Thailand - Before And After

Being an Australian there is a tendency to sometimes poo poo Thailand. So many long haul flights go through Bangkok, which turns it into to an annoying pitstop rather than a gourmet option for fun times.  Therefore, when faced with the possibility of hanging out a bit longer in Thailand, my first reaction was ‘Meh’.  What a spoilt cunt.  Millions of people dream of a Thailand escape – I had a hairdresser in Tel Aviv who was literally weeping (all over my fresh hair) one afternoon telling much she longed to visit Thailand (ok, so she was Thai herself and all her family was there, and her shitty wage meant she had Buckley’s of affording an air ticket all the way from Tel Aviv but still…..it’s a beloved place among many).  Luckily I took my head out of my own vagina and came to my senses.  Thailand is awesome.  Of COURSE I would stay there, and of COURSE I would be in absolute heaven and have the time of my life.  It matters not that I’ve been there 20 times - when I told someone this once they gave me a withering look that translated as ‘I want you dead’  and I immediately regretted sharing that information, just as I do now.

Its bloody gorgeous - what was I thinking?

On the way to the airport here

My very first trip to Thailand was in 1997.  I had just turned 22 and it was the first stop on a round the world ticket I had saved up for by waitressing at a disgusting little French café in Hobart called La Cuisine – run by a disgusting little mean French man and his equally disgusting little mean French wife.  I’m not being particularly mean myself – they were the WORST.  You always imagine French people to be cool, and attractive and stylish.  They basically destroyed this extremely positive stereotype for their entire country.  They were so cold of heart you could imagine them torturing baby animals for pleasure in their leisure time.  The only positive thing I took away from this experience (apart from my round the world ticket) was the realization of how much butter actually went into croissants (basically they are 90% butter – keep that in mind when you help yourself to three still warm ones from a hotel breakfast buffet).

Oh dear

Anyway, these were the days when your multi-trip tickets were printed on booklets, and those things were thick.  The internet didn’t exist – so you couldn’t print another one if you fucked up, and mobile phones were the size of bricks and definitely not part of any 20 year old backpacker’s agenda – so no ringing your Mummy to cry about it – that took a 20 buck phone card and a phone box.  I have no idea how I met up with friends, separated from them, and then met up with them months later. I had a credit card – but for emergencies only, as getting yourself a great stack of travellers cheques was the norm.  I still can’t believe I didn’t lose either the ticket book or the cheques in that year – however, I remember being terrified I would and I think I slept with them strapped to my body the entire time.  Looking back, I was so young.  And might I add fairly naïve.  A private school education and a sheltered life in Tasmania doesn’t really prepare you for the big wide world.  It was a shock, and Thailand was a steep learning curve.  Before I knew it, I was sitting in a hammock on Koh Phangan off my tits after ingesting shitloads of LSD.  I remained pretty much in the same position for 6 weeks. 

Me in my hermit crab days

Shit sure is different these days.  The old family travel situation has altered the stakes a little.  I can’t even eat a sneaky chocolate bar without one of them sniffing it out and hassling me, let alone roll in the sand in a bikini top with no bottoms chanting “I’m a hermit crab”.  When I order a cocktail my daughters will get excited by the umbrella and pineapple on the side and then ask accusingly “Is that ALCOHOL?, Are you going to get drunk?  Oh MUM’.  They are relentless, and far far worse than my parents ever were.  It’s strange how you spend the first 20 years of life hiding shit from your parents.  You then have a few years of freedom, and then your kids come along and you have to hide shit from them all over again – only it’s much worse.  You do NOT want your kids to catch you smoking anything of any kind.  They are cruel and harsh masters, and they have us all by the nuts.

7.5 Years A Slave

I was therefore inspired to reflect on the differences between my first trip to Thailand and my most recent one; here they are:

Then	Now
Stayed in a bungalow with no windows	The house came with servants
Wore belly tops	Did everything possible to cover belly
Said things like; “Did you ever think that           maybe the earth is a microscopic atom  floating in the blood plasma of a  intergalactic giant”	Said things like ‘Is that chocolate or poo?’
Hung out with Sanchez, Driftwood and Papillion	Hung out with Princess Kitty, Twilight Sparkle and Miss Moo Moo
Ate Pad Thai and banana fritters	Ate Pad Thai and banana fritters
Tried not to eat Mars Bars	Didn’t give a fuck and ate 20 Mars Bars
Went to Full Moon Parties	Went to bed
Stayed up until sunrise	Woke up at sunrise by being poked in the face
Spent almost no money	Spent a fucking fortune, but compared to life in Israel it felt like no money
Lay in the sun all day and went a delightful golden shade	Lay in the sun one day, got burnt to shit, spent the rest of the time feeling stupid and regretful
Had to fend off sleazy shaman types and horny Japanese bongo players	Made attempt to look attractive for husband, gave up and grew pubes
Felt invincible, like I was going to change          the world, and everything was new	Picked up the flu on the plane felt like I was going to die and hoped I would

                                                                

So that pretty much sums it up – before and after.  A shitload has changed in 20 years, but I guess if it hadn’t I’d be a little concerned - wouldn’t you? I do know one thing though, if I had to go back to living in on a hill in that $3 a night bungalow with snakes in the shower room, see people meditating in the nude with their nutsack hanging out everytime I went for a swim, and listen to everyone calling me ‘Sister’, I would stab someone in the eye with a satay stick.  In fact I should have done it 20 years ago.  If there’s one thing I’ve learned since then, is that you should always be yourself - even if you are a bitch in the mornings with a low tolerance for stupidity (and the hairy testicles of strangers).  Anyway, to cut a long story short - Thailand rules.