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Luxury Rehab Centers in Thailand

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Last updated Nov 2, First published on Jul 5, Thailand. This post is about helping a traveler who was burned at the Full Moon Party in Thailand. The internet is a strange place, indeed. Half-naked pagans probably did something similar thousands of years ago on some beach under a full moon. At least I hope not. One mantra that has served me well in life, the Army, and travel:. For some reason, I answered the siren call of the Full Moon Party. Actually, some of the hardcore revelers begin dancing at sunrise when most of the kiddos have already succumbed to their buckets. Thailand — and particularly Koh Phangan — have changed a lot since I was first here in Long gone are the fisherman pants, guitar circles on the beach, and talk-to-everyone attitudes. Fashion, Facebook friends, and mindsets have all been brought over from England. They are only here because the drinks are cheaper than at home. The sweet smell of weed no longer hangs in the air. In eight days, I saw only one set of dirty, unwashed dreadlocks. In eight days on Koh Phangan, I only met one traveler who was away from home for a year. Instead of hiding hair under a bandanna as travelers once did, the girls here spend an hour on their hair and paint sorority symbols on their bodies. The fraternity guys strut around like roosters with shaved, bulging chests hoping to attract someone dumb enough to mate with them. It seems I have accidentally bought a ticket to Koh PhanDouchebag instead of the backpacker island I once knew. I know I definitely sound like the jaded, crotchety traveler of old — and I am. But the scene on Koh Phangan has changed significantly. Undaunted, I was determined to have some fun with these different travelers anyway, so I cowboyed up for my third party night in a row of watching the sunrise from a beach strewn with buckets and unconscious binge drinkers. Like usual, I stayed in the famous Same-Same Guesthouse just off the beach. I met some nice travelers there at the warm-up party. Awash in a sea of bumping hedonism, I instantly lost my newly met friends from the guesthouse. So I fought my way alone to the psy-trance part of the party, hoping to find a few more freaks and a few less douchebags. I did. The bass literally rattled my vision. Psychedelic lights disoriented me, and I ground the soft sand beneath my feet like there was no tomorrow. I should have known straightaway that the Irish accent was trouble, but instead, I took her up on the suggestion that we should go jump through the hoop of burning fire on the beach. I thought, sure. As mentioned above, there is a lot of fire at the Full Moon Party in Thailand. The Full Moon Party sign itself is ablaze, as are huge effigies. There are fire shows everywhere you look. Tourists — particularly drunk ones — are openly encouraged to play with fire at beach parties in Thailand. Fire jump ropes, fire hoops, a two-story fire slide even. Yes, I said a fire slide. There are lots of creative ways to burn yourself here. The party was too dark and chaotic to notice how bad the burns were at first, but I knew that she was in trouble when I knelt down to splash water on her wounds. The skin hung loosely in big, bubbled blisters on her thighs. I could smell burned flesh. All around us people still danced and squirmed in ecstasy while she squirmed in pain. I knew it was time to evacuate. Third-degree burns can be a real buzz kill, so even though we had known each other only a few minutes, I found myself helping a screaming, hobbling Irish woman to the clinic. She had lost her friends in the chaos. The clinic in Haad Rin was overwhelmed with injured travelers who got drunk, climbed something to show off, and fell. Broken bones were aplenty. My new Irish friend promised to pay me back but we never exchanged contact info. We passed my neighbors, two English women, who were smoking outside my door. They who looked at us curiously as we hobbled inside. Understandably, given that I was helping my Irish friend walk, they assumed I had netted a drunk girl from the beach. We assured them all was well. My reputation around the guesthouse is unrecoverable. The painkiller the clinic in Haad Rin gave us spread threw her booze-thinned blood quickly. I now had an unconscious stranger in my bed, and I was too wound up with adrenaline to think about sleep. What if the painkiller-booze combination caused something terrible to happen? I was afraid to leave her. Even watching her drift in and out of consciousness made me nervous. And so, my Full Moon Party in Thailand ended almost as quickly as it began. Thanks to this post and the power of the interwebs, I found her! Incredibly, one of her friends saw this post about a traveler getting burned at the Full Moon Party in Thailand, shared it, and amazingly, it got back to the Irish woman! We are now Facebook friends and shared a laugh. Greg Rodgers is a vagabonding writer and adventurer who began traveling the world in Now he helps others begin a life of location independence. Get in touch by emailing greg vagabondinglife. T hunder. Primal drums. Sweat and body paint. The full moon. I must have killed too many brain cells at the first one or something. One mantra that has served me well in life, the Army, and travel: Go where the action is. Oh, and there is fire at the Full Moon Party. A lot of fire. More about that later. I had no idea I would miss those dirty dreadlocks so much. Later, I met a long-time resident here who gave me some hope. The island is large, and there are pockets of old-school travelers. Dancing at the Full Moon Party Undaunted, I was determined to have some fun with these different travelers anyway, so I cowboyed up for my third party night in a row of watching the sunrise from a beach strewn with buckets and unconscious binge drinkers. All was good for about 45 minutes. The Irish Woman Then she came. Why not? Everything at the Full Moon Party seems to be on fire or made to be lit on fire. All started well. Seconds later, I was running her to the sea to splash water on her smoldering legs. Fire hoop: 1 Ireland: 0. Game over. The Clinic in Haad Rin Third-degree burns can be a real buzz kill, so even though we had known each other only a few minutes, I found myself helping a screaming, hobbling Irish woman to the clinic. I could hear my neighbors talking, so I knew they could hear us through the thin, bamboo wall. Just give me 10 more seconds. It hurts! Why am I so stupid! Why did I do this! The Burned Traveler Survives The painkiller the clinic in Haad Rin gave us spread threw her booze-thinned blood quickly. An Update Thanks to this post and the power of the interwebs, I found her! Previous Post: Vagabonding Begins!

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