Play it again, Siam

Air India’s turban powered piece-of-shit plane was myself, Jacques’ and Jacques’s penis carrier to Bangkok for our winter sojourn. The husband and wife team acting as pilot, air host’s and kwiki-mart clerks were running around the cabin flicking spicy shit-inducing peanuts and curries to anyone that wanted them. Occasionally you could hear the crack of the whips from the engine room where 47 Bengali teens where pedaling furiously to keep this Icarus wagon nestled in the clouds. We duly arrived at Bangkok with a case of the shits and a genuine love of Bollywood romance movies.



D greeted us with a high pitched squeak and two minutes of bouncing and shaking of her ickle bootie. We splashed out on a 10baht train ride to the city centre, and the air was cancerific as our tuk-tuk driver three-wheeled us to the Ko San Road. After checking in we waited around for Nick whilst having a few Changs, and nibbled on the local fare of scorpions and locusts. The Ko San Road was a mix of goobers, wankers, hippies, freaks, chavs, nauseating soccer-mom types, narcissists, stoners, new-agers, old-timers and the occasional lady boy. Jam packed from curb to curb the atmosphere wasn’t as raucous as we’d thought it would be with the Road being a halfway place for those coming and going and not doing much staying. With Nick in tow we were on course for a club to get the ball rolling on our Thai odyssey. Our instructions to Chuck driving the tuk-tuk, oh yeah the tuk-tuk rhyming jokes stayed the duration of the trip, was ‘take us to a bar with western people, no prostitutes thank you very much’. 20minutes later we’re in the Mall of America of bordellos stuffed with pussy for sale and every girl licking your balls with their eyes. Inebriation was the only tonic for our ails so we knocked back the shots and made the best of it. Jacques and his penis were having the time of their lives getting up close and personal with skanks at every opportunity. When it came time to leave we were missing D and eventually found her locked in the ladies cubicle with her panties round her ankles, her bush is normally hairier and more regularly sighted than Sasquatch but she tamed the beaver for the trip and it turned out to be a rather pretty vacation vagina. We carried her corpse out of the club where she awoke with the usual peeps and squeaks. Chuck had waited, he doesn't sleep, around and decided to show us his F1 skills and high-tail it back to the hostel, on two wheels as well.

Our first official day in Bangkok was the usual click-clicking of cameras around the city. The taste off the air and smell from the sewers was rampant, especially from the back of the open-aired tuk-tuk’s. We checked out the Golden Mountain, some temples and other sights of note catching glimpses of how grand the city used to have been before the hordes ascended on the capital and usurped its beauty with filth. While D lay in bed puking all over the brand new mattress we had replaced her with Koji, our token foreginer for the trip.


Unfortunately Der Fuhrer was also coming on the trip with us and was arriving that night. We were given a scare, well I was hoping he wasn’t gonna come, by his late coming as we’d already booked a bus down to the islands for about 20minutes after he arrived. A game of Top 10’s helped introduce the Swedish girls in front of us into the fray as we hit Top 10 Swedes (Thomas Brolin will always be my number 1). Juergen and Juergen, the two Germans, occasionally interjected with facts about the 80’s and what a rockin time it was to be free and young. A swiss Juergen who’d swallowed at least 15 valium and was heading towards a nihilist convention was bumming beers off us with promises of payback at each filling station we stopped at. Jacques and his penis woke at some point and the first thing to come out of their mouth was ‘what’s everybody’s favourite animal?’ and then went on about their favourite land, sea and air animals. The second Swede, known as ‘the Chemist’ and suffered from chronic narcolepsy (most likely helped with the copious amount of valium in her system) then woke to sing the Swedish national anthem. At the stop off for the bus I met an Irish guy who’d just been released from prison back home and decided to go on holidays. He’d brought an ounce of cocaine with him that he’d tied around his balls for the flight; obviously he thought conditions in Thai prisons were better than those back home…sun, great food and executions.

Ko Pha Ngan was in sight and we were on our way via early morning ferry. The clientele was of the mixed bag variety, the theme of the holiday and of Thailand, with a black-hoodied head down hate-filled cult sitting legs flailing over the edge of the ferry saying nothing to each other for the trip. Our chalet was in the opposite direction to the Haad Riin party core of the island as we’d decided not to go too nuts on this trip (oh really).

We cleaned up and headed straight to the New York bar on Emma’s recommendation, and it didn’t disappoint. A 270°vista over the island, perfectly poised for that postcard sunset and a stunning location to get stoned. The happiest sprite ever to live was managing the bar brimming with a smile wider than Oprah’s ass crack. Everything was followed with the ubiquitous ‘kap’. ‘Would you like a beer, kap?’’, ‘Can I get you a pizza, kap?’, ‘Do you want some milkshakes, kap?’. Yes to all, kap. Kelly and her friend Kate had also joined us now as we were getting stuck into beers and pizza. We ventured off to the party at the Apache bar nearby. I’ve never seen so many goobers in my life, not even in Holland or Crete, half of the world’s Dutch population must have been there. Hundreds of the techno-loving trance addicts stomping manically to the 250 b.p.m. noise flushed from the sound system all the while transfixed by giant phallic symbols, spiders and swords luminated by the black-lights.

We scooted around the island on mopeds the next day checking out the waterfalls, vistas and beaches on offer on the island whilst getting chronic farmers tan in the process. That night’s party was being hosted by the New York Bar. Happy fucking days. A repeat performance was on the cards. The first person we ran into on the way up the hill to the bar was a stodgy middle-aged chav staring at a tree trunk thinking he was a frog and sporadically touretting ‘as if’ out of his mouth, the aprty wasn`t what we were looking for that night so ahd a few beers and headed off. As we made our way down the seemingly never-ending steps we were greeted by a troupe of Samoan midgets (I’m not kidding) who gave us a cheery good evening as we then came across a Bogota styled courtyard complete with reposing senorita in hammock. At the bottom of the hill we were accosted by a jazillion taxi drivers all offering the best price, we told them all to fuck off and waited for the best deal to filter on over to us, which it ineveitably did.

After watching ‘The Beach’ I guess everyone yearns for one of those deserted beach moments where you lay under a pristine sky warmed by the presence of a hot French girl. I ended up on Kelly’s piece of isolated sand lying against the jet black sea whose waves lapped gently against my beautiful feet. The moon cast a reflection which split the sea in two as we lay, fondled and talked till the sun spun round for another day of island life. Perfect settings, just the wrong company, one for the memory bank all the same.

I thought the cleaning lady was waiting for us to check out when I returned to our place in the morning. She sat there on the veranda grumpy and scorned, but it was Jacques and his penis that had unsettled this Thai skank, not our lack of hygiene or checking out skills. She sported a 10 inch bloodied cut running diagonally from breast to shoulder as a result of Jacques and his penis trying to carry her home and in his words ‘do/fuck/bang/lay her’. She also wanted $50 to replace the gold coloured piece of tin rusting around her neck that had broken in the fall. After much haggling she headed off with $10 in her pocket. That day we headed further north to the even quieter resort of Maed Hae where we found beachside bungalows, Kelly and Kate had also ended up there too, at this stage I certainly wasn’t feeling the love. We chilled out that night after some snorkeling and got down with the theme songs of the holiday ‘Everyone has AID’s, and 'I'm so ronery’. Nicks Friend, Bob, rolled on in the following day with an Irish guy and a couple of girls. Bob went past his allowed three ‘my god the Irish accent is so fucking stupid why can’t you say th properly’ jibes within about 8 seconds of meeting me which was pretty annoying, especially since he speaks like a helium sucking homo with a pegged nose whilst constantly having a splinter riddled lube free leg off a foot stool up his ass. I kept shtum about that and let him wet himself at the ‘turty tree and a turd’ jokes.

That night we hit a shisha bar where we saw possibly the fattest tourist in the world. She sat down, or rolled over, looking like Jaba the Hut with chronic sunburn guzzling beers like they were shots of water and chain-smoking fags. I pity the fool that sat beside her on the plane over/home. We allowed our lungs and stomachs some apple tobacco (from the hookas) and grilled barracuda steak for a night of first class living. It was back to the beach to cap the evening off with some drinks and watching Jacques and his penis's inner child come out and rant on about hidden recipes when you play songs backwards and back to their old favourite: what’s your favourite animal topic…

From there on we headed on over to the Krabbi side of the country there…to be cont’d

hell

its cold, its boring...its ninohe, hip hip hooray. already day one at the apaato yest felt like 7 years in tibet and even more tedious than watching the movie. i`ve decided to dig my way out. new years resolutions: never ever consider teaching english again, become a Noh actor, style my hair like Koizumi and eat more rice.