Where In The World Is Evan?

As you step out of the airport a wall of humidity hits you in the face and the pungent smell of raw sewage forces its way up your nostrils… you are of course in Bangkok.

And boy is it good to be back! Or at least, it was…

Being in Bangkok for the beloved Thai king’s birthday was quite fun. Considering the recent political machinations, it turned out of be quite a party–complete with marching bands and parades, passing up and down the streets of the tourist district. About 90% of the Bangkok population was dressed up in matching yellow polo-shirts, to declare their love for a monarch that has proven instrumental in maintaining stability in a country plagued by years of violent unrest.

National public holidays, however, aren’t the best of things when you’re only passing through, and instead get stuck waiting for visas. I have a real love/hate relationship with Bangkok (see Bangkok; The Return), but after being stuck here for 10 days I’m definitely leaning towards hate.

With all that time to kill, and a strong feeling of frustration to sate, I popped into a random piercing studio on Khao San Rd to get my left ear done. After picking out a rather fat ring the lady grabbed a matching needle and shoved it through. She threaded the ring through without trouble, then attempted to attach the silver ball that joins the ends. After fiddling for a couple of minutes the ball popped out of her fingers, rolled across the floor and disappeared from sight. It was around this point that she revealed I was in her sister’s piercing studio, who was home sick, and she had no fucking idea at all what she was doing! After 45 minutes of increasing discomfort and pain, caused by the repeated jerking and pulling at my ear, she finally gave up and fetched someone from a rival business down the street. Thankfully he knew what he was doing and had the ball attached within 5 minutes. But the damage was already done–my ear was bruised, bleeding and very swollen.

So we did the only thing one can do under such circumstances, got riotously drunk in the middle of the afternoon. With that accomplished it seemed a strangely natural choice that we should then both go and get drastic haircuts. The bitch who cut my hair, however, took exception to Alex’s directions and ignored my requests that she stop roughly handling my bleeding ear. With a silly haircut, a freshly pierced ear, and sporting a pair of “Thai fisherman’s pants” my transformation into classic South East Asian travelling bum was complete.

Because of all the delays, however, my plans have had to change. Instead of heading first to Myanmar and then to India for NYE, Alex and I have flown direct to India and will spend most of the rest of the month in the Himalaya–in the far northern province of Sikkim (lodged between Tibet, Nepal and Bhutan). From there we’ll cross India by train, to meet friends on the famed party beaches of Goa. After catching up on a little sleep, we’ll then fly into Myanmar and stay till the money runs out.

Flying into India at this time of year, however, is quite an expensive proposition–unless you’re willing to slum it. For a country that completely shuns modernity, and for the most part, doesn’t even have electricity, it seems a little strange that Bhutan should have a national airline–Druk Air. The flight itself proved rather entertaining, as not only were our tickets hand written, but our jokes about flying a Flintstones plane were supported by the strange groaning sounds that the plane omitted for much of the flight.