Forever Grateful
The start of my travels- Perth 2004
Written April 2009
I remember every detail of landing in Bangkok. It was September 7th, 2005, and Cathay Pacific flight number 484 arrived at 9:35pm local time. The flight from Sydney had been awful. Because my backpacker budget did not allow for the expensive taxi ride from downtown to the airport, and public transit in Sydney did not run at 5am, I had been forced to sleep in the airport terminal. I had awkwardly lounged on the orange and white vinyl seats at the airport, my comfort aided only by the cushioning of my overstuffed backpack. I tried my best to sleep, but I had never been able to drift off completely. Every little sound and scuffle had me jerking upwards, heart pumping with my fists in the air, ready to defend not only the backpack that contained everything I owned, but also myself.
Needless to say, by the time I had made it through the bumpy flight, terrible airline food and was making my way through the terminal towards baggage claim, I was exhausted. I felt as though everything around me was made of glass, exposing me to the bright lights of the city. They hurt my eyes. Even though it was dark outside, everything was bright, loud, and in my face. I could not wait to find some accommodation and sleep for what I imagined would be days.
I struggled through baggage claim, barely keeping my eyes open, and can remember making my way outside. The humidity hit me like a wave, engulfing my entire body and soaking into my pores. Immediately I was wet, sticky, and sweaty. All I had to do was find the bus terminal that my Lonely Planet book suggested and catch a cheap ride to Koh Sahn Road, which, apparently, was backpacker central.
So here I was, red in the face, sweat soaking through my clothes, 50lb bag on my back, sleep deprived and nervous, wandering around alone outside of an airport terminal in a foreign country. I cursed the friend who had changed his mind last minute and forced me to begin my travels in Asia alone. There were horns honking everywhere, and local taxi drivers trying to “help” me find where I was going. I suspiciously refused, as I had been forewarned about the taxi drivers in Asia. Busses and motorcycles zoomed past, and small children with dirty faces and torn clothing asked me for money. With each step my heart beat faster, until finally I found the terminal and purchased my ticket.
When I got on the bus to head to my destination, although it was nearly 11:30pm, the city was alive with people, sounds and light. As the bus weaved in and out of traffic, seemingly oblivious to the traffic laws which are upheld in Western countries, I stared out the window taking it all in. Pictures of the Thai King hung on nearly every street corner, draped with white Christmas lights, and neon signs flashed “ping pong show”. Even in the late hour the city seemed far too busy and I watched dubiously through the pitted glass, not only too tired to sleep, but too nervous about what would happen when I got off the bus.
Finally, the bus pulled into Koh Sahn road, and my senses were once again bombarded with the noise, light, smell and humidity. There were people everywhere, and vendors set up on the sides of the road selling deep fried grasshoppers, pirated CD’s and souvenir T-Shirts. Scruffy dogs chewed on garbage, piled high in alleys, and the stench of the entire place was unbearable. It was somewhat comforting to see so many Western tourists in the streets, albeit many of them in various stages of unflattering intoxication, but the sheer mass of them made nearly impossible to manoeuvre through the crowd and try to find a guest house. I must have stood out, because once again a host of Thai individuals approached me offering to “help” me find a place to sleep. Maybe I had my guard up, or maybe they were legitimately going to rip me off, but either way I flat out refused them all.
Eventually I ended up outside of Swarososki Guest House, down a quiet lane not far from Koh Sahn Road, with an inviting purple sign and open aired restaurant in the front. It was one of the cleanest I had seen so far and their rates included a buffet breakfast in the morning and self-controlled air conditioners in each room. A small travel agency occupied a glass-walled office near the front of the guest house, and a bank of computers offered cheap internet access. By that point it was nearly 1:00 am, and I happily paid the expensive room rate (by Thai standards) and collapsed in the lumpy double bed, dusty and defeated.
I remember waking the next morning and turning on the Thai news channel. It struck me as odd that their news anchors looked just as polished and professional as any I had seen before. Somehow, I had expected them to be less... civilized than their Western counterparts. I struggled with myself that morning to even leave the room. A small part of me wanted to stay hidden away in the air conditioned comfort, and study Thai sitcoms, building up the courage to face the diversely different culture. Here I was, only twenty one years old, alone in Thailand, with nothing but my backpack to my name. I knew no one, and the only friends I had were those that were thousands of miles away. It took all the courage I had to leave my room that morning, but finally I did.
I spent five months travelling Asia, and the trip was the most culturally enlightening experience of my life. I travelled through five different countries and visited dozens of world-famous tourist sites. I partied on the beach on Ko Phangan and lived it up during one of the island’s famous Full Moon Party’s. I witnessed firsthand the destruction caused by the Tsunami on the island of Ko Phi Phi and visited the world famous Angkor Wat ruins in Cambodia. I floated down a brown river on an inner tube is Laos, and spent six hours, helmet clad, on a speedboat the size of a small car crammed with 7 other people and all of their luggage. I met Emily and Sarah, two out-spoken English girls who took me under their wings and invited me to join them on their own journey. We met Iain, the laid-back Scottish lad who tagged along (by our insistence) with the three of us, and then there was Lindsay, the out-spoken Canadian I met when we bunked together on a 16-hour sleeper train to Malaysia. I made some incredible friends on that journey. Together we saw emerald green waterfalls, amazing beaches, and luscious jungles. They are all people I will never forget, and helped me make my journey what it was.
On the morning after my arrival, I was uncertain I possessed the skills necessary to successfully navigate my way through a world so foreign, a place so different. Looking back, I am proud that I believed in myself, stepped out of my comfort zone, and forced myself to open up and experience all that I could.
Going to that place made me who I am today, and for that I am forever grateful.
I remember every detail of landing in Bangkok. It was September 7th, 2005, and Cathay Pacific flight number 484 arrived at 9:35pm local time. The flight from Sydney had been awful. Because my backpacker budget did not allow for the expensive taxi ride from downtown to the airport, and public transit in Sydney did not run at 5am, I had been forced to sleep in the airport terminal. I had awkwardly lounged on the orange and white vinyl seats at the airport, my comfort aided only by the cushioning of my overstuffed backpack. I tried my best to sleep, but I had never been able to drift off completely. Every little sound and scuffle had me jerking upwards, heart pumping with my fists in the air, ready to defend not only the backpack that contained everything I owned, but also myself.
Needless to say, by the time I had made it through the bumpy flight, terrible airline food and was making my way through the terminal towards baggage claim, I was exhausted. I felt as though everything around me was made of glass, exposing me to the bright lights of the city. They hurt my eyes. Even though it was dark outside, everything was bright, loud, and in my face. I could not wait to find some accommodation and sleep for what I imagined would be days.
I struggled through baggage claim, barely keeping my eyes open, and can remember making my way outside. The humidity hit me like a wave, engulfing my entire body and soaking into my pores. Immediately I was wet, sticky, and sweaty. All I had to do was find the bus terminal that my Lonely Planet book suggested and catch a cheap ride to Koh Sahn Road, which, apparently, was backpacker central.
So here I was, red in the face, sweat soaking through my clothes, 50lb bag on my back, sleep deprived and nervous, wandering around alone outside of an airport terminal in a foreign country. I cursed the friend who had changed his mind last minute and forced me to begin my travels in Asia alone. There were horns honking everywhere, and local taxi drivers trying to “help” me find where I was going. I suspiciously refused, as I had been forewarned about the taxi drivers in Asia. Busses and motorcycles zoomed past, and small children with dirty faces and torn clothing asked me for money. With each step my heart beat faster, until finally I found the terminal and purchased my ticket.
When I got on the bus to head to my destination, although it was nearly 11:30pm, the city was alive with people, sounds and light. As the bus weaved in and out of traffic, seemingly oblivious to the traffic laws which are upheld in Western countries, I stared out the window taking it all in. Pictures of the Thai King hung on nearly every street corner, draped with white Christmas lights, and neon signs flashed “ping pong show”. Even in the late hour the city seemed far too busy and I watched dubiously through the pitted glass, not only too tired to sleep, but too nervous about what would happen when I got off the bus.
Finally, the bus pulled into Koh Sahn road, and my senses were once again bombarded with the noise, light, smell and humidity. There were people everywhere, and vendors set up on the sides of the road selling deep fried grasshoppers, pirated CD’s and souvenir T-Shirts. Scruffy dogs chewed on garbage, piled high in alleys, and the stench of the entire place was unbearable. It was somewhat comforting to see so many Western tourists in the streets, albeit many of them in various stages of unflattering intoxication, but the sheer mass of them made nearly impossible to manoeuvre through the crowd and try to find a guest house. I must have stood out, because once again a host of Thai individuals approached me offering to “help” me find a place to sleep. Maybe I had my guard up, or maybe they were legitimately going to rip me off, but either way I flat out refused them all.
Eventually I ended up outside of Swarososki Guest House, down a quiet lane not far from Koh Sahn Road, with an inviting purple sign and open aired restaurant in the front. It was one of the cleanest I had seen so far and their rates included a buffet breakfast in the morning and self-controlled air conditioners in each room. A small travel agency occupied a glass-walled office near the front of the guest house, and a bank of computers offered cheap internet access. By that point it was nearly 1:00 am, and I happily paid the expensive room rate (by Thai standards) and collapsed in the lumpy double bed, dusty and defeated.
I remember waking the next morning and turning on the Thai news channel. It struck me as odd that their news anchors looked just as polished and professional as any I had seen before. Somehow, I had expected them to be less... civilized than their Western counterparts. I struggled with myself that morning to even leave the room. A small part of me wanted to stay hidden away in the air conditioned comfort, and study Thai sitcoms, building up the courage to face the diversely different culture. Here I was, only twenty one years old, alone in Thailand, with nothing but my backpack to my name. I knew no one, and the only friends I had were those that were thousands of miles away. It took all the courage I had to leave my room that morning, but finally I did.
I spent five months travelling Asia, and the trip was the most culturally enlightening experience of my life. I travelled through five different countries and visited dozens of world-famous tourist sites. I partied on the beach on Ko Phangan and lived it up during one of the island’s famous Full Moon Party’s. I witnessed firsthand the destruction caused by the Tsunami on the island of Ko Phi Phi and visited the world famous Angkor Wat ruins in Cambodia. I floated down a brown river on an inner tube is Laos, and spent six hours, helmet clad, on a speedboat the size of a small car crammed with 7 other people and all of their luggage. I met Emily and Sarah, two out-spoken English girls who took me under their wings and invited me to join them on their own journey. We met Iain, the laid-back Scottish lad who tagged along (by our insistence) with the three of us, and then there was Lindsay, the out-spoken Canadian I met when we bunked together on a 16-hour sleeper train to Malaysia. I made some incredible friends on that journey. Together we saw emerald green waterfalls, amazing beaches, and luscious jungles. They are all people I will never forget, and helped me make my journey what it was.
On the morning after my arrival, I was uncertain I possessed the skills necessary to successfully navigate my way through a world so foreign, a place so different. Looking back, I am proud that I believed in myself, stepped out of my comfort zone, and forced myself to open up and experience all that I could.
Going to that place made me who I am today, and for that I am forever grateful.