When it rains in Bangkok, it fucking rains. Major storm tonight. Heavier rain than I've ever seen, louder thunder than I've ever heard, and lightning bolt after lightning bolt. Tried to go for a smoke but there's no chance of that happening. I'm in my room seven doors down from the smoking balcony (as I've christened it) and I can still hear the rain bouncing in the street. I hope Japan hasn't exploded. Maybe that wasn't thunder I could hear, maybe that was Tokyo..- Shit. That was the best storm I've ever seen. Went downstairs to see it properly. Hundreds of people hiding in bars and doorways. The normally packed Khao San Road, like a ghost town. But that's no fun. So I came back upstairs, put on my swimming shorts, a dirty shirt and some sandals and grabbed my camera. - I was going to go for a walk in the storm and make a : "Hi, I'm Simon Hingston and this is Bangkok Jackass" video.
But back downstairs and fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The rain's stopped. Everyone's happy. Not Simon. Simon's not happy. Simon's angry. Simon's stood in the middle of the indian restaurant I'm staying above in swimming shorts for no apparent reason. Fucker. Maybe Later.
After an all too brief sleep on the train we arrived in Chiang Mai. And has a pleasant suprise had no hangover to boot. We got off the train and said our goodbyes and arranged to meet in the rooftop bar that night. I say arranged, it was more that the girls screamed it at us as they wandered off with their huge, wheeled suitcases in tow. Nodody else knew of a bar on a rooftop. But as luck would have it, it was called The Rooftop Bar. So pretty simple really. The girls had their accommodation booked, as did Lek who was in Chiang Mai for an 8-day Kung Fu course. I, however, who was much more likely to be in Chaing Mai for an 8-day drinking course, did not have any accommodation booked. But nor did the Germans. Could I? Was it possible? Two Germans and one Englishman living together in perfect harmony? Two non-drinking Germans and a borderline alcoholic Englishman? But before I had chance to think, Andy had agreed with one of the touts that we'd take a room for three at his guest house for 500baht per night. 500baht = 10 of the queen's finest. 3.66 per person. And it had a pool.. I couldn't say no to that.
So there it was, the perfect script for a sitcom.
My visions of sitting by the pool, drinking all day were misguided though. The reason the room was so cheap was beacuse they run their own trekking and expedition company and expect you to pay their exaggerated prices to even out for the rooms. And as I should have guessed, the teetotal, sporty Germans (Vinz plays baseball and Andy plays basketball: two original German sports) wanted to go trekking. Why? It's hot, why would i want to climb a mountain? This weather only accommodates swimming, alcohol and (being British) a legendary sunburn.
But the Germans are also savvy. So we were to walk to the tourism office to get cheaper trekking and not tell the guest house. I say we, I was going to the tourism office with one fixed agenda. (And it did not involve walking up a mountain in tropical heat) My agenda was to locate this fabled rooftop bar.So we went to the tourism office and the nice lady (or bitch as I taught the Germans to say when referring to any female. England 1, Germany 0.) gave us maps of the city. On the German's maps she circled Chinatown, the night market, some nice restaurants etc. And on my map she kindly circled my requested destinations. So half way across the globe I have a map for a city I had never even heard of before with just 3 essential markings on it for me to navigate from: The Jazz Bar, The Reggae Bar, and of course, The Rooftop Bar. I was, and i have never used this word before, stoked. That was my week planned out right there. Is it time to go yet? I had my day mapped out in my head. Back to the guest house - pool - dinner- Jazz bar - Reggae bar - Rooftop bar - coma.
Then the Germans (they do have names, I know but it's easier and funnier for me to refer to them as ze Germans) for some reason started flashing itineries and pictures of elephants and mountains at me. What? What do you want from me? (I was already mentally in the reggae bar, skanking with a beer in hand.) For some reason the Germans had decided that I would enjoy going on the trek with them. Why yes I can see how you've gauged from my athletic exterior that I would class walking and rafting amongst my hobbies. But they convinced me. Somehow convinced me that hiking was a good idea. There was a brief standoff but I had given in. It was like a mental re-enactment of the second (or first - we won them both!) world war. Only this time the Germans won. So it was actually more like a football match. So that was that. The next day I was going to be climbing a mountain. Great. Meine lieblingsfach.
The nice lady then recommended that I gave the bars a miss for the night as a 9am start trekking up a mountain wasn't made any easier with a hangover. I joked that I would go anyway because I was tough but then promised that I would heed her advice and have a quiet night in. I lied. I went to the bars. I got drunk. I did climb the mountain with a stinking hangover. And unlike me, she had not lied, it wasn't made any easier.
But we had had to go to the bars. We had no other means of contact with the Cali girls, Lek or the frogs so had to go find them that night. And it was WE. I forced my new sober, schnitzel eating friends to come with me and sit drinking coke all night whilst I steadily got drunk to an array of suprisingly decent Bob Marley covers in the Reggae bar.Then on to the Rooftop bar. We bumped into lek by chance, though he is pretty hard to miss, so he became my drinking buddy whilst the cola swigging gang had their sober conversations about sauerkraut or antisemitism or whatever it is Germans talk about. So the rooftop.
"Is this the right one?"
"Well it's a bar on a rooftop and it's called the Rooftop Bar so if it's not the right one then we can count ourselves pretty unlucky"
"But it's nearly midnight and they're not here, plus we've got to get up in 7 hours. So we should just go"
"Boys, boys, boys. These are Californian girls we're meeting. It wouldn't be fashionable to turn up to a party before 12. Have you not seen The O.C?"
And as if time were based around their entrance, Midnight arrived and it brought two sexy Californian ladies along with it as a gift for those still able to see at that hour. (Also it brought two hairy French guys... though I'm not sure of the intention there.) So we partied. Or we started anyway. But then at 2am I finally gave into the Germans tears of tiredness and fear of only 5 hours sleep.
"I don't know what you're so bothered about. You get 5 hours sleep and wake up a bit tired. I get 5 hours sleep and wake up with a stinking hangover. And do i look like I want to go to bed??"
Alcohol is a wonderful thing.
Hangovers and hindsight, however, are not.
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