One thing neither of us anticipated was taking a scooter ride in Bangkok. Seeing all the wounded foreigners in the Southern Islands of Thailand made us realise how bad Westerners are at handling scooters but also how hazardous the conditions can be. So naturally Bangkok was crossed off immediately as a place to hop on one of these two wheeled death machines.
However, when you're running later for an overnight bus, compromises have to be made.
We speak to our French friend Guillaume, who we would be meeting at the bus station, and tell him we we're running late. In his typical French accent and through the speaker of my crackly Thai phone he gasps, "Ohhhh in zat case you must take zee taxi scooter...it will cost 60 Baht ($2)". We both look at each other, "Here goes nothing".
For anyone who's ever been to Bangkok you would know that peak hour doesn't exist. It's always peak hour. Crammed with pollution pumping and driver tooting cars, buses, trucks and scooters it's not a city for the faint hearted. Or those with asthma.
As we cross the bridge from the metro we look down at the stampede of vehicles and weaving scooters below and wonder whether we will soon be part of this madness. It's a scene reminiscent of Lion King when Mufasa is in the gorge being trampled by buffallo. We hope that we won't meet a similar fate. We meet our drivers. Mine is in his 60's. This gives me a brief sigh of relief, "atleast he's still alive after all these years", I think. However, as we set off into the heart of the stampede my optimisim begins to fade. I feel more and more like Simba and want nothing more than to escape the immediate chaos. The driver ducks and weaves through the encroaching traffic, ignoring the fact the has an 80kg white guy on the back with a 20kg back pack. When there's no gap to be found and a crash seems imminent he crosses three lanes to slide between two semi-trailer trucks. I look sideways and see Dylan laughing his head off as he videos the ride....crazy Canadians. I look ahead and see that there's a dead end ahead, 'we've reached then end of the gorge', I think. But in true Mufasa spirit, my driver jolts the bike left and finds a path only a driver of his experience could, up the footpath*. With barely a centimetre on each side, but not an ounce of concern, I strangely begin to relax and to feel a paternal like protection from Mufasa.
*footpath= sidewalk
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Search for the Iron Fairy (Best Burger in Bangkok)
This is a story from a dirty and smelly city far far away....
There is a myth that exists in Bangkok of a burger so great, that you must wear a collared shirt and closed shirt to eat it (according to www.theironfairies.com website). The myth also states that the bar in which this burger lurks is incredibly hard to find and annoyingly not accessible by any of Bangkok's public transport system, and that you'll have to walk an hour asking many Thais with little English how to find it. Even if you have an infected and swollen foot and can barely walk (Dylan), you will dig deep and fight off the pain for this ultimate reward.
There will be cholera and typhoid infested puddles along the way, in which you'll incidentally step in whilst wearing thongs*, and you will be great full you got those shots before you left overseas. You will almost walk past the restaurant because the sign is so small, however the incredible smell of the burger wafting down the street will soon put you back on due course. The smell of this sacred burger is a complete contrast to the pungent odour of fried rice, pork soup, marinated rat and dead dog. It's a garden of eden and you'll soon be the snake.
The myth continues by stating that you'll step into the quirkiest of bars. An abandoned factory where the burger's aroma will soon be mixed with whiffs of an oddly rustic scent lurking within its two-story shop-house confines. The Beef Burger with Bacon will become your choice as you haven't eaten since breakfast, starving yourself for this amazing experience. 'No burger before marriage' is your moral belief but tonight is your honeymoon. The burger will arrive and the bar will fall silent (because you're the only two people in it and no-body else can probably find it either). You're heart will begin to beat faster and your pulse quicken and parts of your body may move out of excitement (your stomach and drooling mouth of course). This burger is like a perfect woman; tender, juicy, hot, big in the right places and doesn't talk. If God created a burger in his image this would be it.
The myth also states that the burger has a knife buried through the middle of it to stop its enormity from spilling out onto the dusty blacksmith floor. You take a bite and a feeling of ecstasy takes over you. You've found the meaning of life, to eat this burger. You don't talk to your friend for the next ten minutes because your mouth is full. You don't want any of the burger infused air in your mouth to escape. Your burps are trapped in your hands and you breath them back in. You are chroming your burps. This burger is your drug of choice.
You finish the burger and consider falling asleep on the table right there and then, burger by your side and waking up the next morning. But then you think, the burger never looks as good in the morning so you make a sneaky exit. You want the memory of the burger to be as it is now. Perfect.
Thongs*= flip flops
There is a myth that exists in Bangkok of a burger so great, that you must wear a collared shirt and closed shirt to eat it (according to www.theironfairies.com website). The myth also states that the bar in which this burger lurks is incredibly hard to find and annoyingly not accessible by any of Bangkok's public transport system, and that you'll have to walk an hour asking many Thais with little English how to find it. Even if you have an infected and swollen foot and can barely walk (Dylan), you will dig deep and fight off the pain for this ultimate reward.
There will be cholera and typhoid infested puddles along the way, in which you'll incidentally step in whilst wearing thongs*, and you will be great full you got those shots before you left overseas. You will almost walk past the restaurant because the sign is so small, however the incredible smell of the burger wafting down the street will soon put you back on due course. The smell of this sacred burger is a complete contrast to the pungent odour of fried rice, pork soup, marinated rat and dead dog. It's a garden of eden and you'll soon be the snake.
The myth continues by stating that you'll step into the quirkiest of bars. An abandoned factory where the burger's aroma will soon be mixed with whiffs of an oddly rustic scent lurking within its two-story shop-house confines. The Beef Burger with Bacon will become your choice as you haven't eaten since breakfast, starving yourself for this amazing experience. 'No burger before marriage' is your moral belief but tonight is your honeymoon. The burger will arrive and the bar will fall silent (because you're the only two people in it and no-body else can probably find it either). You're heart will begin to beat faster and your pulse quicken and parts of your body may move out of excitement (your stomach and drooling mouth of course). This burger is like a perfect woman; tender, juicy, hot, big in the right places and doesn't talk. If God created a burger in his image this would be it.
The myth also states that the burger has a knife buried through the middle of it to stop its enormity from spilling out onto the dusty blacksmith floor. You take a bite and a feeling of ecstasy takes over you. You've found the meaning of life, to eat this burger. You don't talk to your friend for the next ten minutes because your mouth is full. You don't want any of the burger infused air in your mouth to escape. Your burps are trapped in your hands and you breath them back in. You are chroming your burps. This burger is your drug of choice.
You finish the burger and consider falling asleep on the table right there and then, burger by your side and waking up the next morning. But then you think, the burger never looks as good in the morning so you make a sneaky exit. You want the memory of the burger to be as it is now. Perfect.
Thongs*= flip flops
108 hours of no shirts: Ko Tao
A question that every man asks himself at some point in his life is how long he can go without wearing a shirt. Some would argue that being shirtless is a natural progression in dealing with an increment in temperature or that it enforces a sense of masculinity, a return to one's caveman heritage. Others would argue it is a vain attempt for attention charecterised by insecurity.
For us though it was a challenge and an experiment of sorts (and probably the later reason above) to see how long we could go topless in Ko Tao (a Southen Thai island) without anyone telling us to a shirt on.
24 hours
First day of toplesness completed without incident. Shirts came off in the morning for the beach and remained off for the day. No strange looks, after all it is an island paradise. Few winks from suspicious looking women with strong jaws and unusual bulges in throats. Note to self; don't go home with one of these flirtatious women.
48 hours
More beach time. Bulk purchase of sunscreen to protect our milky white bodies after bad morning sunburn. Walking around the street with a newfound swagger, chests poked out. This swagger is probably not justifiable. Eating in a posh restaurant is followed by a roll of eyes from fellow diners. People may be struggling to swallow their food due to our disgustingly sunburnt corpses. Young Thai girls get embarassed and blush (we later find out that having no shirt on in Thailand is like being naked...woops must have skipped that section in Lonely Planet). A night of drinking in bars goes unchallenged by security, however we are still 'those wankers in the bar without shirts on'.
 |
| This guy weighed about as much as a 10 year old Thai girl. |
72 hours
I have a 6am wake-up for diving and shiver my way to the dock in the back of the ute (pick-up truck). I'm no longer 'that wanker' but instead 'that idiot who can't tell the temperature'. People start to question why I have no shirt. My response; 'my clothes are in the wash'. Avoids awkward questions. It does however make me seem like i need my mother here in Thailand to monitor dirty/clean clothes ratio. Body resembles the Himalayas from previous nights mosquito bites. However as an injured soldier does we battle on. Dylan suggests we go gym = topless workouts with much self admiration in mirrors. 3 other guys have no shirts on either. We feel normal.
96 hours
We both wake up with runny noses from excessive air conditioning in the room overnight. The casualties are beginning to accumulate. Our shirts lie on our beds staring at us, asking to be put on. We resist the temptation. After 3 nights out we have gained A-grade wanker status and are recognised as the topless guys (named by a drunken Argentinian woman). We think we are legends. Others do not. Photos with giggling girls becomes the norm. Many guys, especially boyfriends are not seeing the funny side of it.
108 hours
Catching a train to Bangkok. Get told by the ticket inspector to put our shirts on. Like an alcoholic, our addiction has started to control us and negatively affect our loved ones (ourselves). Cold turkey is not an option. Going straight to putting a shirt on send us into a spiraling depression. We put our skimpy singlets on, our methadone program. As we sit sweating in the boiling hot train and craving toplesness, our heads return to a more normal size. As i stare out the window at the passing landscape, I hear that the inspector has entered the next carriage. I turn around. Dylan has relapsed.
Full Moon Party: Ko Phangangam Style
As I got off the boat in Ko Phangan I got the impression I'd just walked into something special. Hundreds...no thousands of 20 year old somethings scurrying for the nearest transport to their chosen place of sleep, or non sleep. A sea of fluro coloured shorts and singlets extended as far as they eye could see, and the smell of cheap whisky buckets wifts through the air, an intoxicating aroma. A young Swedish guy provides the music, loud house pounding from the boombox on his shoulder. The party's began and we haven't even left the ferry pier yet. Welcome to the notorious Full Moon Party, Ko Phangam, Thailand.
I meet up with Dylan at the hostel and this is where the adventure begins.
The days leading up to the Full Moon Party and the days preceeding it, host an array of parties as big as the full moon itself. the first night we're there is the jungle Party. The name says enough. Speakers hanging off trees like monkeys, throw together bamboo bars, wooden walk bridges over creeks that under normal circumstances would only support a 3 year old child and barely enough lights to reveal the drunken body at your feet. Is he alive? YEH he'll be right!!
The next day we wake up worse for wear, donning an interesting canvas of fluro coloured body paint from head to toe. It's started. And for the next 72 hours this will probably be the best we feel. Our bodies will be put to the brink, tested physically (for Dylan and hes banged up foot), mentally (when the first drink is downed at 11am) and emotionally. Emotional you may ask? Well a man can get quite upset when he's awoken by German tourists putting on their hiking boots in the dorm at 8am.
Hungover as we are, we decide, against all common sense to hire scooters for the day. What could possibly go wrong? Well to cut things short, we end up getting lost with no map and no knowledge of the Thai language (except "You are beautiful/cute") and on a dirt road reminiscent of Wolf Creek. I think it's at this point, flying 110 kmp/h down a pot hole ridden road and hungover, passing villages with poverty stricken Thais that we realise the two different worlds that exist in Ko Phangan. On one side you have families of 10 living in what could be best described as a lawn mower shed, earning $10 a day, whilst a few kilometres away some 20,000 foreigners party the night (and morning) away blowing $150 (a months salary for a Thai) without a second thought. But alas, the party must go on.
We meet our host of the hostel Dave. Dave is a bald 50 something year old Australian man dancing with no shirt on and going through a mid life crisis that's resulted in him buying a hostel on an island where the average toursit age is in the twenties. Basically a future version of us. After a few drinks and a brief banter, Dave is ushering us behind the bar with a cheeky grin. We look down to see two perfectly arranged lines of white powder. Dylan nudges me with a confused look, "is that baby powder?". I look at him and shake my head, "no this is no ordinary powder baby". Dave stares at me with an excited smile. I suppose this is what a grown man in a candy shop looks like. But for a man who's old enough to be my dad its a weird experience to say the least. "No thanks Dave", is my response. Before we can slowly shuffle backwards away, Dave is telling us he can get us anything we want. "I can get you guys acid, coke, MDMA, speed, ecstasy, weed you name it'. Before we can tell him again were not interested, he's got a 1000 baht note up his nose, snorting his worries away. I think Dave's going to be in Ko Phangan for a while.
The night of the Full Moon is upon us, the big white disc in the sky staring down at us as if to say, "you guys don't know what you're getting yourselves into boys. Yeh we don't know, but we don't care. This is the party of all parties. This is where when the going gets tough the tough get going....and then end up washed up on the beach after one too many mushroom shakes and an early morning swim. We later find out an average of 4 people die every full moon party mostly from drowning or scooter accidents. Mum and Dad, don't worry we're still alive.
Anyway enough about the morbid stuff, we're 2 young guys and were invincible!!
After choosing our outfits earlier that afternoon, a pink short shorts, fluro green crop top and fluro orange headband/wristband ensemble that would put Queer Eye for the Straight Guy to shame, we descend on Hat Rin, the heart of the action where the chaos and mayhem will take place. We look absolutely fabbbbbulous in our garb and get a neverending chorus of laughs, photo requests and comments from Thais of "ohhh sexy lady boys!". We love it though, any attention is good attention at Full Moon.
I meet up with Dylan at the hostel and this is where the adventure begins.
The days leading up to the Full Moon Party and the days preceeding it, host an array of parties as big as the full moon itself. the first night we're there is the jungle Party. The name says enough. Speakers hanging off trees like monkeys, throw together bamboo bars, wooden walk bridges over creeks that under normal circumstances would only support a 3 year old child and barely enough lights to reveal the drunken body at your feet. Is he alive? YEH he'll be right!!
The next day we wake up worse for wear, donning an interesting canvas of fluro coloured body paint from head to toe. It's started. And for the next 72 hours this will probably be the best we feel. Our bodies will be put to the brink, tested physically (for Dylan and hes banged up foot), mentally (when the first drink is downed at 11am) and emotionally. Emotional you may ask? Well a man can get quite upset when he's awoken by German tourists putting on their hiking boots in the dorm at 8am.
Hungover as we are, we decide, against all common sense to hire scooters for the day. What could possibly go wrong? Well to cut things short, we end up getting lost with no map and no knowledge of the Thai language (except "You are beautiful/cute") and on a dirt road reminiscent of Wolf Creek. I think it's at this point, flying 110 kmp/h down a pot hole ridden road and hungover, passing villages with poverty stricken Thais that we realise the two different worlds that exist in Ko Phangan. On one side you have families of 10 living in what could be best described as a lawn mower shed, earning $10 a day, whilst a few kilometres away some 20,000 foreigners party the night (and morning) away blowing $150 (a months salary for a Thai) without a second thought. But alas, the party must go on.
We meet our host of the hostel Dave. Dave is a bald 50 something year old Australian man dancing with no shirt on and going through a mid life crisis that's resulted in him buying a hostel on an island where the average toursit age is in the twenties. Basically a future version of us. After a few drinks and a brief banter, Dave is ushering us behind the bar with a cheeky grin. We look down to see two perfectly arranged lines of white powder. Dylan nudges me with a confused look, "is that baby powder?". I look at him and shake my head, "no this is no ordinary powder baby". Dave stares at me with an excited smile. I suppose this is what a grown man in a candy shop looks like. But for a man who's old enough to be my dad its a weird experience to say the least. "No thanks Dave", is my response. Before we can slowly shuffle backwards away, Dave is telling us he can get us anything we want. "I can get you guys acid, coke, MDMA, speed, ecstasy, weed you name it'. Before we can tell him again were not interested, he's got a 1000 baht note up his nose, snorting his worries away. I think Dave's going to be in Ko Phangan for a while.
The night of the Full Moon is upon us, the big white disc in the sky staring down at us as if to say, "you guys don't know what you're getting yourselves into boys. Yeh we don't know, but we don't care. This is the party of all parties. This is where when the going gets tough the tough get going....and then end up washed up on the beach after one too many mushroom shakes and an early morning swim. We later find out an average of 4 people die every full moon party mostly from drowning or scooter accidents. Mum and Dad, don't worry we're still alive.
Anyway enough about the morbid stuff, we're 2 young guys and were invincible!!
After choosing our outfits earlier that afternoon, a pink short shorts, fluro green crop top and fluro orange headband/wristband ensemble that would put Queer Eye for the Straight Guy to shame, we descend on Hat Rin, the heart of the action where the chaos and mayhem will take place. We look absolutely fabbbbbulous in our garb and get a neverending chorus of laughs, photo requests and comments from Thais of "ohhh sexy lady boys!". We love it though, any attention is good attention at Full Moon.
 |
| Gotta dress to impress! |
We head down to the beach, bucket in hand, fluro clothed and body painted. We're the typical full mooners (cross dressing excluded). As we step onto the beach we're met by one of the most amazing scenes of our lives. As far as the eye can see there is a 2 km ocean of every colour you can imagine. It's like an acid trip meets licorice all sorts. Shit metaphor but you get the idea. For the next 12 hours we don't miss a beat.....literally. People don't walk at Full Moon they dance. If you go to get a bucket you dance to go get it Copacabana style. It's infectious. Addictive. And weirdly completly normal.
First bucket
Due to the complete lacko of material on our pink short shorts there are no pockets. Luckily Dylan has a money belt so he stores his precious Thai baht in his. me on the other hand have to shove my Baht down my jocks.
A month earlier I'd spoken to a bloke called Gav in a bar in Patong, Phuket. He'd told me the story of how a guy who had beeen thrown in jail for standing on a note with the King's face on it. Disrespecting the king is the worst crime in Thailand.
A month later after tyhis conversation and a few drinks later, I was searching through my jocks looking for the Thai Baht i'd sworn was there. Alas it was resting on my balls. As I took a note out to give t0o the drink man the look of shock on his face was evident. at which point I turn to Dylan and say, "what would happen if you had the king's face against your balls?". Needless to say we grabbed our buckets and danced back to the festivities.
It was at 10:30am, well after the sun had risen, that we decided to make our way back. One of the most memorable but forgettable nights of our lives had come to an end. For Dave though, i'm sure his night was just beginning.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Two brats set sail...
Like all trips, this one started long before boarding that first flight from Melbourne, Australia and Vancouver, Canada. Months of planning possible travel routes, searching for 'not to miss places' and a few Google searches of 'best party places in South-East Asia'. There could be a whole blog explaining this side of planning, but honestly it'd be a bit boring to write and more importantly to read.
Instead this blog will take you through the many stories and thoughts that occur whilst traveling through South-East Asia, highlighting the trials and tribulations experienced by a Canadian and Australian guy. There will be tragedy, lost love, tales of adventure, poorly recounted drunken nights and an intertwining of cultures that could only occur when you throw two western guys into a land of ...Asianess.
Dylan & Josh
Instead this blog will take you through the many stories and thoughts that occur whilst traveling through South-East Asia, highlighting the trials and tribulations experienced by a Canadian and Australian guy. There will be tragedy, lost love, tales of adventure, poorly recounted drunken nights and an intertwining of cultures that could only occur when you throw two western guys into a land of ...Asianess.
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