Week 16, Thailand
CAMBODIA OR BUST: that was the plan. We were to cross the border at Poipet, jump in a pickup for the ride over nonexistent road to Sisophon, then onto the little bamboo train (built by villagers and powered by a boat engine) to Battambang, for the long jungle river ride out to Siem Reap, where I sweated out a nasty mushroom pizza four months ago. That's where I'm supposed to be, telling you all about our grand river voyage.
Didn't happen.
We missed the train, then the bus, then wandered around like you do at 8am on New Year's Day when the Stay Out vs Go Home debate starts to turn the corner from one conclusion to the other but your brain and body aren't quite in sync yet so you sort of walk a couple of steps in one direction, then turn and go in another, until someone slaps you. That's what we did, for a while, like scattered amnesiacs, until at some point in the evening we ended up heading west, in a taxi bound for Kanchanaburi.
Kanchanaburi! Don't even try to say it. The Australian accent makes it almost impossible for any of us to pronounce properly. If you really need to give it a go, put on your best Rooty Hill bogan-with-more-VB-singlets-than-teeth accent and say the following dialogue:
'Can't ya?'
'Nahh, Brie'
There you go. That's pretty close. Now practice in front of a mirror for three weeks.
Never mind the pronunciation: Kanchanaburi is really just the River Kwai. as in, 'Bridge on the...', and the bridge in question is still standing in the middle of town, ferrying gawking white tourists back and forth across the river by train. But it's not much of a drawcard, being fairly small and unimpressive and surrounded by large stages and river barges filled with overweight Thais belting out karaoke classics.
THE 'I HATE KARAOKE' SIDENOTE: I hate karaoke. Not generally, you understand, just here. I enjoyed it in the Philippines, for instance, where it was drunken fun, or in Sydney, where it was also drunken fun. Over here, it's drunken seriousness. People here - or, okay, men here - belt out these awful, awful Thai-pop staples with all the grave solemnity of a funeral dirge. That would be okay, but they do it so loudly and for sooooooo long into the night that you start to get these Chuck-Norris-martial-arts fantasies while lying in bed, in which you walk down to that stage in your boxer shorts and totally belt the shit out of all the singer's henchmen and then down the man himself with a mean right hook, before picking up the microphone and giving them a taste of 'Eye of the Tiger' before spitting out some witty one-liner and dropping the mic on the guy's head (I haven't thought of the witty one-liner yet). Also: they play karaoke DVDs constantly on the long-distance buses, except in all of Thailand there must be - let's see here - oh, three karaoke DVDs. That's the impression I get, anyway, after having sat through one particular DVD with a denim-clad douchebag proudly displaying 'Nescafe' logos all over his set while crooning about how he wants to 'soop' my 'ong-ka-chaat' at least five times over the last couple of months. Again - very loudly and on repeat for long enough that the Chuck-Norris fantasies reoccur and you can almost feel the way the driver will scream when you give him a swift and lethal karate chop to the neck.
Kanchanaburi's a lovely little town to sit by the river and waste a couple of days but since we're a bunch of fist-pumping, fast-driving, carpe-diem-shouting, techno-music-listening-to adrenaline junkies we decided that the only thing for it was to rent a couple of the fastest motorbikes in town and burn up and down the highways. So we found a couple of mopeds and sped off at an insane 63km/hr. Because we're crazy! Because nothing can stand in our way! Then Aaron's bike broke down; we had to go back; we got yelled at; we said we were sorry; we got a new bike.
The moment we left Kanchanaburi the landscape exploded into great long, spiky mountains rising sharply in every direction, carved apart by wide brown rivers and softened by long, golden cornfields pocked here and there with a shining red-and-gold temple. We visited a ridiculously large waterfall with seven tiers, each tier massive and filled with swimming Thais and big fish that bit the ankles the moment we stepped in. We showered under the waterfalls; stayed the night in a cabin that floated out on the river, held up by empty oil barrels, the rocking motion gently counteracted by several Singha beers.
We rode around a lot that weekend. When it rained - and it rained - we would become wretched, ragged creatures, our bodies the consistency of wet socks, our mouths alternating between thick cursing and spitting water. When it stopped, and the mountains were strung with mist like tinsel around a christmas tree, it was beautiful. And when the clouds parted altogether and the mountains sung with light and the cornfields glowed in almost radioactive magnificence: then it was one of the all-time highlights of this entire voyage away. We went to some geothermal hot springs not too far from the Burmese border: they were, unsurprisingly, quite hot. Fortunately they were placed two metres from a cold river that snaked its way through the forest, so we were able to jump from one to the other. Lying in those sweaty springs while sweet thick tropical rain poured down on our heads, though: that was also one of the best moments I've had away. Truly excellent.
I'm still struggling on the job front and starting to feel more like a pathetic loser with each passing day. But there's an opportunity around every corner. Like, maybe I could be a crazy bag lady? Or one of those dudes who looks for coins on the beach? They must have it good, check out all that expensive electronic equipment they own. Or, like, I heard about this one website that buys toenail clippings from people! I can make those! Or I could sell my hair to a wigmaker. It's pretty fucking nice hair. Plus, I had a really great 'Desert Storm' trading card collection when I was young. That must be worth a fortune! I hope mum's kept it, or else she'll owe me several thousand dollars... I could collect recyclable paper! The opportunities for an enterprising guy like me: limitless.
Lachie
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