Theany, the smiling captain of the resort boat, rolled up his sleeves to reveal the home-made tattoos. On the left forearm: Sory mama, sory papa, and on the right one – the name of the hotel for which he works. A few months earlier, one of the construction guys had left his tattoo machine in the resort, and it quickly became a very popular toy. Holding back the giggle, I thought to myself that tattooing a girl’s name was not the worst idea afterall

Accompanied by the whirring engine and waves rhythmically rattling the boat we cruised around Koh Rong Samloem, discovering secluded sandy beaches and trying not to step on a sea urchin while looking for starfish in a snorkeling mask repaired with an rubber band. The Khmer crew was endowed with unique skills in dismantling snorkeling gear. So far, five ways of damaging a mask and two ways to annihilate a snorkel have been discovered. We watched the lighthouse and the mysterious military tanks standing beside it, admired cliffs falling down into the sea, guessed where the paths could lead through the hypnotizingly green, lush jungle

Dusk fell, and the totally gnawed moon allowed the lagoon to sink into the darkness. The boat was cutting the water, and the splashing drops were reflecting the stars.

Blah, blah, what stars?! Romantic gibberish! We entered the Plankton territory, that’s what this is! King Plankton likes to indulge himself in trinkets, so he ordered bioluminescence: each of his subjects is to dazzle, flicker, glitter, shine or glow. We take a tour around his kingdom by jumping from the boat with eyes wide open (the rubber band on the mask did not withstand the tension…), splashing around and waving every limb in a different direction. The lagoon begins to glow silver-blue, and I’m diving into a Christmas tree.

The moon phases are a very important matter, and not just due to the tides and the possibility to observe bioluminescence. Full moon and black moon are the two most important reasons for celebrating, and the island party graphics are established basing on the moon thickness. This is when all the people, both local and migrant, will head for the jungle bar, where wildlife, tequila and a German techno DJ reign. The German DJ isn’t troubled by an empty dance floor. He is right there in his inspired world and apparently is feeling homesick. With a wave of his magic mixing console, he transforms the jungle into the Berlin Love Parade. Fiercely, emotionally, relentlessly, he gives a spectacle of hammer drills piercing into broken vacuum cleaners.

Thanks to him, I learned a new thing about myself. As it turns out, I am the person who asks to play Despacito at a party [1].


[1] But Despacito is not there. Nor is Ai se eu te pego, or Shape of you. There is just darkness, the vacuum cleaner, tequila and deafness in one ear.

 


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