I finally left Chiang Mai on a five hour bus to Sukhothai, mostly prepared to re-indulge in the run-of-the-mill tourism that I had escaped from by rock climbing. On the bus I met a friendly woman, Cristina, doing the last few days of site-seeing before going back home to Italy. I didn't have a place to stay for the evening and I had given up carrying a Lonely Planet guidebook. I asked if I could tag along with her and see if I'd find a room at the same place as her.
Cristina and I arrived at the guesthouse around 7PM. The owner said that there were only two rooms available: a single for 150 Baht (~5 USD) and a double for 400 Baht (you can do the math if you want). I knew I wasn't going to spend 400 Baht for a room and I thought about moving somewhere else. Fortunately, Cristina was up for splitting a room. We looked at the first, where a beat-up futon filled the space of a shabby fan-cooled "room" that afforded enough space to walk in and close the door. The bath room was outside down the hallway. The second room was a cathedral in comparison: A large open room, king size bed, a closet, two chairs and a table, air conditioning and an attached bathroom. It sort of felt like a well-practiced sales pitch. It worked.
Sukhothai is a quiet and tiny city that has grown up around the ruins of Buddhist temples. The thing to do as a tourist is to rent a bike to visit the many temples, Buddhas and stupas, indistinguishable though they may be except for location. It was a gray day and I thought I could get away with wearing a tank top and no sunscreen. I wanted to minimize my farmer's tan before my eventual arrival on a beach. Cristina and I road around the historical parks and, with mechanical certainty akin to Pavlov's dogs salivating at the sound of a bell, took the pictures that everyone else has taken in the past and thousands will again in the future.
The sun eventually came out, and I knew I was getting sunburnt. It took about 4 hours of touring until we gave up, leaving many sites unvisited. After lunch, I checked in the mirror at the guesthouse to see that my farmer's tan had been thoroughly demolished and replaced with something far more unsightly. I haven't yet figured out how I'm going to fix these new, more embarrassing tan lines.
Another seven hour bus to Ayutthaya, which has sites similar to Sukhothai but in the midst of a grungy and fast-paced city. I was originally going to pass this place up, but I didn't have a strong desire to go to Bangkok, so I continued to team up with Cristina. This type of sight seeing becomes more tolerable with someone else to break up the monotony.
When we got off the bus for Ayutthaya, we were left in the middle of a 10 lane highway, and used a walking bridge to get a minibus to the city center. Unwittingly, we picked the wrong side and the bus started in the direction of Bangkok. Cristina was not happy about this and worked on getting the problem resolved; I sat with my bag between my legs, shrugged, and looked out the window. It was then that I realized after six months of travel, I've become fairly complacent about the unexpected. The worst that could happen would be that I'd be in Bangkok a few days earlier than I expected.
Without too much delay, we did make it back to Ayutthaya. The next day we did the same routine as before: rent bikes, take pictures, give up around noon, but I was wise enough to wear sunscreen this time. The main attraction of Ayutthaya is a Buddha face in the tangle of a tree's roots. I didn't think it was that impressive, although it was unique. I was more intrigued by the adjacent signage that said "Please... Do not stand over the Buddha's head. (It's insulting)," which intended to say, "If you take a picture, it is insulting if your face is higher than the Buddha's head." I amused myself by watching other travelers ignore this confusing signage, while some security guard was forced to intervene and instruct the people what the sign really meant. I wanted to point out that I could have re-worded that sign and saved them the cost of employing the guard.
The next morning I said goodbye to Cristina, who wanted to get to Bangkok early to go shopping for friends and family. Little did I expect -- in a city of eight million people -- that I would run into her three more times on the streets of Bangkok. The path of the tourist is a microcosm of any country, especially Thailand, especially Bangkok.
On my arrival in Bangkok a few hours later, I happened to meet two travelers, Christoffa from Sweden and Abdul from Thailand, on a bus to the same destination as me, that being Khao San Rd -- a.k.a. the backpacker slum of Bangkok. These two gents were really friendly dudes. Abdul spoke to a few Thai people to point me in the right direction, then they personally walked me to my guesthouse, and invited me for lunch. Abdul was looking for Halal food but we weren't able to find anything, so it was only Christoffa and I that ate. For all their help, I tried to pay for lunch, but Christoffa refused and said, "Welcome to Bangkok."
Having found some good people, I walked around with them to some of the WatsKhao San Road, where Abdul found a Halal restaurant. I understand the technical differences, but from the looks of cleanliness of the floor it didn't seem like a place worth holding out for. This was the first food for Abdul all day.
That evening I met a friend, Maggie, from my hometown of Exeter, New Hampshire. Maggie is a sharp and intelligent lady, and I was glad to have the company of a native English speaker that would understand the sarcasm that so often is unnoticed on other non-native speakers. Maggie and I grabbed a drink, but after a long day for both us, we conceded to go to bed early in order to get up for our full day of sight seeing in Bangkok. I failed at this concession, not being able to sleep, ended up going down the street and meeting a bunch of nameless strangers until I felt the urge to sleep a few hours later.
The next morning, while Maggie and I were headed out, I saw a face from the previous night. This stranger and I both recognized each other, and we chatted for a minute. David, from France, employed in London, and working as a chef at the "second most famous restaurant in the city, after The Ritz", said he was staying in the same guesthouse, and he'd be around for the evening if we wanted to hang out again. More on this later.
Maggie and I headed in the direction of the two main tourist attractions in Bangkok, the Grand Palace and the giant Reclining Buddha. (My list excludes other main tourist attractions such as prostitution and the infamous Ping Pong show, which I had to explain to Maggie). Our attempt at tourism was pathetic and consisted of strolling around, taking pictures without slowing our pace, and soon admitting that, "Yeah, I'm basically done with this site."
Later that evening, we were heading out to sample the night life of Bangkok. We passed David drinking beers in the guesthouse restaurant, which he had brought in from a convenient store. The waiters were not happy with this, but allowed it, and at David's request, brought two chilled mugs for Maggie and me. After that we walked down the road, shared another beer at a street vendor, made some new friends, walkeded down the road, drunked another beer at a cafe, walkeded downa da' roadz to a clubz, met somes more peeps, and shareded somz more (hiccup) beer. At the end of this routine, no more beer could be consumed without unpleasant consequences. The group of seven of us went our separate ways to get some sleep. Except for David, I don't know where he went.
But when I woke up at 9AM to buy the train/boat tickets to Koh Pha Ngan, David was back at the guesthouse drinking, his shirt was off, his speech was off and slurred, and he had not gone to sleep yet. David is a nice guy, a real people person, but I wasn't interested in talking to him in this inebriated state, nor to his Russian friend. (Ethan, I've decided that not wearing a shirt in the city of a foreign country should be added to the Tourist Douche Bag Rules). The Russian guy told me in a comically heavy accent as I walked away, "Don't never trust a foreigner." I'm not sure what that was in reference too, and wanted to point out that he was a foreigner in Thailand; and that based on the double negative, I wasn't prepared to accept this advice from a "foreigner". I was too hung over to pick on him though.
I got the tickets, Maggie and I were bound for Koh Pha Ngan at the end of the day. We stayed away from the hostel for most of the evening in order to evade inebriated David. We inevitably saw him when we picked up our packs, and we were both glad to have a departing train to keep this conversation short. Island bound!
I'll post picturessoon eventually.
Cristina and I arrived at the guesthouse around 7PM. The owner said that there were only two rooms available: a single for 150 Baht (~5 USD) and a double for 400 Baht (you can do the math if you want). I knew I wasn't going to spend 400 Baht for a room and I thought about moving somewhere else. Fortunately, Cristina was up for splitting a room. We looked at the first, where a beat-up futon filled the space of a shabby fan-cooled "room" that afforded enough space to walk in and close the door. The bath room was outside down the hallway. The second room was a cathedral in comparison: A large open room, king size bed, a closet, two chairs and a table, air conditioning and an attached bathroom. It sort of felt like a well-practiced sales pitch. It worked.
Sukhothai is a quiet and tiny city that has grown up around the ruins of Buddhist temples. The thing to do as a tourist is to rent a bike to visit the many temples, Buddhas and stupas, indistinguishable though they may be except for location. It was a gray day and I thought I could get away with wearing a tank top and no sunscreen. I wanted to minimize my farmer's tan before my eventual arrival on a beach. Cristina and I road around the historical parks and, with mechanical certainty akin to Pavlov's dogs salivating at the sound of a bell, took the pictures that everyone else has taken in the past and thousands will again in the future.
The sun eventually came out, and I knew I was getting sunburnt. It took about 4 hours of touring until we gave up, leaving many sites unvisited. After lunch, I checked in the mirror at the guesthouse to see that my farmer's tan had been thoroughly demolished and replaced with something far more unsightly. I haven't yet figured out how I'm going to fix these new, more embarrassing tan lines.
Another seven hour bus to Ayutthaya, which has sites similar to Sukhothai but in the midst of a grungy and fast-paced city. I was originally going to pass this place up, but I didn't have a strong desire to go to Bangkok, so I continued to team up with Cristina. This type of sight seeing becomes more tolerable with someone else to break up the monotony.
When we got off the bus for Ayutthaya, we were left in the middle of a 10 lane highway, and used a walking bridge to get a minibus to the city center. Unwittingly, we picked the wrong side and the bus started in the direction of Bangkok. Cristina was not happy about this and worked on getting the problem resolved; I sat with my bag between my legs, shrugged, and looked out the window. It was then that I realized after six months of travel, I've become fairly complacent about the unexpected. The worst that could happen would be that I'd be in Bangkok a few days earlier than I expected.
Without too much delay, we did make it back to Ayutthaya. The next day we did the same routine as before: rent bikes, take pictures, give up around noon, but I was wise enough to wear sunscreen this time. The main attraction of Ayutthaya is a Buddha face in the tangle of a tree's roots. I didn't think it was that impressive, although it was unique. I was more intrigued by the adjacent signage that said "Please... Do not stand over the Buddha's head. (It's insulting)," which intended to say, "If you take a picture, it is insulting if your face is higher than the Buddha's head." I amused myself by watching other travelers ignore this confusing signage, while some security guard was forced to intervene and instruct the people what the sign really meant. I wanted to point out that I could have re-worded that sign and saved them the cost of employing the guard.
The next morning I said goodbye to Cristina, who wanted to get to Bangkok early to go shopping for friends and family. Little did I expect -- in a city of eight million people -- that I would run into her three more times on the streets of Bangkok. The path of the tourist is a microcosm of any country, especially Thailand, especially Bangkok.
On my arrival in Bangkok a few hours later, I happened to meet two travelers, Christoffa from Sweden and Abdul from Thailand, on a bus to the same destination as me, that being Khao San Rd -- a.k.a. the backpacker slum of Bangkok. These two gents were really friendly dudes. Abdul spoke to a few Thai people to point me in the right direction, then they personally walked me to my guesthouse, and invited me for lunch. Abdul was looking for Halal food but we weren't able to find anything, so it was only Christoffa and I that ate. For all their help, I tried to pay for lunch, but Christoffa refused and said, "Welcome to Bangkok."
Having found some good people, I walked around with them to some of the WatsKhao San Road, where Abdul found a Halal restaurant. I understand the technical differences, but from the looks of cleanliness of the floor it didn't seem like a place worth holding out for. This was the first food for Abdul all day.
That evening I met a friend, Maggie, from my hometown of Exeter, New Hampshire. Maggie is a sharp and intelligent lady, and I was glad to have the company of a native English speaker that would understand the sarcasm that so often is unnoticed on other non-native speakers. Maggie and I grabbed a drink, but after a long day for both us, we conceded to go to bed early in order to get up for our full day of sight seeing in Bangkok. I failed at this concession, not being able to sleep, ended up going down the street and meeting a bunch of nameless strangers until I felt the urge to sleep a few hours later.
The next morning, while Maggie and I were headed out, I saw a face from the previous night. This stranger and I both recognized each other, and we chatted for a minute. David, from France, employed in London, and working as a chef at the "second most famous restaurant in the city, after The Ritz", said he was staying in the same guesthouse, and he'd be around for the evening if we wanted to hang out again. More on this later.
Maggie and I headed in the direction of the two main tourist attractions in Bangkok, the Grand Palace and the giant Reclining Buddha. (My list excludes other main tourist attractions such as prostitution and the infamous Ping Pong show, which I had to explain to Maggie). Our attempt at tourism was pathetic and consisted of strolling around, taking pictures without slowing our pace, and soon admitting that, "Yeah, I'm basically done with this site."
Later that evening, we were heading out to sample the night life of Bangkok. We passed David drinking beers in the guesthouse restaurant, which he had brought in from a convenient store. The waiters were not happy with this, but allowed it, and at David's request, brought two chilled mugs for Maggie and me. After that we walked down the road, shared another beer at a street vendor, made some new friends, walkeded down the road, drunked another beer at a cafe, walkeded downa da' roadz to a clubz, met somes more peeps, and shareded somz more (hiccup) beer. At the end of this routine, no more beer could be consumed without unpleasant consequences. The group of seven of us went our separate ways to get some sleep. Except for David, I don't know where he went.
But when I woke up at 9AM to buy the train/boat tickets to Koh Pha Ngan, David was back at the guesthouse drinking, his shirt was off, his speech was off and slurred, and he had not gone to sleep yet. David is a nice guy, a real people person, but I wasn't interested in talking to him in this inebriated state, nor to his Russian friend. (Ethan, I've decided that not wearing a shirt in the city of a foreign country should be added to the Tourist Douche Bag Rules). The Russian guy told me in a comically heavy accent as I walked away, "Don't never trust a foreigner." I'm not sure what that was in reference too, and wanted to point out that he was a foreigner in Thailand; and that based on the double negative, I wasn't prepared to accept this advice from a "foreigner". I was too hung over to pick on him though.
I got the tickets, Maggie and I were bound for Koh Pha Ngan at the end of the day. We stayed away from the hostel for most of the evening in order to evade inebriated David. We inevitably saw him when we picked up our packs, and we were both glad to have a departing train to keep this conversation short. Island bound!
I'll post pictures
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