Back on the bus

I'm in Champon waiting for my bus, which will take another hour or so to arrive. It could be worse; I could have been one of the British tourists vomiting over the side of the boat as it cruised through the rocky sea (rocky sea - isn't that contradictory from an elemental point of view?) departing from Ko Tao to the mainland.

As I waited to get on the boat, pale green traveller after pale green traveller departed from it, and I knew the sea must be slick with the stale remains of human vomit. But even though the sea was extremely rough I managed to fall asleep, once I got over the stomach churning drops, because I'm like that on public transport. Maybe that would cure my insomnia back home - I should sleep in my car, which is probably only slightly smaller then my room.

It stopped raining today, of course. About 3 hours before I was meant to get on my boat the rain stopped, and about an hour before I was meant to get on my boat the sun came out and suddenly Ko Tao was baking. That sort of event is the kind of thing that makes me believe in God, because that's exactly the sort of sense of humour I would have if I was God, and certainly I would enjoy messing with mortals, for "we are but flies to the wanton God(s)."

I caught the biggest mosquito ever between my fingers and then crushed the bastard. That mosquito was but a fly to the wanton me.

Yesterday almost felt like a waste except it was quite fun, as it rained all day and I sat in a restaurant/bar on the beach and watched pirated DVDs, occasionally staring into the rain drenched sea. The two Canadian Girls that have (coincidentally) been everywhere that I've been and usually at the same time were there two, and we all got to bitch about the weather. After watching four movies: Pocahontas with Colin Farrel (crap), Weatherman (Crappish and really depressing) Borat (funny, but low) and Supersize Me (gross) we buggered off and had drinks with some English guys that the Canadians knew and I ended up cross-comparing my break up to the break up of one of the Canadians and that went on for a long time. Good bonding.

After that I caught a taxi, because the monsoon had not yet abated. At first they tried to charge me 200 Baht so I gave the guy a dirty look and stormed off into the, well, storm, and then he felt guilty and dropped his price.

When he dropped me off I heard the sounds of music coming from somewhere in the infinite darkness surrounding my isolated homestead. Curious, I could not go to bed, and so I stumbled through the rain trying to find some kind of road that might lead me to the music. Eventually I stumble on a small mud path that goes up a hill into the darkness. This must be where the music is coming from. I close my eyes for ten seconds and count to ten, which is a useful trick my brother Robbie once taught me, that allows one's eyes to adjust to the dark. Then I clambered up the path, which became dangerously slippery stairs, which became a garden where a strange trance party was happening with the most beautiful view of the area.

My favourite bit of the view I shall describe. To my right, the palm trees were black in the dark, and so were the mountains, and so they merged into one beautiful black skyline, no distinction between objects, and silhouetted against the eerie glow of the night sky just above them, as the moon sunk into their blackness.

There were about 15 people there and some of them were French. I arbed about on my own for a bit, but I think people have a fascination with the lone traveller, and it did not take long before I was best friends with all 15 people at that bar, and trying to leave became really difficult, because first off I had to say goodbye to everyone, each individually complaining I was leaving, and usually at least one would convince me to stay for another ten minutes, but finally I made my exit, and returned to the dark path that leads down the hill towards my isolated homestead, but about halfway down the path I encountered two Italians and a Swede who were trying to figure out whether the path they were walking on was a death trap, or in fact a genuine path that lead to the music. I bantered with them about the dangerous nature of the path, and then sent them on their way, but they would have none of that - "No!" exclaimed the Italian leader of the group, "You must have drink with us! And if you are ever in Milan, I will show you good trance party!"

Of course as we returned they started playing House music and the Italians were disappointed, although I don't think the Swede gave a shit either way.

Once home I once again sat on my small wooden porch overlooking the sea and spent a long time absorbing the fact, that even though it was only for that night, this is where I live. It was a really nice thing to absorb.

This morning it was still raining, but as previously explained it cleared up just before my departure.

You win again, God, you fat bastard, but at least you blessed me with a strong stomach so I didn't vomit on those choppy seas.