Ko Samet: Memories revisited
There are times in life where we revisit places long since stored only in the minds memory vault. Sensual Deja Vu so strong you can almost smell, taste, hear, see, touch and be in the places that we haven't thought of in many years. Ko Samet;  lovely, stunning white sand island nestled along the Eastern Coast of Thailand, in the turquoise warm waters of the bay of Thailand has the distinction of spring boarding me to a happy, carefree, naive time of my younger life.
The return to 'innocence' did not start off that way; a frenzied 12 hours trek from China, to Bankok to Ban Phe to Koh Samet was anything but calm and reflective.  In the end, once settled, I found myself that evening in a time-spin that put me back to my college days of youthful silliness, heightened drunkenness, ceaseless flirtatiousness, party tricks, high fives, unfettered laughter, dance moves rediscovered (effective? very subjective), old jokes reincarnated, childlike and sometimes childish behaviors that spurred me back to memories of the University of Saskatchewan, student housing of Lava and those days  of the young stupid boyish discoveries of alcohol and ourselves.
The proponents of the time warp were numerous but two receive top billing: Thomas "I don't understand" (Germany) and Dani "if my wife doesn't get here soon I'll explode“ (English). It was particularly Dani's youthful aged exuberance (30) that ignited the fires long since reduced to a smolder; a big laugh easily evoked, teasing temperament, fatherly guidance (we'll get a lot more pissed if we use a straw!), and great stories made for an unforgettable steward to my mindful return flight to the Prairies.  Add the exotic beauty of the island and vigorous debauchery ensued.
There is a certain character of the travelers here at Ko Samet compared to other places in Asia that I've found especially endearing.  I feel I am more like them and them like me; opposed to the aged perverts of Pattaya, the laughable misplaced pretentiousness of the backpackers of Kho San Road, and the lovely families of Ko Samui.  The nearly 30 something crowd here is more affluent but not rich or snobby, rooted in careers and searching for newness - new experiences, new laughs, new loves, new ideologies, new vitality.
What is consistent is a searching and hunger to grow and be better then what we were yesterday, it is only in the areas of life that we choose to focus that we differ.  The search usually goes something like this:  morning of coffee, banana pancakes, and meeting,  planning our assault on the day, venturing to the white sands and brilliant sunshine where we exchange and challenge views, nurse swollen heads, summon energy for some soccer with the locals (shortly after catering to blisters, envious of the tough footed little Thais), swims in the clear turquoise warm waters of the Gulf, admiring the loveliness of nature in the environment and in people, late afternoon kips cuddle up to our benevolent fans.  Our evening meals finds us in groups of 8-10-12 cuddled on mats and pillows with little tables on the white sand, candles supply light, surf supplies calming sounds, warm gentle winds caress our face, and refreshments are supplied by the ever present Singha (local Thai beer).  Stories are told with charming accents from sun kissed and burnt faces of every nationality; high lighting bright eyes and brilliant smiles.  After a culinary delight of tasting and sharing indescribable sea-food we venture out; first stop Tok's little bar.  Tok is now our regular haunt; an open air beach bar, with ti-ki torches and brown faced gregarious waiters make it delightful.  The cheap singha (free if you win a coin toss) and ever present buckets of Sangsom (rum) make it impossible to deny an alcohol induced blitz of the evening.  Young Thai's tossing and spinning batons of fires doesn't ignite my singha-muted fire suppression skills.
It's not long before our earlier vow to avoid the buckets of Sangsom is cast aside as Thomas gives us a five count in German and 3, 4, 5 heads at the end of straws surround the red plastic sand pails.. "einz, Vie, Veer, Voden..." Faces contorted, followed by exclamations in vulgarity, buzzes abound, a stagger and we're off the beach dance bar.  In the open of the bar sound and rhythm takes a new form, more free, more alluring, siren calls.  All turns surreal in the alcohol induced haze; I see long ago friend’s faces in the characters I meet.  Sexual energy permeates sweaty bodies, hips sway, lust is lost and found amongst the bass thumping eclectic mixes of music.  I am content to watch and enjoy the games that surround me, when not in the midst of it.

My male companions disappear and I found myself amongst the dance crowd, bumping and gyrating and believing I am quite gifted in dance (ha! wonderful Sangsom).  Then out of no where the boys re-appear; less than profound bantering ensues, amongst the high fives, hugs, and handshakes of recognition and respect.  Then as quickly as they appear they are off to find new newness.  The party comes alive and takes on a different look, but usually ends in a 4 a.m. swim and a vehement search for an ice cream vendor.
After 3 nights, I am thankful when my two accomplices of demise move on.  That youthful naivety of alcohol ceases to exist in me; I know the gifts and the demons it delivers, both wonderful and lacking depth and fulfillment.  My new bonds, special and remembered, will dissipate as the innocent of drunken nights. I will return to my non-innocence with a smile of memories and people revisited long ago in Saskatoon Louis Pub, I do so with a smile and shaking of my (aching) head.