Day 24 - Kanchanaburi
I awake in a box in Bangkok. Even though we are dipping out of high season in Thailand the accomodation in the city is still in high demand and I am leaving it too late to have my pick of the better worse places. With only one night to stay on my way through the capital I reasoned a dorm could be tolerated for the economics. Inevitably it was a top bunk. After only minutes of twisting and squirming caught in an endless spin of arranging possessions and cursing the things I'd forgotten to bring up from my bag down below one night felt one too many. I'm regularly reminded that dorms are the way to meet people but dear god they chafe me. Waiting on a taxi outside the next morning I watch a man pass the knocking shop next door. The girls cagole and pout and he smiles. His t-shirt reads 'I'll think about it'. I bet he will. I'm dropped off at Thonburi train station and its lines to the west. The Thai railway surprises me with its extent, its functionality and its price. My train to Kanchanaburi is a basic 3rd class but clean and with fans and for three hours transit a mere £2.50. As I take my seat a tourist loads his bicycle onto the train with considerable incompetence. He has a kind of wild-eyed stress in everything he says and does. Shortly before we leave a conductor comes through and asks if he has a ticket for the bike. The tourist seems unable to understand what is being asked and minutes pass as he comes to a slow comprehension, eyes bulging at the effort. He jumps off the train and races to the ticket office, getting back seconds before departure. The sort of person who seems unable but to make life difficult for themselves. The journey is pleasant, the carriage is quiet and the breeze coming through the window cools me. I'd travel everywhere like this given the chance. My hotel is comprised of several houseboats on the River Kwai. The private verandah affords a relaxing view of it's slow progress towards the sea. It's a way out of town though but a nearer waterfront area offers some promise, at least on the map. There's been some money spent it seems with a wide pedestrianised promenade following the course of the river and children's play areas at regular intervals. They are also constructing a 'skywalk' in the form of a walkway 20 metres up in the air. It isn't immediately apparent what it will give a better view of but I withhold judgement. The bar I find is completely empty but technically open. A warm beer is brought and I ask the waiter for the WiFi code. He doesn't know it and seems to have no solution to that particular problem. Ah well I shall take some notes for writing up later rather than doing whatever thing I needed the internet for. A small insect lands on my phone, enamoured by its light. Ludicrously it makes me feel less alone so I don't shoo it off. He is on the keyboard though so I have to type carefully to avoid murdering my new friend whose name is Thaksin. He slowly wanders from 'm', before pausing on 'a' and then over to 'd'. Is he trying to tell me something? Finishing my beer I send Thaksin on his way with a breath. Sorry friend but I feel the urgent need to leave a bar where I'm naming insects with a lifespan of mere days.
The main drag in Kanchanaburi is a typical tourist affair. Similar looking bars with long counters and stools facing out onto the street. Fans whiring back and forth washing cool air over retirees and teenagers. I stop at a street food place for some noodle soup. A cat languorously wanders over to my table and gives me a look of expectation. I throw it a scrap of meat which it sniffs and then meows at me reproachfully. This is why I prefer dogs. Over a beer in one of the identikit bars I take in the identikit experience. The bar opposite has a bizarre glass-walled room containing a bicycle decked out in fairy lights, a couple of bikini-wearing mannequins, a kitschy car sculpture and what appears to be a massive dildo. They also have karaoke and a group of young people belt out songs with gusto. It jars with the Ronan Keating coming from behind me but I don't actually mind the singing. It's like looking in on a previous life. A night at The George maybe. 'Mr. Brightside' makes me sad though as I think about a less disfigured point of my life. It's rose-tinted for sure but there was a peace of mind. I have been seeking this peace of mind in the trivialities of life, as if a hundred little decisions put me at ease and in control. But it leaves me in the unhappy straits, chin-deep and sinking, caught between those people who know they must have control and get it and those that get that they have no control. I must swim for a shore but I trust everything to the current. The time before had a simplicity of desire. I couldn't conceive of loneliness then the way I can now. I'm only lonely when I'm around people, I read that once. And it feels in this moment like there's some truth in it. When I see people like those in the karaoke bar having fun an emotional void opens in front of me. I tip-toe around the edge seeing how long I can keep my balance before I fall in. I try to put planks over the hole but nights like this kick them in.
I awake in a box in Bangkok. Even though we are dipping out of high season in Thailand the accomodation in the city is still in high demand and I am leaving it too late to have my pick of the better worse places. With only one night to stay on my way through the capital I reasoned a dorm could be tolerated for the economics. Inevitably it was a top bunk. After only minutes of twisting and squirming caught in an endless spin of arranging possessions and cursing the things I'd forgotten to bring up from my bag down below one night felt one too many. I'm regularly reminded that dorms are the way to meet people but dear god they chafe me. Waiting on a taxi outside the next morning I watch a man pass the knocking shop next door. The girls cagole and pout and he smiles. His t-shirt reads 'I'll think about it'. I bet he will. I'm dropped off at Thonburi train station and its lines to the west. The Thai railway surprises me with its extent, its functionality and its price. My train to Kanchanaburi is a basic 3rd class but clean and with fans and for three hours transit a mere £2.50. As I take my seat a tourist loads his bicycle onto the train with considerable incompetence. He has a kind of wild-eyed stress in everything he says and does. Shortly before we leave a conductor comes through and asks if he has a ticket for the bike. The tourist seems unable to understand what is being asked and minutes pass as he comes to a slow comprehension, eyes bulging at the effort. He jumps off the train and races to the ticket office, getting back seconds before departure. The sort of person who seems unable but to make life difficult for themselves. The journey is pleasant, the carriage is quiet and the breeze coming through the window cools me. I'd travel everywhere like this given the chance. My hotel is comprised of several houseboats on the River Kwai. The private verandah affords a relaxing view of it's slow progress towards the sea. It's a way out of town though but a nearer waterfront area offers some promise, at least on the map. There's been some money spent it seems with a wide pedestrianised promenade following the course of the river and children's play areas at regular intervals. They are also constructing a 'skywalk' in the form of a walkway 20 metres up in the air. It isn't immediately apparent what it will give a better view of but I withhold judgement. The bar I find is completely empty but technically open. A warm beer is brought and I ask the waiter for the WiFi code. He doesn't know it and seems to have no solution to that particular problem. Ah well I shall take some notes for writing up later rather than doing whatever thing I needed the internet for. A small insect lands on my phone, enamoured by its light. Ludicrously it makes me feel less alone so I don't shoo it off. He is on the keyboard though so I have to type carefully to avoid murdering my new friend whose name is Thaksin. He slowly wanders from 'm', before pausing on 'a' and then over to 'd'. Is he trying to tell me something? Finishing my beer I send Thaksin on his way with a breath. Sorry friend but I feel the urgent need to leave a bar where I'm naming insects with a lifespan of mere days.
The main drag in Kanchanaburi is a typical tourist affair. Similar looking bars with long counters and stools facing out onto the street. Fans whiring back and forth washing cool air over retirees and teenagers. I stop at a street food place for some noodle soup. A cat languorously wanders over to my table and gives me a look of expectation. I throw it a scrap of meat which it sniffs and then meows at me reproachfully. This is why I prefer dogs. Over a beer in one of the identikit bars I take in the identikit experience. The bar opposite has a bizarre glass-walled room containing a bicycle decked out in fairy lights, a couple of bikini-wearing mannequins, a kitschy car sculpture and what appears to be a massive dildo. They also have karaoke and a group of young people belt out songs with gusto. It jars with the Ronan Keating coming from behind me but I don't actually mind the singing. It's like looking in on a previous life. A night at The George maybe. 'Mr. Brightside' makes me sad though as I think about a less disfigured point of my life. It's rose-tinted for sure but there was a peace of mind. I have been seeking this peace of mind in the trivialities of life, as if a hundred little decisions put me at ease and in control. But it leaves me in the unhappy straits, chin-deep and sinking, caught between those people who know they must have control and get it and those that get that they have no control. I must swim for a shore but I trust everything to the current. The time before had a simplicity of desire. I couldn't conceive of loneliness then the way I can now. I'm only lonely when I'm around people, I read that once. And it feels in this moment like there's some truth in it. When I see people like those in the karaoke bar having fun an emotional void opens in front of me. I tip-toe around the edge seeing how long I can keep my balance before I fall in. I try to put planks over the hole but nights like this kick them in.
Those wild young kittens represented the joy of life; he was the outsider, the lonely alien, watching something in which he could not join, a happiness in which he had no part or lot and in his unutterable loneliness he bowed his head on his arms, that he might not see this joyous scrambling frolic on yonder hillside."
--Saki, The Unbearable Bassington
Comments
Post a Comment