On our third and final night at Shiralea Backpacker’s Resort, the guys cleared out the lounge area and brought out neon paint. Even though we missed the full moon party by a couple of days we could still have a paint party.
We ran around gleefully decorating one another as the black lights came on and the room began to glow.
Shiralea has a bell – a pretty infamous bell if you ask me – that when rung signifies that everyone in the bar gets a shot. The lucky one who rings the bell, purposely or accidentally, buys.
And then must deliver a toast!
It seems that the boys mix up whatever concoction they desire at the moment, since Big Ryan rang the bell quite a few times tonight and each time we were treated to a new, unbearably sweet shot.
We hopped up on the bar a number of times for a number of occasions: the Macarena, proper blow job shots, a rap battle or two…
Maggie and I clearly take our bar top dancing very seriously.
With glowing flowers, swirls and tribal patterns painted across every inch of our bodies, we stayed up way too late and had way too much fun dancing under the black lights.
Our checkout time was 10:30 the next morning and as you’d have it that’s exactly when Maggie and I woke up. We shoved our belongings in our backpacks, inevitably leaving a few things behind, and headed up to the main bungalow to pay our tabs.
I took a look, held my breath and handed over my card… like ripping off a bandaid. My tab for three days came out to be about $115, which is steep for the kind of traveling I’m doing but not so bad if you consider every meal, drink and taxi I had was through the place.