The soul sapping flurecent light cast dirty shadows on the filthy cabin, illuminated sporadically by its dingy orange counterparts on the passing streets outside. He's sweaty, probably smelly and definitely pissed off. He doesn't belong here- the injustice the only thing that can register on his tiny radar on that particular Saturday night, the twenty seventh day of that supposed autumn month. Counting his small mercies of finding a so far unoccupied seat, it stirs that this haven is still only temporary. This is how they traveled. Back in the day, cramped, dirty but moving, the young lad reminded himself, this is how it started for the pioneers that enabled a path for me and countless millions that follwed, so count your blessings and wait it out. His writing words were a welcome distraction and a therapy to to his over-reaction to a situation he had only himself to blame. It was only three hours ago that he had seen his 2nd Class upper berth seat on the 8.45pm sleeper to Udon Thani, right there in his right hand and a half drunken ice tea in his left. Now if only he had taken a digital picture of it. His mental one was less reliable and didn't have the space for these administrative memories. This was a story to remember but not told- people were never interested in admin fuck ups, no matter how much you wanted to convey to them the rage, the disbelief, and more pertinently, the self embarrassment of shooting yourself in the foot. It didn't make for good reading. No, people wanted to read about the nearlys, the what ifs. Of making the train having thrown the 24kg crusty backpack to the porter on the accelerating carriage, running a seasons best for the 60 metres catching the railing by his finger tips, and upon his dizzy eyed stupour along the carriage he would find the sassy girl that he thought was on her way south towards the postcard Thai islands occupying the set opposite on the train heading north. And for them to kiss in a silent sweaty embrace in a cabin full of sleeping strangers. Mustn't forget sweaty embrace. The masses love a muffled grope in the oppressively humid midnight air.
No. Instead, urgent Thai blasts out of the 20th minute signpost of a station, our man worried that an incoming passenger would want to legally throw him off his perch which had created a greater sanctuary than initially first thought. The familiar orange sky in the night, and windows offering little grace due to the pedestrian speed of the train as it tip toes out of the Bangkok suburbia- This is how they travlled, alright, he thought, without really knowing what Tony Wheeler and Co actually went through all those year ago before he was even a twinkle in his fathers eye. It was an educated guess (which for all his foibles, underachievement and general twenty-something aimlessness, the young lad had certainly been educated). Tony Wheeler, of course being the founder of the now BBC owned Lonely Planet series books, and his 'line manager' when he and a fellow traveler had hustled a $200 meal in Singapore. Now that was a story to write home about, mainly because there was nothing to even talk up. "Thats traveling, Tony", he said as a supposed responsible traveler, half admiring the irony of the statement.
The Thai lad opposite was giving him the shifty eyes, not unreasonable given his natural protectiveness of his attractive, petite girlfriend who stared more obviously. None of the Thai smiles here, just shooting eyes that when reciprocated snapped back towards the quickest inanimate object at eye level. This reaction from fellow asians seemed common yet he had grown used to the curiosities of his fellow man. Not that he was a bad looking lad, but not that he was necessarily a good looking one either- it was just that it seemed that he was trusted very little for such a familiar looking stranger. He'd get that a lot in the next two months just as he had done in the beginning of his trip in Himalayan range.
The pace picked up. The express which had still to clear city borders was at least keeping up with the overtaking cars on the motorway parallel to to the one way tracks. But just like that, there followed the inevitable slowing down, first to a speed level with the conservative drivers, then to a speed more akin to kph than the meatier mph. The teasing speed a constant reminder of the reality of public transport. It was going to be a long night after all.
MC, October 07
