We arrived a couple of days early to soak up a few rays and top up our tans before the big night.  After a shaky start (involving the worst shit-pit-noisy-scum-filled guesthouse known to man), we settled into our charming bungalow by the sea.  A little patch of paradise – a comfy cool room, a short stroll to the silver sand and clear sea, and a little further to the bar.  We spent our days swimming, drinking, eating and swimming some more – all good preparation for the night of the century.  The islanders are rather thoughtful people – they even threw a ‘full moon warm up party’, just to help everyone find their party legs and refine their moves and grooves ahead of the big night.  Needless to say, we took up the opportunity to warm up and passed with flying colours.

The big night arrived.  Dance moves practiced – check.  Drinking wings functioning – check.  Route home in dark memorised – check.  Oh yes readers, we were ready to blast off and throw the largest shapes known to mankind.  We played a few rounds of cards at home whilst supping cheap vodka that we snaffled from duty free on our departure from Malaysia.  Well, my Malay isn’t that hot, so it was either vodka or paint stripper, either way it taxied us to the launchpad nicely.  Dinner was efficient – half a chicken on a skewer and grilled on the side of the road.  On to the main event…  We tottered down to the beach and began our well rehearsed maneuvers.  Drinking in Thailand is very functional – for about four quid you get a plastic bucket, half a bottle of vodka, a bottle of verging-on-controlled-substance redbull and a mixer of your choice.  We spent the next few hours living our lives through the words of the great philosopher Mike Skinner, who said “Now getting to the bar’s gonna be trouble, so the Marlons’ll have to be doubles.  Then you drink doubles, the same speed you drink singles”.  Uh-oh.  That’s not good.

And I’m afraid my dear, dear readers, that where the story ends.  I would love to tell you about the wonderful night we had under a full moon with the thousands of like minded party goers.  The fun we had with luminous rave paint, the dancing on podiums and chatting to randoms.  However, there’s a rather large hole in my memory which my digital camera is helping to fill, so the details are a little sketchy.  The photos are below – so now your knowledge of the evening is on a par with mine.  If you spot anything I haven’t please let me know.

I clearly used up all my drinking Karma credits and went somewhat overdrawn, as the following day I felt like turd – which is surely indicative of an awesome night.  Needless to say, I was not a happy bunny the following morning, leaving at 11am to jump into a mini bus, onto a boat, onto a coach then onto an overnight train for Bangkok.  It took a whole lot of concentration not to blow a day’s budget on a soiling charge.

Koh Phangan, you’ve been wonderful.  However I think I’m going to have to hang up my bucket and retire.  Goodnight.

 

It’s been pretty hard going here, what with all the sunbathing, swimming, snorkeling, boat trips, eating and drinking. Plus we’ve been finding it a real challenge to fit in our 12 hours of sleep per day, but don’t worry about us folks, we’re managing.

On the subject of having ridiculous amounts of fun, we arrived just in time for Songkran – the Thai new year.  Koh Phi Phi turned into a vicious blood bath as thousands of locals and tourists alike clashed on the streets.  The weapons of choice were water guns.  The bigger the better.  Bonus points if you managed to fill the tank with ice-water – I’m still shivering at the thought. It proved to be a hilarious day – everyone, young and old joined in with guns, buckets, balloons and hosepipes. Jeannie and I took particular delight in hunting down and drenching the grumpy southern european tourists who really didn’t want to be there. Miserable sods, they deserved to get wet.

Next stop Phuket for more island action, before either heading back up to Northern Thailand, or south to Malaysia and Singapore… it’s exhausting making all these decisions. Huuuummmm, nap time.

 

Same same but different, as the locals say.

Having said all that, Bangkok feels to be a world away from India in many ways. Buddhist icononography and architecture has replaced Hindu, the electricity hasn’t failed yet, the tourist population has exploded, there’s a lot of female flesh on display, and I didn’t feel as though I was going to die once on the bus from the airport (it was strangley dissapointing).

We arrived yesterday morning with James in a bad way due to sleep deprivation and the first flutterings of his stomach bug. The overnight bus journey from Siliguri to Calcutta was filthy (James woke up at 3am with a cockroach playing in his hair), terrifying  and incredibly loud thanks to the presence of a tinny speaker system that played Alllll the Bollywood Hits allll night long. We spent the day in Calcutta, flew at 2am, arrived at 6am and were fit for very little yesterday except sleep-walking around the Khao San Road, which is exactly as I remember it: still full of tat, tourists and touts, and still able to ellicit, in equal parts, complete adoration and utter loathing for the backpacker scene.

Today has been more productive: we took a trip to see an enormous reclining Buddha, wandered around the city, cruised back home on a river boat and ate our body weight in Pad Thai. James is now back in quarantine and I am indulging in my filthy little secret hobby (watching a replay of the Champions League games at an Irish bar). We have one more day to explore this enormous city before we head south for some bech therapy but I suspect we might be back before long…lots to see.

It’s nice to be somewhere completely different and to be relieved of some of the more challenging aspects of travelling in India, but the sub-continent is still dominating my thoughts and, despite us both swearing at least once that we would never go there again, I suspect we’ll be back before long - there’s too much too see and too many contradictions to unravel in one little trip.

 I’ve done a lot of reading on India and there are about a million explanations relating to it’s strange, unrelenting appeal, but they’re all to lyrical for my liking…the best analogy I can come up with is that India is a really itchy, unidentifiable rash: causes severe and often continuous irritation, especially upon early discovery, and relief can only be found by scratching deep into the surface - or surrendering to the fact that you can’t understand it properly and just letting it get under your skin.