The ambush on Pi Pi

Here is the first of two stories from my journal about events which took place during my time on Koh Pi Pi and which were recorded a week later during my stay in Bangkok.

Thursday 21st October 11pm
Location: Khao San Road, Bangkok

On the evening of the day we visited The Beach, me and my dive buddies met up again at the Apache Bar. After a tactical Thai massage (I thought it would help to draw some of the poison out of my system after the debauchery of the previous evening) I went back to the guesthouse to find Steve still tormented by his gargantuan hangover. He was in no state to come out so I left him languishing in bed and walked over to Apache alone.

It was 9pm, I was dead on time, so it wasn't suprising that none of my buddies were there yet. I wandered off to find some food and ended up in pretty much the only truly authentic Thai bar that I've been in during my time in Thailand. It was a karaoke bar full of young Thais sitting around eating and singing along to truly awful Thai rock music being played through a TV and sound system much too big for the small first floor room we were cramped in. I was pleased to note that I was the only westerner there. What was most interesting about the place was that it was obviously a bedroom which metamorphosed into a makeshift bar in the evening.

I enjoyed my dinner of chicken, corn on the cob and Singha beer enormously, sitting quietly in the corner watching and listening, provoking some curiosity from the other patrons, particularly the girls. As I'm sure you already know, western men get a lot attention from Thai women, and western women get a lot of attenton from Thai men. It works both ways of course - everyone wants something different, but it is ultimately the western money that is the glue in the relationship. The money is the main attraction I think, from the Thai perspective.

I finished my meal quickly, and left. Upon my return to Apache, I spotted Dan, Brendan and Lawrence. They were gently teasing a naive young American girl that they had just met. She was very nice but very young and very American - it was kind of a struggle to take her seriously. Brendan and Lawrence were getting slowly sloshed on buckets and she seemed to be getting a little out of her depth, nursing a single coctail over a period of about an hour. Presently she bid us all goodnight, planting kisses on all of our cheeks.

Dan and I were sticking to the beers, delaying the inevitable, but when German Michael turned up and bought a bucket, demanding that we play his ridiculous German drinking game (basically, everyone drinks from the bucket at the same time and nobody is allowed to stop drinking - genius) things very quickly stepped up a gear or three. After numerous rounds of buckets, drinking games and new aquaintances, I was almost utterly twatted. By this point we had been joined by two young Swedish girls called Anna and Anna, to whom I quickly took a shine, plus an Israeli guy, who was conspicuous only because he didn't hang around for long due to the fact that he set himself on fire. I'm sure he was okay, but he didn't return to our table, perhaps feeling that he had humiliated himself.

We left for Hippies bar a short while later. By the time I arrived I was utterly twatted - the alcohol from all the buckets seemed to decide to combine forces for one last big push into my bloodstream. I lost everyone. Funnily enough, I discovered the following day that everyone lost everyone. It did not suprise me. I staggered around for a bit looking for my friends. Then I ran into the two Annas, who had been absorbed into a completely new group of people, including a brash yank and a beardy ginger man with a pleasant Irish lilt. I too, was quickly absorbed. It was all very chummy. A drink was bought for me, or at least, I think it was bought for me. I drank it anyway.

After a period of time (it could have been ten minutes, it could have been an hour - time had taken on a decidedly elastic quality, along with my legs) the yank invited us back to his place for an ambush. It wasn't far, he said. It certainly seemed like a good idea, despite the fact that no-one had the faintest idea what an ambush might involve. Me, the two Annas, the yank and the mick set off on what three of us assumed would be a short jaunt down the beach, but in fact turned out to be a twenty minute walk to the other side of the island, with a pitstop on the way for provisions of an alcoholic persuasion. More booze, I thought. Hooray - just what I needed.

By this time the irishman had curiously melted away into the night, leaving me and the two Annas, still not really knowing what was going on, traipsing after the yank who strode ahead with a sense of purpose.
"Where are we going, exactly? What is this ambush going to involve, specifically?" we asked on numerous occasions.
"Don't worry about it. It'll be great! You'll see!" was the yank's only response, which he shouted over his shoulder without pausing in his stride.

When we eventually arrived at his guesthouse we discovered that the yank had a pretty good spot - a two storey appartment with a view of the beach and a wide, covered balcony on the first floor containing a bench and a table strewn with a variety of empty and half empty cans, bottles and smoking paraphernalia. Conspicuously sat next to the table was a large waste basket filled with waterbombs and a Supersoaker 3000. Ah, an ambush, I thought. Suddenly it all made sense.

The yank finally explained. Apparently we were to lie in wait for a group of his friends to return from their night out, at which point we would pelt them with the waterbombs. It wasn't clear exactly what kind of friends these people were, but given that when a lone partygoer returned to the guesthouse a moment later, was bombed, and promptly exclaimed, "You again! Go f*ck yourself you immature yanky b*stard!", it seemed quite likely that these so-called 'friends' were nothing more than fellow residents of the guesthouse - innocent victims of a crazy American on a power trip. Nonetheless, it seemed like a pretty good laugh, so we dug in.

At one point there was a skirmish - a surprise attack launched by enemies unknown. There was a rustling in the bushes beneath the balcony and suddenly a waterbomb was launched up at us. It exploded at my feet. That was too close for comfort, I thought, reaching for a waterbomb of my own. After issuing us with strict instructions not to target any locals, and to guard the entrance until his return, the yank disappeared off on a reconaissance mission. He returned a few minutes later with news that the enemy had dispersed.

It was getting late and the three of us who were not a crazy American were getting tired. When was the ambush likely to occur? Soon, was the response. Very soon, and we needed to be ready. The yank disappeared downstairs to the bathroom, taking one of the Annas with him. They set about preparing more ammunition, leaving me and the other Anna to keep watch in the guard tower. I looked out into the night, my eyes peeled, watching, waiting, trying to prepare myself mentally for the battle that would soon commence. Unfortunately by this point the only thing that I was mentally prepared for was unconsciousness. In the battle to stay awake, I knew that I may soon become a casualty.

The yank returned with Anna and the ammo. He began to give us a thorough tactical briefing.
"How do you feel about taking the left flank, Ollie? Are you up for it?" he asked. The left flank? I was being asked to guard someone or something's left flank? My chest swelled with pride as I, with some difficulty, focussed on the yank. Yes, I slurred, I most certainly was up for it.
"That's the spirit!" he exclaimed, giving me a manly slap on the back, "I knew I could count on you. You'll be here with six of these badboys," he said, pointing at the bushes beneath us and then at the newly replenished supply of waterbombs. "I'll be over there on the other side of the path. When I give the signal..." (at this point he put two fingers to his lips and made an impressively elaborate bird call style whistling noise) "... it means the enemy is approaching. Prepare to unleash hell! Got it?"
I nodded enthusiastically: I got it alright. I was primed and ready to go.
"Excellent," the yank said, "Excellent. Now, go and roll up another reefer, man!"

Now, this was the yank's first tactical mistake. He hadn't really been able to guage how drunk I was, being half cut himself. Had he realised, he would no doubt have been ordering me to go and drink half a dozen cups of coffee instead of arming me with a half a dozen water balloons and a bag of reefer. Needless to say I followed his order without question. Ours not to reason why, and all that. I went inside and sat on the yanks bed, upon which one of our comrades, Anna, had just fallen (asleep). I rolled up a fat one. I lit it. I had a few tokes. Suddenly it became very difficult to keep my eyes open. The bed looked so soft and inviting. If I just lay down for a few moments, closed my eyes, rested, then surely I would be ready for anything?

The last thing I remember as consciousness slipped from my grasp was the yank saying, "Aw shucks, what am I going to do about my left flank now?" And then, oblivion.

As it turned out, the ambush never happened. The bad guys never showed, despite the fact that Anna and the yank waited for them until after the sun was up. Perhaps they snuck in through the back door. I snapped awake at about 10am - hot, sweaty, confused, still quite drunk. Where the hell was I?! It all came flooding back. The shame hit me in a wave, along with the nausea. I had fallen asleep on duty. After about five minutes I composed myself. I went downstairs, crept past the sleeping figure of the yank and out into the sunshine. I was dazzled by it.
"Where am I?" I asked a passing local.
"Koh Pi Pi, man," was the response.
Useful. I staggered off in a random direction. As luck would have it, It was the right one.

The second story in this series, The incident with the sex tourist, will hopefully hit a computer monitor near you sometime tomorrow. I bet you can't wait!