Having just spent an entire week in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia I
was extremely excited by the prospect of being somewhere else- anywhere else,
for that matter. Following a steady
parade of drunken, rowdy and often xenophobic Mongolians (some of whom were part
of a budding local neo-Nazi movement), three equally shrewd and opportunistic
hostel proprietors and one particularly insolent, cigarette-puffing
ten-year-old, I was itching to leave. My
girlfriend, Lisa, was in complete and total agreement, as were at least a dozen
other people of various nationalities for similar reasons. Over the previous nine days we had collectively
traversed the western half of the country before arriving in the capital on or
around August 21st, driving just over 1200 miles from the Russian
border for a charity rally. Though a
grueling trip and not without its headaches it ultimately did not disappoint,
as the Mongolian countryside proved to be one of the most beautiful landscapes
any of us had ever seen. It really was a
gorgeous country. Ulaanbaatar, in
contrast, was deemed to be a horrible place and by day three most of our
companions were quite eager to leave. Using
a sophisticated process of selecting random Southeast Asian countries and
finding the cheapest flights to their respective capitals, Lisa and I had
decided to fly to Thailand. From that
point on we had hunkered down and waited anxiously in a run-down guest house for
our chance to escape the Mongolian capital.
Grateful our cab ride to Chinggis Khan Airport hadn’t
involved any sort of scam or the usual price gouging for foreigners, we boarded
our flight shortly thereafter and sped towards whatever comforts awaited us in
China. Our extended 17 hour layover in
the Beijing airport was euphoric compared to Ulaanbaatar and immediately lifted
our spirits. Despite spending the night
sleeping on airport benches we woke up refreshed and ready for the next leg of
our trip. Boarding our China Air flight
shortly thereafter, we arrived in Bangkok that evening to a drenching rain,
which could clearly be seen from the windows of the plane as we taxied to our
gate. We had arrived during the rainy
season, probably not the most ideal time to see Thailand, but it was the best
we could manage. The country was to be
an entirely new experience for me, being my first foray into a Southeast Asian
country. In preparation for the trip I
had quite intentionally read almost nothing about it, short of a dry and
lengthy Wikipedia article, as I had very earnestly wanted to be surprised. Despite being gifted a used Lonely Planet
guidebook only a few days prior to our arrival in Thailand I didn’t read that either. I assure you that maintaining such a stubborn
and principled level of ignorance was very hard work indeed, but I did my
utmost to suffer through it. Upon
considering the accessibility to information at my disposal perhaps a bit of
mystery might be a pleasant change from my own obsessions with planning and
preparation. There were, of course, a few ubiquitous preconceptions relating to
the sex industry, lady boys and ping-pong shows, but otherwise I hoped to view
this country from a point of reasonably untainted and unspoiled objectivity
upon arrival.
Following the usual procedure associated with an
international flight- customs, the collection of baggage, etc.- the first thing
I noticed outside of the ordinary were the taxi cabs in front of the
terminal. Aside from the typical shades
of yellow I took instant notice of a number of hot-pink
taxis, along with a few of a brilliant electric blue color. The vast majority of them, though the
specific model escapes my memory, were near brand-new 4-door Toyotas and all of
them seemed to have immaculate interiors.
This was highly improbable, of course, because taxi cabs were routinely
used as trash cans and barf bags the whole world over. I attributed this to some sort of optical
illusion or perhaps an elaborate rouse. The
ride from the airport to downtown Bangkok ended up taking a full two hours,
during which time I made two crucial observations: 1) there are stickers on the
windows of some cabs (bearing the resemblance of icons on a smartphone)
indicating what can only be various services available to patrons. One of these, a suggestive silhouette of a
busty young woman which includes the letters “OK”, seems to indicate that it’s
acceptable for drivers to either a) give rides to busty young women or, b) for
the driver to take you to a place where busty young women can be found. It would seem the sex industry was still
alive and well. 2) Over the course of
that two hour long cab ride, and nearly all of it in gridlocked traffic, I
heard exactly two very restrained horn blasts.
This leads me to believe that the use of a car horn in Thailand is, at
the very least, punishable by law and could possibly be a capital offense. So far, so good.
When I wasn’t looking for other cabs cleared for the
transport of the aforementioned young women (ours wasn’t) I was carefully inspecting
the upholstery of our taxi for any signs of previous use. There were none- this taxi was remarkably and
inexplicably clean. A mild sense of
distress settled in as I feared I might have been drugged, having been seated
in a squeaky clean taxi cab that was presently crawling down a silent highway with
thousands of other perfectly civilized motorists. Under normal circumstances this would be an
impossible situation. Over the previous
month Lisa and myself had become accustomed to a cacophony of incessant
horn-honking and utter chaos in every Central Asian city we’d passed
through. Kazakhstan was probably the
worst. The Thai people, on the other
hand, were proving to be an unusual mixture of liberal acceptance and
conservative restraint in traffic.
Perhaps it was too early to tell, but something was very different about
this place and the people, and I resolved to get to the bottom of it.
Our cab dropped us off just a block from our hotel, the
street being crowded with food vendors, scooters, and a mixture of tourists and
people hawking souvenirs. The driver
indicated it was only a short walk, and fortunately the rain had subsided to a
light drizzle. We were immediately
introduced to a carnival-like atmosphere- a collection of sights, sounds and
smells that, at first, assaulted the senses until you had a chance to adjust to
the surroundings. Before us was a street
lined with a mixture of restaurants, bars and a variety of other shops, and in
front of those were innumerable food carts arranged along the curb. These little carts- mobile kitchens operating
with staggering efficiency- ran a bustling trade selling anything from friend
pancakes to noodle dishes and at absurdly cheap prices. I could already tell that I’d love the place. I wasn’t alone either, as this street was
also choked with tons of tourists who probably shared my impressions of Thailand. Everybody loved it, as it was hard not
to.
As we walked I couldn’t help but stare at all those tourists
and, in doing so, cultivate a growing resentment of them. Most were a motley and shabby variety of
20-somethings likely enjoying what many nationalities refer to as “gap-year”,
the lucky bastards. They resembled
extras from a Mad Max movie prior to entering wardrobe, clothed
semi-conventionally in a variety of rags, butchered jean shorts, parachute
pants or just whatever they could find.
Imagine giving a six-year-old the autonomy to cut their own hair and
dress themselves and you’d be close to achieving the desired effect. They were also universally tattooed to some
degree or another, as if by a national decree.
Taking notice of all of this made me feel exceptionally old, intolerant
and extremely dull given my own appearance.
I griped to Lisa, admonishing these young kids for looking like they
just rolled out of bed and hadn’t bathed in a week, then quickly shut up when I
realized I sounded like my mother. It wasn’t
easy being 32. There was another dynamic
at work, however, that frequently governed my own subdued and
characteristically uninteresting behaviors- I am ever-fearful of being labeled as
the obnoxious American when traveling abroad.
I try so hard to keep a low profile, in fact, that I likely just invite
the ridicule of innumerable nationalities, including other Americans, all quick
to point what a bore I am. Admittedly, I
was quite possibly the biggest spectacle on the entire street. If I was to survive here I clearly needed to
lighten up.
