Escape from Ulaanbaatar and the first 3 hours in Thailand

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 21^st, 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.