Thailand - Back to Bangkok

Laurie Weed's Portfolio Travel Writing Asia Blog Index

Asia Update 8: Thailand - Back to Bangkok

November 2002

After 24 hours of transcontinental economy travel, twelve dollars seems like a reasonable price to avoid the unruly, simian mob of transport drivers outside the airport. They press up against the glass walls like a horde of gaping, howling banshees in a bad dream. I splurge on an “official” Bangkok airport cab without further hesitation. Using the luggage cart as a bulldozer, my driver plows a path through the steaming gauntlet of bodies and we roar off into a blind sandstorm of smog.

Our destination is a budget hotel on Khao San Road – Craig’s idea, not mine. Although I gained a level of appreciation for Bangkok’s infamous backpacker slum on my last visit, I would never sleep there of my own volition. However, Craig is meeting me at this place in two days, and the obscene amount of luggage I am hauling (for HIM, naturally,) prohibits shopping around for accommodations.

The “D&D Inn” meets all my expectations: the ubiquitous, multi-story concrete building is neither charming nor efficient; the staff is rude; the noise level is astounding and the room is far from clean. I want to flee immediately, but as there are no Sherpas in sight, I check in -- resolving to stash the luggage and track down more suitable lodgings as soon as possible. I consult the guidebook, ring the front desk and politely request an outside line.

“Phone broken!” is the curt reply, followed by a dismissive click. I then hike up six flights of stairs to see the rooftop pool, ostensibly the reason we have chosen this jewel as a rendezvous spot. The haze outside is suffocating and the roof is coated in a thick layer of soot. Blinking painfully, I feel my way towards the pool area where a beady-eyed, scowling woman accosts me, demanding my pool ticket. The ticket is downstairs in my room and from the overwhelming chemical odor, I presume the pool is not worth another trip.

Annoyed and increasingly delirious, I stumble out of the hotel through the mayhem on the street and hail a taxi, intent on a rejuvenating massage at the Wat Po Traditional Massage School – one of my favorite $2 treats. Unfortunately, the restorative rubbing deludes me into thinking I am lucid enough to hotel-shop. Flagging down a driver (and flaunting my Asian Transport Curse,) I show him an address in the unfamiliar Silom area, all the way across town through rush hour traffic.

For the next hour, I endure a polluted, Third World version of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride through the clogged intestines of the city -- fending off the cartoonish, amorous advances of the driver all the way. When I tire of his mooning and futile circling, I try scouting the hotel on foot… but the place no longer exists. Waving down another driver, I entrust him to return me, defeated, to Khao San Road. Trapped in the dismal room, my only solace is that I carry my own clean towels and sheets. I start to cry and then pass out cold for 14 hours, oblivious to the hammering and sawing beneath my head. No matter where I go in Asia, the room below mine is always under construction.

A day later, I accidentally discover a pleasant guesthouse on the outskirts of Banglamphu, via yet another unexpected taxi detour. I follow a smiling Thai woman up the narrow teak staircase, where my spotless room awaits. This neighborhood is a bit far from the action, which is just fine with me. I am thrilled that $10 a night can buy soft lighting, a private shower and immaculate starched linens embroidered with elephants. My standards of basic comfort were not going to be met on Khao San; taste is a curse, really. In my new abode, the carefully placed pots of bamboo, brilliant lavender sprays of orchids and slightly crooked, handmade tile mosaics begin to remind me why I ever liked this country.

Last night’s storm has washed the streets, cooled the sky, and cleansed my psyche of the unpleasant D&D residue. Alone in the open-air cafe, I sip coffee and watch my new corner of Bangkok awaken. An elderly monk in Bermuda-bright, tangerine robes ambles off to the neighborhood wat, clutching his bowl and whistling. Sweet aromas of spice and ripe tropical fruits ripple through the air. Tinkling bells announce the arrival of vendors' handcarts, setting up shop for the day. No one seems in a particular hurry; no one appears troubled or stressed. The rising humidity has already made me languid. Serenity soaks in, dispelling the remains of my jarring re-entry to Asia.

Moments later, the entire building starts to bounce like a carnival funhouse as a jackhammer sprays wave after wave of grit directly into the cafe. Taxis and tuk-tuks start hurtling by, honking and screeching. The dissonant symphony chases me back to my room, where I find the water supply turned off because the room beneath mine is, (of course,) under construction. Workers troop past me armed with power tools. My peaceful reverie is officially over, or as they say in Thailand, “Mai pen rai”...never mind.

We discovered the hard way (pick ANY episode from Vietnam as a reference,) that I am not equipped for overland travel in the Third World, so we arrange to fly from Bangkok to Laos. Why Laos? Well, Craig enticed me with a story – a mystery, really. He spent the past month there, working on a secret project. Yes, working...and no, it doesn’t involve twirling glowsticks at a Night Circus. The first night in Bangkok, he divulges the fascinating tale, which compels him to labor long hours without pay in the lovely but far-flung village of Luang Prabang. This story has it all: passion, intrigue, suspense, conspiracy, money, integrity, fulfillment of dreams and of course, Kismet. Needless to say, we are off to Laos.