Thai Time

The bus conductor is sweet and dweeby looking. He diligently hands all new passengers a damp towellete, sealed cup of waterand a ration pack of chocolate biscuits. After each stop he pours dainty cups of pepsi watered down with ice and served on a tray with a straw. During one of these pepsi breaks I ask him what time we will arrive in Chantaburi and he says six o'clock. Upon looking at his watch and seeing that mickey's hands point to ten minutes past six he smiles and says seven. I once asked Evie if Thai time was like African time. It seems I have my answer.


But it's okay, it's dusk outside, my favourite time of the day and I'm travelling by myself and not stressed, so I turn to look out the window at the country side sliding by. At that moment we pass a fleet of spirit houses sparkling in the dying sun.


I arrive at the River Guest House in Chanthaburi at about 8. I am pretty sure I have been ripped of by the cab driver and the quaint sounding guest house is a shithole. I feel like Leonardo Di Caprio in The Beach, and keep wondering if someone is going to slip me a map to the promised land and then end it all. But where else am I going to go? So I pay my money, catch up with some people online and then head upstairs to my room which is a blessing purely for the aircon and hot water (which I paid extra for). I take a shower, not sure if I am getting cleaner or dirtier, and afterwards sit down on my bed and look out the window at the view of the bridge, festively lit up, cars crossing back and forth. The bridge and their lights however have lost their charm at 3am when I still can't sleep due to the intermitently loud traffic flying over it. Oh well. Cambodia tomorrow.

But alas, no! The minibus drivers who usually ferry to and from the boarder have decided that the four of us who want to cross are not a good enough reason to go, and so we will have to wait and come back tomorrow - sorry what? Another day and night in Chanthaburi, and this overweight white girl with giant red curly hair is now target number one for all tourist scams. Suddenly all my romantic notions of the intrepid traveller are in tattters and all I want is my own bed. I head back to the River Guest House, pop down my backpack and regroup. Comisserations are offered to me by two Swiss men, the one of whom has several long hairs sprouting out of his nose and curling into his mouth which makes it difficult for me to concentrate when he explains alternative border crossing options, however they all require a half days travel and I decide to stay put until tomorrow.

And so I go for a walk in Chanthaburi - it seems the city is a centre for gem trading and every shop twinkles at me with beautifully cut jewels. Ah if only I could go home with a pocketful of rubies, but I am just looking for something that vaguely resembles western food as my tummy is not too happy with me. On my mission I stumble upon a little Thai massage parlour. Foot massage 150 baht. I look down at my poor feet - burnt in a reverse sock tan from my time on the kayak, swollen from all the hours of bussing, one still showing signs of the London cankle - not happy! They deserve this. And so I enter and the experience is much as Evie said it would be - my masseuse chats to her friends, and for the first half of my 90 minute massage watches and sings along with the strange combination of hindi music videos on tv with Thai subtitles. They are all shot in London, all in the 80s - there it it, my home, as seen through the eyes of two different cultures. Someone changes the channel and it's King Kong and it't not been dubbed! English! Not only that but now my masseuse and I share word - King Kong. And so every now and again she looks at me, smiles and says King Kong, and I say King Kong, and we smile and she continues, and my feet are glad for the massage, and I am glad for Adrian Broody and Jack Black and Naomi Watts.

Later I am back in my room and listening to my music and for the first time in years I am just listening, and doing nothing else. As I press the head phones into my skull I really hear the music, and I search for things in the audio I have never heard before and I find them, and I am glad I am stuck in Chantaburi, glad for this strange day in limbo.