Writing Drunk *Burp

An Irish bar where the band sings depressing Thai love songs? I walked out without ordering.

Writing drunk. That was the goal of the evening. Goal, not achieved. Apparently, in Thailand, as in anywhere I guess, the cheaper the poison, the less potent it is, and you can get really cheap beer here.

Why write drunk? Call me Jack Kerouac influenced, whose unreadable, incomprehensible tome "On The Road" has been failing me, or maybe it is me failing it, at every turn of the page. Maybe I can add writing drunk to my "pail list" - I defy any honest Malaysian who has ever used a "bucket" before in his life instead of a pail...or a scooper. The only buckets any Malaysian has ever encountered contains 6 ice cold bottles of beer.

Be drunk, but don't be stupid.

The unfortunate scam artist has the unfortunate circumstances of meeting a not so stupid me. Telling me that my shorts will not allow me to enter the Grand Palace, and then switching tactic to saying that the Palace is closed due to a ceremony, he tried to coax us, lure us, into paying him for a tour to Lucky Buddha and other attractions, which actually may even be cheaper than the official entrance fee to the Grand Palace, which cost THB 500.

Who is us, by the way? Well, I had the great pleasure of making the acquaintance of a fellow solo traveler - Kevin from China. It was a welcome respite from walking the streets of Bangkok alone, having someone to chat with and exchange stories of our travels. Getting to know more people on the road was another goal I set for myself before I set out, so could this friendship be a turning point?

I found out soon enough that a journey such as this can have many turning points.

After a less than satisfying bowl of wanton noodles, much of it owing to its portions rather than its taste - I was eager to sit down with a pint of bitter and listen to some music. I hummed "Oh Danny Boy" as I traversed the streets of Sathorn - I was disappointed as I finally placed my bum on the high chair.

An Irish bar where the band sings depressing Thai love songs? I walked out without ordering.

Meh. Two nights in Bangkok does not a journey make.

Bangkok -  a paradise for shopaholics and those horny for paid sex. There are many more things to offer, I am sure, but not for one who is looking for something that means a little bit more. I guess this is as good an ending as anything I'll be able to cook up for now, so I'll leave it at that, before I start slurring my writing. 

The Decline of The Backpacking Culture?

By the time I realised she was there in the top bunker, I have already put on my pants.

I for one cannot say if the backpackers culture had change, since this is the first time I am doing it and I have nothing to compare it to.

However, based on what I have been reading on the Internet forums and hostel reviews, it does appear that the people that one meets on a backpacking trail seem to be less and less friendlier. Maybe it could be the race thing, or the perceived language gap, or even the Anglophile tendencies of our Asian brothers and sisters, but so far into my maiden journey as a backpacking traveller sleeping in hostels, I have felt less than welcomed by my fellow travellers and the hostel staff.

Case in point, my eight bed mixed room dormitory. The air was so still and cold, and silence seems to be the order of the day, even though I had two other dorm "mates" who managed nary a nod in recognition of each other's existence.

I didn't bother with either of them when I left the dormitory in the evening for dinner and an exploration of the Silom area of Bangkok. After a few good hours of satisfying my wanderlust, I headed back to my hostel, early by any Bangkok-holiday-goers' standards. Even so, my two dorm mates beat me to it, and when I stepped into the dorm, they were so engrossed with whatever was playing on their electronic devices that no one even noticed a 6 feet, 210 pound man walking in.

Ignoring the two of them, I proceeded to get ready my toiletries for my shower.

Once I was done cleaning up, I walked back barefooted to the dorm, wrapped only in my towel. It was obvious that both of them had not moved an inch, and yes, there was still an unsettling silence that filled the air.

I put on my boxers (real man wear boxers...but that's another post entirely) and idly took my time to search for my long pants.

By the time I realised there was a lady at the top bunker I had already zipped up. She must have been there the whole time since I came back from my evening solo outing, and I just failed to notice her.

I am not too sure if she got an eyeful of whatever I had to offer (she did rush out to the toilet after that..presumably to puke or to wash her eyes) but in my defence, she was completely silent when I walked in, and was similarly buried within her laptop.

Which brings me back to my initial point; Are backpackers growing increasingly isolated when they travel? What happened to the Jack Kerouac's beautifully described era of hitchhiking across continents aided only by friendly strangers and the occasional grunting truck drivers?

The night did end a little better as I introduced myself to a Chinese backpacker, who recommended some further activities to be explored tomorrow morning.

A slow start to meeting new people, definitely, but a start nonetheless.