June 30th, 2011 12:40pm - San Blas=Paradise

On my last night in Thailand in 2008, I lost a sandal. The lost sandal resulted from a cocktail of alcohol, drinking games, and bad decisions. Walking through the streets of Bangkok, I realized how observant people are. Eight people told me, "you're only wearing one sandal," and, "do you know you're only wearing one sandal?" Others pointed to my naked foot and smiled. Yes, I was aware of the situation. I had feeling in my foot. I did know that I was stepping on concrete, trash, and dirt instead of rubber.
The same situation occurred in Panama City. We stumbled out of Luna's Castle at four-thirty in the morning to catch the Jeep. I wore one sandal, a result of alcohol, drinking games, and bad decisions. One of the guys crawled to the vehicle. The Jeep stopped off at a grocery store so we could buy supplies for the three-day trip.
"You should buy food, water, and any extra alcohol you might want," the driver said. "The money you paid for the island includes three meals, but you might want more food to snack on. You'll need to get water, because you can't drink the stuff on the island. They sell beer there, but you might want to take a bottle of alcohol between a couple of you."
When we tumbled out of the Jeep and walked towards the grocery store, the driver pointed at my feet and informed me, "you have one shoe." As if I didn't know.
We loaded up three shopping carts with alcohol and mixers. Everyone was entirely delirious on a half hour of sleep with more booze running through our veins than an anorexic alcoholic on New Years Eve. Seanog put on a Panama hat and pushed the cart around like he was a five-year-old in a bumper car. He ricocheted into shelves and displays. Bags of cookies flew onto the floor and an old woman screamed as he barreled around the corner and almost hit her.
The giant leprechaun surveyed the shit-hill of awesomeness. Bottles of rum, vodka and tequila, cans and cans of beer, Coke, Sprite, and juice completed the alcoholic jackpot.
"Ey, mate, you think we need that much?" Giant Leprechaun asked.
"Ya, we fucking need that much alcohol, ya cunt bag!" Seanog yelled.
"Ya, but, should we get water or something?"
We spent over two hundred and fifty dollars on one two-gallon container of water, three bags of chips, and alcohol. Two hundred and fifty dollars in Panama equates twenty nights accommodation. We were prepared for our three-night trip. Ed saw the cart and said, "maaaaaaaaaatte!"
I was bouncing around on a half hour of sleep and passed out as soon as we got back into the Jeep.
I woke up four and a half hours later, when we stopped near Carti Island to catch the boat transport to Tony's Island. It was magical. I had slept the deep and wondrous sleep of the rum overdosed, and emerged exhilarated and ecstatic. Everyone else hated their lives. 
"How the fuck were you able to sleep through that cunt bag of a ride?" Seanog asked me.
"What are you talking about? It was wonderful! I slept like an overdosed baby." 
"You were in a five-inch space, and we almost died."
"Huh?" I'm quite articulate when I'm still half-drunk.
"Mate, the roads were horrible. There were more potholes in them than smooth parts. It felt like the roads were intentionally shaking around our brain bits and trying to get us to vomit," Ed added.
"I got none of that, I'm telling you, the ride was a blanket of bliss."
"What the hell are you on about? You're one crazy cunt," Seanog said, and walked away, shaking his head.
We caught the boat and pulled up to paradise. Think bathtub-warm water, white sand beaches, coral reef, palm trees, and swarms of gorgeous Israeli women. The droves of Israeli men were alright. They weren't pretty, but they were hairy.
The most lesbian experience I've had was in high school when I made out with one of my friends for thirty seconds for a Cuban cigar. She was forceful with her tongue, and since that night I've been scarred. No more lesbian experiences. However, these Israeli women were supermodels. And they didn't wear bras to support their monstrous bazoombas. They were in the ocean or tanning in bathing suits, or they wore shirts and their nice brown nipples stuck out of their nicely outlined ta-tas. I found myself wishing I had a boob job. A CCCC cup size might compete with these goddesses.
Us newcomers gathered around Tony (Tony's Island), and he laid down the rules. No littering, and don't drown. Tony was actually Jack Sparrow. Jack Sparrow (Tony) told us these rules while he stood in front of the bamboo huts with a bottle of rum in his hand and a toddler holding on to his legs. 
"No running water, we have a generator for electricity. No internet. But we have music!" Jack Sparrow said, sipping his rum.
"My grandfather, he bought this island many years ago. How much you think he bought it for?"
We guessed. Five thousand, ten thousand, fifty thousand, one hundred thousand dollars.
"He bought this island for sixty coconuts!" 
Jack Sparrow wasn't kidding.

1 comment:

Mark said...

Gives new meaning to "I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts."