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Published: August 8th 2007
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Tints of Blue
Bus to Loei...Get on from the left... The shiny new split-level bus’ interior is trimmed in bright purple, yellow, and red. Everything is new. The seats recline and kick forward when the lever is pulled. No streaks hinder the view out the window. I have more legroom than on a Southwest flight and a movie (in Thai) to keep me entertained if needed. Yet, the activity outside on platform sixteen and beyond is an affront to the eyes and especially the lungs. Khon Kaen’s man bus terminal is like any other in the Third World. In spite of custodial staff that mops the patched floor and even under the wooden benches, the stench of the diesel fumes is inescapable and vomit-inducing. I gagged when I accidentally walked into a charcoal pall of hot particles. Food and ticket vendors dawn rags over their mouths and noses or keep a supply of surgical masks ready. The fumes deposit soot everywhere, including on the convenience food stalls, food stands, and groggy passengers. What about the food they sell to the public? It is a scenario I have come to accept and can do little about; but I am puzzled why Thais, certainly having reached an adequate level of education, would work
under conditions that will most certainly bring on catastrophic health issues.
I open the vent and the cool air dries my cleanly shaven crown. I take comfort and shelter in my cocoon on four-wheels.
Thailand’s rail is system is rather incomplete and makes it necessary for bus travel. Intercity bus travel, similar to trains, provides time to entertain random thoughts. Peasants bend forward to bind green shoots in rice paddies when it occurs to me what the ideal job in Thailand would be. My mother always said she’d want to corner the market on a light bulb replacement service. I, on the other hand, have decided I want a monopoly, or a cut of, all sales of air filters for motor vehicles in Thailand. I could retire on my commission after three weeks.
At a junction town before heading north, school girls rushed to the bus when they saw my face through the window to wave hello. I returned the wave in kind and we parted cordially among smiles without the discomfort of trying to communicate with each other. They were no older than fifteen or sixteen; only blew me a kiss goodbye. I did the same, thinking that
Also on the Move
Going home? Or to a new wat? could probably get me arrested back home. My memory jumped back to last night to how an ordinary conversation with a Frenchman turned into a tirade about my president. How he could go from living in Khon Kaen to his disdain for George Bush in a matter of three chess moves was simply sensational.
Then, I set him straight. Critiques of my country only go so far when no one offers any solutions.
A ten-year-old boy named Lapoom has taken enormous interest in my notebook and maps. But when I try to show him what I am doing, he curls up into a ball of timidity and tries to pretend he is not there. When we arrive at Loei, I nudge him awake and he races out to unite with is family.
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