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I returned a few weeks later to the land of sunshine and smiles. That ever-present sweet overpowering scent slapped me in the face like a warm and wet kiss from an over-powdered and over-perfumed grandmother as I descended the steps from the United Airlines 747 to the tarmac and awaiting bus. I was back, and damned well happy to be here. A cute young flight attendant at the foot of the stairs commented on my probably not needing the leather coat draped over my arm. I smiled at her and agreed that I probably wouldn’t need to don the jacket until my return to Boston’s chilly climes in a few months. “Thank Christ for that!” was my thought.

I made it through customs without problems, not expecting any either, as I have not once in all my trips into this country had a problem with customs in Bangkok; it would be nice if I could say the same for Chicago and Seattle airport customs. I always choose a line which has a lady customs agent behind the counter instead of one with a Thai gentleman. They always seem to work quicker and more efficiently then their male counterparts. Once through the visa stamp line I head down the escalator and turn right to the United baggage belt. I grab a free baggage trolley from the many available (why don’t they do this in the states, it’s like 3 bucks there to rent one of these things for the few minutes you need the damned thing) and rescue my bag off the already rotating baggage belt, throw it on the trolley and head off through the 'nothing to declare' green corridor of scrutiny leading out to the terminal. I’ve also never once been stopped and had my bags searched by these customs guys either.

Waving off a few pesky rip-off touts for taxis and limos I head straight for the taxi stand out front and soon am telling my driver “Sukhumvit soi yeesip … toll way, krup.” and handing him my taxi stand slip to check out. In less than a half an hour we are cruising down Sukhumvit a little past midnight heading down to Soi 20 and my hotel. I check out the farangs and the ladies of the night walking hand in hand on the sun, water and pollution corroded and crumbling sidewalk pavement, the ubiquitous street beggars with paper cup in hand sitting at the bottom of each sky-train stairwell, the stalls of just about everything made in this country one could possibly sell to a tourist with too much money in his pocket (samurai swords!), the twinkling little electric Xmas tree lights and neon that somehow seem to offer just about anything a horny foreign man could desire or imagine, and the ever present street stalls of delicious and aromatic Thai cuisine that overflow the sidewalks along the way.

I open my window for a moment and inhale deeply the bouquet of secreted pheromones, overburdened and ancient sewerage systems, and mouth-watering food-stall steam and smoke wafting in the breeze in the wake of the taxi, like a dog on a Sunday drive with his head out the window twitching his nose at every tantalizing fragrance. The plethora of scents overwhelms my senses, as it always does, and I know I am home, or close to it anyway.

The hotel soi appears soon and I direct the driver to my humble rented abode. Within minutes of checking in and getting my room I am showered and shaved and in a change of clothes heading out the front door of the hotel to snag a Suk taxi down to Soi Cowboy for a few beers and sanuk before closing time. A friend of mine is at one of the gogo bars and we’ve connected by phone to meet up. After a couple hours of drink, sanuk and chatting we stop for some Sukhumvit sidewalk stall foods and beers. At four a.m. I bid farewell to my fairly drunk friend and his girlfriend du jour and grab a taxi to Morchitt to pick up my wife who is arriving around 4:30 on the Surin-Bangkok VIP bus to meet me.

I reach Morchitt with a bursting bladder, pay off the taxi, and make my way to the men’s room to relieve the pressure. We always meet by these hong nams (bathrooms) whenever I meet her at the bus depot, so I am already where I am supposed to be. She doesn’t seem to be around yet; the bus is always a bit late, so I pay my small baht and go in the bathroom and piss like a racehorse my formerly refreshing beers. My bladder thanks me. After hanging out by the 7-11 near the bathrooms I spot my wife and we grab a cab back to the hotel and douse the fires of lust and love.

The next afternoon we grab a breakfast at Bourbon Street Restaurant and then grab a taxi on Sukhumvit to Morchitt to buy our VIP bus tickets back to Surin that evening. I like to get there earlier in the day and see if I can grab the two front seats behind the driver for the extra legroom for the six hour or so ride up to Surin. We purchase our tickets, the front seats I so desire, and get back in the taxi which was still waiting for us out front at our request, as this ticket buying usually only takes a few minutes (most metered taxi drivers are only too happy to know they have a return fare as well and will wait around for you). We head back to Suk to do some shopping and see a movie. The VIP bus from Bangkok to Surin doesn’t leave until 9:50 at night, so we have plenty of time to kill. We can usually check out of the hotel at 8:45, grab a taxi and be at Morchitt by 9:15 or 9:30 if there is traffic. I haven’t missed the bus yet over many years using this form of transport to the Isaan hinterlands.

(to be continued)

 

Cent
(The Central Scrutinizer)

 

© Written in the year 2000. All rights reserved by the author.