Back to noodle-land's capital. (Phad = fried & Thai = noodles. Even though every syllable here has about 12 meanings depending on the vocal tone and the position of the sun, I will assume Thai only means noodle.) Nothing changed back in Bangkok since the recent bombings, except that the place was now crawling with military men armed the to teeth with automatic weapons. A welcoming sight if ever there was one.
I tried to avoid Bangkok, suh an easy target on Westerners, but my hand was forced by the onset of another ailment. It seemed that the moment I stopped my antibiotics, and all my scabs cleared, my throat flared up. Having had Quincys, or acute tonsilitus 8 years ago, a recurrence is a no-questions asked guarantee to have your tonsils removed. So I left, swallowing broken glass and thinking I could be back in Australia in a few days. Thanks to an expensive bevy of medications, the marauding army, which may or may not be dressed in Quincys uniform, was being held at bay for the time being.
The weather at Ko Pha-Ngan had a major mood swing again and the seas churned like they did when I first arrived. It also rained consistently for the last two days making the ride out on the dirt track a thrilling adventure crammed into the back of a ute with 7 other travelers and our packs. My ocean fearing stomach was already on the back foot, but in true Wellington fashion, I thought I would make things harder yet. Waiting for the ferry, I ordered a tofu burger, knowing full well how helpful deep fried food is when you are sick. I would have bet money my burger was mince doing an excellent impersonation of tofu, or vice versa. My eyes could find no trace of anything but tofu, but my taste buds remained unconvinced. My stomach, of course, was even less impressed. Thankfully the seas were relatively calm and I was able to enjoy watching quite a few other people go green without doing so myself.
Lack of sleep was starting to take its toll on my system as well, and a cramped overnight bus to Bangkok was not what the doctor ordered. I'm pretty sure he recommended being gently fanned and fed grapes by near naked nubile princesses, but while grapes, fans and babes were in abundance, none were willing to fulfill my prescription. Anyway, by the time the bus made its first stop, my throat had become a raging fire. I stocked up on strepsils only to find that they have different strepsils for different conditions here. The ones I had brought in the morning were called 'throat guard' and did a sufficient if not remarkable job of allowing me to swallow without feeling dizzy. The ones I had just purchased were for thinning mucus in the lungs, and bulk consumption had a laxative effect but did zero for my throat.
At the next stop at 1am, as our sadistic driver was determined to ruin any chance of sleep, I managed to get the right strepsils, a few other types of lozenges and a throat spray made out of essential oils. A hardy artillery but me thinks rest is the best way to win this war. And rest was the only thing on my mind when the guest house said the one room ready at 6am when I arrived was the most expensive one with hot water and airconditioning, neither of which worked. I wasn't going to wait around till 10 for the cheaper room so I checked in.
The fan had been turbo charged to compensate for the dormant air conditioner. My quick nap that morning felt like I was sleeping under an airplane propeller with the roof about to take off. Quite necessary really to keep all the mozzies at bay; a bonus in the more expensive rooms as I had none when I first stayed in a cheap room three weeks ago. The toilet was crammed under a stairway which is fine for major business, but one needed to be turbo charged like the ceiling fan to even get in the vicinity when standing.
And why were such minor distractions even raising an eyebrow on one who has spent more than enough time in Asia to get used to its idiosyncrasies? The writing of a book had been canned for being a bad idea, as its origins were lurking in too personal an area, and I wasn't prepared to make the same mistake twice. I helpfully received an automated response from the people at the retreat centre with the directive that I had to make a personal visit to enquire about availability because, surprisingly enough, they were all on retreat themselves and weren't able to respond to emails. With half my budget gone in the first month thanks to over-indulgence in festivities and phone use, I was really questioning if and what I can actually get out of this trip. And do I want to return to Australia no wiser in regards to my life and its direction, and with no cash to give me time to do anything other than getting a job pouring foamy cappuccinos for old ladies in the local tuck shop?
So my time in Bangkok was one of rest and evaluation. Do I soldier on even though my trip has been a month long procession of stupidity and misfortune? Will Quincys strike a few decisive blows and force my hand lest I stay here and risk the local medical system? Is there any point to going on when, to be perfectly honest, I feel more like the peace of isolation to the adventures of constant traveling, hence why I stayed at Ko Pha-Ngan for 3 weeks? Could I come home now even if I wanted to given how over booked every flight is? Am I just a weak ponce looking for excuses because I haven't written the worlds greatest novel, become enlightened and induced world peace in the first month of traveling? Stay tuned and hopefully all will be revealed before the next tale worthy toilet episode befalls me.
