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Published: November 21st 2008
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When you get off a tuk-tuk at the bus station in Thailand, you never have to worry about knowing where you’re going. People descend upon you like hoards of mosquitoes out of the open air transport market: “Where you going?” “Where you go?” They will urgently usher you into a line, which, indeed sells tickets for where you need to go. The catch is there are usually at least four other companies operating out of the same bus station that also offer tickets to your preferred destination. People are paid to scoop up overwhelmed tourists like stunned frogs and toss them to whichever vendor happens to be paying them that day. Bedraggled, exhausted and overstimulated, we generally help earn them a pretty painless commission. We are however, slowly getting savvier. Our friend Eddie, from Pakistan, laughed at us recently: “You Americans are always so apologetic! So shy about discussing money! We Asians deal with money first, everything else afterward.” We conceded to letting ourselves be manhandled for awhile—this way we’d have a broad understanding of our options. So far, it seems that the cheapest rides are the ones we have enjoyed the most. After our first bus ride (see November 7th entry) on a government bus for 200 baht for six hours, we were feeling pretty spoiled. On our way back up to Bangkok en route to Ayutthaya, we sprung for a private tour company. They charged 50 baht more, and we got essentially the same service, plus little strawberry shortbread cookies and plastic cups with lots of ice and a little bit of Coke. Later on, we were ushered even more hurriedly onto a bus with unhinged seats and no shocks. On that ride, we stopped every hour so the driver could pour big bottles of water over the engine so it didn’t overheat. Anyhow, we’re learning. As is often true, the more desperate someone seems to sell you something, the more wary one should be. It’s okay to say no, and even though it pains us country folk to do so, ignoring someone means you’re not interested, and responding in any way means you could still be swayed.
Our trip from Bangkok to Ayutthaya was under two hours, so we opted for third class, which is what most Thais take. Our two hour journey cost us a measly 15 baht each! The pastry I desperately grabbed from the overpriced corporate kiosk on the way out cost more! We stepped off the platform and onto the Darjeeling Limited. The cars’ wooden interiors are washed Gauguin yellow, and the wide windows yawn open like relaxed kittens. Our car wheezes past Bangkok’s outer slums. People’s homes, shops, and kiosks run right up to the tracks, and people carry on their laundry, bartering, and grilling as if the train were not screeching by. The Chao Phraya River narrows to a garbage-choked capillary in this area, yet it is still possible to see how beautiful the riverbanks must have been before the petroleum deposits proliferated so. The vined trees arabesque in graceful arches over the water, and kids with shorn heads and bright eyes chase each other along the banks. There aren’t very many people on the train tonight. A few couples quietly rib each other in their respective benches. Across the aisle, an older Asian man clothed entirely in loose white linen studies an arcane religious text, illustrated with various Hindu deities. His head to toe tattoos, dreadlocks, and wispy beard distinguishes him from typical Thai monks, yet he certainly carries some air of quiet benevolence and mysticism about him. Dusk gives us less to see, but the further we get out of Bangkok, the more the air opens up, sweet and cool. As the light fades, we have room to spread, feet on the benches, elbows out the windows.
This is not the case in 2nd class travel. For our five hour voyage from Ayutthaya to Sukhothai , we followed the Rough Guide recommended course and sprang for second class. For 430 baht, we got cramped leatherette seats, a lukewarm of rice, and murky windows, through which we could hardly see the countryside. What’s worse, we couldn’t open the windows, since we were paying for forgettably tepid A/C. We had been told time and again that Western butts would go numb after two hours in third class, but we far preferred our experience there.
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