Almost Intrepid | My first real solo trip to Thailand 1

Everyone, at some point in their life, visits Thailand. It’s another thing that Thailand hadn’t been my choice, but having said the word sort of sealed my destiny. There was no turning around.

It was Adventure New Delhi all over again, right down to the lack of plan, the need for a ticket and not enough time to find one. I guess, what they say about people’s genetic makeup is true—if you were born impulsive and unprepared, you would naturally exhibit all evidence of that throughout your life.

My knowledge of airline processes was not reliable, but there was an optimist inside me that never gave up hope. If Indian Railways could issue a ticket in the nth hour, airlines could too. I mean, why not! People often did impulsive things, so there was no reason why I should not belong in the category that got lucky.

It was all about faith, I guess, or confidence, for eventually everything falls in place.

But for every optimistic view of mine, there was a negative force that worked hard to shake my beliefs.

Where the heck was Thailand on the world map?
What do you propose to do, assuming you get there?
Do you have the money?
Didn’t someone say it was impossible to find normal food, unless you called creepy crawlies “normal”?
And what was that about sex tourism?
You have heard of tourists being raped, murdered and mugged, haven’t you?
Do you have any idea what you are getting into?

The questions stumped me for a moment, but I have the qualities of a rubber ball. I may not have had answers, but I am loyal to my goals.

To Thailand, I would go. I could live with eating crawlies, not-so with being raped, and couldn’t care less about being mugged. Two out of three was a good score.

Meghna, a travel-agent friend, was the answer to my ticket. After considerable eye-rolling and friendly chiding, she tapped into the magical fountain and found a ticket.

“Airlines,” she said with a straight face, “are always prepared to squeeze in last-minute travellers. You know why? The cost, of course. You will pay premium price, you know.”

Years of experience in procuring tickets for people like me had hardened Meghna. She never flinched, not once, even when I brought up the matter of my complete ignorance of the place. Her purpose was to find a ticket and a ticket she had found.

“Anything, any price,” I had said mournfully. “All I want is a ticket to Bangkok.”

So I got a ticket.

The Alchemist had been right. What you want, you get. But he hadn’t put a cost on the process.

A colleague threw me a curious look when I conveyed my plan. Bangkok somehow seemed to bring out something in him that closely resembled a twisted fiend. Distorting his face into a smirk, he said, “Ooh, Bangkok,” and managed in some way to separate that noun into two meaningful words. “I am sure you WILL have a good time. Are you going alone?”

Affirmative nod.

“Too bad.”

Then as an afterthought added, “But you know, you can always find someone…in Bangkok. Everyone always does. But oh, you are crazy to go there alone.”

I clearly remember showing him the door and a finger.

Two days later on the Thai Airways flight from Dubai to Bangkok, I patted my back, prayed and wished myself luck.

I was truly alone.

It was a good start to my great escape from the familiar Arabian sandpit I had gradually come to like. Six-and-a-half hours later (and four hours ahead in time), I reached.

Swadee-ka, Bangkok.

My emotions stirred considerably. I wasn’t prepared for anything except surprises, so along with being elated, scared and confused at finding myself in a part of South East Asia I had only vaguely read about, I resorted to something more comforting than welcoming smiles. Food.

Food, I hoped, not crawlies.

I could be forgiven for not knowing pad Thai from khao man kai, but I drew the short straw despite pointing at a picture of noodles on the wall of Magic Food Court, Suwarnabhumi Airport Level 1. Not quite the right start, I thought, fishing out noodles floating in a dark, tangy sauce, topped with slices of pork, crushed peanuts and sprouts. The experiment set me back 35 THB.

However, the newly acquired backpacker spirit returned with a firm resolve never to complain. At least not just yet, and NOT about food, ever.

Because I hadn’t travelled to Bangkok to look at other tourists, I took myself to the airport information desk and sought directions to the only place I had heard of in Thailand—Bridge on the River Kwai. I had my brother to thank for making me watch the film by the same name.

Pretending to be an old hand at seeking directions is okay, but when seeking directions to a place as popular as River Kwai, it pays to be clear and precise, especially if you weren’t particularly smart at identifying Thai-sounding words.

Me: Kanchanaburi.
He: Kanchanbuli? You go Thonbuli and get train. Me: Kanchanaburi, River Kwai? The Bridge?
He: Yes, yes, Liver Kwai. You take train Thonbuli. Me: Thonbuli? Okay, how do I get to err…Thonbuli?

I soon figured that replacing “Rs” with “Ls” would help me understand and get understood. So it came about that I would board the airport bus to Sanam Luang, hire a tuk-tuk that would fetch me up to the ferry boarding point—the ferry would see me to the other side of Bangkok to Thonbuli (Thonburi for you)—where I would then board the train to the aforementioned place.

And, he added happily, there WAS a train leaving Thonbuli at 1.50 pm and I could, if I hurried, make it in time for it.

So I bought a ticket for the standard fare of 150 THB and walked out to face the Thai sunlight and boarded the bus, a little more confident than when I had arrived, thrilled to be finally on my way to becoming a “real backpacker”.

Someone coughed beside me. A man with more tattoos than skin was trying to strike up conversation near my elbow.

Tattoo Man: “Hello. Where are you going?”

The bus was going to Sanam Luang, right? Who in the world asked obvious questions?

“Oh hi, you surprised me a little,” I replied, slipping on what I thought was the traveller’s mask. ”Kanchanaburi.”

“You have only just arrived, am I right? Are you on your own? No boyfriend?”

The traveller’s mask snapped in place. Whichever way I looked at it, this conversation felt like an interrogation. Should I have worn a fake wedding ring to keep strangers off my back?

“No. I am on my own.” (A hint of self-pride, hopefully not obvious through the mask).

The mask, I hoped, would hide the desperate need to look like a veteran traveller and not show me up. But experience is one big measuring stick, and someone who has a lot of that could easily tell I had just donned the garb and was trying unsuccessfully to feel comfortable in it.

Tattoo Man continued.

“You are Indian, I suppose? Well, there’s many here, all making buckets of baht, but I have never seen an Indian woman travel alone. Funny. You ARE Indian, aren’t you? How long are you looking at being here? A week?”

You could clearly see that I was NOT French or British. But even newbies—especially newbies with masks—are vulnerable to flattery, cracking at the slightest suggestions of one. I did likewise.

“Two weeks.” Here, I think, I smiled just a little.

“You will love the place, I am sure. I’ve been on the road two months and want more. I suggest you take Pattaya off your list of places-to-see. That would be cramming too much into such a short trip.”

What you sometimes think is unnecessary advice can surprise you with its honesty. You have to keep an open mind and not fly off the handle even when you think it’s no one’s business where you went or what you did, because people would behave just the way they knew how. Besides, this looked to be the way to receive free insider tips. Tattoo Man got off before Sanam Luang.

Something like depression hit me straightaway. Two weeks was too short, Tattoo Man had said. Was it absolutely necessary to see everything at one go? I mean, not everyone could travel for two straight months, right? Did that mean…did that mean I wasn’t…no, stop it, I told myself firmly. You cannot follow someone else’s pattern.

road two months and want more. I suggest you take Pattaya off your list of places-to-see. That would be cramming too much into such a short trip.”

Find your own.” I turned to the friendly driver for some support.

It was too early to figure if the bus driver was helpful or being chatty, for I hadn’t yet been able to differentiate Thai and HIS English, but I understood his concern when I explained I had no place to stay. And suddenly, admitting that liberated me from an unknown shackle. I was free. I was a vagabond. I would live on the streets and survive.

I had given myself a day to adjust to the new country; I also made up my own Commandments (without regard, of course, to the exact number) and swore to stick to them.

I would observe and understand before beginning a relationship with anything around me. I would adjust my beliefs and soften my attitude to suit the place and time.

I would accept that I was alone and there would be lengthy gaps before finding someone to speak with; I would learn the importance of my own company.

I would understand this was THEIR country and they had the right to behave as they wanted and didn’t have to pamper my whims. (Subtext: If I didn’t get an Indian breakfast, I would be content with theirs.)

I would not lose my cool if the first person on the road turned away when I sought directions or asked me curious questions.

I would show that the new Indian breed of female backpackers could hold out on their own or (failing that) I would try to be a model traveller with the right attitude.

And that my Commandments were not a multiple choice.