Last night of the 392 days i’ve had.
Sarah has some good schnitzel. I was craving it all day. I prefer the pita filled schitzel over the baguette, but either topped over with sweet chilli sauce would satisfy. As usuall, the young boy, the son of Sarah, of Sarahs Cafe, had too much energy for such a small place. The norm being he runs and climbs and generally fills the stereotype of a 7 year old boy until his older teenage sister, too bored by the computer chatrooms makes him cry by some cruel sneaky act. Its all the same, except the addition of an older gentlemen of western descent, walking out of the kitchen to talk to Sarah. I order the schnitzel.
Outside the full moon waits for my eventual departure shining as best it can amongst the towering neon lights and general clutter of Khao San Road. China town in reverse, this mardi gras finds Burger King overstimulating atmosphere soon overtakes my senses and I look for a deep alley or walkway to find a bit of peace. A man throws a beer can out a tuk tuk, I begin to sweat in the humid evening, the air is putrid, smelling like many other cities but with a hint of fried this or that. A drunk and high Englishman trys to con me into money and ends up calling me the liar. I walk on confused and with a slight smile. As I leave the clutter a thai women follows close behind, inticing me with the few words of english He knows, if it weren’t for His extra high heels He may have been able to keep up. I push through the clutter and find a bit of peace under the golden arches, not Mcdonalds, a grander figure, a tribute to a king hated by no one. I wonder what the Kings real name is, or if I can even pronounce it. I chuckle to find the shiny spheres are actually Compact Discs glued in overlaying patterns onto waterproof gold wallpaper. The King is known to be a bit of a enviromentalist, even the monuments to him seem to be recycled.
I push past the giant sign that says “Tourist Walkway”. The word “tourist” or “foreigner” translates into “money” and “rich” in most languages. No I walk on into moonlit territories and find myself immersed in a sea of lumps upon the grassy dirt. Often this field his home to kite fliers and foot related sports enthusists but every night it is transformed into the cheapest hotel in town. “Sawasdeekrap” I say to one of the lumps, “kap” I get in return. At the far end the grand palace’s bell steeples of gold cannot be contained by the tall white wall’s. The setting looks cramped, the palace, not the field of lumps. Rats scurry about seemingly racing the cockroaches from trash pile to trash pile. God tells me to give twenty Baht to a women sleeping on a construction block. I try to wake her to give her head a break for it was dangling off the block as if only attatched by the skin of the neck. “Hello, Hello, Hello”, despondant, I lay the prize under her jacket. I leave and say a prayer for that lump and that lump and the police officer standing in traffic as well. I look about and gently say goodbye to the nightlife I have come to slowly understand and become comfortable with over the past year.
I walk on and soon, one by one, the lights begin to dim and the neon pink taxi’s become thinner and thinner, my routes across the 7 laned streets that normally I require a quick dash through during smoggy sunlit days; I now only briskly avoid thier course. I fight off saying to myself “this will be the last time I walk….I eat…I see…” I’ve moved over a hundred twenty times in 13 months, I expect to move a bit more. Still the scents and sights I take in with new curiosity. The same curiosity that found the details of the Kings monument and the man sleeping underneath the parked car. I urn down my alley to my room and find Sutteenai up, in his underwear, making coffee, he offers me some and I take a cup while he investigates sounds from around the house. I feel blessed to find a place of peace amongst it all, Sutteenai and his family house have given me a good last thai taste in my mouth. Not that the food here couldn’t do that on its own. Where as I could have spent the night in a impersonal concrete cell without windows, I struck a bit of luck and found a pleasant homestay in it’s place. I take my bed and dream of the future and remember the past. I find myself in a time of transition, where the past has taken me so far I can’t forget it, details too many to recall in a sitting, but the future refuses to remain silent fighting for attention. This place I find, full of reflections and dreams, brings only anxiety and late nights. I smile and sleep.
The World Race may have been over quite some time ago, but it is only now I will begin to see the true impact it has made. That which is normal to me are these nights where everything is different and new. How will I soon handle those nights I can once so easily found comfortable, predictable. Will the states perhaps run on a clock I have a hard time keeping time too? The journey continues…so let it begin…
