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| Wild Times on Samui - Lamai Beach 1994 |
Lamai Beach in the daytime was as beautiful as ever. The waves would come crashing down on the undulating white sand, denying me entrance into the sea. The aqua-blue sea behind the galloping white horses looked inviting, but I'd been trashed on this beach before and my wariness remained.
On other days, a calm sea would let me enter to swim in the instant depths of Lamai. The current was strong, the wild ocean responding to the waxing and waning moon in its most powerful cycle around the December solstice. The highest tides in Thailand were always around this time.
Lamai was lined with palms, and was a tropical vision. My brother Tim had arrived here in 1990, staying in White Sands' bungalows for less than £1 a night. He sent a postcard home with an arrow pointing to his A-frame thatched hut on the beach. My fascination with Lamai had begun there. I'd dreamed of this utopia for years.
Up on our hilltop resort above Lamai, the lazy days were spent in the Thai restaurant. Typically constructed in wood, raised on stilts, it was decorated with wicker furniture and bric-a-brac. Open to the elements, there was only a roller blind to pull down in a rainstorm, or to shut up shop at night.
The jungle vista became a green blaze outside the wooden framework of the restaurant. We could have been in a tree house, looking down all around us to the treetops below; the azure blue of the heavens above us. The neat ganja joints, laced with opium oil, being passed around the restaurant made the colours especially vibrant.
It was a truly trippy experience.
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| Bao at his favourite lookout above Lamai |
There were no intruders here. We were all welcomed and invited to share the hilltop homestead, and to take what we wanted from their laid-back lifestyle. And so we did: Mickey would later marry Bao's sister, Gop, the sweet, innocent girl who had become my new best friend that season.
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| The hilltop restaurant: the Canadians and Gop |
By the time the Friday arrived I'd recovered from the excesses of the Full Moon Party. Now, it was the eve of Christmas Eve and I was ready to party again!
The Newmarket crew didn't join me out that night, saving themselves for Christmas, so I ventured to the Bauhaus alone ready to mingle. I found company in my old friend Danny's travelling partner, Wesley - who told me all the old late '80s Thailand stories - and Massa, the Danish guy staying at our bungalows.
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| Sipping home brewed toffee vodka |
At this stage, 'Special Agent' Kent went to bed - we were all living our own fantasies of who we wanted to be at that time - and Massa and I made our way down the steep descent to Lamai beach for sunrise. We sat side by side on a fallen palm tree, watching the wild ocean as a blaze of red burned above the horizon.
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| Waves crashing down on Lamai's coral sand beach |
Even though I was hanging out with the hard core Lamai boys, it was quite innocent. They all had their eyes on the delicate young females that graced the Lamai bar scene, meaning I always felt completely safe in their presence.
I was never their prey. They accepted me as one of them.
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| Samui day trips and nights out |
In the early hours of the mornings, I'd return home from late nights out in Lamai to be invited onto the balconies of other hardcore Scandinavians. There, I'd watch them rack up powdery lines of the purest China White.
Until then I'd always thought heroin was brown, but these connoisseurs explained to me the distilling process of their preferred drug, and how China White was the purest form of heroin you could get.
They were passionate about it when they talked, and it seemed to have a different effect on them from the skaggy monged-out drug I'd witnessed in the West. They were even more wide awake and frenetic after a line, but I was never tempted to join them - I already knew people in my home town who had died of heroin overdoses.
As I watched their wide-eyed euphoria turn to instant rage - their last lines of freshly racked up heroin blown away in a gust of wind - my resolve was confirmed. It was a powerful, concise lesson in the ups and downs of heroin addiction. Maybe it put me off forever. Or maybe addiction just never was my bag.
Wild West Lamai
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| A decade later: still hanging out with the Samui boys |
That night nine of us - English, Canadians, Germans and Danish - set off for Christmas in Lamai and Chaweng. After talking our way through sets of Mekhong, we left the Rock Pub - a Lamai institution - at 5am to make the ascent homeward up the hill.
That was an early night at the Rock Pub...
Whenever trouble broke out and bottles starting flying, which was quite often, the staff would come over and shield our heads, then bring us new tables & chairs if ours had been smashed!!
Good times with a Guns 'n' Roses & AC/DC sound track.'
Lamai's Rock Pub in the early 1990's as described by Dean, RIP
Lamai was a crazy free-for-all den of drunken debauchery at that time. When Pablo first came with me in 1996, he described it as like arriving into the Wild West - only everyone was riding motorbikes instead of horses.
The Weed Run
On other days, I'd catch up with the Scandinavians on the ring road above Lamai. Sweating profusely, the alcohol of the night before escaping from their clammy pores, I'd notice them carrying 7/11 plastic bags on their motorbike handles.
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| Samui ringroad in the early 1990's |
The theory was that the safest way to transport your contraband was inside your 7/11 shopping bag. Their other theory was that the safest time to do a run was bang on 6pm, when everyone would be standing to attention for the national anthem.
Back then a kilo of weed could be bought for somewhere between £50-£200, depending on which stage of the 1990's you were in. Over on Koh Phangan the Thai mamas sold ganja on their restaurant menus as 'Special Fish'. It used to be one of their main crops on the Haad Rin hillside - they grew so much of it they had to burn the excess.
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| Samui coastline early 1990's |
Hence the code names for ganja in restaurant menus. More stories from Koh Phangan's Golden Seasons here!
Up Soi Katoey
In the hilltop restaurant one December morning, one of the rough and tough Swedish guys had his head in his hands, moaning to the table. We thought he was just nursing a hangover, until his moans became louder and louder and more lucid.
"Oh no! 15 years! Oh NOOO!", he groaned, in a deep guttural lament.
It took us a while to get him to elucidate, but when he did we were crying with laughter. Fifteen years in Thailand and he was proud to say he'd never slept with a ladyboy. Fifteen years in the Land of Smiles and had never been duped yet... until last night.
Drunk enough to believe he was taking home a coy and lovely Thai lady, he'd woken up with a shock to find he had a SheMan in his bed.
A ladyboy with hairy legs.
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| Me & hometown buddy in Lamai 1994 |
... A gay guitarist from an aging Swedish rock band, a couple of Lamai smack heads, and a pair of ladyboys, regaling their tales and showing me their fake tits.
"Ever since I was a little child, I knew I wanted to be a girl", said the graceful creature with the manly face and the perfect silicone breasts. Her other line, which I will never forget, was, "I want a man who can toss me around like a lettuce".
That was it!
Ladyboys were destined to become my best friends from there on after.
I was hooked, by all the enchantment and debauchery... by all the Thailand madness... and by the Wild Samui Times!
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| Wild Times at the Full Moon Party 1994 |
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| Thai Whiskey and Temples: Bangkok Bound 1994 |
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