“Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.”
Don't I know it, Neale.
Yesterday I got kicked off a bench by a security guard who I’m certain thought I was a vagabond. I can’t blame him. It was day four in my same, stretched out jumpsuit, wreaking of sweat and fish sauce. My disheveled, greasy hair piled onto my head into what, at the time, seemed like a classy top knot, but upon finding a mirror looked more like a possum nest.
My luggage is still on walkabout. An occurrence that punctuated a stressful travel day (27 hours) that began just as I sent Harper a pic of me on the plane with two empty seats on either side and the caption, “So lucky.” To which the universe replied, “Jinx, sucker!”
As my text message reached its destination, the pilot garbled through the crackle of the loudspeaker that our plane’s parking brake was stuck. And since he was apparently without WD-40, we were instructed to get off the plane and find new flights.
I was rerouted to O’Hare and Narita instead of LAX and Seoul. My plane out of Chicago was delayed, which caused me to miss my Narita connection. Then my new Narita plane was delayed, at which point I began to question my sanity and also the whereabouts of my luggage. I wasn’t the only one. The flight attendants told me with sad, friendly eyes that there was no record of me checking any luggage, and maybe there would be someone a United agent I could talk to at Suvarnabhumi, but also, maybe not.
Once I arrived in Bangkok, I filed a report with the airport, but the number they gave me to check on it wouldn’t work. And when I called the airport direct they said I was delusional. Or that’s what I heard. After much back and forth, a few days, and the Columbo-like efforts of Harper, my elusive pack was discovered in San Francisco, hanging out at Delores Park, no doubt. It is set to arrive at my hostel today, but I’ve been told a lot of things, so I’m hopeful, but skeptical.
Needless to say, it’s been a rough start. Sure, not having a comb or toothbrush (or change of underwear) is not ideal, but it’s not the end of the world. However, when you’re on the other side of said world, it can feel like it. It made me realize how vulnerable I am. I have no one to lean on, no one to tell loan me their deodorant, no one to sleep on the street with if I can’t find a room. (My biggest concern.) Safety is in numbers, and I’m just, well, A number.
Don't get me wrong, I knew solo traveling would be a little hard, but I thought, I enjoy being alone. Yes, I enjoy being alone at coffee shops and city parks and running trails. Places I drove to in my car, carrying my cell phone and surrounded by people who speak English. Not the same.
I think my feelings of vulnerability have been compounded by the culture shock of the wild metropolis of Bangkok. I felt the same way my first night in Accra, but then day two I was whisked away to a small village with new travelmates also thrown off by the hissing in the streets and the kids chasing us yelling, “Yevu, yevu!” But slowly, we began to understand the culture and the people, and we loved it and them.
So I’m hoping things will be easier once I leave Bangkok. Unfortunately I’m stuck here until Monday. The Vietnam Embassy stole my passport (and my hopes and dreams) when they told me that despite what I read online, an express visa is no longer an option.
All this is not to say that Bangkok doesn’t have its charms. I’m just seeing it at the wrong time to appreciate them. I walked ten miles my first day, in and around Chinatown (Yaowarat), sneaking down tiny back alleys crammed with street vendors, bright textiles, young monks, and golden buddhas. Slipping past mango slices and suckling pigs, occasionally getting slapped in the face by the stink of Durian. It's an endless cacophony of sounds, mixed with exotic sights and smells. It's sensory overload at its finest.
I visited Wat Thepthidaram and saw the Erawan Shrine. I rode my first tuk-tuk, then haggled with my driver who wanted me to pay 400 Baht! (For context, that’s how much I pay to stay in my hostel’s bunk room.) Today I may walk to Khoasan Road and wherever else these stinky feet lead me.
In the meantime, a friend suggested that I move to a different neighborhood, noting that she feels Banglamphu isn’t the best representation of Bangkok. And so tomorrow (assuming my luggage gets here), I’ll book it to Sukhumvit to see a different side of Bangkok, one I only glimpsed yesterday, just before I was sent away to buy deodorant.
p.s. To the countless friends and family who have been checking in every day, I’m indebted. You’ve made me feel so loved and supported. Thank you.
