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Published: February 26th 2013
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‘You ready?’ Pi Ying enquired as I sat, sweating and listening to the drilling sounds echoing around the tattoo shop. I looked down at the stencil on my leg; Ben had done a good job in drawing out the larger design of the Celtic gecko with its tail flicking up and around my shin. I had spent a good few nights thinking over whether I really wanted this good luck symbol inked onto my leg. I thought about looking at it in years to come, perhaps regretting my decision. Yet in all honesty it wasn’t the traditional meanings of good luck and regrowth that made me want to get it done. Simply, it would serve as a reminder of our house in Muang Samsip and the geckos who live on my windowsill. At night I hear them scuttling across the mozzy mesh, picking off the insects. My mind was set and, a Killers and Cat Empire album later, it was finished. Very happy and slightly surprised at how little it now hurt, I set off with Ben, Claire and Robyn for Bangkok.
Awaking at 10am I realised two things. That since getting my tattoo on Friday to this hung-over Sunday
morning in Bangkok, I had lost and spent the contents of my wallet. The second was the loss of my voice making it impossible to call my bank. Both losses carry the trademarks of a goodnight out, (certainly for the lucky bugger who I tipped a thousand baht for a shoulder massage), yet it left me in a bad position for the coming week in Nakhon Sawan. How could I help Holly and Beth’s English Camp with no voice? In fact how could I do anything that cost more than 40baht?
Thankfully Claire was on hand to provide me with loans and my voice returned in time for the monk camp. The day started with a treasure hunt where each group of monks, with self-elected names like Cupid and Indie Classic, ran around looking for items and volunteers, (one being a panda/Ben in a panda hat). Afterwards, Ben and I were put in charge of teaching taste by blindfolding monks and feeding them spoonfuls of coffee, mentos, lemon juice, crisps, and chilli powder. By the end of the day I concluded it probably wasn’t good Karma feeding monks large amounts of chilli powder. One monk, on accidentally snorting some
blew the rest into my eye. The portions went down after that. The last group game became the longest game of Cat and Mouse I have ever played. As the cat I was repeatedly outmanoeuvred by an agile novice monk half my size. He nimbly sprinted and sidestepped from all attempts to catch him with the help of his impassable brothers. By the end I had sweat running down my face, a broken watch strap and an idea of whether monks could enter Olympic events.
Afterwards we were taken up to a monetary overlooking Nakhon Sawan. The city stretched across the basin of the valley where humidity reaches 95% and temperatures average 38. Between the patchwork of paddy fields I noticed holes had been dug into the hillside like streets of hobbit holes. Beth told me that wealthy and deceased Chinese, not hairy midgets, dwelt in them for this was a Chinese graveyard.
From the dead to the living, we re-entered the city with guides from a local secondary school who led us to where the parade for Chinese New Year was taking place. Colourful dragons leapt down the streets alongside dancers dressed in red and gold to
the sound of marching bands banging on drums and cymbals. As night drew in, brightly lit floats drifted by with girls in patterned silk swaying softly to the oriental sounds. The last to wind its way down the street was a 22 foot long dragon, glowing with green, blue and white LED lights from head to tail and supported by men leaping high in the air to bring it to life. It stopped at each business to bring them good luck in the coming year and disappeared round the corner amidst the crowds and exploding firecrackers.
The next night was spent walking with the masses through the Chinese market. Under a canopy of glowing lanterns we shuffled along like a slow moving river of people, only parting at where a one-legged beggar lay strewn on the floor. The crowd walked by, unmoving. We stopped at a stage to watch a Chinese play. Like a Chinese version of Jeremy Kyle the woman, heavily made up and wearing a silk gown, wailed whilst a bearded man give her disappointing looks. Bored, Ben, Charlie myself and Jane entered an alley where people were so packed together, you could easily of crowd surfed
a kilometre to the end. Incense wafted in from prayer houses full of those making merit, lacing the air with a sweet-smelling fog. Groups massed around market stalls selling everything from freshly squeezed orange juice to fried insects as big as your hand. Eventually we weaved our way to the end, passing a dark corner from where a one-eyed man played a Chinese violin. His hat chinked with dropping coins as he filled the night with his sorrowful tune. Although the beggar I saw earlier was assuredly in a bad state, compared with the busker I understood why the crowds paid the man little heed. No matter what your disability or situation, making the most of it is what counts and surely a man has more talents than avoiding getting trod on.
Our last full day was spent at the Tessaban School helping at another English Camp. Afterwards, Claire and I went out for a Korean BBQ where we were the only diners except for staff hurrying through bowls of cow Phad (egg-fried rice) and watching Maui Thai on the TV. Through several courses of self-cooked meats, noodles and bowls of ice-creams, the tables around us filled with couples.
We departed with heart-shaped sweets given by a waitress to walk around Nakhon Sawan’s central park. We watched the last of the fireworks light up the sky and mirrored across the shimmering gloom of the vast lake. It was the end of Chinese New Year and our time in Nakhon Sawan, yet I dare say it won’t be the last time we see this city again.
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