Day Two in Mui Ne... It's a Long One

We awoke in a stupor. The day was wonderfully sunny and the sweet smell of salt water on the breeze filled the air. Not that we would be able to appreciate it, for each man in our party was suffering the next day aftermath of the pillage of alcohol on a young mans senses. Breakfast seemed to be the only proper (or at least temporary) solution to our current problems. We headed south down the main drag of Mui Ne until we found a quaint little establishment specializing in both Vietnamese and Western food. The meal started like any other. We received are menus, scanned the pages, selected a tantalizing treat and we ordered. Simple right? Well, we could not be farther from the truth...Shit got real. The young men chatted about the possibilities a new breaking day in Vietnam could bring, when the turmoil began. It was like any downward spiral. Slow at first but gradually it accelerated until you are consumed by it. Kevin “Mr. Southeast Asia 09” received his meal first. This was followed promptly by Jonathan “I can finally fohawk my hair” Base-Bursey. Again the situation was still quite light until Hugh “Steve have you noticed you always get feed last in Asia” Smith received his food. It is important at this point in the story for the reader to recall that it is our second week out of Canada and we are still fairly accustom to service in Canada. Couple this with a throbbing hangover induced headache it is safe to say the my nerves were at a breaking point. Those of you who know me well (Steven), know that if there is any substance i like more than alcohol... it is rageahol. So may even call me a rageaholic. However, I digress. Tensions were mounting as an empty-handed waitress approached the table. At this point ten minutes or so had passed since the boys were feed. Kevin and Hugh were discussing seconds, while Jon’s continuous comments fueled my silent rage. English being this young lady’s second language definitely didn’t help the situation. She sheepishly, as if detecting that I was less than pleased, asked me to please choose another dish for the fish I ordered (from this costal community that offers their fishing village as a tourist site) was unavailable. Well ladies and gentleman....KABOOM!!! Less then pleased I firmly grasped the menu and reordered. The questions circling my mind were “Why didn’t they tell me that when i ordered! Why would the chef let me sit and watch my comrades eat... and finish before alerting me they were fresh out of fish!”. Blast this vile establishment! Apox on these simple people! I composed myself and looked around the table at 3 disapproving faces. I shamefully ordered a bowl of soup and handed my menu back. Before she left Hugh and Kev slipped in a second order of a large bacon pizza... That they did have....In this small fishing village... Whatever.

The fantastic four made haste to a local travel agency to book an afternoon jeep tour, making stops at the highlights of Mui Ne. The jeep left at 2pm and seeing that it was already 1:30pm, I decided to wait at the travel agency while the boys headed home to change. While sitting there replaying the previous incident in my head, wondering how I let myself loose my cool like that, I was approached by a flamboyant young German fellow. He read me the pitch of the bar he was working for and offered me 2 free shot certificates. I thanked the young man and, as if the morning hangover never occurred, began to plan tonight's festivities. At that moment a little blue wrangler screeched to a halt in front of me. This was our tour guide. He was a nice young, Vietnamese fellow of 24. A quiet but intelligent lad who’s knowledge of local sites would prove invaluable to us. The boys sauntered up immediately after his arrival and we were off.

Our first stop was the Fairy Stream. Aside from ingrained Disney visions of Neverland, one draws but a puzzled expression when trying to comprehend the workings of this tourist site. We arrived in about 20 mins. We were lead on a long tour through the back of this house whose main highlight was the overwhelming scent of animal manure. We emerged at this shallow stream. At it lowest it appeared as if you were walking in water and at its highest it was at your knee. We headed up this river towards an eclipsing red sand dune in the distance. The river was lined with different types of exotic plant life and interesting rock formations which made for great photo shoots. We finally reached the base of the dune and began our accent. It was steep and in the heat it made for a formidable task. Once at the top we took a few pictures and videos for the folks back home. Gazing out at the beautiful scenery I knew it would be a challenge to describe in words. Well as the old adage goes... picture = 1000...... we knew we had to get higher to really capture the nuances of the landscape. So up we went. Hugh decided that his current elevation was suffice and watch Kevin, Jono and I race to the top. Our young tour guide friends informed us that there were coconut trees at the top. Recently developing a strong liking for the fruit, it merely sweetened the deal for me. Higher and higher we climbed. Reaching every summit only revealed a greater one. I knew I had to make it to the top. There was no other option. I finally found myself alone. Looking back I could see Kevin trailing me and Jono behind. Excited in my achievement I surveyed my surroundings. Everything was quite standard. Red sand, patches of grass, the odd tree. Nothing really of mention... Well almost nothing. There were these interesting holes. All similar in shape and depth.  A diameter of about 3 feet and a depth of 1 foot. No real pattern to them. I called to Jono to see if he had any idea what they were. “They’re just animal burrows...probably foxes. So don’t get too close!” hollered the young English-History double major. Oh well I thought, Jono knowledge on local geography hadn’t failed me yet. The summit was all that mattered now. Almost to the top I started noticing more and more these holes. “Wow! what a great number of animals this hill homes” I thought to myself naively. My thoughts were interrupted by Hugh casually calling to me from the base of the hill... “Hey...Hey Steve!” . “What, Hugh?” I grumbled, angered that my trek was being delayed. “These kids are telling me...well... those holes...those hole are.....they’re LAND MINES man!”. Let me give you a second to let that sink in...............OK. My face immediately lost all colour. For those of you that don’t know land mines take the average of one life a day in Vietnam. I was not interested in being a statistic. “Alright old chap” I told myself, “This is easy. Just retrace your steps.” . I was now surrounded by 5 .......Animal burrows .... “You fool. How could you be so stupid”. Cursing myself wasn’t going to get me anywhere. Alright, my path had been more or less straight. I just had to keep my cool. “One foot in front of the other old boy....Nice and easy”. At this point Kevin and Jono had already darted down the slope. I made it past the original hole and took off like a flash. I ran to the base in seconds flat. I shook off the tremors and asked our tour guide “friends” if the translation for coconut tree in Vietnamese was fucking LAND MINE!!!! Cool down now big fella. Nothing went wrong. You just learned a valuable lesson. You’re in a war torn country. The path less traveled is less traveled for a reason.... A few jokes to lighten the mood on the way back and we were off to our next destination.

The next stop would be the old fishing village. It would probably make for a good photo op. Our driver mashed on the accelerator and off we went. Well for those of you unfamiliar to Vietnamese road etiquette, they drive on the same side as Canada with some slight variation. If someone is in your way going slower than you, you merely mash on the horn and pass....in any means necessary. To the left, to the right, if you can find a way to jump them then that works too. Wide turns in the left lane to keep from shifting down is not only allowed, its almost expected. Calling it a free-for-all may even be an understatement. Let me just say that our driver was fearless. Where there was a will to pass someone....hell! this guy would find a way. On the horizon we caught a glimpse of numerous fishing vessels in harbor and toiling natives. This must be the spot. We hopped out. A Facebook display pic here. A uploaded video there and we had seen our fill. “onward!” the team yelled. “Surely, your next stop would not disappoint”, you must be asking yourself. Well, it very well may be the focal point of Mui Ne......and don’t call me Surly.

White sand dunes or bust, was the general agreement in the Wrangler. Flying through some very interesting country we arrived at an old dirt road. The bumpy ride concluded at a small hut. In the distance we could see the white caps of the sand dunes. Excitement was smeared all over the young mens faces like cake at an infants birthday. We rented sleds from locals and made off. One of them tried to even show Kev how to use the sled. A fire erupted in Kevin’s eyes. We all restrained him as he explained as calmly as possible that he was from Canada and wrote “the book” on toboggan use........ and co-authored the one on toboggan repair. It was safe to say that we were trying stand-upsies on sleds when these kids were in diapers. Step aside junior! After navigating a narrow path past a beautiful lake (the first fresh body of water I’ve seen in Southeast Asia....Lakes how I miss them) and a small forest we were at their base. We began our climb but ran into a similar problem. No not the land mine thing. We were never satisfied that our peak was the tallest! But learning our lesson we stayed were everyone else was, made a few sled runs and took tonnes of pictures. We made for the hut again and found our driver. 

“BAR HO!!!!!” cried the 4 travel buddies. Tonight's destination was Pogo’s. Remember those free shot vouchers? Well they had to be redeemed. After a short drive accompanied with a small race, a strategic photo op and a discussion about who had the most sand in their shorts, we arrived. Food and drink were an order. Hopefully merriment wasn’t far behind. We drank and shot pool until food arrived. This is where the night gets foggy for my. You see Kevin and I were drinking buckets. Well.... for those of you that drink. Any beverage that is served in a bucket spells bad news. As we drank we gathered an international crowd. There were two Kiwi’s. They we two mature gals. Hugh informed me later that they had been traveling for a while. One was a lawyer and both were in serious relationships but traveling none the less. Three Germans sat near me. They had been volunteering in Cambodia in leu of military service. They informed me that the military in Germany was not what it used to be. “I sure hope not” I shot back, expecting uproarious laughter. I was actually met with three fairly unimpressed faces..... Too soon???? There was an English chap as well. Bit of a pompous bloke. We didn’t pay much time with this POHM. The night went on and drinks kept pouring. Kevin was in high spirits after an undeniable smack down on Jono at a one-on-one pool match and everything was going well. Out of nowhere the night took a turn....or should I say a spin,.....now everything was spinning..... Was it the apocalypse? Was the second coming tonight? Or were the buckets going to my head? I opted for the third choice. I grabbed the room key from Hugh, excused myself, bid farewell to my new friends and trekked home. That was the end of my eventful day, but I can’t speak as a whole. So I am now going to pass off writing duties to the men who braved the storm and lived to tell the tale.

- Steve

Alright, tough act to follow with Stevie’s beautiful literary portrait. Pogo was a wicked cool bar right on the oceanfront of Mui Ne, and as the night progressed, the waves coming off the Pacific were crashing harder against the stone foundation of the bar. These huge crashes would send water flying tens of feet into the air, occasionally dropping down on the huge circle of backpackers that were chilling with their drinks. It was all a pretty sweet scene, something us Southern Ontario boys aren’t normally accustomed to. 

We lost Steve to the ‘bucket spins’ fairly early in the night. The night got quite real afterwards. Now excuse me for the huge mental lapses in this story, I am still slightly confused as to what exactly happened over the next three hours.

We formed a huge circle in the sand with the twenty or thirty other tourists. I remember sitting in this circle with Hugh. I switched to beer as he pounded his third bucket back. Kevin was at the pool table for a long time, presumably hustling the patrons. Each group of these bar-goers were from a different spot in the world, as I remember talking to some cool people from England, New Zealand, Croatia, and some not-so-cool people from Germany and the States. Kevin joined us after his dominating billiards performance, and we commemorated the occasion by doing a shot of Jim Beam. From what I remember, we then attempted to speak some awful French to a couple from Nice. They thought that we would have some grasp of the language, as we both claimed to be French Canadian. Was not impressive. The night then turned to absolute debauchery as the spoiled-son of Pogo’s owner decided to step behind the bar and hand out free shots to anyone who could stomach them.

So here’s where things get tricky. We either left Kevin at the bar, or he told us to go without him, but either way, we got separated (he stayed for a little while longer, lost his sandal somewhere, and walked back to the guest house barefoot). 

Hugh and I left the bar with beers in hand, and were met by two guys with motorcycles. Because it’s so much easier to get driven places than walk when you are drunk, we hopped on the back and zoomed away. 

I remember very little from this point. From what Hugh told me, they pulled up to the hotel, I told my driver that I did not want to go home, but wanted to go to somewhere I could get more beer. With a big smirk on his face, he did a U-turn and took us to his buddy’s oceanside outdoors restaurant, where there was some sort of fish platter waiting for us on the table. We bought our drivers (who spoke no English) beer, and forced them to chug while yelling “one, two, three, cheers” in Vietnamese (mot hai ba Dzo). A few of their friends swung by during this time, and tried to sell us everything from prostitutes to marijuana (we are getting used to these types of offers in Southeast Asia).

After paying our bill, we told the boys to take us home. After getting halfway down the main road (which was completely deserted by this time), my motorcyclist was flagged down by a sketchy-looking dude on the side of the road, and forced to turn around. We asked why we were now going the wrong way, and in broken English, they repeated the word ‘gangster’ a bunch of times. Not realizing the severity of the situation, we told them to turn around and we would pay off the guy to let us pass.

Thank god the Mui Ne faction of the Vietnamese mafia wasn’t there when we drove back.

Saying thanks to the guys, we finally made our way back to our beds. We didn’t feel great in the morning. 

- Jono

Bus Ride and First Night in Mui Ne

Dear Diary,

Today we woke up early and hungover to head by bus to Mui Ne. The bus ride was very enjoyable in a sleeper bus when the bus driver constantly uses his horn to alert traffic of his presence. We were also treated to A-List acting in Lake Placid 2. Our favourite moment was the riveting scene when one young budding actor tells the other guy. “Don’t start something you can’t finish (perfectly timed pause) because it’ll be your darkest hour!” I recommend you all go out and rent this cinemic masterpiece! We arrived in Mui Ne around mid-afternoon and checked into a nice little guesthouse right on the beach. After some food we hit up the beach and threw the baseball around. We drew a small crowd when we played four person catch, diving in the sand and making jackasses of ourselves. Again, the Europeans probably assumed we were Americans *sigh* because of the baseball. As we were leaving we had a woman from Holland invite us to a backpacker bar to play some poker later in the evening.

We decided to go later on after dinner. We went to a small restaurant where the lights went out about a dozen or so times. Food was good and we had a few drinks with dinner. We made our long walk to the bar where me and Jono sat down to play poker while Hugh and Steve chilled at the bar. I sat down at a table with two Brits, two Russians, a Norwegian, and a Frenchman. I was playing well and aggressive and won two hands at the beginning. On the fifth hand I was dealt a King of clubs and a four of hearts (or something like that). There were no pre-flop bets so I just called to see the flop. Sure enough three clubs come up so now I have a flush draw with the second highest card. I decided to call just to see one more card. A fucking club shows up on the turn! So now I’m sitting there with the second highest flush on the table and only the Ace can beat me. There were only two other guys still in so I pushed the betting. The Brit goes all in and I call. Sure enough he has the fucking Ace and I’m out even before everyone has a chance to deal. Oh well. Jono ends up coming in fourth out of the whole tournament of about 45 or 50 people! I was the first one out of the whole damn thing. Not a bad night but we have the sand dunes and other sites to look forward to tomorrow.

Kev ‘I hate Aces’ Davies  

Last Night in Saigon

Dear Readers,

I am going to apologize now that I am not drunk while writing this blog (I know, I’m sorry). We’re breaking tradition so our bodies can get a rest. So we left off in Ho Chi Menh City on our first night there. The next day we set off to buy bus tickets and make our way to the war museum. I must first explain the proper technique to cross a street in Vietnam. First of all you must not make any quick or sudden movements. The streets are riddled with scooters and motorbikes instead of cars. So you must slowly step forward to the first lane. If the lanes are not clearly marked just roughly take a few steps forward. Stay very still as the scooters fly by you. When there’s a break in the pack take a few more steps forward or to the next lane. Repeat this process until you are safely across. The only other way is to simple close your eyes and run through traffic, praying you make it through alive. I wish I was joking. On the way we noticed a few flaws in Vietnamese business strategy. I am no business expert by any means but I do believe a few changes could help them go a long way. We passed by at least five sport equipment stores that all sold the same stuff, all had the same size store, all had the same layout. Spice it up a bit! Change the layout! Maybe even change your fucking prices! Jesus, they’re not even trying! Why do I want to purchase products from the stores in the middle of the street when I can walk to the ones on either corner for the same price, same products, same everything! I could keep going but I shall digress (I always wanted to say that lol). 

The war museum was quite the experience for all of us. There were a lot of vivid photos and disturbing stories from the war. We also learned that the US also had help from Australia, New Zealand, Thailand, and the Phillipines. Most of the time we got a lot of evil stares from the local people who probably assumed we were Americans. We even had our waitress later on grab the pamphlet we had from the museum and point to some of the pictures and tell us that we did that! “No, no, no, we’re Canadian! We didn’t join in the Vietnam War!” “Oh, oooo...kkkk......” Then slowly walked away giving us the shifty eyes. I want a t-shirt that says “I am Canadian! NOT AMERICAN!” I guess I have to get used to it though. 

Later that evening me and Hugh passed out while watching Australia take it to India in cricket. Steve and Jono took off to eat and met another backpacker, Karen, from the Isle of Mann. They came back to get us and we went off for some drinks. We had a few drinks and discussed crazy stories from our travels. Solid night.

- Kev ‘I hate my mustache’ Davies

Last Days in Phuket, onto Ho Chi Minh City

Good Morning Vietnam! (sorry I had to do it!),

So I can’t really remember where we left off but I have a story from the other day. 

[BTW, Vietnamese Whisky is rough when it’s warm!]

So way back at Cleves, Mikee (ya that’s right two e’s buddy!) warned me of getting pulled into tattoo parlours in Thailand. We joked about it during the week and finally we got drunk and made our way out. We found a decent place and I decided to get a phoenix. The tattoo artist painstakingly draws a replica of the Hong Thong phoenix for me that night. I end up getting it done the next day on my right calf. Hugh (who I thought was just bullshitting me) went out that day and got one as well. He decided on the elephant from the Chang beer we often drank. 

Mum, if you’re reading this (which I’m sure you are), I’m sorry I just had to. It’s a cool design and I’ll post picks soon. I’ve already wrecked my body with other tattoos and it was clean and cheap (plus I’m on vacation!). 

Anywho, we set off to catch our actual VIP bus, this time, to Bangkok from Phuket. It was a quick goodbye to our friends at Chooporn Guesthouse (yes, you read that correctly). We barely made it on time but we well rewarded with a very comfortable ride and complimentary food. I’m sure those of you who have been reading our shit know that we got fucked with bus tickets from Bangkok to Phuket for 1500 Bhat (waaay too much). Sure enough we buy our shit through the bus station and we get a genuine VIP bus for 900 Bhat. Another comparison, our first trip took around 24 hours. Our second trip took almost 12 hours exactly! We almost wanted to cab our way to the travel agency that sold us the first tickets and beat the shit out the guy who sold us them but of course we didn’t! 

We arrive in Bangkok once more. Beautiful day! Nothing can go wrong! Of course shit gets real, this is Thailand! Jono leaves his nice Rayban sunglasses on our bus. Jono really wants to get these sunnies back so we take off. He somehow finds a nice cabbie in Bangkok (1 in a million! [believe us!]). So we set off on a wild goose chase that is sure to end in disappointment. The entire ride to the next bus station included light jokes about Thailand and Canada as our cabbie tests his English skills (which, according to him, was learnt from movies). The cabbie is so helpful he even stops at a gas station to buy minutes for his phone so he can call the fucking bus company! This guy is awesome! So we get to the bus station parking lot and while Jono gets his shit; me, Hugh, and Steve play some pretend cricket (hey, we were tired as hell!). Jono gets his sunglasses somehow and we take off once more. 

At the airport we come across multiple signs that say something along the lines of “if you are bringing firearms make sure they’re not loaded.” A few displays clearly outlined that grenades were not okay to bring on neither your carry-on or your checked-in luggage. Holy fuck, we’re harrassed about nail clippers in North America and in Thailand I guess the problem is people trying to bring their souvenir grenades back home (I’m sorry Nerida, I really wanted to impress your Dad with a grenade but I guess those gay frogs from every souvenir shop will have to do). 

Blah, blah, blah. We get to Vietnam and are, again, hit with the reality of being in a new country. First off, the inflation is so retarded here that nothing has a denomination with less than 2 zeros. $1CAD is approximately 16,000 Dong (yes, we laughed too). We find a cab and head into downtown Ho Chie Menh City. We thought that Thailand was chaos. Not even close! In Vietnam all road rules are completely disregarded. The lack of cars and trucks is more than made up in the shear number of motorcycles and scooters. Just as we were feeling comfortable riding on the right-hand side of the road, we are greeted with a jungle of metal, beeping, light flickers, shouting, and traffic cops barely doing anything to control the retardedness. There, realistically, aren’t any use for traffic lights as all four sides slowly inch their way into head-on traffic regardless of what colour their side is showing. To change direction, scooters (or whatever you call them) simply turn around and head straight into on-coming traffic until they are in their appropriate lane. At one point I witnessed a young Vietnamese woman on a scooter matrix (you know the motorbike scene from the second movie) her way through traffic. I’m not joking! I was steadily preparing myself to see someone die before my eyes as she calmly dodged certain death. There were babies in the laps of parents glaring death in the face with no idea what the hell’s going on!

We finally made our way to the backpacking area of HCMC. Find a hotel for $8 a night and settle in. We set off into the city streets for food, booze, and fun. The real difference between Thailand and Vietnam is what they sell. In Thailand we constantly got barraged by “Tuk-Tuk!”, “taxi!”, “suit, suit, you want suit!” In Vietnam we are now introduced to a quieter sales pitch of books and other academic literature. We bought Hunter S. Thompson books for cheap as well as other literature classics that had clearly been photocopied (who cares). As we walk the streets, every other store is filled with beautiful paintings of classic icons, celebrities, and North American pop culture. 

We found a nice bar that sold cheap beer, had great tunes, and had cricket on the TV. After some booze we retired to our quarters with Vietnamese Whisky and Pepsi (That shit puts hair on your chest!).

Signed,

Kev “My beard is itchy” Davies 

I dedicate this post to Adrian Kronhauer (sp?)(i’m drunk). Officially (for those who’ve seen the movie).

Life is good right now. The current status of our trip gives true meaning to the phrase “LG”. To fully understand why I have to bring you back to the cleves days of july and august.

The worst part of my day, and I mean the absolute peak of my labouring misery always came at 7:58, 2 minutes before my first lesson when it was time to put my tennis shoes on. Before I could do that I had to find socks. As the clock turned struck 7:58 I prayed a Hail Mary that I would find a dryish cleanish pair of socks I could wear for the next 11 hours but my prayers were rarely, if ever, answered. I always ended up enduring a truly offensive odour as I pulled on a dirty, damp freshly soiled pair. Genuine suffering when you already hate the next 11 hours your stressful job has laid out for you.

Fast forward to the end of October and it’s the end of a euphoric fortnight during which I haven’t had to worry about socks even once. I didn’t even bring a single pair for my travels. Life is good. An appropriate time to quote Jono. “Just livin’ the dream”.

To put this all in context I’m on the patio of the top floor of a Ho Chi Man City (Vietnam) hotel (using the term loosely) overlooking a bustling street/alleyway. This city has more motor bike and scooter riders than any other city in the Universe. Kevin described the craziness of the streets. I would describe the streets as one enormous city wide game of chicken involving buses, cars, taxis, motor bikes, scooters, bikes and pedestrians. Just one big free for all game of chicken. That’s about it for touchin’ down in Vietnam.

Hugh ‘Mediocre Goatee’ Smith

Kata Beach Days...

It will come as no surprise to anyone who knows Jono that he had a major health issue a week into our travels. He needed an emergency root canal, figured Phuket, Thailand was the best place for said procedure so off to “Dente Smile!” we went. They were all ready for him so Kev, Steve and myself had about an hour to kill. We said fuck it we’re in Phuket (probably the theme of the visit) and went to the local shooting range. We fired off a few rounds with a 9 mm. Kevin was the most accurate, I was the least accurate but the most gangsta. With our appetites wet Steve and I couldn’t say no to a 22 gauge with outdoor targets. It was a little disturbing because all the targets were human shaped and about 2 and a half feet tall so we felt like we were shooting up the local elementary school. It was fucking awesome though, filthy kick-back. When Jono finally pulled in from the dentist with a freshly built tooth and a big smile we were just pulling in, mud-covered and ecstatic, on our ATV’s. Perfect timing. After the shootout we went for an ATV ride on the jungle trail. We were bootin’ it down these trails through a field with elephants everywhere that made it’s way right into the jungle. Windy trails with massive patches of just mud. We were deep in the shit. Phenomenal day. 

- Hugh “Guerilla Warrior” Smith

First Days in Kata Beach Continued...

Ok, we’re now on like day 8 or 9 or whatever and we’re way behind so I’ll finish it up as we watch cricket and drink chang beer and hong thong! Anywho, where the fuck were we? Oh right so we made it to Kata Beach on Phuket island. Settled into a nice cheap guesthouse that had aircon and blah blah blah. Me, Hugh, and Stevo wanted to hit up the beach and get out first taste of the Indian Ocean. Sure enough we race to the ocean. I start out way ahead of the others and then a high wave clips me at the knees and I get a face full of delicious salt water. Holy fuck that shit messes with your head. Light-headed, we made our way back to the guesthouse for drinks (that’ll help my head!). Anyway, we drank some beer outside with our new Canadian friends then went out to dinner. Jono was in a lot of pain from his teeth so he passed out. We went off to a great seafood restaurant on the beach. I (retardedly) ordered the crab because I wanted to expand my tastebuds. Of course I have no fucking idea how to eat a crab! My meal comes with fucking tools to eat. I spent most of the meal working for my meal with little reward. Whatever, it tasted great. As we ate beach vendors would walk by and try to sell you shit. I’m not sure how the hell some vendors expect to make a sale by flashing laser beams into people’s eyes. I guess being blind in one eye turns people into shopaholics. Who the fuck knows!? Pretty uneventful night, we went to bed tired for a big day on the beach!

-Kev

Bus Trip Continued, First Days in Kata Beach

Hello friends!

So this entry is going to be entitled “Jonos Emergency Phuket Root Canal and Things You Should Not do While Drugged Up Afterwards.“ This story began two years ago when I ignored the dentist's advice to seek treatment for my tooth, one that already had the nerve exposed. I was fairly sure that I was invincible, and sure enough, the pain went away.

I learned later that the throbbing was being subdued by a thick lining of puss that covered my nerve.

Fast-forward to a week before departure. I start getting horrible pain once again, but try to convince myself it will go away. False. Beginning with our Lebua rager night, I was unable to sleep unless I liquored myself up to the point of unconscious inebriation. Waking up that morning, I was in the foulest of moods, which continued for the next forty-eight hours.

So imagine this. We are getting on a bus at the commencement of a twenty-four hour trip across Thailand. I am unable to go ten minutes without washing my mouth out with water (which later turned into whiskey), the only remedies that are slightly relieving the stinging and throbbing in my mouth. We drive through a night that I do not get a second of sleep, and arrive at this horrible excuse for a rest stop at six in the morning. We sit on plastic chairs for an hour, then are shuffled onto 'transport vans', where I am literally hanging off the edge of a teetering metal bench attached to a vehicle traveling well over 100kph.

Oh yes, this story gets even better.

Although we have well overpaid for our VIP transportation, we get thrown on this decrepit old city bus that looks like it has been through an earthquake and a few drive-by shootings. As the driver struggles to change gears, we are all thinking 'this bus engine sounds like it is going to just explode'. Oh, fucking right it does. An hour into this trip, we are turning back to shitsville, where we wait another hour for a mystery bus to show up and take us south. Finally, a beautiful coach pulls up and we are told to load on.

There cannot be another catch, can there?

Oh yeah, there are only enough seats for five of the twenty people on the previous bus, so us lucky fifteen get to stand in the aisles for the majority of the remaining seven hours on the road. Steve was lucky enough to make some poor Thai child cry behind him, so the kid vacated his seat, and the four of us spent a few hours rotating between one single seat. Oh yeah, and my tooth? My tooth is worse than ever.

The rest of the trip is marred by the bus picking people up at every single hut along the mountain highway and listening to the broken English of European dudes talking about how incredible they are at life.

So skip ahead to the morning of root canal day. Once again unable to sleep, I get up at six in the morning and start searching for a dentist. The funny thing about Thailand is that the entire country doesn't fucking open until nine. I take a taxi-bus towards Phuket, and find a place called 'Dente Smile' off the side of the highway. Walking into this office is like transporting into the year 2150. Everything in lit up by coloured tooth-shaped florescent lights, there are machines churning up strange liquids, and every surgery room has cameras and an LCD television attached to the patient chair.

I book my appointment for the afternoon, and after milling around Kata Beach for a while (oh yeah, that's where we set up shop the night before), I take this Tuk-Tuk bus back to the office with Steve. After this entire episode, the most boring part is the surgery itself. Imagine the sketchiest scenario (pretty much what you think of when you hear 'Thai Root Canal'), and take the opposite. For 5000 Baht ($150 Canadian), I got my tooth rebuilt, the infection completely removed, and a filling. In other words, I spent $150 for a root canal from the future, rather than paying $3000 for a worse job done by a guy in Toronto that speaks worse English than my dentist in Thailand. Not bad.

Now here is where things got fun.

Feeling a little funky from all the medication they gave me, I was pretty jacked up to do something exciting. My partner in crime is always up for the same. Under Steve's watchful eye, we flagged down some motorcyclists who did not speak a lick of English. We decided that the coolest thing we could possibly do coming out of any doctor would be to play with firearms, so we told these gentlemen to take us to the local shooting range. They did not understand, so standing in the middle of an intersection on a Thai highway, we begin gesturing at them with our hands in the shapes of magnums until they understand.

We fly on these motorcycles across town to the range, where we are greeted by some fantastic gun-advocates who are more than happy to guide us to their selection of rifles, handguns, and high-tech bows. Steve and I decide to live in the shadow of a legend, and decide that if Hunter S. Thompson's weapon of choice was a 12-caliber shotgun, ours would be too. We were brought to the field, and appropriately enough, we took aim at silhouettes of humans (both in the adult and child forms). After firing off a few rounds, we jumped back on our motorcycle chauffeurs, who were more than happy to take us back to our Chooporn Guest House.

We met up with the other two guys, who spent the day lounging on the beach and watched some sports and chilled out for the evening. We headed to a great restaurant on the beach, known for their seafood dishes. We were all exhausted and called it an early night back at the place.

- Jono