Travelling Swift

Stories from a Single, White, Idiotic, Female, Traveller

Full Moon Party

Five days of relentless partying until the sun dawn's, and sears your skin and eyes, and as disheveled vampires you skulk back to the shadows and darkness of your room. Occasionally braving the day in search of nourishment with red eyes, quivering liver and blackened kidneys as your organs do overtime in preparing you for the night, and keeping oblivion away from a sleep deprived tormented mind. Hundreds of people dancing along the beach to different tunes, staggering, laughing, joking, snogging, and everything else that goes. The ladyboy's are out in force, of which one of our friends had a narrow escape, or maybe not so narrow depending on how you want to look at it.

Generally the food is exceptional, the best country in the world to eat for me so far. With one drawback, once you've done the green, red, yellow, brown, ginger, oyster sauce thing, you've generally done the lot. The only choices left are the meat inside. But washed down with the local whiskey from a bucket, who cares? The language is impossible due to the five inflections used with any one word. Each time I say thank you, I think I'm suggesting I suck their feet or something similar, so I reduce my replies to a low mumbling.

For recuperation I'm off to find deserted islands and scenery which amounts to more than the moon rising.