As you know, I was in quite a state last night, and due to the influx of respectable types who think it's funny to start a facebook profile, I'll have to tell you about it hear in ScaughtyThoughts. This state I speak of saw me at incredible highs, where every thought was one of awesomeness, and many times I picked up the phone to call each and every one of you to share that awesomeness, if only I could have figured out which one of the 13 fingers I sprouted was real enough to use the phone. Last night also had its lows, getting caught dancing naked to Fela Kuti in a gazebo being one of them. Yes, it was magic mushroom time again in Koh Phangnan.
Now I sit in the hazy after-birth of that psychedelic jaunt, gazing out at the Gulf of Thailand. It's rainy season and the sky is patched with grey and bedraggled, like the hair of an aging musician, but my surroundings are no less a paradise. I'm sitting on the porch of Big Blue resort, blogging and checking the stats of my fantasy baseball team on a stranger's computer, and eating quite simply one of the most delicious dishes to ever grace my palate: crunchy, spicy somtum with a gang of panang curry to help sweat out all the mushroomy miscreants flowing through my life-stream. How was your weekend?
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Koh Tao, Part IV: Birthday
That first night's sleep was pretty fitful. On top of the first day jitters, and still trying to get over the fact that I was about to scuba dive in fucking Thailand, it seemed also that I was not the only one inhabiting my room. The walls and ceilings came alive at night with shadowy movement; dark forms that could have been centipedes, scorpions, or whatever unseemly creepy crawly creature my mind could conjure. Having been in Thailand for quite some time now, I'm convinced they were most certainly geckos, but dammit if it wasn't unnerving. My room was also conveniently located next to the hotel generator, which made noises at night like water buffalo hate-sex. And just beyond that mechanical nightmare was a rooster/goat farm; the loudest, smelliest combination of livestock the agricultural gods could come up with. And when I was able to shut my eyes for half an anxious second, there were the skeet hordes waiting to sup on my tenderness. So sleep was fitful. In spite of my slumber-less night, I was raring to go come morning.
I'm not going to bore you with the minute details of every inch of reef or the color of stripes on every fish we saw, and certainly not with the humdrum of that first day of training in the pool, because I believe that a majority of you are certified divers and have been scuba-diving before; at the least snorkeling. For those of you who haven't, let it suffice to say that it's just as goddamn exciting as I'm sure you've imagined. Scuba-diving is an exhilarating balance between adapting, reacting and adjusting the life-supporting equipment strapped to your back, and taking in the amazing alien world around you that takes advantage of every opportunity to make your dive a permanent slumber-party with Davey Jones.
That second day on the island, a Sunday, I think we spent something like four hours in the pool, just getting used to the process of strapping, buckling, checking, wearing, swimming, and breathing all the gear. After that, it was our first lecture in the class-room; another two or three hours, I think. Lecture was boring, but broken up with several verbal jabs about my new Gestapo hair-cut. That night we all had dinner at Ban's restaurant, and got to know each other a little better. Our dive instructor, Alex, joined us, and I guess I should talk about him a little, being our instructor and all. Alex was from Germany; Bavaria, I think. He's in his mid-thirties, and has been living and diving in Koh Tao for several years. He looked like an amalgamation of David Hasselhoff and Chunk. Kinda of a douche, but he seemed to know what he was talking about scuba-wise.
We had some good conversation, the seven of us, some food and drink, then headed down the beach for one of those nightly fire-twirlings to the cadence of Kanye and Flo-rida. We played some pool, got a tad schwilly, and headed home early. Everyone seemed to get along and enjoy each other's company.
Monday was my birthday, and the first day we went to open water, so perfectly timed on my part. Pineapple smoothies for breakfast, then we picked up the gear a little before eight in the morning. A long-tail boat took us out to the two-story dive-boat which took us about five klicks around the NE coast. We were only a quarter-mile off shore when we got in the water. We descended the 12 meters (these numbers need to be checked in my dive book) to bottom, formed a circle in the sand, and took it all in. The visibility wasn't the greatest, I'd say about 15-20 meters (maybe because it was still rainy season), but that 20 meters wasn't short on things to look at. Everyone made it through the skills tests with no problems, we swam a figure-eight and surfaced. About 50 minutes underwater give or take. No incidents or accidents, hints or allegations. After a short debriefing on the boat, we headed back to Ban's for a few hours before our afternoon dive. The later dive was more of the same. A few skills tests, a short swim-about, then back to Ban's.
There had been little mention all day of it being my birthday except for a couple of well-wishes that morning from Amy and Laura and Yair, but that was fine with me. I had just met these people, and we were all scuba-diving which overshadows a lame 29th birthday. Which made it all the more awesome when I headed off to bed only to make it five steps before everyone started singing "Happy Birthday" at the bar as they brought in a candle-lit brownie from 7-11, the entirety of which you can see in my mouth in some picture floating around the cyberspace. Pretty damn pleasant ending to a damn awesome day.
I'm not going to bore you with the minute details of every inch of reef or the color of stripes on every fish we saw, and certainly not with the humdrum of that first day of training in the pool, because I believe that a majority of you are certified divers and have been scuba-diving before; at the least snorkeling. For those of you who haven't, let it suffice to say that it's just as goddamn exciting as I'm sure you've imagined. Scuba-diving is an exhilarating balance between adapting, reacting and adjusting the life-supporting equipment strapped to your back, and taking in the amazing alien world around you that takes advantage of every opportunity to make your dive a permanent slumber-party with Davey Jones.
That second day on the island, a Sunday, I think we spent something like four hours in the pool, just getting used to the process of strapping, buckling, checking, wearing, swimming, and breathing all the gear. After that, it was our first lecture in the class-room; another two or three hours, I think. Lecture was boring, but broken up with several verbal jabs about my new Gestapo hair-cut. That night we all had dinner at Ban's restaurant, and got to know each other a little better. Our dive instructor, Alex, joined us, and I guess I should talk about him a little, being our instructor and all. Alex was from Germany; Bavaria, I think. He's in his mid-thirties, and has been living and diving in Koh Tao for several years. He looked like an amalgamation of David Hasselhoff and Chunk. Kinda of a douche, but he seemed to know what he was talking about scuba-wise.
We had some good conversation, the seven of us, some food and drink, then headed down the beach for one of those nightly fire-twirlings to the cadence of Kanye and Flo-rida. We played some pool, got a tad schwilly, and headed home early. Everyone seemed to get along and enjoy each other's company.
Monday was my birthday, and the first day we went to open water, so perfectly timed on my part. Pineapple smoothies for breakfast, then we picked up the gear a little before eight in the morning. A long-tail boat took us out to the two-story dive-boat which took us about five klicks around the NE coast. We were only a quarter-mile off shore when we got in the water. We descended the 12 meters (these numbers need to be checked in my dive book) to bottom, formed a circle in the sand, and took it all in. The visibility wasn't the greatest, I'd say about 15-20 meters (maybe because it was still rainy season), but that 20 meters wasn't short on things to look at. Everyone made it through the skills tests with no problems, we swam a figure-eight and surfaced. About 50 minutes underwater give or take. No incidents or accidents, hints or allegations. After a short debriefing on the boat, we headed back to Ban's for a few hours before our afternoon dive. The later dive was more of the same. A few skills tests, a short swim-about, then back to Ban's.
There had been little mention all day of it being my birthday except for a couple of well-wishes that morning from Amy and Laura and Yair, but that was fine with me. I had just met these people, and we were all scuba-diving which overshadows a lame 29th birthday. Which made it all the more awesome when I headed off to bed only to make it five steps before everyone started singing "Happy Birthday" at the bar as they brought in a candle-lit brownie from 7-11, the entirety of which you can see in my mouth in some picture floating around the cyberspace. Pretty damn pleasant ending to a damn awesome day.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Koh Tao, Part III: Dive Buddies and a Ladyboy Chop-Shop
There were four others in my dive-class, and we were all from different parts of the world. Yair was from Israel, there was Sasha from Germany, Amy from England, and Laura from Switzerland.
Yair, a tall, gangly Jew was about 28, still at university and still serving the army. He didn't know it at the time, but his country was about to go to war, not that they haven't been at war since their birth as a nation. He was soon to be a busy man once he returned in November. He was certainly the most covivial of the dive squadron, not including myself, of course. Yair's a very intelligent guy, though quite self-concious when it came to his accent, which was funny because there were more Israelis on Koh Tao than there were English speakers, or Thais for that matter. That tiny island was a haven for Hebrews, for some strange reason. I spent most of my time, when not alone, with Yair over those six days on the island. Great conversationalist, if a little boisterous of his sexual escapades in Bangkok, and he was always up for some late-night billiards.
Sasha was in Thailand with his girlfriend, who was already certified and diving with another group. I can't remember her name at the moment, but she would join us on later dives and debauchery. Sasha was my usual dive-partner; we helped each other suit up, and were usually side-by-side underwater. Sasha and his lady were both very nice people, but I didn't spend too much time with them. Sasha was the first to see the whaleshark.
Amy from England. Amy was a blonde Mary Poppins, a sorority girl and a fuck-bucket rolled into one British burrito, and no I'm not being vulgar in my analogy of Amy. The fuck bucket is the drink of choice to all hedonists in Thailand, which is an overwhelming majority of the foreign population. It's Sangsom Thai rum, Caribou which is Thai redbull, and Coke, all tossed into a bucket. Fuck buckets play an integral part in my Koh Tao adventure. And Amy liked to drink them. But anyhow, Amy was a ray of British sunshine, which has got to be pretty rare. She always put a smile on our faces whether we were in the middle of a boring-ass lecture, or at the bottom of the sea.
And then there was Laura Heutschi. The Miss of the Swiss. Laura was an lovely little lady from Switzerland who had regulators busting valves all over the ocean floor. She made checking tank-straps and the pressure gauge an enjoyable experience. And she gets adorably nervous when she takes tests.
I met these four lovely people in the classroom on the second floor of Ban's Dive Shop while we were giving our divemaster all of our vital information, and signing a bunch of papers saying it was not Thailand's fault if one of us fucked up and got the bends out there in the deep, after which we watched a worthless video on how not to scuba-dive, the whole while sizing each other up.
After our two-hour introduction course, I took a nice long walk along the rocky forested shore-line in the balmy evening. I passed a lady-boy who had a little hair-cut hut set up on the beach, and decided to get my first Thai hair-cut, which was a normal Scott haircut but with about an inch and a half of bare scalp over both ears. I walked back to Ban's, embarrassed and ashamed of my new KMFDM look (ashamed because I think I unwittingly agreed to it, and didn't put a stop to it fast enough, but that ladyboy was fucking intimidating), looking like a German industrial-techno fan, choking down the bitter pill of absolutley no chance of getting what I ought to get on my birthday in the land of thighs.
Yair, a tall, gangly Jew was about 28, still at university and still serving the army. He didn't know it at the time, but his country was about to go to war, not that they haven't been at war since their birth as a nation. He was soon to be a busy man once he returned in November. He was certainly the most covivial of the dive squadron, not including myself, of course. Yair's a very intelligent guy, though quite self-concious when it came to his accent, which was funny because there were more Israelis on Koh Tao than there were English speakers, or Thais for that matter. That tiny island was a haven for Hebrews, for some strange reason. I spent most of my time, when not alone, with Yair over those six days on the island. Great conversationalist, if a little boisterous of his sexual escapades in Bangkok, and he was always up for some late-night billiards.
Sasha was in Thailand with his girlfriend, who was already certified and diving with another group. I can't remember her name at the moment, but she would join us on later dives and debauchery. Sasha was my usual dive-partner; we helped each other suit up, and were usually side-by-side underwater. Sasha and his lady were both very nice people, but I didn't spend too much time with them. Sasha was the first to see the whaleshark.
Amy from England. Amy was a blonde Mary Poppins, a sorority girl and a fuck-bucket rolled into one British burrito, and no I'm not being vulgar in my analogy of Amy. The fuck bucket is the drink of choice to all hedonists in Thailand, which is an overwhelming majority of the foreign population. It's Sangsom Thai rum, Caribou which is Thai redbull, and Coke, all tossed into a bucket. Fuck buckets play an integral part in my Koh Tao adventure. And Amy liked to drink them. But anyhow, Amy was a ray of British sunshine, which has got to be pretty rare. She always put a smile on our faces whether we were in the middle of a boring-ass lecture, or at the bottom of the sea.
And then there was Laura Heutschi. The Miss of the Swiss. Laura was an lovely little lady from Switzerland who had regulators busting valves all over the ocean floor. She made checking tank-straps and the pressure gauge an enjoyable experience. And she gets adorably nervous when she takes tests.
I met these four lovely people in the classroom on the second floor of Ban's Dive Shop while we were giving our divemaster all of our vital information, and signing a bunch of papers saying it was not Thailand's fault if one of us fucked up and got the bends out there in the deep, after which we watched a worthless video on how not to scuba-dive, the whole while sizing each other up.
After our two-hour introduction course, I took a nice long walk along the rocky forested shore-line in the balmy evening. I passed a lady-boy who had a little hair-cut hut set up on the beach, and decided to get my first Thai hair-cut, which was a normal Scott haircut but with about an inch and a half of bare scalp over both ears. I walked back to Ban's, embarrassed and ashamed of my new KMFDM look (ashamed because I think I unwittingly agreed to it, and didn't put a stop to it fast enough, but that ladyboy was fucking intimidating), looking like a German industrial-techno fan, choking down the bitter pill of absolutley no chance of getting what I ought to get on my birthday in the land of thighs.
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