One of the best things about staying at Echo Beach is that the staff are travelers, just like us. Most of them were passing through Koh Phangan at one point in time, were amazed by it, and decided to head back. In exchange for meals and accomodation, the staff work the bar, the front desk and the tours. They've basically made a temporary home for themselves in one of the best places on earth, which is why, today, Jack, Tom and I took their recommendations and headed to explore Bottle Beach.
On the way, we decided to stop at a viewpoint (who doesn't love a good viewpoint?!) Although the area was under construction, (they were trying to construct a type of pop up tiki bar??) we were able to access a large slab of concrete that overlooked the island and the beach. The views were absolutely breathtaking (minus the concrete of course).
Oh Yeah. I almost forgot. One more thing.
I got to drive the motorbike!
(ok, not really, but the pose is pretty convincing, right?!)
After being laughed at by the locals for staging a photoshoot at their construction site, we took off for Bottle Beach.
The route included quite a bit of off roading, mostly through gravel and mud. If you've ever ridden a motorbike, you know that trying to brake while on gravel is a complete lost cause, so Tom's philosophy was to gas it the entire way. Needless to say, I was white knuckling the back of that bike like there was no tomorrow.
We ended up on a mud path that was really slick, as well as super uneven and incredibly rocky. We came to a hill that sloped straight down and then curved sharply to the left. I wasn't able to see the bottom and was anxious that if we got our bikes down, we may not be able to get them back up again.
After my wails for Tom to stop the bike became too much for him to bear, he begrudgingly put on the brakes. I hopped off and told him I was going to head down the hill on foot to see what was around the curve and if taking our bikes was even a feasible option.
No sooner had I hopped off the bike than I heard tire squeals and "sionara, sister" behind me. Tom had taken off down the hill.
Before I knew it he was out of sight. All of a sudden, I heard a loud crash. My heart started pounding. I yelled, "Tom, Tom" but I got no response. With my helmet still on, I took off sliding down the hill. I fell in the mud not once, but twice, completely covering myself, all the while yelling up the hill to Jack, who had stopped his bike behind us. "Jack, Jack, I heard a crash and I can't hear Tom. Get down here now!!"
I came around the curve to find Tom standing, completely fine, next to the bike.
He took one look at me and my shambled self and said, "you woulda been better off on the bike".
Tom explained that he headed down the hill but when he got about halfway he realized he wasn't going to make it, so he hopped off the bike and tried to turn it around. The hill was slick though, so he slipped and let go of the bike and it went sliding down the hill. Now, here the three of us are with a bike that's missing a sideview mirror and some paint, a bruised ego and a long, long way back up this hill.
Getting the bike back up was an absolute bitch. The number of times "I told you so" tried to creep out of my mouth as I was melting from the hot sun, sliding in the mud and simultaneously trying to lift this damn bike were numerous. I settled for an eyebrow raise and uncontrollable laughter at the ridiculousness of our predicament.
After getting the bike back onto driveable turf, we took off toward a different beach. Thankfully, this route didn't include any offroading. The beers that followed went down smooth and were exactly what we needed.After a short swim, a nap and some sunbathing, we decided to head back to Echo to rehash the day's events to Manu, our German confidant.
The staff overheard us telling our grave tale to Manu and could barely keep straight faces. "Well of course you didn't make it to Bottle Beach", they laughed, "Bottle Beach is completely inaccessible by motos."
WOMP. WOMP. WOMP.
Thailand, one. Three amigos, nada.
We decided the best way to nurse our bruised egos was to spend the night at the hostel hanging together. Grace (one of the workers at the hostel who we'd become pretty good friends with) and Tom, really, really wanted me to try digestives-- apparently they are a british staple. Maybe I forgot to mention this but the brits outnumbered me IMMENSELY at this hostel and they took every opportunity they could to remind me of it. They could not believe some of the things Americans did, or didn't do, like eat digestives, so tonight, they took it upon themselves to teach me one of their many british ways. Apparently, the right way to drink a cup of tea (or four cups of tea, a day, minimum), is to have a digestive BISCUIT (not cookie, do not call these things cookies because they are definitely NOT cookies. seriously though, they look like cookies) and to dip it in said cup of tea. Because this is necessary life knowledge that I did not yet possess at the ripe old age of 26, Grace and Tom splurged on a box of imported digestives for the evening. The lead up to my first taste was highly anticipated by multiple hostel guests and staff members, and I did not disappoint.
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