I would like to think I found a rather noteworthy way of spending my own time during bit term. This aptly involves red shirt rallies, cheap thai food, overpriced drinks, white sand beaches, hookahs, endless water fights, and a special someone shaving their head and trading their fisherman pants in for a more… ”commanding” …wardrobe.
The first leg of my trip began in Bangkok, before any of this newsworthy madness erupted. Right before. Ben and I were to meet is his two friends from America that loyally were coming to visit him for a few weeks. But their schedules changed and pushed their arrival date back two days. By the time we discovered this, we were already in Bangkok, and ruefully found ourselves spending a week there, rather than only a mere few days. To spend our time, we frequented jazz bars, went on a dinner cruise, and wandered aimlessly. As the days came closer to Bens friends arrival, we made a decision to go out of our way to visit one of our beloved landmarks in Bangkok, the Arts and Culture Center, and subsequently catch a flick. After navigating our way through Bangkok, finding ourselves an hour later at our intended destination, our tracks were immediately stopped. Atop the street of Sukumvhit, we stood gawking in trepidation, our hands gripping the warm steel of the banister, as thousands of red shirt railliers demanding parliament dissolve marched in place, drinking, dancing, and occasionally getting frenzied enough to rattle their foot or heart shaped rattlers. As attention-grabbing as this was, we knew we were not to be part of any of it, so we headed towards the Arts Center. We, in no way, could have guessed that this was to be closed until further notice. For goodness sake! It’s an Arts and Culture Center, and the mall directly across the street was open! Though aggravated that our plans had been thwarted, we shook it off and headed to the movie theater inside Siam Paragon Mall. Our time and money spent to come to Sukumvhit would not be in vain, this we were resolute about. As we approached the first mall, Discover Center (or something of the like), we noticed police gates were lined up in front of the entrances, and moreso, the inside of the mall was abandoned and dark. Well, it IS a smaller mall, but surely Siam Paragon won’t be closed. That would plainly be ludicrous. Think of the economy! But the stream of red shirts was endless, as was the stream of closed malls, one after another. We were not even able to indulge in the newly opened Cold Stone Creamery Ice Cream Shop! Preposterous! That was simply the last straw. We headed back in resentment to the only opened mall and treated ourselves to an hour and fifteen minutes of all you can eat sushi. Take THAT red shirts!
Bens friends finally arrived at midnight, and the following day, we were to head to Koh Chang. We had booked an early morning bus to Trat, then boat to the island. We were excited to get out of the expensive madness that was Bangkok. In pure Thailand fashion, we left significantly later than was promised, but there we were, on the bus, ready and rearing to go. Finally, some real relaxation, something we could really call a vacation. Both bus and boat ride were bearable, and we finally found ourselves meandering down the beach to check into (hopefully!) Independent Bo’s guest house. It was recommended by a friend, promising it was a guest house that looked like it was built by Wes Anderson. Intriguing. Then we read what Lonely Planet had to say about the place. “Bo’s is what the Swiss Family Robinson would have built if the family were on acid.” And boy, was it ever! Our time spent in Koh Chang consisted of walking/resting on the beach, eating amazing seafood, playing kings cup during a rain storm in a rather diverse crowd, ‘hiking’ to a waterfall and swimming in the pool below, and in the end, missing our boat back to Trat. But, as frustrating as Thai Time can be, the Thai people can also be very accommodating because of this. We called, expressing our distress over missing our boat (that, it must be said, left early!) and thus perhaps missing our bus. But, as promised by the company, another boat came in 30 minutes, and the bus waited for us stragglers.
We were to stop off in Bangkok for about 24 hours before heading to Chiang Mai for Songkran (Thai New Years that consists of days of water fights, a most welcomed holiday, being that it takes place during the hottest month of the year). The following day, we were promised to be “picked up” a few doors down from our hotel. We gladly accepted, thinking this was rather convenient. And perhaps, if the rallies and protests of the red shirts did not go down the path they did go down on, we Would have been picked up a few doors down from our hotel. But, as things in Thailand usually are, the red shirt protests turned from calm to worse, and the bus, I imagine, was not able to cross the bridge to pick us up. Thus, the alternative was to walk over the bridge to the bus, a most unusual and perplexing feat. We were met by a man, who told us to follow him. We did. We walked in circles, picking up other random travelers on the way. We met up with a group of over 30 foreigners (apparently this bus was for foreigners only), and most certainly not VIP as otherwise guaranteed. We walked over the bridge (well known in the news as where the deadly clashes between red shirts and soldiers/police took place), taking pictures of the red shirt protesters, who in turn were taking pictures of the spectacle of farangs marching deferentially through the danger zone. After carrying out such an accomplishment, we cheerfully boarded the bus, and were on our way to the San Francisco of Thailand: Chiang Mai.
No matter where we went, whether we were burdened by our bags or not, we were attacked by scheming and devious hoards of Thais armed with water guns and buckets of ice water. In defense, I carried the only water gun between the four of us, and, it must be noted, gallantly fortified the troops. But, regardless of ones defense, it is inevitable, you will get wet, and if not careful, sick (this was an experience from the previous year…and I took every precaution this time around). It was days upon days of attacking and being attacked, more times than not by ice cold water. So by the second or third day, my group, which by that point increased to over ten of us, joined in on the game. We bought a large bucket, an enormous cube of ice which went directly in the large bucket of water, and to add some color, 24 cans of beer. We…Were…Ready! ATTACK!
The last leg of our journey took place an hour away from Chiang Mai, in the little village of Pak Tang Talee. Many of us gathered to witness Ben become a monk. 15 days of meditation, chants, reading, thinking, writing, drawing, and not much else. Admirable. I, for one, would go crazy, starting from my hair and eyebrows being shaved off by an ancient looking razor blade. But Ben managed this rather courageously, from his hair shaving to rather eccentric outfits to his chanting in Pali to being unable to properly say goodbye to his friends. Watching him during his ceremony, I stared swelling up with pride, and continuously smiling stupidly, which was noticed by all the Thai people around me. “No, no, this is serious, you must be serious,” they casually reprimanded me, “no smile.” It was a futile undertaking, though, and the asinine grin remained plastered to my face.
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