March 24 was my last day in the Land Down Under; I spent it traveling to the airport, unexpectedly booking a flight to Manila for next month, playing songs in the terminal, and reminiscing about my two months in the country. Flipping through my journal revealed more experiences, people, and places than I'd really realized had accrued: Getting stuck in the middle of the Wolgan River in a Suzuki with a burnt-out clutch, poisonous spiders, Surf n' Sun Backpackers and that famous punch, the Kiama highlands, biking through excruciating heat, the lighthouse at Fingal Head and the stolen groceries in Melbourne. Meeting Sarah, Alexandra, Kevin, Thomas, Ben, Martin, Chris, another Chris, Kurt, Alec, Alexander, Greg, Kita, Louise, Jamie, Kirsty, and that guy who looked like a cross between Slash and Hurley from LOST, re-meeting Bec and Nathan. Getting my groceries stolen in Melbourne, cooking noodles in the sink in Nowra, the pub crawl in Brisbane on St. Patty's Day, nearly falling to my death on a cliff, and wishing the U.S. had cities with cool names like Wollongong... truly unforgettable.
When I got off the plane in Bangkok, all of that disappeared completely from my mind. I couldn't have been more shellshocked if I'd landed on Mars. Bangkok was a parallel universe, different in every possible way.
It was already dark; the only place I knew of was Khao San Road, from reading Garland's The Beach during my stay in Katoomba. So I grabbed a bus there for 150 Baht (about six U.S. dollars) and sat for a very long ride through a city far more massive than I'd imagined. I got off smack in the middle of Khao San's famous street markets; blocks and blocks of merchants lined the sidewalks and roads, a veritable maze of food stalls, fresh fruit, musicians, and various drivers impatiently squeezing through the mass of humanity. Helloooooo, culture shock.
Too tired to shop around for cheap prices, I got the first hotel room I could find, for 1000 Baht a night... rather posh by Bangkok standards (by comparison, a halfway decent dorm in a backpacker's hostel runs around 250 Baht, a quarter of the price.) I crashed for ten hours straight, my first real sleep since Sunday night.
For the past two days, I've been walking, walking, and walking some more. I'm just now getting used to the atmosphere of the place. The streets are ever crowded, no matter where you go; I moved from Khao San to Silom Street, several miles south; the difference was hardly visible. Tuk-tuk drivers constantly pull up in their three-wheeled passenger carts, offering rides (then offering about three more times if you refuse.) Woefully underpaid Thai police do little to stem the rampant illegal driving moves; masses of motorcycles whiz between the lanes of cars, jostling to be at the front of the pack. Out of space on the road? Not a problem; the drivers have no qualms about roaring up onto the sidewalks to get through the traffic. No less than four times I've looked up to see some crazed Thai blasting straight at me. Thus far I have managed to avoid them.
Last night I wandered into Patpong, which, it turns out, is Bangkok's infamous red-light district, known for its pimps soliciting trafficked sex slaves. The streets were lined with dozens and dozens of brothels masquerading as "massage parlors." Out of nowhere a Thai pimp materialized next to me. "Hey where you from?" he asked, his tone friendly."
"America," I replied, looking straight ahead, sounding disinterested. I'd found that walking quickly and ignoring patronizing salesmen - whether they were peddling "massages" or ripoffs of Armani and Diesel products - usually gave them the hint.
This guy was clearly an exception. "My name Joe," he said, grabbing my hand and pumping it up and down. Resisting the urge to inform him that his name was obviously not Joe, I continued on. "I know goo' bar down the roa' you can go to," he said, somewhat conspiratorially. "You get nice massage there, very cheap."
"I'm just out for a walk, thanks," I answered, getting annoyed. Why wasn't this guy getting the hint?
"Massage very goo' for you, very cheap."
"No thanks."
"Very cheap!"
What was this guy's problem? I did a U-turn and headed back the other way, hoping he'd take the hint. Instead he hurried up beside me and, looking more conspiratorial than ever, made one last attempt. "Boomboom, you get lot boomboom, very cheap," he implored, apparently assuming naivete on my behalf. "I take you get boomboom, ok?"
I assured him I was not looking for boomboom and was simply out to take a walk, and turned away, continuing the rapid place. A few seconds later I dared a look behind me; "Joe" was gone, pursuing a new prospective client with the same zeal.
I wandered back to my hostel, browsing the stalls, and looked up just in time to see a gray mass right in front of me. It looked like an elephant's butt. I did a double-take; it was an elephant's butt. Not knowing if elephants kicked, I gave it a wide berth, observing it from the front instead. It was a baby Indian elephant, probably heavily drugged. At least it didn't try to run me over, or solicit me for boomboom, which was more than I could say for its Thai counterparts.
Thus ended Day One in Southeast Asia. Twenty-eight more to go... it's gonna be interesting.
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