Having left the boat, we attended to our immediate needs - finding a place with wifi and aircon, and finding a toilet that didnt rock when you sat on it. Luckily for us, a local cafe took pity on the scrawny (well, the other two... I wont pass for scrawny for a while) and unwashed backpackers and let us stay under their ceiling fans for a few hours, sorting out travel plans (greyhound now claimed they had no buses travelling south for over a week...) and accommodation. This achieved, we passed out in the cool bliss of an unmoving bunk....!
Having been offered free pizza as an incentive, we turned up to the after boat party at a nearby bar. Unfortunately, apart from our party, the bar was completely empty - not the best indicator of a good night out. We swiftly retired to a nearby backpackers hostel, where we drank beer and goon to the accompaniment of a persistent frog.
It was then that other stranglers joined our merry band. Including the captain and chef of the boat that we were meant to travel on, Mandrake. The captain swiftly whipped out his guitar. Awkward turtle moment. All through uni (and before) I had despised that moment when someone who thinks (or maybe can!) sing takes out a guitar and decides to serenade the group. What do you do as a bystander? Either you listen intently (which can be painful, or creepy) or you push the song to the background (which can be seen as rude or dismissive). It became clear quite quickly that the only option in this case was number two. I did quite well merrily ignoring the singing until I was asked for my requests. I mumbled something about the Beatles. Something that vaguely resembled said band followed seconds later. Erm, yay?
The rest of us, joyous to be reunited after less than 12 hours apart got straight back on the drinking games. A long game of 'what the fuck' ensued - those nearby and trying to sleep sent hate vibes through the trees. Olly, who had acted as our chef for the last few days, encouraged a game of dentists chair - being tied down with arms and legs secured, while someone covered your nose and poured goon into your mouth. Seconds later, cries of 'my dreads' made the game stop to check that the aforementioned were still intact...
I stuck to the 'tropical paradise' (goon, lemonade and mango juice) and listened in horror to stories of things that go on on the party boats in the area. Thank god we didnt innocently stray on to one of them...!
When the last of the other passengers retired to their bedbug ridden bed (cries of 'thats not a bedbug, thats a bedfox! had been heard all night), and we had spotted a pregnant and very large rat, we decided it was time to call it a day. But not without a sighting of this guy.
Having been offered free pizza as an incentive, we turned up to the after boat party at a nearby bar. Unfortunately, apart from our party, the bar was completely empty - not the best indicator of a good night out. We swiftly retired to a nearby backpackers hostel, where we drank beer and goon to the accompaniment of a persistent frog.
It was then that other stranglers joined our merry band. Including the captain and chef of the boat that we were meant to travel on, Mandrake. The captain swiftly whipped out his guitar. Awkward turtle moment. All through uni (and before) I had despised that moment when someone who thinks (or maybe can!) sing takes out a guitar and decides to serenade the group. What do you do as a bystander? Either you listen intently (which can be painful, or creepy) or you push the song to the background (which can be seen as rude or dismissive). It became clear quite quickly that the only option in this case was number two. I did quite well merrily ignoring the singing until I was asked for my requests. I mumbled something about the Beatles. Something that vaguely resembled said band followed seconds later. Erm, yay?
The rest of us, joyous to be reunited after less than 12 hours apart got straight back on the drinking games. A long game of 'what the fuck' ensued - those nearby and trying to sleep sent hate vibes through the trees. Olly, who had acted as our chef for the last few days, encouraged a game of dentists chair - being tied down with arms and legs secured, while someone covered your nose and poured goon into your mouth. Seconds later, cries of 'my dreads' made the game stop to check that the aforementioned were still intact...
I stuck to the 'tropical paradise' (goon, lemonade and mango juice) and listened in horror to stories of things that go on on the party boats in the area. Thank god we didnt innocently stray on to one of them...!
When the last of the other passengers retired to their bedbug ridden bed (cries of 'thats not a bedbug, thats a bedfox! had been heard all night), and we had spotted a pregnant and very large rat, we decided it was time to call it a day. But not without a sighting of this guy.
In case the photo doesn't indicate the scale - with legs this was the size of my hand...
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