Once again, (I feel as if I’m repeating myself) I only recall bits of the night.

Terrible, dreadful bits.

I remember wandering around alleys, drunk out of my mind. Not knowing where my friends were.

Not knowing where the hell I was.

I felt someone begin to follow me.

I tried desperately to regain some composure. Which is next to impossible when you’re this intoxicated.

When I finally sobered up a bit, I realized all my cash was gone.

$100 bucks I had brought out with me.

This was supposed to last several weeks and it was all gone.

It was really late and there weren’t many taxis left.

I approached one and he told me it was going to cost $100 US dollars to get to the other side of the island.

A 20 minute ride for $100 dollars.

My heart sank.

I slurred “I have to go to an ATM”

He drove me to a desolate atm outside of a shady bank with no working outside lights, except the dim atm glow.

I slid my card in and punched in my pin.

Nothing happened.

I tried this three more times.

Nothing.

I was getting worried.

I stumbled back to the taxi driver and told him we had to try another atm.

I don’t recall some of the details but the second atm did not work either.

I began to cry.

When we arrived at the third bank, I was hysterical. Fingers crossed (as well as eyes, at that point)

Finally the card worked and I was able to draw out the necessary blood money and got back in the taxi.

As we rode through the jungle, I choked back tears and pressed my sweaty forehead against the window. My comments about how he was ripping me off fell on deaf ears.

The next morning at breakfast, Lee said “You got up and went to the restroom and then never came back.”

We evacuated the resort that morning and backpacked to the other side of the island where we found some cute $5 a night wooden huts directly on the beach to rent.

They were called Star Huts.

Now, this was a nice change of pace for my wallet!

However, the skankorific bathrooms were shared by all the residents and constantly covered in mud (hopefully) and miscellaneous liquids. To go barefoot would be ill-advised.

We headed to a nice restaurant right on the beach where I avoided drinking anything but bottled water.

Then we headed to a tiny beach bar hut thing and a German couple showed me the pleasures of combining beer with Coca-Cola. It was really tasty!

The next morning, I went for a run around the village and the three of us spent our afternoon laying on the beach.

Me, the chubby American surrounded by skinny Europeans. My self-esteem was soaring.

This was our routine for the next few days.

And little did I know, I was being consumed by sand fleas!

Demonic little creatures who would cause me to finally flee Thailand.

That evening I noticed I had huge, sweltering red bites all over my face and hands.

Bites that were seeping puss.

It was revolting.

I looked like the monster under the bed.

That night at dinner, I wore my hat low as to not wipe out the appetites of everyone around me.

I had a Singha beer that seemed to make the puss come out at a speedier rate.

That was my last taste of alcohol for the entire trip.

The next morning when Lee and Clare wanted to again spend the day on the beach, I knew a decision had to be made.

I had to get the hell out of Dodge.

Which ended up being the most nightmarish part of the trip.