…We read on the interweb that the generals have officially admitted that what is going on is a coup d’etat. A 10 PM curfew is in effect, apparently, and Thailand’s elected leaders have been cordially invited, by the generals, to report to an army barracks at their convenience.
All over Thailand tourists are freaking out:
‘The bars are closing at ten?! Oh God, noooo!..’
What’s the cheapest flight from Australia to mainland Asia? Tiger Air; Perth to Kuala Lumpur. J-man and me are on it.
Sure, it took us a week and a half to hitchhike across Australia, but we saved a bundle!
(Top: J-man mastering international diplomacy on the mean streets of Narathiwat, Thailand.)
Monday. Singapore.
Eight hour transit. J-man and I arrive in the middle of the night, find a peaceful patch of airport carpet and get a couple of hours fitful sleep. The best thing about Asian Airports is no one hassles you when you’re sleeping on the floor. Actually, an enterprising person could probably live comfortably in a Singapore Airport for years. They even provide free drinking water.
Tuesday. Kuala Lumpur.
The airport is way outside the city, and I have no desire to visit K.L. this time, so we start hitching toward the Malaysian east coast.
The father/son Asian road-trip begins.
Thursday.
We spend a few days at Port Dickson, near the beach. The Water Festival is on, so the beach district is jumping with vacationers from K.L. The beach is really clean, and the water is a refreshing relief from three days of airports and hitchhiking.
(Above: chilling with Aziz and Nashriq.)
Saturday night. Kratong.
We get a ride with Aziz and Nashriq, a pair of very flamboyant cosmetics salesmen. They enthusiastically explain they have just invested in a very exciting business. It is a huge multi-national company that promotes and distributes ointments made from ‘fruit stem cells.’ The genius of the thing is, they tell us, that each investor brings new investors into the business, and they, in turn, introduce new investors, and so on, and everyone gets rich! It’s not a pyramid, they assure me, it’s more like a… triangle.
The lads take us to meet their family, in their small, pretty village. More and more brothers, cousins, aunts and uncles keep appearing. More selfies in one night than ever before in history. They take us to their favourite eating spot for dinner and we all have cocktails with paper umbrellas in them.
Sunday morning.
J-man and I wait for several hours, trying to get a ride. We decide to split up for a bit. It’s always slower with two hitchers than one.
I finally get a ride to Kuantan, with Joe, a young engineer. Joe tells me he picked me up because he is a fan of Johnny Knoxville, and ‘anyone trying to hitchhike across Malaysia must be a Jackass.’
Joe laughs uproriously when I tell him I live in a tent and often climb into garbage bins to get food. As the sun sets orange, we head into the lush, jungle tangled Malaysian interior, listening to Nirvana and Johnny Cash on Joe’s car stereo while he drives like the late Bam Margera along narrow winding roads.
I roll into Panjang Baru late at night. I find a cheap hotel and get a room.
I get on facebook, and leave a message for J-man telling him where I’m at.
J-man shows up about ten O’clock, in high spirits. He has had a good run of rides, and people have been feeding him all kinds of yummy fried snacks. We eat a supper of banana fritters and fish sausages and crash out.
(Above: lunch with Othman, the sniper, and his mum.)
Monday AM.
We’ve been in Malaysia a week.
We ride north toward the Thai border with Othman. Othman is a sniper trainer with the Malaysian army. He is a charming, softly spoken man. He takes us to his mum’s restaurant and treats us to a delicious lunch.
Othman’s mum is slightly dismayed at how tall her lunch guests are – Jonah and I both have to bend double to squeeze under the restaurant awning – but she is very sweet and serves us coffee, crispy fried fish, and a delicious assortment of home-made malaysian sweets.
After lunch we thank our hosts, climb into Othman’s car and he drives us the last few kilometres to the border. Before he farewells us in the border post car park, Othman gives us a big bag of sweets, pastry and deep fried delicacies for the road. J-man has finished half of them by the time Othman has completed his U-turn.
(Above: could this be a Muslim hitchhiking academy?! No… turns out it’s just a boring old high school or something.)
(Below: J-man marching across the river from Malaysia into Thailand.)
(Above: the Malaysian border post… and below: the Thai one.)
Monday PM. Thailand.
We walk across the border into Thailand at Gual Periok. The Malaysian border station is a massive concrete facility, with automated boom gates, CCTV, air conditioned toilet facilities and a landscaped forecourt.
The Malaysians put stamps in our little books, and we cross the river.
The Thai border post is set up in a tin roofed shed. The guards are glued to the TV, watching Thai Idol, and have a mangy looking parrakeet in a cage hanging beside the passport desk. During a commercial break, they hastily put stamps in our books, and tell us how tall we are, and we are on our way.
We set ourselves up at a gloriously cheap and slovenly hotel. I get my first shave in two months at a tiny, front-room barber shop. Seeing my face again is slightly weird. The barbers kids think my face is weird too. They friend me on Facebook anyway.
As the sun gets lower, we head out to explore the metropolis. A thunderstorm slides over the city, and heavy rain starts to pound the streets. We take shelter in the night market.
J-man has been looking for a BB gun ever since we set foot on the Asian continent. BB guns are almost impossible to get hold of in Australia. In the Gual Periock night market he hits the jackpot. There are stalls selling every kind of boy-toy contraband imaginable, from knuckle dusters to crossbows. J-man gets a very realistic BB replica handgun, a set of knuckle dusters, and a switchblade. I get an umbrella with a lacy frill around it.
(Above: boy toy paradise in the Gual Periok night market.)
(Below: J-man becomes a devoted fan of Thai food.)
(Fear and loathing in Gual Periok…)
We eat in the food market. Jonah is blown away by his first experience of authentic Thai food. He has crab in garlic sauce, king prawns, barbecue chicken, fresh mango, pineapple, and small deep fried animals that the lady at the stall describes simply as ‘bird’. We have a couple of beers and speculate at length about the identity of the ‘bird’. At dusk, the trees around the market place are teeming with thousands of large noisy sparrows. We can’t avoid the obvious conclusion.
(Above: your guess is as good as mine…)
(Above: when you hitch in Thailand you get heaps of rides in the back of pickups. Old school. This never happens in Oz any more.)
Wednesday.
A couple of hours of hitchhiking brings us to Narathiwat, on Thailand’s south-east coast.
Not an exciting town, but the beach is beautiful, and the foreshore is quiet, and tourist-free.
Since the civil unrest started in Thailand in 2006, very few holiday makers have been coming to the south. The whole time we are in Narathiwat, we only see two other white people, and they are boarding a train to leave town.
We spend our time in Narathiwat swimming, sunning, and eating delicious fruit by the kilo.
I discover a half finished, insect infested building on the foreshore, which we could camp in, but Jonah tells me I am being a tight-arse trying to avoid spending six dollars on a room, so we check into the Pacific Hotel, which has Cartoon Network, a cute receptionist (whom J-man flirts with outrageously) and a frigid air conditioner.
(Above: heat wave. Buy this photo as a poster or greeting card in the Raw Safari Print Shop.)
(Above: the Narathiwat waterfront.)
Thursday.
Hitching out of Narathiwat early in the morning we come across a roadside stall selling green, mushroom shaped, coconut donuts. Delicious.
While we are scoffing mush-nuts, a kindly Muslim lady on a scooter stops to tell us to be careful.
‘You should not be walking on this road’ she says. ‘There have been many car bombings here.’
‘Really?’ I ask her. ‘It seems very peaceful here now.’
‘I am happy to hear you say that’ she says, beaming. ‘Have a very happy journey in Thailand!’
Many of the Thai people we meet hitchhiking tell us about the troubles. Like Bangkok, majority Muslim southern Thailand has been the scene of sporadic violence since the mid 2000’s. Last time I was in Thailand, in 2008 the pot was bubbling in Bangkok. I saw plenty of rallies from a distance, and my flight out of the country was delayed by a week when protesters took over the international airport.
A few travel websites make it sound like it is dangerous to travel here, but the reality is quite different on the ground. Everywhere we go, it’s the same familiar Thailand life; laid-back, friendly, and uncomplicated. None of the bombings in Thailand have targeted foreigners, but the troubles seem to have deeply affected the self image of the locals. People who talk about it seem very apologetic, and are at great pains to emphasise we should take care.
(Above: soldiers patrolling the streets of Pattani.)
And so, on to Pattani.
J-man and I arrive in Pattani in the middle of a heat wave. Actually, ever since we hit Thailand local people have been telling us it’s one of the hottest, most humid months they can remember.
As we ride into town, J-man is dozing off in the car. He keeps sliding sideways in his seat and almost falling into the driver’s lap. He has slept about three hours a night for the last two weeks, I reckon. Too excited. Too many night market delicacies to sample. Too much weird Thai TV to watch – soap operas, shady info-mercials, and persistant government bulletins, reminding the populace to be placid and patriotic.
Aside from the dizzying heat, the most remarkable things about Pattani are the heavily armed soldiers keeping watch on every street corner.
We ask a bored but friendly-looking army man where the cheap hotels are, and he directs us to the Palace.
J-man can’t resist asking for a photo with the army man. He is happy to oblige.
(Above: super special Thai sushi.)
We check into the Pattani Palace Hotel (250 Baht/night). The Palace is not remotely palacial, but at US$4.00 each, it’s the cheapest hotel we have stayed in since we arrived in Asia.
I get up to the room just in time to deal with my first bout of Thailand Tummy. My guts usually settle down after a few weeks, but every time I go to Asia, they give me a bit of trouble. This bout isn’t too bad (yet). More like soft serve than spray tan.
I bucket-wash some of my sweat soaked clothes, and hang them in the window to dry.
J-man does some target practice shooting his new BB gun out window at sparrows. I remind him about all the soldiers in the street looking for terrorists. He decides to have a nap. A minute later he is passed out on the bed, his BB gun still clutched in his sweaty paw. Despite his age and beard, I can’t help thinking; ‘Ohh… cute kid.’
After we turn in for the night, J-man has trouble sleeping. He decides to go for a walk. It’s about one in the morning.
An hour or so later, I hear the door open. J-man climbs into bed.
‘You awake?’ he asks me.
‘I am now.’
‘Shit man. I know what you meant about culture shock, now.’
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing. I just went for a walk. Just saw stuff. Dogs. Homeless people…’
‘Right.’
‘…lady boys…’
‘Yeah, OK.’
‘I sat down and talked to them. Offered them a cigarette. I tried to have a chat with them, but they just kept saying, you want a girl? your hotel? my hotel..?’
‘Yeah. Thailand has a dark side, for sure.’
‘Why would people live like that?’
‘I don’t know. Lots of different reasons I guess. We come from a very privileged world, you and me. But every culture has a dark side. That’s humans, I think. It’s easier to notice the weird things in unfamiliar cultures. We all take our own weirdness for granted, don’t we?’
There’s silence for a minute.
‘Man, I’m hungry’ Jonah says.
‘Me too. Lets hit the 7/11.’
(Below: Pattani.)
Friday.
We have a slow start hitching out of town in the morning. An hour is a long wait in Thailand. Feels longer in the smothering heat.
A truck load of genial cops pulls up.
‘Where you go?’
‘Pak Bara’ we tell them. ‘West coast.’
‘Really? You gonna hitchhike all the way?’
They look incredulous and amused.
‘You take bus!’ they urge us. ‘Much safer.’
‘That’s OK. We like to hitchhike’ I reassure them.
‘OK, OK. No problem’ the cops tell us and enthusiastically flag down a ride for us. They all take hasty selfies with us on their IPhones, and send us on our way. The guy the cops have commandeered into giving us a ride seems less than pleased but we sit tight and smile apologetically and say ขอขอบคุณคุณ a lot.
(Above: if only cops everywhere were as awesome as Thailand’s finest.)
(Below: Koh Lipe.)
From Pak Bara, on the west coast, we board a small boat and bounce out to Koh Lipe.
I’m expecting sunshine and swimming in splendid isolation. The reality is a bit different.
I spend most of my time on the island reading and hovering around the dunny while my stomach crisis works itself out. A few days loafing around reading isn’t all that bad though. I laugh my way through ‘Walk in the Woods’, another awesome travel memoir by Bill Bryson, and then spend a day wallowing in the gritty brutality of a Chris Ryan blockbuster.
The Koh Lipe beaches themselves are spectacular but the hasty, crowded real-estate development makes you feel like you are in a shoddy paradise theme park. Every bit of soil on the island that doesn’t have a resort on it already, is being levelled to build more.
So many things here are paradoxical.
The Islanders have started levying a ‘garbage tax’ on tourists, but everything you buy still comes in multiple layers of plastic wrapping. One night I buy three pancakes from a street stand. The proprieter carefully wraps each one in its own styrofoam clam shell, with it’s own small plastic fork, and deposits them in a plastic bag.
The locals look tired and fed-up. The tourism high season is over, and I feel a bit like a guest who has over stayed his welcome at a party.
Tuesday.
We are in Krabi.
After a slothful week on Koh Lipe, we are re-energised and ready to rock. There’s just one damper on the mood…
According to the internet, martial law has been imposed by the Thai army. You would hardly know it though. There are no soldiers on the streets of Krabi – no kerfuffle whatsoever.
I check the news to make sure things are as cool as they seem. The aspect of the army takeover that seems to be getting all the media attention is the ‘selfies with soldiers’ craze that is sweeping Thailand.
Looks like J-man is a trendsetter.
We get a really nice and very inexpensive room at the ‘Blue Juice‘ guest house, which is right opposite the pier in the heart of the city.
We rent scooters and tool around town, enjoying the cool breeze on our faces as we zoom along the river bank.
The city is nicely landscaped, and the geography of the river is quite dramatic.
(Krabi is a photogenic place, and they have a unique take on civic art.)
(Above: Looking up river from the pier; Krabi.)
Wednesday.
Despite the invisible miliatary coup, we have a fun day riding through the beautiful hills around Krabi, swimming on the beach, and eating delicious spicy stuff from street-side stands.
In the evening we meet a chatty guitarist at a bar, and he tells us about an open mic night down the road. We follow him to a chilled out rooftop beer garden and listen to tunes while we chug a few litres of dutch courage. Once we are sufficiently loaded with Chang Lagers, we take to the stage.
J-man borrows a guitar, I break out my harmonica, and we let fly with a few tunes. No bottles are thrown at us, and some of the drunker punters even give us a hand. It’s a lot of fun. Sozzled backpackers make a supportive audience.
(Below: Krabi City itself is not on the beach, but the coastline to the east and west is beautiful.)
Thursday.
We hitchhike down to the Malaysian border to get our passports stamped.
We arrive after the immigration office has closed, so we spend the night in a small border town. The local restaurant serves us a delicious banquet and we settle down in the room to watch a bit of late night TV. There isn’t much on. Thai TV is pretty ordinary at the best of times, but the only things on now are infomercials for something called ‘Sweat Thin!’ and a miliatary test pattern.
At ten o’clock, a well groomed guy in a uniform comes on and reads something. Patriotic sounding music plays and then it goes back to the weight loss adverts.
(Coup d’etat TV.)
Friday.
When we get back to Krabi, we read on the interweb that the generals have officially admitted that what is going on is a coup d’etat. A 10 PM curfew is in effect, apparently, and Thailand’s elected leaders have been cordially invited, by the generals, to report to an army barracks at their convenience.
All over Thailand tourists are freaking out:
‘The bars are closing at ten?! Oh God, noooo!’
The whole thing is a bit surreal. Coming north from the Malaysian border we saw exactly three soldiers, and they were waving at us from the saddle of an overloaded scooter. There is not a uniform in sight on the streets of Krabi. We hear rumors of scattered violence in Bangkok, but the trouble still seems to be isolated to the capital.
We were going to go and have some food now, but as we were climbing onto our scooters a sudden downpour sent us scuttling back to the guest house foyer. The lady who runs the place just announced happy hour, and Jonah is cheerfully tucking into colorful cocktails, so dinner may be a bit delayed…
Who knows, if we get adequately tanked maybe we’ll go and play music at unsuspecting punters again later. The night life of Thailand won’t shut down. I’m sure it will take more than a miliatary curfew to discourage backpackers from going out and getting on the piss.
(Below: J-man in Krabi.)
(Above: the border run – a Thailand classic.)
(Below: there are definitely harder ways to get around Thailand than hitchhiking.)
(Below: Thailand on Red(ish) Alert.)
Late update: Saturday.
Bars in Krabi closed at 22:00 hours last night as mandated under the martial law curfew.
Up all night partying with a crowd of rowdy backpackers on the hostel veranda. No military crack down. Only person who took any interest was a roving drug dealer who walked by and offered to sell us herbal supplements.
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