Full Moon Madness

When travelers on the Asian circuit mention Ko Pha Ngan, generally the first image that pops to mind is of a crush of thousands partying wildly to the throbbing beats of a trance DJ while a line of drunks piss out buckets of whiskey into waves lit by a surreal mixture of blacklites and the full moon. Some excitedly dwell on the first image, and others get bogged down in the latter -- but to fully understand this bizarre monthly ritual, you must experience it as a gestalt, knowing that there are always two sides to the coin. No stranger to raves, I prepared myself to encounter the best and the worst that this quaint palm-tree fringed beach could have to offer.

Concerned about not being able to get a long-tail boat over to the party after dark, and excited about witnessing the build-up and transformation as the festivities gained momentum, I caught a ride over to Haad Rin beach at around 5pm, giving me enough time to parooze through the many bookstores to supplement my dwindling reserves of quality reading material. Often the second-hand shops on the tour circuit are simply an amalgam of all the read and recycled books, haphazardly jumbled and categorized by size rather than genera. In many shops their method of sorting is, at best, separating out the German and the French books from the English. But these shops in Haad Rin are different – they take the vending of literature seriously, devoting specific attention to picking out the hottest books and displaying them appropriately, along with nicely categorized sections for Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Crime, Spirituality, and the like – oh how I was blissfully in my element! Reading a book is a considerable investment of time and energy, so I concomitantly devote effort to selecting that which best suits my current interests. While holding “Transplant your brain, And other feats of the future”, which was a collection of forward looking bio-tech essays from the Scientific American journal, a Brit traveler and I started trading recommendations about good reads. He made the profound observation that this quality library represents the collective consciousness of fellow travelers and shows where we all are focusing our attention – how wonderful to witness and reflect upon the perspectives of this motley crew with whom I wander, witnessing their contributions of numerous books by Ayn Rand, Tom Robbins, Robert Heinlein, and of course Dan Brown. Looking back over my list of personal favorites it is obvious where my interest resides. And you?

By this time the vendors were in full preparation mode, lining up the rows of little plastic ‘buckets’, the infamous Thai drink complete with a pile of straws and containing bottles for whatever do-it-yourself poisonous concoction you could possibly imagine. The bracelet sellers had all the blang-blang displayed, the corn roasters were fanning the coals, and the tattoo artists were waiting for the impulsive wanting to commemorate some priceless moment.

Most of the clubs and bars are well illuminated with blacklights, beaming out the surreal light onto the beach over the dancing throbbing masses. Numerous artists had set up blankets along the strip with canvasses behind them depicting many possible designs that they would paint on your body in glowing neon. Dragons, smiling suns, tribal designs, so many temporary tattoos for an evening when people want to let go of identity and reinvent them selves anew, taking a small risk that can be washed of the next day. How fun this looked! Numerous shops had whole arrays of glowing colors and brushes, so I picked out a couple of the brightest and commenced to doctor up my tattoos, as their non-glowing forms could use some fluorescent reds and yellows. Getting excited about new possibilities, I extended their wild forms down the full length of my arms, imagining how the glowing shapes would look while dancing. A cheery Thai chick saw me painting and asked if I could make a heart on her arm – hey why not!?! So I sat her down and began to paint, and was quickly surrounded by nine of her friends all giggling and smiling and vying for attention, with pleads of “me next, me next”, and “oh paint a big heart on my breast, please!” Opportunities like this come rarely in my life, so I flowed along with the blissful hedonism, decorating these beautiful nymphs while others painted who-knows-what on my back, or tried to get me to slurp whisky and coke from one of their buckets, or would take turns kissing me while their friends cheered, yanking away the luscious lady when things got out of hand – reminding me of the pile of young and smiling Laoatian river-rats who wanted to be the center of the picture, and kept pushing each other off the raft as I took a shot. All painted up with an exotic mishmash of dolphins, aliens, hearts, stars, and footprints, the sirens all disappeared as quickly as they manifested, leaving me to wonder “what on earth just happened?!?”

At this point things had really started kicking in, and right outside the blacklite bar was the dream-stage for a fire performer – a large circle of sand ringed with about a hundred small torches, and in the center a group of boisterous Thai guys were spinning all sorts of fire accouterments. Politely indicating my interest in joining the troupe, one of the guys quickly volunteered his chains, so I spun the poi to trance music in the midst of a churning crowd possessed by moon magic. The festivities continued to heat up as the guys stood on top of 2 meter towers spinning staffs and simultaneously breathing huge dragon’s breath pillars. Spinning and more spinning, topped off only by the ignition of a huge hula hoop suspended by two wires and serving as a beckoning portal of flame. At this point the primal urge, genetically encoded within us from so many thousands of years around campfires, took over and the circle pressed in closer as everyone strained toward the heat. Suddenly someone ran toward the hoop and jumped through, and the flood gates opened, with people lining up to leap, dive, and tumble through the fiery vortex.

The fire that burns the brightest, burns most briefly, so with anticipation of beginning my five-day cleanse and fast at the Sanctuary, I called it an early and ironically sober evening, wandering off to catch a long-tail boat back around to the cheery little cove. Squeezing past the wobbling revelers, I made it to the agglomeration of guys holding the “TAXI BOAT” signs, negotiating with them playfully, and turning down last minute offers of “You want boom-boom?” I only had to wait for about 10 minutes for the rest of the boat to fill up, but enough time to reflect upon the piles of people passed out in their vomit just at the edge of the rising tide like trash washed up by the waves, and take one last look out over the sea of fire spinners, and the dancers painted up in tribal neon, continuing to raise my attention to the unblinking eye of the moon, where she silently gazes without judgment all that is Ko Pha Ngan.