Yesterday marked my first full week spent traveling alone. It was more emotionally taxing than I could have ever imagined. But I did it. I’m still here. I didn’t hop back on that plane no matter how much I wanted to. (Mostly because I didn’t yet have my luggage.)
They say do what scares you and I did a lot of it. Dealing with missed flights and lost luggage, taking cabs alone, haggling with tuk-tuk drivers, booking stays, walking around with my pack in tow (I was desperately afraid it’d be too heavy), staying in hostels (my first), even just crossing a Bangkok street. Some of these already sound so insignificant, but each one marked a positive step forward and the beginning of this big adventure.
A lot of bad shit happened, but a lot of good, too. And when my mind was too buried in the bad to glimpse the good, friends reached in and pulled me out, sending me love, encouragement, resources, and in my friend Nina’s case, a five-star hotel and a Thai massage. (What!?) Thanks, friends. Thanks for saving me from myself.
Best of all, they reminded me that whether I leave in five months, tomorrow or in the next five minutes, it doesn’t matter. I still went for it. And no one is going to love me any less.
But for now, I’m movin’ on, luggage in tow. I spent my remaining Bangkok days in the Sukhumvit area, which was a welcome relief from the cluttered chaos of Banglamphu. I brought Lizzie, a sassy young Brit with me for my five-star adventure at the Grand Sheraton Sukhumvit—because pay it forward and Buddha knows I need to keep growing that karmic bank account.
Before I left Banglamphu, Lizzie and I ventured to Wat Pho to see the Reclining Buddha, an image that represents the final goal of Buddhism: Nirvana. And I was feeling its effects. There were 108 bronze bowls that lined the inside wall of the wat (temple). For 20 Baht (about 60 cents) you received 108 coins to drop in the bowls for good luck. Just to be sure, I sent each one off with a little blessing and many thanks.
The Reclining Buddha chillin' out maxin' relaxin' all cool.
Twinkle toes. People are snapping the bottoms of his feet which are inlaid with mother-of-pearl to display the 108 auspicious signs which distinguish a true Buddha. I don't want to spoil the surprise.
I should have gone to the temple days earlier. For the first time since arriving in Bangkok, I felt at peace and a sense of relief. Maybe it was the sea of orange we floated in as hundreds of young monks ate their lunch. Or the temple cats that dodged in and out of entryways. Maybe the smell of incense or just the feel of my bare feet on cool tile.
As my finals days in Bangkok passed, I slowly made my way back to myself. And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the city started to grow on me. I spent my final nights at Pause One Day Hostel where I did rooftop yoga and met the first Americans of the trip: Jenny (from Vail, CO) and her sister, Katie (from Connecticut).
Jenny left the next morning, but Katie kindly let me bum around with her, her cousin and his Irish friend, who are both living in Hong Kong. We ate Chinese food at a place that had a wall filled with pictures of supposed celebrities. None of whom we knew. We then trekked to a couple of rooftop bars where (through conversation not experience) Katie learned that Ping Pong shows do not involve keeping score.
On my last day, I made my way to the Vietnam Embassy at 4pm sharp, collected my visa and nabbed a taxi to the airport. Chiang Mai here I come! I sat in the back of my taxi smiling and thinking about the relaxing days ahead, right up until the taxi pulled to the side of the highway. I looked up to see the engine steaming as my driver poured a water over it. Bangkok’s last attempt to keep me in its grasp. Curse you, Bangkok!
I fumbled with Google Translate (“Help, going to miss flight, please call taxi”) while my driver grabbed another water bottle. He attempted to hail me a new taxi, but all he got was a farmer in a pickup truck. Not sure what that was about. Next a cop arrived.
After ten minutes, my imagination began running wild. I’m alone with all my stuff, sitting beneath an underpass with a cop, a farmer and a taxi driver. Surely this was some sort of scam Lonely Planet missed (and also the start of a bad joke). Twenty minutes later, to my surprise and relief, a new taxi showed up. He raced me to the airport, all the way insisting that he was going to pull over if I didn’t pay for all the tolls he paid to get to me. Tolls I had already paid my previous driver. “The Government called me so you have to pay them.” He wore me down. And honestly, I was ready to pay anything just to get the hell out of Bangkok.
That giant sweatbox of a city officially tested my every muscle, but I’m stronger for it. I’m slowly adapting to this new place and this new routine, developing a rhythm, just as my Aussie roommate assured me I would.
Tonight I’m sleeping in a treehouse, which sounds all Swiss Family Robinson, but is skewing Blair Witch. It’s also quite possible I’ll be eaten by some sort of large frog type duck out my window. I’m still homesick, a little shaken up from the taxi debacle and was berated by airport security for basically not speaking Thai, but I went for it. And that’s everything.
Obligatory photo of temple buddhas.
Temple architects are no joke.
A lush, rooftop jungle oasis hidden in the middle of the city. And a glimpse into how the other half lives. Thank you, Nina.