Back to Koh Phangan – Part 2

The Koh Phangan tourist brochure stated that Had Yuen, the next beach, could be reached via the Green Dot Trail. Just follow the green dots on trees, meander through jungles and clamber over hills. It should be two, maybe three, hours of trekking.

Simple enough.

I packed some water and set off just after dawn. It felt good to do something else apart from drinking myself silly and ogling barely-clad women on Thailand’s party island.

I didn’t complete the trail.

But I found someone who came and never left the island.

Sawadee Ban Phun Born

“Welcome to my home.” grinned Uss the Swiss. His arms were spread out as I slid down into his ditch. A colourful sign above him proclaimed: Sawadee Ban Phun Born.

This white man in his orange Hawaiian shirt intrigued me. I had spotted him shifting blue pipes in a little pool of dirty water from my perch on the dirt track.

“The Thais stole my water.” His French accent lingered gently on every word. “When I wasn’t here they cut into my water and sealed this canal with concrete. Now I have to cook my rice with dirty water. Look how thin I am now.” He flexed his forearm, it was sinewy and muscled. His cheekbones stuck out from under his eyes.

Uss looked almost fifty. His beard was speckled with white and deep furrows lined his eyes. Yet he impishly pranced around me and gestured expansively.

“I have been here for twenty years.” Uss stated. “I told my partner to close my business and I will go into the jungle to smoke my marijuana. I live with my wife and there are my trees. We grow mostly fruits. Some lemons, some durians.”

I saw grass and a smattering of slim trees around us. He pointed to my left and right. His fingers were stained with grey earth. “That durian tree is 20 years old. This rubber tree is 19 years old. You can’t see it now but I live in a big hut further up.”

“20 years ago, there are very few tourists here,” continued Uss, changing track without warning.

“50 families grew coconut trees and sold coconuts there and there.” He pointed in several directions behind me. “Then more tourists came and they sold off their land for some money. Now they have motorbikes and TVs. Many bills too! But no chili to eat.” His fingertips closed on each other as if holding up a chili padi and he laughed, delighted at his cleverness. His torso bobbed in time to his laughter.

Uss ran from the world a long time ago.

The nine-to-five life annoyed him and he travelled extensively until settling in Koh Phangan. He spoke about his trip to Singapore in the 1970s.

“I lived at a dorm in Arab Street 23 years ago. And I smoked opium with the Chinese.” He mimed lying down and puffing on a big pipe.

“They would serve me tea as I smoked opium. That was the only time I was in Singapore. Now it’s very clean isn’t it?” Uss shrank away from me. He seemed to expect a beating but his eyes twinkled merrily under his shady trees.

My head hurt to keep up with him; there were so many things that we talked about during that hour. Koh Phangan: Before the tourist hordes. Singapore: harshly critical of skinny white guys. The unchanging office: Escape. Thailand: living with Thais and the jungle. The world: As it was a lifetime ago.

Before I left, I took a snapshot of this unusual white man. As the shutter whirred and clicked, Uss the Swiss stood proudly in front of his colourful sign. The one that proclaimed: Sawadee Ban Phun Born – “Welcome to Phun Born’s home”.

Originally written for Youth.sg (2006); re-edited (2010).

Back to Koh Phangan – Part 1

Koh Phangan. I remembered fire-dancers spinning acrid flaming weights into mesmerizing patterns. I remembered peeing vast quantities of booze into the sea under the big sliver moon. I remembered a hundred different beats and rhythms. I remembered hobnobbing with people from around the world in buzzing cafes.

That was the Koh Phangan that I remembered: the massive Full Moon Party, a Peter Pan lifestyle where no one grew up and the rest of the world was reached through their respective citizens.

Four years on, I’m still foolish, less able to hold my wine and unlikely to stay awake after midnight. I should have crossed the island from my list of places but I was nostalgic.

So I went back to Koh Phangan once more.

Full Moon Parrr….taaaaay! by Vigi 

En route on a mud road

“The party’s on the 7^th, this Thursday. Were you expecting a quiet time?” answered one of the British youths. I had wondered aloud about the many farangs (western tourists) on the ferry to the island. We were in a Song Thaew to Had Rin, where the full moon party would be held. The road climbed and dipped steeply. We hung on for dear life as the Song Thaew roared past other pedestrians or growling scooters.

It was almost sun down. Hand-painted signs tacked to a tree pointed in all directions like an absurd signpost transplanted from Alice in Wonderland. Some brightly declared “warm-up” sessions to the actual Full Moon Party at pub XYZ while others extolled the virtues of a nearby resort/bungalow/guesthouse/pub.

“I tried the buckets that they were selling. You know, the ones that chuck a bottle of Thai whiskey, coke, red bull and ice in a little plastic bucket.” the British youth said to his friends.

His eyes lit up, “It got me drunk so quick! Pure pleasure!”

Now that I think about it, it was mostly farang who were on that stretch of road.

Had Rin Town

I lucked out on finding a cheap guesthouse in Had Rin, especially with the Full Moon Party just days away. It was perched on a hill behind the beach. Clambering up to my little hut sapped my breath and energy. But once there, I had an excellent view of Had Rin and the beach town.

The little town had sprawled: more new buildings, paved roads and concrete bungalow skeletons climbed up the hillside. There just wasn’t any more space near the beach.

There were plenty of sounds from the sprawl. During the day, I heard metal clangs, happy yelps and longtail boats as they sped between beaches. The night was boomed with loud trance and techno from the shoreline pubs; what few lyrics were crystal clear to me from my bed.

And it was appropriately quiet in the morning; the town slumbered beside the uneven blue-grey sea.

Night-time in the Village

Had Rin is Holland Village doped up on Speed. Everything was ostensibly catered towards party nuts.

“Bucket of Joy – 200 bht!” shouted a sign in neon-red paint.

The main sprawl was dominated by cafes, Thai massage parlours and tour operators. They line the main street connecting Had Rin Nok and Had Rin Nai. Internet access at jacked-up ADSL speeds can be rented at 2 bht / min (120 bht or SGD$5 / hour) at all decent shops. Message parlour windows are plastered with messages of commendations in Nihongo; well and good for the Japanese-literate. Cafes are chic and versatile, décored out in beach bum fashion and attracting the same.

“Pizzas, shakes, Israeli breakfast, Fish and Chips, Thai food!” cried another sign just outside a busy cafe.

The sprawl was crowded. Buffed boys and gorgeous women showed off beautiful tans and physiques with precious little coverage. Others were red faced from peeping at the sun for too long. A couple, chattering in Hebrew, strolled past me. Packs of “one-day” friends debated in English with different accents. Their table was packed with drinks and more alcohol. The busiest queues were at booths selling banana pancakes and fruit shakes. Everyone had come in from a day out at the beach and they were buzzing with incredible energy.

A shake-seller slipped me a piece of paper. “Mushroom Shake” was penned on it in blue ink. I smiled back and slipped him back the paper.

My senses were frying from the noise and party universe. I fled back to my hut on the hill. It was four days before the Full Moon Party.

Now what?

Two days in Koh Phangan and I was getting antsy. The days and nights were unfailing similar. I would head to a beach to swim for a bit and burn under the sun, go into the sprawl for food and drinks, then back to my hut at night where I would write my entries. There didn’t seem to be any variety apart from drinking or talking to other tourists. After a while, everyone looked the same to me. I couldn’t tell them apart and I didn’t want to either.

I needed something else. The island couldn’t just be one big party place.

Or was it?

Originally written for Youth.sg (2006); edited (2010)