And so it has begins. The journal for Harrys latest trip into the unknown. It should have been a relatively known trip seeing as it was my fourth visit to Thailand. Thanks to oversights born of complacency, this adventure took a more unfamiliar route. One that had me questioning the virtue of my intentions and the strength of my resolve. Read on as my own stupidity almost derailed my journey as soon as it begun.
The five day detour to Melbourne was a necessary transition from the life of hard labor (Ha ha) to one of even harder relaxing. The sky was unseen for the duration thanks to half the state being reduced to ashes. Anyone who's spent any time in Melbourne, knows that not seeing the sky for weeks at a time is a regular occurrence.
My Mum, Dad and sister escorted me to the airport with the intention of either convincing me not to go, embarrassing me or embarrassing themselves respectively. My dear sister Kirsty uses any excuse to give her tear ducts a good flush so any perceived embarrassment could have been my own. And with the trip as one of many to the airport for me this year alone, I was unable to fathom why my Dad wanted to take photos of absolutely everything I did. From checking my luggage in to adjusting the relative angle of the dangle. In fairness though, my own willingness to photograph every waking moment of my life further compromises my youthful claims of questionable genealogy as my Dads behavior increasingly mirrors my own, and vice versa.
My first flight with Jetstar was a straight forward experience as far as flights go. Some would consider the absence of inflight meals a bad thing, but seeing my neighbor receive what looked like a four 'n' twenty pastie and a coke for his second meal, I was thankful I had made the effort to self-cater. Everything else aboard appeared normal from the stunning female staff and the effeminite male staff, to the utter lack of leg space, and inflight programming that contradicted the term 'entertainment'.
After 8 hours of breath-taking views of Natures sculpting work in the medium of clouds, a magic sunset and the occasional lunch-refunding turbulence, I arrived in Bangkok, the city of smiles, smells and suspect genders. Changes were apparent immediately as we disembarked at the new sovereign state known as International Airport. Its borders begin 30kms east of Bangkok's CBD and ends somewhere near the Cambodian border. Spending the entire flight in the yoga pose of crampedandcrippled, I was somewhat thankful that I had to hike the equivalent distance to customs as what I had just flown.
Adding tired and tatty to the advantage of being tall helped keep the taxi sharks at bay. One recipient of a glare that spelled possible homicide was even kind enough to guide me to the shuttle bus. An hour later I found myself in the backpackers Mecca, Khao San Road. 5 seconds later I was standing in front of my favourite aspect of Thai culture, the roadside vendor. My knowledge of the language came fluently as I ordered my first, and then second serve of phad thai for 60cents a go. And by that I mean the interaction consisted of "Hello", point at desired ingredients, "Thank you. Delicious. Good bye."
I considered luck to be on my side when I managed to get the last room in the guest house I had hoped to stay in. That it was a double, and at $7 a night was $3 more than what I expected to pay, could not alter the fact that all aspects of the journey had so far seemed routine. Opening my backpack exposed the shortcomings of my nonchalant approach to packing. Far from flea ridden but even further from hygienic, the bed required some form of covering, of which I had bought nothing. Nor had I brought a towel, a face washer or many clothes that could be considered practical for weather that has changed 1 degree either side of 30 for the three days I had been here at the time of writing.
The biggest problem came when I tried to determine the health of my finances and realised I had left my bankcards at home. During a obscenity laced rant about my ludicrously ineffective planning skills, I managed to kick over my homeopathic malaria treatment, smashing one bottle and three quarters emptying the other. With a fine covering of broken glass adorning my floor, it was only a matter of time before I added physical injury to the list of self-inflicted grievances.
So the first plan I made for my trip was to stay in Bangkok until my bankcards arrive by express post. Not the glorious start I had hoped for but unimportant enough to be laughed at and shrugged off as a sign I was meant to stay in Bangkok for some reason. And to provide sufficient fodder for the first installment of what I hope to be an entertaining experience for me and for the armchair contingent happy enough to live vicariously through my words.
