The vagabond has landed.

To paraphrase Alex Garland, Bangkok is like a massive decompression chamber for backpackers arriving or departing Thailand, retaining enough of both the East and the West to allow for a gentle acclimatisation either way. Familiar brands (they even have Tim Tams here, Aussies rejoice!) and a certain degree of comfort keep home-sickness at bay, while some slight nuances like the sweltering heat or the poodle-sized cockroach scurrying across the floor of the café right now remind you that, just like Dorothy, you are definitely not in Kansas anymore. Christ, look at the size of that thing! What the hell does it feed on, kittens?

The myriad of flights I took to reach Bangkok were a thoroughly frazzling ordeal. Although it was a conscious choice to take the long route and save a bit of money, I don’t think I was quite prepared for the effect of not sleeping for 48 hours (Murphy & Nolte, 1982). Wandering aimlessly around town looking like a zombie on downers wasn’t exactly the ideal start for the trip either, but was unfortunately necessary while I waited for my room to become available. Still, a modest 15 hour nap put my punch-drunk internal clock back on track.

Like any major Asian city, the pulse and pace of life here are just invigorating, exhilarating and, at the end of the day, quite exhausting. Every night, the main backpacker street of Khao San Road becomes a circus of flashing nights and blaring techno music, where thousands of what seem like mostly drunken gap-year Brits congregate to live it up. Amidst them the ladyboys, tailors, goods peddlers, con men, tattoo artists and ping pong show touts form an undulating mass vying for your attention. It’s like Blade Runner on steroids. Once you venture outside Khao San Rd, you find the entire city to be scattered with the most incredibly ornate temples and Buddha statues of varying sizes. While these are quite stunning, I must say I have always felt that once you have seen one temple, you pretty much have seen them all, and quite frankly I had my share in Nepal already.

Also, like any Asian city, you have to see the traffic here to believe it. I know the road accident statistics for Bangkok are gruesome, but according to common sense they should be much worse still. I mean looking at the chaos, it seems miraculous that anyone at all makes it to work in the morning without being run over twice. In contrast to this, the river boats and the sky train are relative sanctuaries from the vicious traffic machine and also a great way to move around town.

Tomorrow, I will be flying south to the infamous hellhole of sunburnt tourists known as Phuket. Among recently arriving backpackers, the pronunciation of the name often takes on the rather colloquial form of “fuck it”. This results in some mildly amusing exchanges among backpackers, usually running along the lines of:

-So, where are you heading next, Cambodia?
-Nah, Phuket.
-Why? What’s wrong with Cambodia?
-No, I mean I’m going to Phuket.
-Fuck what?

And so on till hilarity ensues.

Thus for me, this short glimpse into Bangkok will have to suffice for now, although I do plan to return when a mate of mine arrives in about seven weeks. Now, if you’ll excuse me, that charming young lady over there with the unusually large hands and very pronounced Adam’s apple seems to have taken a liking to me. She probably wants one of my Tim Tams.


LIST OF REFERENCES

Murphy, Eddie and Nolte, Nick. 1982. 48 Hours. Paramount Pictures: Hollywood, USA.


P. S. Some people have asked me how psyched I am about this trip. If you listen to the energy level in this song, you might get some idea!!

Mumm-Ra: Out of the Question (song starts around 0:20)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bT-gZ49VDlc