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Bangkok. The fastest airport I have
ever been through. Easy to get in
but not so easy to get out. The
bus into town was crammed with
backpackers, most of whom were
headed to Khosan Road. Statistics
would prove that most would have a
great time in Thailand and never
even realize any dangers that could
befall them. Their travel tale at
the end of the day would be "I
smoked a lot, got laid, and sat on
the beach."
Statistics would also provide
travel tales of those that got
robbed, raped, thrown in jail or
otherwise. The odd one would
disappear and yet the odd few would
elect to stay in Thailand because
they thought it was heaven on earth.
I did not fit into any normal
category but had to somehow not look
obvious.
Of course, as usual, the bus had
more people than what it was
designed for. The aisle was piled
high with backpacks. It was hot. It
was unbelievably humid. It was
pouring rain. At the front of the
bus was a television mounted just
above the driver who blasted out
Thai rock music so loudly it forced
travelers to shout at one another
during conversation. The traffic was
so slow that at one point the bus
did not move for forty-five minutes
while we all breathed black soot
from the surrounding tuk tuks (small
3 wheeled "taxis").
We went past a lot of beautiful
areas and nice buildings but Khosan
Road was the select destination of
all the guidebooks. It was the seedy
part of town (every city has one)
that local Thai's would not be
caught dead in (oops, poor choice of
words) but to us westerners it was a
cool place where anything goes.
Imagine the seedy part of town in
your city and then imagine making it
a huge tourist attraction. Imagine
the police slipped a few dollars,
government sanctioning the millions
it brings in, drugs, sex, children,
and hot items sold on the street,
and throw in some funky restaurants
- then you might have another Khosan
Road.
The bus would stop occasionally
and let someone off. No
announcements. Everyone seemed to
know where to get off. When the bus
emptied out I followed. I assumed we
were at Khosan Road. We were.
I thought it would be longer.
Khosan Road was relatively short but
packed to the gills with tiny
curious shops, open air restaurants,
e-mail spots, cheap hotels,
wall-to-wall evening street vendors
and people. Side streets and alleys
expanded the area of Khosan and
provided dark places for business
exchanges.
Every new busload of backpackers
brought new targets and new money.
Touts and hawkers followed many of
us to lead us to hotels and
restaurants for a commission.
I got settled in a room and went
to get something to eat. The
restaurants were everywhere,
catering to the western appetite,
and all had large TVs playing
English movies. Backpackers dressed
in tie-dyed attire. The same kind
that you see everywhere on the
Lonely Planet trail whether you are
in India, Nepal, Brazil, Indonesia,
or Africa. Thai people did not dress
in these sarongs, long skirts and
bandannas. Westerners crowded into
restaurants, these little vestals of
western culture, and they were all
so cool because they were in
Thailand. I wondered how anyone
could travel halfway around the
world and ever get to know the
country by sitting in front of a TV
watching English movies. But never
the less that is where and how they
convened. The food was good. The
napkins were slight.
I went from shop to shop, vendor
to vendor. I laughed to see a street
vendor openly display his available
fake ID cards for sale. You could
provide a photo of yourself and he
would produce for you a beautiful
laminated ID card for the FBI, CIA,
British Intelligence, CNN reporter
and a host of other identities. They
were quite incredible and included
your social security number.
I went into every e-mail place to
check out prices. I scoured the
street on both sides and planned to
do the side streets the next day.
How was I going to find a guy named
'Gary' in this crowd, this ant-hill
of activity? Before I left home I
was told that there were posters of
James all over the place but I
couldn't see one anywhere - not one.
Traveler bulletin boards only hosted
traveler messages regarding travel
arrangements. You know, "meet me at
the Watt" "looking for travel
companion" "Lost camera" "Mary, if
you see this we all went to Vietnam"
"Don't stay at this Hotel they'll
rip you off" "Will share room" "Good
place to do laundry." One board,
however, had a list of western
prisoners in jail in Bangkok.. I
copied the list.
Next morning I was served a great
bowl of oatmeal by a gorgeous
toy-boy dressed liked he was going
to a wedding and he was the bride.
His nails were beautifully manicured
a brilliant red to match his red
lips. No one paid him much attention
as this was pretty normal on Khosan
road and more so in Patong.
The street vendors were gone but
the street was still filled with
people dodging vehicles of every
description. The rain had stopped. A
poor sap came up to me on the
street. He was barefooted wearing
shorts and a tank to. He had long,
stringy, matted blonde hair and was
completely skin and bone. His body
was a mass of infected, bloody open
wounds and bites. If he had been an
animal someone would have put him
out of his misery. " uh, can you
give me some money?" he said in a
strong English accent.
"My God," I said, " you look
awful. Where are you staying?"
"Uh, I dunno. I slept on the
corner " he replied. He seemed so
dazed.
"Well where are your things?"
"I dunno"
"Do you have your passport?"
"Na, dunno, don't have nothin" he
replied with great difficulty.
He was disoriented. I asked him
about his sores. He told me he
thought they were from rats. I
convinced him to go to the British
Embassy for help. After I left him I
cried to think that James might be
in the same shape. I made a note to
myself to go to my own embassy to
let them know I was here and to get
some help regarding immigration,
prison and hospital info.
I went to a tiny e-mail place on
top of a restaurant. I started to
chat with the owner about general
things and mentioned my plans to go
to the prison to visit the western
inmates. I e-mailed home, then went
about town just walking for miles to
get to know the area, how it was
laid out and get the general feeling
of the place.
By late evening I made it back
and went to a new restaurant for
dinner. Afterwards I went to the
e-mail joint that had the bulletin
board and discovered to my shock a
message to me! It was from a woman,
asking if she could go to the prison
with me. She left a hotel name and
place to meet. I went to meet her.
She was a young, delightful, very
attractive American hooker. She had
been hooking her way around the
world for seven years, truly the
happy hooker. She made me laugh till
I cried. She was such good company.
Her stories of different men of
different nationalities and their
'preferences' were intriguing and
the funniest I had ever heard. Well,
except for the stories of Asian men
and their love for masochistic
entertainment. That wasn't so funny.
Anyway, we planned to leave for the
prison in a couple of days.
That night, in my room I jumped
when the phone rang. I wasn't
expecting any phone calls. The phone
was just a piece of plastic in the
room. "Hello" I said with utter
blank anticipation. A man answered
and said I needed to know some
things if I was going to the prison
and I should meet with him. I asked
him who he was. He said his name was
Gary.
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