Arriving

God it was a rush. It seems so improbable now with the measure of reflection yet even that late we were waiting on an email, past passport control and the monitor already winking ‘boarding’. Saved by a telephone-cum-computer on dumb sentry duty in the departure lounge; work at a Rajabat up-country, start in three weeks.

The plane’s swish through the air changes just before descent. Everyone is relieved. Those disembarking and the others gaining second wind for the leg to Australia. The serpentine rush to immigration and then down to the arrivals hall. The first time for real, for keeps maybe, little tourist angst.

Here are touts and touts you choose. We followed one who advertised a limo, to Sukumvit’s Grand President. Checked in; now strung out between luxury and insecurity, the status of living in a hotel almost a wound on the conventions of life.

That night to Nana. Blackness. Had Purachai definitively struck?

Damp days swimming in the hotel pool. An Indian family, Kit and their son coeval. One rupee currently worth one baht they said; making good sense to work IT in Bangkok.

Acquaintance made too with the owner of the Swiss German bar along the Soi. Gruff landlord of two formerly svelte rooms upstairs.

Catherine took the train to Nakhon Sawan just as I forgot to suggest that the job might be no good. That town coarsely municipal Chinese-Thai with a dusty work ethic but then what did I really know? The falang monk mentoring her would stand by us she had already said. And leastways it was true that exchanges with the improbable orange robed author living there had shoehorned us into this sojourn.

She came back after three days having signed a contract. Now beyond dispute our luggage hostage there. I swallowed any feeling of foreboding.

Two weeks on Samui skirt pointlessness unless you are carefree or making money but Kit seemed happy enough. We stayed quietly in Mercedes’ apartments down one end of Chaweng while he and her son invented children’s jungle games. I craved the familiarity and fleshpots of Bangkok.

In gear.

The train spewed us out at the station far from anywhere apparently. We waited for the baht bus to fill up. It would take us to the main crossroad of the town, 'fairyland', and a grotty business man’s hotel; grudgingly a window to a room and sallow food served in the downstairs dining hall.

People slept early

Round the corner a dentist let out rooms. The modern building incongruously pink………

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