Beautiful nature, lovely people, homicidal drivers.
If you’ve ever wondered what life is like for pedestrians in the Mad Max universe, come on over to Thailand and see for yourself! Street crossing lights were ridiculously rare, but even then, why bother if almost every car would just run the red light? I’m frankly amazed that I’d managed to survive those five weeks with all my toes and feet intact, eh.
Usually, a critical mass of pedestrians would assemble and speedwalk across the road, daring the drivers to hit us. (It’s bad luck to squish more than two pedestrians at a time.)
The rarest of all sights was the road crossing guard who would show up, stare at you for a while, and then blow his whistle, temporarily stopping all the traffic.
…in retrospect, spending two out of five weeks in Bangkok was too long. Arun Wat was mindblowingly beautiful, of course, but after that, all the temples started to blend together. A huge shopping mall full of art. A couple of interesting museums. Night markets with their street entertainers. But after that, not a whole lot.
I spent the rest of my time in Phuket: at this stage of the journey, I didn’t quite have the enthusiasm to crisscross the entire country. The overnight train from Bangkok to the nearest big city (followed by a bus trip) took 11 hours and was an absolute dream, like something from old-timey movies. There was plenty of space, the chairs were comfy, and all the windows were open. (Though the itinerant food sellers who would shriek right next to you every 30 minutes grew tiresome quite fast.) The most impressive part? The train reached its destination exactly on time. Impressive, eh.
Phuket was home to a hostel that reminded me of Invader Zim: the being that had designed it could not possibly have been human. (E.g., the bunk bed curtains would coyly cover only 30% of your body.) After one night spent there, they agreed to refund half of my remaining stay in exchange for not leaving a review. That was pretty funny, but fair is fair: I won’t name and shame. (Being paid to not write… That’s what it must feel like to be a farmer in the US.)
The second hostel, in old Phuket, was remarkably nicer. (Free breakfast: so simple, yet so posh.) The big downside was the infestation of fake singers in the area. I love live music. I dislike liars. So when an amazing musician turns out, on closer inspection, to be a lip-syncing cheater, that feels like twice the betrayal. Sometimes it would get comical: the singer would pause to get a drink of water while the singing and the guitar music would continue. That didn’t do much for my trust issues, eh.
While in Bangkok, I spent a day at the Ancient City entertainment complex far south of the city. (Think Westworld, but with scaled-down versions of famous Thai buildings.) Once there, I maaay have accidentally contributed to animal abusers… It cost an extra 260 Baht (~$9 USD) to feed some fruit to an elephant and then take a picture with it. That was fun! Right until I noticed that all three elephants were kept in tiny metal enclosures… If they were let out to roam at all, it was probably after the park closed – as a treat.
Conversely, the elephant sanctuary in Phuket was a dream come true. They have free-range elephants saved from abusive owners. Some are over 70 years old. The “feed and wash” package cost about $60 and lasted 90 minutes and was beautiful. Elephant trunks are weirder than you can imagine, and their skin is covered with nearly invisible coarse hair.
Speaking of money – free pro tip. When you fly to Thailand, bring a big brick of your country’s currency. Every local ATM charged roughly 10% more than the official exchange rate: a tithe to the moneychangers.
Also, on the topic of money: I wa surprised that Thailand was actually pricier than Japan. Using McDonald’s as the benchmark, it was about twice as expensive. Still a bit cheaper than Canada, though.
After all these months of travel, the last eight days in Phuket were the only ones when I got to splash in warm ocean. (Ecuador had an ocean too, yes, but the water was pretty chilly.) It was so nice… A ceremonial 20-minute walk from the hostlel to the beach (while dodging cars, Frogger-style), with some snacks along the way, then enjoying the sand and the waves and the sun (I may be one of the tannest Canadians right now!), and then the sunset, and the nearby night market with local bands and all the people-watching… It got a bit repetitive eventually, but never tiresome. I did some writing stuff every morning and evening. I could get used to that life, eh.
Thinking, too. Lots of thinking. Most hostels I encountered never quite managed to set up a social area (they were all slightly imperfect – and sometimes amusing – copies of their Western counterparts), so it was more or less impossible to meet and chat with fellow travelers. Sometimes, several consecutive days would pass without talking to another person. Lots of time to think… Gonna make some big changes when I return from my PCT adventure in September.
One thing I found odd in Thailand is the way they adopted some Western technology… and then utterly ignored it. Pedestrian crossing lights that are mere guidelines. Road crossing guards who hide who knows where, doing who knows what. (I bet they spend all day learning new TikTok dances!) Metal detectors at subway entrances, with two cops at each one, who don’t actually stop anybody and just wave people through, as if it’s part of some arcane, possibly important, yet mostly forgotten ritual. Shopping malls with no seating at their food courts. Fast-food places that have never heard of the arcane concept of “process flow.” Wild stuff.
On the other hand, street sellers and food vendors were business-savvy capitalists. Quite the contrast, eh. (And also makes me wonder what kind of nepo babies run the big businesses…)
A great big monkey hill in the middle of Phuket was a fun little detour: just an uphill hike with hundreds of monkeys sitting along the road, doing monkey stuff. Signs warned of monkey bites, though that was probably due to dumb drunk tourists provoking them…
Speaking of which: Russians. So very very many Russians. Haven’t seen that many Russians since I left Siberia in 2003, is what I’m saying. Most local signs were in English, Thai, and Russian – a wild combo, that. Now I’m curious if they’re all over Vietnam, as well. (Makes sense: hot and fairly cheap, and much closer than, say, South America.) I remained incognito, pretending I was just an aloof Westerner, and they left me alone in return. But simply overhearing their conversations… (Which was inevitable, on account of them never shutting their loud mouths.) It helped me realize just how many of my idiosyncracies (BLAH?) were rather valid reactions to the ridiculous macho swagger culture of my homeland. Bleh. Bleh, I say.
The Thai people themselves, though, were beautiful and excessively polite and friendly and wonderful. 10/10, both thumbs up. (When they’re not driving, that is.)
And then… the long journey back home. From Bangkok to Manila (4 hours) to New York (16 hours, which promises to be one helluva surreal experience; I am typing all this in the Manila airport), then almost immediately a bus to Montreal, then spend six days tying loose ends, buy some gear, and then a one-way flight to San Diego, to start my second PCT thruhike (with a film festival diversion) on March 21.
And thus the Feral Artist Nomad odyssey continues… Stay tuned.
Grigory Lukin.com 