Bar Night (definition): once a week, dehydrated and exhausted, but usually freshly showered wildlife volunteers descend like an avalanche upon a bar in Hua Hin, Thailand (an hour away in a taxi ride that I am sure causes many a taxi driver to question their career decision). From 7:30-10:30p, they take in as many “2 for 1” cocktail specials as possible. 

Prominent activities include: talking about how drunk they are, how much they are in-love with everyone here, taking Snapchat photos, dancing and, much to the staff’s chagrin – hanging like a monkey from the plastic exposed beams and/or curtain rods. 

Being one who values a full stomach, I arrived after dinner. I walked in and beheld a scene that made me feel like Jane Goodall watching chimps. It was awkward, mostly unsuccessful debauchery – the likes that belonged not to Roman Toga Party, but to a Roman Thursday Night. I could only sip my two “two for one” mojitos, and sit in the back, my already greying hair turning more silver the more I thought about being the Jane Goodall of “younger people habits.”

Minutes later a 19 year old man saddled up to me and offered his sage advice:

“You should take it slow, I know a thing or two about drinking”

“Don’t worry, I will, I have been drinking for a while”

“Yes, but I’ve been drinking longer than you (winks at me) – I’ve been drinking since I was 12″

“I’m 36.”

Math. Shock, horror, pause. Laughter (on my end). 

Apparently those Jane Goodall silvers had retreated enough to blend in with my subjects.