Full Moon Madness

You know about the infamous Thai Full Moon parties right? You know, every month 50,000 people gather to drink and do drugs under the moonlight? Oh yeah, they’re all the rage. Everybody goes. Everybody.

Okay, well, not me. Prior to going to Thailand, I knew about the Full Moon parties. I also knew that I never went to any sort of Spring Break at the beach deal. No. I was L-A-M-E, and I continue to B-E. My friend who had gone to a Full Moon party told me to avoid it at all costs as it was essentially Spring Break for Swedes. And as much as I like the Swedes (mostly because they aren’t Norwegian, and we all know that I don’t get along with our Nordic brethren), I didn’t want any part of it.

However, can you really pass up the opportunity to go out on the night of the brightest full moon of the year? No way. You can’t. And even though I was nowhere near any of the islands where the true Full Moon parties are held, local bars did what they could to cash in on the action. So our little troupe of harried travelers went to our very own Full Moon Party, and it was something else. And by something else, I mean…it wasn’t exactly a party. It was really just a night at a bar that included severed toes, home movies, prostitutes, and quadruple-patty-burger-eating Canadians. What more could you want?

After watching a magnificent sunset from Railey Beach, we took our taxi boat back to Ao Nang, piled into a tuk-tuk, had a delicious dinner, and went back to the hotel to change. I decided take that opportunity to wow everyone on Facebook with the “fact” that I was going to a Full Moon Party, knowing full well that I was full of poo. At nine o-clock, Diane and I and our crew headed down to the main drag in Ao Nang to hit up the Chang Bar. Why the Chang Bar? Because it was A) a good bar, B) did not allow prostitutes, C) had a pool table, and D) was hosting a Full Moon Party (which basically meant that they re-named their nightly drink special which was a free shot of your choice of tequila or Sambucca).

We were ready. We were pumped. Okay, maybe I was the only one that was pumped, but I was excited to go out to a bar. I don’t know why exactly since I go to bars regularly, but I just was. Maybe it was the moon.

We walked into the bar, which was down an alley filled with shops selling clothes and sunglasses, and found a table. Upon sitting down, Diane caught my attention and asked me for some help. Not knowing what she needed I turned to her.

“Can you get me a band-aid? I think I cut my toe.”

I looked down at her toe, and it was bleeding profusely. “Uhh, yeah. Sure thing.”

I ran over to the bar manned by a lady boy, of which I would learn later was not the Chang bar but a completely different bar altogether (despite the fact that it was located ten feet away from our table) and asked if he had a band-aid. Unfortunately for me, he had no idea what I was requesting, so I ran over to the pharmacy a few doors down. I quickly made my purchase and returned.

Being that I AM First-Aid Certified, I felt confident that I could handle this little cut toe issue. I asked Diane how she was feeling. She responded by telling me she couldn’t feel her toe. I opened up a band-aid and leaned over to doctor her toe when I noticed that I couldn’t actually see her toe. No, all I could see was a mountain of blood, and the more I looked at it, the more I feared that she hadn’t just cut her toe, but cut her toe off.

Not wanting to tell her what I feared, I informed her that we would need to go to the bathroom to clean it off. Her flip-flop was covered in coagulated blood and was too strappy for her to put back on, so I sacrificed my own foot and shoe for her benefit (and if you know anything about me you know that I HATE bare feet in public. HATE it. It’s gross. You don’t know what’s on the sidewalk…and you REALLY don’t know what’s on the floor of a Thai bar and its outdoor restroom, but my inner Florence Nightingale took over).

We hobbled over to the restroom, attempting to avoid puddles of who-knows-what along the way. Once inside, I had Diane drape her leg over the sink and discovered that water faucet could not reach her foot. Being the quick-thinker that I am, I knew that we needed a bucket of some sort to pour water over her toe, and the closest one…was in the toilet. Yes, you see, in most Thai toilets, you have to use water to manually flush them, so there is always a vat of water next to them with a bowl that you use to pour into the basin once you have completed your business. I looked over at Diane, knowing exactly how disgusting the proposition was, but also knowing that my options were limited.

“This is really gross, but are you okay with using the scoop from the toilet bucket?”

“Yes.”

“Good, cuz it’s all I’ve got.” I grabbed it, and started filling it with water from the faucet. It took a few rinses, but thankfully, it was clear that her toe was still intact, though badly cut, and to my untrained eye, looked as though stitches would not be necessary (which was my big fear as we hobbled over to the bathroom (risking hookworm along the way)).

As we were rinsing her toe, people came in and out of the restroom commenting on the scene at hand. Everyone was surprisingly supportive and not grossed out by the equipment being used in our terribly un-sterile make-shift hospital room (probably because once you’re in Thailand, your whole idea of clean changes).

Despite the fact that I was challenging my tendencies toward relative cleanliness, I did feel strongly that the wound needed to be disinfected. I asked Diane to sit tight (or stand, as it were) while I ran back to the pharmacy to buy some antibiotic cream. As I ran out or the restroom and down the alley, I came upon Sam, our tour guide. In an attempt to help, he had gone with the bartender to find antiseptic and had it in his hand. Together we delivered it to Diane and applied it to her toe. We then washed off our flip flops and returned to the table where the Full Moon Party was commencing.

I wasn’t going to let a little thing like a bloody stump prevent me from getting my drink on, so I did not. With just a little prodding, I convinced Diane to go in on one of several buckets of gin and tonic with me (which was a deal and a half). We also ordered our free shots of tequila complete with salt and lime—unfortunately for us, the waitress returned with Sambucca shots complete with salt and lime. And even more unfortunate, we didn’t discover the mistake until after we had drunk them, complete with salt and lime. Gross. Did I mention how much I dislike licorice? Gross.

We all settled into the bar and the people watching. We were especially curious about what was happening at the bar ten feet away from us where scantily clad Thai women were hanging all over large, middle-aged white men (which was different from the ladyboy bar where a similar scene was taking place). No prostitutes in this bar, huh? It was especially entertaining as we watched a group of four youngish guys interacting with the attentive ladies, thus commencing our game of “European or Gay”. I voted European based on one member of the foursome, but Diane was sticking to her guns on Gay.

We eventually asked about the “No Prostitutes” proclamation at Chang Bar and learned that the other two bars that were both within ten feet of our table and obviously had prostitutes of either the female or ladyboy kind were completely different establishments. Apparently there was an invisible line that prostitutes dared not cross (though upon observing the suspect interaction of a young German couple and the bar-back, we suspect that the rule might not apply to male prostitutes).

As everyone was busily people-watching, I felt the need to dance, and dance I did. I danced so much that I found myself on Dutch home movies. I was even interviewed in one about my dance skills. Americans may not see it, but the Dutch think I’m a good dancer. And I’ll admit that I have tried to find it on YouTube, but every time I look up “Dancing Girl in Thailand” I get something else altogether that will probably land me on some sort of Government Watch List.

Sometime after midnight, Diane and I decided it was time to find our way back to the hotel, since we both had activities planned for the morning (rock-climbing for me and kayaking for her). Upon leaving the bar, I took a purposeful wrong turn in hopes of getting french fries from Burger King. Diane resisted at first, but came around pretty quickly. Though, just as I was about to make my way to the door, a Canadian fella stopped me.

“Don’t do it!” He said. “We just had the Four Patty Burger, and I feel like throwing up. Don’t do it!”

“Of course you feel like barfing. That’s disgusting. I just want fries.” I laughed.

“Don’t do it! Promise me!”

And then we all started to chat. Diane recognized them first.

“Were you in the Chang Bar?” She asked.

“You’re the girl that was dancing!” One of them exclaimed, pointing at me. “We were just talking about you. I saw you and said, ‘There’s someone who just doesn’t care.’”

“You’re the guys that were awkwardly talking to the prostitutes!” I laughed.

“Hey, you don’t know that. They could have been really into us.”

“Uh-huh.”

They introduced themselves to us and we learned that three of them were from Canada and the fourth was from Spain. And then I forget who, but either Diane or I revealed that they were part of our “European or Gay” game. I stood firm in letting them know that I went with European based solely on the appearance of their Spanish friend…and then I may have let it slip that Diane called gay based on the other three.

And then we became fast friends. Eventually Diane went inside to buy french fries while the Quad-Patty-Burger-Eating Canadian followed her in begging her not to order a hamburger. We made plans to meet up the next night with the understanding that there was only at 30% chance that either party would show.

We then bid adieu to our new, straight Canadian (and Spanish) friends, and made our way back to the hotel for a brief slumber before embarking on chest-hair growing physical activities with killer hangovers and little food.

To be honest, I think the madness hit the day after the full moon, but that might have been my aching muscles and starving belly talking.