Last Night In Bangkok - Rama IV
After buying a fresh supply of camera batteries at the 7/11 I stand on Rama IV at 3:00am and wait for a taxi to hail. Having gone to bed every night in Thailand before midnight, I have no idea that people make it a habit to remain outdoors at such a late hour. I notice a few food vendors cleaning pots and carrying things to and fro, while others remain open with people lounging at tiny street side tables in the gray, humid lamp light - smoking, talking, eating, gazing into the bleary eyed past/present/future. Instead of the company of rats and dogs which I expect, it is just a normal night in an exotic city, or some suburb in the states, which, I can no longer distinguish. A couple of minutes standing curbside and the first taxi to pass stops and agrees to drive me to the airport. As we weave through sparse traffic I conclude that the unbearably hot days are the reason that Bangkok is a nocturnal city - the comfort of a black sun creates a city of night hawks.
I arrive at the airport and locate the check in desk. My mind is in a good state - I think of the Self-Taught Man from the book Nausea, his desire for adventure - I think to myself "ok, if I get on the wrong plane, or am held up in immigration, or told my backpack exceeds weight regulations, I will take it in stride, knowing that I am receiving something in return - Adventure. Perhaps it is this thought which makes the morning appear eerily tranquil. I get into a fast moving check-in line, am whisked through immigration without a peep (unlike my first experience when landing in Bangkok ((it helps not to discard the departure card!)) ), quickly find the departure gate, do some stretches, and contemplate doing a few wind sprints across the people-mover conveyor belt.
Airport Meditation
I board the plane without incident, it takes off without crashing, I have an aisle seat next to a pleasant Scandinavian couple. I listen to Hendrix blues, visualize the pentatonic scale across the fretboard of my guitar (I miss playing and practicing!), read a big portion of Burmese days (almost finished, dang, it is too good to come to an end), hear the pilot's message that we will soon be landing, look out the window and see the island of Bali below, the plane lands without crashing, and soon after walk through the small, quiet, airport. I see the Visa on Arrival booth, no line, and have my receipt within 60 seconds. I walk to the immigration desk, again no line, my passport is quickly stamped, pass through customs, get my bag scanned, hand the surly, dark skinned clerk the blank form, and am waved through to the exit. I now stand in the hot and humid air of Bali. I locate the taxi service booth, ask for a taxi to Legian. "70,000 rupees" I hear, and my mind is startled, 70,000 of anything seems incredibly large, but I subtract four zeroes and sigh relief. I stand on the hot pavement, waiting, for....what? I continue to wait, and a man eventually approaches and tells me to come with him. I wonder if he is a tout but he convinces me he is my assigned taxi driver so I follow and we walk through a long parking area. I get into the hot and sticky cab and gawk at the passing scene as we blend our way into Legian. I see shacks, narrow dirty alleys, notice immediately that the Indonesian countenance is more aggressive and surly than the Thai. As we enter the tourist area the neighborhoods become more upscale and modern. I am dropped off at my hotel, check in without a problem, am shown to my room which is just off the beautiful pool. I unpack, don't feel famished, it is only 1:00pm, too hot to be out under the sun, so I lay in bed and fall asleep. I wake at 5:15, freshen up, then walk outdoors in search of the ocean. After wandering the streets of Bangkok I am confident I will not get lost, but just in case carry in my pocket a hand drawn map. The streets are crowded with scooters and odd looking, open faced vans which carry large groups of Balinese who yell things at passersby. Vehicles lay on the horn so frequently I get the feeling they are directing it at me. I see a western couple just ahead, walking in the direction of the beach, I get behind and follow along. I get to the walking street area, the tourist shops selling trinkets, sun glasses, gawdy t-shirts. I notice a few artisan galleries. I walk toward a heavy set, tall stone structure in the distance, which is the gateway to the sea. When I step onto the beach I see that the sun has already dropped under the wide horizon - the final page of day is murky and bland, a glass plate of light ready to be extinguished. I make one photograph of the sea, inhale deeply but do not smell the heavy scent of salt which I was craving.
A Few Minutes Less
I walk along the shore, take my shoes off and wade through the rising tide, the sea water cool and refreshing. When I return to the gateway I sit on the steps and gaze at the darkened sea. The moon is behind me, yellow and hanging limply in cloud mist. I become reflective, the water moving in and out of my vision - I have no idea where I am, how I got here - who am I? Being unknown, even to myself, is a satisfying metaphysical sensation. When my feet dry I put my shoes on and begin the walk back to the hotel. I pass an open air music shop where two men play an inspired riff on large hand drums. Guitars hang behind them and I am close to willing myself to crossing the street and pulling one off the wall, but I keep walking and soon arrive at the hotel. I order room service, eat a good meal, drink a Coke. Afterward I lay in bed, resting, inhaling the scent of a new land, as if the day which has just passed was just like any other. Perhaps the day was like any other, my mind being the strange new beauty which makes me turn and gaze in splendor and awe.
