Lofbomm.com

 

Thailand feels good. Immediately the airport felt like a sigh. It was clean, wide open with vaulted draping ceilings high above. Spindly Thai Buddhas greeted us, monks boarding planes. Colorful panels of abstracted traditional Thai art led us to the baggage conveyor. Real potted orchids encircling the conveyor told me that Thailand was happy to see me.

Skirting the desparate taxi drivers, we found a cheap, easy bus that would take usto Hao San Road, backpacker heaven. For the ride, we bought a snack of dried tropical fruit– mango, pineapple and papaya. Adam rightly observed, “This tastes like sunshine.” We watched Bangkok, met Thailand through the bis window as we rolled by. It looked a lot like Southern California and Mexico to me. It felt good. There were beautiful parks of palm trees, shanties of corrugated metal upon corrugated metal, markets whose smells could almost penetrate the bus. And the king… Long Live the King, on billboards, banners, buildings, signs emblazoned with the red and gold slogan. The king, looking awfully stoic to be the beloved patriarch of “the land of smiles.”

We arrived at Khao San Road early in the afternoon. The stands and backpackers were plentiful but nothing too extraordinary. Adam said, “wait until tonight.” As though he knew, Adam turned down an alley to the Sambara guest house we had reserved for the night. Surrounded by noise, bustle and decay, the Sambara courtyard felt cozy, quiet, safe, hung low by palm trees, built around with dark wood, made sacred by a tinkling fountain and lazy goldfish bigger than the prowling stray cats. We took off our shoes.

“Sawadeekap,” the gentle young man at the desk greeted us. We noticed a chart with bus/ferry fares to various islands, and we asked his opinion for our week ahead. Our only priority for the day was to book our travel to the island the next day, and it couldn’t have been easier. He convinced us that our week would be better spent on the island of Kho Pha Ngan as opposed to Kho Chang as we had planned. In 2002, Adam spent a few cloudy days in a hut on Kho Chang and wanted to share the experience with me, but our host friend sold us on more beautiful beaches and views as well as a more interesting nightlife. He would have someone pick us up right there the next evening to take us to the island. Great!

Now, we had 24 hours to burn in Bangkok. We ventured out into the multiplying throngs of vendors, travelers, hippies, beach bums, lady-boys, pot-heads, Swedes, Germans, Israelis, Brits, Thais, and Americans (though none confessing to be so). We perused stands and shops selling sarongs, lighters, pad thai, fisherman pants, hippy bags, dred lock extensions, bootleg music, everything. We agreed not to buy anything on our first night.

The wind had picked up, and as we reachedthe end of the street, it began to rain. To the left was a posh hotel restaurant with fountains and covered dining. To get out of the rain, we decided to splurge on an “expensive” Thai meal that cost us the equivalent of $10 American. Wow. Adam pointed out one of the servers who was a “lady-boy”. That is what Thais call transgender guys. Transgender people aren’t uncommon in Thailand. Adam and I guess that it is because Thai people are somewhat androgenous naturally. Theirs is the only language we’re aware of that modifies word endings based on the speaker’s gender. If not for androgeny, why else would a language be built to always say, “Hello, I’m a woman– Sawadeekaa,” or “Thank you, I’m a man– kapkunkap“?

Bellies full, rain subsided, Thai peculiarities solved, we ventured out again. Each road led into another interesting alleyway to another crowded alley to another busy street. We found ourselves on a main street with police patrolling every 20 meters. At first, we thought they were just helping with traffic until an eerie stillness had fallen. One side of traffic had frozen still, and the lanes closer to us had been completely cleared. People lining the curb were not waiting for a bus but for some kind of parade. We asked a foreign couple, and they said the king was going to pass by. We ducked into the 7-11 for some cold drinks, and we almost missed the monarchal motorcade passing as we emerged from the store. A few black Mercedes Benzes swept by flanked by motorcycles with flashing lights, and then traffic resumed as before. Long live the king.

The sticky heat was almost unbaerable, and Adam and I cursed our thick curly hair. He spotted a barber shop advertising 100 Baht haircuts, and there was no question. As Adam shed his shag, I flipped through a magazine and found my perfect summer haircut, a good 5 or so inches shorter, nice and layered. I took the chair, and the lady went to town, laughing at Adam as he crooned about his new girlfriend. My hair fell like molted feathers. I was a new woman. No longer yanking, twisting, pulling, clipping it out of the way, this hair could just be. Wonderful. We meandered through the sticky hoards of backpackers with a new spring in our step.

Next stop, the Hippy Hi bar for smoothies. Like a girl, I cried to Adam, mourning the loss of my long hair and therefore my feminitity. (The heat and exhaustion from a long day in a new city may have had something to do with my tears as well– just maybe.) Adam assured me again that he loved me and found me moderately attractive, and back at the guest house, under the ceiling fan, accompanied by the song of stray cats outside, he showed me that he meant it.

-Jessica

more soon…