Paula Brukmüller - Flowers from Greece - The Autobiography of the Journalist Who Turned a Personal Tragedy into an Inspiring World Tour

Paula, we meet at this very same place at 2am, ok? Have fun. – Henry hugged me before following two very sexy young women he had met at the bar that very same night. He was drunk and stoned, and I loved how funny he was at those times.

Fabiola, the Brazilian whose purse kept the 1,000 baht I had brought to the party, disappeared while I was talking to Henry, and I ended up following the group with whom we shared the taxi truck, a pickup truck with a truck body with seats used as transport of passengers almost everywhere in Thailand.

It was Jungle Party night. Kate had given up work and Neil was gone. Henry, Sofia, Rapha, and I had a work and party schedule. Henry and I had that night off. That means we didn’t have to take care of cleaning the bathrooms before leaving and we could sleep later the next day. Rapha and Sofia had enjoyed the same benefit the night before when they went to the Waterfall Party.

- If you can’t find your friend, you can ask me for money. Don’t worry – a Canadian with round black acrylic glasses handed me a drink token. – Enjoy.

When we reached the dance floor in the woods, a killer Asian woman was swinging chains with fireballs on the stage. The place was packed and the music was deafening. I stopped to make sure the guy in patterned shirt, a few feet from us, wasn’t the American I had been flirting with in the bar earlier. In a matter of seconds, the taxi friends disappeared, and I was alone again.

- You are lost. Give it up – Someone was having a good time next to me as I raised my heels and looked around for the Canadian with glasses. – Come here, you won’t find them anymore. It’s impossible.

- I have to find them. I have no money with me – I said, searching for the voice in the psychedelic lights.

- My name is João and yours? I immediately recognized the accent in the pronunciation.

- João? I asked, accentuating the tilde. – I’m Paula, Brazilian too.

I didn’t dare go out to meet Henry at 2am. I was tired of losing myself from people, and I confess that João’s kisses were much hotter than the kisses from the German who became my occasional sweetheart outside of party time.

I arrived at the hostel at 10am the next day, with wet hair.

- Are you coming from the party now? – Steve asked.

- Of course not. Now I’m coming from João’s resort, -I said, waiting for the laughter.

- Smart girl. Better than the air-conditioned room, isn’t it? – Sofia shouted.

- What could I do? He was handsome and told me he had a jacuzzi! – I shrugged.

Ispent all afternoon serving beers and little buckets of vodka or whiskey with energy drinks to the tourists. As I cleared the tables, emptied the ashtrays, and gathered the empty bottles and buckets, I stopped to kiss Mike, my little German boyfriend.

Daan, a Dutchman who carries a stuffed monkey everywhere, he’d have a naughty look every time I sat next to Mike. I didn’t know where he was staying, but every day he’d stop his rented scooter in front of the bar and ask me if it was the day of our kiss. I always laughed and said no.

Although he was very handsome, there was something about him that didn’t appeal to me. He looked at me with such longing that it made me a little embarrassed. Mike could see that, since Daan didn’t care to disguise it. I pretended nothing was happening, and of course, I had a lot of fun with the situation.

When I came back from the shower, ready for Full Moon Party, an American smiled with his gray blue eyes and stole my attention. The bar was packed and Mike left completely drunk without saying goodbye.

I picked up the box of fluorescent inks, and before I began handing out psychedelic brushstrokes among the clients, I drew an orange flower on the side of my forehead and repeated the pattern all over my left arm. The top two buttons of my printed shirt were open and showed my glittery lap. Nothing on my feet and the same everyday ripped denim shorts completed my outfit for the long-awaited Full Moon Party.

Dave, the American, was shirtless and asked for my help with his painting. As I made multi-colour dots and lines on his face, I noticed that he was staring into my eyes.

- You have a delicious smell. – he said with a teasing tone that warmed the back of my neck, making me blush.

While he was asking a series of casual questions, Deedee, a Thai man who was preparing the buckets in the outer bar, placed an energetic vodka bucket next to the paint box.

- I didn’t ask for that, Deedee, – I said, trying to give him the drink back.

- You deserve it. You’ve worked hard. Take it. He said, smiling graciously with his oriental accent.

Flavia, my friend during the Bangkok school volunteer, had come back from Vietnam and met me at the bar to enjoy the party together.

When we got to the beach, we crossed the gate that surrounded the whole area, and I spent a few minutes looking everywhere.

- So, is this the famous Full Moon Party? No stage? No DJ? Nothing special? Just the same old bars fighting over the volume of music and a crowd in colorful clothes walking drunk on the sand.

It was different from what I expected, but I was there, and I tried to enjoy it to the fullest. It was as if another dream were crossed off my mental bucket list, and I wanted to celebrate.

The last thing I remember was exchanging contacts with a stunning Israeli after diving into the sea, dancing trance music only in pink lingerie.

Iwoke up in the hot and dirty makeshift room with the same clothes I wore to go to the party. I slept over the things I had left scattered on the mattress in the previous afternoon. I took a cold shower, got into the first dress I found in my backpack and ran to the bar to find out what had happened.

Steve said good morning and asked if I was ok.

- I hope so, – I said – I don’t remember exactly how I got into my room, but I’m glad I woke up there despite the hellish heat.

- You were drunk, I’m sure you didn’t even feel the heat. – He laughed.

It was after 2 pm, and I needed something to eat urgently. The last solid thing my stomach saw was a grilled ham and cheese sandwich from the convenience store in the middle of the previous afternoon.

- Steve, I’m sure I left my wallet here at the bar. Did you keep it somewhere? – I asked, organizing the dirty plastic buckets and throwing the shot glasses scattered on the counter in the sink.

- Yes, a green wallet, right? It should still be there, – he answered without worrying.

I turned the bar upside down twice before returning to the room. I couldn’t find my wallet anywhere. When I returned, I washed all the dishes and arranged every inch behind the counter, being careful with the compartments next to the cash register. My hands were already shaking, and to make matters worse I remembered nothing after talking to the Israeli at dawn.

I texted Flavia to try to recall my steps the night before.

- You were funny, friend. Dancing out of control, but I left you at the bar safe and sound. You fell into the arms of a young blond boy and assured me that you knew him and that you were fine.

I figured the young blond boy was Mike, and I sent him a message to make sure.

- Did we meet late at night, after the party?

- Good morning, princess. Yes. Don’t you remember? – he asked with several laughing emojis.

- And, you didn’t take the chance to drag me to your hotel? I asked in an attempt to find out two things: if I had been in another room before the hostel, and if we had finally slept together, and I didn’t remember.