Maya jungle party & The Hard Road Hostel

I head out to 7/11 to replenish stocks of some essentials, but it is a fruitless exercise: the toothpaste here contains tons of salt and tastes vile, and the suncream has whitening ingredients.. erm, what's the point in that?! The Asian population believe the whiter the skin the better, so whilst us Westerners are seeking out that particular shade of "mahogany table" skin tone, they are covered from head to foot in clothing, whitening creams, plus a huge umbrella just to be sure. I spend a few hours in the searing heat of the sun on Sunrise Beach with minimal amounts of my stupid new 'whitening' suncream on before spotting Steve from The View Resort and we agree to hang out back at his bar in the shade and have a beer. A beer turns into several beers, turns into evening, which turns into "let's go to Maya!"

Steve drops me off at my roach motel to get ready whilst he catches up with a mate, returning an hour later to take me to the jungle party. Maya is in a different clearing in the jungle and has a more glamorous feel than the Jungle Experience party from the week before, with white gauzy awnings and colourful draped decor. There are nowhere near as many people at this party since everyone leaves the island in their droves following the FMP, which makes for a friendlier atmosphere and plenty of room to dance. Steve is soon looking decidedly worse for wear with a particularly special gurn on, and we wander off separately and I seem to chat to every person in the entire place, twirling and belly-laughing with my new-found bezzies for hours. I hardly notice a photographer snapping away throughout the night, but notice his flyer in my bag a few days later and log on to view the photos....hmmm, perhaps I was a little too well-oiled....cracking night though!

Towards the end of the night I get chatting at the bar to two mates both called Tom, and they invite me back to their hostel for a few drinks. Obviously I look like I need more (not!) so oblige and the three of us cram onto their motorbike at sunrise and head off to Hard Road Seaview, which turns out to be a cool hilltop backpackers hostel with amazing views over Samui. They drag me up the side of the dusty hills to show me the the most stunning viewpoint and we hang out here for a while with our drinks before elegantly (not!) sliding back down to the bar. One Tom on the decks, one pouring drinks, and me dancing on the tables as usual.

It turns out that one of the Toms (I just end up calling them Tom and Tommer for simplicity) who is 24, fit as and a genuinely good guy, has bought the Hard Road Hostel along with his equally cute identical twin brother, who wakes up to see what all the noise is about at around lunchtime.
It's now obvious that I've missed my pre-booked ferry crossing to Samui and will not be checking into my hotel there anytime soon, so I shrug and we party on. Eventually, I have to give in and return to my hotel for a (very late) check-out, so put on my best poorly face complete with pouty bottom lip and manage to evade the late check-out fine by rustling up a half-convincing tale of woe.

Then it's a taxi with all my bags back to the twins' hostel for another night of partying with them and various other travellers who are living in Phangan. They charge a mere 150baht (£3) for a room for the night, and I finally collapse into bed after our mammoth bender, asleep before my head hits the pillow, to the sound of the whirring fan and the chatter of the geckos, vowing to finally get my ass to Samui tomorrow...

Hard times in Haad Rin

Fully KO'd by the Full Moon Party, I finally arrive back in Baan Tai one dusty taxi-truck ride later at around 8.30am. My weary limbs are calling for my bed, but alas, not a chance as I have to pack and leave my room by 10am. Waaaaah!
I chuck my belongings into my bulging bags and lurch to reception to check out. The owner winces as I almost burn off his eyebrows with my vodka-fume death-breath and I attempt to stroll casually off in a straight-ish line towards the main road to hail a taxi...
Once in aforementioned taxi, I realise that I've left my iPhone charger hanging out of the wall in the bungalow and make him and the other passengers wait whilst I hot-foot it back to the room to retrieve it, casting one last dirty look over my shoulder at Morris the Miner as he wolf whistles furiously at full volume in my ear hole. I am a sweaty wreck by the time I return, and the alcohol buzz is turning into a headachy brain-fog instead. Arriving back in Haad Rin, I check into my pre-booked Friendly Hotel and am bemused to find it's anything but. A grotty flea pit of a room, whose door is full of holes and doesn't even close, let alone lock. Seething and exhausted, I kick-off slightly until I'm moved to a better room on the ground floor by the pool. The manager has the last laugh, however, as I crawl into bed just as they crank up the house music to ear-bleed proportions and I realise the 5ft speakers are practically on my balcony. Thank the Lord for earplugs, as now it's just a thousand decibels rather than ten thousand, but my teeth are still chattering in my head from the bass.
The Full Moon takes me a day and a half to completely recover from, until I eventually crawl from my pit like a hermit crab tentatively emerging from it's shell, and go in search of food. Feeling the energy return to my body is reassuring and one full-body Thai massage later and I'm brand new. There is still a full-scale clean-up operation going on on the beach following the party, with truckloads of buckets, odd flip-flops and beer bottles still being collected. The atmosphere is somber as the majority of the revellers have now deserted the island, and those that remain are still drying out. I have a quiet evening mooching around the town alone and resolve to take it easy from now on.
Unfortunately, the pull of the party is just too strong and I'm once again sucked into the vortex, this time Maya Party in the jungle...

Full Moon Party 1, Sam 0

I peel back my eyelids and force myself to regain consciousness, completely disorientated for a moment until the dulcet tones of Morris Miner reverberating through my brain rudely reminds me that I'm in Thailand in my Baan Tai bungalow.
I do my usual mental run-through of the previous night, followed by my physical run-through that all my limbs and belongings are still intact. They are...phew! I turn off the air con to allow the circulation back into my extremities and have a "rousing" shower (I have no choice in the matter since most of the lower-end accommodation in Thailand has only cold water showers). Feeling better, I gannet down my approximately 48th green curry of the trip so far and spend the day on the beach listening to chill-out tunes on the iPod, rebuilding my strength for the Full Moon Party that evening.

The view here is absolutely breathtaking - white powdery sand, crystal clear waters....and geckos freaking me out by plopping out of the palm trees from a great height, landing next to my head every 10 mins of so. Don't get me wrong, I love these little critters, but their rotating beady eyes suddenly appearing next to mine as I'm in a trance listening to my tunes does little to calm my frayed nerves from the night before...

I have arranged to meet a group of young lads from Newcastle at the Full Moon Party later - Chris, Michael and chums are staying in Koh Samui, just taking a speedboat to and from the party and not staying in Koh Phangan at all. As there will be an estimated 30000 people on Sunrise Beach tonight for the party, I give them strict instructions to meet me at 11.45pm in the Sunrise Hotel reception, which is one of the few places the wifi will be switched on and I know will not be totally overrun. They agree and I'm excited to have some fresh new blood to party with.

Retrieving the dregs of last night's bucket from the fridge, I finish it off (sand and all) whilst I get ready, before heading out into the night at around 10pm. To my surprise I easily hail a taxi and about 8 of us from various nations exchange excited banter on the bumpy journey to the party. We are stopped by the police, who give us a cursory glance and a flick of the torch around the taxi onto each of us, before sending us on our way. 20 minutes later and we disembark into a seething, writhing crowd of bodies, all swigging from colourful plastic buckets containing a variety of ominous concoctions, each one fired up with an unhealthy dose of palpitation-inducingly strong Thai Red Bull.

Most of the crowd are wearing illuminous vests and have painted their bodies in day-glo paints. There are body-painting stalls lining the roads and everyone stops to adorn their bodies, splashing the paints about. As half the island is in bandages or plaster from various motorcycle/fire-limbo-dancing accidents they have a clean white canvas to work on. The paints are eveywhere and I pass several paint-splattered stray dogs looking entirely bemused....

As we hit the beach, the music reaches ear-splitting levels and thousands of people are dancing frenetically to the music, perched on tables, speakers, in the sea, every platform, stage and flat surface is covered with a writhing mass of tanned and youthful bodies. Pleased that I fixed an exact meeting point with the lads, I soak up the atmosphere (and the vodka) for a while before heading to Sunrise reception to meet them. To my amazement, we instantly find each other - good skills!

Then it's off to meet their friends at Mushroom Mountain for midnight. This is the point where everything gets a little sketchy, but to sum up the night it basically went like this: bucket, mushroom shake, dance, strip off to our swimming gear and run into the sea for a dip, another bucket, chat, dance on a speaker, shake, sea, take the piss out of various casualties, shake, bucket, chat nonsense to randoms, dance, sea....repeat ad nauseum (literally in some cases) or until 7am, whichever comes first.
 I don't remember at what point I lost my flip-flops, only that by the morning light there were several random odd flip-flop mountains. To be fair, it's a miracle that my flippers were all I'd lost by that point, as I'd left my bag containing my cash, phone, bank card, room keys and other wildly important items with a whole host of randoms whilst I'd run off into the sea without a care in the world several times throughout the night. One time I emerged from the sea to find the random bag-watcher gone and my bag just sticking out of the sand, hundreds of people dancing nearby. How the night would've ended differently had it been swiped...eep!

We do come across several girls sobbing their hearts out over their bags that have been lost or stolen, and I give one particularly distraught girl 1000 baht (£20) to calm her down and help her out, regretting being quite so generous later when I realise I appear to have lost my cash too. (I say "appear" as they is a distinct possibility that I spent/distributed the cash myself).

Of particular amusement to my new gang of mates is the "Sleep Area", which is basically a portion of the beach sectioned off for casualties of the party who are suffering from "exhaustion", shall we say. In other words, it's a drunk-tank and bodies are strewn and stacked unconscious, and makes for some hilarious photo opportunities. It's like something out of 28 Days Later. We get some cracking shots, and continue on to Cactus Bar for another lil dance-off on the tables. ( Later I say to Chris how much I liked the South African girls we spent ages chatting to at this bar and he gives me a withering look before informing me they were Irish. Hmm, maybe I was more tipsy than I thought....)

Suddenly I'm aware that it's broad daylight, my Northern pals have taken a speedboat back to Samui, and I have acquired a whole new set of reprobate mates. I am also using Mark's crutches to stand (although he has a broken leg and probably needs them more than me to be fair), so perhaps 8am is a good time to leave. Like a scene from Shaun Of The Dead, we all stumble off, barefoot and bleary-eyed, zombie-like in various directions into the distance....

Jungle Fever

After a full night's sleep I'm super-charged and ready to retox at The Jungle Experience. I spend the day chilling (make that sweating) by the pool, before meeting a fellow lone-traveller : a guy from Colorado who also wants to go the the party. It soon becomes apparent that he is in fact a total bore-off, however, so after a cheap Thai street food meal, we part company as I mutter something about needing another shower and I'll catch him later. Like, so much later in fact, that we're in different continents and several decades have passed...

I hail a taxi-truck to Haad Rin and head to Cactus for liquid refreshment in the form of a vodka red bull bucket and sit patiently alone amongst the throngs of gyrating twenty-something's in the hope that someone is coherent enough to actually have a conversation with me. This could be a long night.
I eventually give in and acknowledge the pathetic fact that I'm going to have to go to the jungle alone.  The shame!  So I stumble to the street in search of a taxi and am suddenly befriended by a gaggle of drunken Irish...my party-pals of choice...sweet! We all bond during the bone-shaking break-neck journey into the jungle and arrive at the clearing to find thousands of people busting shapes to the deep, sexy bass reverberating off the trees. Huge day-glo flowers and fluorescent decorations adorn the trees and there are mini-bridges over the various streams running through the jungle. We all lose each other as quickly as we found one another, but by this point no-one really cares, and I take a ring-side seat as the Muay Thai boxing starts. Everyone is in high-spirits in more ways than one, yelling and cheering the Thai boxers on, before the crowd climb into the ring in pairs and don gloves and helmets and box each other, taking drunken swings and only occasionally making contact with their targets. Then the Thai guys take control again and are back in the ring, tightrope-walking, fire-dancing and performing as many other entertaining tricks as they can think of to keep the masses amused.

I stumble off and get lost for hours in the pumping house music, swigging from my bucket...and wearing half of everyone else's into the bargain. As it takes around an hour to fight to the bar for another, I'm a tad more careful not to slosh mine all over my fellow party-goers. Somehow amongst the hoards of revellers I bump into some of the Irish again, and we dance on into the early hours, finally making it back to my bungalow at sunrise with the last dregs of my bucket and my usual carbonara toasty in hand - these badboys are a mere 29baht (about 50p) and are a taste sensation...well, after a night on the buckets they are anyway, their sickly creamy goodness still oozing through my fingers as I slip into unconsciousness. Even the ADHD miner bird ain't waking me from this alcoholic slumber...

A 'Miner' Annoyance....

Stepping off the boat, I'm soon swallowed up by the crowds and at the same time, all alone again. Having got used to being around someone, I feel strangely exposed and need to adjust to being in my own company again. I hope I don't get on my nerves too much. Far from being totally relaxed when I'm alone, I feel the constant chatter in my head is louder than ever, only I have the extra effort of having to keep up both sides of the conversation...

The sun is hotter than ever today, and I cram into the back of a taxi-truck with several other beefy-pitted travellers from various nations and we head off down the dusty road to our respective hotels and hostels, each watching with trepidation as we pull up at several flea-pit resorts, all silently praying that it's not our own. Luckily, I'm more than impressed when the Thai driver shouts out "Dewshore" and it's my turn to clamber out and gather up my battered luggage.
There seems a be direct correlation between the quality of the hotel and the friendliness of the guests: the more luxurious the resort, the less easy it is to befriend people, whereas the grottier hotels/hostels have more of a "we're all in this together" sense of camaraderie. I'm constantly torn between the two, but on this occasion I'm glad I plumped for the nicer option, as my bungalow is very sweet, nestled between the infinity pool and a breathtaking beach - paradise for the next few days.

That evening I reconnect with Steve who runs The View in Baan Tai, after wandering along the pitch-black roadside for ages, flagging down various taxis until I finally find one who has a vague idea of how to find it. He seems pleased to see me, and we spend the evening catching up, drinking Changs and vodka shots at the bar with several English gap-year girls and a couple of Slovakian pharmacists, who appear to have gotten high on their own supply since they are skinny-dipping in the pool and babbling animatedly long into the night, shouting over the music...

I am rudely awoken the next morning by the sound of the caged miner bird who lives directly outside my bungalow and insists on wolf-whistling loudly approximately every 15 seconds. It would appear I also stopped off at the 24hr 7/11 on the way home as I have crisps in my bed and a carbonara toasty wrapper next to my head. And now my miner-bird mate has even learnt how to impersonate the sound of the motorcycles beeping...gah! Although after several hours of sunbathing, swimming and shell-gathering on the beach I get bored and find myself fully engrossed in conversation with the bird. He can say "sausage" now too....I'm proud of that one!

I had intended to go to the Waterfall Party this evening, but it's gale force winds and torrential rain so I decide to give it a miss. I step out onto my bungalow veranda and it's like someone's holding a hairdryer on full speed and heat directly onto my face...think I'll stay in. Later, peering through the curtains of my bungalow, I note that the miner bird is close-beaked and clinging onto his perch for dear life....not quite as chatty now, huh, lil fella?  Feeling smug, I close my curtains and fire up the air-con. I might even manage a full night's sleep at this rate...

Koh Tao....aaaand relax!

The ferry crossing to Koh Tao is relatively painless for once...I pay the extra few hundred baht for the luxury of the catamaran and get a seat in the lower deck with air con, movies on the big screens and even a bar. I attempt to silence some rather annoying screeching brats with my stink-eye death-stare and when it doesn't have any effect I use it on the parents until it does, then settle down to update the blog. An hour later and Koh Tao comes into view. Several taxi drivers are yelling and touting for business, so I jump into the back of an open-air truck with several other Farang and we whizz off towards Sairee Beach, the wind in our hair a welcome respite from the stifling heat.

Daniel, the German guy I'm rooming with, who shall furthermore be referred to as Dan Ze Deutsch, has already been staying at Secret Garden Village for a few weeks so he meets me at the taxi and we head to our bungalow. It's small but sweet and set back from the beach in a forest of palm trees via a dirt track so is blissfully quiet....that is until Daniel informs me that I snore...a lot! Eep! I try to contain my titters when I awake to find him wearing earplugs/headphones/towel over head combo, his pretty-boy face marred by dark circles. I, however, had the best night's sleep of the trip so far...

We spend a few days together on the beach, him sipping soda water, me chugging back Changs like they are going out of fashion. Dan's 28yr old body is a temple....mine is more of an ancient ruin.
It soon becomes apparent that we are chalk and cheese : he hates clubbing, drinking, smoking and all things crazy and well, fun.  Or my version of fun anyway. He prefers the gym, chilling out, soft drinks...all things that are alien to me. I stare at him in wonder like he just landed from another planet.

Despite our glaring differences we have a laugh...mostly me ripping him for being boring, him making jibes about my age, drinking habits etc. One morning we are having a delicious Full English at Sairee Sairee when Diarmid, one of my Irish party pals who've been on the same island-hopping route as me throughout my trip, comes lumbering up, obviously still on one from the night before. Plonking himself down, dodgy braid trailing past his ear, beer dangling from his limp hand, he regales us with tales of the previous night's exploits, which culminated in a full-on fight with a bunch of ladyboys who he'd witnessed hitting a girl after she muttered some throwaway insult at them as she passed them in the street. A group of lads had had to jump in to defend the girl, who was crying as they sucker-punched her and attempted to throw their stilettos at her head. Hell hath no fury like a she-he scorned...

Diarmid and Kieron are leaving on a mission of a journey via planes, trains and automobiles for Bangkok in a few hours, so Diarmid demands that we have a farewell drink...so my English breakfast is promptly washed down with 2 sambucas and a Chang, much to the horror of Dan Ze Deutsch. He then slobbers a kiss in my direction and stumbles off in the vague direction of his hotel and what will probably be the most painful 12hr journey of his life, and for that of all his fellow travellers, no doubt.

We spend the day at Aow Leuk, which is a beautiful cove with crystal-clear warm sea and our white sand, and spot some small sharks, trigger fish and other underwater wonders....well Dan spots them, my eyesight is not quite so sharp after the morning's boozy brekkie. I bump into Nina and Chris in the sea, the Austrians who we got fully-loaded on Shrooms Shakes a week earlier. I stifle a laugh as Nina tells me the shakes were duds and had zero effect on them both. Are you kidding me, I feel like saying, remembering the wild-eyed frantic dancing of that night's escapades. The biggest lightweights in town are saying it had no effect....why oh why did I not get photographic evidence....ha!

Koh Tao is more pricey and with higher-quality restaurants than Phangan, so we have several lip-smacking meals. Barracuda takes bookings, such is it's popularity, but we manage to slip in slyly without a reservation before heading to a fire show on the beach, where there are several 'hairy' moments as the fire-dancing Thai boys swirled their weighted chains of fire around Dan's head, who happens  to be sporting approximately half a can of hairspray to achieve that Beckham-perfect style. I don't fancy witnessing his chiselled features burst into flames so we make a move after the 10th time they attempt it and I drag him kicking and screaming into a ladyboy show. There's something strangely hilarious about a Thai ladyboy dressed as Christina Aguilera, resplendent in thigh-high patent boots and a huge blonde wig placed at a jaunty angle on his/her head, gyrating just slightly out of time and miming badly because they have no clue what the actual words are....

It is not lost on me that whilst the UK is commemorating the start of WW1 and lighting candles of remembrance, I'm fraternising with the enemy, so we make light of it as best we can : Dan emerges from the bathroom with his perfect stubble shaved into a Hitler tache...but freaks when I try to take a picture. I wind him up throughout our stay by referring to him loudly as 'my husband' in public, which drives him mad, especially when he's trying to ogle the many nubile young  girls within earlobe-licking distance....

On the last day in Koh Tao we are due to go the Muay Thai boxing at the local stadium, but I'm feeling sick as a dog and we have to go back. Seeing as I hadn't had a single drink that day I can only assume that the 40% proof Sangsom had previously been killing off the bacteria featering in my gut, and the sudden withdrawal had caused my tapeworm (or whatever parasite I'm probably cultivating) to panic and cause an intestinal kerfuffle.

Being in Koh Tao with such relaxed company feels like someone yanked up the handbrake on my partying, so it is with mixed feelings that I gather my things and leave the bungalow to head back to Koh Phangan, ready for the retox as Full Moon approaches.

Dan and I say our fond farewells as I leave the catamaran at Koh Phangan and head back alone into the fray, whilst he continues on to Bangkok for his date with a Thai girl....

Now, did someone say party....?

Well.I.Ain't...

For my final day in Koh Phangan I attempt to relax, but it's as hot as an oven, my brain is fried and my insides are churning...not the most pleasant combination. I bump into Will, who I ended the previous night chatting to on the beach and he is equally hanging: he's not so much Will.I.Am today as Well.I.Ain't....so we give up on sunbathing and head to our respective rooms to sweat it out and wind ourselves in our bedsheets in a vain attempt to regain full health.
Feeling better later on, I once again head out alone. This time I decide to stick to Fanta, and it's amazing how detached I feel, watching the night's events unfold as a spectator rather than the ringleader. This place is definitely not the one for anyone wanting anything other than alcohol-fuelled partying, so I turn it in early for once, in bed before 1am! (for the first time since I arrived), ready for the ferry to the much more chilled island of Koh Tao in the morning, where I have already lined up some German buddies I met online to show me around and find me a place to stay. Good skills, huh?!

Isreali Men, hallelujah Isreali Men...not!

My Irish pals have departed for Koh Tao, but I decide that I'm having so much fun in Koh Phangan that I'll hang around for a few more days and join them later, keeping in touch via Facebook or Whatsapp in the meantime. This however means I'm a Billy-No-Mates once more, making puppy-dog eyes at strangers until eventually someone takes pity on me and makes the fatal mistake of smiling or allowing eye contact. Then that's it, I'm away again, chewing off the ear of aforementioned victim until they regret ever opening their mouths in the first instance. However, after a few buckets of Sangsom and coke, my not-so-secret weapon in the mate-finding process, the ice is well and truly melted and suddenly we are the firmest of friends...
There is one particular occasion when this method is not applicable...when approached by a pack of predatory Israelis. When they strike, I clam up quicker than a tired shopkeeper shutting up shop for the day, ramming my stuff into my bag and making a hasty retreat. Don't get me wrong, those guys love are party and are great fun in general, but as a lone female you won't stand a chance as they are more handy than your average octopus...eep!
So when Isreali Tom makes a play for me by the pool it's all I can do not to drown myself in the deep end as a means of escape. Steve happens to be passing with his visiting mates at that exact moment, and shoots me enquiring and disapproving glances as Tom attempts his corniest lines. Give me strength!
That evening I wander the streets of Koh Phangan alone, absorbing the heady mix of pumping house and techno music, buckets with multiple straws being sucked by several partygoers, heads down as they rev up into fifth gear for another full-on night of fun. There are 7-11 supermarkets, massage shops, beauty parlours, clothes shops, street-food stalls and a million tattooists all vying for business, not to mention taxi drivers and taxi-boat touts, bar staff and tour reps....sensory overload as I attempt to take it all in...
I watch a fire show, as Tom the Isreali once again approaches stealth-like, circling me like a Great White, flashy his gleaming veneers as he goes in for the kill. We head to Cactus Bar, my second home on the island, where I am rescued by a group of Northern lads, who haul me up onto the table and we dance energetically, Tom talking animatedly...to my ankles...
Another night, another trip up to Mushroom Mountain, another series of buckets, another 5am dip in the ocean, only this time one of the guys in the group gets paranoid and starts bleating about someone stealing his valuables from the beach whilst we're swimming. A quick scout around in the darkness and I manage to retrieve every 'missing' item from the sand, which amazes even me as I'm not known for my 20/20 vision, especially at the current level of intoxication. I am suddenly the hero of the hour, the mood lifts once more and we party on into the night....

Tapping Up My Tinders

The good thing about Tinder when overseas is that most of the people on there are resident in that country, so have an insider knowledge of the best parties, restaurants, beaches etc - better than any Lonely Planet guide, and with a hunky tour guide thrown in for free...sweet!
So when Steve offers to spend the following day taking me to the best restaurants and showing me around the island it's a total no-brainer...a resounding "hell yeah!'
First we go to Nira's Home Bakery in Thongsala for the best Full English I've tasted in forever - none of the tepid pale hotdogs and sweet baked beans that the Thais class as typical British fayre. This is the place where the in-the-know expats hang, eyeing each other casually over their perfect cafe lattes, safe in the knowledge that no riff-raff holidaymakers will ruin the vibe.
Hangovers abated, we head back out on the bike, me clinging on for dear life as we wind sans crash-helmets around the bendy dirt-track roads, Steve shouting reassurances into the wind that he knows these roads like the back of his hand. I smile through gritted teeth (I dare not open my mouth as I swear I've already swallowed several mozzies) and hope that he's right. I had no such fears the previous day, but it's amazing how emboldening a few Changs and whiskeys can be...
My fears are unfounded and we have a great day, before heading to Peppercorns, the most amazing cliff-top steak restaurant, which I never would have found had I not met him. We enjoy delicious Argentinian steaks as the sun goes down, chatting away about our lives back home, travel experiences, hopes, fears, his German girlfriend, a potential boyfriend for me at home, plans for the future...
The mozzy-swatting eventually become too much to bear, so we head back to The View for a few more poolside Changs, the view again is just breathtaking. Exhausted, we are both yawning and stretching away, so Steve drops me back to my hotel in Haad Rin and returns to his hotel to prepare for the new arrivals the following day. He also has friends arriving from the Ivory Coast, so I only see him briefly in the following days, but we keep in touch via Whatsapp and I may bump into him again when I return to the island for the Full Moon Party in a week or so...

Hanging in Phangan

Today I woke up feeling like my Thai maid had had a crap on my tongue during the night...as I'd forgotten to close my door properly before stumbling into my bed, there's a good chance she had.

I am filled with guilt at still not having booked The Sanctuary for my week of yoga, fruit smoothies and clean-living....so I reach for my mobile, turn on the wi-fi....and get straight on Tinder in search of another party.

Within minutes I am matched with an English DJ, bar and hostel owner called Guy, who offers to come and pick me up from my hotel and take me to a private party in Haad Yao, on the other side of the island. He tells me to be outside in 20mins, so I shave my tongue, conceal the bags under my eyes and fling on a sequinned chiffon cover-up over my bikini. Sorted.

Guy roars up in his battered purple Mustang, his dog Cassius crammed in the footwell as the back is filled with speakers and DJ equipment, and away we zoom. We stop at his bar to collect yet more speakers and Cassius jumps out too. Once we're all loaded up we set off again, only to realise 15minutes later that we've left the dog behind...d'oh! Koh Phangan is very hilly and bendy, so it's quite a white-knuckle ride, especially with the car full of stuff and the dog drooling down my legs in my footwell. It's also at least 35degs with 85% humidity. This combo is not conducive to immaculate grooming, so I have no option but to scrag it up and rock the 'Bohemian Chic' look...which is just as well as when we finally arrive at Seaboard Bungalows, the location for the party, I'm greeted by an array of dope-smoking, rake-thin Swedish girls, effortlessly looking amazing through lazily stoned eyes and pouty lips. Guy introduces me to everyone and I instantly forget their names, choosing instead to sink a few Changs and attempt to look relaxed and at ease as the blatant tourist amongst this close-knit group of  in-crowd locals...

A few hours pass, Guy is spinning some cool tunes, everything is peachy, until one of the Swedish mafia aka Amelia realises that it is Guy who has brought me to the party and he fancies me. It then becomes apparent that Amelia is in fact Guy's on-off love interest (more off than on thanks to him), and she is now spitting feathers and baying for my blood. Gulp!

Luckily one of the gang, Stephen, hears my prayers for a knight in shining armour to come and whisk me away from the situation (or at least transport my butt back to Haad Rin), and we speed off on his scooter, leaving Guy open-mouthed and eating our dust...

Stephen is a hotel manager for a 5-star resort called The View, which is in Bang Tai and is Bang Tidy...result! So we spend the rest of the evening swimming in the infinity pool, sipping whiskey on ice and admiring the most amazing view, right out across Phangan and over to Samui. The tunes are on, the drinks flow as does the banter....another cracking Phangan experience for the Thailand trip memory bank....

'Shroom For Manouvre

I find my 'alone time' day in my room strangely depressing rather than relaxing - as someone who is more Tasmanian Devil than Tantric Yogi, I don't do alone very well. Most people define relaxing as a quiet day of chilling...to me it can be torturous - my brain is too full of inane chatter that I like to casually offload, aloud, into the unsuspecting shell-like of any willing (and quite often, unwilling) victim. I'm like the malfunctioning Duracell Bunny with no off switch. You could make a horror film about that quite easily, no?

As usual I have a restless night's sleep: as a lone female traveller I find I've always got one eye on the door, even when asleep, like a lizard I occasionally swipe my tongue over an eyeball to keep it moist....okay, okay, I don't quite go that far....but it's an idea, especially as my eyes are totally dried out from overuse of contact lenses combined with minus degrees air con.

So with gritty eyes, I pack my bag and get to the pier, ready for my ferry crossing to Koh Phangan, aka Party Central. I perk up when I spot Kieran, one of the guys I stumbled across after the Black Moon Party who had also had cravings for late-night munchies and headed for the Golden Arches.
He introduces me to his cousin Diarmid (Dermot) and the Irish and I board the old and rusty ferry, me feeling smug upon seeing their green and hungover faces. Perhaps that quiet night was a good idea after all...

Kicking off their shoes, they lay back on the wooden benches for the crossing, Diarmid explaining upon seeing my wide-eyed expression at the fresh, huge black star tattoo on the sole of his foot : he'd met a girl called Priya a few nights before and thought it'd be a grand idea, after a few Sangsom buckets (local whiskey and coke), to have her name tattooed on his foot, approximately an hour after first laying eyes on her. Whaaaaat?! Upon waking the next morning, he then opted to remedy the situation by getting it covered (badly) with a giant black star. So no tats in 26 years to 2 tats in 24hrs.....? Yep, it happened. (I've heard so many similar stories, even 2 young girls who had "Same, Same...But Different" (a common saying over here) inked boldly across their burgeoning guts....jeepers!

We survive the crossing without any dramas and head for Haad Rin Beach, home of the legendary Full Moon Parties. The Sunrise Resort is cheap but in a prime location in the centre of the beach, with a decent pool, air-con...and 24hr pumping, bassy, tunes. Whoops! My room is the cheapest option, so I am sandwiched between the pounding music...and a primary school packed with hundreds of screaming Thai toddlers....ouchy!

We drop our bags and sink a few Changs around the pool...and a few more...and a few Sangsom and cokes for good measure, just to be sure. We keep meaning to go and get washed and changed out of our swimming gear...but it never happens, and we end up dancing on tables, swigging buckets, dipping in and out of the sea to cool off until 5am. And the best thing? No-one bats an eyelid. The great thing about Thailand is that no-one makes an effort - and coming from a place and job where appearance is everything, it's extremely refreshing to squish my hair into a ratty bun, aim a sweep of mascara in the general direction of my eyes and away we go. I don't think a Thai person has ever worn a stiletto (except the ladyboys, of course).

Diarmid and I are befriended by a straight-laced Austrian couple, so find it highly amusing to persuade them to share some Mushroom Shakes with us. We make a trip up the rickety wooden steps to Mushroom Mountain and the barman wizzes us up a magic mushroom-laced cocktail in his blender, mixing with plenty of ice. It tastes surprisingly good, and is gone in seconds. 20mins or so later and we are all having the time of our lives, beaming from ear to ear and engrossed in the most seemingly deep conversation of our lives. In reality we are discussing the merits of the Crazy Frog song and similar, but hey...

Having bonded over fire soaked limbo poles, raucous arm-wrestling and frantic tabletop raving, Diarmid and I have a matey slap on the back and slope...okay...stagger...off to our respective rooms - him at the poolside apartment with balcony, me on a third-floor room with no balcony over the school. The Austrians were seen  silhouetted against the beach, Nina reprimanding Chris for his shroom-zoomed crazy behaviour....And Kieron? He crashed out hours before, last seen swigging Diarolyte-laced bottles of water. ...