Actually I made that quote up. Our Afghan storm began at the Robin Hood in grand style. Never has a more motley, and let’s face it, brave, accumulation of individuals gathered for what really is a rather parlous adventure into the depths of backpacker culture than on this day. There was Brown looking like Pele after 20 years in Jamaica, Jacques in a tea cosy, Steel with unspeakable hair for which he was fined and a Goa inspired headband, Ham looking like Chopper’s younger English cousin, the usual array of Red Bull singlets, wrist bands, fishermans pants and headscarves, and Fatty and Fabio featuring their normal dress complete with bags that could fit a house strapped to their backs.

So off we traipsed to the BTS. Happily, for the second year in a row no one was pushed on to the tracks so there were no delays. We alight at National Stadium and like true travelers, haggle with the tuk tuk boys for a 5 baht discount and settle in for the ride. Races are on and at least 3 make it on 2 wheels.

First stop is Gullivers. There’s not much happening so we create some action. Drinks are ordered and the court is in session. As per the Rules of the Tour, no imported drinks are allowed. We are backpackers and too poor for that. This is fine when you are drinking Singha beers but when it comes to fines of Sangsom, its hardly ideal and visions of a dog show begin to take shape. Notable fines include Maddern who bought his full outfit 2 minutes earlier on the street, Steel for his terrible hair, youngsters, Fabio and Fatty, just for being youngsters and the French boys for being French. After a few good ones we emerge onto the street for some real atmosphere. Its at
this point we begin to realize we are nothing but a bunch of epigones. We cannot match the authentic backpacker for style and grace. No amount of fake tattoos and fisherman’s pants will do it. But we get stuck in.

Bar #2 was a street side thing. Memory is hazy but one doesn’t forget the Cheers Beer chick who reached her monthly quota in the two hours we were there. Like any traveler we know a special when we see it and two large bottle for 10 cents or whatever it was needed to be dominated. The more you drink the more you save. Indeed. We saved a lot. Tarryn left her mark here with 16 orders of tequila and Linda joined us at this point in a top that wasn’t to stay on long.

Warmed and lubricated and attracting our fair share of stares we launched an assault on a rather upmarket bar across the road whose name escapes me right now. Now this is where things get really hazy, especially for the author who pretty soon got horizontal and at one stage almost fell over the balcony. The party raged on despite him.

Well the memory well and truly runs out now but the evidence suggests we made it the Irish bar upstairs where the usual theatrics took place. Basically we gave it stick. The court was out of session completely by this stage so there was nothing stopping us. On on…

See photos for more info. The author regrets that he can’t write on. Shakes brought on by ‘The Fear’ which was the result of that night and disturbing flashbacks spell the end.

But all in it was an absolute cracker. A slightly different crowd with some ring-ins (and one baby) provided a buzzing dynamic and once again, the Southerners Khao San Tour was a raging success.

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Report: Cone San Road Torr Slash Muff-Show dot com 2005

Lead-up: Boys were nervous. Some didn’t show. Dress code adhered to well. Good crowd.

Mid Way: Smooth sailing. One man cotched already. Good following of groupies. No one arrested. Everyone slowly breaking. Bugs eaten. Kitty proving a winner.

Outcome: Great night which descended into chaos as the torr became leaderless, Chang and Sangsom took their toll and soi 1 bore the brunt. Boys happy, locals relieved, girls off the hook.

Guys, what a night. The Southerners annual Khao San road tour proved yet again to be a highlight on the social calendar in Bangkok. It was very well attended and the spirit in which the lads and lasses took part was exceptional.

The whole debacle started at Livingstone’s at 7am where we warmed up. Jones turned up in his girlfriend’s technicolour skin tight top which made some sick and hypnotized others. The rules were read, kitty sorted and we made our way for to the sky train and National Stadium. The trip proved uneventful this year since no-one was pushed onto the tracks prompting the emergency stoppage of trains. In true backpacker style we tuk tuked it to Cone San in convoy and first stop was The Hole in the Wall, a veritable Cone San institution. Resembling a Beirut bomb shelter from the 90′s, this spectacularly dingy ‘bar’ saw the introduction of Sangsom fines. Charges were called and fines administered with one unlucky reveler experiencing his come back out his nose. The rest of that stop had him in the bathroom cotching and snorting water in a desperate attempt to flush out the burning spirit. He was fined again for this…

Following ‘The Hole’ we managed to impose ourselves on a few different bars where we managed to pick up some groupies, fine people, eat bugs and generally be loud and obnoxious. Eventually we stumbled up into an Irish bar where highlights included Ultan harassing various birds and scaring everyone with his hat, Ron spading some chicks in the corner and impressing them with stories of his work saving the unique freshwater dolphin species of the lower Mekhong – until he realised they knew something about that and asked him to reflect on the state of the erosion caused by recent flooding and it’s effect on the dolphins. Ron then left. James and Fred were seen trying kiss later on – or so the photos would have us believe – and everyone else was generally acting drunk and trying to pick up girls. Except for Wagga who wondered off for an early night and has since copped it for rendering the torrr leaderless…

That’s all from me guys since I left early and was too drunk to remember much else anyway…