Thailand
Prologue (f)Picking up the pen, or the keyboard in
this case, seems difficult after so long a break from
Brathood. Even worse, writing about events and sentiments
that were experienced some four or more weeks ago has
somehow diluted their intensity. Ill have to
remember not to wait this long to record things in the
future.
Our arrival at the border of Thailand occurred in the
sweltering heat of the day. Wed ridden some eighty
or ninety kilometers before lunch and were fatigued and
hungry as we passed through one of the more casual
customs and immigrations procedures of the trip. We were
too hot and tired to continue riding so we sought a ride
for the final kilometers into Hat Yai. Getting a ride
proved to be a daunting task; no Thai was willing to
chuck the BratBikes into the bed of their pickup and haul
our sorry arses, not to mention our gear. We decided to
lunch first and then evaluate our options.
Directly across from the border within the police
compound there was a very happening little restaurant.
The proprietor seemed to be a policeman himself. He
bussed tables and greeted the mainly police clientele in
uniform and gun while his wife served up lunch. Ours was
a spicy green curry over rice. Caked with sweat and road
dirt from the days ride, I still needed something
to cool me down which came in the form of a popsicle
shaped like a Volkswagen beetle. There was some
satisfaction to eating the effigy of an automobile.
Sated by our lunch and my cathartic dessert we went in
search of a ride to Hat Yai. No one at the border would
give us the time of day, much less a lift. Compounding
matters, some little black biting insects seemed to be
captivated by our flavor, hovering around us nipping at
our flesh. We were just about to set off by bike in spite
of our state of exhaustion when two guys with a pickup
said that they were leaving in a few moments and offered
to drive us. Once our bikes were safely stowed in the
back and we were situated in the luxurious bonus cab I
noticed official looking badges, a police or military
radio and a large gun in the glove box. I tried to offer
them some remuneration for their trouble but they
wouldnt accept. We reveled in our good travel
karma.
Short-lived luck it would be, for a few moments later
we were back in purgatory at the train station in Hat
Yai. Our intent was to train up to Bangkok to meet our
friends and celebrate Andys big birthday. At the
station we learned that it would be well past his happy
occasion before we could take the train to Bangkok even
in the worst class of service. There were simply no seats
to be had. On our way to find a hotel we pondered our
options and set out to figure out the best way there
after settling in.
Neither of had really thought about how we would spend
our break from riding nor how we would get to the States.
In fact, I wasnt at all sure that Id come
home for the break. While seeking alternative
transportation to Bangkok we landed outstanding deals on
round-trip tickets to Los Angeles and snapped them up. At
that agency the owner told us of the best way to get to
Bangkok in lieu of the train. She highly recommended the
super luxurious VIP 24 overnight bus there.
Now that wed settled on a cure for our logistic
woes we were ready to celebrate. A trip to the mall was
in order. There we snarfed pizza and ice cream and
observed the native Thais and Malaysian consumer tourists
scooping up bargains. It was a novel thing to see actual
consumption in fiscal crisis ridden Asia.
A leisurely walk through town took us by a country
western bar where a Thai band rehearsed a rather tattered
version of "The Gambler". We slugged down a
couple of beers listening to the lead singer stumble on
the rs and ls that dot the lyrics before
setting down his guitar. On our way back home to our
hotel we wandered the busy streets lined with vendors
selling all sorts of wares. A surprising number of shops
offered the services of women who would cut hair or
massage you as a prelude to some less pure act. We
somehow managed to avoid their beckoning. Somewhat later
in front of our hotel a tuk-tuk (a small
three-wheeled vehicle, part Vespa scooter, part bus)
driver offered to take us to a girlie show.
He grinned when we said boys would be more interesting
to us, consulted his fellow drivers and whisked us off to
a bar. It was just ten as we arrived and the place was
just opening for business. We sat at a table and watched
the boys arrive for work. Each had a white tee-shirt with
a red round button with a number on it in order to make
it easier to make a selection. Neither of us was entirely
comfortable with the experience but managed to stay
through a rather stiff (no pun intended) and tame go-go
boy show that also featured a transvestites. As with all
TV shows this one was hosted by a rather rotund
drag-queen with a sharp tongue who made the rounds in the
audience, embarrassing patrons of the dimly lit bar. We
narrowly escaped the bar shortly afterwards without the
company of boys with white shirts and numbers.
After a day of errands and web publishing we set off
on our night voyage to Bangkok. The bus was standard
issue, save that the seats were huge, reclined a long way
and there were only 24 of them. With only two dozen
passengers it was easy to find room for our bikes below
and the driver only exacted a two dollar bribe from us to
take them. Wed opted to take a public bus instead
of a private one. Wed been warned that the private
bus drivers are rewarded for the speed of their trip
while the public bus drivers didnt really care how
long it takes to get there. The choice between a
white-knuckle ride and a calm slow one seemed obvious to
us. Still there were many surreal moments during the
trip. One of which was our dinner stop at a humongous gas
station cum restaurant. There we watched swarms of
insects hover around the fluorescent bulbs lighting the
parking lot while eating our dinner. We were seated at a
table with the women on the bus, while the men-folk sat
at another. Somehow they decided that wed be better
served in the company of the ladies as opposed to the
tooth-picking, spitting and smoking men.
After dinner we settled in for the night and tried to
sleep the next eight hours to Bangkok. Imagine sleeping
in a lazy-boy recliner during a 7.9 Richter Scale
earthquake and you have some idea of the lack of comfort.
The constant din of horns blowing and jerky movements of
the mammoth bus weaving in and out of traffic further
complicated getting a good nights rest. This would
be one of the last times I would say to myself, "I
can do almost anything for 14 hours." I still
cant decide whether I dreamed one incident or
whether it really happened. I awoke to what I thought was
the sound of everyone on the bus screaming, the bus
careening left then right and finally a vacuumey
sensation of a big truck passing in the opposite
direction too closely. Andy slept through the entire
thing whacked on Halcyon and couldnt confirm or
deny the event.
As the sun rose over hazy Bangkok we arrived at the
largest and busiest bus station Id ever seen.
Regardless of our VIP status the bus crew wanted to be
free of us and fast and were unceremoniously dumping our
chattels onto the pavement as we exited. Andy felt more
ready to face the busy Bangkok Bus Station than I and
went in search of a ride to our hotel. Neither of us were
feeling composed enough to face rush hour traffic after a
night of little sleep. Hed found a ride for us in a
pickup truck. Thank god we are again in a place that is
civilized, where everyone drives a pickup, not unlike,
say, Texas. Wed find another commonality between
Brownsville and Bangkok very shortly.
As Andy was doing the final haggle for the price of
our trip to central Sin City I stood across the street
near the pickup truck guarding our bikes. A few feet from
me a car stopped in traffic, two men dashed out and
locked each others hands around the others
neck in a death embrace. Three hysterical women flocked
out of the car crying, screaming and frantically trying
to separate the two. The big surprise occurred when they
finally did separate. Then the driver dashed back to the
car and grabbed his Texas-sized handgun. Brandishing the
weapon he yelled "mai dai chai lai hoy sem
lok," or something to that effect --which most
likely means "Im gonna kill you, you
sonnafabitch". Fortunately he couldnt get a
clean shot at his former companion, decided it
wasnt a good idea to shoot into a crowded bus
terminal or was persuaded by the begging of his womenfolk
not to fire and retreat to the car.
While all this was happening I contemplated stepping
forward and wrestling the gun out of the madmans
hand. When I snapped out of this fantasy I found myself
cowering behind the pickup shouting to Andrew across the
street to seek shelter in back of something likely to
take the speed out of a randomly fired bullet. Once back
in the car with the girls, the man rolled down his
window, again pointed the gun in the direction of the
other gentleman and shouted more idle threats. Finally he
tossed a pair of sunglasses out of the car which left me
wondering if all that tussle was over eye gear?
In all our time in Indonesia --which was coming apart
at the seams financially, politically and socially-- we
never saw such drama. Only later in the day would we
learn that wed left Sumatra just before all hell
broke loose, the port from which we left had been closed
and intensive riots began that would soon lead to the
resignation of their crook-cum-president, Suharto.
After all of this drama wed scarcely need a cup
of coffee to get the "old-juices" flowing;
nevertheless, my eyelids felt a little heavy as we wove
through morning Bangkok traffic. The city goes on forever
and every street is filled curb-to-curb with cars,
busses, motorbikes and tuk-tuks. A tuk-tuk
is a hybrid vehicle. One-part Vespa scooter on steroids
and one-part Indonesian bemo. (For those of you
who dont know what a bemo is, it is a
pick-up truck that is covered and has facing bench seats
in the bed.) The bravest and most rushed commuters opt to
take motorbike taxis to their destination. You can only
imagine the antics of these daredevils.
Upon our arrival at our rather luxurious accommodation
the bell staff asked if they could store our bikes and
for how long. We looked at one another and said
simultaneously, "three weeks." Without batting
an eye they said, "very well then," and walked
off with them in a very dignified manner in their
starched white outfits. Our friend Scott had booked us
into what seemed to be the best hotel in Bangkok. Named
after the ancient capital of Thailand, Sukhothai, it was
filled with treasures old and new. Frankly, the elegance
of the place was startling after our rather Spartan weeks
on the road. Most shocking was the buffet breakfast that
featured the highlights of breakfasts from all
continents. Andy was most drawn to the pain au
chocolat and thick European coffee.
Despite our rather adventurous morning and restless
night we were amazingly productive. We published the
website, did our email, got visas for Laos, did yoga with
Linda on tape, walked around Pat Pong (avoiding touts
pitching Ping-Pong shows, and they are not talking about
table tennis) and, most importantly, discovered the seven
scoops for 99-baht sale at Haagen-Dazs. We even stayed up
late enough to welcome Ubai and Scott from Indonesia with
a little excursion into Bangkoks nighttime
underworld. We conked out before the duo from Jakarta but
arose dutifully the next day only to revel again in the
Sukhothais fabulous breakfast. Scott had promised
to show us "his" Bangkok or at least a little
taste of it before I sped off to LA for my friend
Dantes birthday. It was a tough decision to leave
Andy to celebrate his alone with Scott and Ubai, but I
felt he was in good hands. There probably arent
enough adjectives and verbs to describe their
carryings-on while I flew for the next 18 hours and
Ill leave it to Andys discretion what to
share. Rest assured, Scott showed him a good time.
Back in the US I spent most of my time in a funk,
missing our trip and wondering why Id left Asia.
Make no mistakes, I had a great time celebrating
Dantes 40th, seeing all of my friends,
making new ones and visiting with my family. The break
just seemed badly timed. Part of the problem is that
Id agreed to go for a job interview during the
break. That process got me too close to the mental
barrier Id agreed not to cross. Pondering what I
might do after all of this is done. Andys trip home
was largely spent doting on his lovely son and having fun
with the rest of his family. They all somehow managed to
collect in New York --a miracle given the hectic travel
schedules of that clan.