Sawadee Kup, my good little girls and boys. Oh how cliche that must sound. I wonder how many blog entries from someone’s first night in Thailand have begun with Sawadee. I’ll bet most of the time it’s the post title! But I don’t have to feel at all uncomfortable with it, as I, unlike they, have been here before. Before I get into how much like Ground Hog Day today was, let me firstly fill you all in on the last few days in Europe.
OK, let’s go back to the last night in Germany. Oh wait, no my last post was on the 3rd… Crap. OK, whirlwind summary of last few days’ activities (I’ll prolly come back and retrospectively-post more details later for my own posterity purposes):
During the day, the last few days in Germany, I did a bit more tourist stuff, and then transformed into a local at night. That is to say, on various days I went to the national art gallery, the famous portrait gallery, the world clock (by accident, after coming out the wrong side of a U-Bahn station) and did a bunch of other things. I also slept in, every day. That was fun.
In the afternoons or evenings I generally met up with Friederike and sometimes her friends. We went for drinks on cool evenings. The massive night of clubbing in Berlin never eventuated. Instead we stayed in and watched movies, or sat on the balcony of F’s (awesome, awesome) apartment and just talked. We went to the park with Martina and her little son Fritz. We just did normal, every day Berlin resident stuff, and it was so very valuable. It gave me a realistic feel for what ‘life’ is like in Berlin, as opposed to just seeing another city through tourist tinted glasses.
As I reflect on my trip (yeah, I’m that close to the end that I can do that now) I realize that I’ve often been fortunate enough to see places not just as a tourist but as a combination of both traveller and local. That’s been one of the most valuable aspects of the trip. It was always my intention to learn about the places I visited in terms of what they are really like, and while I don’t presume to know any great deal about what it’s like to live in any of the cities I spent a grand total of thirty days in, I do believe I’ve been fortunate enough to get a real snapshot and not just a tourist’s postcard, if you know what I mean.
On that topic, I’m really grateful to Friederike for being such a great host while I was in Berlin. If you’re reading this F, thanks again.
So that’s a nice ’summary’ of the last few days in Berlin. Turn the page to see what happened next… *story book bling*
Friederike was going to take me to the airport, but the timing of the flight, and the particular airport it was at meant it was actually a lot faster to just catch a train, so she accompanied me that far, and we said our goodbyes.
This part of my travel was about as unremarkable as you could imagine. The only hitch was that the plane was late to come in from it’s last flight, so we were delayed about 30 minutes. We then lost time in the air somehow (I think he left the handbrake on) and ended up getting into London even later. Now, you need to understand, that despite how laid back I sound about my last few days in Germany, we’d still been staying up and I’d still been walking around heaps. I was tired and it was late. Here’s where the fun of this little travel experience begins.
Off to catch the train (15 pounds!) from Heathrow, the lady tells me by the time I get to the tube station where it meets up with the tube, the underground will be shut, so I will have to catch a night bus from X to Y. Not too bad I guess. Except that I never made it to X… or at least not directly. See the other complication was that that underground line I needed were closed for track works, and the replacement buses didn’t go (please, someone say it aint so!) to the exact stations the trains would have gone to. Luckily, no one seemed to know exactly how I could get to Kings Cross. Everyone had an opinion, and was “pretty sure” that if I were to “catch my bus three stops” … then turn around five times and say “there’s no place like home”, I might just end up there…
OK, so it wasn’t quite that bad, but it was close. Suffice to say I had to catch two trains, three buses, avoid talking to two drunk guys looking for fights, and rescue the princess from the fire breathing dragon before I got to my hostel. At almost 4am German time, 3am London time. With 7 hours before I had to check out and change hostels…
The next morning I got up and had a chat to the Aussie chicks in my room who I had hardly even noticed when I originally came in, from being so tired. One was there for six months. Looking for a job today and if she can’t find one, she’ll fly to Ireland tonight. Talk about living for the moment. But it sounded like a great plan (or lack thereof) to me.
I walked up the street ad checked into Ashlee House, had a shower, dropped my bags and went to get some food before my room was ready. Having been unsuccessful in reaching my mate Stephen (Tink) - I got his voice but he couldn’t hear me and the call now that I was roaming on my German mobile, was phenomenally priced - I made my way to the British Museum which I had missed last time around in London. The place is wild. It was described to me, I think by James, as “the best bits of the world which the Brits knocked off” many generations past, and it really is. But it makes for an amazing effect; you walk from one room to another and it’s like walking backwards or forwards through time. Here is the best part of little Roman temple which as been pulled apart and put back together on site. Turn the corner and you’re walking through the massive entrance gates to an Egyptian city (no kidding, 3 x 30 tonne statues which are so reminiscent of the gates which Atreyu passes through in the Never Ending Story, it’s freaky). Keep walking down there and you’re in ancient Sumaria. And a little further on, you’re in Grandma’s kitchen … the porcelain plates and bowls room.
I have to say, the actual British exhibits were probably the least interesting. If you take out how awe inspiring the 3000+ year old monuments are, one thing I really loved was the clocks rooms, because included in that room are all the mechanical toys which the elite had clock makers make for them ,just to show off. Like this little boat, about 2 ft long which was made in the 17th century. It would ‘drive’ down a table on little wheels, playing music with people moving about on the deck (all part of the mechanism) then reach the end of it’s journey and fire, in sequence, little finger-sized cannons all around the outside of it. Cool! Boys and there toys I guess.
Tink called me while I was trying to find the statue of a horse which my little digital audio guide was going on and on about, and which, should have been right where I was standing according to my reading of the map. It was in fact a little to my left, behind a big American man. He (Tink) told me that there was a bunch of stuff going on, and to meet him in a few hours.
I finished up my journey through history (in about 3 hours having seen most of the rooms, and at least walked by most of the 6 million exhibits in this awesome museum), and returned to Ashlee House to drop by bags. Bottom bunk; yay! Here’s a travel tip I picked up from a friend: when you have a bender, you can’t lie down because as soon as you close your eyes the world starts to spin and you feel like you are going to throw up that donner kebab you foolishly just ate. So you want the bottom bunk? Why? Well yes, it is easier to get to the bathroom but that’s not why. If you stick one leg out of the bend and plant to foot on the floor, you’ll often find it stops the world from spinning… or at least it turns into more of a rock than a spin. So I got my bottom bunk in anticipation of said bender.
Met up with Tink at the station. Actually, first I met a guy who looked a fair bit like Tink from a distance, who I waved at from across the street and proceeded to walk to. He watched me the whole time, and when I got there, shrugged and walked away 
Then I met the real Tink. We were en-route to Regent Park to attend this massive open-air concert thing, a lot like our Good Vibes, but free. It was put on by a juice company called Innocent Juices, who deserve this publicity at least, because the even t was great. But I’m getting ahead of myself. While you can drink there, lines are long, and we had just missed a bus, so I went to get myself something and made sure we missed two more.
We caught the “free” bus (seems no on pays in London, just like in Melbourne… foolish me had a day ticket) and then walked a bit to Regent Park while Tink told me about the state of the Flash and Flex industry now (it’s subsided a little but there’s still 1,000+ pounds a week in it for a pro) and his dreams to one day own a house on the side street which borders the park. Then we go there. The event was deep into the heart of the park, and very well obscured by the tree lines and things. One moment there were just a bunch of people, apparently walking from somewhere, then the next moment we were among thousands of people. Tens of thousands? Probably. It was probably smaller than the Robbie Williams concert, but not by much.
We met up with another guy, Rich, and a girl, Louise, and sat around talking about all sorts of stuff for an hour or so, with Tink egging me on to drink faster. So I did. It was about 5pm I guess, and warm. The other two were abstaining for today; smart move.
Since Kel wasn’t there, I can’t tell you who was playing (I just bop, he knows names) but there were two main stages; one under a big tent, the other in the open. The tent one was mainly techno and drum and bass when we arrived at about 4pm, and the other was Brazilian music. As the day wore on the D&B turned into kind of commercial, throwback House and the Brazilian stage became something… I’ll never know because Tink & I were in the House tent, drunk, and dancing along with about a thousand others. We were about the only guys with our tops on and it was about as humid in this tent with no sides, as it is walking down the street in Bangkok today, but it was still cool. The DJ got a little too into building people up by teasing with the crowd with mainly treble, and the crowd roared for bass, then exploded when they got it, but died down considerably after the initial hype. So he did it again, and again. It was working and people started to disperse a little.
We took this as a sign to move on. That and another call from Adam who we had been on our way to meet as we walked “past” (read ‘into’) the tent… No by this time I was drunk, and tired from my little sleep and long night the night before, but I swear the next leg of our journey was seriously 1.5 hours of travelling to go only a few KM. We stopped for a Shish Kebab (double meat and extra, full-sized, pickled chillies for me please) on the way, of course. Eventually we met Adam, and paif 5 pounds to get into this Dub-Bass place called Forward, over near the Angel Islington. Now Dub Bass is a little like Reggae, a little like grime. Imagine the slow, bopping beats of Reggae which occasionally, and sporadically jump to faster, electro sounding breaks, with very little lyrics over the top, in a really, really dark room, with 75% guys lurching about and 25% girls, lurching just as much, and you can probably imagine this place. That might make it sound bad, but it wasn’t at all. Except for the bar staff.
If there are several schools of though on bar tending, I think these people all studied at the “Maximum distance to beverage, minimum distance from register, school of un-efficient tending”, London. The policy was basically to ignore any sort of order in which people arrive at the bar, and focus your attention on walking as far as possible to find the alchohol which has been requested, bring it back to the customer, pouring there, then walking it back to where it came from. Taking the glass with you and puring there is SO old fashioned! The same policy was applied to payment. The cash register closest to the patron should be avoided at all costs. In fact, it should be put out of operation if at all possible. You must also deliver the change with a fully extended arm, while trying to remain as close to the register as possible, and then serve the person who is now standing farthest from the next person in line. I watched this for about 15 - 20 minutes when trying to get a bottle of water. I was away so long that Tink called me to ask if I’d left. The place wasn’t even full!
But it was a laugh, the whole night I mean, and that’s what counts. The music was well cool too. (Note use of two English expressions in two sentences.)
Hmm. Coming up on two hours. This cheap internet and lack of enough energy to out crawling the cheap night stalls is going to make this post a long one, I can feel it. Sorry in advance to those with short attention spans.
The next day I got up early. Ha! Yeah right. So I got up at about 10am to find my room empty again. The people who had been in bed when I got in, were gone and there were no signs they’d ever been. I took my sweet time to wake up and get ready. Then I made my way to the train station and bought me a return train ticket to Bath. Let me stop here to say “Damn!” London’s public transport is ludicrous. My super-econonmy, off peak ticket was about the same price as my flight from Berlin at lamost 50 pounds. Bath is under 2 hours away!
I bought some Maccas (it’s been 2 days since my last confession, father) and jumped my train at 12:30. While I’d been slow to start, you can’t actually travel until after about 10 on the cheaper ticket I got, and I had missed only one train, so I was happy with myself. The carriage I got on was a funny one. Maybe I don’t ride trains enough but I’m sure we don’t have “Quiet Carriages”. The rule here was basically no, or very soft talking, no mobiles. Boom boxes were also not allowed; good thing I left mine with my tear gas at the Robbie concert. Now quiet is a good concept to try and explain pictorially. You can have all the big red circles with lines through them, and pictures of mobiles, etc. You can have the picture of the word “Shhhhhhh!” with the H’s getting progressively smaller. But none of that accurately describes the concept.
I learned this first hand, as did the conductor, when large group of about 20 Indians, presumably on holiday, boarded the carriage, apparently having made a random selection which turned out to be the one quiet carriage in the whole train. Two spoke about three words of English; enough to be able to communicate, but in such a direct way that they came across really quite rude, without meaning to. When I learned German, “quite” and “silence” were not really high on the list of Vocabulary Builder exercises, and the same seemed true for these two. When the conductor came through one was shouting to the other down the other end of the carriage and some of the more business-like locals were getting a little hot under the collar. The conductor firmly but politely explained that this was the quiet carriage, and silence should be observed. I couldn’t have done it better myself. The one thing he did was was explain it in English. These guys clearly had no idea what he was talking about. As he gave his lecture, they showed their tickets… a few times, and said “I want to go to Bath please”, in a variety of ways. The conductor even tried the vertical finger on the lips sign for silence, but to no avail. In the end he gave up and moved on. It really was very funny.
I spent while thinking about the best way to explain silence with symbols as the train rocketed towards Bath. In the end, beyond what they had, I had the following concepts:
- Picture of stick figure, speaking bubble with BIG letters, in a red circle with a cross through it. No loud talking. Accompanied by a picture of the same guy speaking in small letters, with a tick. Quiet talking is OK.
- A bunch of vertical bars, like you get on the tele when you turn the volume up or down, and the same “this is good, this is bad” concept.
- Other ideas welcome.
This train seemed so much faster than the ICE trains between cities, but in fact I think it was just older so it shook more and gave the impression of speed. Nonetheless, we were there quite quickly. I spilt my water all over myself and went to the information counter to ask about return trips so I could plan my day. Only the second part was intended.
Oh, for those who don’t know, the purpose of the side trip to Bath was to visit Elly and Emily, two girls Kel and I met in Thailand and travelled with while here last year. Now, I’d been sending Elly text messages (conservatively, with what little remaining credit I had) the last two days and hadn’t heard back, but we had planned for me to come today. I thought I may have the country code wrong so I asked a local to check the number for me. He told me the number looked fine, but it wasn’t a mobile number; it was a land line. Then he told me the land line I had was a mobile. Go Jesse!
Next I fed a payphone an extortionist amount of money and called a very surprised Elly who said, since she hadn’t hear from me, she thought I wasn’t going to make it. But no sooner had she finished saying that than she was telling me to wait outside for her to pick me up. By the time she met me at the station 10 minutes later, our rendezvous with Mike (her b/f) and Emily was planned, and we drove for a bit to pick them up (Em actually lives in Bristol, nearby).
As much as I was IN Bath, I was really just there to see the girls, and they had their own plans already that day, so I was easy about what we did. So no, I didn’t end up going to the Roman Baths, but that was my call; they were very willing to show me about. Instead we made a compromise. We went 10 Pin bowling, which had originally been on the cards, and caught up. We then went for a look around the highlights of the city. While waiting for El, I’d picked up a brochure on the things to see, and I reckon we covered a lot of them just by driving about. We walked and talked, or drove and talked, and had a jolly good catch up. It was great to see them again after so long. They say hi and big love Kel, and I of course told them what you’ve been up to.
That night we went to a tradition (not a chain) pub for a pub meal. I had the steak. This whole ounces thing was too much hassle, so I just ordered the largest. It was about 400g and done very well. Then I had the Granny Apple Crumble, with custard. Oh damn it was SO good. Mike ordered the same, and when his came Elly pointed out he had to take some from each end of the plate because one end had all the caramel at it, and the other the crumble, under a stream of custard. I admitted to needing a woman by my side when eating desert; I’d been eating from the syrup end and thinking “Man, there’s no way I’m going to finish this!”
After dinner we went back and met Elly’s family, and saw her house. We killed some time, then took Em to the bus stop and me to the train station. A lovely day trip and I’m so glad I did it. Despite the brief rundown above, it was really nice to see them again, and to meet Mike. We’ve agreed to be less rubbish at staying in contact going forward (eh, eh, “rubbish”… am I sounding really English yet? )
That night I met a bunch of French people who had checked into my room. Nice people, though they spoke very little English, so our communication was limited. One of them struggled to apologize in advance that only half their party had arrived and the rest would be checking in at 2am. I said not to worry and was so tired I didn’t even stir. Until they got up at about 7am and proceeded to hold a quiet conference in the very small room, with the door open streaming in light and sounds from outside. Yeah, I’m a little lacking in sleep the last few days, that’s for sure.
I took my sweet time to get up and walked down to the laundrette. Now I have never seen this thing open, having now passed it about 10 times, at least of which were during it’s proported operating hours. This time I went up really close and inspected every sign in the window. Sure enough, to the left of the door there was a little notice saying that the property had been “peacefully repossesed” by the landlord. So I asked at the corner store where there was another and the lovely Irish lass told me there were two, both about as far away as each other. I set out for one. It really was a “set out” kind of thing. The bloody place was ages away but when I found it I set my stuff going and wanderred the local shopping place for food. 2.50 for some special fried rice with pork, chicken AND shrimps and I was all set to go back and talk to one of the girls doing her laundry at the same place. Now, as great a story teller as I am, this was only laundry, and I can only work with what I’m given, so let’s move quickly on… to… Shopping!
Today was my shopping day. I was going to Oxford Street just so I could say I’d been there. I also wasn’t able to. I mean, I made it to Oxford St at about lunch time, and in the throng of people, somehow ended walking down Regent instead. I knew it straight away, but it was equally big and impressive so I thought I’d give it a go.
There I found (Ashik) the biggest Apple Center in the world, which double as an Internet cafe. They had about 10 of each type of Apple computer (so 10 x 13″ lappies, 10 x 15″ lappies, 10 x 17″ lappies, etc) , all hooked up to the web and people just walk in off the street and use them. They also have, about 3 times a day, professional workshops on how to use various Apple products, presented in this little lecture theatre, etc. It’s a high class place. The dudes in there were really keen to talk to a nerd too, so I had a bit of a chat. The guy kept mentioning this rumor site which I should check out, and I realized, the next day, he was eluding to a product which was released that day. The new Macs. For technophiles reading: if you haven’t seen them, do so now. 2 x dual core 3Ghz. That’s 12Ghz my friends. And for anyone still desperately clutching to their Windows box; I have been reliably informed you can now run Windows and Mac OSX in parallel. And no, I don’t mean dual boot I mean both running at once, so you can press one button and toggle operating systems in real time. I can see Bill Gates crying in his bedroom right now. Sorry Bill, it’s time to say goodbye.
On my way back to Oxford St I meandered around a bunch of side streets with massive designer labels crammed into every corner. People are desperate for space in this, the buying capital of the country. There’s one, if not two, of every major company represented in this tiny little space. One thing that stands out are the smaller label stores with funny T-shirts, etc. Three of the best - and you may have had to see them - I saw that day were:
“I found Jesus” (picture of Jesus Standing in a living room) “He was behind the couch!”
(Picture of a Pinata) with the words “I’d hit that!”
(No picture) “I am a bomb technician. If you see me running, try to keep up.”
I went to Top Shop, H&M, Borders, Boss, Moss (mainly just stealing ideas for suits), H&M (there were 3!) and everything in between. I decided to give Starbucks a try, as I was hankering for a caramel coffee after this fantastic one F made in Berlin, and I needed to look for something to read on the plane. What I ended up with was a crap coffee substitute and no book. I actually read about 10 pages of about 10 books, from Chompsky to the next Dan Brown challenger (according to the Daily Mirror) and Rich Dad’s Guide to Educating Children. I wanted Woody Allen’s biography, or the original Rich Dad, Poor Dad title, but they had neither in stock, so I left and walked into…
Rush hour.
Now, having not been up before about 8am ever while in London, this was a just a phrase to me, which people talked about. When you’re in it, it takes on a whole new meaning. The city secreted people. They swarmed from buildings, from buses and cabs. They stormed out of alleys in their thousands and rose from subway stations whose entire existence was obscured by still more people milling, and not moving. The subway at Oxford Circus has about 10 entry/exit points and they become uni-directional with big signs say “entry only” or “exit only” and people standing there enforcing the same, as though the torrent of bodies coming the opposite direction wouldn’t stop you trying to enter through an exit.
Luckily for me, this was really just the end of rush hour. I struggled against the tide to get to the stream which was flowing to the Underground entry, then rode the current to my platform where people crammed onto already packed trains. It was at this time that I started to realize exactly how terrible an opportunity this situation proposes for terrorists, and associate a little more with the fear which I expressed I had observed some weeks back that lives in London and its inhabitants. I also had a change to experience possibly the largest range of body odors I’d ever care to sample in a short time, in an enclosed space. If I ever invent a method of public transport, I’m going to maximize the number of bars and poles that people can hold onto, at waist level or below and have nothing above shoulder height. It’s just a mistake!
I was on my way to meet Tink and Rich for dinner but first I checked my email for about the first time since my last post. I’ve been so busy resting and catching up I haven’t had time for the net and barely did this night either. I was mainly online to confirm arrangements and make sure all was quiet back home. Then I was on my way to Islington and waiting outside the agreed meeting point, trying to not attract the attention of the Unicef / Kids Help / Other Charity dudes lurking and asking for just two seconds of people’s time.
Rich and Tink showed up and we went for pre-dinner drinks. We talked about the new Macs, and Tink shoed the guy who popped up selling pirated DVDs before I’d even had a chance to look at his range. Then we went to Carluccios; the restaurant owned by the TV chef of the same name, (Antonio), who apart from being famous in his own right, taught our Jamie Oliver. All concepts of diet protection went out the window as I ordered mixed breads, olives and oil to start with, along with our first bottle of wine. And it was a great, great decision. We shared breads and marinated olives, then a large antipasto with artichokes, cured meats of all sorts, more olives, a compote of caramelized onions and figs, marinated peppers and much more. Then came the mains, and the second bottle of wine. I had the lamb cutlets. And for desert sir? Why, the lemon tart of course!
The night wore on and we talked about everything. Well, everything that three guys talk about after pre-drinks and a few bottles of wine. That is to say, women. And Flash of course.
We paid our thirty pounds per head (not too bad considering the quality of the food, service and the name), and made our way to a cocktail bar. Then we recalculated how many hours until they had to get up for work, and me my flight, left, and went to just a pub. Rich’s round. We talk Flash. My round, I spill half of Tink’s double and we talk all sorts of stuff. Then another kinda half round and we’re starting to run down. It’s home time anyway.
I don’t even know how I caught the night bus home; I was pretty wasted really. I do recall not only identifying my own stop, but also advising this other girl who the driver had clearly forgotten he was supposed to inform. Back in my room I was glad I’d had the foresight to clear my bed and pack my bag in preparation for tomorrow morning. I set three alarms, and fell asleep, one foot out of the bed, planted n the ground. Even the world rocking couldn’t keep me awake.
The next day I was up bright and early, packing my final few things in the dark, then making my way to Heathrow. I unpacked and repacked my bag entirely when I got to the airport just to make sure I hadn’t accidentally packed something stupid in my hand luggage or anything like that, especially before boarding a plane to Thailand. No emergency seats free but the next row, aisle was so I grabbed that. The most amazing discoveries I made at Heathrow were:
- There isn’t a McDonalds, Burger King of KFC anywhere. Incredible. Terminal 3, departures, is void of fast food outlets. I couldn’t believe it. I got a bacon, lettuce and tomato bagel instead because I was desperate to eat and really felt quite light headed.
- The terminal is so big the signs (conveniently located so that you only see them when you leave the lounging areas to walk to the gates) say you should allows 20 minutes (!!) walking time to reach the gate I was leaving from. Happy to say I did it in about half that
I grabbed myself a copy of Rich Dad, Poor Dad at the book shop before boarding. You know me, I don’t normally subscribe to such things, but the bit of reading I had done the previous day on this guy’s other work made me interested in hearing how he thought, and what the sensation was about Rich Dad. I also grabbed a copy of the Fin Review before finding my seat.
The flight was long and arduous. I planned it out well enough. Waited for food and surfed the in flight radio while I did. Found a relaxation channel (!) and listened for about 30 minutes. It made me so relaxed I was almost asleep, and aIl had to stay awake to try and negate the whole jet lag thing, so I read the Fin Review. I see Telstra’s pulling out on our whole broadband promise. Go team!
Then I started on Rich Dad. I don’t know how much of it is actually true, or just based on truth, but the thinking is right up my alley. In fact, I think I could have done with it six months ago, but I’ve reached many of the conclusions he’s discussing myself in the last little while. It’s a good read if nothing else. Don’t buy it; borrow mine when I get back.
My special meal was awesome. Some sort of yellow chicken curry. I ate that, then preempted the cabin lights dimming and tried to get some sleep. I got about 2 hours. When I woke I couldn’t sleep any more so I watched the remaining 90% of Mission Impossible 3. The next film to come on straight after was Inside Man, which I had recently seen the last 60% of on Hotel cable in Hamburg, so I watched the start again so I could say I’d seen the whole thing twice, then tried to get some more sleep. No luck. The rest of the flight was spent trying to sleep, or walking about, reading or listening to my iPod which died pretty quickly.
Got off the plane, and slowly, groggily found my way out of the airport. And so it began…
“Sir, sir.”
“Hello my friend”
“Mr. Excuse me sir. Taxi sir”
All different voices.
Hang on. I’ve been here before.
“Sir. Taxi sir? Where are you staying”. I tell him. “Only 700 Baht sir”. No thank you, that’s too much. “No sir, best price. Includes toll fare. Very good price”. No, it’s almost twice what I expect to pay. I was told less. “But since you were told, petrol going up and up.” I was told yesterday. Thank you my friend, but no. “You can try outside sir, but it will not be cheaper. Best price” Thank you.
Outside it was cheaper, though still more than I had been quoted, although marginally. I soon found out why. I think by some twist of fate Kel and I managed to avoid the manic traffic which Bangkok is famous for. The trip took and hour on the “express way”. Then I was upstairs, turning on my air condition, and out to the world. Three hours later I woke at about 1pm, and lay about in bed for an hour to the sound of a guy smashing up the tiles in the hallway, until he reached my room.
Next I called CT Chinese Tailor, and explained I wanted them to come and pick me up. It took a bit of explaining because this hotel I’m staying in isn’t one who usually sends them customers; I was calling for myself, rather than being referred for a kickback. Soon enough they were there though, about the same time the woman was telling me I should swap rooms because they needed to continue working on the hallway all day.
Another traffic jam, and me almost falling asleep in the back of the van. Singh isn’t in today, but Ram, my translator from last time is, and I’m dealing with his brother. My “handler” (not really the tailor, but the guy who makes the deals and speaks English), is Sam, who I met last time too. He asks what I paid last time. I tell him honestly. Then I tell him I expect to pay less this time. We don’t really bargain that hard. I had a figure in mind before I came, and I’m still jet lagged and tired. I also want good quality workmanship. An hour later it’s all done. Within a week I will have two new suits, tailor made to pictures I brought from Germany (Hugo Boss and Joop) with some changes as requested by me. Two tailor made, cashmere, silk lined suits with 2 pairs of pants each. About $320 a pop. Plus I’m getting some tailored shirts and they’ll throw a tie or two in; it’s the way of things. Better deal than last time, and I’m perfectly happy with it.
On the way back the traffic was worse than ever. One road. Four lanes going one way. We’re stationary for 20 minutes. Then the lane next to me all start reversing. We’ve been stationary so long that the lane has changed to a bus lane, going in the opposite direction. Only in Thailand! We get up speed again and the driver goes straight past my street which turns out to be blocked off for no apparent reason. I hope out and walk back in the rain. Oh yeah, did I mention; it’s raining here. Getting out of the airport I felt like I’d been attacked by a group of guys with hot, wet towels, who smothered me completely. Back at the Guest House I have to change rooms. The first they give me is fine, but the toilet is broken. The second isn’t even locked, hasn’t been cleaned and is missing half the floor tiles. Behind door number three is a room almost exactly like my first. I crash on the bed for a bit. Stupid jet lag.
At about 6pm I make my way up and eat two dinners; one chicken stir fry, one pad-Thai. The waiter at the restaurant is not Thai. Not so uncommon in Thailand but he’s not Indian or Nepalese either. He seems almost mid-European, sounds French, and is about 18. He’s keen on the girl who seems to be the daughter of one of the ladies in the kitchen. She seems pretty keen on him too. They eat together while I read my Fin Review and finish my second meal. The whopping total for my massive meal is under $3.50. Keep the change.
I decide to do some net before I pass out. I ask downstairs and they direct me to the closets place. I picked this Guesthouse because it was close to the major night shopping strip, but I’m not going to have the energy tonight. I have no idea where I am. It’s all very unfamiliar. I walk one block towards the Internet place and all of a sudden I know exactly where I am. There’s New World, where me and Kel stayed. The Internet place is the same place we always found ourselves at 18 months ago, and this computer, is the exact same I used at least once then. It really feels like I have come full circle.
Today has been a really weird day; too many hours, tiredness and foreigness yet familiarity, friendliness yet shifty-ness, all combined in Thailand. The title of this post was going to be tied into the familiarity of the people trying to hustle you at the airport. The familiarity of the tailor shop, and the whole process. The fact that I’m at the same Internet cafe, 18 months on, but somehow at the end of a trip rather than the start. I’ve felt very lonely today, mainly because I’ve been very tired I think. The weather isn’t great and I’m honestly wondering whether I should bother with my trip to the coast. My flight leaves tomorrow but I’ll check the weather forecast online now before I decide if I’ll go.
I have really enjoyed recounting the above, so I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it. I’m pretty damn tired now though, and should get going so I have time to do those other things before this place shuts. It’s somehow midnight and I’ve been here for almost 4 hours! If I don’t go to the coast, I won’t be spending as many days in Thailand; I’ll come home a day or two early. We should all know by tomorrow, but unless I say otherwise, I’m going to Koh Samui tomorrow as planned.
Things are good, and I’m almost ready to come home; even if it’s only for six months before setting off again.
Love you all, oxoxo j
