My FullMoon Party
· 10 August 2004 ·

My FullMoon Party… Ok this is the story, from my bias point of view of course. And I will just throw out that I should have known better and I was kinda asking for it, I didn’t know what I was asking for exactly but….yeah on with the story. Ok full moon party, imagine a crescent moon shaped beach with bars and black light paint stands all up and down it solid. There are a few platforms set up with florescent biomorphic shapes that attract smiley people like moths to a light. From these few platforms and from each bar thumps out beats that turn the mass of people into a flowing sea of skin. You find a little hip-hop here and there but it’s primarily Trance techno (a very fitting name once you get into it). There is a huge batman like spot light at the far end of the beach that has about 5 or 6 beams on an axel that swings out and reaches you no matter where you are on this huge beach. You look up and see the jungle hill side above and it’s alive with dancing spot lights (the joke was that even the monkeys were raving).

My group arrives about 10:00 and we start with the buckets. I order my own and walk around quite pleased. A “bucket” or “Bucket of Joy” or “Fun Bucket” consists of a full flask of Sang Sam (Thai Rum) one Red bull (real Thai Red Bull with unregulated levels of the Taurine (an amphetamine) and one coca cola (just normal coca cola). They do the Job needless to say. The night was quite fabulous, lost my group, found other groups, mingled, mingled, danced, danced, danced. Met many people that I hadn’t seen since a month back in Laos. That was the best part, getting crazy with the people I kinda remembered getting crazy with prior. I met this one on the stoop of a bar (go figure), and ahhh… She had eyes dashed with pixy dust, older woman of course (very very rare to meet anyone my age) and by older I mean like 28. Ahhhh those eyes, we had met each other prior and found that we were both very happy to be staring into each others eyes, We kissed for a bit of course and then through a large smile she told me her boyfriend was returning shortly….ahhhh man I was practically on the ground I was laughing so hard. It’s the FullMoon Party and not uncommon occurrence. We both said our farewells and I picked up my bucket and continued down the beach. The night went by quickly and I only ordered one more bucket, (very surprised at my self) a very friendly american spiced up my first with a quarter of a fifth and that slowed me down a bit. I was more caught up in dancing and having semi intellectual conversations (in other words girl watching) than drinking that much. I find a bar that has music that pleases my thumping foot and I dance till dawn, but that is when the party really begins.

I get a water and Redbull and get back to dancing, It is a sandy beach so I take my sandals off and put them in a pile next to the bar (first mistake), dance dance, dance. I think it is when I am at the bar ordering another water when I notice my sandals gone. I should have known not to bring my only pair of footwear, expensive foot wear, to the full moon party (dumb falang move) ......(Falang=foreigner in Thai.). So bummed out I can find my sandal and I look a little around the area, I say fuck it and get back to dancing. There is a very Friendly/beautiful/distinctly Swedish group of woman who dance very well and I get back to dancing with them. A couple hours later I am getting tired again and my sandal is beginning to tug in the back of head. I am very sweaty from dancing and take my shirt off and set it on the corner of the bar top (second mistake). I look for about 20 more minutes and am making the rounds of searching the ground when I notice my shirt is missing, a nice white Thai one I bought recently. I ask (very politely I might ad) If this bartender has any Idea what happened to my shirt that was right in front of him. He tells me simply that he is not responsible for lost goods. I tell him I understand this and I am not angry, I just want to know if he has any ideas or tips on how to remedy the situation. I am doubly disappointed, and go back to looking for my sandal. I am looking at the entrance for my sandals and am walking back out to the beach when I see a small spot of dirty white under the bar counter top. I grab it and sure enough it is my shirt, for sure, correct florescent paint smudges and all. I make eye contact with the bar tender I was dealing with earlier and as he comes up to me I say in a reserved but angry tone “This is my fucking shit.” (third and biggest mistake) He starts to shove me and I attempt to explain to him that I do not want this and I do not enjoy fighting. I do a good enough job and am able to go back to looking for my lost sandal. In the mean time the equivalent of Thai Boy Scouts go along the beach picking up the thousands of empty bottles of water and empty buckets. I am at one end of the beach and I am told by his very small German boy and his nanny (it’s like 11:00 the dedicated trancers are still going and there are many) he says that he thought he saw a sandal like mine in a trash bag. I look through about 20 and then say fuckit once again and am leaving the bar and going home. I am soo tired, and feel like crying about my lost beloved Chaco Z2 sandal. As I am leaving the bar I ask in what I think was in a rather meek sad tone if they have any idea where my sandal is, any idea. I am feeling really low (I Love my sandals) and am quiet intrigued when the bartender I talked to earlier replies to my question, Yes! Yes! I Sandal..in back.. He leads me into the back of the construction area and takes a two foot, inch and a half wide bamboo rod and nails me full force, three times in the back of the head…....I am quiet surprised, this is not my sandal, with a loud grunt accompanying it I am able to shove him away and stop the hitting to the head. I glance down and see a small baseball sized black rock half buried in the exposed earth. I rip it out of the earth with strength and speed and am pleasantly surprised to find that the rock was really a chuck of tarmac (like concrete) just under the size of a bowling ball. I think it surprised this guy a little, cause he moves back a few feet. He is kinda moving toward me with the stick, I am emitting barks I have not heard since quitting my job at the Kennel and holding this huge fucking chunk of death above my head. I am faking the “head crusher” move whenever he tries to come at me with the stick and it is working a little and then I was tackled by a French couple who came around the corner and thought I was quiet insane and trying to outright kill this Thai guy. It got broken up and I had to explain the situation to them and they proved to be very nice understanding people as they took me arm in arm out the area. basically end of story right there but here’s the FUCKING KICKER: We are walking down this road, back into the main town, not a block down this road, what do I find on the side of the road, what do I find you ask? My fucking Godamm missing SANDAL, my beautiful perfect fitting Chaco Z2’s. Amidst tears I began to laugh, the French must have thought I was quite mad, something my group and friends tend to agree with more than I like.

So I limp back via taxi to my guesthouse, and along the way tell my story to a group of drunk Irishmen who attempt to convince me that it would be the best idea to go back and kill the man in the night time while he wasn’t looking. These were the same wasted group that was convinced that they were on the wrong road and that taxi driver was trying to pull one on them. I told them I had been on the island for about two weeks, there were only about four roads on the island, that we were on the right one, and yes, I did feel like killing the Thai man. We dropped their sauced tails off at the one ferry dock on the island (which they still thought was the wrong one), and I was taken home. It was quite a night. And that is my fullmoon story, thanks to what I attribute as, part luck of the Irish. I must have fooled some green god of above with my name riley, good karma, which after talking with some monks I am convinced is the same thing, and a healthy Scandinavian skull, I came out of the situation nearly fully ok and maybe even a little wiser. Although I still haven’t been able to get those black light paints out of my shirt.

Written by Riley Market

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