His tongue stuck to the dryness of his mouth. He opened half-eyes to blearily comprehend the world. Glare penetrated the thin curtains over the window. Simon moved stiff air-conditioned limbs, and sprawled around the bed. He sat up on his elbows searching the clutter of the room for some water. Reaching over the side of the bed he rummaged through empty plastic bottles, clothing and papers in order to find some remnant dregs; he found a half-full bottle and gulped greedily.
Every morning for the last week he had woken to this feeling. Thailand so far had been the party of his life. Every morning he swore that there could not be yet another night of partying. And every evening came round with yet more drinking and cavorting. He had never seen youth so blatantly refuse to acknowledge responsibility and so greedily ravage its energy for the purposes of pure pleasure.
That first evening he and his friends had stumbled intoxicated around the back streets of town. Their first visit had been the Rasta Bar, which they had passed en route to their accommodation. Giggling in mirth and enjoyment of each other’s company and the fact they had finally made it out of the hectic hustle of Bangkok, they revelled in the freedom of the moment.
“Alright, let’s play a game – follow the sound!” said Rob.
A muffled thumping beat had reverberated across town for several hours and they were all curious to see its source. So they all strolled down unfamiliar streets, steadily making their way down to Sunrise Beach, where they had swum earlier that afternoon. The thumping grew louder as they approached. Simon was behind the others and as they neared streets bustling with partygoers he began to search for some sort of club from where the music could be emanating. Every bar had music blaring and dancing revellers, but the thumping droned over everything. Eventually they came to the street which led down to the beach. The others were ahead of Simon. Drunken people stumbled up and down the street. At its end the street was a blackness interspersed with flashing lights against the harshness of the fluorescent signs along its edges. Simon eventually made his way to the end. As he approached he saw that his friends were staring wide eyed back at him, beckoning. Simon realised that they were not on an empty beach, but in the midst of some sort of throng.
As Simon stepped out from between the buildings a wall hit him. The most obvious part was the sound. The sound of music underpinning the throbbing of the beach, and the sound of thousands of people. But the biggest part of the wall was the pure energy of the sea of people he now looked over along the beach. He had seen nothing like it. He had felt nothing like it. Just a sea of pure enjoyment. Of pure humanity at its most base, but its most energetic. The thumping was not just one but several clubs spewing different forms of music over the crowd. Along the beach at least fifty stands were selling the buckets of alcohol to which they had been introduced in Bangkok.
He and his friends turned to each other in utter delight. This is what they had come for. This is what they needed. They needed the cathartic cleansing that came with the utter madness of letting go of all responsibility. Around them in all directions spread a feeling of utter recklessness, of youthful sexuality flaunted to the world. They were energised just standing, dumbfounded, amongst the crowd. No pretentiousness existed, no rules existed, just adulterated fun. People danced wildly with abandon. All that was needed to approach others was the simple line “Hey, where are you from?” Everyone was there for the same reasons. To party.
And every night they returned to that same, addictive intoxication. Despite the nurtured hangovers, despite the messy stumbles home, the filth which steadily grew around them, they returned again and again. Simon rose groggily. He made his way to the door. The heat blasted him as he opened it, as it had done very morning. The glare of a semi-overcast day in the tropical sun hurt behind his eyes. He turned to peer down to the main street a hundred metres away between two buildings. A group of tanned Swedish blondes walked past. He recognised them from last night, or maybe the night before, he couldn’t tell. A group of Israelis strolled past in the opposite direction. He recognised them, too, from some drunken dancing on the beach. Simon’s friend walked out onto his balcony. They laughed at each other. So began the recovery, so they could do it all again tonight. Yep, this was Ko Panghan.
