Somehow I've Materialized on Khosan Road

I’ve appeared on Khosan Road again. I say “appeared”, because I always felt like my experience here in 2011 was quite sufficient.  This is my second day, and I’m still trying to figure out how my presence here came to pass. This is probably the worst place for me right now. Like, in the world.

Khosan Road, for the uninitiated, is Bangkok’s, and indeed South East Asia’s backpacker’s primary hub. Although it seems to have cleaned up a little bit since my last visit, it’s like that drug abusing friend from high-school that insists that no really, this time he’s cleaned up his act. You just know that despite your old amigo’s best intentions, under the surface something dark lies is wait, just waiting for the right moment to expose itself.

As far as I know (and really, I don’t know much about Asia’s “city of angels”) Khosan road is the most obnoxious place in Bangkok outside of Pat Thong (the red light district): of course, there is the excessive drinking—when you mix hundreds of mostly young travellers and restaurant beers at less than $2 per bottle—you’re asking for it. I’m sure people are on all sorts of other things too. So naturally, by midnight, there are throngs of people bumbling around acting generally moronic...and will continue to do so unti the wee hours. But despite these naught ex-pats, it’s the hawkers and tuk-tuk drivers who are the really obnoxious ones.

You’re lucky if, walking down Kohsan Road, or any of the neighbouring streets, more than ten seconds pass without some annoying fuckass asking you where you’re going,  trying to shake your hand, asking you where you’re from, or merely saying “hey”, and pointing to whatever shit they are trying to sell you. All farang on Khosan road, are in the eyes of the Thai, walking ATMs. 

Until today, I often had the thought,

“My how Thailand has changed—the locals aren’t nearly as pushy as I remember them!” 

Khosan Road is obviously the exception. 

Additionally, I’m sick and fucking tired of seeing all of the stunning  young women from the four corners o
f the globe, everywhere I look...sauntering around with their handsome young boyfriends. Sick of it! And I thought Koh Phangan was bad. Fuck you, Khosan Road! 

And there’s more to the anguish. In two days it will be Songkran: Thai New Year’s Day, which probably has a long tradition of getting together with the family, doing elaborate rituals, religious stuff and whatever, but here on Khosan  Road, people spend the whole day dumping buckets of ice water on each other’s heads, you’re brand new i-phone be damned.  

So, really, why am I here? Mainly two things: I’m going to Cambodia, and it’s cheapest to fly out of Bangkok; and it just so happens an co-worker from Korea is going to be in town for Songran.  To top it all off, the time period for which I had agreed to rent the house in Koh Phangan was up, so I figured, why not go to Bangkok?   

Why indeed? After a day, I think I’ve had about my fill. And yet here I must remain until I fly out on Tuesday evening.

Which brings me to Cambodia.  As much as I am loath to repeat another country, I am returning to Cambodia, where I vacationed after finishing my second contract in Korea at the end of 2012. I’ll be playing the hippy and doing a five day yoga and meditation retreat in a Cambodian farming village called Hariharaliya, or something. 

Which at USD $285 for five days, on top of the plane ticket and visa fees, will account for a half a month’s budget.  After the retreat is finished, I’ll be flying into Saigon and buying a motorcycle, accounting for the other half. 

Oh well, Vietnam, I understand, is even cheaper than Thailand...and after five days of yoga and meditation followed by a couple weeks cruising along the coast of Vietnam should put me in very good spirits indeed.  Finally, finally, I’ll be away from the party culture.  Then, finally, I can set my mind to introspection, in earnest.

If you don’t hear from me by Tuesday night,  dear family and friends, I’ll be internet-less in buttfuck nowhere, Cambodia, eating bean sprouts and chanting om, so don’t be alarmed. Or do. Maybe you have that right...