His name was Brad and he ordered a bottle of red wine…

and as we took sips from our glasses we dreamily watched Harry Potter. In the afternoon we’d been in the same taxi (well, pick-up truck really) that took us from the boat in Tongsala to Haadrin. As neither of us knew where to go and both of us were very hungry, we first had a meal together in order to set up a plan so that we’d find a place to stay. This turned out to be more of a challenge than I’d anticipated. Yet it was to be expected, what with Christmas, the Full Moon celebrations and New Year’s Eve just around the corner. After we’d walked around for half an hour or so, during which we’d started to feel a bit like Joseph and Mary, we got lucky: we came across a vacant bungalow. It was a bit on the expensive side, but that wasn’t so bad; the main problem was that it only contained a double bed. Oh well... I kept my mouth shut. Luckily, besides a lot of Dutchmen, quite a few Englishmen were sent to Australia in the old days, and Brad turned out to have lots of gentleman genes. He said to me: 'Ladies first'. Yes! I’d found myself a place for the night. And I kept my fingers crossed that he’d find something for himself, too. Again, we were lucky. A quarter of an hour later, he came to collect his rucksack. Good. Now I could take a shower! I desperately needed one after a day and a half of travelling in temperatures I still had to get used to. I’d hardly left the shower clean, fresh and dry or Brad knocked on my door again. Oh no! Well, one cannot be as rude as I can be sometimes… I decided to let him in and sat down with him to chat. About our travels, about what we were missing (family, friends, red wine…) and everything else travellers tend talk about. To cut a long story short, the next day he’d be leaving for another island to start a diving course. He asked if I’d like to go with him (to which I said no). In the evening we went out for a meal (with that bottle of wine of his - after two gulps I almost fell off my chair. I wasn’t used to drinking anymore!) in a cafe that shows the latest illegal DVDs from the west (which happened to be Harry Potter on our night out).

The next day, after breakfast (yep, he’d been knocking on my door again) I learned that ‘unfortunately’ he had to catch the boat. That was OK by me... I didn’t mind giving him my email address, but wasn’t that sad to see him go. Bye, bye Brad. I wasn’t surprised at all to find a message from him in my inbox that same week, in which he once again tried to persuade me to come to Koh Tao. In my best English and the nicest possible way I could think of I told him I’d already taken a diving course once. I also explained that I dreaded the boat trip (which wasn’t a lie) and that I really liked it here at Koh Phangan. Finally, I wished him a Happy New Year. I received a second email from him in which he wrote: ‘See you in Sydney’. We’ll see about that. End of story.

I don’t think I could ever write in the style of Mills & Boon’s. I have no talent at all for fluffy love stories (even though I can be romantic... but I find it difficult to put my emotions onto paper).

Just keep breathing

is what I learned during the first and most important diving lesson. I’d nearly blurted out that this was true for every situation, but out of fear of having this repeated back to me during the next few days I kept my big mouth shut. At the Koh Phangan Dive Club office we were told what the program would be for the next three days. Day 1: go to the swimming pool and learn how to breathe underwater, etc.; go back to the office in the afternoon to watch videos on diving theory and take written tests. On the second day, a boat would take us to a diving area at sea where we’d dive twice and do some exercises. At the end of the afternoon we’d take our theory exam. Finally, on the third day we’d go to the sea once again for two dives and a couple of exercises.

You may wonder why on earth I enrolled for this so-called PADI Open Water Diver course. Well, so did I...

This may be why: because I found it heart-stoppingly frightening. (And I really find a lot of things heart-stoppingly frightening.) But ever since my personal coach, Joske, pointed out to me last year what an incredible perfectionist I am (If I can’t get a 10 out of 10, I can’t be bothered, as there’s no point in even giving it a go) a lot has changed. I now allow myself to try things out, make a few (but only a few…) mistakes, learn from them and just start all over again (or not) without feeling unhappy, guilty or a failure. For most of you (‘normal’, intelligent people) this is probably nothing out of the ordinary. But for me, it’s one of the most painful learning curves in my life. I admire Joske for having succeeded in convincing this stubborn and single-minded creature that it can be done. Once again, Joske: thanks a trillion!

Frightening or not, I could give it another go, couldn’t I? This was an excellent opportunity: I had all the time in the world and didn’t have to pay much (which is quite important for a backpacker). What more could I have wished for?

So, I entered their little office on the first day (I was the first participant to arrive, of course...) and introduced myself to my diving instructor, Adriana (a German girl). I thought nothing could go wrong now. My grandfather’s name was Adriaan, after all, and although I never knew him, I did know he was quite a forceful character (which he often demonstrated by beating up the people around him). An hour later, all five of us (the other people on the course were Vera from Germany and Canadians Eric and Donato), were standing in front of a swimming-pool in one of the more exclusive holiday resorts. First, we received some instructions and then we had to put on our wetsuits and jackets (attached to the back was a cylinder with too many tubes for breathing and a pressure and depth gauge). I found the belts with the weights most ridiculous of all. The belts prevent you from floating. In order to determine how many weights I needed, Adriana had asked me what my weight was. I was proud to answer, ‘58 kilos’, but then I started to worry what would happen if it turned out to be incorrect. Would I sink to the bottom of the pool like a brick? It wasn’t an ideal start to the course. I hadn’t lied – I’d just stated that I weighed between sixty and sixty-five kilos (and prayed it would be correct, for when was the last time I stood on the scales? Exactly – 16th September, in order to find out what my weight was with and without my backpack). So, I was very surprised to learn that I needed an extra weight! Adriana explained to me that it had to do with my breathing. It wasn’t regular enough, she told me. I wondered, how about my lung content? I was twelve years old and had just been awarded the nickname Jackie Turbo when during a Biology lesson we were doing experiments in order to determine our lung content. Guess who outdid everyone else, including the blokes who were already more than six feet tall and whose voices were breaking, by breathing out literally everything? That was me! Of course, it was only logical for a big mouth like myself. So, it shouldn’t have surprised me that I needed an extra weight.

For an hour and a half we imitated some slow toads at the bottom of the little pool, so that the other guests in the resort couldn’t really use it. They were watching us as if we’d come from Mars, and we looked it, too – so they probably weren’t that eager to mix with us. With and without the snorkel; with and without the mask (Just keep breathing, right?); diving; sinking and swimming; we did everything. Adriana kept reassuring and complimenting us. She was doing a great job by criticizing us gently: ‘And you, my love, should take care of...’ and ‘My darling, listen, if you do this...’. It may sound simple, but I was astounded at the psychological effect it had on each of us.

Then I found I’d had enough. With temperatures of 35 degrees Celsius during the day, I was feeling COLD and wanted to get OUT of the water. As if Adriana had guessed my thoughts, we stopped soon after. We drove back to the little office after we’d dressed and dumped all the equipment in the pickup truck again. We ordered lunch and watched the videos. Even though they took quite a few hours and my eyes were no longer round but square, I had zero mistakes in my tests. Theory has never been my biggest problem. At seven o’clock in the evening, we were all finished. In my little bungalow (I’d moved to a more cheerful and less pricey holiday address) I enjoyed a dinner which included spaghetti and seafood, and then I went straight to bed (On the course I’d been instructed to do so, after all...). I was completely, totally, utterly shattered.

On the second day we were ready to board the boat at eight in the morning. We took our cylinders, tubes and watersports clothing (wetsuit, mask, jacket and fins) with us and sailed off. The boat was small, with some space downstairs, which was mostly taken up by the motor; our equipment took up the rest. It reminded me of kindergarten, where I had my own little hook for my coat with my name written over it. For here we also had our own bit of space, with our own nameplates, to store our equipment. Preparation is vital, you see, as you have to be able to keep breathing! Upstairs were the deck and cabin (which no one could enter because the Thai captain didn’t want to be bothered) plus a long table with benches around it. Although this area was covered with a plastic cloth, we were allowed to go there. The stairs next to the cabin led to the roof, which also functioned as a sundeck. No, I didn’t think anything was wrong with this boat!

First we’d go to Sea Rock (a rock in the sea with a corral reef). It’s a diving area that is famous for its amazing underwater life. Unfortunately, the waves were too high, so that we had to head back and ended up in the bay of a small island. I didn’t mind at all, for the bay had a beach. If worst came to worst, I could always go there, I told myself. I couldn’t care at all if it could all be done. All this sailing to and from had only increased my anxiety, and just as we were about to get into the water, tears started streaming down my face. I was not just scared; I was frightened to death. Yet I did go into the water. Everything went according to the manual, i.e. well. I don’t know how long I managed to stay, but I didn’t like it one bit. If I’d spotted a sort of MTV world while altitude diving [diving above sea level], I’d hoped to find a Discovery Channel underwater. But it was more like the snow on our old black and white television at home, just before it gave up working altogether in 1976 (The good thing was that it was immediately replaced by a colour TV). I didn’t see the point of all four of us descending from such a silly chord without us being able to see each other. No, diving wasn’t at all my thing, I decided, and ‘went up’ again. It’s hard to cry underwater, so I did that instead as I sat down shivering on the bench (where my own nameplate was) to recover from my fright. Adriana had passed the honours to James that day, because she was suffering from some ear and nose problems, and that’s not so good when you’re diving. She understood exactly how I felt, as her first diving experience had been even more of a disaster. She suggested we’d go diving together after lunch. And that’s what we did. Guess what? There were no problems at all (well...). Hand-in-hand, in the style of ‘the blind leading the deaf’ (with me representing both groups), we just swam around. It was good fun to see a bit of reef and about three and a halve fish without me freaking out. Like a good girl I did my exercises. The theory exam at the end of the afternoon wasn’t a problem, either. So that I felt quite pleased with myself at the end of the day.

The third day. As today was Christmas Day, we had the boat all to ourselves, for who else want to go diving on the 25th of December? This time I joined the others when they ‘went down’ again. Without realising it, I went down 17 meters to the bottom of the sea. It was amazing. Very different from having coffee with your parents, so to speak. In the afternoon we practised diving using a compass; and when we turned up above the waves again, Adriana was there to congratulate me, as I’d just passed my diving test! I expressed my enthusiasm with some noises that must have upset the local ecosystem for the next five years at least, but I couldn’t care less. I’d just received my ‘A’ diploma in underwater swimming, and no one was going to take that away from me!

Can’t do won’t do

You must have gathered that this year, Christmas was going to be a different experience altogether. It had its pros and cons. To me, Christmas really starts on the 24th. [Translator’s note: The Dutch don’t celebrate Christmas Eve.] I don’t mean in the evening, but in the morning. For on this day I celebrate the fact I’m exactly 6 months older. This coming year I would turn 32. However, ever since last year, 24 December has yet another meaning to me – as on this very day, my Nan, Jannetje Nederlof-de Koff, died at the age of 95. Every now and again I miss her terribly. How many times, how many weeks have my sister Annemarie and I not stayed with our grandparents? Didn’t we have a great time whenever we stayed at their house? Oh, yes we did! And wasn’t Nanna always so very happy to see us whenever we visited? (Grandpa had already died by then.) (‘Oh Jacqueline, how tall/pretty/beautifully dressed you are!’). When these fond memories came back to me, I suddenly remembered something else. I must have been eight years old and Granddad and Nanna were staying with us. Nanna was sewing new clothes for my sister and me and we were chatting, I don’t remember at all about what. But I do remember that at some point she said: 'Can’t do won’t do.' I must have said I couldn’t do something (see, I had that problem already back then!) and my grandmother just wouldn’t have it. It frightened me a lot. In fact, it frightened me so much I suddenly didn’t like her that much anymore. Didn’t she just leave me in the lurch right there and then? Well, that’s what it felt like to me. And that was tough. Right now, many years later on this memorable day, I’m going to go diving in the sea and I keep hearing the words: 'Can’t do won’t do' in my head. Thanks, Granny! You were totally right and I’ll never forget it.

On 25th December, I found myself sprawling underwater during the day, and in the evening I discovered what the party scene was like here in Haadrin, Koh Phangan. Around midnight the beach was already crowded and I got talking to a couple of other travellers. I’d already noticed that the ones I bumped into over here were a bit different. There were more ‘cliques’, and more people who’d just come to Koh Phangan to party for a month or two, only to return straight home afterwards – and they dare call themselves travellers! Some four to five times that evening people came up to congratulate me. You see, I turned out to be ‘ab-so-lut-ely the coolest of them all!’ (This in spite of my, ‘No, thank you, I don't smoke’, which is of course very uncool. Yet they immediately understood once I’d explained I’m from The Netherlands. Everything’s allowed over there, after all, so you quickly run out of exciting things to do; also, you don’t have to travel all the way to Koh Phangan for all the excitement you can find on your own doorstep.) So, what made me so 'cool'? Ehr... Let’s just put it this way: there are quite a few travellers on this globe. Most of them have just finished their courses or military service (in Israel it’s still compulsory for everyone) or earned a bit of money in vague jobs, so that they can now go away for a few months. Often they start their trip alone, but meet other travellers on their way and continue their trip together. So, anyone who’s given up a REAL job, a REAL mortgage and a REAL car just like that (well, that’s what THEY think; but it was never this easy); who’s never travelled alone before, let alone with a backpack; who’s bought a single ticket to Delhi (How stupid can you be to START your trip in India???); and who’s said: ‘Hello world, here I am!’ Well, such a person is obviously ‘über cool’, so deserves to be congratulated. There’s nowt as queer as Ecstasy folk. After jumping around for a couple of hours, I decided to leave. After all, I’m not 18 anymore…

On Boxing Day I did absolutely nothing, apart from lying on the beach, reading a bit, sleeping a bit and treating myself to a delicious meal of fresh fish, thoroughly enjoying the good life.

Didn’t I feel lonely at all this Christmas? Yes, of course I did. How do you think I feel when I hear the song 'One more time' by Daft Punk? This song brings back Queen’s Day 2001 to me [Translator’s note: The Queen’s birthday is celebrated on 30 April in The Netherlands.], when I entered a new phase in my life. My friend Dees taught me what life was all about again (and what drinking is all about, but then, you just can’t celebrate Queen’s Day without booze). So, every time I hear this song I jump up for joy. And that’s what I did on this party island. At the same time, I felt I was also missing something: my family and friends. That did make me feel empty at times and then I just had to take a deep breath.

While enjoying dinner by myself, the second day of trekking in Nepal comes back to me. We’re all seated around the table, when from the corners of my eyes I see that the French girl of about 35, who was smiling only a moment ago has now burst into tears. My thoughts run riot. What could have happened? She was smiling, wasn’t she? Then I realise my subconscious did register some rustling of gift-wrap. It takes me another split second to understand what has happened: the smile, the opening of the present, the proposal, the ring. I look at her hand and nearly fall from my chair. That’s not just a ring! That’s an enormous golden ring with enormous gems! When I look up to see her face, she’s smiling again. I can’t help thinking, 'Why her and not me...'.

There was another occasion on which I found quite sinister thoughts coming from the darker corners of my mind, like ‘Isn’t it funny how I, who so much wanted to have children, am surrounded my blossoming wombs, while mine is still empty?’ Had the first announcement (‘I’m pregnant!’) still felt like an affectionate punch in the ribs, the next few announcements were much more venomous – they felt like slaps in the face. Worst of all was my sister’s news last year. This knocked me out completely, resulting in a nosebleed from which I still haven’t recovered. (‘This can’t be! I’m the oldest, after all,’ said that nagging voice deep inside me.)

I do realise that the chances that motherhood will pass me by only increases as I’m getting older. (Having said that, my Nan was 40 when she had her first one, my mother). The first time this thought entered my mind, I felt my stomach cringe from pain and self-pity. Now I realise that life can be like that and also, that it would be wrong to have a child only to satisfy my need for unconditional love through its total dependency and helplessness. It scares me to think that if I did, the child could never grow into a fully independent person - it would always feel it had to justify itself, or worse still, ‘pay back’ its mother. Suddenly I stopped seeing it all as a sinister joke, but one of the many unexpected turns in life that may be for the better.

Time and again, travelling puts everything in a different light, and at the same time I find myself constantly thrown back to myself. That’s good. It’ll turn me into a big girl (at last!). And what’s better than some good ol’ blubbering every now and again?

Don't divide your life

into weeks, months or years.
Rather divide your day into moments.
Then live each moment
as if it were one full life.

Every time I’m reading this text, I’m reminded again of the rich life I have. There are so many new impressions each day that every now and again, I have to tell myself to stop to prevent a ‘memory overload’.

New Year’s Eve is a good example. Sitting in my beach chair, looking out over the sea and sunset, I’m reliving the past year once more. A lot has happened and a lot has changed. I come to the paradox conclusion that so-called ‘highs’ have turned out to be ‘lows’ and so-called ‘lows’, ‘highs’. New Year’s Day 2001 was a so-called ‘high’; we’d “go for it”. Two months later and ironically, at a height of over 2,000 metres, came the ‘low’. It was over, finished, kaputt. The period that followed was about writing the epilogue to the book that took me six years to write and ended in the lowest point ever, when I sold all my stuff: my house, my sofa, my desk, my dinner-table and yes, even my bed. At the same time, the work I was doing at the time couldn’t even be called a proper job. I’d suffered from burnout and it felt like a lead ball that clung to my ankle. I didn’t have anything anymore.

Or did I? Oh yes I did! I’ve still got my family, friends, acquaintances and colleagues. At moments like these I realise again how much you all mean to me. It does make the decision to start travelling (after all, I’ve got a bit of time and money now) more difficult, especially when the summer sun is doing its best to shine. But it’s now or never. In September, after a year in which I feel I’ve hit rock bottom, and 5 days after the “crash” it’s goodbye to everyone. As I’m waving I step into a new world called travelling.

And the rest, as they say, is history… Whatever may happen this coming year, no one can take this experience away from me. I’ve wanted to do this for so long, yet I never had the guts before. Now I’m finally trying it, I realise that it doesn’t have to be perfect to be good.

Just before a party crowd starts counting down the last seconds of the year, I lie down on my bed for a bit of a rest, for I feel so tired. My knee, which I injured on the last day of trekking, still hurts; and (as a result of all the air conditioning and fans here) I have a stiff neck and can hardly move my head. Out of nothing, tears well up. Suddenly I know that my parents are missing me. Or, rather, that I’m missing them. The pain in my knee is my Mum, who injured her knee when she was about the same age as I’m now - and who hasn’t seen my Dad’s famous scarf? He doesn’t exactly wear it for show. Still more tears. I’m so lonely… Then I tell myself off: ‘You stupid cow. There’s no need to feel sorry for yourself. It’s silly. Emails and post keep arriving from The Netherlands, messages are left in your guest-book and you’re still convinced that nobody cares about you? This is despicable. What self-pity. For the cliché’s true: people don’t have to say they love you on a daily basis for you to know they do. But it’s so long ago that someone held me and told me he/she loved me (and meant it)…’

The clock, of course, keeps ticking. So, with a Bacardi Breezer in my hand I finally join the others who are already on the beach. It’s around twenty degrees Celsius, there’s good music and a good atmosphere – and there are only 3 seconds to go. Three, two, one… HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! Here I am, watching the fireworks while taking sips from my glass. I don’t feel like joining the group of girls I met earlier. This is MY little moment, in which I love everyone and everyone loves me.

2002. I haven’t come across a year which has a better combination of numbers; it’s such a perfect balance! [And imagine having your birthday on 20th February 2002, like my friend Dees! That’s a good combination of digits.] I’m sure it’s going to be a beautiful year.

Slowly, the pieces of the jigsaw that’s my life fall into their places. I now know why I just had to learn languages at school; I’ve never been complimented on my language skills as often as in these past few months. And when better to put my organisation skills to use than while travelling? Now I can organise and arrange things all day if I want to (and I’ll have to, otherwise I won’t get anywhere). Finally, my old dream of becoming a writer seems to be coming true. I’ve even found an audience! All this makes me want to continue my travels, even if I’m missing champagne and oliebollen [Translator’s note: ‘oliebollen’ are a special Dutch dish for New Year’s Eve.] today. Now I’m living!!!

I keep walking over the beach and bump into Adriane. We fall into each other’s arms, shouting: ‘Happy New Year!’ An Englishman in an advanced state of cheerfulness shouts, just as I’m passing: 'Is there nobody single over here?' 'No, there isn’t,' I think, and happily walk on. A song with accompanying techno beat is coming from the loudspeakers and I catch the line: 'Do you think you're better off alone?' I know the answer now. Yes, I’m sure I am.

I know a girl, a girl called Party; Party girl

Koh Phangan is Thailand’s party island, as it’s mainly known for its Full Moon Party (FMP). This month it would take place on the 29th. Lucky me, to have three parties lined up, for it would soon be Christmas and then New Year’s Eve… Upon arrival I saw at once that I wasn’t dressed properly – everyone else was dressed according to the latest fashion. People were wearing sunglasses as big as snorkels, knitted hair bands, lycra tops, hipster trousers, ‘army bags’ (similar to the ones that were popular in the seventies, but now available in a variety of colours instead of just army green) and slippers in all sorts and sizes, colours and materials. The same went for the hairdos; the guys, of course, all had a goatee. They also had piercings in, over, in between (insert all other prepositions you can think of here) all parts of the body you can think of. The leading fashion victims were the Israelis.

I’d decided to stay in Haad Rin, the party centre of Koh Phangan. When you’re about to do something, you better do it well, don’t you think? (Come to think of it, had I not just decided to let go of that idea?). Another good thing about Haad Rin is that it’s situated on narrow spit of land, with an east (sunrise) and a west (sunset) side. The east side is the busy side, which has all the restaurants, shops and beach tents; the west side is the quiet side. As the latter most resembled the town where I used to live for twelve years (and still have fond memories of; after all, it was also near the coast – and not only that), I chose to stay here. Everything was close to hand: in fifteen minutes I could walk around the whole village. OK, this is the setting. What follows is the ‘how it’s all being done’.

The village is deadly quiet in the morning, as everyone is recovering from his/her hangover. In the afternoon it’s still quiet: too hot to undertake anything (those who’ve woken up already can be found in Internet cafes or 'chilling out': lying on a set of cushions in a bar or restaurant). Later in the afternoon, everyone can be found on the beach, in an attempt to get a bit of a tan on the pale body. The majority of the tourists here are the Israelis, followed closely by the English. The favourite colour is ‘lobster red’. After watching the sunset (another good reason to order another beer), people eat, log on to the Internet, watch a DVD, enjoy a massage, visit the hairdresser for a cut, hair-dye (green and blue are the most fashionable shades of the day) and blow-dry. Things to do in the evening include going out, binge drinking, partying or whatever you want to call it. This circle of life repeats itself every day, only to be interrupted by public holidays. Why? Here’s an impression of a Full Moon Party (FMP):

You can find the aim of FMP typed out on an A4 sheet inside the local Tourist Information Office. In brief, it’s about bringing people together from all over the world, so that they can enjoy time together in peace, without being hindered by any cultural, racial or musical differences. The atmosphere is enhanced by music, snacks, drinks, cigarettes, joints and pills. The latter, of course, is not stated in black and white, but you can read it between the lines.

The start of the evening was not so different to any other evenings, except that the full moon was hiding behind the clouds and it started raining heavily at around ten. I didn’t feel like a pizza baguette, hamburger or pancake any longer when I saw that they’d got soaking wet and were being ‘revived’ on the barbecue... During the day I’d seen loads of partygoers arrive on dangerously full ferries. Around midnight they’d gathered on the beach along with the people who’d already been there. The drinking, dancing and flirting could begin. I love to watch people from all over the world dance. They were dancing in front of the party tent, on stages, on the beach and even in the sea. Among the ‘coolest’ drinks were Red Bull, Shark, wine in plastic water bottles and a Bucket of Joy. The latter is an English invention. Take a small bucket. Pour in at least five centiliters of every single drink you have in your mini bar. Add a bit of Coke, Fanta and/or Sprite for some bubbles and finish it off with five straws. Place the bucket on the middle of a folding table so that everyone can take his/her share and Bob’s your uncle – no dishes to be done tonight!

It goes without saying that the more people drink, the more cheerful they become. As a result of which the sea is being used to clean one’s girlfriend (who can then emerge, or go down, as Miss Wet T-shirt); to empty one’s stomach or bladder contents into; or just to swim around in.

At one point I overheard a conversation between two friends. One told the other that she needed the loo badly. The other replied, ‘Why don’t you use the sea?’ Didn’t all the guys do the same? So, that’s what she did. In her drunken state she kneeled down, pulled down her underwear and… revealed her bare ass to the general public. She shouldn’t have, for it only took a few seconds for some smart ass (excuse the pun) to remark that this must be a proper Full Moon…

Thanks to all the energisers, the majority of the partygoers will last some time. I have to give up half way through the night as this is quite enough for me. Every ten minutes, the number of vacant expressions on the faces of people who keep walking from one beach tent to the other quadruples. It doesn’t get any more exciting than this.

The next morning, I’m on the beach again to witness the after party. Everything’s still the way I left it – the beach, the dancing, the vomiting and pissing people. The only thing that has changed is the sea. The high tide has come and so many slippers and sandals have been washed up that you could easily start a shoe shop here. And there are also empty bottles, pieces of wood, chords and the already mentioned dirt. The last few partygoers make an incredibly sad, yet at the same time incredibly funny sight. Long after the moon has disappeared from sight, they’re still moving to the sound of techno beat while clutching their drinks. Others are asleep on beach chairs in the sea. But the majority has crept back to their beach houses at daybreak. It’s nine in the morning and the party’s over – but tonight there will be another one, for sure.

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