Friday July 15th 2005
Southeast Asian Journal
After four hours sleep myself and Joan met Amy and Dean for a trip to the waterfalls. Dean and Amy wanted to take a taxi, for about $50. This was a bit pricey for us so we decided to take the bus. Arriving at the bus station we realized that the water falls were about 4.5 hours away so we chose to take a day trip to the floating market. We sat and waited in the hot bus station, hung-over. After a two-hour bus journey we arrived, but realized that the market was mostly closed. Still, we hired a boat and driver.
Our navigator was in the autumn years of his life and did a great job of narrating our trip through the canals. Unfortunately he only spoke Thai, but he seemed convinced that we understood him. The market was quite, but a few vendors were around. We twisted and turned up and down the canals while the remaining vendors floated up to us calling out what they had on offer.
In the end our navigator dropped us off at a restaurant on one of the banks, fired his engine, waved, and took off. We didn’t actually know if he was coming back or not. Ten minutes later there was no sign of him so we presumed our tour was over. Maybe he explained this to us? After wandering around a bit we found some buses bound for Bangkok and after a quick tour of the on-land market we boarded for or trip back to Bangkok.
That evening we were meant to meet Dean and Amy to go to some hotel with a great view. They didn’t’ show up though, maybe they got stuck at the waterfall. Joan retired early as she was off for Cambodia at 4.30 am in the morning. Meanwhile I went out for a few drinks. I planned to leave the following day too, but was still figuring out where I would go.
Thursday July 14th 2005
Southeast Asian Journal
Got up pretty late, about 3pm. This gave me just enough time to wander around some bookshops and stalls before going out drinking again. I met Joan in the bar a little later. Joan was a medical student in Manchester University. She’d studied for 2 years and had 2 more to go, followed by a few years of apprenticeship. She seemed somewhat embarrassed in telling me why she’d chosen medicine, but essentially she wanted to try and do something good with her career. At 22 she was quite well traveled having been to Southeast Asia twice before and having spent some time in South America. Unfortunately, she confessed that this would be her last trip for a few years due to student debt and she worried if her $500 would last the next five weeks. I said I thought it would. But noticing how fond she was of the Sam Song whiskey and red bulls, I wasn’t that sure.
Traveling alone, she planned to spend three weeks in Cambodia before meeting up with her boyfriend. Their plan was to spend two more weeks on the islands off Thailand’s southern coast. Being of Jamaican origin she was a little worried about entering Cambodia because she’d read that black tourists had difficulty entering Cambodia. I didn’t think it would be a problem. The border guards seemed to be the only interested in charging that bit extra for all the tourists that crossed over. In one way at least they didn’t discriminate.
It’s 1 am. Joan and myself were on Khao San Road chatting with an English couple, Amy and Duncan. They were 3 months into a yearlong trip and happy guzzling Chiang beer on the street. The illegal street beer seller had a steady supply of mainly English and Irish customers. While he kept one eye on the beer, the other looked out for the police. At one point his instincts told him they were coming and in a flash the beer cooler slipped down the alley, only to reappear 10 minutes after the police had strolled on. Once one cooler was emptied, like clockwork, another would arrive. The balloon sellers were also doing a brisk trade. A group of five Irish lads bought about 40 of them and had great crack inhaling the helium and singing ‘Hey Jude’ for over an hour. Their chorus was broken by an girl who fell head over heels on the beer cooler and screamed out “If anyone took a picture of my fanny, they’re dead”. Luckily, to my knowledge, no one had. Meanwhile I talked with an English guy who was begging outside the 7/11 stores. He said he was put in prison in Bangkok and that now he couldn’t go back to the UK. “They washed their hands of me” he spitted in a thick London accent. After taking a few photos of the nearby tuk-tuk I went to bed, having arranged to meet Amy and Duncan the following morning for a trip out the waterfalls.
Wednesday July 13th 2005
Southeast Asian Journal
The place we stayed in was nice enough, with a bathroom and hot showers. After a quick drink in a popular touristy bar on the corner of Khao San road, and some exceedingly spicy food in a restaurant nearby I began to feel full and hazy. After a nap, Joan and myself went out and got well pissed. The touristy bar closed quite early so we set about finding another place to drink. On the way out we met Jack. Jack was from Cote I’voire and was with his Dutch wife and her sister.
We got a cab and since we didn’t know where the hell to go, and went along with our drivers recommendation. After 15 minutes we arrived at what we thought was a bar, but turned out to be more of a brothel. About 30 or 40 Thai girls sat looking bored on the stools, all lined against the back wall. After some hesitation we were led to a table and changed steep prices for some weak drinks. Groups of western men, young and old sat around and comfortably sucked on their beers while the girls examined their nails and looked into space.
Some hip-hop came on and Joan, together with Jack’s sister-in-law jumped up to dance. The men sitting in front of us looked around and briefly took notice. After finishing our drinks, and a small bottle of whiskey that we had smuggled in, we took off. Jack negotiated with the taxi driver, but didn’t do a very good job. We ended up paying about 5 times the regular price for your short trip home.
Tuesday July 12th 2005
Southeast Asian Journal
I had only one and a half hours for my connection. I thought I’d be late, but on arrival at Gatwick I was whisked through to my connecting flight. It was an uneventful flight. I watched Million Dollar Baby – pretty lame. Exiting the plane the heat hit me. Heavy, muggy and hot, even though it was eight in the evening. Walking into the terminal there was a bit of a panic. We had arrived late for our connection to Bangkok and they were holding our flight. We were told to run for the flight. “Run, run, now, NOWWWW”, shouted a very excited flight attendant, as a panicked, jostling crowd hurried along. The mainly English contingent and myself were herded past groups of wealthy looking sheiks and black-veiled women. I however was thinking less about getting on the flight and more about having a smoke. ‘Screw it, let the feckin plane go without me – what are they going to do, leave me here in Qatar?’ I thought to myself. This gave me just enough justification to peel away from the panicked crowd and nip into a smoking room. ‘Oh the tranquility of it all’ I thought as I inhaled, while eyeing the burnt yellowness of the walls. After quickly sucking down a second smoke, I made my way up to the flight. Another eight hours of my life lost and we touched down in Bangkok.
I passed by the usual limo touts, withdrew a fistful of baht, and made my way to the shuttle bus. While waiting, an English girl named Christine, asked for a cigarette and we chatted a bit. She was in Trinity College in Dublin and was off on her summer holidays, meeting up with some friends in Bangkok, and like myself, planning to spend six weeks traveling. As the bus took off the rain began to come down in a flood. Bangkok, the city, looked all the same – large, grey and dark, building after building, jammed streets, urban and imposing. We slipped through the wet streets, lost in our own jet-lagged induced sense of timelessness. After three flights of dozing, waking, eating, dozing, waking, eating, being shuttled from flight to flight, I had begun to feel like a piece of livestock. After landing and embarking from the bubble, the world had changed. Arriving at Khao San Road the rain really began to pour. Joan jumped off at the same stop and joined our group. We headed for the DD Inn where Christine was meeting friends. With no new rooms available Joan and myself found another guesthouse nearby. Although, not before we had turned down the offer of some pretty grim looking rooms. Prison quarters would have seemed like luxury compared to these shitholes.
