Zoe eventually arrived, having travelled three hours across the straits from one sunny, deserted island where she'd been enjoying Garboesque solitude sans clothes, to our rainy, comparatively busy one. However, the two of us managed a midnight skinny-dip in the lukewarm shallows - you can swim for a 1/2 mile and still touch sand - watching and listening to the storms circling the island. We left the island two days later for Bangkok, parting company with Janice and Alex at Trat, where they set off for Cambodia and the temples of Angkor Wat. They have something of a taste for luxury, so Cambodia may prove to be a bit of a challenge.
Bangkok, Reloaded!
After a 6-hour journey in a coach with arctic air-conditioning, we arrived in Bangkok and set about looking for a place to stay. I'd abandoned the Atlanta, feeling someone oppressed by the countless rules and regulations, and the fact that the founder was a German chemical engineer....
So, we headed to the Khao San Rd., Bangkok's "premier" destination for long-term travellers, backpackers, cheapskates, freeloaders and all sorts of human flotsam and jetsam. Imagine yourself runway modelling, along the centre of London's Carnaby St., or New York's Canal St., to the mixed and magnified sounds of Enya, Arrowsmith, Britney and Robbie, with a vast crowd of European, Australian and American youths swerving towards you uncontrolledly in an intoxicated scrum. The concrete "catwalk" is lined not with photographers but with a host of baying stallholders selling everything from pirate music to prosthetic penises, all at hugely inflated prices. That's the Khao San Road!
So, we found our way north, by word-of-mouth, to the aptly named Shanti Lodge - Zoe having heard that it was a cool place to stay. Indeed so - we were given a room with A/C, a fan, en-suite and access to good vegetarian food, Thai Massage, a travel agency and close access to the river. All for about GBP10 per night.
The following day we took the boat from our local pier to Wat Po, famous for its huge reclining Buddha and traditional Thai Massage courses. Scammers lie in wait along the approach to the temple, all with the same story. "Today is Buddha Holiday/visit of King to temple. Temple closed. I offer you cheap travel around city only 1000 baht per day." Lies, Lies, Lies. No holiday, no King. Bangkok, portal to the Matrix. Even the people here morph into something else as you study them; in the Central department store, Bangkok's version of John Lewis or maybe Sears, I stopped at a cosmetics counter to ask if they sold my favourite eau. The assistant was absurdly beautiful - an oriental Bond girl with exquisite skin, almond-shaped eyes and long glossy black hair in a geisha cut. "Over there, sir," he answered in a husky male voice. With total control, I suppressed my start and thanked him kindly, reminding myself that the ladyboys here are just one manifestation of Bangkok's hallucinogenic nature.
Technotronic
On her last night, Zoe and I headed for Bangkok's World Trade Center to see the long-awaited Matrix, Reloaded. Late for our movie, with just over hour to spare before its beginning, we spent it at Major Bowl, the bowling alley adjoining the multiplex.
One of the most paradoxical yet charming aspects of this city is the fact that, in spite of the peace-loving nature of its citizens, their love of stimulus is completely off the scale. Accordingly, Major Bowl resembles the set of Tron, a futuristic, hi-tech, world bathed in ultraviolet light and techno music. Everything is automated, from the bowling-shoe dispensers to the LCD displays keeping score on your table. Perfectly groomed attendants keep you fed and watered with a selecton of brightly-coloured, highly-flavoured cocktails and an eclectic mix of food, while the neon-coloured balls zoom up the aisles and back down to the feeders. An animated display above your spot gives tips on how to position the ball, so in spite of losing (Zoe has laser-guided targetting), I managed a strike and a decent score.
Wake up, Neo
So, still buzzing from the amphetamine rush of Major Bowl, we stepped from one realm of the Matrix into another - the WTC Cineplex. Eschewing honeymoon seats in favour of "regular" ones (think BA Club class seats; huge velvet recliners positioned for optimum audio-visual input), we stood for the national anthem and mini-feature on the Thai Royal Family, rocked and gasped our way through the Charlie's Angels preview (what a trip! - the preview alone more fun than most movies), and let the special effects and choreographed action scenes wash over us for a couple of hours. Superb. But why didn't someone wake Keanu up before turning the camera on him?
I've changed my plans yet again (what freedom!) and on the recommendation of my friend Angel (by name and nature), decided to spend the first part of next month at the Suan Mokh monastery. Since Kopan, my meditation practice has diminished completely and I?m back to my old scatty self, making trips between cafe and bungalow to rescue wallet, keys, walkman, sandals etc. Y'all know what I' m talking about. Remedial action will take the form of a ten day Vipassana retreat, accompanied by yoga sessions in the morning. Look forward to a brand new me - so thin, so calm, I'll be entirely unrecognizable!
Faking It in BangkokThe term "ontological insecurity," used by philosophers and psychologists to describe the eerie sensation that one's surroundings are somewhat (or completely) unreal, is possibly the most accurate way of describing life in Bangkok. Returning here from India was an entirely different experience than my last arrival here six months ago. Being used to seeing local people wearing local clothing, for example, it was odd to see everyone here wearing European and American-style clothes, makeup etc. Not only that; Bangkok is choc-full of westerners. Not classy ones. It seems that at some point a whole section of humanity discovered that swathes of the Costa del Sol were really naff, and they could come here and shag gorgeous girls, boys, or something between the two, buy knock-off CDS/DVDs, designer gear etc, all for the price of a couple of weeks in Torremolinos. And here they are. I'd had the time of my life in India, and left on a real high - the SARS scare meant that my night-flight from Delhi to BKK was so empty that I had a window seat and two empty seats next to me - as did most of the other passengers. A few (American) flyers at Delhi were wearing masks, but most of didn't bother. The real risk was from the airline food; generic curry accompanied by the most disgusting sandwich I've ever suffered - a square of soft, slippery and bright orange Kraft cheese cushioned between two slices of moist, white, warm Nimble (believe it, it's true. They're still knocking that stuff out? Why? Who, other than the toothless, would buy it?). If you've not hurled already, there's something wrong with your gag reflex. That, or you're a gay man.