Chapter 3 The arrival

The departure is always one of my favourite parts of a journey.  A time when I'm relaxed knowing exactly where I’m going, yet excited in the knowledge spontaneous events and chance meetings will carry me to places I haven’t even dreamed of yet.  I took a window seat on the bus, gazing happily at the commuters as they made their way home from work ‘See you later suckers,’ I said in imitation of Bart Simpson.  It wasn’t malicious, just a taunt, and perhaps one day they’d be taunting me, when their mortgages were paid, when they were sipping champagne on an all-inclusive cruise. Joining the motorway I watched the sun dip over the fields and an hour later I’d arrived at Heathrow.

I realized it was exactly four weeks since I’d returned from China and stepping onto the tarmac it felt good, like I’d taken a wrong turn and suddenly realized where I was supposed to be going.  Watching the driver unceremoniously dumping the bags on the tarmac I took mine and moved to smoke as a couple of uniformed girls and a male colleague discussed their plans for the night. 

“Yeah, were going up Charlie’s, going to meet the lads,” one of the girls said.

“Nicky coming?”

“Maybe, depends if Brian’s going.”

It was what most people did on Saturdays, went for a drink, woke up on Sunday to tidy the house, went back to work on Monday.  I felt a wave of superiority at the grandness of my plans, heading to the other side of the world to prepare for my greatest challenge.  I puffed out my chest, stubbed out my cigarette and walked inside.

I couldn’t see my airline, approaching the Saudi Airlines desk to ask for directions. 

“Etihad sir, over there, final row, bottom,” said a smartly dressed Arab.

I queued patiently at check in, shuffling my bag forward with my foot until I'd reached the front of the line.

“Is this your only bag sir?” the girl asked as I placed it on the conveyor.  It was, the bag which had taken me everywhere, and along with my passport it was one of the things I valued most.  A link to all the places I’d explored, all the people I’d met.

Upstairs I passed briskly through security and found myself with time to kill.  ‘What do I need to do? Check my bank account’ I thought. I’d been waiting for my final dole payment, eager to see it clear before I left.  Finding an ATM I entered my pin and smiled at the recent transactions ‘£120 credit 19-08-04’.  It wasn’t much, but being paid up my departure was somehow satisfying.

Moving to an airport branch of WH Smiths for cigarettes I browsed the books.  Airport shops were perfect for travellers, a selection big enough to ensure you’d always find something interesting without being overawed. I ran my eyes over a stand of popular reads and stopped at ‘Bangkok 8’.  It seemed poetic, a novel sharing the title of my destination, I turned it over and read the synopsis - ‘A fast paced thriller bringing together Buddhism, dirty cops, ladyboys and murder in one of Asia’s greatest cities.’  It was a must have, and adding twenty Richmond Menthols I paid. 

Spotting Boots as I returned to the atrium, ‘condoms’ flashed into my head. I wasn’t going for sex, but there was a chance I’d be having some.  I looked through the choice; ribbed, extra safe, feather light.  ‘Extra safe, how many?’ I took a pack of twenty and approached the checkout struck by a pang of embarrassment as I looked at the girl behind the checkout, ‘What if she thinks I’m a complete pervert?’ ‘This is Boots, she doesn’t know you’re going to Thailand,’ I answered. 

With an hour before my flight I ate a sandwich and looked for somewhere to perform my ritual.  Last time out I’d decided to mark every flight with a whiskey and a cigarette and O’Neil’s being the only place you could do both I made my way to the bar.  My love of airport bars was similar to my affection for airport book selections, a place where everyone was going somewhere, the holiday makers excitedly chatting and drinking before their flights. 

All tables taken, I made my way to a ramp perching against the rails and lighting a cigarette as the scoreboard showed Europe on their way to a comeback in The Ryder Cup. 

“You like golf?”

I looked across to a middle aged guy peering at me.

“I like the Ryder Cup, but no, I’m not a fan.”

“Good comeback for Europe.”

I nodded.

“Going anywhere nice?”

“Off to see my wife in Vietnam, she’s been doing some volunteer work, we’re meeting up in Saigon for a couple of weeks, how about yourself?”

“I’m Muay Thai boxing in Thailand.”

“Muay Thai boxing, wow, that’s pretty tough, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s what I heard, I’m hoping they’ll go easy on me.”

“Well, if I was as young again, I’d be doing something like that, plenty of time for settling down, believe me.”

“You travelled much?”

“Yes, my wife’s a development officer, we’ve spent a lot of time in Africa, she works in water purification.”

“I did some fundraising for Wateraid last year.”

“Wateraid, yes, they’re pretty big now.”

We returned to silently watching, his flight called fives minutes later.

“Well, better be on my way, good to meet you.”

“Good to meet you too.”

A positive conversation I mused over why my father couldn’t share a similar sentiment.  I often wondered what it would have been like to have different parents, parents who’d have supported my dreams rather than trying to mould me to their own.

My own flight boarding I rode the moving floor to the departure lounge.  It was an interesting mix of passengers; Thai’s on their way home, couples off for a break, but the majority backpackers and single males in mid to later life.  It was obvious what the later party's intentions were, flying to the other side of the world to a place synonymous with girls for rent.

The gate opening, I stood back watching the planes from the window.  It wasn’t so much the feat of flying which interested me but the people, Arabs flying back to Arabia, Americans just passing through, all with different dreams and expectations carrying them so far from home.

The lounge almost empty I handed over my boarding card and padded down the tunnel.  The plane was new, T.V.’s in every headrest, a spotless cream interior.  Taking my window seat I buckled up and admired the gap toothed flight attendant.  Middle Eastern in appearance she looked spanking in her sandy uniform, hair tied back in a slick ponytail, large brown eyes. I watched as she stood on tiptoes to close the lockers. 

Accelerating down the runway I gazed from the window feeling the jolt as the wheels left the tarmac, it was the beginning of my mission, the countless lights of London speckling the ground below, I was going to be a Legionnaire.  Looking around I wondered whether anyone else’s lives came close to mine, living off the grid, a challenge in front of me so great it made my body tingle.  Settling back I listened to the whir of the engines and spent the rest of my time catching up on movies I’d missed in China.  

“Any drinks sir?” my hostess would ask on her regular visits.

“Tomato juice and ice please.”

I’d watch as she bent to collect the ice.

“Do you have Worcester sauce?”

“Certainly sir.”

Closing on Abu Dabi the sun was already up, the desert merging with the sea as my thoughts turned to the Bedouin. ‘Would that life suit me’ I’d wondered, drifting across the dunes with my camel, stopping during the midday sun.  Bussing across the tarmac it looked too hot.  I was impressed by the terminal, a domed roof encrusted with Gaudi style mosaic, it was the kind of thing you didn’t see at home, something more than functional, but it was different here, they had money.  I watched Arabs strutting around in white robes, obedient wives following ten paces behind in heavy black burkas.

Having a stroll to feel out my surroundings I made my way to the lower level, upmarket shops displaying duty free perfume and cigarettes as a silver Mercedes revolved at the centre. Moving to the bathroom I splashed my face and returned to the lounge taking a book I’d borrowed from Emma. I was already a few chapters in, the story of a Chinese poet estranged from his family, travelling around China in search of a better life. I stopped to re-read a sentence ‘Looking at her who could have guessed she was a mother with an opium addiction, had a husband in prison, a gay lover’.

Looking up I considered how anonymous I was; my ex-wife, my mother's death, my passions, my plan, it was all private to me.  I wasn’t lonely, just struck by how we travelled with such different ideas, three weeks ago contemplating suicide, now in the desert on my way to The Legion.  Moving to a glass smoking room I had no idea how things would work out, just a plan, just the feeling I had to keep moving.

Back onboard the crew had a changed and I sat pining for my gap toothed flight attendant, re-configuring myself for the final five hours and making my way through more films, more tomato juice and more plane food.  I’d already eaten four meals but there was something about plane food I just couldn’t resist, the neatness of the portions, the carefully measured quantities, it had an aesthetic I associated with Japanese food.  I ate a further two and felt bloated, dozing and occasionally opening my eyes as the sky turned red, then black.

Touching down in the early evening the airport was as I remembered it, seventies décor, cream walls and pot plants.  I watched the girls in uniform and queued at immigration thinking about my last visit, standing with the German I’d met on my flight from Hong Kong, ‘Should I declare these?’ he’d asked opening a satchel of brightly coloured pills. ‘The death penalty for convicted smugglers,’ was what I’d thought.  I’d told him not to show them to anyone and decided to join a differnt queue. 

I was excited rather than anxious this time, my foreseeable future in Thailand; home to pretty girls, sunshine and maybe some sex. Moving to the baggage carousel I found myself among the holiday makers, my mind at ease.  It was always the same when I travelled; no thoughts about jobs or the future, money set aside to be spent. I’d get fit and I’d go, that’s was the plan.  

Exiting the terminal I was hit by a wall of humidity. I liked the way it invaded my pores, more confirmation I was far from home, everything familiar left behind.  Purchasing a bus ticket I lit a cigarette and turned to watch the traffic racing by on the expressway above me, tall palms looming on the grassy verges.  

The bus was full of first time visitors; you could tell they were, all pouring over guidebooks and trying to work out where they’d have to get off.  They were all headed to the same place of course, Khao San Road, first and last stop for any traveller on a budget. Years ago a shabby lane with a few places for hippies and writers it was now a Disneyland of tourist tack and flashing neon.

As we rose over the city I looked out at huge neon signs for Epson and Champion, the floodlit temples shimmering against the night.  I remembered how I’d ridden a motorcycle taxi back from the Luphini stadium on my previous visit.  The temples had mesmerised me that night, nothing but gold standing against the darkness, tiles of gems glittering on the roofs.  As we continued I recognised the Royal Palace, its ornate roofs rising above the white walls and then the park.

“Any Jean Claude Van Damme fans?” I ventured to a couple beside me. “The training scene from Kickboxer was filmed over there”

“Yeah, I’ve seen that film,” the boyfriend replied.

“Remember the part where they’re training in the park, it’s that one.”

That was my piece, I’d said enough.

Arriving in Banglamphu I walked to a guesthouse my guidebook recommended as cheap, clean and hot on security.  All the single rooms taken they directed me to the Sawasdee down the street.  It looked nice from outside, a downstairs seating area, T.V., a small restaurant. I paid for a night and lugged my bags to the third floor. My room giving space for my Legion exercises around the bed. The city clinging to my skin I stepped out of my clothes and wrapping a towel around my waist I walked to the showers at the end of the corridor, the lukewarm water peeling away my hours of travelling as the current carryied a black stream to the plug. 

Back in my room I returned to lying on my bed, I was shot physically but something was telling me to go out.  I always did when I arrived somewhere, just wandered around until I had a sense of the place. 

Stuffing two hundred baht in my wallet I hid my documents under the mattress and set off, walking down a winding street and passing through a bar to come out facing Khao San Road.  Nothing had changed since my previous visit, like a popular show the roles were the same it was only the faces which had changed, streams of travellers moseying their way up and down, hippies tying dreadlocks, larger louts swigging Carlsberg, Police keeping an eye out.  I made my way slowly down the drag, stopping at a menu of fake documents.

“How much for a degree?” I enquired.

“7000 baht.”

“Best price, give me best price.”

“You say how much.”

“Two thousand.”

The vendor turning away in disgust I kept walking, buying a skewer of pork and spotting a bakery I remembered from my last visit.  A glass counter stuffed with ornately decorated cakes, it was high art but that wasn’t to be part of my diet for the coming months.

Continuing past the hotel where I’d shared a room with my German pill smuggler I crossed the road and walked along the white wall of a temple.  A sky blue VW camper parked on the opposite curb where two travellers sat sipping cocktails as dance music blared from the roof.  A little further down a large wooden restaurant with split level bar and busy tables hugging the street.  Looking like a place to while away an evening I made a note to return and headed back to bed.

Jet lag waking me at dawn I decided to keep up my preparation with a jog, making my way downstairs as a solitary woman swept the street with a wiry broom. Pressing my hands against a wall I briefly stretched my calves and padded to the end of the lane, the expressway already busy with early morning commuters. I bounced on my heals and looked across to the park, an oval path I reckoned at a kilometre around.

Taking my chance, I bobbed through the traffic and began along the grass, switching to the pavement as mud splashed my calves. I was at ease, something reassuring about a place where people lived at a different pace, everything still done, but time to feel life again.  I hacked through two decent circuits and upped the pace as I watched the homeless people stirring from damp boxes beneath the trees.

In China my dawn runs had drawn gawping stares but no one cared here.  I relaxed for a final lap and eased to a gentle jog, returning to my guesthouse as travellers passed me curious glances.  ‘What was a guy doing jogging?’  I felt like I’d broken protocol, as if travelling had a prescribed list of time fillers and exercise didn’t come into it.  At home you might have been in the gym five days a week but drinking and chasing girls was the routine for Thailand. 

Making my way upstairs I showered and lay in my towel for half an hour, showering again as I continued to perspire.  Taking my book Bangkok 8 I read the narrator was a Buddhist cop and former drug dealer working his way towards Karmic redemption and after finishing a couple of chapters I strolled to a nearby guesthouse for breakfast.  

It was almost empty as I arrived, an older Australian chatting to a teenage waitress, a couple of Israeli’s smoking over matching cups of Nescafe.  You could tell they were, deep tans, sharp features, slick hair tied back in ponytails.  I picked up the homemade menu ‘fresh fruit, cornflakes, eggs with bacon, eggs with everything’.  They knew exactly what we wanted, everything from home for a fifth of the price.

‘Sawat di cap,’ the young waitress greeted.

‘Toast and coffee please.’

I watched as she spiked the order and returned to the Australian.  ‘Is she his girl?’ I thought. I knew there was a big prostitution scene, but what about the girls who worked in the guesthouses.  He had the physique of a labourer, veins in his biceps, thick forearms you couldn’t get from working behind a desk.  ‘So, he’s a contractor,’ I silently hypothesized,  ‘when he fancies a break he comes to Thailand for a few months, stays in a guesthouse, gets friendly with a girl and she pays him visits in his room’.

As the food arrived I opened my guidebook and began to plan the day.  I’d seen all the sites on my last visit, The Royal Palace, The Leaning Buddha, today I just fancied a stroll.  Downtown being somewhere I hadn’t seen I made Sukhumvit my destination.  It was described as a three kilometre strip patrolled by a monorail and lined with malls. 

Finishing my food I approached the in-house travel agent and enquired about buses to Chiangmai.

“Can leave tomorrow eight o’clock, ticket cost two hundred and seventy baht.”

Paying for the ticket I got the number for a bus to the city and stopped at my room to collect money and camera.

Waiting on the expressway that morning I felt the heat rising back from the pavement and mixing with the fumes from the passing traffic. The bus arriving, I took my seat and watched as the ticket collector swigged her tea.  It was nice to see a ticket collector, something we’d put paid to at home but Asia seemed in no rush for technology.  I’d seen them In China too, they’d had ticket machines but kept the ticket collectors anyway, removing jobs didn’t make sense where people needed them.  Better to have them in some kind of low paid job than nothing at all.

Thinking about China I remembered how much I enjoyed learning the language and suddenly had the urge to say something in Thai ‘How do I say ‘how much?’’ I thought pulling out my phrase book and flicking to the shopping chapter ‘Ni thao ri?’ Knee tao rie’, was that right?’ 

I saw the ticket collector tighten the cap on her flask, watched as she swayed down the aisle towards me.

“Ten baht,” she snapped in English.  I fumbled in my change and held out my palm allowing her to remove the appropriate coins

Frustrated at my thwarted attempt I waved to a young girl across from me. 

“Excuse me, you speak English?”

“Yes.”

“How do I say this?” I said holding my finger beneath the phrase.

“Knee phao rai.”

Thanking her I looked from the window cycling the words in my head.  Three wheeled taxis, street sellers, sign shop, phone shop, back home high streets and out of town shopping were all we had but small businesses thrived in Asia, every community with a butcher, baker and candlestick maker.  The same combination of enterprises repeated on every other block. 

I watched as an elderly Westerner clambered on board.  He didn’t look like a traveller, chinos and crisp white shirt.  I’d read the city was a popular base for expatriates, a place where everything came together at the right price; pretty girls, sunny days, Muay Thai, modern facilities, good food, tales of mystery and intrigue.  I felt it might be a place for me later, a place to settle when I’d worn myself out with life.

Returning to peering from the window I saw the beginning of the sky train looming overhead, exiting at the next stop and walking beneath its shadow.  It looked like an unfinished flyover, beginning abruptly fifty feet above the street I passed palatial malls and construction sites, slowing as a young couple argued up the street.  Drawing level the guy looked ready to hit her, but it was Thailand and it wasn’t my business.  Finishing my stroll at a Buddhist temple I watched a crowd offering prayers as traffic coursed by on the road, madness and calm standing side by side, it seemed to epitomise Thailand.

Walking to a nearby sky train entrance I climbed the stairs and entered a hall of ticketing machines and entrance barriers.  A small coffee shop to my left I watched as a single member of staff expertly prepared a cappuccino not dissimilar from the one on the menu.  Ordering the iced version I took a stool and looked around.  It was exactly how I’d come to love spending my lazy days, people watching in urban sprawls. 

The first time I’d done it had been a day when everything had been caving in.  I’d driven to Manchester and sat Starbucks contemplating the end of my marriage.  It had become a habit since.  Taking myself off with a book and something to write on, I’d sit for hours tuning in and out of conversations as I slowly made my way through whatever I was reading.  It was amazing what people would talk about in a coffee shop.  A male lawyer telling a female colleague he had no confidence, a girl telling a friend why she loved God.  It didn’t matter I was in a station, there were people to observe, I had nowhere to be and the coffee was delicious. I took out my journal and jotted a few lines.

Finishing my coffee quicker than expected, I played with the ice for a while but deciding it would take too long to melt I made my way to the platform, watching as the approaching train snaked silently over the horizon.  The view was like a picture book, everything you needed to know about the city compacted into a five minute ride;  aging concrete buildings, gleaming skyscrapers, half finished condominiums marking the nineties crash, blue sky giving a seven day weather forecast.  Exiting at the final stop I made my way to street, waiting for the bus as street cleaners washed the pavements with power hoses.  ‘The Legion,’ I thought, ‘in five years I might be back working for some mafia boss with a Legion tattoo.’ 

Back at the guesthouse I slipped into a deep sleep that afternoon, waking at ten with the sensation it was already morning.  Switching on the T.V. they were replaying the 94 World Cup and I took out my book reading as I glanced at the screen. Unable to get going I switched to my guidebook and located a restaurant near the river.  Arriving at The Joy Luck Club just after ten thirty I found it deserted.  I thought about leaving until a waitress emerged from the kitchen. I took my seat and ordered American fried rice.  It was a cosy place, the kind I could imagine a Lonely Planet writer visiting and thinking 'Yeah, this is a good place'.  The bell above the door tinkling, a middle aged Thai entered taking the adjacent table.  Silent for a couple of minutes he glanced over.

“Where you come from?” he asked.

“England.”

“Oh, England, goooood, you like football?”

“Newcastle.”

“Alan Shearer.”

Pausing for a moment, he resumed.

“Why you come Thailand?”

“Muay Thai, I’m learning in Chiang Mai.”

“Muay Thai, awh, can do in Bangkok.”

“Cheaper in Chiang Mai.”

“Have to be careful,” he said tapping his elbow. 

For the next thirty minutes I answered questions ranging from football to girlfriends and enjoying the company ordered a glass of whiskey to cap the night. 

“You like whiskey?” my companion chirped.

“Don’t give him any, he my boyfriend, I not want him drunk?” the waitress intervened.

“This your place?”

She nodded.

“Nice, good food.”

Walking to the bar she returned with a bottle.

“No, no, I just want a glass.”

I pointed to the hundred and twenty baht whiskey on the menu.

“Right, this hundred and twenty baht whisky.” 

An hour later, eyes rolling to the back of my head the boyfriend offered me a ride.  I climbed into his four by four and listened as he told me he sold fish to local restaurants, up at four thirty to visit the markets. He stopped outside the wooden restaurant I spotted the night before.

“O.K. Mr Paul, I need your help, you help me find Western girl,” he said.

Too drunk to object I followed inside, watching as he greeted the waiter.

“No problem, these my friends,” he said as we took our table at the centre.  “You want another whiskey?”

I nodded, slumping in my chair and watching as the waiter collected a bottle.  My friend’s eyes dancing around the bar the waiter returned and stood mixing whiskey sodas.

“Those girls, you and me go talk to them now,” my friend directed.

I looked down to a table near the street. Two blondes, a brunette and a ginger, they didn’t look my type but obliged by his hospitality I stood and approached.

“Hi, mind if I join you?”

No direct ‘no’ I waved my friend over and took my seat.  One Irish, one Australian and two Austrians we chit chatted for a couple of minutes and seeing my friend occupied I blew his cover.

“O.K., my Thai friend here just wants to meet western girls, play along with it,” my friend occasionally patted out a well worn chat up line and spent the rest of the time gazing around.  Seeing he wasn’t making progress when the two Austrians left he followed.

I asked the remaining girls what they’d been doing.

“Teaching, bought a degree in Khao San and headed to Korea,” the Irish girl replied. 

“How was it?”

“Nice, we shared a flat in Seoul.  The teaching was pretty straightforward but things turned sour when Abbey’s friend turned up.  Told us he was coming and everything just didn’t say he’d be staying.  Lived in the flat, ate the food in the fridge, put nothing in the kitty, we moved out in the end. What about you?”

It was the classic travellers conversation, able to tell a complete stranger your innermost secrets in the knowledge you’d never see them again unless you wanted to.  I told them my plan.

“I didn’t think that existed anymore,” the Irish girl said as I finished.

“Oh yeah, it exists alright, you just get yourself fit and go to France, if you pass the fitness test you're in.” 

My plan didn’t seem so crazy now, the first people I’d told outside my circle all it did was spark their interest. Walking back towards our accommodation I felt I might have pulled but when they stopped to wish me luck I realized it was the whiskey talking.

“Have a good trip,” I said.

Continuing to my guesthouse I was hit by a pang of loneliness, ‘Is this when you need a Thai girl?’ I thought.  I ran through the scenario in my head.  Walking past a bar, a girl calling out, me buying her a drink, we’d talk for an hour and she proposition me. Then what?  We discuss prices, I take her back to my room.  It’s all a bit clinical but at the same time it’s sensual, she’s Thai and I’ve never been with an Asian before.  We take off our clothes, climb into bed kissing until I’m hard and then I reluctantly put on the condom.  I cum quickly, pay and I’m alone again.