I've been told that sometimes the timeline of this blog is confusing. So, in this post, 3 things will be duscussed, in this order:
Bollywood (just a bit more about my day as an extra, with a picture)
Today (what i did today)
Thailand (what I did in thailand)
I don't know who this guy is:
But he's quite big in Bollywood, apparantly. And yes, that is me with the beige suit and the silly grin standing by him. Doesn't red go ever so well with Beige? I can't remember if I mentioned the zipper of the pants... well, there wasn't one, which is a problem. Bits of me (covered, tastefully, by boxers, I might add) kept popping out. The solution?
An indian seamstress (male - is there a male version? Oh yeah, tailor. Looks like those english teachers weren't far off, eh Dazza?) kindly goes to sew up the gap. Great fun, me looking down and silently praying to the grand pantheon of gods while chappie goes about his business (inbetween laughing his ass off).
Good fun, and the sewing worked (no wardrobe malfunctions, thanks) if only a little bit too well! Have you ever tried pulling pants down to go to the toilet when the zipper is fixed? Well, have you? It's quite very hard. Impossible even - I was like acontortionist in a Bollywood toilet. Like, because I have no qualifications.
Oh yeah, the guy above is called Govindah! He was very nice when I asked for a picture, and what more do you want in an actor whose hindi films you cannot understand?
Ok, quick summery of today:
I am a little ill, so haven't really been doing a great deal. I got my adaptor, and a sim card, and some photos. And I discovered that Govindah is quite a star. But then again, I suppose in a few years time he can show his kids that that is HIM standing next to ME.
Anyone prone to worry: I just have a bit of a cold. My hosts have whipped up some soup for me, so all is well!
Ok, now for some email flashbacks!!
* * *
Ugh... ok, so again, I've lost most of the emails I sent. Or rather, I didn't keep any good emails of the early period. So, wait, I've been given feedback that sometimes the timeline is confusing. So I'm going to edit the top of this post to try and make it clear!
Phew! Ok, so that's out of the way.
Thailand! Now, I'm going to try something a little different - something a little bit more, well, old skool. Back when spelling wasn't on the syllabus, y'know? And no, they weren't on noah's ark. Sorry, that just came to me, 3 points if you know what I am talking about. Anyway, it's time to do this as a short story.
Bwumf.
The plane hits down lustily. I flick my eyes up from my Thai Footprint guide, while the familiar "click click" of seat belts being quickly whipped off cascades down the aisle. I hurryingly oblige to the mexican wave of clicks, and the steady myself getting my bag and gear. The air is still the same as it was in s'pore, still that bland, dry airplane air that never lets you know where you were, or where you are going.
Thailand. It's the first time I've been in a country all on my own, and I only have a few hundred baht on me. I figure it's best to do these things with an air of brazen confidence though, so from here until the hotel room there's not going to be a moments looking back. Taking a deep breath, I clump down the aisle behind the other impatient people, whilst stewerdesses in their gaudy outfits give us traditional thai farewells. I give the stewerdess the traditional aussie lewd wink as I leave, responding to her thai-sweet "Korp khun ca" with a hearty "see ya, love."
Immigration, buses to the hotel area, it's all a blur of waiting and action and action and waiting. Sukhomvit soi is dirty (I later learn that all of thailand is dirty), and there's talk in the air of a coup, and danger... and maybe romance. But nothing to do with me. I find my hotel, get my gear sorted, and then head out into the night air of Bangkok.
There's something weird about the air in asian cities (except sterile s'pore). Sure, it's polluted as hell, but there's something else to it to. In the case of Thailand, it's more lively, fused with the aromas of pad thai and petrol fumes, of bad makeup and cheapened love. And yet it's still vibrant, as though the hustle and bustle of the masses seeking to eyke out a living has spilt over into the very air itself.
I pass by the usual sikumvit soi crowd. There's the fat, ugly white guys with the beaming smiles and the harem of young thai girls, and there's the armless beggers on the street calling out for alms. All of them adding to the smell. All of them making it vibrant.
It's pretty late by this time, and I pass some people sitting down in a bar (all caucasian, so I figure I can chat the tourist lingo with 'em) so I wander down and grab a seat with them. The gauntlet of thai pros I ran to get there was worthwhile though, as my three new friends are quite the bunch. There's a gorgeous american girl, whose jere to party hard after finishing her degree quick smart, the older american guy who is trying hard to hit on the girl, and who won't stop talking about the dangers of killer sharks, and an aging aussie bloke who used to be a warden, and now runs a plantation up north.
"All I fear are the sharks. You know, almost everyone lives when a plane crashes in the sea, but it's the sharks that get 'em. The shockewaves, see? They get the sharks up there quick smart. I don't fear anything..."
"Not even the sky? Falling on your head?"
"What? No buddy, I don't fear that. Hell, you could pull a 9mm out at me right now, and tell me you're going to shoot me, and I'd say..."
"Don't?"
"No, I'd say, pull it man. Coz I'm not scared of that, see? I just get scared of the sharks..."
I dream of terrorist sharks hijacking planes with 9mm guns that night, and crashing them endlessly into the briney, salty sea. I should have hit on that american girl, I'm sure that sharks aren't the standard in the "wooing a girl" manual, but I suppose I was still too nervous about the whole "chatting up women thing." And pretty girls always make me edgy.
Next morning, I figure I should go and check out Wat Pho...
ok, I'm giving up on this. What the hell was that? It was a combination of dirty harry and bad recurring motifs! Smell? My motif was smell? I don't even KNOW what Wat Pho smelt like. It wasn't teen spirit, that's for sure. No, I wasn't going to work that one into my story either.
SO I go to Wat Pho. It's all stupas and stuff. Stupas are great, let's not be getting me wrong here - but they really aren't THAT great. One or two of them are fine, 198 of them? Or however long Buddha lived for? There's one there for every year he was alive, and let me tell you, sitting under a bodhi tree fighting off demons and libidious women must do wonders for your longevity.
I check out wat pho, see a giant gold buddha (photo will come soon!) and then see another giant gold buddha.
Ok, I'm feeling like sleeping, not being the author of the year here - tomorrow's short story will be in a different style! Read it to your kids! Or better yet, get cracking and make some to read it to!
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