At the Malay-Thai border I rode on the back of a motor bike literally through Malaysian immigration and across the bridge over the Golok river. I went through Thai immigration on foot but took a rickshaw the one kilometer to the train station -- Lonely Planet said that it was walkable, but under bright sun with a pack I was in no mood to try it.
I was looking forward to a good night's sleep on the train, lying down in a 2nd class AC sleeper. At the Kota Bharu Backpackers Lodge I had been assured that I didn't need a reservation. Well, I didn't. Provided I didn't want comfort. The only seats, and I mean seats, available were in 3rd -- no AC, no cushions, no room. By the time night fell we had people standing between the carriages. Fortunately my three seat-mates abandoned the Southeast Asian taboo against putting your feet on the furniture, and I was able to prop one foot on the opposite seat. The ride lasted 22 hours...
Still, however miserable I felt, I had only to look out of the window during daylight hours to see people bent double in the rice paddies. I would, eventually, get off the train: they were there for life. But I was worried when I finally arrived at my hotel in Bangkok to find my left (good) foot had swollen up to almost twice normal size. Happily, after a rest, a hot shower and the purchase of a heavy-duty ankle support, both feet settled down and started functioning. The Laos trip was on.
Almost as soon as my not-so-rapid "rapide" train left the Sungai Kolok station at the border I saw sunlight gilding the finials of an orange-roofed temple and knew I was back in Thailand. One big temple complex had a station all to itself. However much I may feel that the money would be better spent on the people rather than the temples, they are certainly magnificent -- tall white walls, brightly tiled roofs and gilded carving on pediments, doors and windows, the front steps guarded by protective nagas (serpents).
The traffic and pollution in Bangkok were instantly recognizable as well, but now there were motorcycle taxis swerving round the gridlock, and most of the car taxis had meters -- and used them. A luxury of which I took full advantage.
The tour group I was joining was staying at the Viengtai, just off Khao San Road, the backpackers' ghetto, an area I hadn't previously visited -- a few concentrated blocks of guesthouses and cafes, secondhand book shops and pharmacies, filled with the young and the restless: in Thailand without being Thai.
I've written before that traveling with the Smithsonian, flying between 5-star hotels, I felt that I was in a cocoon. Watching the young backpackers, nominally independent travelers, in Southeast Asia, I felt that they were also in a cocoon, a cultural cocoon of beer, banana pancakes and bare backs, of sun, water sports and late-night parties. Or perhaps a hive is a better metaphor -- worker bees go out and report back on a new place, and a swarm descends and colonizes it. As new people hit town they are greeted with cries of recognition: "when did you get here?" "how long are you staying?" "have you seen Emma?" Maybe at 20 I would have enjoyed the scene, although I doubt it. Certainly now I am an outsider -- you need to be young, pierced, tattooed, unwashed. I am beginning to think that the only way you can really experience another country is to live there for a while.
Having seen Khao San Road I decided to check out Patpong, the red light district. I ate at a good French restaurant, watched a lot of foreigners dodging rain and wandered past some empty "topless" bars with bored, fully if skimpily dressed girls draped over the counters. I concluded that the action started later.
I spent my first full day in Bangkok shopping for sandals to replace my Birkenstocks -- the "Scholls" I bought raised a couple of blisters, but at least they didn't cause me to limp.
That night I showed up for the first meeting of the tour group -- seven other clients plus the young Aussie leader, Vicki, who would prove to be enthusiastic, knowledgeable, and very good-tempered. She also spoke Lao, having lived there for a year working for OzAid. At the higher end of the age range was a French-Swiss couple -- Jacques, the lone male, and Susan -- and a pair of Aussie sisters who tended to be the life and soul of the party. I roomed with the youngest member, a German Swiss, and once again was lucky with an assigned roommate. An Irishwoman, with shopping mania, and a Dane completed the group. We formed a reasonably harmonious group, although I felt that it was fortunate that I could disclaim support for Bush, the Republicans or an invasion of Iraq.
Monday morning we did the standard boat ride along the klongs (canals). The water was way up, with the river-front houses nearly awash. As the long-tailed boat powered past wat after wat, past elegant houses and shacks, past flower and fruit vendors in small skiffs, I started enjoying Bangkok. I stayed with the group as we visited Wat Pho, where I finally saw the reclining Buddha without scaffolding, but then I took a taxi across town to the main post office to see whether my absentee ballot was awaiting me at Poste Restante. It was, but I needed a lead pencil and two witnesses before I could mail it back.
Realizing that I was only a couple of blocks from the River City complex, I stopped off for some extremely upmarket window shopping and a multicultural snack (spring rolls and cappuccino) overlooking the busy Chayo Praya waterway. I wandered out into a crowd of schoolchildren just released from a Catholic school, and made my way through a rather grungy Chinatown before taking the ferry -- cheaper, cooler and faster than a taxi - north to prepare for another train ride.
This time I did get to lie down in a 2nd class sleeper, although the 9:00 p.m. train to Ubon Ratchathani had no AC. While Bangkok station was crowded, it did have some good shops where I picked up snacks and a couple of maps. On the train I found that the bunks, two-tier, ran lengthwise on either side of the center aisle, with individual curtains -- lots of privacy, but rather hot as the breeze from the fan failed to penetrate. Still, things cooled down later. We went to bed early, as the attendant made up the beds as soon as the train left the station, banging down the metal shutters over the windows as he did so, and we were driven from the restaurant car by loud rock music.
We would wake in Eastern Thailand, close to the Lao border.
Originally sent from Chiang Mai, Thailand Nov. 14, about Thailand, Oct. 25 - 28, 2002
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