Wednesday, February 04, 2004
A PAGE FROM DUSTIN PART iii - SUKHOTHAI, THAILAND
The Bus to Sukhothai
Six-hour bus ride to Phitsanulok, just outside of Sukhothai. It's the most aggravating ride of my life. The bus is horribly bouncy; we can't read or write and we're forced to snack and listen to music. I watch the countryside fly by outside. We rumble across low plains filled with dried-up rice patties and shantytowns. Corrugated steel and bamboo are the building materials of choice. Most of the steel is either streaked with rust or rusted through. There is enough trash on the roadside that if somebody told me it grew there I'd believe them. Our bus travels down progressively narrower and narrower roads. Our bus squeezes through several small towns, smaller clones of Bangkok: Low two or three-story buildings squatting on small shops, restaurants and 7/11s.
We arrive in Sukhothai at sunset. We are greeted by a guy named Suda. He's about our age, chubby for a Thai. He's got a warm, slightly psychotic smile, mussed hair and bright eyes. He does, of course, work for a local guesthouse. He invites us to take a look and we agree. He seems like a nice enough guy. He takes us into town in a truck-taxi. We exchange ages--he's 24--and occupations. Suda loves Sukhothai. "It's my town!" he says manically, throwing his meaty hands into the polluted air. "I love it here!" He tells us that he has a girlfriend in Chang Mai who he hasn't seen in more than six years. They've spoken over "the mobile" as he calls it and have been pen pals for a while. We ask him if he's going to marry her. He laughs uproariously. "No, no no! I'm far too young for that!"
Wake early the next morning to the sound of Phil's alarm. There's too much acid in my stomach and my head hurts. We shower, pack and head for Sukhothai Historical Park, 45 sq. km. of wat ruins built during the 12 and 1300s. We take the local "bus," a rickety and open minibus with very hard bench seats. It's ponderous and makes many stops. We end up at a bike rental place just outside the park gates, where a very fussy old lady rents us three decrepit bikes. Mine is far too small and has virtually no brakes. I point to another one that seems to be in better shape, but she shakes her head vigorously and points to my yellow and green, single-speed girl's bike. I take it for 20 baht, around 50 cents and we ride into the park. It was the original capital of the first Thai kingdom and was surrounded by three concentric ramparts and two moats bridged by four gateways. There are 21 historical sites in the park. We visit maybe half of them and ride past the rest. Buddha is everywhere. He stands among temples, lounges under shady glens and looks out across tranquil ponds. It's hard to look at his face and feel anything but peace. It's hard to imagine that at one time, Thailand and Burma regularly raided each other to steel Buddha images.
We eat lunch in the park, fried rice with basil and chicken. As we're leaving, two cats squabble at Phil's feet. He jumps into the air and almost spills his drink.
Take the 3 p.m. bus to Chiang Mai. It's a smooth ride and I'm able to get some reading and writing done. Our driver is phenomenal. He drives the bus at an incredible speed with a skill that would impress any of the Unsers and maybe even Sterling Moss himself. We slice through flat country studded with tall hills like pimples on the landscape. I take a nap and wake to a faint, filtered yellow light. At first I think it's cloudy, but it's not. It's smog, the thickest I've ever seen. It clings to a low range of hills to the east like dirty dishwater and muddles the horizon in every direction. I'm glad that our bus has air-con and a sealed ventilation system. We hurtle through sparse, scraggly woodlands filled with yellow grass and orange leaves. Farmers are burning trash and underbrush every were. Their fires crawl through the dark hills like centipedes. Jay reads. Phil sleeps. The sun sets. Later the moon rises. It's blood red in the smoke.
# posted by Dustin @ 2:12 AM
The Bus to Sukhothai
Six-hour bus ride to Phitsanulok, just outside of Sukhothai. It's the most aggravating ride of my life. The bus is horribly bouncy; we can't read or write and we're forced to snack and listen to music. I watch the countryside fly by outside. We rumble across low plains filled with dried-up rice patties and shantytowns. Corrugated steel and bamboo are the building materials of choice. Most of the steel is either streaked with rust or rusted through. There is enough trash on the roadside that if somebody told me it grew there I'd believe them. Our bus travels down progressively narrower and narrower roads. Our bus squeezes through several small towns, smaller clones of Bangkok: Low two or three-story buildings squatting on small shops, restaurants and 7/11s.
We arrive in Sukhothai at sunset. We are greeted by a guy named Suda. He's about our age, chubby for a Thai. He's got a warm, slightly psychotic smile, mussed hair and bright eyes. He does, of course, work for a local guesthouse. He invites us to take a look and we agree. He seems like a nice enough guy. He takes us into town in a truck-taxi. We exchange ages--he's 24--and occupations. Suda loves Sukhothai. "It's my town!" he says manically, throwing his meaty hands into the polluted air. "I love it here!" He tells us that he has a girlfriend in Chang Mai who he hasn't seen in more than six years. They've spoken over "the mobile" as he calls it and have been pen pals for a while. We ask him if he's going to marry her. He laughs uproariously. "No, no no! I'm far too young for that!"
Wake early the next morning to the sound of Phil's alarm. There's too much acid in my stomach and my head hurts. We shower, pack and head for Sukhothai Historical Park, 45 sq. km. of wat ruins built during the 12 and 1300s. We take the local "bus," a rickety and open minibus with very hard bench seats. It's ponderous and makes many stops. We end up at a bike rental place just outside the park gates, where a very fussy old lady rents us three decrepit bikes. Mine is far too small and has virtually no brakes. I point to another one that seems to be in better shape, but she shakes her head vigorously and points to my yellow and green, single-speed girl's bike. I take it for 20 baht, around 50 cents and we ride into the park. It was the original capital of the first Thai kingdom and was surrounded by three concentric ramparts and two moats bridged by four gateways. There are 21 historical sites in the park. We visit maybe half of them and ride past the rest. Buddha is everywhere. He stands among temples, lounges under shady glens and looks out across tranquil ponds. It's hard to look at his face and feel anything but peace. It's hard to imagine that at one time, Thailand and Burma regularly raided each other to steel Buddha images.
We eat lunch in the park, fried rice with basil and chicken. As we're leaving, two cats squabble at Phil's feet. He jumps into the air and almost spills his drink.
Take the 3 p.m. bus to Chiang Mai. It's a smooth ride and I'm able to get some reading and writing done. Our driver is phenomenal. He drives the bus at an incredible speed with a skill that would impress any of the Unsers and maybe even Sterling Moss himself. We slice through flat country studded with tall hills like pimples on the landscape. I take a nap and wake to a faint, filtered yellow light. At first I think it's cloudy, but it's not. It's smog, the thickest I've ever seen. It clings to a low range of hills to the east like dirty dishwater and muddles the horizon in every direction. I'm glad that our bus has air-con and a sealed ventilation system. We hurtle through sparse, scraggly woodlands filled with yellow grass and orange leaves. Farmers are burning trash and underbrush every were. Their fires crawl through the dark hills like centipedes. Jay reads. Phil sleeps. The sun sets. Later the moon rises. It's blood red in the smoke.
# posted by Dustin @ 2:12 AM
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
A PAGE FROM DUSTIN PART ii - AYUTHAYA, THAILAND
Saturday, January 10, 2004
Our train pulls into Ayuthaya station at about noon, two hours after it left Bangkok. We wrestle our bags onto the platform and dash for the street, dodging a swarm of happy tuk tuk drivers looking for business. We chant our mantra: "No, we're fine. We don't need a ride. We're walking."
We consult the Lonely Planet and head down Auythaya's main drag. There's a few small streets cluttered with cheap guesthouses and we plan to have a look. It's ungodly hot and I feel like Sisyphus as we march toward our destination. We reach a ubiquitous 7/11 and are immediately assailed by a very small woman on a scooter. She waves a picture book at us furiously and sweats profusely. She dismounts her scooter and launches a volley of words in our general direction. "I have a very nice guest house, cheap rooms, air-con, TV, restaurant, come see!" We give her our rote response, a polite smile and simple shake of head, but she's persistent. She simply won't give up until we've looked at the snapshots of her guesthouse. We eventually give in and decided to take a peek at her place. She's elated at our decision and beams deliriously in the heat. "Follow me," she says as she hops back on her scooter.
Her place, called PU Guest House, is in Lonely Planet. It has one whole sentence of real estate: "PU Guest House doesn't offer a very friendly reception." We find this very hard to believe. This woman, whose name is actually PU, is the friendliest person we've ever met. He guesthouse is an expansive whitewashed, multi-story affair with large, tile-floored restaurant and extensive Japanese manga collection. PU's husband is Japanese and the place caters to Japanese tourists. Our room is large, cool and has it's own bathroom, an unusual luxury for Thailand guesthouses.
We schedule a river tour. PU knows a woman who will take us to three different wats (temples) in a water taxi, a small long boat shaped like a banana with a canvas top. The tour leaves at 4 p.m., so we eat some lunch, shower and chat with PU. She's very upset about the entry in the Lonely Planet. She remembers the Lonely Planet writer. He came one day, didn't say much, then left the next morning. He was sick, maybe in a bad mood, she says. Either way, the one-sentence entry doesn't do her place justice. All the other Ayuthaya houses get at least a paragraph. We agree to write a scathing letter to Lonely Planet's Oakland office as soon as we get back.
We agree to take a tour of the river. A tuk tuk driver takes us to an empty dock at a floating bridge. He makes a call on his cell phone and we wait. We watch a group of young blue-shirted workers head home from a machine shop across the river. They laugh and joke with each other. A few grin manically at us, hurl questions in Thai. We smile back dumbly, the group erupts with laughter and passes. The taxi shows up 20 minutes later, piloted by a very small, dark and prune-like woman. She greets us with a blinding grin and warm "sawat dii kaa." She expertly pilots the taxi out onto the river and we slice through the water at about 8 knots. The first wat contains a 16m high Buddha figure covered with 250kg of pure gold. It's impressive, to say the least. The second wat contains a giant reclining Buddha. It's here that I spy a very muscular and tan monk, the kind you would expect to be a master of some kind of martial art, saunter down to the river's edge and talk on his cell phone. Nearly every monk we've seen has a cell phone. They use them with a fervor that leads me to believe that each one has a direct line to Buddha himself.
The third and last wat is definitely the oldest. Phil is fond of comparing it to the temples of Mortal Kombat the movie, but I like to compare it to the Khmer style ruins of Ankor Wat in Cambodia. The sun is setting when we arrive and the huge central tower, or chedi, provides us with some of the most striking photos of the trip.
Our water taxi takes us to Ayuthaya's night market, were I see more cell-phone covers than I've ever seen in my life. There are about six vendor stalls packed with at least 10,000 of them. I'm stunned, but hungry. We eat small bits of fried-chicken with spicy sweet and sour sauce. Jay convinces me to purchase a bowl of special fruit salad, which turns out to be a most foul concoction of apples, pears, melon, bananas, a pungent and nauseating spice powder and tiny dried shrimp. It looked tasty from afar, I swear. We throw the bowl away when we get back to the guesthouse.
Wake to the sound of retching. It's very early in the morning and Phil is sick. He vomits twice before the sun comes up and is unable to get out of bed or even think about food without getting nauseous. We think it's a yogurt drink he had after dinner. Jay and I speak to a girl who works at the PU Guest house, Hong. She takes us to a local pharmacy. The pharmacist gives us antibiotics, stomach tranquilizers and what we think is an herbal remedy for about $2. If Phil doesn't start to improve within six hours, we're to come back and the pharmacist will get a doctor. We thank him, return to our room and give Phil his medicine. We decide to stay in Ayuthaya another day.
Hong trusts the pharmacist. Phil will be well in no time, she says. She's 18, still in school. She's supposed to go back tomorrow, but she doesn't think she'll attend. "I don't like school," she says in perfectly clear English, shaking her head with an apologetic smile. We tell her that she needs to get an education, but she's not convinced. She doesn't know what she wants to do, but she doesn't like working at the guesthouse.
Jay and I rent the guesthouse's Yamaha Nouvo scooter. It's very small, green and has an automatic transmission. It's sleek and wears Yamaha's star-shaped motorcycle logo proudly above a black wire basket on its handlebars. It's got an almost snotty European attitude and I like it very much.
We return to find Phil sitting at a table in the restaurant. He's feeling much better. He can drink water and has managed to eat a few pieces of toast. Hong is delighted and suggests a game, reversi. She plays with Jay, who wins within five minutes. We pick another game, a four-player Japanese one called Blockus. You win the game when you run out of playing pieces, which look like Tetris blocks. You can place your pieces anywhere on the board, as long as their corners touch. We play for a few minutes, then Hong has to go back to work in the kitchen. The three of us finish the game, taking turns playing Hong's side. Jay wins again. Phil decides to go to bed. Jay and I play Jenga with Hong late into the night. Later, Jay and Hong go to a local club. They won't let Hong in, so they end up at a bar, where they listen to a local band play American pop music covers.
# posted by Dustin @ 1:24 AM
I'll say that was the most ill I have ever felt in all of my life. Or at least it seemed at the time. Jay and Dustin would blame the yogurt drink from 7-11, but I would point to the street food we had at the night market as the more likely culprit. For many hours I threw up all the food and liquid I had in my stomach, not even able to hold down water. It was so bad that my convulsions wouldn't even allow me take any water in, and the bad taste that it left in my throat only force more convulsions. It was truly a horrible feeling. After seeing this happen to a number of fellow trekkers in Nepal I immediately told Jay and Dustin to go to get medications, and gave detail on my condition. Once I had medication, expected to be well within a day. I felt much better though only after a few hours, being able to take in some soup, but I felt extremely weak though. Feeling much better the next day, still a bit weak though, we moved on to Sukothai...
Saturday, January 10, 2004
Our train pulls into Ayuthaya station at about noon, two hours after it left Bangkok. We wrestle our bags onto the platform and dash for the street, dodging a swarm of happy tuk tuk drivers looking for business. We chant our mantra: "No, we're fine. We don't need a ride. We're walking."
We consult the Lonely Planet and head down Auythaya's main drag. There's a few small streets cluttered with cheap guesthouses and we plan to have a look. It's ungodly hot and I feel like Sisyphus as we march toward our destination. We reach a ubiquitous 7/11 and are immediately assailed by a very small woman on a scooter. She waves a picture book at us furiously and sweats profusely. She dismounts her scooter and launches a volley of words in our general direction. "I have a very nice guest house, cheap rooms, air-con, TV, restaurant, come see!" We give her our rote response, a polite smile and simple shake of head, but she's persistent. She simply won't give up until we've looked at the snapshots of her guesthouse. We eventually give in and decided to take a peek at her place. She's elated at our decision and beams deliriously in the heat. "Follow me," she says as she hops back on her scooter.
Her place, called PU Guest House, is in Lonely Planet. It has one whole sentence of real estate: "PU Guest House doesn't offer a very friendly reception." We find this very hard to believe. This woman, whose name is actually PU, is the friendliest person we've ever met. He guesthouse is an expansive whitewashed, multi-story affair with large, tile-floored restaurant and extensive Japanese manga collection. PU's husband is Japanese and the place caters to Japanese tourists. Our room is large, cool and has it's own bathroom, an unusual luxury for Thailand guesthouses.
We schedule a river tour. PU knows a woman who will take us to three different wats (temples) in a water taxi, a small long boat shaped like a banana with a canvas top. The tour leaves at 4 p.m., so we eat some lunch, shower and chat with PU. She's very upset about the entry in the Lonely Planet. She remembers the Lonely Planet writer. He came one day, didn't say much, then left the next morning. He was sick, maybe in a bad mood, she says. Either way, the one-sentence entry doesn't do her place justice. All the other Ayuthaya houses get at least a paragraph. We agree to write a scathing letter to Lonely Planet's Oakland office as soon as we get back.
We agree to take a tour of the river. A tuk tuk driver takes us to an empty dock at a floating bridge. He makes a call on his cell phone and we wait. We watch a group of young blue-shirted workers head home from a machine shop across the river. They laugh and joke with each other. A few grin manically at us, hurl questions in Thai. We smile back dumbly, the group erupts with laughter and passes. The taxi shows up 20 minutes later, piloted by a very small, dark and prune-like woman. She greets us with a blinding grin and warm "sawat dii kaa." She expertly pilots the taxi out onto the river and we slice through the water at about 8 knots. The first wat contains a 16m high Buddha figure covered with 250kg of pure gold. It's impressive, to say the least. The second wat contains a giant reclining Buddha. It's here that I spy a very muscular and tan monk, the kind you would expect to be a master of some kind of martial art, saunter down to the river's edge and talk on his cell phone. Nearly every monk we've seen has a cell phone. They use them with a fervor that leads me to believe that each one has a direct line to Buddha himself.
The third and last wat is definitely the oldest. Phil is fond of comparing it to the temples of Mortal Kombat the movie, but I like to compare it to the Khmer style ruins of Ankor Wat in Cambodia. The sun is setting when we arrive and the huge central tower, or chedi, provides us with some of the most striking photos of the trip.
Our water taxi takes us to Ayuthaya's night market, were I see more cell-phone covers than I've ever seen in my life. There are about six vendor stalls packed with at least 10,000 of them. I'm stunned, but hungry. We eat small bits of fried-chicken with spicy sweet and sour sauce. Jay convinces me to purchase a bowl of special fruit salad, which turns out to be a most foul concoction of apples, pears, melon, bananas, a pungent and nauseating spice powder and tiny dried shrimp. It looked tasty from afar, I swear. We throw the bowl away when we get back to the guesthouse.
Wake to the sound of retching. It's very early in the morning and Phil is sick. He vomits twice before the sun comes up and is unable to get out of bed or even think about food without getting nauseous. We think it's a yogurt drink he had after dinner. Jay and I speak to a girl who works at the PU Guest house, Hong. She takes us to a local pharmacy. The pharmacist gives us antibiotics, stomach tranquilizers and what we think is an herbal remedy for about $2. If Phil doesn't start to improve within six hours, we're to come back and the pharmacist will get a doctor. We thank him, return to our room and give Phil his medicine. We decide to stay in Ayuthaya another day.
Hong trusts the pharmacist. Phil will be well in no time, she says. She's 18, still in school. She's supposed to go back tomorrow, but she doesn't think she'll attend. "I don't like school," she says in perfectly clear English, shaking her head with an apologetic smile. We tell her that she needs to get an education, but she's not convinced. She doesn't know what she wants to do, but she doesn't like working at the guesthouse.
Jay and I rent the guesthouse's Yamaha Nouvo scooter. It's very small, green and has an automatic transmission. It's sleek and wears Yamaha's star-shaped motorcycle logo proudly above a black wire basket on its handlebars. It's got an almost snotty European attitude and I like it very much.
We return to find Phil sitting at a table in the restaurant. He's feeling much better. He can drink water and has managed to eat a few pieces of toast. Hong is delighted and suggests a game, reversi. She plays with Jay, who wins within five minutes. We pick another game, a four-player Japanese one called Blockus. You win the game when you run out of playing pieces, which look like Tetris blocks. You can place your pieces anywhere on the board, as long as their corners touch. We play for a few minutes, then Hong has to go back to work in the kitchen. The three of us finish the game, taking turns playing Hong's side. Jay wins again. Phil decides to go to bed. Jay and I play Jenga with Hong late into the night. Later, Jay and Hong go to a local club. They won't let Hong in, so they end up at a bar, where they listen to a local band play American pop music covers.
# posted by Dustin @ 1:24 AM
I'll say that was the most ill I have ever felt in all of my life. Or at least it seemed at the time. Jay and Dustin would blame the yogurt drink from 7-11, but I would point to the street food we had at the night market as the more likely culprit. For many hours I threw up all the food and liquid I had in my stomach, not even able to hold down water. It was so bad that my convulsions wouldn't even allow me take any water in, and the bad taste that it left in my throat only force more convulsions. It was truly a horrible feeling. After seeing this happen to a number of fellow trekkers in Nepal I immediately told Jay and Dustin to go to get medications, and gave detail on my condition. Once I had medication, expected to be well within a day. I felt much better though only after a few hours, being able to take in some soup, but I felt extremely weak though. Feeling much better the next day, still a bit weak though, we moved on to Sukothai...
Monday, February 02, 2004
I am incredibly lazy now. Too lazy to account for 3 weeks of my adventure in this Blog, but don't fret. I can give you the accounts of my journey through another persons eyes, who did take the time to write about our experiences, my friend Dustin journalist extrodinaire. Here are his accounts. I'll pick up where he left off later.
_____________________________________________________________
A PAGE FROM DUSTIN PART i - BANGKOK, THAILAND
After a day of rest, we head out into Bangkok.
Shopping in Krung Thep, Jan 2:
This is commerce on a grand scale. We need a few things to make our travels easier, so we head for a shopping mall a few blocks from the Shanti Lodge. The place was consumed by fire several months ago, but the shopkeepers still do business in the basement. The lobby of the place is dusty and filled with cheap, leatherette shoes, knock-off jeans and watches. From the lobby, we can see to the roof of the mall. The soot coats everything and it feels like we're standing in the bottom of a great chimney.
Later, at MDK Mall. This is Bangkok's premiere shopping center; eight floors of pure commercial hell. There's an entire floor devoted to cell phones. There's a movie theatre and an arcade at the top. Miraculously, there are TWO Puzzle Fighter machines in the arcade. Jay immediately enters a tournament with the locals, all of whom are blindingly fast and Tommy-like in their ability. Jay wins about five matches, but loses about 8. He's frustrated and vows to get revenge before our plane leaves for San Francisco on the 25th.
When we leave the mall, we're greeted by a squadron of tuk tuks and their pilots. About seven of them bark a friendly "where you going? 100 baht only!" and rush forward. One stands calmly by his machine, an unspectacular green one, and smiles. It's the product of vehicular crossbreeding, a cross between a covered wagon and a Vespa. The small three-wheeled taxi sits three (six in a pinch) and can slice through traffic like a knife. The pilot straddles a tall shifter and steers via a pair of handlebars. We dodge the attacking drivers and head for safe territory. As we pass the smiling pilot, he raises his hand slowly and calmly and says, quite simply and matter-of-factly, "80 baht." His eyes ooze serenity and his teeth flash in the lights of the shopping mall. We climb aboard.
Our driver immediately twists the throttle and suicidally steers us into oncoming traffic. His tuk tuk buzzes and whines furiously under us as he dashes between buses and hurtles around trucks. More than once, we pass within inches of the scooters, minibuses and cars around us. Soon all the other tuk tuks have been left behind and the three of us are cheering and laughing, showering our pilot with words of praise and encouragement. He smiles serenely at us through the rear-view mirror and takes a cell phone call.
Jan 3:
We wake early in the morning and hop on a riverboat to Nonthonburi, a suburb of Bangkok. We meet a couple from SF on the boat. Nonthonburi is quiet and clean when compared to Bangkok, but it's still polluted and congested with traffic. We head to the Chatuchak Weekend Market, one of the largest markets in the world. It's a hornet's nest of commerce, with cell-like stores packed under corrugated steel roofs. It's dizzyingly hot in there and the smells of new clothes, rubber and strange, wonderful food marry to form an intoxicating fume. I buy a small shoulder bag and a watch for $10.
Jan 4: Train to Ayuthaya
We hop on the morning train to Ayuthaya, the former capital of Thailand and center of the Ayuthaya Kingdom. Ayuthaya ruled the country for 200 years between the 14th and 16th centuries. The city was once one of the wealthiest in Asia. Now it's a satellite of Bangkok that's home to about 78,000 people. It's also the site of several ancient ruins. Our train car was made by the Teikokucar & MFG Co in Japan in 1966. On the two-hour train ride, I watch an extremely buck-toothed man help a fat woman coddle a very small dog, probably a terrier. He gingerly cradles it in his arms, gives it water, dried fish and small multi-colored pills. Later, a woman walks through our car carrying a large basket crammed with small sausages. She cries out at the top of her lungs as she passes, holding the last piercing, nasal note of her sentence with a ferocity that would impress any opera singer. The fat woman eats every single snack that's for sale on the train, including the sausages.
# posted by Dustin @ 7:37 AM
Happy New Year! The clock strikes 12 somewhere over Honolulu, where our plane has a scheduled "technical stop" to refuel. Get to watch the fireworks from above as the pilot makes his descent. Most of our fellow passengers are asleep or nonplussed to see the celebration below. Our stewardess sits across from us on her fold-down seat. We ask her if she's going to celebrate the New Year. "We don't get a holiday," she replies with an apologetic smile. She gets to rest for one hour during the flight, then she'll serve us snacks. Later, between her scheduled snack runs, I catch her staring forlornly into small cup of water.
That, however, is ancient history. Phil met us at the airport and whisked us away in a very fast and shoddy cab--the instrument panel was completely dead and both the tach and spedo needles languished inertly against their pegs--to our hotel. Now I'm in Bangkok, known to the locals as Krung Thep, sitting in a small Internet cafe overlooking the Bang Lamphu Canal. The canal is a deep avocado green and is packed with so much trash and unmentionables that you could walk on it. But this is Bangkok, where only 10-percent of the trash is collected (according to the guidebook). The rest gets dumped into the streets and waterways.
Despite this, Krung Thep is a very exciting city. I'm already in love with the food, which is spicy, hot and available everywhere from street vendors or small cafes. In a way, I'm also in love with the seething hustle and bustle. The pollution, however, is not so endearing. The cars, motorcycles and Tuk-tuks seem to propel themselves with great bursts of exhaust fumes and soot, not engines.
Jay isn't feeling well. It's jet lag and he's resting at the hotel. We hope he makes a full recovery by tonight. Phil and I went sightseeing. Today we say Wat Pho, the largest and oldest wat (temple) in Bangkok. It's home to an enormous and golden reclining Buddha half the length of a football field. He's very serene, even as throngs of worshipers and tourists swarm like ants around his feet.
After the Wat, we ate at a small noodle shop, where we met Tos. The 15-year-old Krung Thep native spoke very good English and was just itching to try it out on us. He had a very polite, almost English accent, as if he were taught the language by the Queen herself. When we pointed this out, he was very upset. "I want to speak like the Americans," he said. "I like the tongue twisters." He writes his last English lesson in my notebook, along with his name in Thai script and his e-mail address.
Tonight, we head for the Indian side of town, where I'm looking forward to eating my own weight in curry.
Day after tomorrow we'll head to Chang Mai, with stopovers in Ayuthuya and Sukhothai.
Until next time,
-Dustin
# posted by Dustin @ 7:35 AM
_____________________________________________________________
A PAGE FROM DUSTIN PART i - BANGKOK, THAILAND
After a day of rest, we head out into Bangkok.
Shopping in Krung Thep, Jan 2:
This is commerce on a grand scale. We need a few things to make our travels easier, so we head for a shopping mall a few blocks from the Shanti Lodge. The place was consumed by fire several months ago, but the shopkeepers still do business in the basement. The lobby of the place is dusty and filled with cheap, leatherette shoes, knock-off jeans and watches. From the lobby, we can see to the roof of the mall. The soot coats everything and it feels like we're standing in the bottom of a great chimney.
Later, at MDK Mall. This is Bangkok's premiere shopping center; eight floors of pure commercial hell. There's an entire floor devoted to cell phones. There's a movie theatre and an arcade at the top. Miraculously, there are TWO Puzzle Fighter machines in the arcade. Jay immediately enters a tournament with the locals, all of whom are blindingly fast and Tommy-like in their ability. Jay wins about five matches, but loses about 8. He's frustrated and vows to get revenge before our plane leaves for San Francisco on the 25th.
When we leave the mall, we're greeted by a squadron of tuk tuks and their pilots. About seven of them bark a friendly "where you going? 100 baht only!" and rush forward. One stands calmly by his machine, an unspectacular green one, and smiles. It's the product of vehicular crossbreeding, a cross between a covered wagon and a Vespa. The small three-wheeled taxi sits three (six in a pinch) and can slice through traffic like a knife. The pilot straddles a tall shifter and steers via a pair of handlebars. We dodge the attacking drivers and head for safe territory. As we pass the smiling pilot, he raises his hand slowly and calmly and says, quite simply and matter-of-factly, "80 baht." His eyes ooze serenity and his teeth flash in the lights of the shopping mall. We climb aboard.
Our driver immediately twists the throttle and suicidally steers us into oncoming traffic. His tuk tuk buzzes and whines furiously under us as he dashes between buses and hurtles around trucks. More than once, we pass within inches of the scooters, minibuses and cars around us. Soon all the other tuk tuks have been left behind and the three of us are cheering and laughing, showering our pilot with words of praise and encouragement. He smiles serenely at us through the rear-view mirror and takes a cell phone call.
Jan 3:
We wake early in the morning and hop on a riverboat to Nonthonburi, a suburb of Bangkok. We meet a couple from SF on the boat. Nonthonburi is quiet and clean when compared to Bangkok, but it's still polluted and congested with traffic. We head to the Chatuchak Weekend Market, one of the largest markets in the world. It's a hornet's nest of commerce, with cell-like stores packed under corrugated steel roofs. It's dizzyingly hot in there and the smells of new clothes, rubber and strange, wonderful food marry to form an intoxicating fume. I buy a small shoulder bag and a watch for $10.
Jan 4: Train to Ayuthaya
We hop on the morning train to Ayuthaya, the former capital of Thailand and center of the Ayuthaya Kingdom. Ayuthaya ruled the country for 200 years between the 14th and 16th centuries. The city was once one of the wealthiest in Asia. Now it's a satellite of Bangkok that's home to about 78,000 people. It's also the site of several ancient ruins. Our train car was made by the Teikokucar & MFG Co in Japan in 1966. On the two-hour train ride, I watch an extremely buck-toothed man help a fat woman coddle a very small dog, probably a terrier. He gingerly cradles it in his arms, gives it water, dried fish and small multi-colored pills. Later, a woman walks through our car carrying a large basket crammed with small sausages. She cries out at the top of her lungs as she passes, holding the last piercing, nasal note of her sentence with a ferocity that would impress any opera singer. The fat woman eats every single snack that's for sale on the train, including the sausages.
# posted by Dustin @ 7:37 AM
Happy New Year! The clock strikes 12 somewhere over Honolulu, where our plane has a scheduled "technical stop" to refuel. Get to watch the fireworks from above as the pilot makes his descent. Most of our fellow passengers are asleep or nonplussed to see the celebration below. Our stewardess sits across from us on her fold-down seat. We ask her if she's going to celebrate the New Year. "We don't get a holiday," she replies with an apologetic smile. She gets to rest for one hour during the flight, then she'll serve us snacks. Later, between her scheduled snack runs, I catch her staring forlornly into small cup of water.
That, however, is ancient history. Phil met us at the airport and whisked us away in a very fast and shoddy cab--the instrument panel was completely dead and both the tach and spedo needles languished inertly against their pegs--to our hotel. Now I'm in Bangkok, known to the locals as Krung Thep, sitting in a small Internet cafe overlooking the Bang Lamphu Canal. The canal is a deep avocado green and is packed with so much trash and unmentionables that you could walk on it. But this is Bangkok, where only 10-percent of the trash is collected (according to the guidebook). The rest gets dumped into the streets and waterways.
Despite this, Krung Thep is a very exciting city. I'm already in love with the food, which is spicy, hot and available everywhere from street vendors or small cafes. In a way, I'm also in love with the seething hustle and bustle. The pollution, however, is not so endearing. The cars, motorcycles and Tuk-tuks seem to propel themselves with great bursts of exhaust fumes and soot, not engines.
Jay isn't feeling well. It's jet lag and he's resting at the hotel. We hope he makes a full recovery by tonight. Phil and I went sightseeing. Today we say Wat Pho, the largest and oldest wat (temple) in Bangkok. It's home to an enormous and golden reclining Buddha half the length of a football field. He's very serene, even as throngs of worshipers and tourists swarm like ants around his feet.
After the Wat, we ate at a small noodle shop, where we met Tos. The 15-year-old Krung Thep native spoke very good English and was just itching to try it out on us. He had a very polite, almost English accent, as if he were taught the language by the Queen herself. When we pointed this out, he was very upset. "I want to speak like the Americans," he said. "I like the tongue twisters." He writes his last English lesson in my notebook, along with his name in Thai script and his e-mail address.
Tonight, we head for the Indian side of town, where I'm looking forward to eating my own weight in curry.
Day after tomorrow we'll head to Chang Mai, with stopovers in Ayuthuya and Sukhothai.
Until next time,
-Dustin
# posted by Dustin @ 7:35 AM
