WINTER'S JOURNEY 3

PART III: THAILAND – THE LAND OF SMILES

Next stop, Thailand, the Land of Smiles. Bangkok. The City of Angels. The most energetic and pulsating city in Southeast Asia. It has fascinated scores of writers, artists, and romantics for many, many years and I was honored to join that list, granted near the bottom. Disembarking from the plane, I felt the warm gusts of air seeping through the gate walk way, and hidden within them, a certain feeling of liberation, of leaving your problems at the door and embracing the beauties of life with a clean slate. The whole time in Thailand, I felt carefree, light as a feather, coasting along an invisible wave that cleared away all negativity in its path. Even in moments of distraught or anger, the wave soothed over and disintegrated any such emotion and quickly returned its rider to the Thai natural state – a smile. Undressing to a T-shirt, I hopped on the backpacker bus that slowly made its way through the mid-day traffic to Khao San Road, the young foreigner mecca of Bangkok. The noises and smells of the city filled the bus and for whatever reason I continued feeling liberated, at the most extreme ease. Traffic was horrible and at a five mile an hour pace I took in the city, or rather it took me in. The chaos, the stalls, the vendors, the mopeds, the cars, the tuk tuks (basically a bench for a seat attached to a motorcycle), the endless streams of pedestrians, and the sea of yellow. Even from the bus, I noticed the yellow shirts. An incredible number of Thais were wearing yellow shirts, with a strange insignia on the upper right hand side. Quickly it was explained to me that these shirts were the symbol of Thailand’s king, the longest reigning monarch in the world. And even quicker this explanation became self-evident, as the people’s love of their king was exhibited endlessly throughout the city in the form of huge posters and banners picturing the benevolent monarch extending his hand to all of his subjects. No where else in my experience has such devotion been so innocently shown to a living person. For over sixty years, he has been the symbol of the Thai people, infinitely loved and revered, almost divinely, and has kept the nation together through political and economic turmoil. The country has had countless coups (the most recent last fall) and has suffered economically (the 1997 southeast Asian meltdown and the 2004 tsunami) but the king has remained an enduring tribute to the resilience and loving nature of these people. And indeed, my sojourn there would not contradict this in the least. Finally the bus arrived, unloaded its evenly distributed weight of backpacker and backpacks, and I was left to find my lodgings for the next two nights.

Walking through those streets, bathed by an 80 degree sun, I was in a wholly new place. There was no Japan or China here. This city lived by its own pace and bowed down to no other. That is probably why it is such a huge and central tourist destination, for all those that come here are inevitably drawn to this spirit that can be seen, heard, and smelt everywhere. I dragged my bag behind me down a main road, down a side street, and finally arrived at my hotel, where a measly $28 a night got me a splendidly sized room with air conditioning and a balcony. Having settled, I ventured back out to Khao San road to find it inhabited solely by foreigners, with the Thai contingent serving them or selling to them. Most were tourists, some were expats, but something lent these travelers a binding air, as if all were there on some common purpose. Naturally, this could not be true, but sitting at a café, enjoying my first sip of Chang (the Thai national beer, in addition to Singha) and my first authentic Pad Thai, and looking at the throngs of passersby, I felt a communion with all those that had come here to temporarily escape their troubles. Walking back to the hotel, I tried my hand at the old haggling game, trying to secure a T-shirt with “Aeroflot: Soviet Airlines” and another with pictures captioned, “Good Bush, Bad Bush.” It was a marvelous experience, as the lady was all smiles, and there was none of that confrontational element that so heavily affected the effort back in China last year. Instead, we were playing a game, making up wonderful stories, trying to out do each other, in effort to not really buy or sell, but rather have a good time. In the end, she would not take my price, which was probably well above the range where she would still make a profit, and I walked away, actually feeling good. I had me a shower at the hotel and went out into the milky Bangkok night…

The next day was all cultural. There are many things for which Bangkok is famous, but out of the list of the top three, its temples, or wats, would definitely be included. The country is more than overwhelmingly Buddhist, so by natural extension the most representative figure of this tradition is the Buddha, and in Bangkok, the Buddha is second only to the king in terms of ubiquity. Whereas the king’s image can be seen in placards above highways, at entrances to houses, on lockets, T-shirts, jackets, umbrellas, virtually anywhere with some free space, the Buddha, on the other hand, requires a specific structure to house him, and like churches in the West, every neighborhood in Bangkok has its own unique temple. My first stop was the Grand Palace, which like the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg, is now largely ornamental. And of course the royal residence requires a Buddha of royal proportions. But more on that in a second…

One of the biggest complaints tourists make about Thailand are the scams. They are highly numerous and range in complexity. The simplest is a straightforward deception about prices, where things are sold at exorbitantly high prices because the customer does not really know any better. Among the more complicated ones involve buying really cheap VIP air-conditioned bus tickets to some destination in the south of the country, thinking one got a really good deal, and in the end being dragged around various factories where “cheap high qualities gems are for sale,” being duped into buying fake rocks, and the in the end having to stay at high-priced hotels. The most notorious scam artists in Bangkok have to be the tuk tuk drivers. There is no standard fare for hiring a tuk tuk, so prices must be negotiated before hand. State your destination, and haggle. Most first time tourists get ripped off left and right, paying twice or three times what an air-conditioned cab ride would cost to their hotel around the corner. Also, tuk tuk drivers naturally know their way around the city and so, unsuspecting tourists often ask them advice about where to go and what to see according to their own particular interests. Bad idea, for that person is likely to be taken to a place that pays the tuk tuk driver some sort of commission, which in turn translates to higher, exploitative prices for the tourist. And finally, they also like to approach you, ask you where you’re going, tell you that it’s closed at the moment, and that they have a much better itinerary for you, thus setting another expensive trap. In a country where tourism is the main source of revenue, such practices, while not necessarily positive, are not necessarily unpardonable.

So, anyway, on my jolly way to the Grand Palace, my path crossed that of a group tuk tuk drivers, who usually have a habit of congregating somewhere outside of a major attraction and trying to solicit rides. So, one comes up to me and’s like “where you going?” I was feeling chatty, so I indulged him. “Oh, going to check out the Grand Palace. Hear it’s a nice place.” And he’s like, looking me straight in the eye, “yes, yes it is, but you know, it’s actually not open to foreigners now. Special holiday, Thai people only.” I just smiled and continued, “oh really, well what time will it open up to us?” And his response, in the same vein, “hmm, not for another three hours. But I know this other beautiful temple, only a twenty minute ride away. How about it?” “How much?” “For you, my friend, only [the equivalent of $15].” “Oh, how lovely of you, thank you so much for such a wonderful deal,” I said, getting in the back of his tuk tuk…yeah. We both smiled nicely and politely at each other, as we both knew that the whole conversation was entirely not serious. I could tell that he could tell that I wasn’t taking him seriously and yet we still had a good chat. We said our goodbyes, and I left in an amused mood, for such is the nature of Thailand. Around the corner was the entrance to the Palace and not only were foreigners allowed, they were out in full force.

In Bangkok, I saw some of the most beautiful religious buildings I have ever seen. Stylistically and artistically, they looked like places where true communication with the other could transpire. Of course there are some mighty captivating cathedrals in Europe and inspired temples in Japan, but the wats of Thailand seemed to be of a different order. The first thing that aggressively attacked the senses was the color. Bright, shiny, shimmering golds and greens, sparkling in the mid-day sun, at once at odds with the Buddhist notions of emptiness and samsara, while at the same time fully reverent to the Buddha, who overcame them both. Walking among them, I got the feeling that inside a passage Elsewhere was waiting to be uncovered, if only one knew how. It was exhilarating, to say the least. At the center of the Grand Palace was Wat Phra Kaew, known at the Temple of the Emerald Buddha and also the most sacred spot in all of Thailand. On the steps leading to the entrance, hundreds of shoes scattered on the ground. Inside, at the back, the tourists, snapping away at the mesmerizing glitter in front of them. I joined with the Thai visitors, who after entering got on their knees and slowly made their way near the front, where they knelt in quiet prayer and contemplation. The object of their affection, a 45 centimeter tall seated Buddha, called the Emerald Buddha, but actually made of green jade and clothed in a gold garment that is changed three times a year according to the seasons. A rather small statue, actually, it sits on top of a tall pedestal and gazes out peacefully across the stretches of space time. And it is here, in the silence punctuated only by camera clicks, that the Thai people come to find salvation and peace. Until my legs started killing me, it was beautiful to behold.

After exiting the temple, I began to feel somewhat unwell, largely due to the unbearable crush of people. Families, tour groups, all kinds from all sorts of places, I could not really figure out what these people were doing here. Endlessly taking pictures without really even pausing to look at what they were capturing on film, they shuffled along, as zombies in the mid-day heat, yapping away, crossing off yet another bullet point off their lists. Hey, maybe I’m wrong and just angry, but I just couldn’t help feeling it, couldn’t help but think that the sacred energy of the place, on which the Thai people relied, which enabled them to enjoy contact with divinity, was sucked raw and made profane by the presence of so many who had no true business being there. Whether I too belonged in that group is a difficult question to answer.

So, I ran out. Up and down the stalls I walked, haggled here, made a purchase there. I bought a Thailand yellow shirt, which I will wear with a certain amount of pride, because I really appreciated the Thais’ love and reverence for the king, which, as I said before, was quite new and unique to me. Slowly, I made my way to Wat Pho, another definite cultural highlight of the city. Here, in a rather large and long room lay the enormous gold statue of the Reclining Buddha, which Buddhist sculpture will teach you is the Buddha in his post-human-death state, representing his ascendance into Nirvana and complete detachment from all things. Even though I knew this ahead of time, I was still not prepared for what waited. Yes, it was indeed the reclining Buddha, but of such unbelievably large proportions that it literally took my breath away. I stood, in complete awe, speechless. It is 46 meters long and 15 meters high, which in feet comes out to about 150 by 50. Now, when we come face to face with such a majestic creation, we all have different responses, different ways for dealing with the sensations that are being channeled through us. Personally, I saw the limits of human potential. This Buddha reached me, told me with overwhelming conviction that there is no place to go but here. I squatted down in a corner, took off my hat, and sat for a good twenty five minutes, not able to move, not able to think, just not able to anything. It was an immensely unique moment that I will treasure. Gradually, the shuffling of the feet past me and the incessant clinking sound that had been going on since I came in drew me back to the discomfort of this reality and I walked the 150 feet from the head to the toes and around the back. It was here that the clinking sound became clear – lining the back wall of the temple, all the way from the feet back to the head were 108 metal pots, suspended in mid air. At a table at the feet, I paid a small donation and received a small bucket filled with metal coins and queued up. A slow procession of people, each with a bucket, filtered passed the pots, dropping one coin into each. Naturally enough, it took a while and was responsible for the clinking sound that echoed throughout the building. Placing a coin in each of the pots is meant to bring merit, but for me, it gave me some time to sober up.

After that “experience,” I took a little sojourn at another smaller building, which housed yet another of the complex’ 1000 Buddha images, and as the mid-day sun wore on, made my way toward the Chao Phraya river, Bangkok’s main body of water. Here, a nice old man with almost no teeth took me on a long-tail boat tour up and down the river and I got to see more of Bangkok, old and new. At one point, two gentlemen in a row boat laden with goodies pulled up and I bought two beers and shared them with my driver, which in Thailand is a universally accepted tip. With the day coming to a close, I got off the boat near Khao San Road, proceeded to eat some super spicy soup (I couldn’t breathe properly for hours), and got back to the hotel. Here, after a short rest, I had the first of many Thai massages. Now, if you’ve never gotten one, it is a must. They are typically an hour, and the first time, ten minutes into it, I was cursing myself silly. Here’s this lady and she’s poking my body everywhere, causing this sharp and uncomfortable pain. And she’s not letting up, and she finding the exact spots where the nerves are so tight, it hurts at the slightest touch. And she ain’t just touching either. Oh, no. She’s pressing with everything she’s got. Her knees, her elbows, her knuckles. Jesus, it hurt. But, after forty or so minutes, the body was so relaxed, so unwound, that the pain receded and it was pure bliss. Like I said, it was to be the first of many.

After it was over, I wanted to go and buy the special pants that they make you wear for a massage, so in sloppy English I was told that it was at some Indian market nearby. Going outside, I flagged a tuk tuk, negotiated a price and was on my way. When we arrived, it turned out the market had long closed, but the driver still expected me to get out in what was now a dark and unpleasant alleyway. Doing no such thing and aware that Thai people tend to avoid hostile and loud confrontation most of all, I calmly asked him to take me to another market somewhere. He didn’t understand, waved his arms, and bitched me out, from what I could tell. He drove maybe fifty feet and offered the next corner as potentially more appealing to me. I told him no, he yelled some more, looked around hopelessly, and sped away. A short while later, we were back at my hotel, him virtually demanding that I get out. I told him to take me to a market near Khao San and begrudgingly he did so, and upon getting there, I paid him double the original negotiated price, and he still managed to drive off extremely angry. Never believe that a stereotype has no exceptions. Unfortunately, I never did find those pants. But I did enjoy more Chang and another pad thai, along with a new found discovery that will forever remain my top choice at any Thai restaurant – green curry. I ran into a French couple that I had met at the airport and we chatted away for a while in some mixture of French and god knows what. Tired and satisfied, I sent off some emails and went back to prepare for the next day’s difficult journey south.

A nice thing about traveling in Asia is there are some amazing deals to be found on the region’s budget airlines. My flight down cost me about $40 one way, on Air Asia, where they let you pick your own seat on a first come, first serve basis. After an hour’s flight, we landed at Krabi Airport, basically a runway with a building, and I shared a cab ride to a pier. Of course, to call it a pier is to do it undeserved justice. Rather, it was a small area shaded by bamboo, occupied by ten or so Thai dudes, sitting on the edge of a very large swamp (basically the bottom of the ocean at low tide). “Is this the boat to Rai Lei?” “Yeah, man, it’s here.” “Well, when is it coming?” “Relax man, it’ll be here.” And therein lies another of Thailand’s great comforts, the utter lack of concern for punctuality. The idea is, who cares, as long as you get to where you’re going. Nobody’s worried, and as for that little western notion of deadlines, well, leave ‘em at the door. Finally, way in the distance, a boat materialized, but to get there required a long trek across the ocean’s mud, which meant that my pants became a slightly different color. After a floating entry into a 10-person long-tail boat by 14 or so, we set off. The locals played some music, rubbed suntan on each other, and to the rhythm of 46 and 2, I watched the beautiful Thai coastline floating by. There’s no honest way to describe it, for words will always fail its beauty.

After about 20 minutes, we arrived at Rai Lei beach, a rock climber’s paradise. Composed of an East Side (read – mangroves and a horribly disfiguring low tide) and a West Side (read – beautiful beach and money), we were let off on the East and I now faced the task of finding my friend Blokh located somewhere on the island but exact whereabouts unknown. After about an hour’s worth of tugging an immensely heavy bag, I finally tracked him down and met up with him in our hotel and had a Chang and a Pad Thai to cement our re-union. He was there with a bunch of friends from all over (many were actually JETS from Japan as well, but from another prefecture) and I had me some companions for the next few days. The date, by the way, was December 31st, 2007. (Coincidentally, that very day in Bangkok, there were several quite serious bombings in the city, where some folks died and many more were injured, and many New Year’s Celebrations were canceled. Lucky me.)

Finally……swimming. Yes, in pristinely beautiful waters, I finally enjoyed the pasttime that has avoided me for almost two full years. I just floated, letting the gentle motion take me as I beheld the spectacle of sheer rock cliffs covered in trees, rising out of the earth and reaching for the sky. A slightly different yet equally satisfying form of peace, in contrast to the day before. Eventually, either Blokh or myself got the brilliant idea to rent a two-man kayak for a little cave and general open water exploration. Being the natural athletes that we are, we made it out about 300 feet or so, and yours truly immediately began bitching. We still had an hour and forty minutes to go. But, nothing left to do but suck it up, and so I did, and we got up real close to those jagged rocks sticking out of the water and barely managed to maneuver around and in between them. A true exercise in raw man power. With the sun beginning its descent into the depths, we stopped and genius me took a dive into the open water. Meanwhile Blokh was guarding my valuables (read: hat, T-shirt, Ray Bans) and making sure that the kayak would continuously be out of my reach, just to make it more interesting. Having had enough, I caught up with him, and temporarily forgetting about the laws of physics and all that, made a weakly timed lunge to get back aboard. Lo and behold. Blokh, with Ray Bans in tow, and the canoe capsized. Luckily, Blokh could swim, but unluckily, the Ray Bans could not, and so off they went in search of new adventures at the bottom of the ocean. Naturally, the whole thing was somewhat funny, but I like them glasses and also the T-Shirt. So, I made some blind dives to the bottom, which only resulted in a gash in my hand from the sharp rocks below. Faced with a maximum 40 minutes of sunlight we launched into Operation Ray Ban, which required first busting ass to the nearest beach, which was on the other side of the island from our own. Disembarking, I ran along, looking for snorkeling equipment, when I realized that it was a private beach, belonging to a large, luxurious resort hotel. No matter. I was a guest who lost important valuables in the ocean and had to rescue them. Amazing what desperation and not wearing a T-shirt will get you. So, with goggles and pipe on board, we busted back to the spot, but, again, naturally, in the initial excitement, the difficulty of marking an exact location in a rather large body of water was nowhere near our conscious activity. After another twenty minutes of futile dives, I mumbled a short but heartfelt eulogy, and, in the dusk, we set off on the return journey. When our beach came into sight, it was dark and our guiding lights were the preparations for the New Year’s Party taking place on the beach. Just a little more, come on. By this time, we were already an hour late and muscles were on the verge of retirement. But, at least the end was visible…or was it? It quickly dawned on us that we were looking at two beaches, divided by a significant jutting rock, and we had no idea which was ours. I guess there’s just something about kayaks (or just the word) that brings with it an inherent and amusing irony. This way, no that, and meanwhile these motorized long tail boats waiting to split us Right in Two are whizzing by, almost unseen. Finally, a decision to go left. More crazy rowing. No, wait. That’s not it. A sharp turn. After an immense effort, we made it to sand, only the hand of God guiding us to the right beach. As we dragged the kayak back along the shoreline, an amazingly beautiful dog sprang out of nowhere and jumped into the boat. It just sat there. Whatever. On the verge of death, we returned the thing to the extremely irate Thai dude and hurried back to prepare for the evening.

As you can imagine, this is where it gets hazy. I remember having steak for dinner and it being well below what I would call good. I remember starting on the Changs. I remember going from East to West, where the fireworks would be. I also remember the transition to the bucket, called the Samsung, which is a combination of cola, Red Bull, and an atrociously bad-tasting Thai whiskey, mixed together in a pail and consumed through straws. I remember congregating on the beach. I remember the paper lanterns, set off in the hundreds and illuminating the night sky. I remember the count down and the fireworks. I half remember walking back to the East side and chilling at a bar. I half remember meeting a group of French(ies) and practicing my by this point wonderful French. I half remember eating a corn on the cob and dancing with the French(ies). I half remember looking for the inconspicuously named Skunk Bar and, failing miserably, getting lost in the woods. I don’t remember being directed by a Jamaican to ask for something special at another bar. I don’t remember going there, asking for it, and having only half the amount of required money. I certainly don’t remember putting that special something to good use. I don’t remember Blokh growing more belligerent for some reason. I don’t remember more dancing, more frolicking. I don’t remember the beautiful sunrise on the East side. I don’t remember the walk back to the room and the not-so-gradual extinction of consciousness. Well, maybe if I try hard enough, I can.

Here’s a fair assessment of the next day – BLAH. So, first I BLAHed, and then I had some green curry and about seven coffees, before BLAHing again. Then I Skyped some folks at home to wish them a Happy New Year, then in progress, before engaging in some more BLAH. Eventually, I BLAHed my way back to the beach for a BLAHing swim. The day was over before I knew it, and in the dusk, we went to get some Thai massages, which was a welcome break to the BLAH. At night, we gorged ourselves, caught a Muay Boxing match, had a communal BLAH. Shortly thereafter I fell into a freaky BLAH-free zone, which resulted in about an hour and a half of straight dancing and then some more rocking out to an amazing sounding Thai rock cover band, which graced my ears with an extended version of Smoke on the Water, among other crowd favorites. Unfortunately, after this, the BLAH returned and there was only one way to kill it once and for all, sleep.

The ensuing days in Thailand were not particularly exciting, although they probably should have been. The key word for January second was transportation. A boat ride to the pier, a ride in the back of a pick up to the bus station, a bus ride to another pier, and a long boat ride to yet another pier, and lo and behold, after only about 9 hours of traveling we had gone from Rai Lei to Ko Samui, Thailand’s biggest and most famous island. Which, by the way, also means that it’s the most packed with tourist types, which in some minds is not so admirable. Scheduled for the following night was the world famous Full Moon Party, on neighboring Ko Pha-Nang, so we figured it would probably be a good idea just to rest tonight. We just relaxed, I spent an hour searching for an open laundromat to take care of an ever-increasing stink pile that I kept dragging from place to place, we had a nice small dinner during which I remembered that back in the states I always ordered a Thai Ice Tea, a fact that had completely slipped my mind in the country itself, and ended the evening with a low-stakes poker game, which was won by a girl (someone’s traveling companion) who claimed this was the third time she had ever played poker but cleaned out five guys without as much as blinking. To sum it up, a day of transit.

Next morning, bright and early (like twelvish), we set off for Ko Pha-Nang, a short twenty minute boat ride away. The boat was filled mostly with white foreigners who were, as I sadly realized over and over again on this trip, at least two years younger than me. In fact, that’s a reality that’s hitting me more and more now. At my age, someone can be five years younger than me and already be a fully fledged adult. That’s an idea that’s taking some getting used to. But anyway, we arrived at the island, and already I could tell what kind of day it would be. The little alleyways, lined with endless streams of shops, were nearly impassable, clogged by all sorts of human debris, automotive traffic, and the ever-present moped. In case you think, it’s possible to find an undiscovered spot in Thailand, better think again, because there are precious little secrets left, and if there are any at all, they will certainly cost a pretty amount to get to. We hired a van, which took us along the rolling and at times precarious jagged coastline to our hotel. The road literally inclined at angles as ridiculous as almost 45 degrees and looking out the window at the beautiful yet oddly angled ocean added to the surrealism of the place. We got to our bungalows, sufficiently out of the main party zone to actually be quiet, but not secluded enough to feel like you are away from it.

We lounged around. Having worn oddly fitting sandals almost the entire trip, my feet were a blistered mess, so I spent a good hour and a half walking up and down the main drag looking for a suitable replacement, but alas, the Asia Shoe Curse spread down here as well. I found one suitably sized pair, paid a small fortune (for Thailand), and within five minutes of walking in them, almost had one of my toes rubbed off. So much for comfortable shoes. Another curry and two or three more Changs and we were ready to head back to the main beach. We all piled into a van and, singing and tingling with anticipation, drove off into the shiny night, indeed illuminated by a beautiful full moon.

The scene was rather chaotic. We got off near a narrow alleyway, this time lined with small stalls selling plastic buckets. You buy a bucket, and the rest of that story has already been told. Armed with three buckets, our group moved on, or rather, battled on, through the immense crowds, to the beach, where the bulk of the party was held. Stretching for about a kilometer end to end, the beach was fronted by a variety of bars, each equipped with a sophisticated sound system, blaring a wide variety of music. Almost all the space was occupied, and taking one look down the beach, the crowd stretched all the way. Quickly we realized that the group could not stay together very long at all and indeed, one by one people fell off, and within twenty minutes, it was just three of us making our way to the Mountain Lodge, as the eastern edge, where the Space Shakes came highly recommended. This was a full moon party after all, so a little communion with nature was right what the new age doctor ordered. Alternating sips of bucket and shake, we also partook in some joyous medicine, justifying the whole thing as a night of excess. And it certainly was that. Up and down that beach we walked, and as the night grew on, so did the sense of commotion inside my head. I was wearing loose fitting white cotton pants and a white cotton shirt and a skull cap that I had purchased earlier. Looking like that, I rather resembled a Muslim and it was interesting to see people’s reactions to that. I saw many strange and rather uncomfortable looks, especially in concentrated areas, where people quickly stepped out of my way, obviously not really knowing how to deal with a devout-looking Muslim at a party that violated so many Islamic precepts. But as I said, those thoughts were gradually taken over by an increasing confusion.

Some of the bars played good music, but none of them had a clearly defined dance floor and whenever I stopped to actually dance, inevitably people would keep bumping into me from all sides, preventing any kind of positive groove. It kept happening wherever I went. Eventually, it became almost unbearable and I simply gave up trying to dance. I found a table at an out of the way bar and sat, listening to the Doors and watching the scene unfold. As the night wore on, the entire beach turned into potentially the biggest meat market of all time. Drunken spaced out hordes who had satisfied some of their excessive bodily needs were now looking to satisfy others and the entire picture was not pretty to behold. And in the meanwhile, chemically speaking, there was some sort of cancellation process in place and all I was left with as a result was a burgeoning head ache. Getting on 4 AM, I was full moon partied out and by this point I was feeling increasingly alone, even though I was literally surrounded by thousands of people. Trying to find a taxi in that mess was difficult, so I braved the moto taxi, where a courageous driver carried my bulk of a self on the back of a tiny moped up and down those treacherous 45 angled twists and turns and, as the morning sun shone its first rays on those hedonist shores, I crawled into a hammock, warded off an army of mosquitoes with the push of a button, and counted my lucky stars that I was safe and sound, back in good old 1955.

After waking up, the next 24 hours were spent getting myself back to the Bangkok airport. First, there was a boat ride back to the mainland, followed by a long van ride to the Surathani train station, where we boarded an overnight train bound for Bangkok. We were in the second class sleeper car and, to my immense surprise, we were the only foreigners on the entire train. It was a rare and rather delightful experience, because we were treated to a slice of the real (i.e. non-foreigner-tainted) Thai life and even though the train was old and not done up to the would-be expectations of foreigners, it was one of the nicest train rides I’ve ever taken. And, as a bonus, I almost completely fit into the bunks without having to lay half way across the damn car. As the beautiful Thai country side flew by and I sat on the steps in between cars, dangling my feet in the air and smoking, the warm breeze took my thoughts to a relaxed, beautiful place where worry was not on the menu and bliss was equally shared by all. After a fitful yet relaxing sleep, we arrived at the main Bangkok train station early in the morning and caught a cab to the airport, where we went our separate ways. I got on my Bangkok Air flight bound for Siem Riep, Cambodia. At $300 round trip, the 35 minute flight was by far the most expensive per kilometer that I have ever taken, so it was little wonder that the plane was filled with foreigners from all corners of the earth except the ones where a luxury such as flight was far beyond perhaps even the wildest imaginations. At the airport, I paid $20 (US) for a visa and entered one of the most fascinating countries I have ever been to.