When they start making the sex robots, the moves on this one climb are what Thai designers will refer to when programming the "Khao San" happy finish. In fact this climb...this climb is why you endured 37 sleepless hours in transit in-between fat people and wailing children on Fred Airways.
Shake off that zombie jet lag, forget the fact that you out-stink the goat poo, and put on your cape: It's time to fly, people.
Launch up magnificent, mammoth cuts until you take the exit for crimptown. Look up and stretch/leap/teleport to that perfect plunging horse cock of a tufa, 37 miles above you. Never mind that the tip is wet. Grab it. Love it. Mount it. Clip. Then spend the next 20 meters pawing overhung jugs so big, so perfect that Pamela Anderson had them bronzed as inspiration for her next augmentation.
When you clip the anchors, squealing with joy, remember the hoard of lazy sport wankers at Arhi who sour graped the idea of trudging up to Galatiani because there just wasn't anything "good" up here. You and your noodle arms now know better.
Left side of cave, on top of a blocky limestone pedestal. A small launching pad has been walled off, but it's probably easier/better to belay on the lazy-boy just where the path drops off.
Many draws. Much sack. Steel tendons.
Nov 3, 2013