Tuk-tuk?

“Tuk-tuk? Hey lady, where you going?”

Valid question. The answer to which is, Everywhere if I can help it.

Every tuk-tuk driver in Bangkok seemed so eager to take me somewhere that I was almost sorry for not taking all of them up on their offers. I’m sure if I had, I’d be the world’s poorest expert on Bangkok’s Wats, tourist attractions, traffic and charming tuk-tuk culture. For those of you frustrated by my frequent use of the word sans explanation, a tuk-tuk is a miniature open-air taxi, essentially a motorized carriage without doors and the charm of a horse and top-hat clad driver. Tuk-tuks are the cheapest transportation in Thailand and many other countries, including India and Nepal, and provide the added bonus of being able to take in the sites, inhale diesel fumes, and occasionally get punched in the chest by small gypsy children, as happened to me in India.

Our first tuk-tuk ride!

But this is Thailand where gypsy children begging for money, and beggars in general, are next to non-existent. The only “beggars” you’re likely to encounter are the monks who wake up at the crack of dawn to quietly and reverently walk the streets in their bright or burnt orange robes, alms bowls in hand. Unfortunately, I haven’t been awake early enough to witness this ritual, but it’s definitely on my “To Do” list.

One thing I’ve been able to scratch off that list is “Have an airline lose my bags”. Okay, so Aeroflot didn’t really lose my bags, they just weren’t able to transfer them to the Bangkok plane in Moscow. Apparently a 60 minute layover doesn’t suffice for such a task, so Amy, Jessica and I were forced to wait until 2 days later to receive our bags. Our disappointment with Aeroflot was soon overshadowed by BKK’s (the Bangkok airport) phenomenal competence. As soon as we arrived at BKK, I spotted a woman holding a sign with mine, Jessica’s, and Amy’s surnames printed on it. She informed us that our bags didn’t make the flight and that we had to file a report. With the fresh memories of the customer service nightmare accompanying the need to file lost bags claims in Azerbaijan, these words filled me with dread. But in 10 minutes, the three of us had finished the paperwork and actually left smiling without having to deal with frowning airport officials who, in addition to making blatantly obvious how much of an inconvenience your predicament is to them, also succeed in making you feel like the incompetent idiot who lost your own bag in transit. I already loved Thailand and I hadn’t even left the airport yet.

Our 3 days in Bangkok were a whirlwind of acquiring our visas for Vietnam (also a surprisingly easy and pleasant process), buying bus tickets to Chiang Mai (Not so easy; we were first taken by tuk-tuk to a tourism agency where a lady tried to rip us off while lying about train and bus ticket availability through a syrupy smile and even sweeter compliments about our beauty. As we left, she was mumbling under her breath about how stupid and ugly American girls are – or at least that’s what I assume she was saying as it was all in Thai.), visiting The King’s Palace and the Reclining Buddha, and walking along Khaosan Road (the main backpacker’s drag) where Thai men follow you saying “Ping pong show” and make a strange popping noise with their mouths. I can only assume this is in reference to the infamous stripper shows where they perform incredible feats with ping pong balls and, well, you know. Or I’m just being invited to some epic game of ping pong. If so, it’s a damn shame I ignored all those nice men with a shake of my head and a look of disgust.

Khaosan Road was extremely overwhelming for me. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen so many foreigners in one place who aren’t Peace Corps volunteers, and Khaosan was crawling with them. There seemed to be as many bars in a one block radius as there are churches in the South, and a tattoo-fiend would be in heaven amongst all the tattoo parlors. The one thing I enjoyed about Khaosan was the plethora of food carts offering a mouth-watering array of fried goodies and Pad Thai. Amy, Zach, our new friend Ian, and I bought Chang beers at 7-11 and plates of delicious Pad Thai which we happily consumed on the sidewalk next to an American guy hitting on a couple of girls.

My welcome respite from the chaos of Khaosan was our hostel, the Sawasdee Smile Inn. Though I’m not sure what Sawasdee alone means, Sawasdee ka, pronounced “Sa-wa-dee kaaaaa” means “Hello” in Thai. The nasally inflection of the “ka” almost seems to reflect the eagerness of the person saying it to greet you and give you anything you need. I’ve officially replaced my dull “Hello” with the Thai equivalent, hoping I’m expressing the same enthusiasm that Thais emote. The hostel was on a quiet road, close but not too close to Khaosan. My favorite restaurant in Bangkok was directly across from the hostel, served the best Pad Thai I’ve eaten so far, and shamelessly fueled my addiction for a breakfast of muesli, yogurt and fruit. Though I know Bangkok is a rite of passage for anyone traveling through Thailand, I would’ve been completely content to spend all day, every day on that quiet road in that cheap and pleasant hostel.

However, I did venture out and I’m glad I did. The King’s Palace was incredible. Inside one of the temples is the Emerald Buddha, a statue, which by its name, you’d assume to be made of emerald. In fact, it was carved from a single piece jade and sits in a meditative cross-legged position. He’s a bite-size little guy, but he sits atop a massive gold throne and wears a different, multi-million Baht costume for each of Thailand’s three seasons (winter, rainy, summer). Every season, the King’s son changes the costume because, as our pint-sized guide explained to us, “My King is very old; he is 84-year-old”. One thing I appreciate about Thailand is how everyone refers to the King as “my King”. I can’t help but burn with appreciative jealousy; I’ve never owned a king before. My favorite part of the palace was the gold stupa that seems to be held up by very masculine Thai warriors. It was stunning and caused me to examine my flimsy upper body and plain clothes with disdain.

If there’s one thing Thai royalty seem to love, it’s gold. The Reclining Buddha is an epic figure that lies on its right side in golden glory and seems to stare serenely at you, inviting you to pray and be content. The crown atop his massive head seems to barely fit in the building, almost as if they built his shelter around him, and his Mother-of-Pearl feet are carved with intricate designs. Though I found myself staring at him in reverent awe and wanting to join the Thais in prayer in his presence, this expensive figure just underscored what seems to be an obsession with extravagance. The Wats and palaces and other religious places are truly beautiful, but couldn’t all the money spent every year on the tiny Emerald Buddha’s costumes go elsewhere, like toward flood relief?