, we stop. Torches flash over the rocks ahead of us, yells pierce the air, our friend can be heard but not seen chatting away over all of it, and we definitely heard the words “I’ll kill him”, the hunt is on, the wolves searching searching… As we muse all of this from a relatively safe distance I suddenly notice my foot is wet and that there’s a bloody awful smell all around.
“Can you smell that!?” I ask, nose wrinkled.
“Oh yeh, that’s the sewage that flows into the sea from here, didn’t you know that? Don’t ever swim in this water is mingin”
I didn’t know that, I frequently swim there, but it would explain the wet foot at least. We are still discussing the grossness of open flowing sewage, the fate of my unfortunate foot, that nice beach is better anyway although its annoying because its like a ten minute walk away, and maybe we should go there tomorrow as the destiny of some poor soul hangs in the balance. Death is in the air, but did you know that there’s another way to the beach behind princess resort? Soon after this we notice that the atmosphere has changed to one of bitter disappointment, members of the pack are beginning to slink away into the dark, grumbling, deprived of their prize. It would seem that the rabbit has escaped this time. God knows what happened to him, he’s probably still living up there trembling behind a shrub and surviving off ants. Either way we finally manage to retrieve our friend who is hopping off a boulder chattering away happily to the Thais, and this time we hang on to her just incase of any relapses. After picking our way slowly and painfully back over the rocks we decide to resume our original plan and head to Stones. As we plod back up the beach we question our friend and other retreating shadows about what the hell was going on and it would seem that:
a) a drink was stolen from Slinky.
b) a Thai guy punched a random tourist girl for no apparent reason
c) a wallet was stolen from Woodies.
Take your pick because the truth was never discovered but to be honest I don’t think it matters anyway. As I’ve mentioned before it is wild here, a thin veil protects from outright anarchy and just sometimes that veil is broken. We saw this that night, and just for a few minutes we were part of it. It’s only when we crash out on the bean bags at Stones, and the adrenaline has stopped pumping that I notice my foot is still wet, and in a considerable amount of pain. My friend has similar. Upon closer inspection we discover we both have large cuts on our feet, mine is bleeding openly. But in true worker style rather then being bothered we are pleased, we ran with the wolf pack and we’ve got the scars and probably hepatitis to prove it. Welcome to Phi Phi bitches.
Category: Life as a Barefoot Backpacker
A moment.
I am a grown woman of 26 years old. And I am currently sat on a boat in the middle of phi phi in Thailand and I’m quite frankly having abit of a moment. I look around me and everyone seems to have a purpose. And if they don’t they are either young enough or mental enough to get away with it. And if I’m honest to myself I guess I’m neither of those things. I once sat with someone who was the most obnoxious, arrogant, loud, bolshy person you could meet. I got a little closer then most I guess, and as we sat in the dark, tears streaming down his cheeks, I masked my fear at what he was saying with a beer. I held his hand as he cried, cried at something he was struggling to put into words but I understood all too clearly. He’s 27. He has an alcohol problem. He’s a borderline creative genious, he’s wasted it all. What does he do after Asia, where does he go from here, he can’t “be himself” where he comes from, but he can hes just scared to because what he really is has been turned into something he really isn’t by spending too long losing himself in alcohol and madness in Asia. Where the turnaround of people in your life is so fast you can be anything you want, and if that person goes wrong, well it doesn’t matter. 95% of people you see in your daily life your never going to see again. And this kind of liberation can change a person. He was conflicted, scared by the inner knowledge that just maybe he’s going to have to leave Asia and confront what he’s turned himself into because he never made it “as himself”, its too late now, he’s missed the boat, people will look at him in the real world and go, what a shame he could of been something. And in the dark, as I said all the right things and tried to be as comforting as possible, my own self trembled a little. If he’s cracked, then there’s no chance for the rest of us, and his words affected me deeper then he could possibly have known.
What happens when you do stop running?? Don’t get me wrong it’s fabulous travelling around the world, doing what you want, answerable to no one, but sometimes it can be lonely. And what are we all really looking for? The big gap of the unknown inside, can easily be shoved to the back whilst dancing on a stage drinking ethanol out of buckets, but I’m finding it harder and harder to ignore the niggling it jabs me with on an increasing daily basis. Yeh, this is fun, but are you really happy, are you really fulfilled. Are you making the most of yourself. Who are you, really? You can vaguely voice these things to friends you’ve known for a few months here, and vaguely get the exact same response as I gave to my friend: don’t be silly, everything’s fine, you’re a great person, lets have a drink come on. It’ll buy you a few days, weeks even. But it’s not enough, and when you actually confront this face to face its scary, it makes me want to cry too sometimes.
I suppose what I’m trying to say is that you can look and look, and ask and ask, search under rocks, the bottom of a bottle, beautiful beaches around the world. But if you don’t know what you’re looking for yourself, then how the hell is anyone else meant to know. And that can be unnerving for anyone. What do I need to do? What do I do next? Who am I, really, and what am I looking for?
Answers on the back of a postcard please.
Three days in sanity.
Today, after nearly two weeks working on the island, I literally scraped myself together and hobbled on to the ferry to do an inevitable visa run. I spent the first hour on the boat staring out the window,slack jawed with that totally dazed expression you see on so many people that work on Phi Phi – especially during the day. I can’t tell you what was going through my head, because I genuinely don’t think anything was. I was just existing, seeped in the aftermath of Valium and vodka, two of the life forces of the islands. After about an hour (some would say its because I was waking up/sobering up/coming down, this is not so, I firmly believe that coherency is directly proportionate to how far away geographically you are from the island) some semblance of senses returned, and I remembered that I could infact, move my head. This turned out to be a fairly shocking revelation as it allowed me the opportunity to take in my appearance. Shoes have not been in my life for some time now (if you ever want to spot someone who works on an island, look at their feet), and being aware of a dull pain under my toe and a considerable amount of swelling I decided to inspect further and found two large infected cuts, that have evidently sneaked up out of nowhere. Lovely. There is an unknown yellow substance on my shorts. I REALLY need the toilet, and for reasons that obviously seemed logical at the time, im wearing a rain mac. Chipped green nail varnish from long yore hangs on grimly, a sad shadow of my former glory, and flakes of neon paint from the multiple flowers, ‘P.P’s’ and ‘ WOODY 2013’s’ scribed territorially all over me by the fire boys last night, still proclaim their message feebly. Remnants of yesterdays makeup blink back at me in the reflection, my hair would make my friends back at home cry and there is a faint smell of bonfire emanating from me constantly. Couple all this with the raging chest infection I have from doing fire limbos and skipping fire ropes all night (if you listen closely when I breathe in there is a wheezy whistling sound, not unlike a death rattle, that Mutley would be proud of) and I look to be quite frank, completely deranged. Deciding to yawn, it is interrupted by the necessity to hawk up God knows what, but it’s black and was probably once part of the fire show. A tourist looks at me in a vaguely alarmed kind of way. I maintain dignity. It was probably a sign when the wonderful Rob who shares my room started leaving electrolyte sachets and rehydration salts on my pillow, and also changing my bed sheets, I wish id grabbed one of the packets before i left and wonder absently what on earth im going to do if he moves out.. it was bad enough when Bruno left and my food intake went down by half. By two hours time I’m musing the fact that I’m voluntarily going back to the island for more. Voluntarily. Going. Back. I’m still musing this three hours away, as I’m currently wedged in the front of a mini van headed for Malaysia, with the driver, two rucksacks and a really unimpressed French girl (can’t really blame her, I look downright dangerous and sound like i have the plague) At the moment I’m still in Thailand and therefore far too close to be able to think about this in any kind of rational way…. But my rucksack resides in the refugee camp, guarded by my lovely if insane Russian friend, just waiting for my return and all said and done, I do have a cracking tan……..
Phi phi nights….
So, at the moment I am working on the beautiful island of phi phi being paid £1.60 an hour to drink vodka out of buckets, dance on tables, watch fire shows and hand out flyers. It’s pretty fucking awesome – clarified last night when, perched on a table sharing my bucket with a delightful rabble of French revellers, my spectacularly hammered friend Erica came sailing threw the air and literally face planted on my head (even the Thais were shocked – she, probably luckily, has no memory of it, I’m finding it harder to forget as my neck is still twinging). It’s a great place and loads of people stay for months but it would be completely easy to go fully wild here, there literally are no boundaries. If you can remain sober for long enough to actually look through the haze of booze, smoke and gyrating Thai fire boys dripping in sweat and gasoline, the undercurrents that make up the secret fabric of this place are sometimes alarmingly evident.
For example, last night I finished at 1am and, totally exhausted from 4 hours of my fabulous dancing, flopped into one of the beanbags lying around. I was immediately joined by one of the French wearing a t-shirt wrapped round his head. He was pleasant and earnest enough and we spoke about elephants and tigers and such like, before strolling down the beach with his friends and sitting on the sand. I was well into full swing on my opinions about the Vietnam war, when I suddenly noticed there had been no replies for a while, most of the others were lying down, and one was looking at me somewhat vacantly, nodding in all the wrong places. With one eye open. Deciding to test this out, without breaking my tone at all, I slipped in “…and then the unicorn flew past, do you know what I mean?” Yes he did. Of course. If he hadn’t of had a slightly Labrador-ish quality about him, I would of been offended that my conversation skills are clearly not as interesting to others as they are to me lol. Taking my leave of the French group, I headed off back down the beach passing a completely comatosed Thai lady lying flat on her back, mouth open. A group of about 8 were huddled around her. One, looking thoroughly baffled and seemingly for a lack of anything better to do, was shining a torch in her face. One was taking pictures on his iPhone. Two were eyeing up the girl holding on to the unconscious ones hand. I kept walking.
It was then that I noticed the twinkle of eyes hidden in the dark, the flash of a smile from a closed bar, the murmur of voices with no bodies, and one very passionate and definitely illicit rendezvous in some shrubs. Nothing here goes unseen, you can be sure of that.
Ploughing on, I reached the main strip and decided that as a treat I would splash out on a slice of pizza. Munching and musing, I was on the way home when I came across one of the charming topless Brazilian contingent that works opposite us. He had found a tourist and she was, clearly, up for it. I’d been spotted but was keen to not interrupt so settled for a quick high five in passing. Cue, a marvellous flounce off by the apparently outraged tourist! She was heading off at a fairly impressive pace, leaving me staring after her, eyebrows raised and grinning (really, it was one of the best over reactions and subsequent storm off to a high five I’ve ever seen, I’d quite like to be friends with her) and him staring at… Me. I was still grinning when I looked at him, and then that moment of realisation hit. As quick as I could I cleared up the situation and was like “oh no no, I’m not having sex with you, quick run, run you’ll catch her!” Looking from me to her retreating figure the decision was instantaneous. The last I saw was his back disappearing down the street. Lol.
I made it the rest of the way unscathed, thoughtful but content. I climbed into my mozzie infested nest of a bunk bed, and was just settling into a comfortable doze (my 12 or so resident mozzies waiting patiently for my eyes to finally close and then get the party started) when, right next to my head, a shriek pierced the air! Me, the mozzies and roughly half the dorm room jumped about 6 feet in the air, and as I wildly scrabbled around in the dark for my glasses, another one came! Peering out into the gloom I inspected the bundle of mozzie net, clothes and towels lying prone in the bed next to me. “Erica!?” I whispered, and sure enough the bundle went “aaaaarrrrggghhhhh”. And then proceeded to keep doing it. Loudly. Now, those that know me will know that when something strikes me as funny, I find it really funny. This struck me as funny, so in between bouts of hysterical laughter I tried my best to be soothing, stack my stuff up out of potential barfing zones, and at the same time in the nicest possible way, get her to shut up lol. It seemed to work as a few minutes later a little voice croaked weakly into the night “Niki??” “Yes babe” “I’m going to die” (me, trying not to laugh) “no you’re not angel, you’re just drunk, you’re gonna be fine”. This seemed to do the trick and apart from the occasional squeak, everyone went back to sleep, all was as it should be here, and the mozzies had a fabulous night at the expense of my legs, right arm and eyebrows (they’re getting adventurous the little bastards I tell you).
And as for Erica today, well, she’s still drunk but being much less ‘exorcist’ about the whole thing. Haha.
A Moment With a Monkey
I had a really strange incident with a monkey today. So on the corners of the streets here thai people stand with monkeys in nappies and stupid outfits and sometimes lizards and stuff and you pay to have a photo with them. I’m always sad when I see them coz I hate what they’ve done to them and want to rescue them, so I never pay them any attention. Today we walked past and there was abit of a hold up next to them and as I was standing this little hand came out of nowhere and just gripped my wrist. Now this is unusual in itself coz normally they’re so drugged or scared they just sit there and don’t move, but what’s more unusual is that I sensed him reaching to touch me before he did and I wasn’t looking in that direction until something made me look round just in time to see this little paw round my wrist. I don’t know if you’ve ever felt a monkeys hand, but they’re beautiful, really really soft and velvety, like the pads on a cats paw but softer, but they’re quite strong coz they’ve got little fingers you know, and he held on to my wrist really tight, I could feel each one of his fingers and joints, and we kind of locked eyes… My friend said after that my face went from total indifference to full on bambi eyes in like one second and she was also like that was so weird, you could like see the connection between us…. And I felt like I loved that monkey so much and at the same time I felt my heart break a little bit, and the guy holding him shouted at him and pulled his hand off but he kept looking at me as I walked away. I will find that monkey again, and I will steal it. Haha.
Niki In Wanderland 