Through Death's Road: A Melodramatic Journey to Kho Samet

DISCLAIMER: The following is extremely exaggerated for comedic purposes.

Getting to Kho Samet (I still don't know how to spell the damn thing) was one of the most profoundly dark moments of my life.  With zero prior sleep, I packed my bag and was out the door by 4 am.  We told our cab where to go and he politely nodded his head and started driving as though he knew where to go.

LIAR.  He did not know where to go.  We had to call another cab who knew what the hell he was doing to explain to this fraud in native tongue that he had indeed fucked up and needed to back track.  Now I'm a reasonable man, and I know people make mistakes, but the problem is he was running the damn meter this whole time, meaning he was profiting from his mistake!  Like Billy Ray Cyrus! (the mistake in that case being Miley).  

This might seem like an overreaction, and sure, maybe it is.  But it's not like we were going to Candyland- we were going to a damn bus station.  Thai bus stations are just like American ones, but even smellier.  And naturally the bus was over an hour later than we had planned for, but no problem.  Who would complain about sitting next to diseased animals (and people) at five in the morning in the middle of downtown Bangkok?  (I would).

A solid hour in I couldn't wait to finally get on the bus.  I now realize this is like being on the river Styx  and counting down the minutes till you finally get to Hades (there's the world's most obvious mythology allusion in case anyone is a big Classics fan).  By now I'm used to things being too small for me, as they tend to be designed for Thais who borderline on being a race of midget people.  But my seat was designed in such a way that my ankles were partially dislocated and any attempt at getting some neck support forced my spine into a right angle.  I swear this is the kind of chair they would have used for prisoners in the Spanish Inquisition.  And the bus coordinator puts Jordan next to me.  "Jordan?!" I'm sure some of you just exclaimed, "What a douchebag!  You poor thing!"  Well, first off, shame on you!  Jordan is a spectacular human being!  But he is not without his flaws, mainly, that he twitches in his sleep.  In this case, the twitch manifests itself as a flying elbow striking the face of whoever's next to him. So yeah, that was going on too.

After what could only be described as a purgatorial length of time, I was released from my prison and allowed to stretch my legs.

 Naturally after four hours on the hell-bus I needed a quick stop in the gentlemen's room. Unfortunately, no such thing was available to me. This bathroom was the opposite of a gentlemen's room. The rake's room would be more appropriate. I realize that every bathroom is quite literally a shit-hole, but I thought by now we had advanced enough as a society to cover up our shit-holes with tiles and plumbing and things that make the actual deposit somewhere far away. You know, technology. But no. Here, you have a rusty metal thing on the wall. You're supposed to pee in it, and from there, it goes down a hole, where it falls..... to the floor. Where it is supposed to go from there I cannot say, but I can tell you where it actually does go: fucking everywhere. This place broke every sanitation law there ever has been- I'm pretty sure even laws of physics had to be defied to create a place so vial. And here's the real kicker: They charged me to use this. 3 baht! I know that that's only ten cents, I know that. But think of the fucking principle here! I paid to pee on my shoes. That's like being raped by a prostitute, being forced to pay her anyways, and then finding out she had herpes. In other words, I paid for herpes. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Should any poor soul be reading this, I imagine he/ she is now cringing in sympathetic horror, gripping a stuffed animal in a failed attempt at comfort and thinking “It has to get better, right Professor Snuggles?” (that's my stuffed animal, at least. Feel free to substitute yours). Well son, if you prefer to live in a fantasy world where every dog has a home, where Friends never aired, and there's no such thing as Avril Lavigne, and your girlfriend didn't leave you for a Walmart manager who could offer her free coupons, then that's your choice, and I'll leave you with this ending: After that, we got ice-cream and road flying hippos to the peanut butter mountains where Mila Kunis and Justin Timberlake were waiting to show us their newest movie that wasn't a complete rip off of No Strings Attached and we all had an amazing time. In the words of Kurt Vonnegut, “Everything was beautiful, nothing hurt."

Now, for those poor souls who feel compelled to know the the truth: Read on, and may God have mercy on your soul.

Ferries sound good. They are homophonous with fairies, and everyone knows fairies are wonderful wish granting hot girls with wings. So how could something that sounds good go so horribly wrong? After stumbling en masse with dozens of the grossest Europeans ever, we scrambled for seats on this massive wooden death trap disguised as a boat. Side note: It seems to me that all the Europeans in Thailand are the ones who got kicked out of Europe for being too gross. Europe is pretty damn lax when it comes to hygiene, but apparently even they have their limits when it comes to those who refuse to shower, shave, wear fitting clothes, and not have their cartoon-saggy boobs hanging out. Meta-side note: Saggy is never used to describe anything good.

So here I am shoved on a conglomeration of warped, splintery wood with filthy hippy europeans. Thank GOD (or what was left of him at this point in our faith shattering journey) I got a seat next to the darling Amanda Hale and the ever-lovely Jasmine Ramirez. We proceeded to have a lovely conversation about sea sickness, which strangely enough, was exactly what we were all feeling as this boat rocked violently- not the cool kind of rocking, but the way I imagine douchebags do at a Nickelback concert where all you're doing is making everyone sick and it'd undoubtedly be better to die than to continue rocking in such a way, which really isn't rocking at all, but simply being a douchebag. So basically, this boat was being a douchebag.

After successfully not throwing up on this vomit-inducing monstrosity, but still wanting to overdose on dramamine, I was ready to not just kiss the ground, but fully make out with it. I assumed that soon my hardships would be worth it, that in just minutes I'd be relaxing in a posh beach side house, sipping on a lush tropical beverage and waves crash over beautiful women swimming in the sea. I dared to hope. What a fool.

First we had to walk. We had to walk over dirt hills, on jagged rocks, and through fiery sand (or was it magma?) before we could even think about resting, all the while lugging everything we owned in our backpacks, watching Thais in pickup trucks blow by us (secretly wishing one would just hit me and put me out of my misery) with sadistic delight, laughing as we burned slowly under the sinister sun. “What did I do to anger you, oh great and powerful Sun?” I asked in defeat. “Fuck off,” The Sun replied with contempt, heating up its rays and burning my back even further just to be a dick. (That's how I think it happened, at least. Maybe I was dehydrated.)

After a trek that made Frodo's journey to Mordor look like a walk through the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese (not that that isn't terrifying when the homeless guy wearing a dress is watching you) we finally made it to where we'd be staying for the remainder of the weekend. Finally, something good happened: Rooming with Jordan, and we're sharing a bed! Cuddle fest like you've never even seen. I knew it would all be worth it. Finally, I could rest my head, and not only that, but for just 600 baht and rooming with one of the chillest bros this side of Jersey, I thought I couldn't lose. I was wrong.  Wrong as a 6 pound ultra venomous spider and an army of ants that makes China's population look lacking.

To be continued.....