So yea… here’s the scenario. Scuba Mike and company are now ceritified. Dive master trainee, Andy, has to work so the plan is for the newly certified divers, and Paul the dive instructer to hit go to a pub for a few drinks and dinner before heading to Liquid, the bar Andy works at. Everything is going to according to plan, we have dinner, Paul buying the first round to congratulate his little tadpols that now look slightly more froglike. We laugh tell stories, finish our dinner and head to bar liquid catch up with andy.
Enter stage left, the villian of our story. The drink of drinks, the bucket. Red Bull and vodka bucket to be exact. For those of you who have never done the thai island bar scene, its exactly how it sounds. A small bucket filled with some booze and some mixer decorated with a few straws so you can share with your drinking buddies. However, when your DMT friend, who moolights as a bartender is serving you, the bucket tends to be mostly vodka and a splash of Red Bull for that lovely green color.
Yada, yada, yada. Paul was plays a secret agents of sorts, smuggling a bamboo plant in his pocket for God only knows what reason. Yada, yada, yada. A long forgotten night later, I wake up on the beach with my sandals no where to be found. Yada, yada, yada… I walk home bare foot and spend the next day sitting in a hammock trying to decide if the cut above my mouth is deep enough to go get stitches.
Such days remind me of simpler times where sleeping on the beach involved a poi overdose, lounge chairs and the starry Hawaiian sky.