Thai Time

Relativity explains that the faster an object moves, the slower time becomes and the heavier it gets. In that case, I’m currently doing an arbitrary Warp Factor and have become a fat bastard.
It’s half past eleven in the morning, and I’ve another hour to wait until the connecting bus arrives for transit to Surat Thani train station. Stuck in the middle of nowhere, with only numerous flies that won’t quit for company, I’ve just paid the equivalent of a day’s salary for two soft drinks.

This is how they roll in Thailand. One driver is asleep in the boot of his van, another singing along to what I assume is considered Pop music here. It’s like having my ear canals filled with powdered glass, and with each drum beat, someone packs it down with a chisel. These songs don’t last a standard 3 minutes. The “composers” write relentless repeats in to the “score” and refuse to finish by encoring, until it’s smashed so hard in to your brain that you can hum along without thinking.
I couldn’t sing along if I tried and I’m glad my iPod has some charge – anymore and I might threaten them with my tripod, fully extended.

These flies are about as clingy as a 20 stone monstrosity that you accidentally pulled, after beer goggles set in. Thankfully they only require the odd hand wave and are gone – for a while. On return they assume all is forgiven. But just like that beach ball bird, I just want them to leave me alone. I’m sorry for washing in fruity smelling soap. Now leave me in peace, as it just won’t work.

The tinny music has stopped; a reprieve. The relief is better than the kind experienced after holding your bladder firm, having drunk 4 pints in quick succession and neglecting to nip to the loo before the two hour journey home. It’s absolute bliss.

Once at Surat Thani, it’s a 6 hour wait for the train. That’s nothing to the Thais; insignificant to their general procrastination. Though at this rate I’m concerned that I may be rapidly approaching the speed of “c” and in which case, I’ll be infinitely big and time will have stopped. At least that fat chick will be about my size though.

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7.00 am following morning.

Hanging around people watching at a cafe last night was fairly uneventful. Spotting an internet cafe close by, I killed some time by aimlessly browsing for a penny a minute. The school children, ranging from perhaps 6 to early adolescence filled the area with a hum of general excitement. They’re playing LAN games and I was to be their cannon fodder for a while.

I quickly tire of the repetition; computer games are dull and monotonous and should be reserved for whiling away the hours at work, instead of actually finishing that report. As young as these lads are, I’m being told to “aim” and “target”, as boys a third my age “totally pwn” me (you should google that). After an hour of tormenting in Thai, I’m off back to people watching at the cafe; glorious.

From 15 Jan 2010

The train pulls in on time, to the second almost. It’s strange to see this kind of punctuality, but refreshing. Less so is my realisation that the toilets (left squat, right Western), are literally pipes, 15cm in diameter and a metre in length. That’s correct; excrement is dumped directly on to the train line. I hope that no one is laying any bricks, as it could cause derailment.

My suggestions for dealing with this are as follows (skip if squeamish):

1. Always ensure you have tissue to hand. Assume there is none in every toilet.
   Getting caught short is sticky. Reverting to socks is just wrong.
2. Buy hand sanitiser and guard it with your life. Gastro enteritis may make your abs look ripped, but it’s not funny.
3. Take small plastic bags for holding the above.
4. Do everything one-handed (practice first on a dummy run), so that one hand is always a known quantity.
5. Try to go when the train is mobile. Standing up and seeing what you’ve left is none too pretty.
6. Ideally always carry a large water bottle and wet wipes. Sun lotion gets sticky once mixed with a Day’s sweat.

As the sun rises, so do the sales women that pace up and down the train, wearing the hallway and my ear drums equally thin. I’ve no idea what they say, but it sounds reminiscent of a cat being tormented. Maybe by that troublesome neighbour’s kid, that got it in the ear with his BB gun. These women are like the T1000: They will not stop, until you buy something.

From 16 Jan 2010

An hour remains and the sickly sweet orange juice is far too much sugar this early. The double fried egg and ham will counter it, but I’m not so sure about the pineapple jam.