I knew there was an area called Khao San Road in the west of the city that was a haven for backpackers. I boarded a bus outside the airport and rode it downtown. When in the center of town I noticed we were stopped at a large intersection. I took this opportunity to jump off the bus and went up to the other buses that were stationary and inquired which of them was headed to Khao San Road. I was lucky enough to find a Thai businessman who spoke English and kindly told me which bus to look for. Thirty minutes later I was in Khao San Road and shortly afterwards getting settled in a low-end guest house.
For the next couple of days I endeavoured to check out Khao San Road and downtown while spending as little money as possible. This ‘shoe string’ travel thing is getting to be a habit with me, half my stories involve desperate lunges at a distant place with limited resources. Still Hong Kong was waiting and I had heard encouraging reports.
My departure was on a Monday morning and I had found out that bus #59 went from Khao San Road to the airport. I stood on a busy main road where many buses where stopping near to the guest house. In fact there was such frantic action with people jumping on the buses to go to work that they had to double park. There must have been a dozen buses there at the busy moments, which would pull in, load and pull out 30 seconds later…….a madhouse.
I didn’t mind all the action but one thing did bother me. No matter how many buses pulled up or how many times the crowd grew and disappeared, bus #59 never came. I started to grow nervous. I had left 2 hours to get to the airport, it was a 30 minute ride. Already I’d spent 45 minutes and no sight of the damn bus.
Finally I looked up and like a mirage, there it appeared. I jumped on and sat next to the driver. I tried to get his attention but he was not interested. I couldn’t blame him. Would you want to make small talk with a dumb westerner while driving a stick shift bus in rush hour traffic?
“Airport?” I said, “Don Muang?” He seemed to notice but obviously could not understand English. He glanced over at me and waved his hand gently up and down as if to say, “Don’t worry, you’re gonna make it.” I had mental picture of the layout of Bangkok. The airport was to the north of the city. We were heading east along a major road. We’d have to turn left sooner or later I knew. The bus weaved through the crazy rush hour traffic, the driver all the time changing gear, honking and leaning out the window. We passed the last major road going north and instead headed south. I started to sweat.
I desperately did my best impression of a plane taking off and landing for the driver. Once again he did the ‘air patting’ routine. Oh God, I thought, this is my chance going down the toilet as I watch. I know we are going the wrong way and this guy either doesn’t understand or he’s making a chump out of me. Suddenly we made another couple of turns, drove a block or two then came out onto the airport highway. We we’re going to make the flight. I had lost about 2 litres of sweat in the meantime.
Waiting in the departure lounge at Don Muang airport I watched wealthy Thais about to leave on some well planned two week spending sprees and businessmen checking their watches while glancing at CNN.
The three hour flight went fairly quickly and I got talking to a German international rugby player. His name was Matthius and he seemed like the smartest rugby player I’d ever met. As we got closer to Hong Kong my adrenaline level increased steadily. Basically I was flying into a foreign land far away from home with $100. I had no where to stay, no job, no connections, no ticket out and no credit card. Nice one Nick, you’ve managed to land yourself in it again. I’ve got to admit though, in times like these I really feel alive. This is truly living on the edge and maybe you’ve got to do this kind of thing when you’re a ‘travel monkey.’