You know that box? The one you keep under the bed, in the back of the closet, up on the shelf, wherever? The one with all the stuff you would have thrown out, but for some reason you haven't. For some reason you think "Hey, I might need this some day, and on that day, should I not have this, the loss will be overwhelming and I will surely suffer in agony for the want of this grocery receipt for 2002."
Yeah, that box.
Well I decided to empty mine out. Here.
First Day in Thailand - Diary Entry - 11 December, 2002
(NOTES FROM THE FLIGHT)
Another window seat on another 747 and my 30 minutes in Japan are up. Long enough to meet a few of the fabled vending machines, send a free email and marvel at the cleanliness of it all. Even the tarmac is spotless. The concrete which serves as a parking spot for dozens of planes every day looks as though it could have been poured fresh this morning. There was a neat little recycling machine by the gate. You open a little door, drop in your bottle or can and it is crushed into a convenient size.
(FIRST DAY)
First morning in Bangkok and I've already changed lodgings. The Buddy Lodge was wonderful and perfectly located, though a tad pricey at 30 bucks a night (1,350 baht). By 10:30 am I'd had breakfast, gotten momentarily lost, and re-established my room at a new location. The Peachy Guest House. I took a dingy double room for five bucks (200 baht), splurging for A/C. The room is roughly 10 foot by 10 foot with a double "bed" (2 inches of ancient mattress, possibly held together by dust mites laid out on a plywood frame), a wooden desk, a plastic chair and a large, free-standing closet. The floor is wood and the walls are thin.
The locks on both the door and windows show signs of numerous (attempted?) break-ins. I've locked my pack but there's nothing to chain it to. I suppose I'll have some anxiety about this later but what's done is done. 200 B. is paid and now I know better what to look out for in the future.
When I arrived a woman was cleaning the room. The 'fresh' linens still have hairs clinging to them.
Overall, I'm happy with this sad excuse for a guest house. It could be worse, but not by much. Nevertheless it gives me a thrill. This is the adventuring I was out for, distracting tensions to keep me from thinking about 'real' life.
Even though it's not yet noon, I'm going to take a nap. My body feels like it's late in the day thanks no doubt to the demolition project which started outside my 'fancy' hotel room this morning at 7:00 am. I took a picture of it. A dozen men tearing down a building by hand. Using hammers to crush cement into a portable rubble. All just outside my window.
Come to think of it, I should have brought this to the attention of the front desk, but in a way I was thankful to have the day started early. Despite fancy amenities I was tense about being at such a relatively expensive hotel. It didn't seem to be real, traveling to the other side of the planet only to find Monday Night Football and MTV on my digital television wasn't like traveling at all.
- Failed at napping. Too excited I suppose by the myriad of possibilities outside the air-conditioned room and stale quiet hallway.
Taking foot like a mad Englishman I wandered in the sunny haze, only vaguely aware of directions and destinations. First I stumbled upon a park in the midst of preparation for some local carnival. I strolled confidently (the only safe way to stroll according to my handy guide book) through stalls of Phat Thai vendors, palm readers and knick knack sales people. To avoid the midday sun I took my time passing through the sandal and t-shirt tents.
As I walked down the broad pathway that demarcated the far side of the park I steeled my will, so as to enjoy and not flinch at the endless stream of pigeons which rocketed at me with wild abandon. Truth be told I did flinch once or twice but the winged rats never did fail to veer off, albeit sometimes at the last possible second. Soon I was at their source, an immense pool of pigeons milling about, and as I soon discovered, with good reason.
A kindly Thai gentleman in his 50s approached me with a wide open smile for which these people are well known. He thrust into my hand three bags of what appeared to be a mixture of corn and birdfeed.
"Good luck for you." he promised falsely, providing the proper example by emptying one of his own bags onto the ground by flicking his wrist up and out. Transfixed and gullible I did the same and soon we were both up to our ankles in black and grey feathered terrorists. I was emptying my second bag when the 'crew' closed in. A young man approached and from another direction so did a woman. My 'good luck' promising friend faded into the background as the younger fellow generously poured whole bags of bird bait into my foolishly available palms.
Finally logic snapped in as the whole family moved in uncomfortably close. Panicked, I looked around for an escape route but as we were now swamped by a sea of tightly packed and voraciously feeding sky rats there was no where to step quickly - the perfect Buddhist con.
It was at this point that momma-san started demanding money - she quickly counted a handful of empty birdfeed bags - "Seven" she announced "One hundred and fifty baht!"
It was at that point I became accutely aware of the location of my wallet, cursing myself for not segregating a variety of cash in various locations. I hurridely scraped a 5 baht coin from my hidden pocket.
"Paper money! Paper money!" the whole crew demanded.
I was nervous at this point and was walking off quickly in a random direction. Un-karmically brushing legions of pigeons aside with each step. Pressured, I groped into my wallet, pawing for a 20 baht note while trying to maintain a sang froid attitude which was now just a futile front. They were all around me. My senses were on alert. Would I feel someone behind me, reaching into my backpack? Could that slimy looking guy 10 meters away see my wallet?
The slimy guy started in our direction, most definately heading toward me, most definately aware of the location of my wallet.
Flustered I yanked a 20 baht note. As fate would have it, the thin pale note ripped cleanly down the middle.
This is not good.
Thai money, all Thai money bears the portrait of the beloved Thai king. As such the money has the same symbolic value as the American flag to us Yankees. You're not supposed to drop Thai money on ther ground, much less rip it asunder.
Upon noting my faux pas my hardened conmen assailants gasped audibly.
I thrust the wounded bill toward the flustered Thai conmen - the slimy guy was closing rapidly and I was anxious to head in the opposite direction. At first the young man acted as if I was offering him a bloodied knife, but sensing the finality of my offer he took it.
Free from my unsolicited birdfeed obligations I bolted toward the nearest busy intersection. I quickly crossed a sea of tuk-tuks and taxi cabs while the slimy guy, now with a companion, called after me, "Hey Mister, Mister!"
Safely across the street, I sped up to walk as close as I could to a group of other farang. Something I did for the rest of the afternoon.
