Short Version:
Train morning, and
a trip back in time, to some manipulation and some crazy foods
Long Version:
'Twas a noisy
night; steel wheels aren't silent at the best of times, but when
they're being pushed across track that isn't particularly uniform,
the chatter gets pretty loud. Almost loud enough to drown out the
sound of someone whose inner ear had failed to cope with sleeping in
a bouncing, swaying berth, awakening them – and me – in the wee
small hours for repeated and violent retching (them, not me). It is,
of course, entirely possible that they had a viral, bacterial, or
amoebic infection – all of which have been known to occur here in
SE Asia, with varying degrees of catastrophic output – but I'm
assuming an inner ear issue, on the grounds that we inhaled copious
amounts of street-food in Bangkok's Chinatown, and (so far) suffered
no ill effects. But that's a tale that probably needs to be told in
more detail...
~~~~~~~~ wavy lines
indicate travelling backwards through time ~~~~~~~~
There are massage
places EVERYWHERE in the Sukhumvit area of Bangkok, where we've been
staying. Some of these are “massage” places, but many are
legitimate, therapeutic, no Happy Ending, actual Thai massage places,
and everything we've read says we really ought to be on the receiving
end on a pretty much daily basis. Bank balance says that frequency
might be slightly over the top, but there was no way we weren't going
to go at least once. So Lovely Wife got on the phone and made a
booking for us at one of the big, renowned, multiple-branch massage
enterprises, and we set off with very little time to spare, first in
a tuk-tuk and then on foot, to what turned out to be a large
and well-appointed building with a significant amount of well-heeled
foot traffic (sorry) passing in and out of its portals. Inside was
air-conditioned and stylish, and we drank fancy-packaged chilled
water in the fancy-designer-designed waiting area until the woman
with the microphone called out what Lovely Wife managed to interpret
as a mangled version of our names, and we set off in the wake of two
short, round, middle-aged Thai women named – according to their
badges – Dokmai and Yupa.
Dokmai was older,
and rounder, while Yupa laughed more, although that may have been at
least partly because Dokmai – I assume – won whatever game of
chance they played to determine who massaged whom, and so Yupa was on
Puppet-manipulation duty.
The massage was
quite different to the sports-type massages we're used to getting,
with more use of masseuse bodyparts for leverage, more standing-on
the recipient, and more clothes worn. No oily flesh-rubbing here; we
were given special “I'm getting a massage” outfits to wear; mine
in shades of blue, Lovely Wife's red and pink.
Yupa used mainly
elbows. Not sure about Dokmai.
Yupa found many
things amusing, particularly bright-colored kids-drawing tattoos and
complaininess about what she obviously considered minimal pressure.
Yupa left me
feeling great, and unable to walk properly, temporarily. Yupa found
that amusing too. So did Dokmai. And Lovely Wife, and all of the
other HealthLand staff.
So it's 5pm, and
we're done, and on our way to the nearby Metro (subway) station. We
never quite got around to eating lunch, so we're ravenous, and
ignoring the smells emanating from the cluster of food carts around
the subway entrance is not an option.
It's possible that
the vendors have never before seen spicy-pork-on-a-stick disappear
into a pair of gullets quite so quickly.
The subway spat us
out at Hua Lamphuang, near the main railway station, which meant we
had an opportunity to check the place out in advance of our upcoming
trip while unencumbered by big bags and bikes, and then we were off,
onwards, into Yaowarat, Bangkok's Chinatown.
Or we would be, if
we'd paid attention to how to get there.
Found our way
eventually, and commenced stuffing all manner of foods more-or-less
delicious, and weird, and wonderful, into our faces while strolling
through the very neon-enabled and very crowded streets and alleys.
Favorites included the eggy pastry thing with condensed milk and
some of the deep-fried unidentifiables from the toothless old lady.
Didn't eat bird's-nest soup, or offal.
Did buy durian, the
legendary love-it-or-loathe it fruit, banned from many
air-conditioned buildings in Asia because of its pervasive and
lingering smell and banned, as it turns out, from the Bangkok subway.
Even a plastic-wrapped package is not allowed on the train. So we ate
it outside the subway station, and it was... nothing special. Don't
see what the fuss is about, to be honest.
And then we went
home.
~~~~~~~~ wavy lines
indicate travelling forward in time, but only as far as the
present*~~~~~~~~
Some time during
the night the mucus-beast had departed, leaving behind one slightly
bedraggled (but still lovely) Lovely Wife, and so many soiled tissues
that it looked like we'd had a tour bus full of post-sales-conference
Chinese businessmen and their temporary companions visit us in the
night-time for a Patpong-style mega-bukkakke** party. Someone
had snuck in to our niche during the small hours and plugged in a hot
liquid device but left no cups, so we sat and watched the sun rise
over forested hills and limestone mountains sans caffeine
until one of the friendly railway staff brought through the breakfast
we'd ordered last night... chocolate cookies, some sliced apple,
and... cups!
Before you go
jumping to any conclusions, let me note a few points:
This breakfast
option was not something that I chose when Lovely Wife was not
watching, this was a mutual decision
It looked like
the best option from a limited selection
We didn't
entirely realise that the chocolate cookies were actually cookies -
biscuits for folks in the south - like you'd get in a packet from
the supermarket.
And not
gourmet ones either.
OK, scratch
that, maybe it was just me that didn't understand; Lovely Wife says
that “of course they were going to be like that, what else
did you expect? The menu said cookies, these are cookies. You're a
dufus.”
Anyway, all we
really wanted was the coffee, despite having a fair idea that it was
going to be shitty.
Oh, and we have
almost no Thai moneys left, pending a visit to an ATM - or, failing
that, a Currency Exchange - which we will do later today in Chiang
Mai, which we should see in about 2 hours.
* = , which is the
past for you, because the only one reading this in the present is me,
and you're not me. Probably. Depends on what you believe about how
the world works, really. Some people would say that we're all one,
which would make you me as well as you. Others would have you believe
that one of us is real, and sleeping, and that everyone else is a
dream construct, playing out their role in the slumber-narrative for
as long as the napping continues but doomed to cease once waking
happens. And then there are the ones that have an imaginary friend
with supernatural powers... All a complete bunch of arse? Why yes,
yes it is.
** = If you don't
already know, please don't look this up. You will be offended.
