June 19. Bangkok. The finger.

Our bus to Bangkok includes pick-up service and friendly caring drivers – and a bunch of complaining tourists. I can’t stand a group of British partygirls and the attitude they display. Anyway, the bus is fast and after a few hours and stopovers we arrive at the Thai border, the crossing of which is free and easy. I would like to see the roundabout where they change the “rule of the road” and traffic coming from Cambodia, which drives right, changes to the left on Thai streets. Since we walk across the border and I remember my wish only later, I miss that magic roundabout. Ah, I can still dream about it. The highway in Thailand seems polished and takes us in a whim to the capital, near the infamous Khaosan road.
It is that road that is my first real impression of the land of smiles. Abundant merchandise on
They are selling fake ID-cards, I distinguish driver’s licenses, German student cards,
The hawkers refuse me taking a picture
“Are you ashamed of your merchandise?” I ask
-“Go away!” one of the men shouts, “no photo”
“This is a public place as far as I know, and I take a photo if I like.” I say, mounting my camera again. The men seem furious and I am afraid they might fall upon me to deprive me of my precious digital imagery device. A man shows me the finger. So I scurry off towards Yeon, who is waiting for me twenty meters down the road Welcome to Thailand.

We are looking for a guesthouse in this area, and on our quest walk into a small backstreet lodging that we expect to be sober and smartly priced. In the darkened lobby I see two older caucasian men browsing date-a-young-asian-woman websites, on our way to see a room a greepy looking middle-aged Westerner comes down the stairs and I signal Yeon “let’s go”. On our way out I catch the grey stare of yet another creep. It can be my impression, but the scenario fits to what everybody knows about Bangkok, its vivid prostitution. I want to beat child molesters up with a spikey baseball bat, I want to frame them and turn them over to the police, I want to cook them on a slow fire.
All that has to wait because we still have to find our guesthouse. We end up in a modest place, in a tiny room, and go down to the tourist tumble again to enjoy the internet.
close our eyes soon after checking in.

Advertisements

Published by

Kamiel Choi

Dutch philosopher and poet, sometimes sharing thoughts on the internet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s