When I first arrived in Thailand, the Chao Phraya River river was in flood.
In fact, most of southest Asia was in flood, for indeed, it was July, and therefore the rainy season. The beginning of the monsoon, to be sure (they get twice the rain in September), but long enough in to have swelled the rivers, muddied the ground, and humidified the atmosphere to a sauna-like consistency. Thick.
Being a humble teacher with summers “off”, though, this was the only practical time for me to be here, out and about on my first oversees adventure ever.
I had chosen Thailand because of its reputation for being an easy place to visit. I had wanted something suitably exotic and off the beaten track, something I could sink my neophyte traveller’s teeth into. I wanted stories to bring home, photographs to pad my walls with. But I was just slightly apprehensive, slightly unsure of myself. I had wanted adventure, but I didn’t want to be in over my head.
Preferably, whatever happened, I wanted to keep my head.
Smell was the first thing I sensed as I exited the Don Mueang airport at six in the morning. I had arrived at around two AM and had about five hours before my scheduled train north, into the hinterland of Thailand. I could wait on the train platform, just a few minutes walk out the door, or I could snooze in air conditioned luxury, on the floor of the airport itself.
I chose the airport.
The smells, an exotic blend of spice, rotting vegetation, and raw sewage, pretty much knocked me off my feet on the way to the trin station. Welcome to adventure. I had paid for this.
It was still dark when I boarded the train for the hour-long trip north, to Ayutthaya. That word, that place, was my first big challenge. Saying it, and making myself understood to the ticket seller. It was only an hour away by train, to the North (I tried pointing). Didn’t work.
No amount of practice or forewarning can prepare one to be understood in a tonal language if you don’t know what a tone even is. I had browsed the language section of my Lonely Planet, and I read the notes about inflection and and rising tones, but still, no amount or practice or forewarning…
I got my ticket. It took work, and I had to witness a forehead smacking moment by the ticket seller, something akin to “oh, you mean Ayutthaya, you dumb farang”. Yes, that’s what I meant. A thousand pardons, and thanks for the ticket. (I am fairly sure he didn’t mean it in a rude way – the Thai are much too polite to have behaved like that.)
On the train, third stop, off at Ayutthaya. It’s morning now, the sun is out, sort of, streaming through breaks in the thick cloud cover. When it hits, it is hot. A hot moist sauna. And still the smells, weird and wonderful. But mostly weird.
I have to get to the other side of the Chao Phraya, and I have two options. South of the train station, there is a bridge, about 500 metres away. The other option is a ferry, and to get to that I need to walk west, towards the river. The guidebook says that this is an easy 50 metre stroll, but on exiting the station, I easily find myself turned around, unsure of which direction is which. The Sun is no help; even if I could remember where I saw it last, I can’t use it for direction like I can back home.
And so I sit on my pack and contemplate where I am.
I’m on a dirty street, in the ancient city-capital of old Siam. Around me there are throngs of tuk-tuk drivers with numbered pinneys, their noisy three-wheelers lined up and ready for action. Taxi drivers. There are dogs all around, scraggy looking, just like tramp in Lady and the Tramp. Monks are walking down the sidewalks with large covered bowls in hand, foraging for their breakfasts. It stinks, really stinks. And I still don’t know which direction is West.
Back in my scouting days, I’d always been known as the most prepared camper. If there was a gadget to be had, I had it. Knives, repair kits, flashlights, batteries, rope… you name it, I had it. It was a badge of honour, even though I am fairly certain there was not badge for that particular skill set.
And so here, on a dirty street, I pulled out my compass, quickly found West (it was not where I thought it was) and promptly walked to the river, about ten minutes away
The Chao Phraya River was in flood. A turgid, mucky brown, and flowing fast. I was happy and amazed at how quickly I found my ferry, surprised again at how cheap a ferry ride across would cost me. 5 Baht, about 12 cents.
I sat my pack down, took a moment to wipe the sweat away, and pulled out my camera for one of my first photos in-country. A photo of a nameless, middle-aged man, a ferry boat pilot plying his craft across a swollen river. He smiled and waved.
My welcome to the Land of Smiles.
The Backstory
The Chao Phraya River is in the news today; massive flooding throughout Thailand (the monsoon season, doncha know) is threatening to wash through Bangkok. The Chao Phraya flows through both Ayutthaya and BKK. Michael McAulliffe of the CBC has been reporting this on the national radio news, and I chuckled as he mispronounced the name of the old Siamese capital.
Reminded me of when I had similar troubles, almost ten years ago.
I immediately thought back to this one photo – one of about 2 000 that I took that trip. I knew exactly which one I wanted, and it took me a few minute to dredge it up on one of the portable hard drives dedicated to my travel images. I begin the process of tagging and geotagging my photo collection in Aperture, real soon now.
This was the man’s livlihood. I wonder if he is still working the river, ten years on. Whether his boat is safe, or the dock has been washed over. Or away. Funny how these things come to mind ten years later, a world away.
This is a picture of the ferry from the outside. I didn’t grab one of those myself.