It was 1995 when Sarah and I flew to Bangkok. We had high hopes for full moon parties and postcard-perfect beaches. Being our first proper backpacking expedition, we were also open to meeting people along the way.
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On the plane we met gentle Sini from Norway. She was going to Thailand to look for her guru, a word she cooed like a dove. We also met Sandra from Dallas who was possibly a little too forthcoming with personal information at 35,000ft. Her boyfriend was in the army and, because she’d just had a birthday, her GI beau had sent her a care package which reached her in Wellington. Among other things the parcel contained Sandra’s favourite high fructose, corn syrup snacks and a sex toy that she was clearly very taken with.
Once we’d landed and cleared customs, because none of us knew where we were going, the four of us decided to share a taxi. It was past midnight, there was noise, chaos and heat like I’d never experienced and we were accosted by countless taxi drivers all keen to take us for a ride.
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