Thailand....
SEX (an avoidable investigation into the ins and outs of the Thai sex industry), MURDER (the all too apparent darker side of the region’s recent history) and GREAT FOOD (the food is great), sum up, to a certain extent, my experiences so far in SE Asia, without forgetting the customary encounters with rapacious reptiles, poisonous pigeons, baffling bureaucracy, and kinky masseurs......
BANGKOK:
From a good, honest agricultural lifestyle, with bedtime at 8.30 accompanied by a warm cup of Horlicks, I found myself thrust into the hedonistic atmosphere of Thanon Khao San, a cultural phenomenon of neon bars, intoxicated tourists and wailing ladyboys. This bizarre microcosm, where every aspect of life is tailored to fit the needs of excited, newly-arrived backpackers, bent on broadening their horizons with any form of mental or physical stimulation, is, in itself, a chief characteristic of Bangkok, a city of cultural extremes and piquant microcosms. From the immaculate excesses of the high-rise arcades and shopping malls in the commercial centre, to the bustling fish markets of China Town and the laid-back hookah cafes of Little Arabia, Bangkok is a vibrant mixing pot of east and west, so much so that it can be difficult to identify an undercurrent of persevering Thai tradition.
Before arriving in Bangkok I'd been warned about the usual dangers - the traffic, the scams, the tough line on drugs, but, always eager to find a little originality, I managed to find hazards from quite an extraordinary source. After a tiring day's trawling around town I decided to take an afternoon nap at the foot of a lake in Bangkok's central Lumphini Park.
Lumpini Park Bangkok
Having only just dropped off to sleep, I was violently shaken awake by a Thai jogger who, babbling incoherently with a very alarmed expression on his face, was pointing urgently towards the lake. Thinking I must be trespassing or something I slowly sat up and was immediately confronted with what seemed, through my blurry vision, to be a large animal just a few feet away, between me and the water.
As my eyes regained their focus, I was shocked to discover that directly ahead of me was a quite enormous 7ft monitor lizard (type of crocodile), the sort of animal you'd be impressed to see in a zoo, staring right at me with an expression that could solely be translated as 'MOVE YOU BASTARD!' It didn't have to ask me twice.
Slightly disturbed by what might have happened if there hadn't been a passing jogger to wake me up, I certainly thought I'd had enough encounters with wild creatures for one day. However, that night, sleeping in my damp, sweaty, windowless guesthouse room, I woke up suddenly with my body itching all over. Exhausted from my day's walking, I couldn't be bothered to turn the light on and just waved my hands around trying to catch any low flying mosquitoes. However, despite my concerted mental efforts to try to block the irritation out, the itching persisted until I decided that further sleep was going to be impossible unless I turned the light on to discover what was biting me. As I flicked the switch I was horrified to discover hundreds of little mites, each about the size of a nail-head, scurrying all over my mattress. I then peered down at myself and was even more horrified to find the little creatures scurrying all over me. After about thirty seconds of jumping about (probably screaming), slapping at my back and legs and shaking my hair as vigorously as I could, I proceeded to set up a kind of fort surrounded by what I called the 'death zone' (I'd just been watching a lot of Vietnam movies) where I squashed anything that moved. It was a long night and the death zone claimed many casualties.
THAI CARGO:
Having had very little sleep and totally covered in little mite bites, I caught the early morning bus back to the airport to pick my bike up from Thai Cargo. The operation began very smoothly and I quickly found the correct employee bus to take me to the 'Free Zone', where I'd been told Thai Cargo was situated. However, just as I was about to exit the bus, I foolishly listened to the driver who told me that Thai Cargo was the next stop. Half an hour down the road I was let out at the main bus depot, the driver simply shrugging his shoulders when I reminded him he'd promised me he knew where Thai cargo was. Incensed by having been taken so far out of my way I began to look around for a bus to take me back, when, with an apparent stroke of luck, a woman came up to me saying that Thai Cargo was on her bus route. I naturally followed her, only to be dropped off this time at Thai Domestic Cargo, a completely separate complex standing alone in about a hundred acres of wasteland. Really quite hot and bothered now, I started walking the few km along the road to the Free Zone. With my frustration rising with the intense morning heat, I luckily managed to catch a lift and was dropped, exasperated, exactly where I'd got off the bus over an hour before.Within the Free Zone, I was finally able to confront the complications surrounding where my bike was being held, how I was going to reassemble it and the dark art of releasing it from customs. With my heavy rucksack full of tools, dealing with people who spoke little or no English and with very little idea of what was going on where, I wondered around the enormous complex from office to office, like a pinball bouncing indiscriminately off bumpers, slingshots, ramps and flippers, occasionally finding myself in saucers, spinners, rollovers and one way doors. Through what felt like simply a process of elimination, I finally found the office able to issue me with a security pass, and thus armed I was able to enter the secure zone to ind the appropriate office to sell me a document order. After paying for my document order and collecting a receipt at another office (which happened to be hidden on the other side of the complex) I was finally qualified to attempt passing through customs.
Before leaving Kathmandu I had been warned about avoiding the scavenging agents in the customs building who would crowd around you babbling like a pack of hyenas, snatch your paperwork and hand it over to the customs officials and legally charge you for their absolutely unnecessary services. Determined to avoid these vultures I stormed into the customs building, and with my head down and paperwork firmly clasped into my chest, marched towards the nearest customs desk. Unfortunately I was forced to wait as the desk was unoccupied, despite scores of customs officials in their yellow shirts, scurrying around their offices behind the line of desks. Becoming impatient, a man approached me from my side of the desks and offered, in very broken English, to take care of my paperwork. If he had not been wearing exactly the same yellow shirt as the rest of the customs officials I would have suspected him to be an agent, but, in my aggravated state, I accepted his indistinguishable murmurs as confirmation that he was an official. Of course, it wasn’t long before I discovered that he was in fact an agent and that it was a Thai custom for every citizen to wear a yellow shirt on a Monday as a sign of respect to their king. Fortunately, my agent wasn’t actually all that expensive and he did make life easier by fast-forwarding my mountain of paperwork to the front of the queue to be stamped by the chief of customs.A few more offices, a few hundred more pieces of paper, and, with the generous help of Marco, the office ladyboy, I was finally allowed to go to the warehouse and search for my crate. Once we'd found it, I let a couple of guys hack it apart and then got on with reassembling it as best I could, distinctly not enjoying the added pressure of a large audience.
With my exit papers stamped, I finally wobbled out of the complex, back to Bangkok, very anxious that my front wheel wasn't properly inserted and that I'd somehow lost half my brake fluid.
Sick of his desk-job at HSBC, Neil flew out to join me for a bit of touring round SE Asia before heading down through Indonesia to Australia find work.
Grateful for some company, I showed Neil around a few of Bangkok’s sites that I’d recently explored, while he showed me the Patpong district, an area he'd visited ten years ago with his parents, and now the subject of fond childhood memories.
With bars like ‘Supergirls? and ‘Pussy Planet? it soon became apparent why Patpong would hold such a special place in the memory of any child just entering on adolescence. Simply searching for a few cheap beers without any particular ‘extras’ Neil and I spent most of our time trawling around for bars where we wouldn’t be pestered to choose a number from the assorted numbered pole-dancers. Still, trawling Patpong is hardly boring and hours of entertainment can be had taking on the difficult challenge of judging whether passing working girls were either coke (‘the real thing’ or pepsi).
Coke or Pepsi?
Patpong Nightlife
Beginning to feel claustrophobic in a city plagued by identity issues, Neil and I decided to take a ride down to the island of Ko Chang, via Pattaya, to clear our heads before returning to meet Meryl who was flying out to join us in just over a week.
PATTAYA:
The Lonely Planet describes Pattaya as 'a throbbing monument to holiday hedonism moving to an unashamedly decadent rhythm' - how true this is. If Neil and I thought Patpong was bad, then this is Patpong on steroids. The whole place is literally one ginormous brothel, its population divided roughly 50/50 between prostitutes and sex tourists, with a small percentage of bewildered tourists (like us) simply stumbling around in open-mouthed disbelief. Nowhere in Thailand is the phenomenon of the 'sex tourist' more apparent than in Pattaya. Everywhere you look there are foreign men in their late 50's upwards with their arms round Thai girls who look as though they're barely out of their teens. Here, it seems to be unusual if your girlfriend ISN'T around three decades your junior - in fact many things considered slightly taboo back in England attract not the slightest interest here. I'm not saying that all these relationships are completely ignominious, but you can't help getting the impression that most of these tourists left their morals (and dignity) on the plane when they got off at Bangkok.
Despite Pattaya's garish sleaze, it can be a seriously fun place to spend a couple of nights out on the town, as long as you're willing to accept the place for what it is. Between being flashed a number of times, Neil getting his crotch grabbed at every two minutes, being harangued on the street every second, ambushed on the beach, chased out of bars by angry naked girls, straddled by ladyboys, Neil finding himself at 7am in a prostitutes flat (innocently, believe me....), me confusedly finding myself in a hotel room known as 'The Sex Suite' (even more innocently) and both of us constantly in a state of bewilderment, shock and beguilement, we both emerged from the weekend thankfully disease-free, somewhat enlightened and more importantly, alive, but definitely ready to move on.
KO CHANG:
The ride on to Ko Chang was particularly difficult for poor old Neil who, on top of having about 2 hours sleep over the last couple of nights (he'd hit Pattaya hard), had to wear my heavy motorcycle jacket (in the event of a crash we'd diplomatically organised it so that I'd lose my arms and Neil would lose his legs) in the searing mid-day heat, whilst sitting on my extremely uncomfortable security chain behind a very effective wind-block (me). Like a jacket potato consummately oven-baked for a good 4 hours, Neil was a little crispy by the time we reached the ferry port to Ko Chang.
The island was nothing short of paradise, with each turn of the undulating coastal road revealing one breathtaking view after another as we meandered along the shoreline. After the madness of Pattaya, Neil and I simply relished kicking back on the aptly-named Loneliness Beach, relaxing in ammocks, sipping cocktails, soaking up rays and enjoying the musical talent of the customary resident Rastafarians. We did, however, manage to climb out of our hammocks once or twice - we ventured inland one day to explore one of Ko Chang's many beautiful waterfalls hidden within its dense jungle interior and enjoyed disturbing the tranquility by challenging each other in bombing splashability (Neil with the advantage of an impressively developed beer-gut).
Like a siren luring her prey, the ensnaring whines of Meryl drifted across the Gulf of Thailand, dragging us away from our island paradise back to the mayhem of Bangkok. Having met up with Meryl (who actually only whines on very rare occasions), Neil and I were intrigued to learn about one of her lifetime ambitions - to see one of Bangkok's notorious ping-pong shows. While unarguably being an outstanding display of athleticism, physical skill and mental fortitude, I doubt that this type of ping-pong will ever make it to the Olympics. From launching everything from darts to bananas, to drawing pictures of farm animals, the ping-pong girls (averaging about 40 years old) had really pushed the boundaries in terms of finding uses for their genitalia, while steadily maintaining the same level of showmanship employed by a factory assembly-line worker sticking heads on dolls.
Bangkok was also a chance to give my bike a bit of TLC. I took it for a service, smoothing over some of the rough edges left by my very unprofessional dismantling/ rebuilding job for the flight from Kathmandu.
I also had my severed speedo and rev counter replaced and changed the by now very bald back tyre. The garage also added riveted steel plates to replace the duck tape which formerly held my front fairing together, giving it quite a unique Frankenstein look. I think it could catch on.
Little Arabia Bangkok
On to Cambodia.
Stage 1 : UK to Turkey
Stage 9: Laos revisited
Stage 2: Pakistan
Stage 10: Thailand revisted
Stage 3: India
Stage 11: A ale from the Far East
Stage 4: Nepal
Stage 12: Tokyo
Stage 5: Thailand
Stage 13: Kyoto
Stage 6: Cambodia
Stage 14: Russia
Stage 7: Ho Chi Minh City
Stage 15: Russia part 2
Stage 8: Cambodia again
Stage 16: Russia part 3
Stage 17: Conclusion