CHAPTER 16 - THAILAND, PART II

We 5/5/99 - Trekking

The trekking group again bedded together in one room made of bamboo and reeds, a mat and one blanket supplied. Sue and I were the last to pick our spots and therefore slept with head lower than our feet.

The first goal of the morning was to eat some of the brown sugared granola Sue had bought in South Carolina when defending her thesis. It had been carried long enough and needed to be eaten (ed note: I finally threw the remainder out 5/22). I walked outside our lodging and leaned by but t on a fence outside. Before I had a piece to my mouth, an old haggard women had slowly walked up and asked for a cigarette. No. Money. No. Food. NO. I pointed at the small store and she walked away. This incident was somewhat typical of this village. The night before a different old women insisted we take a massage for 100 baht. The children also looked for handouts. This side of the atmosphere was rotten, sour. The villagers circumstances of existence we really don't understand. I wondered where there income was from. I didn't see farming, maybe a bit from tourism, some from opium, maybe the men are working in a another village. This was another government built village, the people moved here some years ago. Often when traveling one does not understand the people, there is a language barrier, and even without that barrier, the true interworkings of a culture-cosm would still be difficult to understand.

The bamboo rafts were brought down river for us. The floated in the brown flowing water at the bottom of a path straight down the hill. Each raft consisted of fifteen very long three and a half inch thick sections of bamboo. Five bamboo pieces supported the structure across the breadth and it was all tied together very simply with palm leave strips. A strip was ties and twisted and somehow it held, somewhat. Within the center quarter section of the raft was built a tripod for holding backpacks, a seemingly study piece of engineering.

My big pack was by far the largest. Most people carried day packs or canvas packs loaned by the booking agent. The guides used uncomfortable medium sized packs. I placed my hiking boots (Sue and I were the only with proper boots) into the bottom of my pack and wrapped computer and small camera fairly well in a few plastic bags, but a submersion would do the electronics in, water would find a path into the plastic bags through either a small wear hole or the bag openings only tied within themselves into knot. My bigger camera, the Nikon 35mm, had less protection in only two plastic bags and then placed in the outside backpack pocket. I took less stringent precautions because I wanted pictures while rafting. It was a risk.

I had thought that the elephant riding was a childish event, and now the bamboo rafting didn't appear more than an amusement ride. Our trekking group had two rafts, we were accompanied by the teacher, Thai woman, Holbrook, and our guide Baroo. We all stood one behind the other, feet spread apart for balance. Holbrook and I were in the rear with poles, and Baroo commanded the craft at the very front, also with a pole. We moved easily down river, over small rapids. The raft followed the river bends piggybacked to the water. Along the river was dense bush rising upward from the water. We soon felt comfortable, I yelled with enthusiasm when any water came up, and we ventured to remove our cameras for quick pictures. Our second raft following effortlessly 50 meters behind.

Holbrook and I took directions from Baroo, either "left" or "right". Out of unnecessary fear other passengers would sometimes pass back the directions. Well, I saw it as unnecessary.

We did bomb the side into some rocks and sometimes the raft hit bottom sliding over slightly submerged rocks. But the raft seemed stable, it was holding together so far, and felt sturdy under our feet.

It was all going very well, too simply, I felt like I was enjoying a toyish ride. Then when Baroo saw one of us going for their camera Baroo said that he should wait, rapids were coming up, but these rapids were not worse that what we had passed. I was convinced there wouldn't be any real excitement. Holbrook and I cracked jokes about the trip and talked about traveling.

More rapids came and Baroo yelled back to pole right, or maybe left, no right. It didn't matter that much for Holbrook and I could figure it out, we had no problems. Without a warning to Holbrook and I the raft hit a rock dead on and we were both tossed suddenly, surprisingly forward onto the bamboo cross sections, both of us cutting our shins. The raft's front left corner climbed the rock so that the front of the raft twisted and the right side dipped to the water. While Holbrook and I were struggling to stand and understand the situation, the Thai women went off the raft, into the water, and clung on in the loud overpowering flow. The others strained to get her on board. At the same time the tripod and backpacks dipped into the torrent. Suddenly our kiddy ride turned dangerous.

The amount of flow over the raft was amazing, I was deep in about three feet and crouching, and I felt a sandal jump from my foot and bounce against my butt. I was determined not to lose them I reached around and forced it back on. But with my feet pointing forward, the water flow was at the heel and the simple sandals were easily lifting. One was carried away so I removed the other to join it - another entry for the damage report.

Holbrook and I went forward to assist, they had the Thai woman back on board, so we turned our attention to getting the people and then packs ashore. As we went forward toward the packs on the low side the raft twisted more and threatened to throw all and everything over. We jumped to the high side and helped hand the people passed and onto rocks to hop across to shore. I watched my big pack and saw that water was only a third of the way up it, the camera should be okay still.

When we set off, Holbrook had tied his hiking boots together and placed them on the tripod and now watched them being carried downriver. They were twenty meters away when Baroo yelled to Tim and Tim flew barefoot along the rocky and tree strewn shore at them.

With the others on their way off the raft and on rocks or the shore, a bucket burgade passed each heavy wet packs along.

Everyone was ashore except Baroo who was futilely trying to ply the raft free, so I told Sue I would assist him and walked into the river. I was amazed at the strength of the current as I struggled to reach Baroo at the front of the raft. We muscled the raft off the rock and jumped on to pole it to the first clear piece of shore.

Amazingly, Tim had fetched Holbrook's boots, and besides wet packs, two cut shins, and a somewhat broken raft, we were doing okay. Later on however, Holbrook found water in his camera, maybe a right off.

While we recovered ourselves and Baroo worked on the raft, the second raft attempted to negotiate the tough rapids and rocks. Bang, they hit the same rock with similar results. The Moroccan man was also flung forward to the bamboo, he was also in the back and unprepared, however he was more seriously injury. His knee had crashed through a cross section of bamboo and was cut from one side to the other, gapping open.

They pulled over to the bank just before us and set to repair damage. One of the trekkers on board the second raft had a suture kit. The Moroccan put one stitch into his own knee to hold it until they could reach proper medical attention. Imagine that - his own leg, no pain relievers.

The accident was unfortunate, cuts, stitches needed, wet bags, lost camera, and a bit of anxiety. But this all made for a much more exciting second half to our rafting. No longer was it a kids ride, this was a real life adventure, rafting on leaf tied bamboo in the northern mountains of Thailand. We felt as though we were true Adventists, flirty with disaster. I was just glad it was someone else’s disaster, no ours. I believe we all felt like we had a much more exciting and rewarding trip than initially expected.

One huge plus from the trek. Since suffering from the fever in Rai Leh ten days earlier I had not felt right. I was tired and a little dizziness refused to leave. I guessed that the heat attributed, and I guessed that aerobic exercise in a cool climate would force the feeling away. It worked.

The hospital in Chiang Mai was two hours from our exit point at Soi Chai (Chan), near Wat Ban Chan. The Moroccan received six internal stitches and nine outside. I later found out from the French couple as I was preparing to board a bus from Bangkok to Hat Yai that had remained in Chiang Mai to recuperate for a week. At the same bus stop there was another Frenchman who had cut the bottom of his foot the next day in a similar accident on a raft - six stitches inside, six out, and traveling to Penang to recover for ten days.

The lobby of the hospital had a handful of scales, and my estimate now became official - I had lost twenty pounds since the beginning of the trip. That has bothered me, all the muscle put on from proper exercise and healthy diet lost.

1 - Pong Noi (Karen)

2 - Mae Ma Mai, stop, (Karen)

3 - elephant trek village, Pan Bacha. karen care for elephants, leahu build rafts

4 - 2nd night, Bong Nean (Leahu)

5 - lunch stop, Soi Chai (Chan), near Wat Ban Chan

Th 5/6/99 - Chiang Mai to Bangkok

Sue and I rented our second, a Stella, whatever that is, but the girl assured us it was good for nobody would want to steal it. Stella was a little more of a motorcycle than the last. It had a proper shifter, a five speed, and a clutch. We opted for the extra 15cc, a 115cc, for the long hill to the wat Phra Thad Doi Suthep, long fun ride on a good four lane road, perhaps the extra horsepower wasn't necessary but it made the ride a little more exciting for me. Sue was a fine passenger, now only her second motorcycle / moped ride ever, and with me, amazing!

Wat Doi Suthep was, up to this time, the shiniest manmade object I have seen. It sparkled gold, with red, blue, and green trim. To enter the wat, after climbing an endless staircase, we paid heed to the sign to dress properly. I rented a goofy pair of pants and we left our shoes outside. The inside of Wat Doi Suthep is arranged in a square with walkways between buildings. At two far ends are temple shrines. I watched an old monk in the typically burnt orange robe laxidasicly (sp!) bless a few patrons. In the center of Wat Doi Suthep is a chorten, all gold leaf with a solid gold spire. Wat Doi Suthep was simple bold color and glitter, one of the cleanest places I have seen in Asia.

On the east side is a spot to view Chiang Mia from the distance. I was told a million people live here, the second largest city in Thailand, but that quantity of people was hard to imagine from here. The city radiates from it's large square moat outwards, very orderly looking, mostly low buildings with only a dozen high rises.

At the bottom Wat Doi Suthep are a bunch of shops selling all the things a tourist can't leave Thailand without. After wander about these shops, Sue had bought a few things including a neat wooden puppet, we journeyed back to the city.

The road leading up to the wat is very long, it just went up and up and up, now it was our turn to test gravity and go down and down. With Stella in neutral and not firing, we coasted and coasted. When we reached a slight uphill, we found that Stella wasn't the only coasting motorbike, one past us with three sets of legs kicking for speed attached to three boys. I yelled and the pursuit was on down the hill, picking up speed, and cheering on. The three boys enjoyed the race, looking back to check our progress and laughing. They somewhat unfairly passed a car over the yellow line and for Sue sake I didn't mock the move. They were ahead and we didn't catch them until we passed them at a scenic pulloff. I watched the odometer and found that twelve kilometers had passed before starting Stella.

In Chiang Mai we looked around the many agents for seats on a bus to Bangkok. Each agent seemed to offer a different price, we weren't sure if there were more than one bus. Previous experience found that different people had paid different prices for the same service and I am sure this was true here also. Sue and I had different ideas on the topic. Figuring that we may pay more for the same service, I leaned toward taking the cheapest fare. Sue's view was you get what you pay for. We took the cheapest fare and had a hell of a ride.

The load of backpackers were brought to one location by different minibuses, and we boarded the bus last, taking seats just behind the driver. All seats were on a plane above the driver, so we could put our feet up on a bar above his head until we were scolded. We quickly realized that our seats were short changed for foot room, that the reading lights were broken, and Sue's seat would not recline. I looked at one front corner of the front of the bus and saw a broken and taped window. The outside also showed damage, the left rear corner was also tape over cracked glass, the bottom front had ran over something.

We set off on our ten hour bus ride and stopped within ten minutes at a gas station. Including the bus driver there were four Thais on board, the three others worked outside on the air conditioning system that had yet to through cold air. A half hour later we were moving again. he a/c system worked, for a while, then we stopped again. Forty five minutes later we were off. This repeated itself endlessly through the night. There were no windows and the bus would heat up quickly. I had been able to find some sleep, but Sue was extremely annoyed about it all, very annoyed. Sue cursed and complained to me and I kiddingly called her "John" and said the situation was out of our hands. Our returns about the predicament became worse during the night. I just wanted to be peaceful and rest, Sue couldn't sleep and since the reading lights weren't working, couldn't read or write, verbal release was her only comfort. Somewhere during the night, I was sleeping, a big chick fell off the bus puking, then rode up front against the operators wishes - the air conditioning system was displacing exhaust inside the bus. I hadn't noticed until Sue mentioned it. This whole bad night went on and on. In the early morning when I saw that the a/c ha stopped again, I strongly suggested to the driver that we just go to Bangkok, never mind the a/c. The stopped to force the system to start once more, it soon stopped, then they drove on with the sun heating us up very nicely into Bangkok.

Fr 5/7/99 - Bangkok

The bus ride from hell, originally scheduled for ten hours, took fifteen - they were stopped attempting to start the a/c one third of the time.

Sue and I were dropped off in an area we didn't recognize. After the long hot ride people were hesitating to leave. I found that humorous, but the bus driver then explained that Kaosong Road was a two minute walk between buildings. We walked the Road, and cut up towards My House, checking first the pretty looking Terrace for a room. Sue and I checked into My House and began our last chapter together in Asia.

We walked back to the Terrace for lunch, then cashed exhausted for a couple of hours. We walked through the shops of Kaosong Road in the rain, looking for little gifts for Sue to return home with. I had my shorts repaired once again by a women with a sewing machine on the sidewalk.

Later on we sat at one of many open restaurants to see Adam Sandler in "The Wedding Singer" on illegal video CD. The establishment had a noise war with a cassette seller on the street, both blaring, and most annoying. Sue was most interested in having an easy night and we didn't move when Bengini's "Life is Beautiful", an Italian film subtitled in English and nominated for best director came on next. The subtitles were better for we didn't depend on the sound, which was kind of funny.

Sa 5/8/99 - Bangkok

we really liked the feel of the Terrace, so breakfast there in hope of obtaining a room. Not today, anyway. We walked ten minutes to the postoffice so Sue could mail off postcards. I had left about twenty rolls of exposed and non-exposed film at the local UPS because it was air conditioned, and I picked it up without issue That excited me.

Then we started touring this great Asian city. The government had it's "promotion" on again. This meant you could find a tuk-tuk at a discounted fare in exchange for making stops at certain retailer showrooms. The tuk-tuk rivers picked up 50 baht gas coupons at the shops, one per customer. This wasn't so bad, we wanted to go Jim Thompson's house and made it for nothing except two ten minute stops, one in a jewelry showroom and at a tailor. Here Sue spent a little on jade stones, so our tuk-tuk driver was especially excited, for he had the gas coupons and a little commission coming. Our tuk-tuk driver was too happy though for he faked his machine breaking down, waved down another tuk-tuk and placed us on board. He passed a fifty to the driver. Our new driver seemed confused but pocketed the fifty and brought us on to Jim Thompson's house. Our first driver went back to find tourists

Jim Thompson is a guy who settled in Thailand after being an officer in the army, then working in the CIA in Thailand, and settling in Thailand. He is famous for revitalizing the silk industry. He moved and restored four centuries old traditional teak Thai houses for his residence in Bangkok. He disappeared without a trace in the Cameron Highlands, a tea growing area in Malaysia. His home is now a museum filled with Asian antiques.

We then did the promotion thing once more with a nice and fun cross eyed Chinese taxi driver. We were styling in the taxi, spiffy compared to a tuk-tuk with a/c. It was a new looking auto with 115,000 km on it, pure luxury. We made the deal of two stops and for a free ride to the weekend market.

The weekend market is the size of four soccer fields, absolutely huge. It was a endless mass of covered stalls with covered walk lanes between. It was said you can find everything here, but to find something specific would be a real chore. We strolled and browsed for ever, ate, and did it all again. A lot of the stalls catered to the Thai - clothing, makeup, home furnishings, then there were a lot of stalls with artsy and souvenir items. We also found finding cocks and other animals, heavy wooden bedroom furniture, massive mounds of plastic things, and good watercolor and oil paintings. We spent enough time, Sue bought bags full of trinkets.

Then we fell upon Lehu village musical instruments made of bamboo and other woods. I considered Bruce ad Brenda being married very soon, and since Bruce is a musician, I bought the funkiest instrument there - a gourd with small bamboo pipes sticking out, one for blowing, a number of others with finger holes to change the tones as air exists them. I had a hard time getting the gourd to play, one trick s you need to suck and blow. I mentioned this to Bruce and Brenda on the wedding postcard I wrote out.

On the recommendation of LP, we rode a tuk-tuk to Royal India, a great, cheap dinner spot, a welcome to the normal Thai fare. Outside the restaurant, now it was after 9m, we spotted fireworks over the buildings, toward our way home, so walked in search of. They ended before we found the source, but we had stumbled upon the massive flower market lined along the sidewalk streets of Maharat road near the Phra Pokkloa Bridge. Many varieties with more roses .than others wrapped in quantities of fifty in newspaper or plain white paper.

We were enjoying the walk through Bangkok in the hot night, so kept on until we looked down a wharf for a view of the brightly lit Wat Arun across the river. We came across a rough wooden locals bar over the water, stopped for a beer and enjoyed watching the Thai's, mostly very young, socializing.

Outside we fell to subtle local pressure and tuk-tuk'ed home for 20 baht.

Su 5/9/99 - Bangkok

Sue leaves tomorrow and I'm a sad about it. The plan for the day was to first shop at Indian Market for fabrics. We talked to a couple of tuk-tuk drivers and found that a reasonable fare during this government merchants promotion was impossible, they would rather wait for customers and go visit showrooms in exchange for the government 50 baht gas coupons than take a normal fare. Frustrated, we decided to walk to the Indian Market, first passing the Grand Palace and Wat Po.

We walked through the market, stalls inside a huge set of buildings, and also on the sidewalk and behind the buildings. After walking through the mass market, pushing our way through the throngs of people, we fell upon the stall I had purchased the red Indian print "silk" for my bedsheet. I asked Sue to inquire about it, "artificial silk" came back. Damn, Sue was right the whole time.

Sue bought some precut cotton pieces, then went across street to modern mall for silk fabrics where I learned something about what silk looks like.

Ignoring the obnoxious offers of tuk-tuk drivers, we walked back in the direction of Khoa Sun to the Grand Palace. I mentioned that Wat Doi Suthep was the brightest man made object I had ever seen, well move over. I have spent about seven days in Bangkok thus far and have motored past the Grand Palace many times, noting it as I passed. Now I wondered what took me so long to visit. The Grand Palace was great!

It is huge, the exterior walls total more than a mile and contains a couple dozen buildings such as palaces, halls, libraries, the Royal Family mausoleum, pavilions, galleries, chapels, and chedis. But it is the Temple of the Emerald Buddha and surrounding buildings, contained within a secondary wall that we visited.

Incredibly bright, eclectic, gaudy -a marvelous. mass of color, tourists, and pictures. The number of man years building this huge palace and it's temples and chortons inside must be astronomical. Many of the structures are decorated with chipped porcelain, an endless amount of work. The Temple of the Emerald Buddha is, religiously, the center of the palace. In the large temple sits a relatively small emerald Buddha held sacred by Thais. Like many of the Buddha’s, this one was hidden during conflict, covered with a plaster coating, and many years later was once found again. The statue historically was discovered in 1464, and then spent time being "taken" back and forth with Laos.

The potential for pictures is endless here. Look one way and see a colorful thirty foot pair of figures guarding a gate, look another and see the excruciating details of column. Around the Temple of the Emerald Buddha are countless little statues of warriors, all alike, and running far into the distance on the long sides.

Another striking feature are the eclectic designs between buildings. One may be traditional Thai, the next Cambodian. Compare a chedi to a wat to a temple and see not one similarity in design.

.

The Grand Palace makes Disneyland look like the White House.

Blacky also had a good time, posing with many colorful statues. I wondered if I was throwing insults to the palace, but if all the tourists can do it, then so can Blacky.

Tonight, the last night Sue and I have together after nearly a six month separation, our last night in this wonderful oriental city, would be one of carefully planned and long awaited high romance - Thai kick boxing.

After the Grand Palace, we walked back to the hotel for short nap, then tuk-tuk-ed to Ratchadamnoen Stadium, one of two main arenas for the very popular Thai spectator sport. There was much confusion over when the fights started and ended.

We arrived during bout three (6pm). The stadium was empty save for tourists and very simple, a concentric set of concrete steps doubling as seats. Capacity was in the order of 5000. Ringside were plain plastic chairs that cost 1000 baht versus our hard 200 baht seats. The walls were adorned with large advertisements by Singha Beer, Pepsi, and others.

As the night went on, we witnessed fight after fight. Each bout has five three minute rounds. They where large gloves and bare feet. Kicks must count for more, there were many more kicks than punches. Most weight classes were one hundred pound, the main event, the twelve fight, was one hundred forty five pounds.

The first round we saw had to young men, not more than fifteen and was not too exciting. The second ended quickly and unexpectedly with a kick to the head. The lifeless body was quickly tossed onto a green canvas stretcher and the next bout started.

To our right sat a four piece band playing Indian sounding music. When the fighters picked up tempo, so would the band in hopes of driving the fighters further. When the crowd became excited, they would yell for each kick, a loud deep repeated chant.

Our second bout ended in a TKO with a kick to the stomach. The fights went on, the music whined along and more fans filed in, mostly Thai. The Thais were heavy on gambling although money was exchanged after fights outside. They waved hands about, yelled to one another although one man in particular seemed to be the bookie, and bet throughout each fight.

A couple of kids ran around with trays of snack foods, the only stomach relief in the stadium, and we did our share buying junk food.

One strange part of the matches was that holding was allowed, at least it wasn't called as far as I could see. One fighter would grab another's leg and kneed him many times in the hip.

There weren't more knockouts, but the fights, betting, band, and spectators all made for an interesting night. Sue and I didn't wait for the last bout, we skipped out around 9pm, the ninth round.

Our last meal was at Khoasan Road in the Gaylord Indian Restaurant, a small quiet spot. We spoke softly, a drastic change in atmosphere to Ratchadamnoen Stadium. The conversation turned back to the same issue we poorly dealt with in October - what was the status of our relationship considering my fifteen month absence. Not an easy thing to face and deal with .

Mo 5/10/99 - Bangkok

Sue and I stayed up late talking last night. I woke to my watch and seconds later a wakeup call came - 3am. This was going to be a tough morning. Every flight seems to be at a rotten time, any time would be rotten for Sue's flight.

With a couple of hours sleep we were walking the quiet streets looking for a cab for the airport (250 baht). The first airport minivan leaves at 5am at the start of the notorious rush hour traffic and may have not arrived until late as 6:15, too chancy. The taxi cab driver was a pure manic bringing us to international departures in thirty minutes, more than two hours before Sue's flight.

Imagine that this visit to Bangkok Airport is my fifth.

The airport was quiet for the moment and Sue breezed through check in then we wandered the airport where I indulged in decent Danish and milk.

Not only were we sad for her leaving, but more talk of our status as a couple was not fun. It was a sad goodbye. In twenty four hours Sue would be back again in the City by the Sea.

I caught a direct city bus back, strange how we hadn't found this transportation mode earlier sine it was cheap and painless (70 baht).

I was now alone in Bangkok and without any distractions for the errands that needed to be done, except for those I may concoct. My first priority was to change the date on my Singapore to Seychelles to Nairobi ticket from May 20th to start July 2nd, again with ten days in the Seychelles. Air Seychelles does not fly to Bangkok and therefore only has an agent here.

After sitting through rush hour traffic, wolfing breakfast, and gathering my day pack, I decided to be brave and attempt the real local buses for the first time instead of paying a tuk-tuk driver too much and arguing about promotional stops. Bus 15 would bring me close to Sicom Road and I would then be able to walk to Sathon Tai, both long busy streets across Bangkok.

The bus was huge! I sat near the front in case I needed to ask for help from the driver or ticket women (3 1/2 baht!) and I stared across the expansive wooden floor to the other side, and then the distance to the back of the bus. Why did this bus appear so large?! There could have been many more seats across the middle. Was it because the seats are smaller and the bus empty? Or was it really bigger than those in New England?

The ride took nearly an hour and I attempted to follow our route with a badly detailed tourist map, gawking out the window like a backwards yaabo to see intersection signs and possibly street names that may be on the map. This process was futile because everything passed to quickly - the driver was mad. He tore across the city racing the engine like an old airplane - full throttle or none. I had no idea a bus could stop so quickly. He seemed bent on keeping to a schedule and moving faster than other traffic. Perhaps he was paid by the kilometer, the more kilometers per day, the more in wages, or maybe he was paid by tire wear.

We drove into an expensive touristed city area with large international stores and my guess of Siam Square was confirmed when I saw the Hard Rock Cafe. I then knew where we were on the map and I could deduce that in two more stretches and turns we would be on Silom Road

I needed to find the City Bank building, the Air Seychelles offices was on the 14th floor next door. I wasn't sure where or how to jump off the bus, and figured half way along the little colored tokens on the map indicating embassies would be about the right spot.

But then there was the "how" part - how do I get off the bus. I pushed the buzzer to no avail. I looked at the ticket women ad she looked away. The bus was flying along and I finally stood next to the door and was let off a kilometer past my goal.

After a frustrating walk back and a frustrating search along Sathon Tai, I found the building and the 14th floor, then the agent. Jack was there, copied my ticket and asked that I return in two hours.

I was exhausted from the lack of sleep but still wanted to explore some and find lunch. On the bus I had noticed Patpong Road pass and walked what should have been ten minutes there, but I was lost by my rotten map and the T-ed streets. I had visited Patpong when Sue had first flown in. At night the street is packed with a market and lined with bright neon signs advertising girlie bars. During the day it is just another street open to vehicular traffic, the signs unlit, the clubs closed. The transition was amazing. The English embassy used to be nearby and thus a handful of expat pubs were established. One had was a sparkling pub with corresponding prices so I picked the stale beer and cigarette smelling Bobby's Pub for a lunch of English breakfast and to work on the journal.

Jack had come through and passed me a fax with itinerary change confirmation. I walked back to Silom to the Thai Air office to change the date of my Bangkok to Singapore ticket also, in the unlikely event I travel back through Thailand.

After the crazied taxi ride to the airport, then the harrowing bus ride, I decided for a hat trick. Transportation options around Bangkok include taxis, buses, mini-buses, boats, tuk-tuks, pickups with bench seats, and motorcycle taxis. I heard the motorcycle taxis were nerve racking and while walking the city I constantly watch traffic in dismay at their antics. The motorcycles fly along, passing between cars and buses and are always at the front of traffic at intersections. They don't hesitate to use the other side of the road to cut through traffic to make a turn. Why wait when there is a way? I figure that as long as everyone plays by the same rules traffic should be fairly safe.

The motorcycle taxi drivers wear plastic vests with script writing and numbers so they 're easy to find although they don't badger tourists like tuk-tuk drivers, I suppose tourists are interested in using their return airline tickets alive. I slyly glanced over a group of men standing by their motorcycles, looking for someone young and a faster bike - hey, I wanted my moneys worth, I'm on a budget. I found my driver and settled on 60 baht for the fare.

The traffic was heavy and the ride was like I expected, the driver bombed along, weaving through traffic, pulling funky maneuvers like U-turns in the center of four lane intersections, threading to the front of congestion at stoplights, and driving on the wrong side through traffic to cut to side streets. I didn't expect him to have trouble stopping. Flying to the first stoplight he had to harden up on the brakes, maybe because of my added weight, and locked the rear tire. We slide towards the stopped cars and came to a halt too close to a nice shiny bumper. With the weaving between cars I pulled in my knees, but tried not to tighten on the guys waist, that's taboo for my western mind. It was a thrilling ride worth the $1.60, and I made it back in a third of the time of the bus.

In the afternoon I spent three hours crashed hard and later walked to Khao San Road in a torrential thunderstorm, water up to mid-calf, for yet another rice and chicken dish.

Tu 5/11/99 - Bangkok to Hat Yai

My last day in Bangkok was to be full of productive activities like shopping for sandals and a Malaysia Lonely Planet, a haircut, a book on Thailand, finding a money belt, and catching up on the journal. The journal has suffered greatly since Sue arrived and I have only terse notes for each day since - three weeks worth. I need to get back into the daily routine and also fill in the missing days. With all this on my plate I thought that instead of pushing myself I may be better off with a massage.

I believe a chain of backpackers had recommended a particular massage parlor to one another. At the far end of Khao San Road there is a typical sign advertising massage, "Thai massage - one hour 140 baht, one and a half hours 200 baht, Swedish massage, one hour 200 baht" and so on. The price was right (200 baht, $5.40) and this may be my last chance.

I have only been twice before. First in Manchester, a gift from my old friend Mary. I had fallen asleep during the massage and didn't even rise when the masseuse shook me to dress at the end. She came back into the room ten minutes later for a more aggressive try. The second time was in Newport when I was feeling desperate about soreness from lifting weights. Dave Ross had recommended a speedy looking fake blonde from Florida and $50 later I had mixed feelings about the usefulness.

But here, for five bucks, I would have a long hour and a half. Even though the time was still mid-morning I felt confident I would fall asleep and thoroughly enjoy the experience.

The shop is entered after walking a touristed alley. I was led to the third floor, had my feet rinsed, and was brought to a quiet room where I chose a white sheet covered mattress on the floor, one of a dozen. The walls were painted a soft yellow and the curtains were drawn so that the room had a light soft glow. Overhead two ceiling fans slowly whirled, and even with the occasional quiet banter of the masseuse, the atmosphere was soothing.

The experience would have been relaxing and pleasant except my guy beat them living hell out of me! I had asked a couple of people if the massage they received hurt, I was curious after a girl in Chiang Mai complained of bruises, and these people all said no, so I expected sanity. I believe the Swedish massage uses oils and rubbing versus the Thai which is dry and is mainly pressing and pulling with hands, elbows, feet, and knees.

My masseuse started with my right leg and started digging. Enough pressure applied in a small area anywhere on the body will hurt and he had the power. Not wanting to spoil an authentic experience, I held back from whimpering for my mother like a babe, and I didn't comment on his technique. I resigned myself to thinking that the benefit would occur afterward, and until then I was at a Thai guy with Chinese eyes' mercy. If I have to quantify the pain, I would say I wasn't loving life half the time, and near agony five percent of the time, otherwise I was enjoying while gritting my teeth for the next bout of pain.

This man worked around my body from legs to stomach (I had to concentrate to keep the gas from moving), to arms, back, neck, and head. I was moved around the mattress like a spaghetti tossed about by a bored little boy at dinner, and a few times I couldn't hold in laughter because of my tangle of limbs. At one point I was on my side, upper knee over and outward beyond my lower knee. He pulled my lower arm in front, across my chest, and straight up in the air while finding purchase by jamming his barefoot into the crack of my butt. The first time I obviously wasn't relaxed however on the other side my spine cracked the length.

Along Khao San Road are signs advertising long distance calls anywhere for 25 baht, an OK price of 67 cents. The unique feature, at least in today's era, is that they use the internet. A computer is set aside with a dedicated phone handset. I called my Mom this way and found the connection to be less than perfect. At the end of Khoa San Road one shop has a sign in the street "Overseas Calls, 20 baht, No internet". Around noon I made my way and found an unusual long black phone connected to a mysterious black box that in turn had a thick cable connected and running to and through the ceiling. Maybe it was a satellite phone but the connection was actually worse and I was taken for the normal daytime price is 25 baht but not posted anywhere.

I found Sue at her friend Erin's in Boston. It was noon locally, so midnight back home, and Sue was still awake. I was glad to have found her, to hear she made it through the four flights and twenty four hours of traveling. Our time together was over and the conversation carried a sad tone.

The rest of the day was spent looking through the shops at Khoa San and socializing a bit back at the hotel. I sat with my packed bags downstairs with dozens of others, waiting for the 6pm call to the bus for Surat Thani and on to Hat Yai.

We were led like the Pied Piper along the street and alley to the main road and for the bus we waited and waited. After sitting for a while and wondering if others could smell my stinking wet shoes from the trounce the previous night, a second set of travelers arrived for a different bus.

The French couple we met on our trekking trip out of Chiang Mai showed and I had a chance to ask how the Moroccan guy's bamboo cut foot was. They explained he had six internal and nine external stitches and was recuperating in Chiang Mai but would be traveling to Bangkok soon. Then a third Frenchman limped up. The day following ours he was also trekking and after a bamboo raft crash had jumped to a second raft, the bamboo split and sliced the bottom of his foot. A reattached tendon, six internal stitches, and six external stitches later he was traveling to Penang, Malaysia for recuperation until the stitches come out.

I had a fun conversation with two English girls who had spent a couple of weeks in Nepal, the three of us raving about the people and scenery. I asked them which country they most preferred and they replied India and Nepal was a toss up. They had spent two months in India. I have now heard too many people speak highly of India so it has moved up on the to-do, or to-go, list.

Soon after a bus for Chiang Mai pulled up, instantly I recognized the evil beast us the same that took us fifteen hours instead of ten from Chiang Mai to Bangkok. I excitedly turned to the two girls and belligerently pointed at the bus and told our story, "broken a/c, seats, no reading lights, smashed windows, exhaust through the ventilation system..."

After an hour and a half on the sidewalk our bus arrived, much better looking than the Chiang Mai Sauna, and we filed on to our assigned seats. Still though, this tall white guy didn’t fit into the somewhat reclining seats. The one in front of me came down further than others, I first thought the kid ahead would be in my lap, and only a tight hole into darkness was left for my long legs. The contour of the seat back let my head fall ridiculously backward and because the seat reclined but the bottom didn't my butt kept sliding forward. I couldn't find the minimum comfort level necessary for a good sleep which is unusual for me.

We only made a couple of stops during the night, one at 1:30am where the restaurant owner came aboard, "Everyone get off now please, food, toilet". These typical small restaurants have a line of pots for vegetable and meat dishes and each time I look and wonder how long ago they were made. But still, I indulge.

We 5/12/99 - Hat Yai (Thailand) to Penang (Malaysia)

We made Surat Thani about 6:30am where everyone disembarked, the same spot Sue, John, and I visited on our way to Krabi. I sat next to a 23 year hockey guy from British Columbia, and immediately saw his rudimentary passions. He had worked for a few months in construction on one of the Olympic stadiums in Sydney and was now heading home after depleting is money store.

I was directed along with two Japanese and the limping Frenchman to the back of a small pickup truck and was driven into Surat Thani to sit outside a travel agent in a commercial area in town. I checked out the waterfront, large leafed weeds spread around the concrete seawall, rickety buildings lining the shore across the river mouth, and noisy long tail boats humping along with passengers. At 8am we were brought by another pickup to a new looking minivan and set off from the city with four backpackers, six Thai, five children, some chirping chicken chicks, and the driver. I wondered if this would get me to Hat Yai in a few hours or would there be another change of vehicle.

One issue with minivans is that everyone can easily see the road. If you're on a big bus and the driver slams his brakes or swerves desperately, you may be screened from view and be restful in the thought that the circumstance is so far beyond your control you can't even see it. In a minivan you have no reaction but to look through that piece of glass seven feet away to see each near death experience. Maybe Spileberg's new theme park should have the "Asian Road Rides of Death", so everyone can experience the fun. .

So, yes, that was how my ride was. There wasn't a/c either and about half way through the ordeal two kids were barfing into plastic bags held by the father. It didn't smell though. About the only one not suffering was the man next to me sleeping with his head on my shoulder.

At 1pm from the van in the middle of Hat Yai I saw John in a chair asleep in front of Cathay Hotel. It was a humorous scene because it was John and not some old local man on the sidewalk His head would fall to the side and he would semi-consciously and temporarily right it.

Since my shoes were wet walking trough the flooded streets of Khoa San, I have worn them so they would dry and they reek beyond belief. On the bus I had them off and tried to hide them beneath the seat in front. On the minibus I wore them so they would be opened to the poor world. This was an issue and I have been wondering what people are thinking of me.

John and Veronica had been in Hat Yai since yesterday and suggested we go on to Panang in Malaysia. We first walked around the big city looking for food, decided on Kentucky Fried Chicken (first time in Asia) and I enjoyed the piece of America - leg, breast, two pieces chicken strips, fries for 65 baht ($1.65).

At 3pm we left in a minibus for Malaysia, our first new country in two months. This driver was also mad, a consistency lately, passing between opposing traffic on two lane roads without either side giving room. I sat and typed away in the bouncing van until dark (6:30pm). Half way thorough the ride we made the Malaysian border, left the minibus with our bags and walked trough an immigration post without incident. Two hours later we were on the short ferry ride to Penang then dropped off in the center of the backpacker hotels.

Twenty five hours straight traveling for Bob.

Here we were in Malaysia, a country I haven't heard much opinion or else about it except Malaysian Borneo which Monica "did the right way". She doesn't like to say it that way, I used it because it fits well, but what she referred to and meant was riding a longboat up river to a remote village for a visit. There she was welcomed and stayed in one of the outrageous stilted communities that stretch on and on, hence "longhouse", and where they had her drunk on local hooch and demonstrating western style dance without music. That I would have liked to see.

But we wouldn't be making Borneo this trip, we were in Penang, a sizeable island off the northwest coast. It appeared to be a big city, not so much with tall high-rises and a heavy business area, but a hundreds of blocks older buildings whose outside is stuffed with signs in Chinese.

We took the books advice for the Swiss Hotel but they were full. We then listened to a couple from Holland and South Africa about the problem of bed bugs in the area and followed them a block to the Blue Diamond. They didn't like to looks so went onto another spot while we booked into this weird place - huge foyers and hallways and ceilings twenty feet high.

Veronica showered, then we all went out for dinner. Back in the hotel we found small hopping bugs on the sheets and mulled over leaving until we did. Per the book, we walked another sort distance to the White Hotel and took a room overlooking the street with three beds for RM30 ($9.50) for all.

-end-of-document---