Zen & the Art of Partying in Thailand
What I learned about Impermanence, Friendship and Fragile Ligaments in the Tropic of Cancer
‘Oh, no…’ were the first words that went through my head as I looked at my passport.
Our flights had been booked, Airbnbs sorted and here I sat with a passport that would expire in less than six months.
‘Guess I’ll save all the money I’ll spend on the trip,’ I told myself.
Sunk cost fallacy had nothing on me. But what did have something on me was disappointing my boys. If the roles were reversed and one of them cancelled plans last minute, I’d be crushed.
Better to be the crusher than the crushee I convinced myself and broke the news on our Whatsapp group chat.
… 7… 8… 9 —
Only nine seconds passed before my phone rang. Tej and Kiru were on the other end of the line. They were inadvertently at Thomas Cooke, getting the currency exchanged, when I dropped the bombshell.
Then Thambi joined the call. I explained the situation.
‘Oh, no,’ was their reaction as well. This was beyond our control. The website said the passport needed a validity of 6 months for travel. And it was valid when we booked the ticket.
A month ago.
That simple oversight was now biting us in the ass and taking big chunks while it was at it. They enquired with the agents at Thomas Cooke. They agreed with the information on the website. No dice.
But they did have the contact of a person who could get a passport renewed within 3–5 business days and it would cost 10k. I was already calling it quits, but my boys were not going to give in so easily. Unbeknownst to me, they were already splitting the expense for the renewal to get my ass across the country.
But no dice again. The election was scheduled for the following month, and the passport office would not be available to renew the passport at such short notice.
That evening, I met Thambi. We laughed at the situation so that we didn’t have to cry. All options had been sought and denied.
Since it was visa-on-arrival there were no authorities along the way to direct our attention to the inevitability of my ageing passport. Alas! C’est la vie.
But, like a deus ex machina, Thambi’s dad, who moonlighted as a globetrotter, assured us it would not be a problem. It all depended on the mood of the officer at emigration and immigration.
And so, that night, I went home and started packing, hoping for good mood and better luck.
KIA to DMK — 4 hours
Bhu, Tej, Thambi, Kiru and I walked towards the plane like the five horsemen of the apocalypse. Fate tried to make it four for mythological consistency, but too bad, I just passed through emigration.
Well, fate still did have a chance when we landed to send me back home, but we were not going to think about it.
The smell of adventure was in the air, along with the smell of tobacco, as we passed the smoking lounge. We were told that the Devil sold lettuce in Thailand, and we had to sample them.
But not before the final test.
I stood in the line at Immigration. Casual tourists were already being pulled aside by security for taking photographs.
Looks like this spot in Thailand is a party-free zone.
Then it was my turn. I stepped in front of the officer and gave her my most charming smile. If she was charmed, she was definitely a professional because she did not show it.
I submitted my fingerprints on a machine that looked like it was from a James Cameron movie. I heard the stamp clicking, and when I looked up, she was already handing me the passport, urging the next person forward.
I passed through the gate and held my excitement within the confines of my raised eyebrows. When I looked back, all my boys had the same reaction on the other side.
Five minutes and a satisfying piss later, we breathed in the first humid air of Bangkok that greeted us with the smell of fried seafood and burning ganja.
The sun was just about to rise. But not yet. There was still time for a morning spliff.
Bangkok
We found ourselves a nice spot on the subway. Its warm, soothing lights helped with the redness our eyes were experiencing from a particular herbal intervention.
It took us a few seconds to adhere to the quiet decorum of the train as the locals headed to work.
As loud and chaotic as the streets were, the subway was equally quiet and calm.
Soon, we found ourselves negotiating with a machine that would store our luggage while we conducted a circuit around the city before our rooms were ready for check-in.
Luckily, a group of flower sellers helped us out. But not before a prolonged exercise in translation and charades.
Once we relinquished ourselves of that responsibility, our bellies growled. We hit one of the many 7-Elevens littered through the country like freckles on a Redhead. After stuffing ourselves with Thai tea, we headed straight to our first destination — the temples.
We needed divine providence to give us safe passage through all the debauchery that lay ahead of us.
Wat Arun stood before us like a granite monolith that ascended heavenward. Juxtaposed against the bright, blue afternoon sky, the temple had an air of grandeur that oozed spiritual presence even to the most ardent atheist.
Perhaps it is a higher plane of artistry embodied by the architects, or as Jung would say, the unconscious divine manifesting through the artists. Either way, if God took naps in this place, I wouldn’t be surprised.
We, on the other hand, looked anything but divine. Fighting a losing battle against the afternoon sun and sweating profusely, we found solace in the kindness of a coconut seller.
With a deft stroke, he cleaved the top and upended its life-quenching contents into a glass. As I drank the coconut water, I realised how different it tasted from the coconuts back home.
These were larger here and had a more distinct ‘Thai flavour’. That’s the best way I can put it without sounding like an absolute imbecile.
After giving the man enough business for a week, we left, restocked with all the fluids necessary to sweat away within the next half an hour.
But a beautiful thing about Bangkok is that any time you need respite from the humidity, all you have to do is step into a store and look around. Even if you didn’t buy anything, you would have bought comfort in the form of sweet, sweet air conditioning.
The two days spent in Bangkok felt like a haze.
The days were filled with frenetic water fights courtesy of the Thai New Year — Songkran. It would be a multi-day event. So, the danger and pleasure of having water spouted on you was a distinct possibility throughout the trip.
Chinatown was wild and chaotic. Filled with tourists, street foods and bright, vibrant colours. The sensory overload is an experience you should sample at least once in your life.
The rooftop bars, on the other hand, were like every other rooftop bar in the world — exclusive, lines of decked-up patrons and overpriced beverages. But, it did have a view of the skyline that you can only get by being in the skyline.
With all the pad thais, bongs, boat rides, street art and friendly faces, Bangkok appeared and disappeared from our lives like a friend who arrived too late and left too soon.
My last memory of the last night in Bangkok was that of a beautiful Thai woman teaching me the right way to say thank you in Thai.
Kop Khun Krap.
Pattaya
Hoping for a restful night of sleep on a trip to Thailand, we realised, was like waiting for Godot to arrive — it ain’t happening.
The previous night was a haze of things that were better left unsaid. The alcohol was slowly exiting our livers and making way for a hangover that would’ve made an excellent drill sergeant in another life.
All hands were on deck to find all the water bottles to douse our system of the symptoms of our escapades. Of course, all this had to be done while shoving our clothes into rucksacks that seemed the perfect size when we left but now refused the barrage of clothes being shoved in.
Hoping that we got all our stuff, we shuffled out of our Airbnb, vowing that all forgotten items were now the property of Bangkok.
“Remember, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Except for herpes. That shit’ll come back with you.”
— The Hangover (2009)
I always assumed that tuk-tuks would be exactly like the autorickshaws back home. But it turns out that every time I looked around searching for that Suzuki Hayabusa that sounded like it just whizzed past us, it was a tuk-tuk ripping through the streets piloted by a madman who only needed his third eye and some beats to navigate the maze that was the Bangkok streets.
And today we were enjoying the beats with the madman as we ripped our way to the bus stand. By the time we arrived, we were wide awake and drowning in adrenaline.
The bus ride to Pattaya, I realised was the most strategic way to get some shuteye. But the beautiful landscape that flowed past us outside the window was a distraction that threatened my plans.
And so when we arrived at Pattaya, I left to the fates where and how I would end up that night.
The city had a more easygoing vibe, compared to Bangkok. If Bangkok was a professional who worked hard and played harder, Pattaya was its hippie cousin who surfed all day and made love all night.
The sun was slowly making its way to the horizon as we drove through the streets. The soft, golden light of the hour, the smell of salt in the air, sundresses and weaponised water greeted us all the way.
Songkran was in full swing.
If you managed to avoid the water guns with gymnastic skills you never thought you had, you found yourself with a faceful of bucket water.
Eventually, I realised that the secret to avoiding getting wet was to smile every time you got hit with water.
Our hotel rooms had a view that travel magazines promised but failed to deliver. We watched the sea bathe the beach one wave at a time from our balcony.
But this view would not last long. Pattaya took only the space of one day in our itinerary. And most of the day was over getting here. Looks like we will have to borrow time from tomorrow.
That meant another sleepless night. Luckily, youth still coursed through our veins and there was enough of it to power us through another night.
A quick shower, and a quick dinner later, we hit the Pattaya Walking Street. I did not know what to expect, but the internet recommended that this was the place to be if we showed up on this side of the country.
And the internet was not wrong. It was — how do I put it — something else.
It used to be a roadway for the fishing industry in the ’60s and ’70s when Pattaya was still a fishing village. Over the years, and with the aid of history, it became the Red Light District.
If your mind conjures seedy establishments and dark alleyways when you hear those words, then you would be as wrong as I was.
The street was filled with locals and laughing tourists, shooting water or avoiding getting shot. There was an air of excitement. Seafood restaurants, live music venues, discotheques, nightclubs and go-go bars sandwiched us from both sides of the street.
It had all you can imagine and more than your imagination could even comprehend. It is not for the tightly wound or the straitlaced. One must walk out with openness or bear the brunt of your own moral high ground.
Luckily, I always aspire to be the devil you know than the angel you don’t. And this seemed like heaven.
“Cease, cows, life is short.”
― Gabriel Garcia Marquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude
Koh Phangan
With sunrise arrived the strange calmness of the morning after a night of wild encounters. The streets were empty but for the workers who were cleaning it up for another day of the same.
But the city would have to go on without us. We were but travellers who were here to taste a pinch of the sea salt in this former fishing village. Now it was time to go.
As we hurried to the bus stand, I felt something stir inside me. It was a zombie. And all it craved was sleep. I may have closed my eyes at around 4 AM. By the time I was done blinking, it was 6:30 AM.
Luckily, the effects of the circadian rhythm would keep me going until we were in the back of the air-conditioned bus. And after that, only dead men slept better.
I dreamed of trapeze artists and stilettos. Poles, polecats, and paramours. And all good things that come to an end.
Like my sleep.
In the immortal words of Robert Plant, I was dazed and confused when I woke up in Bangkok. It took me ten seconds to reorient myself. Or was it ten minutes? I had slept straight for 3 hours, but if sleep was a drug, I needed another hit.
The pedlar, however, hung out in beds and cushioned seats. I would have to wait.
Ko Phangan was next. All we had to do was take a quick flight to Ko Samui and a twenty-minute ferry. But when youth courses through your veins, so does poverty.
We took a cheaper flight to Surat Thani, a southern district in mainland Thailand. Followed by a two-hour cab drive to Don Sak Pier. And finally, a two-hour ferry to Koh Phangan.
And so, by the time we arrived, it was dark. But the silver lining was that we had enough time along the way to rest and recuperate. And we were blessed with a beautiful view on the ferry as we watched the ocean swallow the sun.
When the tuk-tuk dropped us at the Airbnb, it became obvious that we would need to hire motorcycles to traverse the island. But that wasn’t a problem.
There’s nothing like the wind in the hair and the ability to follow our whims.
Amsterdam Cafe was the first spot. It was the local favourite for all who wanted to “expand their psyche”. High up on a hill, it had a great view of the ocean. Red lights in the bohemian style greeted us, with mats and pillows all over the place for us to relax and gaze the stars.
We sampled a fungal decoction of the psilocybin variety.
It was almost 12 AM when we left. As we drove around, I was enveloped with an inner peace that felt like I was floating in a river of hot chocolate.
That’s when I realised that we were tripping all kinds of balls.
The shrooms had hit us and we were peaking. The weariness of our bodies was a distant thought. Our minds and senses alighted to the moment and in the moment we wanted some food.
We made a pitstop at a sports bar filled with football hooligans who were watching a live Premier League match. We got ourselves a couple of beers and watched the match while a steroid-loaded Englishman jumped around us, his veins pumping like they should’ve popped yesterday.
I didn’t know it yet, but Koh Phangnan would become my favourite leg of the journey. And it would be the most relaxed and least debaucherous, relatively speaking.
It is funny that the most profound is the least immediate. Perhaps, while partying is the extremes of passions and regrets, peace is the space between.
So, when we were back home around 3 AM, we took a shower and were ready for a night of restful sleep. Instead, we just spoke. Maybe the conversation was the rest we needed.
We spoke about life, love, career, heartbreaks and the moments that must be cherished before they disappear with the dawn.
And so when dawn arrived, we hit the beds with a smile etched on our faces. It was time to beckon the Sandman and to dream of things that were left unsaid and undone.
Koh Ma beach was the most beautiful beach that I had seen in my life. It was split in the middle where a smaller section masqueraded as an estuary. The beach sand was made of tiny pebbles and the waves were gentler than a newborn’s skin.
The boys decided to take a dip in the water, while I wet my feet and languished on the beach, admiring bikinis, bottoms and the most serene of sunsets.
Once the sun set and the golden hour disappeared behind us, we had our eyes set on Panburi Village. I sat pillion, navigating on my phone, while Thambi set the bike on the long winding roads that were an absolute joy to ride in.
And then it happened.
We had stopped on a dirt patch to check the route. Then, when Thambi accelerated, the back tyre locked and the world spun around us. My mind had just enough time to process the information that we were going to fall before we hit the ground.
Kiru, Tej and Bhu who were ahead of us stopped in their tracks instantly and turned around. My first instinct was to check my body. There were no leaking holes in my torso, and my limbs moved at every joint. Good.
Then I asked Thambi how he was doing. Like me, he was still in shock but he was fine as well. We got up and placed the bike on the stand.
Adrenaline pumped through my system and the only pain I felt was my bruised pride and the potential loss of our deposit. Luckily, the bike was made of sterner stuff than flesh and bones.
The only scratches it had were on the people who sat on it.
Thambi’s left arm looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. He tried to apply some saliva to the wound on his elbow. Cottonmouth made spit in short supply, so he had to pull it out from the depths of his soul and spat a fat loogie which missed trajectory completely and fell on my arm while I was nursing my bleeding knee.
Time to cut that arm off.
Thirty minutes later, as we got out of the medical store with all the paraphernalia needed to clean and fix the wounds, I finally looked up and appreciated exactly where we were.
Panburi village was a quaint, rustic spot. Ideal for couples, families and injured travellers who need to slow down. Warm, fairy lights clung from tropical trees to thatched roofs over classy restaurants.
Thambi looked worried, even apologetic that the bike fell. I smiled in return, “Don’t worry, da. This was not on my bucket list, but now that it’s happened, I’m getting a new bucket and putting it in.”
In the middle of it all, Kiru found a salon that would fulfil one of his lifelong dreams — to get braids. We decided to join him and get ourselves foot massages.
The salon was rustic and filled with at least three generations of Thai women.
The oldest woman, who might have been in her late sixties at the very least looked at my scars with concern and reproach. They sat us down and washed our wounds and applied anti-septic.
I had a weird sensation while she took care of me. She reminded me of my grandmother who had passed away. Nostalgia is a strange feeling that feels like a warm cuddle on a rainy afternoon.
Any tears that may have welled up, I pushed down. Stay there boys, I told them. Blood is the only thing I’m going to let out tonight.
I woke with an inability to bend my left knee. The bike had fallen on it, bearing the full brunt of the impact. It only seemed like a skin injury at the moment, but now that the body had relinquished the fight or flight instinct, it enlightened me to how truly and utterly fucked I was.
I had an old ligament tear on the same knee, and it now inflamed back into life. Meanwhile, Thambi had not slept a blink. His arm had been throbbing all night from the tissue damage to the muscles.
Like veterans limping back from the frontline, we limped into the speedboat that was to take us to the last place on the list — Koh Samui.
But we were not alone, the dock was filled with fellow travellers who carried evidence of their own falls.
The locals called it the Koh Phangnan tattoo.
“Sometimes it’s a little better to travel than to arrive”
― Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
DMK to KIA
We were the last group to exit the plane once it landed back home. The airport personnel had a wheelchair ready for me. As I was wheeled through the airport, I could not help but smile as I reminisced the last day of the trip.
I was stuck in our beachfront Airbnb in Koh Samui while the boys hit the last spot on the itinerary — the Mu Ko Ang Thong National Marine Park. It was an archipelago filled with a day of kayaking, snorkelling and trekking.
Ibuprofen could not hold back the pain long enough for me to move, so I stayed back, imagining what the Marine Park would be like. What the warm waters, the local lemurs, the lagoon and the fauna underwater looked, felt and sounded like.
All I could do was imagine. If I ever felt bored or was hit with a wave of FOMO, there was always the throbbing pain to distract me.
I slept, rested and watched waves. Perhaps it was the peace of total acceptance or a sense of gratitude, but I didn’t feel particularly bad that I was missing the activities. I had a feeling that the accident could’ve been far worse. Half a dozen things could’ve gone wrong. But it didn’t.
Instead, fate prescribed me a few days of bed rest.
And soon within a few hours, the last chapter of a core memory would be written. Every passing second was a second to embrace before it was gone. All I had to do was choose it, and it would be mine.
And so it was.
Epilogue
Months have passed and the sun has risen like clockwork many times. The stories have been told and retold, over coffee and whiskey, to all who missed the trip and any who would listen.
Thailand remains only in my memory and as scars on my body. My leg is back to normal and it works like it’s supposed to, relatively speaking.
They say the most important moments of your life flash before your eyes right when you’re about to die. Even though it was just a vacation with the boys, I would be surprised if I didn’t catch a few glimpses before I go resting in peace.
And if I don’t, C’est la vie.
“Maybe that’s enlightenment enough: to know that there is no final resting place of the mind; no moment of smug clarity. Perhaps wisdom…is realizing how small I am, and unwise, and how far I have yet to go.”
― Anthony Bourdain
