The days of spending hundred Baht bills is over. At least for a short while. I lost my wallet. In Thailand they say (lord knows why), "No Money, No Honey." They like that saying so much they put it on t-shirts and make you pay for the shirt in order to wear it. Well, that saying is overused and, more importantly, annoying. So I'm going to start promoting "No Wallet, No Ballin' It," cuz I'm so gangsta.... Ehem, sorry. Still annoying.
You're thinking, "Adam got wasted and started making bone headed decisions". Wrong: I was totally sober when I lost my wallet. On the 18th of March, more than one full day before the Full Moon Party, I lost my wallet out a hole in my back pocket (a hole I knew about) while trying to escape the rain. A few hours later I realized this and went looking on the stretch of 100 meters it could have fallen upon, and fully succeeded in not finding it. Don't worry though. The wallet had my remaining cash and my two debit cards -- my only means of getting more cash.
That put me in a serious bind, and put a damper on my party mood. I kindly explained my situation to the 24-hour automated telling machine: I'm American, I need to borrow some cash, and "its no big deal, I'm good for it", but the ATM stood fast. One to nil, ATM. My second option was getting money wired to me via Western Union. (I'm not a conspiracy type of guy, but a Western Union is conveniently located directly across the street from where I lost my wallet). Getting money wired to me meant asking my parents to do some legwork, which I did not relish -- being that I'm half-way across the world where everyday is practically Saturday -- but I had no other options. Fortunately, I have a retired step-father, Dave, who I can feel less guilty about bothering. A few phone calls and emails later, things were all arranged. Dave came through, big time. The next morning I had enough money to last me two weeks.
What does one do with money in Koh Pha Ngan? Spend it on taxi rides, body paint, and buckets of cocktails. I can finally say that I got into the party spirit, but I'm blaming the Thai version of "Red Bull" called the M150. Some say it has amphetamines in it, but I didn't do a chromatography elusion to find out. I will say that I did not feel like my normal self during the party, and the next day, I had no desire to do another bucket for at least, say, 4 weeks; maybe ever. I spent the entire day recovering from the hangover. Apparently, there is a video of me and a Scottish mate, Fraser, jumping a rope of fire at the party. If I ever get it, I'll be sure to post it here.
Fully recovered from the bash, Maggie and her Scottish friends left Koh Pha Ngan. I decided I'd stayed an extra day to follow-up with the police in person. The police didn't seem that helpful over the phone, or perhaps, their English wasn't reassuring enough that they understood my situation.
First things first, I looked around for a cheap room in Thong Sala. Thong Sala is the main hub for boats and travelers coming to the island, but otherwise nothing is there and few travelers would want to stay there as a first choice. Two days after the Full Moon Party, I figured vacancies would be high and rooms would be cheap. But not on Koh Pha Ngan. It defies all economic models on supply and demand, and it freakin' infuriating, especially with limited funds for the next two weeks. I figured I could appeal to peoples compassionate side by tell them my story of losing the wallet. Also an incorrect assumption. I didn't find anything less than an astronomical 450 Baht (about 15 USD).
I walked around a bit more, and I found a place called Suksbai Guesthouse. With a name that phonetically contains "Sucks" and "Buy", I should have been more wary. Two younger women (I presume) greeted me in the open air lobby, but one was playing coy with some guy in a doorway, then disappeared inside. The remaining one asked what I wanted. I explained my situation and that I was looking for a room for less than 300 Baht. She said she could give me a "small room" for 350 Baht. I reminded her of my situation and she agreed to 300. Hurray, sympathy and a room! Or was it?
She led me outside, around back through a hauntingly grungy alley -- even in daytime -- where I sneaked by a moldy mattress leaning against the wall sporting a hole fit for a rodent of unusual size. She opened an unlocked door to a room that appeared occasionally lived in. She said, "This is it, small room, okay?". I timidly agreed. She said I should lock the door with my own lock, then left me.
Alone, I reassessed the room. A Winnie-the-Pooh stuffed animal lay ass-up on the bed. Some bags of white and pink pills in unmarked bags were on a shelf. The remnants of a roach lay in an ashtray. With the climatic suspense of a horror movie, I dared to lift the lid to the toilet: Condoms and wrappers. The following pictures are not for the faint of heart.
At this point a faint whisper (actually, a shrill scream) in my head told me that 1) the sheets probably aren't clean, 2) I probably don't want to know the history of the sheets, and 3) this guesthouse may not be a legitimate establishment. With the fortitude of Hercules, I put all such things out of my head as best as possible and settled in for the day.
I made the 1 or 2 km walk to the police station, eager to hear any news of my wallet. First, I waited for the near comatose officer behind the desk to finish with a Thai couple. Finally, it was my turn! My enthusiasm was crushed as he continued his lackluster stare perched above a laid out newspaper. He looked at me like I was interrupting him, and I imagined him saying in a south Boston accent, "Does it look like I work here, guy?".
The officer calmly listened to my sob story that I'm sure he's heard a million times before. He handed me a pile of lost credit cards and let me look through them to see if any were mine. No dice. I said I wanted to provide a contact number in case anyone returns it. He sort of frowned in a way that said, "You're gonna make me stand up, aren't you?". Then walked over to a shelf, grabbed a scrap piece of paper that seemed to have been used to practice the multiplication tables, and asked me to put my contact information on it. I did. He told me "Okay" and said goodbye. At that point, I become more assured than ever that I'd never see my wallet again. That bitter thought was sweetened by having seen the most brilliant display of apathy on the job in my life.
I avoided my room for most of the day until the mosquitoes started biting in the evening. Back in my room, I became glad that I had packed a liner. I locked myself into my room with my padlock and twice that night someone came to knock. I didn't answer. I spent most of the night reading "Little Princes" by Connor Grennan, practically cover to cover. The book is a biography that starts with the author's two month trip to Nepal to volunteer at an orphanage, where he then becomes committed to the children, and starts a foundation that reunites orphaned kids with their parents from the civil war. I definitely recommend it.
Desperately in need of a shower, probably more mentally than physically, I boarded the ship for the mainland at 7AM and arrived in Krabi around 2PM. Immediately on arrival, I was glad to be in a place of rational economics. A tuk-tuke ride was now 20 Baht instead of 150 Baht. A cheap room was 150 Baht (and it even had 2 beds just in case I wanted a frugal roommate). Things will be good here while I wait for my debit cards to arrive.
The book, "Little Princes," touched on something I've been thinking recently, especially after my recent stays on the islands of Thailand. Perhaps this trip has been overly self-indulgent and I think I need to do something more productive. I've considered volunteering, or settling into a place to learn a language, or working on a farm, or, god forbid, actually finding a professional job again. But regardless, I believe I'm spending too much money on enjoying myself. And I feel guilty for it. I'll see how long that sentiment lingers as I resume climbing in Railay Beach in the next couple weeks.
You're thinking, "Adam got wasted and started making bone headed decisions". Wrong: I was totally sober when I lost my wallet. On the 18th of March, more than one full day before the Full Moon Party, I lost my wallet out a hole in my back pocket (a hole I knew about) while trying to escape the rain. A few hours later I realized this and went looking on the stretch of 100 meters it could have fallen upon, and fully succeeded in not finding it. Don't worry though. The wallet had my remaining cash and my two debit cards -- my only means of getting more cash.
That put me in a serious bind, and put a damper on my party mood. I kindly explained my situation to the 24-hour automated telling machine: I'm American, I need to borrow some cash, and "its no big deal, I'm good for it", but the ATM stood fast. One to nil, ATM. My second option was getting money wired to me via Western Union. (I'm not a conspiracy type of guy, but a Western Union is conveniently located directly across the street from where I lost my wallet). Getting money wired to me meant asking my parents to do some legwork, which I did not relish -- being that I'm half-way across the world where everyday is practically Saturday -- but I had no other options. Fortunately, I have a retired step-father, Dave, who I can feel less guilty about bothering. A few phone calls and emails later, things were all arranged. Dave came through, big time. The next morning I had enough money to last me two weeks.
What does one do with money in Koh Pha Ngan? Spend it on taxi rides, body paint, and buckets of cocktails. I can finally say that I got into the party spirit, but I'm blaming the Thai version of "Red Bull" called the M150. Some say it has amphetamines in it, but I didn't do a chromatography elusion to find out. I will say that I did not feel like my normal self during the party, and the next day, I had no desire to do another bucket for at least, say, 4 weeks; maybe ever. I spent the entire day recovering from the hangover. Apparently, there is a video of me and a Scottish mate, Fraser, jumping a rope of fire at the party. If I ever get it, I'll be sure to post it here.
Fully recovered from the bash, Maggie and her Scottish friends left Koh Pha Ngan. I decided I'd stayed an extra day to follow-up with the police in person. The police didn't seem that helpful over the phone, or perhaps, their English wasn't reassuring enough that they understood my situation.
First things first, I looked around for a cheap room in Thong Sala. Thong Sala is the main hub for boats and travelers coming to the island, but otherwise nothing is there and few travelers would want to stay there as a first choice. Two days after the Full Moon Party, I figured vacancies would be high and rooms would be cheap. But not on Koh Pha Ngan. It defies all economic models on supply and demand, and it freakin' infuriating, especially with limited funds for the next two weeks. I figured I could appeal to peoples compassionate side by tell them my story of losing the wallet. Also an incorrect assumption. I didn't find anything less than an astronomical 450 Baht (about 15 USD).
I walked around a bit more, and I found a place called Suksbai Guesthouse. With a name that phonetically contains "Sucks" and "Buy", I should have been more wary. Two younger women (I presume) greeted me in the open air lobby, but one was playing coy with some guy in a doorway, then disappeared inside. The remaining one asked what I wanted. I explained my situation and that I was looking for a room for less than 300 Baht. She said she could give me a "small room" for 350 Baht. I reminded her of my situation and she agreed to 300. Hurray, sympathy and a room! Or was it?
She led me outside, around back through a hauntingly grungy alley -- even in daytime -- where I sneaked by a moldy mattress leaning against the wall sporting a hole fit for a rodent of unusual size. She opened an unlocked door to a room that appeared occasionally lived in. She said, "This is it, small room, okay?". I timidly agreed. She said I should lock the door with my own lock, then left me.
Alone, I reassessed the room. A Winnie-the-Pooh stuffed animal lay ass-up on the bed. Some bags of white and pink pills in unmarked bags were on a shelf. The remnants of a roach lay in an ashtray. With the climatic suspense of a horror movie, I dared to lift the lid to the toilet: Condoms and wrappers. The following pictures are not for the faint of heart.
At this point a faint whisper (actually, a shrill scream) in my head told me that 1) the sheets probably aren't clean, 2) I probably don't want to know the history of the sheets, and 3) this guesthouse may not be a legitimate establishment. With the fortitude of Hercules, I put all such things out of my head as best as possible and settled in for the day.
I made the 1 or 2 km walk to the police station, eager to hear any news of my wallet. First, I waited for the near comatose officer behind the desk to finish with a Thai couple. Finally, it was my turn! My enthusiasm was crushed as he continued his lackluster stare perched above a laid out newspaper. He looked at me like I was interrupting him, and I imagined him saying in a south Boston accent, "Does it look like I work here, guy?".
The officer calmly listened to my sob story that I'm sure he's heard a million times before. He handed me a pile of lost credit cards and let me look through them to see if any were mine. No dice. I said I wanted to provide a contact number in case anyone returns it. He sort of frowned in a way that said, "You're gonna make me stand up, aren't you?". Then walked over to a shelf, grabbed a scrap piece of paper that seemed to have been used to practice the multiplication tables, and asked me to put my contact information on it. I did. He told me "Okay" and said goodbye. At that point, I become more assured than ever that I'd never see my wallet again. That bitter thought was sweetened by having seen the most brilliant display of apathy on the job in my life.
I avoided my room for most of the day until the mosquitoes started biting in the evening. Back in my room, I became glad that I had packed a liner. I locked myself into my room with my padlock and twice that night someone came to knock. I didn't answer. I spent most of the night reading "Little Princes" by Connor Grennan, practically cover to cover. The book is a biography that starts with the author's two month trip to Nepal to volunteer at an orphanage, where he then becomes committed to the children, and starts a foundation that reunites orphaned kids with their parents from the civil war. I definitely recommend it.
Desperately in need of a shower, probably more mentally than physically, I boarded the ship for the mainland at 7AM and arrived in Krabi around 2PM. Immediately on arrival, I was glad to be in a place of rational economics. A tuk-tuke ride was now 20 Baht instead of 150 Baht. A cheap room was 150 Baht (and it even had 2 beds just in case I wanted a frugal roommate). Things will be good here while I wait for my debit cards to arrive.
The book, "Little Princes," touched on something I've been thinking recently, especially after my recent stays on the islands of Thailand. Perhaps this trip has been overly self-indulgent and I think I need to do something more productive. I've considered volunteering, or settling into a place to learn a language, or working on a farm, or, god forbid, actually finding a professional job again. But regardless, I believe I'm spending too much money on enjoying myself. And I feel guilty for it. I'll see how long that sentiment lingers as I resume climbing in Railay Beach in the next couple weeks.
Wow. That guest room looked sketchy as all hell. Maybe you should invest in some pumice soap to ditch a couple layers?
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