| Birds do it, Wendy does it, even educated monks do it Posted Friday, 28 April 2006 | ||
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| I lost my nice brown cap I like so much whilst riding on the back of motorbike with a monk in the middle of the night looking for a party. Strictly speaking he wasn't really a monk. I believe he was just out of Monk School. But in the same way good Catholic boys and girls who go to good Catholic schools often go bad when they leave - so too with this ex-monk. He was out looking for booze and ladies. Anyway, so my cap - I had jammed it onto my head in an attempt to prevent the inevitable but as Taa (that's the monk's name) rounded a hair pin bend the cap went woosh, straight off, and into the blackness. We couldn’t look for the cap because we had no lights whatsoever (he told me he'd had a crash and broken the headlights two hours beforehand - which was reassuring) and our only torch was with Wendy who at this point was currently riding pillion with Katie, a Canadian with whom my monk had already got it on with. The lesson I have learnt from this is 1) Don’t wear caps on motorbikes, and 2) - if you're ever going to ride around in the night with no headlights on a motorbike up and down mountains in Thailand you want to be riding with a Thai who's been doing it since they were six. Foreigners seem to have an alarming ability to fall of their bikes on straight roads in bright daylight. You can tell because loads of people have what is variously known as the 'Thai tattoo' or the 'crash rash'. So, we managed to find said party about two miles outside town by a river in a valley. Out of the darkness came the sound of drumming, the light of a fire and the unmistakable rhythm of reggae - we had found the location. We found a spot on the ground, cracked open some Chang beers and chatted to strangers - there was some level of group hugging/tribal dance/hippy shit going on by the dance area but it was all a bit Brighton for me so I left the tye-dye brigade alone. We are in Pai, a small town in the mountains of northwest Thailand. If you're looking for your spiritual centre, or like yoga, or henna tattoos this is where it's at. Here you can get your braids repaired, go on screaming workshops and even drink a special tea concotion which will help focus your energy and chakras during the day. Here travellers outnumber locals and the only sound on the streets after 2am is the didgeridoo players outside 7-11. This is place is so chilled out if it were a person it would be sitting at home stoned at 3am watching News 24. Absolutely no one hassles you, everyone knows everyone - at least by sight and every night there's a party. First night we met a little spiky haired Thai dyke called Gaa (who would go down a treat in Brighton) who took a shine to Wendy. Ever since then we've been in the know of all the parties. But I have found myself joining in the atmosphere just a little. For instance, I've done a day long intro to Yoga (ouch!) with Mama who bends you into all sorts of positions, makes you scream a bit (I did it under my breath - I'm English, I don't scream on request) and then feeds you Papaya fruit and rice cakes. Whilst in Pai we've met Eddy, a Scotsman (you can tell cos he wears a kilt 24/7) who is the social glue of the travelling community; Doug - a gay Aussie who all the local mountain homos have taken too and now he can't go back to his guesthouse cos there are loads of Thai boys waiting for him; there's Lili - an English Rose who met her boyfriend two weeks before she left the UK but now they're travelling together and Stu - a slightly stoned bloke from England who rather than hating his career and going travelling at 30, has actually been travelling since 20 and is worried he'll never have a career. So, all these people end up at our last night in Pai. We went to Mellow Yellow bar to listen to a DJ from Manchester play some funk. Wendy suggested we don't mix our drinks so I said let's stick to 'Sangsom sets' - sandcastle size buckets full of whisky, ice, coke and lime. Four buckets and two bars later I'd met an Israeli who lived in Islington and worked in radio and a Welshmen who could teach how to say one to five in the Welsh language - I was in my element. As was Wendy who had located the Mancunian DJ from earlier and was whispering sweet nothings in to his ear; "Two lagers, luv, and a packet of crisps - and one for yourself sexy." A little way later I'd managed to lock myself in a bamboo toilet and had to exit by climbing over the dividing wall between the cubicles knocking over a plant pot in the process. I could see the sunrise from the top of the cubicle. Time to come home. A journey I had to make alone as Wendy's love poetry seemed to have done the trick. What I saw a monk doing this week: See above The sound on the streets of Pai No whale song, thank the lord, but lots of reggae and Thai pop. No 'Lovely lady humps either' which is blessed relief. What I miss about Britain:Good music, fresh milk with my tea, tempretures a bit cooler than here, prices you don't have to haggle all the time, easy to use transport systems, telly, nice chocolate. | ||
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