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Published: January 12th 2006
Our plane touches down at 10.27pm and we are through customs and on our way into big, beautiful Bangkok by 10.42pm. We had heard of a little known but, apparently, very authentic area in which to stay. The old Thai shaman who imparted the information was anxious that we would never share the location of this magical spot with anyone. I think there may have even been a curse involved as he handed me the ancient parchment on which the address was written. Opening it carefully - fearful that it might disintegrate at any moment - I gazed on the barely decipherable script. "Khoa San Road", it read, and we head there immediately. We dump our bags at the Royal Hotel - possibly one of the King's old palaces - and venture down the mysterious Khoa San. Ah, here was a truly beautiful and tranquil place place untouched by Western ideas or values. So much so that we don't know what to do first; get a bad, cheap tattoo, hire out a bad, cheap hooker, buy some bad, cheap drugs or go to a bad, cheap nightclub. In the end we opt for a bar on a quieter side street and
let our weary bodies fall through an ocean of Singha beer.
We are up bright and early the next day so we can enjoy the all-you-can-eat buffet breakfast at the Royal. Many hours and many plates of food later we head down to the river to catch the ferry. What's this! A walkway has been built beside the river leading to a new bridge. This needs a standard Buster exploration. We walk and get lost in the thousands of tiny side streets that flank the river but, amazingly, find our way out and cross the bridge. It's hot, damned hot and we don't have hats due to a failure of Joe's haggling skills that very morning.
A carnival atmosphere pervades the dragon boat races taking place on the other side of the river. Naturally we are the only Westerners present but our vast experience of other lands and other cultures means we fit in like a head into a glove. A couple of hours of watching the boats and we are queasy, headachy, burnt and loose in the bowels due to heatstroke. We make our way back to Khoa San where I successfully negotiate a couple of hats
at a "locals" price. Does Wilson thank me? No. He wants a 60/40 price split just because I've got a cool cowboy hat and he now looks like the Thai Gilligan. He will plague me with this for the rest of the tour. Have a beer and a meal and then head back to the hotel for a swim.
A couple of hours later we go for another wander and find a nice shady courtyard restaurant. We enjoy another meal and a few more beers but are attacked terribly by the mozzies. Luckily my insect repellent is back in our hotel room and Joe's is back in Uki. In a nearby park the sky is full of kites and we mosey over to check it out. The setting sun is going down behind the temple spires and a we are both overcome with the need to fly. We buy the largest kite available from a street vendor and spend a very happy couple of hours getting in other people's way, entangling strings, scaring children and divebombing unsuspecting couples as we try to fly the bastard.
It's dark now and we walk down to The Tonpha, my favourite restaurant
on the river. It is virtually empty and we get a table right on the river's edge. The gay waiter recommends a pile of food to which we say "bring it on" and he does. There's a whole grilled snapper, chicken green curry, chicken in pandanus leaves, etc, etc, etc. The Singha flows like, well, thai beer and we toast this wonderful country, these wonderful people, our wonderful selves and our wonderful families. We roll out of the Tonpha late, late, late stuffed with beer, food and bonhomie. Our plane leaves at 7.10 the next morning and we organise a wake up call for 5.15am. Tomorrow we meet Tez in Phnom Penh and the Buster triumvirate will be complete. Thanks Thailand, it's been great. All the best.
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BC G7(prov.) D (Bondi division)
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let's go fly a kit
A vast improvement on the slow moving (yet so exhaustive) last blog entry. At this rate the blog will end in 2012, far ahead of expectations (2085). GReat to see that Singha have coughed up the cash to sponsor the trip. And great to see the G1s really busting out. IN spirit, I'm spending the week at a Bondi backpackers as I write. SO far an Englishman has pissed out the window right next to my head at 4am, various Canadian girls in my room (yes, you read it correctly - 8 bed mixed dorm) have had sexual congress with men they have smuggled in, I have inhaled more (secondhand) marijuana smoke in four days than I have in my entire life, and I narrowly avoided being attacked with a beer bottle by an alcoholic Scotsman at 3:30 this morning. Why on earth did we stop staying in hostels? This is the life! Read all about it in Sunday Life soon.