| Thai Story |
| Posted on 01/06/04 at 05:13 by LMBY Fan Zhiyi |
"It's worse than Vancouver on a hockey night", said the overweight, loud Canadian girl on the stationery bus beside us from Bangkok International Airport into the city. And I wasn't going to argue, the traffic made Dublin's Red Cow Roundabout look like a straight at Silverstone. This and the fact that I'd eaten something that didn't agree with me (and I'm usually such an agreeable chap) was getting to me. Other public buses were overflowing with commuters, with some hanging on outside. We finally arrived at Khao San Road, having taken longer than our flight from Hong Kong to Bangkok. In the Banglamphu district, Khao San is a traveller's ghetto and offers the least expensive accomodation in the city. However, if you stay too long you'll end up watching videos like "Predator" in bars all day and selling your shoes to fund this lifestyle.
Having slept in what were basically cupboards in Hong Kong, we bravely entered the New World Lodge which offered spacious rooms with a balcony with Khlong (canal) views for 250 baht (the currency of Thailand. Like a blinded US soldier in Iraq, it was the first ba'th we'd seen in ages), equivalent to a fiver a night. After a quick recuperating sleep we ventured to the legendary Khao San - crammed with guest houses, dodgy travel agents, restaurants offering everything from yoghurt shakes and muesli to the ubiquitous Tom yam kang, a delicious hot and sour soup with prawns and lemongrass. The place is teeming with all sorts of characters - beggars with no hands (never figured out how they took donations), blind women singing into a microphone, hawkers selling 3 feet high cigarette lighters, tuk-tuk drivers vying for trade with a detour to their friend's tailor shop, Japanese punks, American jock backpackers, elderly Westerners looking for wives, and men trying to sell suits although I didn't see one person wearing a suit in the three weeks in Thailand.Every second shop offers cheap internet and international call facilities, while both sides of the street are lined with stalls and food vendors selling local handicrafts, 100% accurate t-shirts (Von Dutch, Bathing Ape, Ecko, and Etnies amongst current favourites), rip-off cds and cd-roms for about 2 euro, Thai boxing shorts, and even student cards and degrees (that's 5 years wasted at college, then).
The place is mental all day although a recent Government clampdown, focussing on re-establishing traditional Thai family values, meant that the majority of bars and beer-bars (stalls selling beer for cheaper than bars) closed at 1am.
Housing over 9 million people and with no discernible centre, Bangkok is a daunting place to get around initially. However, there's always a willing tuk-tuk driver to bargain with. Our first encounter with these 3-wheeled open-sided Thai chariots started with a mad wheelie and entailed weaving in and out of traffic at great speed and taking corners on two wheels. I don't think Quinn Direct (why is insurance company named after Jack Charlton's tactics for Ireland?) would offer these lads fully comp. The most dangerous aspect of the tuk-tuks is probably the exhaust fumes from the incessant traffic. Smog is synonomous with Bangkok and even when it's 30 degrees, like a child locked cable channel, its fruitless searching the sky for blue.
Over 60 Wats shine brightly throughout the city, the most extravagant being Wat Phra Kaeo (another part of the country houses Wat Kaek, presumably named by Dawn French), the holiest Buddhist site in the country housing the most important image, the Emerald Buddha. Due to this fact, you need to show respect by dressing in smart clothes - no vests, shorts, flip -flops, sandals, or Christina Aguilera outfits. You can hire suitable garments at the Gate of Glorious Victory, just inside the palace, but you end up looking like the janitor in "Scrubs" with the blue polyester tops and trousers they provide. The temple itself is like a film set with numerous six-metre tall yaksha, demons from the Ramayana (an epic Asian legend, with a similar plot to "Shrek 2"), who watch over the Emerald Buddha from every gate of the temple and apparently ward off evil spirits. Another huge statue, that I thought was Buddha ("I Can't Believe it's Not Buddha"), turned out to be a Hindu hermit credited with inventing yoga and herbal medicine. He's tipped to be next Governor of California.
Inside the bot, the largest building in the temple, a nine-metre high pedestal supports the Emerald Buddha. The figure was discovered when lightning cracked open an ancient chedi (tower), and dispensed many miracles before being taken to Laos, never to Return to the Chedi. It was snatched back by King Rama I and installed at the heart of his new capital in 1779. The wat walls display lavish murals of the aforementioned Ramayana, with the story being told over 178 panels. The temptation to skip most of these (it extended for over a kilometre) was too much and, after skipping to the end, I can gladly say Rama and the lads live happily ever after. Just like Shrek.
Nearby is the National Museum, which houses a short and interesting insight into the history of the country, from Rama I through to Rama IX (like the Police Academy series, number 5 seemed to be the best, and he was subject of "The King & I").
A longtail boat for 2 baht (4 cents) brought us back home in the rain. I didn't think I'd need an umbrella in Thailand but they're everywhere - in the mornings to shield from the sun and in the evenings for the inevitable early-afternoon showers.
We ventured into the city a couple of nights for a few Singhas where most of the bars feature local bands covering Thai pop "classics". "Stop the War" was a particular favourite. Forget about mossie spray, you need prossie spray on a few of the streets, which aren't too bad until you see one of their "colleagues" walk past arm-in-arm with what seems to be Norm from "Cheers" or Robbie Coltrane's father. The ladyboys are in abundance too, although you can spot them a smile away.
After two nights in Bangkok most people are ready to leave, so we did. Chiang Mai, the largest city in Northern Thailand, was the destination, with a 12 hour bus journey the chosen method. The only advantage to these, apparently illegal, buses is that you don't need to shell out for accomodation that night. Plus the fare was a staggeringly low 70 baht (1.25 euro). However, the operators depend on you buying fly-ridden, unidentifiable food at 1am at a stopover point and bring you to "recommended" accomodation upon arrival. However, we did a runner and jumped (as best we could with a backpack) into a tuk-tuk (surprisingly there are no restaurants called Tuck-Tuck) to bring us to Eagle House, supposedly run by an Irishwoman and her husband. We never saw her but felt at home with its spacious garden terrace, rooms for 3 quid a night, and the delicious chicken with basil and rice for a euro.
A 3-day trek started the next morning led by our guide Doh (no exclamation mark, unfortunately) and the jeep's driver, who I think was called Ray. Our fellow trekkers were two Yorkshire women, a Norwegian couple, and a Swedish couple, although it turned out three days later that they were just friends. Doh, Ray, me and the other's first stop was a local market for rainjackets, which we never needed. We seemed to drive uphill for hours and stopped at the top of a mountain with amazing scenic views for lunch. This consisted of egg sandwiches, which never tasted so good, and water. It's not every day you're confronted with what to you are newly invented fruits, but that's what we had for dessert. Rambutan have a soft, spiny exterior, are golf ball size, and are cracked open to reveal a white fruit inside simlar to a lychee. Much nicer were the mangosteen, with a smooth purple skin and white segments inside that are sweet and acidic.
And then the walking began. And went on. And on. And on walking uphill through rainforests with a backpack in 35 degree midday heat. When it comes to the sun I'm usually a Freckle & Hide character but the trek helped us build up a bit of colour for the rest of the holiday. After a few hours we reached our next port of call and next mode of transport - elephants. While everyone else shared elephants I got one to myself. I was soon to find out why. A baby elephant emerged and I thought "Easy". Hmmm. For baby elephant read untrained elephant and this was surely his debut outing, which he was determined not to forget (although he wouldn't anyway being an elephant). While his handler was busy rolling dubious looking substances into a leaf and smoking it, I was left sitting on what was basically half a wooden fruit box as the "baby" strayed all over the place - almost falling into rivers, "toilet breaks", walking down steep trenches while all I could do to keep on was plant my feet firmly on his head, a move that was met by an upraised trunk and a subsequent spray of hot air. After an hour and a half it was all over. Maybe he will forget, but I won't.
Another two hours trekking on foot led to the highlight of the trip so far. We were to stay with a hill tribe for the night, with a population of 180. I asked Doh what it was called and he seemed to reply "Craig McLachlan" although I doubted the villagers would call their place after the former Neighbours star and one-hit wonder. We reached our communal bamboo hut and had a well-deserved Sigha beer, looking down on the beautiful village, while local kids watched in awe. We did too. Then they brought out the home-made catapults and challenged us to knock a bottle off a tree, which the Europeans obviously lost. One little kid then went around with woolen bracelets and gave me one in Stenhousmuir colours ( a little Warrior!). We went down to the elephant-dung infested river to wash off before dinner, which led to the amazing experience of playing football with about 20 of the local boys, half of whom were monks adorned in their saffron robes. I thought you weren't supposed to touch monks which is my excuse for not winning the ball off any of them. They seemed to favour the 3-5-2 formation with defenders or (brilliant) goalkeeper booting the ball upfield, Jack Charlton style, to the midfield ( a paddy field trench) where they could trap the ball amazingly. Playing barefoot was hard enough but the extremely skilful, shaven-headed monk wingers ("I'll tell you what Clive, the monk lad on the left-wing looks at bit tasty. He just sold the Irish lad, xxxxn-an, a lollipop there but shame about the finish. He sliced the ball when he had it on a plate. The lad kicked it further than I go on holiday") played one-twos with rocks from a mountain on one side of the pitch to devastating effect. No one was keeping score (cos we were hammered) but the game ended when the sun went down and we left the pitch to handshakes, covered in mud but elated. With news emerging of the Thai Prime Minister's bid for Liverpool Football Club, they could do worse than sign a few of these monks up on Bosmans to solve their right-midfield problems. Plus, there'd be no News of the World exposes with these lads.
We climbed the steep hill back to our hut just in time for dinner. Thai meals are served with all courses coming out at once, so a spicy mushroom soup was accompanied by a chicken fried rice meal with a couple of Singhas. Soon the local flies got word we were feasting and the old "Waiter, there's about 20 flies in my soup" joke sprang to mind but after the day we had we would have eaten anything. We got to know the others over a ridiculously complicated Swedish card game (Cheats. If only I'd known they weren't a couple then) called Plop and went to sleep under our mosquito nets on bamboo bedding absolutely shattered.
Day two consisted of intense hill climbing, the highlight if which was lunch in an open-sided, secluded hut. Doh produced more fried rice, this time exquisitely packaged in a banana leaf, followed by simple yet delicious freshly cut pineapple chunks. He said we could take a nap but this was impossible due to the numerous flies lunching on leg de Alain. The mossie spray promised "Effective for 7 Hours" but this must have been from time of purchase as I was soon covered in more bites than "Interview with a Vampire". These proved to be the downside of life in Thailand. They itch like hell and blister, and one morning I woke up with about 99 red baloons from nocturnal visitors.
The toughest part of the trek soon appeared, a steep 200m decline with just a rickety bamboo railing to hold onto. There was a few scary moments when I slipped than I thought I might be wearing a Thai Die t-shirt. Our lodgings were a remote bamboo hut beside the river and dinner was even better than the previous night with green pumpkin and rice and a potato curry soup. At this stage we were best of buddies with the other trekkers and spent the night sipping 6.5% Chang beer and playing another card game called Cow Pat, with the loser of each game getting his face marked in charcoal. A few Changs later, and looking like miners from the 19th century, we retired to bed looking forward to the next day's bamboo rafting. But not before I busted my foot on the steps up in the darkness, a case of "Step, Toe & no Sun".
Bamboo rafting is not to be encouraged with a Changover. Particularly when Doh said out raft was inferior to all the others. But it was an exhilirating experience, floating down the river (followed by an incongrous Hall's Soother) and speeding through rapids, all the while standing up trying to keep your balance whilst looking like Michael J. Fox 'surfing' on top of the van in "Teenwolf". We needed a few pitstops to fix up the loosening logs, two of which almost broke my leg while caught between them. Two hours later we were back at the jeep, and after a quick Phad Tai lunch, a visit to a waterfall, and another temple we were back at Eagle House, thankful for even the smallest luxuries.
That night we went out with our new Scando and English buddies to the Rooftop Bar (which we only discovered the next night had no roof). It was a laidback bar, where you had to climb up a ladder to reach the ambient dance music and seating on cushions on floors. A no shoes policy prevailed ("Sorry, Bud(dha), you're not getting in with dem shoes") and the Chang and Samsume whisky buckets were soon flowing - a lethal combination. On leaving we realised everyone's socks were "stolen" but upon reflection I'd say the whicky buckets might have had something to do with us not being able to find them. Which is probably why we thought it was a good idea to get more drink at the Night Bazaar, where my mate busted his knee (still bad 3 weeks later) "teaching" the local kids (who were up awful late for a school night) to breakdance, when in fact I think they were teaching him. I knew it was time to go when the Swedish girl, Sara, started doing cartwheels through the puddles.
Another couple of days were spent just chilling out in Chiang Mai. A trip to the cinema proved interesting as we had to stand for the Thai National Anthem before Van Helsing (crap). Watch out Liverpool fans.....Next stop was Bangkok again for a couple of nights before hitting the islands to the South....
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