Back In The BeeKayKay

Image by Not Quite a Photographr via Flickr

Like sand through my fingers, it is all slipping away, and I can only watch the clock helplessly. At this point I have come full circle. The Bangkok that I arrived in is now the Bangkok that will initiate my return to familiar shores. Same city, completely different mindset.

About this, I am somewhat ambivalent. I would love to stay in this region longer, but I am also missing the familiar surroundings and comforts of my home. Nonetheless, I have two precious days left in the magnificence of Bangkok and despite my fatigue, I commit to not wasting these last few hours.

Fortunately for me, Bangkok did most of the heavy lifting in the waning moments. Once again, my greatest move was getting lost. I love walking in unfamiliar cities, but by now I was starting to feel familiar with the little corner of Bangkok that I had come to know.

My mission was take the one hour walk to Khaosan Road, so I could post a blog or two, have a drink and buy some gifts. My wayward sense of direction let me down once again. How is is that I can walk back to a hotel at 1am from this location, but I can't walk from my hotel to this location?

After heading in the right general direction on foot for about an hour, I began to realise that I was not going to Khaosan Road without assistance. Being the stubborn guy that I am, I refused to ask for assistance and kept walking.

Suddenly the crowd began to thicken and I initially began to think that a sporting event had just let out. As i continued to walk, I began to feel like a fish floating upstream.

One thing that puzzled me was the fact that 80% of the people that I passed were wearing pink shirts. In Thailand one should be aware of colours. Yellow represents the current government which came to power through a military coup. Red represents support for the previously democratically elected government. But why am I seeing all these pink shirts?

It turns out that I have unwittingly arrived in Bangkok during a magnificent celebration in honour of the King and Queen. I continue to press upstream against a sea of pink towards the buzz of the crowd, still thinking that I am heading to Khaosan Road.

I begin to hear music. Initially I think that it is yet another ghetto blaster selling stuff, but as I approach the pulse becomes deeper. I realise something is going on and all thoughts of Khaosan Road abandon me. I come upon a deep and wide avenue teeming with humanity. I estimate the crowd to be between 50,000 - 100,000 people.

Nearby are large television screens, and I see an orchestra playing, dancers dancing, and massive images being projected onto a large and majestic building. I turn around and begin to fathom that the events that I am seeing on this screen are happening live about three blocks down this magnifecent and humanity riddled avenue.

I have happened upon an annual celebration of the King and Queen of Thailand.

In Thailand, the king is seen to be empowered by God. He is also seen as a moderating political force. In short, in Thailand, the King is King. One should never climb over anything, as it may contain an image of the King. In Thailand you do not lick a stamp. The stamp contains an image of the King, and only animals lick things.

Needless to say, the celebration was astonishing and another unexpected delight. For two days the Bangkok night lit up with fireworks. Sadly, The King was not able to attend as he has been in hospital since September. Given the love for the King that I saw this weekend, I shudder to think how deep the mourning will be when he passes.

Long Live The King!

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The Joy Of Getting Lost

"Not knowing where you're going is the best way to get somewhere you've never been" -J. Peterman

It happened in Bangkok. It happened in Saigon. And now it is happening in Hanoi. I'm learning to live with it.

I am not particularly directionally challenged, but the labyrinthian nature of these cities makes it very easy to lose oneself. However, once I admit to myself that I am hopelessly lost, it is easy to embrace. Lost is lost, and there are no degrees of being lost. You are either lost or you ain't.

The Old Quarter of Hanoi is the perfect place to get lost. Lord knows I try and remember the way back, but after about the fourth turn, I'm done. I do take some solace that I have yet to take a taxi or moto in this city without the driver having to seek directions from a third party. Its not just me.

On the upside, my nightly ritual of getting lost has led me to finding two places listed in the Lonely Planet that I wanted to get to. Tonights serendipitous find was Mr. Minh's Jazz Bar.

Mr Minh is the capo de capo of jazz in Vietnam, a virtuoso sax player who decided to open a bar to keep the fledgling Hanoi jazz scene alive. Tonight I was hopelessly lost yet again when I stumbled upon the red neon of Mr. Minh's establishment. Suddenly, I don't give a good godamn where my hotel is. (like the remote, its around here somewhere) I saunter in, delighted.

For the next two hours, I am treated to the finest jazz that Indochina has to offer. My advice to you is Get Lost! And my deepest gratitude to Mr. Minh and his band for sharing their prodigious gifts with me.

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578 what now????

Image by kalleboo via Flickr

Given that I am a long way from where I need to be to get my ass home and that I am leaving in less than a week, I decide that today might be a good day to formulate some sort of exit strategy.

Given that it is probably about 3000km overland back to Bangkok, my plan has always been to fly to Thailand. Besides, I'm pretty sure that I read somewhere a few months ago on the internet that regional flights are pretty cheap. I think.

Lucky for me there is a travel agent right next door to my hotel. Of course the Old Quarter of Hanoi seems to be nothing but boutique hotels, travel agents, Pho joints and coffee houses.

I walk into the travel agent and make an enquiry. For some reason travel agents use the phone here, despite the fact that they have a web enabled computer in front of them. Who am I to question local wisdom?

After several attempts, the very nice lady gets a human on the line. After several minutes of Vietnamese banter she hangs up the phone, does a little math and quotes me a price of $578 US.

I do a double take. She explains that the price is for business class, as that is all that is available. I thank her for her time and slink out into the mid afternoon mayhem. Feeling stunned and a little hungry, I find a cafe, order lunch and ponder my options.

There is no way that I am paying $578us for a one way ticket to Bangkok, but this means a journey back from whence I came. Train back to Saigon, some unknown bus arrangement across Cambodia, and yet another bus from the Thai border to Bangkok. As much as I have enjoyed seeing the countryside of all three of these nations, the prospect of re-seeing it is somewhat less palatable.

I finish lunch and head back to my hotel, where there is free net access. After conducting my own research, it appears that I should be able to get a flight for about $200us, which is what I had originally budgeted. Buoyed, I head out to another travel agent and tell them my story.

They shake their head and begin searching. It takes about half an hour, but I eventually leave with ticket in hand, total cost $217.

That feels a lot better.

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Riding The Rails

Image via Wikipedia

While reasearching this trip, I was delighted to find that there were multiple opportunities for rail travel. The first being a journey from Bangkok to Aranyaprathet, a small town near the Cambodian border. The plan was to catch the 5:55am train, as this was the only way to make it into Cambodia in one day by train, as the border closes at 8pm.

I get back to my hotel in Bangkok around 1am, after killing the evening on a patio in Khao San Road. I sleep fitfully, fearful of missing my 4am wakeup call.

After a series of short naps, I drag my ass out of bed and check out. As usual, I am running about a half hour behind my self imposed schedule. I exit the hotel and throw my bag into the back of a taxi when I hear a voice calling from the hotel, Sir sir!

The front desk is claiming that I owe them for one beer from the minibar.

They are incorrect, but I understand why they are saying this and the reasons are far too convoluted and boring to go into detail here.

I have neither the time nor the will to have an argument over such a trifle. I race back up to the mezzanine and pay the money, knowing they will realize their honest mistake later.

In short, I would advise all travelers who avail themselves of a minibar, to make sure that the maid makes up their room everyday, if only to keep an accurate tab. I thought I was giving the maid a break, but it cost me, more in aggravation than the small amount of money involved.

Now I am really behind and a lot hinges on getting my boney ass on this train. Fortunately, the magnificent train station is not far, and I make it with about three minutes to spare.

As expected, this particular route is run by a very basic train , and is very crowded. The seating is about as luxurious as your average subway. I find myself seated on a bench seat intended for three, with a similiar seat facing me, though it is hard to complain about the seating when my over five hour journey cost me less than two dollars, cheaper than a transit fare in Toronto.

I am also happy to be leaving Bangkok, and looking forward to getting off the beaten path. While Bangkok is a wonderful place, it is rife with the same indifference that is the hallmark of any large city.

The train heaves forward with an increasing clickety clack., as the receding city sparkles in the Bangkok dawn.

The train makes many stops, each at increasingly smaller stations. My seat mates change several times. At one point a lovely Thai lady who looks to be thirtyish joins me. At the next stop, a group of young boys dressed in sports uniforms board.

The lady engages them, and she and the kids are sharing laughs together. I desperately wish I could join in, but no matter.

Sometimes you don't need to understand the language to realize the true beauty of a fellow human being.

The Thai countryside rolls by as tuk tuks give way to oxen and shanty's are replaced by rice paddies. For the first time I feel that my journey is truly underway.

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Bangkok Boatride

Image via Wikipedia

Mother of ass, it is hotter than a pot of coffee here.

After breakfast, I went out for a walk and was soaked in sweat within minutes. I walked around for about an hour and was forced to retreat to the air conditioned confines of my hotel room to change and recover.

I'd only been awake for a few hours, but I was completely wiped out. I lay on my bed while cursing myself for doing so. I did not fly halfway around the world to watch women play ping pong on a Chinese TV broadcast, as exciting as that is. So I look at my city map and weigh my options for the day.

Make no mistake, Bangkok is a big ass city, three times the size of Toronto, and I am clearly daunted by its sheer magnitude. I want to go to the temples but they are spread around the city. I would also like to take a boatride in the harbour, but I opt for Siam Square, only because it offers the promise of air conditioning. It feels like a lame compromise, but it beats the hell out of women's ping pong.

So I venture back out into the unspeakable heat, planning to flag a cab, but I find myself walking. I stumble upon one of the many boat docks in the city, and opt instead for a boatride, thinking that it should be cooler on the water.

There are two types of boats, one for tourists and a myriad of others that are part of the transit system. I was tempted to just hop on a local boat, but it was not apparent to me whether I needed to buy a ticket, or pay while on board. I am very leery about breaking the rules.

Instead, I opt for a tourist boat. Without realising, I have booked the whole boat, and I find myself being personally chauffered around the harbour and canals. I have also committed myself to a visit to the snake farm, whatever that is.

It was a great trip, and a nice opportunity to see the city from the harbour, which gave me a much better chance to view the city from a long perspective, thus better understanding its layout.

We also wound our way through the many ancient canals that were built way back when to foster commerce and provide defense for this aged kingdom.

At one point, we stop at the snake farm, where a show is put on featuring a python, a cobra and another Asian snake. There are also a bunch of other animals here.

The whole experience reminds me of why I hate the zoo, which culminates when, to my horror, I see some douchebag getting his jollies by teasing a monkey with his beer bottle. What kind of people get their kicks tormenting imprisoned animals?

I head back to the hotel feeling oddly demoralized, as a wave of melancholy washes over me. Can we not just show a shred of respect for ourselves, each other, and the creatures that surround us?

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Does The Fish Massage Include Happy Ending?

Image via Wikipedia

Cautiously, I venture out into the tumult that is Chinatown. Teeming with traffic and humanity, I quickly learn that it is the pedestrians responsibility to not interrupt the flow of traffic and if some farang gets in the way that is his problem.

It seems that half the crosswalks are placed strategically on blind curves, making the game that much more risky and intriguing. At one point I am forced to take the walk of shame back from whence I came, due to the utter refusal of left  turning traffic to respect my right of way.

Bangkok's Chinatown is not the quaint few blocks that it is in Toronto, but a huge enclave within this massive city. One could easily spend a week exploring all the nooks and crannies of this magical area and still not complete the job.

Daunted by the main streets, I retreat into the alleys and side streets that compose an incomprehensible labyrinth of stalls selling everything under the sun. And I do mean everything.

As I pass one store a lady asks me if I would like a massage. Thai massage is a renowned and perfectly legitimate endeavour. I politely decline and continue, wondering if I was being offered a massage or a "massage". About 87 seconds later, my question is answered, when another lady offers me a massage but adds the words "boom boom".

In Asian sex parlance, there are two items on the basic menu. One is "boom boom" and the other is "yam yam". I leave the translation to you.

The following day I find myself in the very touristy Khao San Road area. I notice a sign offering "fish massage", whereby one has their feet massaged by dozens of tiny fish nibbling at your toes, eating the dead skin from your feet.

Now if they could only train the fish to do "yam yam" this place would be Troy McClure heaven.

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Yes Siam

Image via Wikipedia

Greetings from the Kingdom of Thailand It is Sunday, my second full day in Thailand, and I am starting to feel myself again after the long journey.

The flight was horrible, though less horrible than I had anticipated, given that I had moved the expectation bar to absolute zero. I was also blessed with seatmates who were cordial, but had no inclination to share their life story with me.

It turned out that I had a ninety minute layover in Tokyo, and I was eternally grateful to find a little bar with a smoking room inside the terminal. It was a refreshing change from the relentless march of behavioral fascism that permeates the gaping maw of North American "culture". Plus, I was really dying for a smoke.

After that, it was back on the plane for the "short" hop from Tokyo to Bangkok, only six hours or so.

From the airport I grab an overpriced limo to my hotel, aware of the taxi scam that "mistakenly" takes you to the wrong hotel to coerce you to stay at that location. I am simply too tired to play that game. I pay the extra and arrive at the White Orchid Hotel in the heart of Chinatown.

As I check in I glance at the hotel bar to my left. Loud music blares and a gaggle of young ladies dance and laugh among themselves. Strangely, they are the only people in the bar, save for one young man who seems to know them. Curious, I think to myself. I had specifically chosen a Chinatown location to avoid the annoyances of the infamous Bangkok sex trade. Easier said than done, apparently.

The next morning I wake up in a daze, unsure of where I am. After a few moments, my head begins to Grok my newfound reality. Oh thats right, I'm on the other side of the world for some reason.

I look at my watch, remembering that I have a breakfast voucher that expires at 10am. I had last changed the time in Japan, but having no idea of the time difference between Thailand and Japan, I was clueless. The only thing that I knew for sure was that I had missed breakfast in Japan.

I shake off the cobwebs, shower, and head off to the hotel dining room on spec, pink voucher clutched in hand. Luckily, I am golden with three minutes to spare. It is a pedestrian buffet, but I am grateful to be eating anything not served by a stewardess.

Now it is time to venture out into the great bustling unknown.

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From The Theoretical To The Real

So in a few weeks I am going to points unknown. Passport? check. Vaccines and meds? check. Plane ticket? check.

One month of my life soaking in as much of the human experience as I can.

From the bloated and fat sex tourists of Bangkok, to the magic of Angkor Wat, the despair of  the Killing Fields and S-21.  Saigon, Phnom Penh, Hanoi, Halong Bay and Hue and god knows what in between.

Its the adventure of a lifetime, and I am so blessed that the stars aligned to give me this opportunity. Hopefully, I'll find the right moment to give back along the journey.

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