Heat, Tuk-Tuks, and Questionable Decisions
150 Thailand (19.1)
A Family Journey Through Thailand
15 March - 5 April 2019
PHOTOS
VOICEOVER
FLIP-BOOK
Prelude
It
began, as many excellent misadventures do, with a wildly optimistic timetable
and a backpack that may or may not have contained everything required for three
weeks in a tropical climate. Within hours, we were reunited, partially dressed
(thanks to missing luggage), and standing in Bangkok—one of the world’s great
cities—trying to look like people who knew exactly what they were doing.
We
did not.
What
followed was a journey involving trains that tested the limits of human
resilience, tuk-tuks driven with philosophical disregard for mortality, markets
that politely folded themselves away for passing trains, and an alarming number
of decisions made in extreme heat. Along the way, we encountered history,
culture, beaches, temples, and more varieties of food than seemed strictly
necessary—some of which stared back at us.
It
was, in short, exactly the kind of trip that begins sensibly and then wanders
cheerfully off course.
13–14 March – Jomtien, Pattaya - Laundry, Logistics, and the Dangerous Illusion of Readiness
I
had precisely one day—an absurdly optimistic allocation of time—to do laundry,
repack, and convince myself I still knew where my passport was, before heading
to Bangkok to meet Rouen (brother-in-law) and Micah (niece) for what would
become a three-week adventure in Thailand.
The
journey itself was commendably straightforward, which is always slightly
suspicious in Southeast Asia. An airport bus, followed by another bus to Khao
San Road, and finally a short stroll to the Riverline Guesthouse—no
navigational errors, no existential crises, and only a mild sense that I’d
boarded at least one vehicle on blind faith.
15
March – Bangkok - Missing Luggage, River Breezes, and Early Philosophical
Conclusions
Rouen
and Micah arrived at around 3:30 p.m., looking remarkably composed for people
who had just endured a long-haul flight—an experience usually akin to being
slowly tenderized in a metal tube. Impressively, neither showed any desire to
collapse into a horizontal position and remain there for days.
Unfortunately,
Rouen’s luggage had chosen to holiday elsewhere, which meant an immediate and
slightly frantic search for clothing. There is nothing quite like buying
emergency outfits in Bangkok to make one reassess both style and dignity.
With
time still on our side—and priorities firmly in order—we embarked on my
favourite budget activity: the grand 30 THB sunset cruise on the Chao Phraya
River. This involved catching the last ferry to its final stop and returning on
the final boat, a strategy that felt both economical and faintly rebellious.
The
river itself was a scene of glorious chaos—barges lumbering along like overfed
hippos, commuters packed into boats with admirable patience, and a steady
stream of traffic that suggested nobody had ever seriously considered slowing
down. The breeze, however, was magnificent, providing a fleeting illusion that
Bangkok might be something other than a large, extremely humid oven.
We
returned in time to head for the Gecko Bar for food and beer—both essential
cultural experiences. Later that evening, Rouen and I sat on the Riverline
terrace, solving the world’s problems with increasing confidence as the beers
disappeared. By the end, we agreed the world was indeed in a terrible state,
though neither of us could remember exactly why, and retired to bed feeling oddly
satisfied with our analysis.
16 March – Bangkok - Golden Buddhas, Curious Charms, and a Nation’s Unfortunate
Timing with Alcohol
After
a deeply satisfying bowl of noodle soup (proof that happiness can be achieved
for a few baht and a plastic stool), we set out to explore old Bangkok.
Our
wandering took us past Phra Sumen Fort—one of only two survivors of the
original fourteen—a statistic that immediately suggests the others did not
enjoy especially long or peaceful careers. Following the destruction of
Ayutthaya in 1767, Bangkok became the new capital, complete with walls and
canals designed to keep undesirable visitors at bay—although modern traffic
appears to have breached those defences quite thoroughly.
We
then drifted into the amulet market, a place that exists somewhere between
sacred tradition and mild unease. The stalls were filled with tiny charms and
talismans, eagerly examined by men peering through magnifying glasses with the
intensity of diamond merchants. Intended for good luck, protection, or
fertility, some items looked reassuringly spiritual. Others looked like they
might summon something unfortunate if handled incorrectly. A few, frankly,
seemed best left entirely alone.
Next
came Wat Pho, home to the enormous reclining Buddha, which is less a statue and
more a golden tidal event. At 46 metres long and 15 metres high, it gives the
impression that Buddha has simply decided to lie down for a moment and may not
be getting up again anytime soon. Shoes off, we shuffled in with appropriate reverence.
On
exiting, we purchased bowls of coins and dutifully dropped them into 108 bronze
bowls lining the wall. This produced a surprisingly beautiful ringing sound,
somewhere between meditation and a particularly gentle slot machine. The money,
I was reassured, goes towards maintaining the temple—so at least one of my
financial decisions that day could be considered virtuous.
That
evening we strolled along Khao San Road—a place that manages to be
simultaneously chaotic, lively, and faintly absurd. We sampled insects (an
experience I can confirm is optional but memorable), drank fruit smoothies, and
learned that it was election day—meaning no alcohol was being sold. This would
normally be devastating news, but Rouen, demonstrating admirable foresight, had
brought two bottles of South African red wine. Crisis averted.
We
enjoyed them on the roof terrace overlooking the Chao Phraya River, feeling
quietly triumphant in the face of regulatory inconvenience.
17 March – Bangkok - Bangkok / Maeklong / Amphawa - Trains Through Markets and Other Perfectly Sensible Arrangements
A
“slight misunderstanding”—a phrase that covers a multitude of travel
sins—resulted in us missing the train to Samut Songkhram, home of the famous
Maeklong Railway Market.
Undeterred,
we caught a later train, endured a lengthy and character-building wait for a
connection, and eventually decided that a minivan taxi might be a more
efficient expression of modern civilisation.
This
turned out to be an excellent decision, as it allowed us to witness the
spectacle of the Maeklong Railway Market in full operation. Here, a bustling
market spreads directly over the train tracks—a concept that seems questionable
until you see how efficiently it works. As the train approaches, vendors
expertly fold away awnings and pull back their goods with remarkable calm. The
train glides through at an almost conversational pace, and within seconds
everything is restored as if nothing had happened. It is choreography of the
highest order.
We
continued on to the Amphawa floating market via songthaew—essentially a mobile
experiment in how many passengers can be politely squeezed onto a
vehicle—before returning to Bangkok for the entirely sensible activity of
rooftop drinks.
18 March – Bangkok - Heat, Hesitation, and the Pre-Tattoo Pause
We
began the day with a group decision to do very little, which we executed with
admirable dedication, resulting in a late breakfast at the Gecko Bar.
Micah,
perhaps emboldened by travel, expressed a desire to get a tattoo. We made enquiries
at Divine Ink regarding time and prices—because nothing says “thoughtful
decision-making” like organising permanent body art in tropical heat.
Speaking
of which, Bangkok had become impressively hot—less “warm climate” and more
“walking into a hairdryer set to maximum.” After dim sum and a growing sense of
lethargy, we sensibly retreated to the relative coolness of the guesthouse to
recover until sunset.
19 March – Bangkok to Ayutthaya by Train - Bangkok to Ayutthaya - Ancient Glory, Modern Heat, and the Strategic Use of Air Conditioning
The
following day we set off for Ayutthaya by train—a mode of transport that is
both charmingly traditional and faintly punishing. The carriage was hot, the
seats firmly committed to the concept of discomfort, but the price was so
reasonable it felt churlish to complain, so we did so only gently and amongst
ourselves.
Arriving
in Ayutthaya at midday, we were immediately reminded that Thailand takes its
heat very seriously. A tuk-tuk was flagged down with the urgency of people who
had briefly considered melting, and we made our way to Baan Lotus Guesthouse.
The decision to upgrade to an air-conditioned room was made quickly and without
debate—indeed, it may have been the most unanimous decision of the entire trip.
Later,
we wandered to the UNESCO World Heritage Park, which, despite the heat, was
undeniably impressive. Ayutthaya, we learned, had once been a thriving capital
founded around 1350 and had grown into a bustling international trading hub of
astonishing size—reportedly home to about a million people at its peak. This
golden era came to a rather abrupt and unfortunate end in 1767 when the Burmese
invaded and flattened most of it, demonstrating once again that history has
very little interest in happy endings.
It
was far too hot to do anything sensible, including photography, but we took a
few pictures anyway out of sheer stubbornness, before retreating to our
blissfully cool room, where we remained until the sun had the decency to
disappear.
20 March – Ayutthaya to Kanchanaburi - Bridges, Barges, and Late Afternoon Survival Tactics
A
minivan collected us for the trip to Kanchanaburi, which took under three
hours—an impressively smooth journey by regional standards.
We
checked into Tamarind Guesthouse with a room floating on the River
Kwai, because if one is going to visit somewhere famous, it seems only right to
float on it. However, the heat once again asserted dominance, and we sensibly
remained indoors until late afternoon.
At
around five, we ventured out to the iconic bridge over the River Kwai—now
something of a magnet for tourists, photographers, and anyone in possession of
a camera phone. We joined the crowd, shuffled across the bridge in an orderly
fashion, and paused often to admire the view and avoid bumping into fellow
admirers doing exactly the same.
On
the way back, we located a roadside eatery—arguably the most important
discovery of the day—and settled in for food and beer, both of which were
consumed with enthusiasm.
21–22 March – Kanchanaburi to Hua Hin - Stilts, Sea Air, and the Art of Doing Very Little, Very Well
At
last, we headed for the coast, which felt like a deeply sensible progression
after several days of heat-based endurance tests.
A
tuk-tuk delivered us to the bus terminal, and from there a minivan whisked us
to Hua Hin in roughly three hours. Our accommodation was a charmingly
precarious wooden guesthouse on stilts over the water, with enough personality
to make up for any structural concerns.
Naturally,
we wasted no time getting to the beach, where we spent the afternoon under a
large umbrella—an invention that, under these conditions, deserves far more
recognition than it typically receives.
Hua
Hin proved so agreeable that we extended our stay by an extra day, a decision
that required almost no discussion whatsoever.
23 March – Hua Hin to Koh Phangan - Sleepless Journeys and the Gentle Reward of the Ocean
Checkout
was at midday, but our bus wasn’t until 10 p.m., leaving us with a long and
rather drowsy wait. Micah and I attempted to sleep with limited success, while
Rouen demonstrated an admirable ability to drift off at intervals—something I
regarded with a mixture of envy and suspicion.
We
arrived in Surat Thani at around 8 a.m., at which point we were efficiently
funnelled into a bus, then delivered to Don Sak pier for the ferry to Koh
Phangan. Travel logistics in Thailand often resemble a relay race in which you
are the baton.
By
the time we arrived at the Tropicana Resort, we were deeply tired but somehow
still capable of heading straight into the ocean—a decision that felt both
restorative and faintly heroic.
24–29 March – Koh Phangan - Days of Drift, Dubious Fitness Ambitions, and Island Time Proper
The
days on Koh Phangan drifted by in a pleasantly unstructured fashion. We swam in
the warm waters of the Gulf of Thailand, consumed generous portions of Thai
food, and maintained a steady intake of cold beer.
Rouen
and I made several noble but largely symbolic attempts at running, covering
distances that could best be described as “encouraging starts.” Eventually,
good sense prevailed, and Rouen rented a motorbike, taking Micah along to
explore the island more thoroughly—and, presumably, at a slightly faster pace
than our jogging efforts.
0 March – Koh Phangan to Bangkok - Ferries, Buses, and the Grand Relay of Getting Somewhere Else
We
checked out and wandered to the ferry port with enough time to eat, which, by
now, had become something of a guiding principle for all travel planning.
The
ferry to Surat Thani took about two and a half hours, after which we were
ushered onto a bus, then into another transfer involving tuk-tuks and another
bus station—all conducted with an efficiency that suggested someone, somewhere,
knew exactly what was happening.
With
time to spare, we explored the night market and sampled a wide variety of
dishes, because it would have been irresponsible not to.
Eventually,
we boarded the night bus to Bangkok—a journey that was long, uncomfortable, and
just sufficiently memorable to ensure we would complain about it for at least a
day afterwards.
31 March – Bangkok - Tattoos and the Return to Urban Chaos
Back
in Bangkok, we adopted a relaxed pace, as Micah had a tattoo appointment—an
event approached with a mixture of excitement and the quiet realisation that
tattoos are famously difficult to return if unsatisfactory.
Afterwards,
we made our way to Pattaya for a few final days of leisure.
1–4
April – Pattaya - Pools, Beachfront Wandering,
and a Noble Commitment to Refreshments
These
final days were spent in a highly disciplined routine of swimming-pool
lounging, beachfront strolls, and enthusiastic sampling of night-market
offerings.
We
consumed impressive quantities of smoothies, iced coffee, and—most
notably—Chang beer, which seemed to appear whenever required and occasionally
when not.
We
did not achieve everything we had theoretically planned, but this felt entirely
appropriate. Travel, after all, is often less about ticking boxes and more about
enjoying the accidental moments in between.
All
too soon, Micah and Rouen had to return to Cape Town. Their visit had been
thoroughly enjoyable, and I could only hope it wouldn’t take another twelve
years for the next one—although, given our collective talent for planning, it
seemed wise not to make any firm assumptions.
Epilogue
In
the end, as with all good journeys, the memories were far more coherent than
the events themselves. We had travelled the length of Thailand by an assortment
of vehicles of varying reliability, survived heroic temperatures, consumed
admirable quantities of food and drink, and somehow returned each evening with
stories—some accurate, others improved by retelling.
Plans
had been made, naturally, but treated more as gentle suggestions than binding
agreements. We missed things we intended to see, discovered things we hadn’t
planned, and perfected the fine art of doing just enough each day to feel
accomplished without ever becoming exhausted by it—except when absolutely
unavoidable.
Most
importantly, we laughed—a great deal, often at ourselves—and ended the trip in
the firm belief that travel is less about precision and far more about
patience, curiosity, and a willingness to accept that occasionally, the luggage
(or indeed the plan) may simply go missing.
And
should it take another twelve years to repeat the experience, one can only hope
we are just as unprepared.
