Travel Diaries: Thailand

“I remember the moment I realised I’d been living my whole life in black and white. It was like discovering a colour I never knew existed.” So said the late, great Anthony Bourdain, one of my heroes, about his first trip to Thailand. I wouldn’t say I’ve had an experience that revelatory, but Bangkok really is one of the most vibrant and exciting cities I’ve ever been to. Flying in from New Delhi was like flying 40 years into the future!

Mia and Eden have both questioned how I’m going to be able to make this edition an interesting read, as nothing of any great consequence has happened. This is music to my Nanna’s ears, who has been reading the diary entries with a grimacing face and one eye closed. In response to Part 3, she texted “I have to say it made me feel ill, it is very well written though xxxx”. Thanks, Gill. She suffers with migraines and hates garlic, and would make a terrible backpacker.

Just because nothing bad has happened doesn’t mean I don’t have anything to write about, though…

We jumped off the plane at Suvarnabhumi Airport and into a ‘Grab’, South East Asia’s version of Uber. It was a fourty-minute drive to The Cube Hostel, where we would spend three nights before splitting up, with myself and Mia travelling north, and Eden going south. Upon entering the highway, we drove past an almighty double-sided portrait of the King positioned within the central reservation. “Long Live the King” it read, and prompted me to remember that Thailand has some of the strictest lèse-majesté laws in the world, which essentially means you can’t slag off the King, otherwise, they’ll put you in prison. Therefore, there shan’t be any bad words said about Vajiralongkorn in this diary. There aren’t any bad words anyone can say about him anyway; I love him, he’s the best King ever, always has been, always will be.

A rainbow of homes can be seen in the foreground to my left, pastel blue, red, green, yet somehow similar to a Swiss chalet in shape and in structure. In the background, I could just about make out a cluster of skyscrapers piercing the orange sky, which grew taller as we travelled westbound on the number 7 highway. The sun, by this point, was on its way to bed, and flashed at us through the gaps in the buildings. We’d been in the car for twenty minutes and hadn’t heard a single beep. Oh civilisation, how we’ve missed you.

We said “kop-khun-karp” to our driver and checked in to The Cube. It was pristine. I changed my t-shirt, and the girls worked some miracles with their make-up. We were a ten-minute walk away from Khaosan Road, arguably the most famous street in Bangkok, known for it’s crazy nightlife. We headed in it’s direction, but veered off slightly to line our stomachs first. Shrimp pad Thai, veg spring roll, chicken soy sauce, egg fried rice, washed down with a few bottles of Chang, and we were ready to go.

It was at this point I could probably try and resonate with Tony Bourdain’s quote about discovering a new colour. Stepping on to Khaosan Road was like stepping into the mind of the person who invented glow sticks. If planet Earth was a disco-ball, this 400-metre strip of absolute revelry was the shiniest part. It was as if all the Greek party islands merged together, had a baby with Benidorm, and fed it only class-A drugs. Every single song ever composed was playing at the same time, at full volume, as the current of people dragged me further in. Representatives from the bars either side of the strip stand with menus to grab your attention, and if that doesn’t work, they’ll just grab your arm and literally pull you in. Mia could see I was overwhelmed, and rightly raised concerns. Halfway down the road, I spotted a bar with a bit of a courtyard, and saw an opportunity for a breather. We took refuge in there and had another bottle of Chang each.

I felt ready to give it another go, and before I knew it we were drinking Mai Thai cocktails out of plastic buckets with “Happy and You Know It” bursting our ear drums.

The next morning, or afternoon rather, the magic the girls had worked on their faces had long disappeared. They were now more reminiscent of E.T. The Extra Terrestrial when he’s in the incubator. It was 1-0 to Bangkok. We went out in search of food, and to try and feel normal again, but as nice as my pork omelette with sticky rice was, I couldn’t keep it down, and it came straight back up… I scored an own goal, and made it 2-0 to Bangkok.

After 24 hours in Thailand, we’d pretty much got accustomed to the fact it was more of a holiday destination than anywhere else we’d been so far. That in itself means there’s a lot of tourists - a lot more than in Goa and Delhi. Hoards of British, French, German, Scandinavian descend on the capital in their thousands each year, and it felt strange to not be the only white people for a three-mile radius.

Still, somehow, I felt like I stuck out a little bit. Even though I blended in here more than I had anywhere else so far, I felt like a bit of an oddball. I was comparing myself to my Western European counterparts, and I was feeling, or making myself feel, inferior. Big, tall, muscly, Dutch lads strut past me in their nice clean clothes, whilst I sit at a bar with a fag in my mouth, beer belly tucked in to my curry-stained shorts which haven’t been washed in two weeks, and absolutely covered in mosquito bites. Everywhere I looked people looked great and I felt… not so great. I’d been an A-list celebrity in India at the height of my fame, posing for selfies and videos, now I’m a D-lister, doing programmes with John Barrowman on Channel 5. I felt self conscious. I was overthinking (I think). A hideously out-of-shape manic depressive like me needs to be careful with those cocktail buckets, because when hungover thoughts protrude, it’s really difficult to shift them.

Thankfully, we had a distraction coming in the form of Vannah and Harvey - Eden’s sister and her other half. It was nice to see them and get a little taste of home. That night, we did it all over again with them. Pad Thai, Chang beers, cocktail buckets… the full works.

The following day we spent the majority of our time sat in taxis. That’s one thing we can slag off about Bangkok - they need to sort the traffic out. At least in Delhi you feel like you’re actually moving, it might be dangerous there, but they get you from A to B. In Thailand, you can be sat at a red light for nearly five whole minutes. They need to bump up the price of the tolls or install a metro system. But the King is, of course, still doing a great job.

We got a taxi to the Little Zoo Cafe and fed a random entourage of animals. Capybaras, rats, goats, meerkats, chickens, and a deer. I nipped into a barber shop and whilst sitting waiting, got chatting to a posh English chap in his early 30s. He surprised me and said he was from Covent Garden… I didn’t know anyone could be from Covent Garden. He lives in China and works in finance, but I think he might’ve been a spy. The barber’s was quite upmarket, and the longer I sat there the more I worried about how much I was going to pay for a haircut and beard trim. I bottled it and walked out before being seen to, as the rest of the group was waiting for me anyway. We explored the city more extensively, and discovered that there’s a 7-Eleven convenience store for every five people. As frequent as the cows in Goa, and as popular as the litter in Delhi, there was one on every street corner. We also found that cannabis is well-favoured (and legal) here in Bangkok, with each street boasting a weed shop and/or cannabis cafe. Don’t worry, Nanna, the answer is “no”.

We had a rare civilised evening, with the surface layer of our skin a shade of green from the “after-bite” jelly, and said our goodbyes to Vannah and Harvey, as they were flying south to Koh Samui the following morning. Eden was also flying south the next day, to Krabi, and we said “see you in the morning” to her, knowing full well that we wouldn’t be arsed to get up and say goodbye.

We woke up and Eden’s bed was regrettably empty, but we’d be meeting back up with her in a few days. Mia and I had eight hours to kill in Bangkok before our night bus to Chiang Mai, and I thought I’d try and find a less fancier barbers to make myself feel like I could give the Dutch lads a run for their money. We stumbled across O’Boy Barber Shop down a side street just off Khaosan Road. We were greeted by a red bully dog with a big silver chain sporting a 7-eleven vest, who had seemingly just had pups. She was a great hostess, and showed me to my barber, who was remarkably tall for a Thai man. We soon got chatting and he told me that he’s half Pakistani, hence his height. I showed off and spoke a little bit of Urdu to him, taught to me by my former colleagues at Zenith, Naveed and Umar.

Myself and Mia dawdled around aimlessly for a while, absorbing the atmosphere of Bangkok, before making our way back to the hostel, collecting our bags, and setting course for the Mochit bus station. North Thailand, here we come.