After the dust settled from the Full Moon Party, I glanced at my visa and saw the expiration date: June 20. That gave me just over a week to wrap things up and get off the island in time to catch a flight out of Bangkok. The rough itinerary was now locked in: fly to Vietnam, link up with Jen in Danang, visit my brother in Hanoi, then reassess from there.  Easy enough, until the post-party panic hit.

The morning after the party, still feeling the effects of three nights of intensity, it dawned on me: “Wait a second... everyone’s going to be leaving the island today. The boats will be fully booked, won’t they?”

I ran it by AI, and sure enough, it confirmed my fears and said I better book something asap or else need to wait a few days for the rush to die down.  I jumped on the Lomprayah websit.  Sold out. Every damn time slot. All those partygoers trying to leave at the same time.

Hungover and mildly panicked, I realized my best (and maybe only) bet was the old-school method:  show up at the ferry office in person and hope they had something.  

Turns out, it was just me that was the only one freaking out.  You can't blame AI either, it just mirrors what you tell it.  

I walked into the ferry office expecting chaos, long queues, and a “fully booked” sign slapped on the window.  But the guy behind the counter didn’t even blink. “We have boats today at 1pm,” he said casually. “Then every other day at 8am or 1pm.” Just like that. No fuss. No drama. Tons of tickets available. I could have left that very afternoon if I wanted.

Well duh.  Of course they were ready.  These folks had seen the Full Moon Party exodus routine thousands of times. They were pros. They knew the drill better than anyone.

So much for the fake freakout.

I turned to AI and gave a mock scolding: “You’re acting a bit like an overprotective nanny.” And without missing a beat, it replied with a chuckle, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

What this really was, however, was deprogramming from China.

When you live in a country of 1.4 billion people,  (and who even knows the real number anymore; some say it’s already dropped to 1 billion) you have to operate on a kind of survivalist logic. Crisis planning becomes second nature. Booking tickets early, racing for seats, anticipating stampedes - these are not overreactions in China, they’re just smart living.

But here? On Koh Phangan?  They might have had a crowd of 5,000 people at the Full Moon Party.  And let’s be real, that’s peanuts.  The island not only absorbs that easily but has an entire infrastructure built around it:  ferries, trucks, scooters, guesthouses.  They’ve seen it all before and will see it all again.

I was the one overthinking things. The muscle memory from China was still twitching, still telling me to brace for chaos. But this wasn’t that. This was Thailand. And I was slowly, but surely, letting go.

So still a bit hungover and running on instinct more than logic, I said, “Let’s book a ticket for Friday then.  1pm.”  Done. That gave me a full week to make the journey back to Bangkok by bike, handle whatever final logistics remained, and then catch my flight out.

But this wasn’t just about me anymore. The real mission was to repay Jen.

She had been instrumental in helping to orchestrating my midnight run all the way back in January in Pai.  She was one of the few who understood the stakes and moved behind the scenes with quiet precision. But then her own situation had unraveled.  She had overstayed, been detained by Thai immigration, blacklisted for a year, and now exiled to Vietnam.  She had left most of her belongings behind in Bangkok, too traumatized to retrieve them.

And that’s where I came in.

She needed her stuff. And after everything she’d done for me, I wasn’t about to let her down. This was more than a favor—it was a mission of honor.

All of that, plus that unforgettable moment on the hanging bar at the beachdrove the point home:  Thailand is not a country you want to mess around with when it comes to visas.  You can roam free, you can party, meditate, ride scooters, trade, chill, whatever.  But always, always watch the clock on your visa.  Don’t overstay.  Don't even consider it.

Because that’s when Thailand shows you the other side. And believe me, it’s not the “Land of Smiles” anymore.

The rules may not always be written on big neon signs, but they’re understood:  You are welcome here - as a guest. Behave like one. The freedom is real, but it exists within a framework. Respect the framework, and you’ll love this place. Cross the line, and, well… you’ll learn real quick that Thailand has a whole other side to it.