Upon my arrival at my hostel in Bangkok (after 3 hours of haggling with a tour agency, being lost, and exploring the King's Birthday Festival), I met two guys in my hostel who were on their way out as I came in. I assumed (incorrectly, as you've already surmised) that I'd never see them again. I also thought one seemed kinda gay.
My hostel was in Silom, which is apparently very close to both the red light district and the gay ghetto. A night market only a block from my hostel sells live tasers, elaborate bongs, and Hello Kitty paraphenalia. But tucked off in a side street were three gay pubs. They seem like any other pub, except virtually all the clientele was male and eyeing me leerily. I nearly beat a hasty retreat before I found the two putitivie gay boys from my hostel strolling up the street. It didn't take much to cajole them into sharing a beer and stories with me.
The one I first picked as gay was French (and New Caledonian at that) so its kind of a wash. The other was British, so same problem. Both had traveled together for the past two weeks, and were ambiguous as to whether they were sexually involved. Both were leaving Bangkok in the morning, the French for Cambodia (naturally) and the British for Chiang Mai (and much appreciative for my suggestion of Freedom Bar). I never learned, or more specifically remembered, either of their names. The Frenchman was very oversexed and touchy - admitting openly that he lived for sex - but it was hard to pin anything he did or said as having significance. The Brit was simply aloof as all good Brits were. Both were more interested in their text message conversations than interacting with each other or me.
Meanwhile I was eyeing the surroundings; the bar scene here was surprisingly non-cruisey. But I naturally noticed the tall blonde European wandering around alone. I tried to call him over, but he settled on taking a drink at the bar next to ours. Rather than calling it a loss, I jumped out of my seat, strolled up to his table, and struck up a conversation.
I'd love to tell you that we hit it off swimmingly, and went off to make tender sweet love somewhere quiet. Well, we did hit it off well, but the Swede turned out to be a lost straight boy. Before I learned this, the Brit came over to muscle in on my conversation. Suddenly the Brit was engaged. He was interested, talkative, leaning in and touching the Swede at all the appropriate moments. I was slightly angry for this obvious intrusion and intent to steal. However, I figured out the Swede's real sexuality before the Brit did, and kept the joke to myself for as long as possible.
Myself, the Brit, the Swede, the Frenchman, and the Frenchman's Fuckbuddy who'd come to visit all sat around and drank ourselves stupid. I spent around 500 baht in alcohol, less than 10 dollars but not insignificant in Thailand. Before long, we decided to kick off to GOD, a beautifully blasphemously named gay dance club. The Swede made his farewell, and now it was an awkward foursome.
Upon arrival, the heady cover charge included a few free drinks. The Frenchman and his Fuck went off somewhere, and I and the Brit were left alone. As the two of us drank more, we became closer. We talked into each other's ears. We brushed our lips on each other. Our hands roamed. Our necks, hot and vulnerable, were there for the kissing.
I'd like to say I went for it. Maybe I wouldn't. But what happened was I went to the bathroom, and by the time I returned shortly after they were all gone. An early sleep for an early rise. I was left alone in the club. Like I've found in South America, gay clubs are universally the same. I've found myself feeling most alone when surrounded by mostly-naked grinding and pashing men. One or two tried for a kiss, and I leaned away disinterested. I found myself on the top level, on the edge of the railing, staring down at the pulsating fleshmass. I took a step back and walked downstairs and outside before I could even conceive of anything else.
I returned to the hostel, and as I walked up the stairs I came across the one shower running after 3am. I paused outside for a minute, and my hesitence was rewarded by seeing the French's Fuck walk out naked. He opened his room door, which revealed the Frenchman buttnaked as well. Both were extremely fit and sexy, and the French Fuck had a prominent erection. He noticed me, greeted me slightly sheepishly, and went to bed. I was amused, but not aroused.
How seriously had I considered sleeping with the Brit, who's name I can't remember, and who's defining feature in my mind is his shameless attempt to steal the guy I was flirting with? In reality, I'm glad I didn't. I've been haunted lately by a face; its more annoying than anything else, but I find he creeps up in my mind when I least expect or desire it. I probably wouldn't have enjoyed the Brit with that Sydney face on my mind. Much like my escapades with illegal drugs and unwelcome accostings by hookers, these thoughts will colour in the shadows of my trip with charcoal.
Update: The next night, I went gay clubbing with a friend of mine who's currently living in Bangkok. We went to to a different club, but regardless of where you are in the world you know its always the same. Sure, I got hit on by a few people, but at the end of the night it was him that pulled and not me. And frankly, I was happy with that. Happy to be the wingman, and happy to sleep in my bed alone.
The leftover marijuana was lying in the garbage can next to my bed while I slept.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
Green pt 2 (Koh Chang Island)
You might be tempted to think that I'd learned my lesson then, and never touched pot again. But I still had that slice in my bag. Arriving in Bangkok, I spent a little more time with Jack before deciding to take off for Koh Chang, one of the many resort islands in the Gulf of Thailand. After 15 hours on a train, 6 hours on a bus, another hour on a ferry, and nearly an hour in a pickup truck made for one marathon commute. But the island was beautiful, jungle swathed mountains that quickly fall into white soft beaches. This is the Thailand people imagine.
Small shacks (more bamboo and corrugated tin) held a multitude of bars. Too many bars, with not enough patrons. Only one or two old white European men with young Thai 'girlfriends' populated any given one, and the unpaired women would call and heckle loudly every time you walked past, even if you'd just walked past and refused a minute before.
Kae Bae, the 'town' I was staying in, was just too quiet. Thankfully, I met another American from Seattle named Josh who was happy to show me around. I stuffed my book and water under the seat of his motorbike and hopped on the back, and we took off for White Sands Beach. There we took off our shoes and walked along quiet paradise, before wandering out to a sandbar and lighting up another joint I'd rolled. It really was beautiful, with the moon above, the ocean reeling out in front, the sand behind, and some creepy dude staring at us.
From there, things get more hazy. We walked along the beach and somehow added a Danish girl to our traveling party. It took alot of energy to just have a normal conversation, but we split a few beers and chatted for an hour before she decided to head for bed. I was tempted to go too, but Josh wanted to go party. To be fair, it was only midnight, and there was really only one bar that had any activity. We went in, went to the back, and went for more beer.
A Thai girl came up to me and struck up a conversation. Again, I participated with difficulty. When it came time for me to buy another beer, she wanted me to buy her one too. A gentleman, I did. Mistake. Seeing I had money, she then wanted to dance. I can barely dance anyway, but dancing high I'm just awkward. She moved her hands up and down my body. Then she took one of my hands and put it on her small breast. "You like?" she asked perkily. I just stammered and smiled and tried to avoid eye contact, but my hand stayed. So she took her hand, and grabbed my penis through my jeans. "Would you like to go somewhere?" she asked innocently. I said "Yes, I'd love to go for a smoke, stay here" and quickly retreated outside.
I spent much of the rest of that night hanging out outside the bar, chatting with drunk French girls and crazy local Thais. Every once in awhile, Josh would come out and drag me back in. Significantly more drunk than before, he made it his uninvited mission to teach me how to pick up a girl. He'd grab one by the hand and start swing dancing with her, before swiftly moving into a grind dance. Almost smooth, but supremely awkward. Naturally it worked, because he's a young white guy with money. But I for one couldn't deal with the money-hounding attention and kept retreating outside. As the drugs wore off, I went from being intimidated to simply being annoyed. By the time 2am rolled around and the bar closed, I simply wanted to go home.
Josh at this point hadn't given up. Its funny, he could get any girl with a few bucks, but on 'principle' he refused to pay. So no girl wanted him, since most women you find after midnight on Ko Chang are prostitutes. Sorry, its simply true. I dragged him away from his doomed affair, and demand he take me home. To his credit, he relented, and we went to find his motorbike. We walked up and down the street for 20 minutes, and it was nowhere to be seen. Josh decided to take off further back down the road to look, but I decided to stay and wait.
I never saw him again. Odds are, his motorbike was down there. I hope he enjoys my book.
Before long, all the motorbikes had dispersed, and I was left largely alone on the street. No taxis in sight. I considered walking, but it would've taken about 4 hours. After a few minutes, a car rolled down the street, and I flagged it. The black car pulled over, and rolled down its window. Inside were two fairly attractive women in thick makeup. "You want a fun time?" one asked. Goddamn it.
Thinking fast, I put my hand to my head. "I don't feel so good..." I moaned. The hooker closest to me looked concerned. "Do you need help?" "I just need to get... to my bed..." I mumbled. The driver asked me where I needed to go, and I told her Kai Bae. She frowned for a moment, then told me to get in. I got in the back, and we took off down the road. As we went, I kept my eyes open for Josh but couldn't see him.
Rather than go to Kae Bae, the lovely prostitutes took me to their bar which they were just opening at 3am. They offered me a drink, and sex, and a hoola-hoop show, and more sex, and more drinks. With every offer, I just got more and more 'sick'. When I threatened to vomit, they stopped being amused. "We'll take you home. 300 baht." For the record, the taxi costs 50. And they may very well might try to rob me. But I really wanted to go home, so I relented. One in the drivers seat, one in the back seat next to me chatting in Thai with the driver. My hands never left my wallet. To their credit, they may have totally sharked me with the money, but they drove me to my bungalow.
Retelling this story the next day to my new neighbour, he rolled his eyes. "A taxi ride for 300 baht? You totally could've negotiated a blowjob." This is Thailand.
I only have one more drug story. I have plenty of it left in my bag, most likely to get thrown out before I go to the orphanage. But I rolled one finally joint the next night. I walked around town for a bit before finding a set-back bar inside a resort where a group of 4 older white dudes were playing in their live jazz band. Past the bar and back down the path were some bungalows, and beyond that a pool. I sat in a sheltered cove at the pool, where I could still here the jazz, and lit up.
I'd smoked about half when a man walked around the corner, walked directly up to me, and asked in an American accent, "Can I help you with something?" Figuring him for bar staff, I said politely "Oh, I'm sorry, can I not smoke here?" He replied snarkily, "Not when it's ganja." I shrugged and said "Fair enough, I'll be leaving." No need to cause a scene I figured, since if I left quickly and quietly he'll just pretend I was never there. And that's exactly what happened. I licked my fingers and snuffed out the J before stuffing it in my pocket and walking out of the resort.
I realized, as I walked down the street, that he could smell the drugs from quite a distance, and came right for me. Maybe not such a big deal with a farang bartender used to it, but there's no reason the train conductors or even train police couldn't smell it. Simply put, I'd gotten away with it out of sheer luck. If a cop felt even a mild inclination to take a piss, I'd have been fucked.
I lit up and finished my joint while walking an abandoned road - or so I thought - by the water. Then I went back to the bar next to my bungalow, laid in a hammock, and enjoyed the chilled out music. I didn't feel fear. I was a pleasant high, and enjoying myself. But I was still bored and alone and stoned in Thailand and even got busted for it. To mock myself, the grass wasn't greener.
Update: The last night I went to Lonely Beach, the place I was originally supposed to go. As expected, it seemed infinatly more fun. I went to a party on the beach which was small but pleasant. Somehow I ended up bouncing from Random Brit to Highly Drunk Bungalow Neighbours to Swedish Guy (I think I just thought he was cute and struck up a conversation), to Stoner Norwegian to Coke Dealer Canadian. The night ended at sunrise in front of the Canadian's bungalow. I rejected his offer to fuck a prostitute on his dime (so I think he just took both for himself), but with a bucket drink of vodka and lemon soda, no less than three joints (one of which I rolled myself), and two lines of coke, I think illegal drugs have now become an indelible part of my Thai experience.
Here's the upside: Coke bored me again. Second time I've done it in my life, and I'm still not impressed. Can't say I'll never do it again, but I have no desire to seek it out, and definately no desire to buy it. After sunrise, after I'd already come down off the coke and was only high on pot, I still had to shamble back to my bungalow, pack my bag, and catch a ferry. Being high wasn't fun, it was a moderate annoyance I had to overcome to be productive. I really hope I've learned some drug-related lessons in the past month...
Small shacks (more bamboo and corrugated tin) held a multitude of bars. Too many bars, with not enough patrons. Only one or two old white European men with young Thai 'girlfriends' populated any given one, and the unpaired women would call and heckle loudly every time you walked past, even if you'd just walked past and refused a minute before.
Kae Bae, the 'town' I was staying in, was just too quiet. Thankfully, I met another American from Seattle named Josh who was happy to show me around. I stuffed my book and water under the seat of his motorbike and hopped on the back, and we took off for White Sands Beach. There we took off our shoes and walked along quiet paradise, before wandering out to a sandbar and lighting up another joint I'd rolled. It really was beautiful, with the moon above, the ocean reeling out in front, the sand behind, and some creepy dude staring at us.
From there, things get more hazy. We walked along the beach and somehow added a Danish girl to our traveling party. It took alot of energy to just have a normal conversation, but we split a few beers and chatted for an hour before she decided to head for bed. I was tempted to go too, but Josh wanted to go party. To be fair, it was only midnight, and there was really only one bar that had any activity. We went in, went to the back, and went for more beer.
A Thai girl came up to me and struck up a conversation. Again, I participated with difficulty. When it came time for me to buy another beer, she wanted me to buy her one too. A gentleman, I did. Mistake. Seeing I had money, she then wanted to dance. I can barely dance anyway, but dancing high I'm just awkward. She moved her hands up and down my body. Then she took one of my hands and put it on her small breast. "You like?" she asked perkily. I just stammered and smiled and tried to avoid eye contact, but my hand stayed. So she took her hand, and grabbed my penis through my jeans. "Would you like to go somewhere?" she asked innocently. I said "Yes, I'd love to go for a smoke, stay here" and quickly retreated outside.
I spent much of the rest of that night hanging out outside the bar, chatting with drunk French girls and crazy local Thais. Every once in awhile, Josh would come out and drag me back in. Significantly more drunk than before, he made it his uninvited mission to teach me how to pick up a girl. He'd grab one by the hand and start swing dancing with her, before swiftly moving into a grind dance. Almost smooth, but supremely awkward. Naturally it worked, because he's a young white guy with money. But I for one couldn't deal with the money-hounding attention and kept retreating outside. As the drugs wore off, I went from being intimidated to simply being annoyed. By the time 2am rolled around and the bar closed, I simply wanted to go home.
Josh at this point hadn't given up. Its funny, he could get any girl with a few bucks, but on 'principle' he refused to pay. So no girl wanted him, since most women you find after midnight on Ko Chang are prostitutes. Sorry, its simply true. I dragged him away from his doomed affair, and demand he take me home. To his credit, he relented, and we went to find his motorbike. We walked up and down the street for 20 minutes, and it was nowhere to be seen. Josh decided to take off further back down the road to look, but I decided to stay and wait.
I never saw him again. Odds are, his motorbike was down there. I hope he enjoys my book.
Before long, all the motorbikes had dispersed, and I was left largely alone on the street. No taxis in sight. I considered walking, but it would've taken about 4 hours. After a few minutes, a car rolled down the street, and I flagged it. The black car pulled over, and rolled down its window. Inside were two fairly attractive women in thick makeup. "You want a fun time?" one asked. Goddamn it.
Thinking fast, I put my hand to my head. "I don't feel so good..." I moaned. The hooker closest to me looked concerned. "Do you need help?" "I just need to get... to my bed..." I mumbled. The driver asked me where I needed to go, and I told her Kai Bae. She frowned for a moment, then told me to get in. I got in the back, and we took off down the road. As we went, I kept my eyes open for Josh but couldn't see him.
Rather than go to Kae Bae, the lovely prostitutes took me to their bar which they were just opening at 3am. They offered me a drink, and sex, and a hoola-hoop show, and more sex, and more drinks. With every offer, I just got more and more 'sick'. When I threatened to vomit, they stopped being amused. "We'll take you home. 300 baht." For the record, the taxi costs 50. And they may very well might try to rob me. But I really wanted to go home, so I relented. One in the drivers seat, one in the back seat next to me chatting in Thai with the driver. My hands never left my wallet. To their credit, they may have totally sharked me with the money, but they drove me to my bungalow.
Retelling this story the next day to my new neighbour, he rolled his eyes. "A taxi ride for 300 baht? You totally could've negotiated a blowjob." This is Thailand.
I only have one more drug story. I have plenty of it left in my bag, most likely to get thrown out before I go to the orphanage. But I rolled one finally joint the next night. I walked around town for a bit before finding a set-back bar inside a resort where a group of 4 older white dudes were playing in their live jazz band. Past the bar and back down the path were some bungalows, and beyond that a pool. I sat in a sheltered cove at the pool, where I could still here the jazz, and lit up.
I'd smoked about half when a man walked around the corner, walked directly up to me, and asked in an American accent, "Can I help you with something?" Figuring him for bar staff, I said politely "Oh, I'm sorry, can I not smoke here?" He replied snarkily, "Not when it's ganja." I shrugged and said "Fair enough, I'll be leaving." No need to cause a scene I figured, since if I left quickly and quietly he'll just pretend I was never there. And that's exactly what happened. I licked my fingers and snuffed out the J before stuffing it in my pocket and walking out of the resort.
I realized, as I walked down the street, that he could smell the drugs from quite a distance, and came right for me. Maybe not such a big deal with a farang bartender used to it, but there's no reason the train conductors or even train police couldn't smell it. Simply put, I'd gotten away with it out of sheer luck. If a cop felt even a mild inclination to take a piss, I'd have been fucked.
I lit up and finished my joint while walking an abandoned road - or so I thought - by the water. Then I went back to the bar next to my bungalow, laid in a hammock, and enjoyed the chilled out music. I didn't feel fear. I was a pleasant high, and enjoying myself. But I was still bored and alone and stoned in Thailand and even got busted for it. To mock myself, the grass wasn't greener.
Update: The last night I went to Lonely Beach, the place I was originally supposed to go. As expected, it seemed infinatly more fun. I went to a party on the beach which was small but pleasant. Somehow I ended up bouncing from Random Brit to Highly Drunk Bungalow Neighbours to Swedish Guy (I think I just thought he was cute and struck up a conversation), to Stoner Norwegian to Coke Dealer Canadian. The night ended at sunrise in front of the Canadian's bungalow. I rejected his offer to fuck a prostitute on his dime (so I think he just took both for himself), but with a bucket drink of vodka and lemon soda, no less than three joints (one of which I rolled myself), and two lines of coke, I think illegal drugs have now become an indelible part of my Thai experience.
Here's the upside: Coke bored me again. Second time I've done it in my life, and I'm still not impressed. Can't say I'll never do it again, but I have no desire to seek it out, and definately no desire to buy it. After sunrise, after I'd already come down off the coke and was only high on pot, I still had to shamble back to my bungalow, pack my bag, and catch a ferry. Being high wasn't fun, it was a moderate annoyance I had to overcome to be productive. I really hope I've learned some drug-related lessons in the past month...
Green pt 1
I broke a promise to my mother. Then I broke one to myself. I shared joint with some strangers at a rooftop bar in Chiang Mai. Mind you, the bar is called Freedom Bar (remember that one?), and is covered with emblems of marijuana leaves. They sell at the counter some nights, and multiple groups were smoking freely on the roof. I suppose they bribe the police, or they just don't care. Either way, this felt like a pretty damn safe place.
It was Matt who got me to break my promise to my mother to not do drugs abroad. Sure, its not coke or pills or heroin, but it's still an illegal drug. Nor will I spend life in prison like with harder things, but it's still an illegal drug. Still, my friend invited me to split a joint for free, and it had been awhile, and I felt safe, so why not.
It started with just me and Matt on the roof. Others came up and went into their own groups. Most notably was a group of German girls sitting not far. Before too long, Matt got lost drawing trippy shit in his notebook, and I joined the German girls (half of whom were high themselves). One of the girls, named Freeda of all things, was celebrating her birthday in style: with beer, pot, and chocolate. I was only too happy to join in.
Too many girls in one place attracts a crowd, and before long two South Africans joined us. One was named Danny, the other I couldn't give a shit. Danny asked us about our night, and feeling safe, passed his joint around the circle. Before long, when he realized the girls weren't going to put out sober or stoned, he and his friend left for greener pastures, so to speak. One by one, the girls all nodded off to sleep themselves until only Freeda and I remained.
We walked over to join a Frenchman reclining lazily against the railing, smoking out of a pipe. Naturally it was full of ganja. Despite having shared two joints already, I took his beaming grin and his pipe and topped up. Smelling bud, we were eventually joined by a growing throng of people: Another Frenchman, a local Thai, a Singaporean, and a Japanese couple. All laying back in this bastion of freedom, enjoying the Devil Weed in the company of strangers. Life was good.
Then, with almost no sleep and what I can only describe as a pot hangover, I went trekking in the hills. Could explain why the first day was such shit.
Upon returning to Chiang Mai, I decided to make Freedom Bar my regular joint (so to speak). That night, I took Joris and made the 15 minute walk I'd make a number of times again before leaving Chiang Mai.
In Freedom was a different set of stoners, but they become interchangeable after awhile. None had green, but I was feeling bold. I offered to collect money (100 baht from all participants) and buy: 500 baht ($15 US) would buy the equivalent of $50 in Australia. Sadly, the bartender either didn't have or didn't want to sell to me, so we went home empty-handed that night. However, I made the acquaintance of an aging dreadlocked Seattle hippie rock climber named Richard. I assumed from his hair he'd have drugs, but he did not. In fact, he was quite shy to talk about them at all. But by the end of the night, that was all he could talk about. The fine art of rolling, or baking cookies, or making milkshakes. He fancied himself a cook and a connoisseur, and offered to teach me to roll if I could find any. Sounds like a challenge.
The next night I met up with Richard outside his hostel, where he was talking to a young climber from Laramie (and a friend of Matthew) named Ben. The three of us eventually worked our way to Freedom, where we all ordered beer and sat downstairs. However, I knew the smokers were upstairs, so I made an excuse to slip away. Upstairs I found Danny, relaxing with his J, which he kindly shared. We exchanged pleasantries, asking about our future plans, ect. When I mentioned my overnight train ride coming up, he suggested I 'be prepared'. I surmised well enough he wanted to sell. Now here's the promise I made to myself: Not to carry drugs. Its fine enough when there's no evidence, but if I'm caught with stuff on me, I'd be fucked.
I bought 200 baht worth. Danny delivered half an hour later a very densely pressed slice of a brick. Easily worth $30 or so in Australia, it only cost me 7 bucks. Richard and Ben were impressed. I could practically see Richard's mouth water. We made an appointment for rolling lessons the next night at Freedom's free BBQ.
Next night I went to Richard's hostel, but he wasn't around. Nor was he at Freedom. So I enjoyed the free BBQ with Freeda and more randoms. An hour later, Richard shows up quizzical. "How come you never came up to my room?" he asked. I told him I didn't know his room or that he wanted to meet me there, but I'd be glad to go up now and practice, so we left.
Richard really did have an ideal room. Big, open, with AC and a small balcony overlooking nothing (bad for views, great for privacy). Over the course of an hour, I rolled, unrolled, and rolled again. I must've rolled atleast 10 joints. I had no idea it was so frustrating! Even with the AC, my hands were sweating so bad that the weed was sticking to my hands and the rolling paper was getting soaked. After an hour and two decent joints, I gave up and we lit one up on the balcony.
Its easy to underestimate how much pot is in a well-rolled joint. Despite being two of us, I was suddenly more fucked up than any of the previous nights. With the dogs barking and the traffic grinding and the waist-high railing suddenly being too low, I was itchy to get back inside. I sat on his bed, and he sat next to me, cliche reggae music mousing out of his mobile phone speakers. We chatted for a bit, with Richard seeming overly concerned with my well being. Suddenly (or maybe not suddenly, I was baked) he scooted up to me and started rubbing my neck. It felt good for about two seconds before I became suddenly paranoid. Am I sitting next to a rapist?
"What are you doing?" I asked. "Nothing, just giving you a massage," he cooed back. I tensed up, and said, half-demanding and half-panicked "Why are you touching my neck?" He quickly retreated to the opposite corner of the bed. "Ok, personal space, I get it." Now I just felt uncomfortable in this tiny cramped hot room with a strange older man. Who was 55, apparently. It didn't take me long before I claimed the munchies and a need to get outside and eat.
Outside we met Ben, who indulged us by buying us 5 baht chocolate biscuits. Pure heaven, and I felt that much safer with him around. The three of us went on a market run (where I had Pad Thai noodles, Banana Fried Crepe, and of course more chocolate) before making out way to Freedom for the last time. But rather than go in and drink, we joined a group outside (including Freeda) and somehow managed to talk our way into going on a kebab run on the other side of town (the Eagle House side). So one last time we made the trek. After indulging in more fattening awesome, we all went our separate ways.
But before he left, Ben told me that he stopped smoking weed. "I used to have alot of fun and do stupid shit, but I was always afraid. I couldn't understand why I was scared all the time. Then I stopped smoking."
The next day (or same day, they blur together), I boarded an overnight train at 3pm bound for Bangkok. Some music, a brief nap, but I eventually found myself striking up conversations with everyone in the carriage. One in particular, a 20 year old Brit named Jack, I ended up spending much of the long journey with. He seemed bright, but was unemployed, uneducated (high school dropout) and had no plans. So I offered to help him figure out what he was passionate about. I shouldn't have asked, in hindsight. It resulted in an hours-long conversation about 9/11 conspiracy theories with Jack and some ancient withered dude from Denmark. Far too much crazy old dude for one day, even though Jack seemed to love him. Jack's passion was more about overthrowing the current corrupt capitalist system (something I hear plenty of from the left socialist uni students enjoying government welfare benefits I know back in Sydney), as well as bizarre physical theories such as the golden ratio Phi and the effects of the Cygnus constellation on human evolution. I offered my biology knowledge to suggest why a disparate group of stars at vast distances from each other only linked by human imagination in a 2-dimensional view of the night sky would not influence the random process of evolution in a positive-change way, but shyed short of a full slap-down of his theories. And I promised to atleast investigate the 9/11 'alternative views' for myself. Having already broken a promise to my mother I wouldn't feel so bad ignoring him, but he's like the third person to try and discuss it with me this year when I say I'm from New York.
Anyway...
We chatted for over six hours, but eventually he needed his sleep. I tried to sleep for an hour to no avail. The train was just too loud and jarring. Instead, I crept to the bathroom and locked the door. Assuming the uniformed conductors were long asleep, I became the ultimate suss person, huddled by a window in a hard metallic shitty train toilet in Thailand. Afterward, I threw the butt out the window and crept back into bed. No one stirred.
There are a number of levels of being high. There's being slightly buzzed. Then there's that happy medium, just chilled out. Above that, there's being really high where you're spacing out and feeling weird. Above that you just get quiet and paranoid and it isn't fun. I've known all levels in my life. However, after doing too much acid at a warehouse party, I've discovered a new level, more of a side level than one further up. Essentially, sometimes when I'm really high, I experience a recreation of my acid trip. Sometimes it's a flat-out memory. Even more rarely, it's a recreation of the symptoms but in a whole new context. This is what is known as an Acid Flashback. This is what I was experiencing in my tiny uncomfortable cot in a hard cold train, loud and jarring, completely isolated with only the plentiful cockroaches to keep me company. My body was spinning in ways that defied physics, and my brain went places. Paint chipped away from the wall became horses breathing fire racing around the Circus Maximus.
Unlike my actual acid trip, I knew the whole time what was going on. I never lost the ability to discern I was in an overnight train to Bangkok and having an acid flashback. But it was long and lonely, and the whole time I remembered Ben's words about feeling afraid.
It was Matt who got me to break my promise to my mother to not do drugs abroad. Sure, its not coke or pills or heroin, but it's still an illegal drug. Nor will I spend life in prison like with harder things, but it's still an illegal drug. Still, my friend invited me to split a joint for free, and it had been awhile, and I felt safe, so why not.
It started with just me and Matt on the roof. Others came up and went into their own groups. Most notably was a group of German girls sitting not far. Before too long, Matt got lost drawing trippy shit in his notebook, and I joined the German girls (half of whom were high themselves). One of the girls, named Freeda of all things, was celebrating her birthday in style: with beer, pot, and chocolate. I was only too happy to join in.
Too many girls in one place attracts a crowd, and before long two South Africans joined us. One was named Danny, the other I couldn't give a shit. Danny asked us about our night, and feeling safe, passed his joint around the circle. Before long, when he realized the girls weren't going to put out sober or stoned, he and his friend left for greener pastures, so to speak. One by one, the girls all nodded off to sleep themselves until only Freeda and I remained.
We walked over to join a Frenchman reclining lazily against the railing, smoking out of a pipe. Naturally it was full of ganja. Despite having shared two joints already, I took his beaming grin and his pipe and topped up. Smelling bud, we were eventually joined by a growing throng of people: Another Frenchman, a local Thai, a Singaporean, and a Japanese couple. All laying back in this bastion of freedom, enjoying the Devil Weed in the company of strangers. Life was good.
Then, with almost no sleep and what I can only describe as a pot hangover, I went trekking in the hills. Could explain why the first day was such shit.
Upon returning to Chiang Mai, I decided to make Freedom Bar my regular joint (so to speak). That night, I took Joris and made the 15 minute walk I'd make a number of times again before leaving Chiang Mai.
In Freedom was a different set of stoners, but they become interchangeable after awhile. None had green, but I was feeling bold. I offered to collect money (100 baht from all participants) and buy: 500 baht ($15 US) would buy the equivalent of $50 in Australia. Sadly, the bartender either didn't have or didn't want to sell to me, so we went home empty-handed that night. However, I made the acquaintance of an aging dreadlocked Seattle hippie rock climber named Richard. I assumed from his hair he'd have drugs, but he did not. In fact, he was quite shy to talk about them at all. But by the end of the night, that was all he could talk about. The fine art of rolling, or baking cookies, or making milkshakes. He fancied himself a cook and a connoisseur, and offered to teach me to roll if I could find any. Sounds like a challenge.
The next night I met up with Richard outside his hostel, where he was talking to a young climber from Laramie (and a friend of Matthew) named Ben. The three of us eventually worked our way to Freedom, where we all ordered beer and sat downstairs. However, I knew the smokers were upstairs, so I made an excuse to slip away. Upstairs I found Danny, relaxing with his J, which he kindly shared. We exchanged pleasantries, asking about our future plans, ect. When I mentioned my overnight train ride coming up, he suggested I 'be prepared'. I surmised well enough he wanted to sell. Now here's the promise I made to myself: Not to carry drugs. Its fine enough when there's no evidence, but if I'm caught with stuff on me, I'd be fucked.
I bought 200 baht worth. Danny delivered half an hour later a very densely pressed slice of a brick. Easily worth $30 or so in Australia, it only cost me 7 bucks. Richard and Ben were impressed. I could practically see Richard's mouth water. We made an appointment for rolling lessons the next night at Freedom's free BBQ.
Next night I went to Richard's hostel, but he wasn't around. Nor was he at Freedom. So I enjoyed the free BBQ with Freeda and more randoms. An hour later, Richard shows up quizzical. "How come you never came up to my room?" he asked. I told him I didn't know his room or that he wanted to meet me there, but I'd be glad to go up now and practice, so we left.
Richard really did have an ideal room. Big, open, with AC and a small balcony overlooking nothing (bad for views, great for privacy). Over the course of an hour, I rolled, unrolled, and rolled again. I must've rolled atleast 10 joints. I had no idea it was so frustrating! Even with the AC, my hands were sweating so bad that the weed was sticking to my hands and the rolling paper was getting soaked. After an hour and two decent joints, I gave up and we lit one up on the balcony.
Its easy to underestimate how much pot is in a well-rolled joint. Despite being two of us, I was suddenly more fucked up than any of the previous nights. With the dogs barking and the traffic grinding and the waist-high railing suddenly being too low, I was itchy to get back inside. I sat on his bed, and he sat next to me, cliche reggae music mousing out of his mobile phone speakers. We chatted for a bit, with Richard seeming overly concerned with my well being. Suddenly (or maybe not suddenly, I was baked) he scooted up to me and started rubbing my neck. It felt good for about two seconds before I became suddenly paranoid. Am I sitting next to a rapist?
"What are you doing?" I asked. "Nothing, just giving you a massage," he cooed back. I tensed up, and said, half-demanding and half-panicked "Why are you touching my neck?" He quickly retreated to the opposite corner of the bed. "Ok, personal space, I get it." Now I just felt uncomfortable in this tiny cramped hot room with a strange older man. Who was 55, apparently. It didn't take me long before I claimed the munchies and a need to get outside and eat.
Outside we met Ben, who indulged us by buying us 5 baht chocolate biscuits. Pure heaven, and I felt that much safer with him around. The three of us went on a market run (where I had Pad Thai noodles, Banana Fried Crepe, and of course more chocolate) before making out way to Freedom for the last time. But rather than go in and drink, we joined a group outside (including Freeda) and somehow managed to talk our way into going on a kebab run on the other side of town (the Eagle House side). So one last time we made the trek. After indulging in more fattening awesome, we all went our separate ways.
But before he left, Ben told me that he stopped smoking weed. "I used to have alot of fun and do stupid shit, but I was always afraid. I couldn't understand why I was scared all the time. Then I stopped smoking."
The next day (or same day, they blur together), I boarded an overnight train at 3pm bound for Bangkok. Some music, a brief nap, but I eventually found myself striking up conversations with everyone in the carriage. One in particular, a 20 year old Brit named Jack, I ended up spending much of the long journey with. He seemed bright, but was unemployed, uneducated (high school dropout) and had no plans. So I offered to help him figure out what he was passionate about. I shouldn't have asked, in hindsight. It resulted in an hours-long conversation about 9/11 conspiracy theories with Jack and some ancient withered dude from Denmark. Far too much crazy old dude for one day, even though Jack seemed to love him. Jack's passion was more about overthrowing the current corrupt capitalist system (something I hear plenty of from the left socialist uni students enjoying government welfare benefits I know back in Sydney), as well as bizarre physical theories such as the golden ratio Phi and the effects of the Cygnus constellation on human evolution. I offered my biology knowledge to suggest why a disparate group of stars at vast distances from each other only linked by human imagination in a 2-dimensional view of the night sky would not influence the random process of evolution in a positive-change way, but shyed short of a full slap-down of his theories. And I promised to atleast investigate the 9/11 'alternative views' for myself. Having already broken a promise to my mother I wouldn't feel so bad ignoring him, but he's like the third person to try and discuss it with me this year when I say I'm from New York.
Anyway...
We chatted for over six hours, but eventually he needed his sleep. I tried to sleep for an hour to no avail. The train was just too loud and jarring. Instead, I crept to the bathroom and locked the door. Assuming the uniformed conductors were long asleep, I became the ultimate suss person, huddled by a window in a hard metallic shitty train toilet in Thailand. Afterward, I threw the butt out the window and crept back into bed. No one stirred.
There are a number of levels of being high. There's being slightly buzzed. Then there's that happy medium, just chilled out. Above that, there's being really high where you're spacing out and feeling weird. Above that you just get quiet and paranoid and it isn't fun. I've known all levels in my life. However, after doing too much acid at a warehouse party, I've discovered a new level, more of a side level than one further up. Essentially, sometimes when I'm really high, I experience a recreation of my acid trip. Sometimes it's a flat-out memory. Even more rarely, it's a recreation of the symptoms but in a whole new context. This is what is known as an Acid Flashback. This is what I was experiencing in my tiny uncomfortable cot in a hard cold train, loud and jarring, completely isolated with only the plentiful cockroaches to keep me company. My body was spinning in ways that defied physics, and my brain went places. Paint chipped away from the wall became horses breathing fire racing around the Circus Maximus.
Unlike my actual acid trip, I knew the whole time what was going on. I never lost the ability to discern I was in an overnight train to Bangkok and having an acid flashback. But it was long and lonely, and the whole time I remembered Ben's words about feeling afraid.
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