I didnt hear the shots.

I was dancing, chatting and drinking with an assortment of party people and local folk wearing fluffy red and white santa hats.

The music went dead.

The crowds evaporated away.

A light rain was falling as mist in the night.

The party was over.

Three young boys were shot on the beach on Phi Phi on Christmas day.

The passengers on the well-worn route through the islands of Thailand know the route even if they haven't taken it before.


It has its own history, literature, fashions, gossip and rumours. Sitting on a ferry, or on a cramped minibus, advice is swapped over copies of the Lonely planet and Alex Garland's 'The Beach'.

From Koh Pang Yang through Samui and down to Phi Phi, the chat and gossip increases.

Friends are made, girls meet boys, boys meet girls. Numbers passed, stories recounted, tips of beaches and hotels are rumoured and passed on.

This year has a full moon that falls on New Years eve. Everyone is going, excited at the chance to be at the biggest party in the world.



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  • The Crashpacker

    I never meant to go travelling, I just went. You start moving and can't stop, and when you do come to rest the inertia swells i…

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