Transport from Bangkok to the Southern Islands

Getting to the Thai islands from Bangkok is an extremely well trodden route. Almost everyone who backpacks around here will run it, either one way or the other, at some point on his or her travels. And, with it being such a popular route and destination, there are numerous ways of getting there.

If you go down the government transport route you can either do the legwork yourself and book bus or train tickets directly or, if you prefer, you can get an agency to do it for you (for a price, of course). If you go it alone and want to book at a station, and travel by Tuk Tuk, be aware that once the driver knows your intentions he’ll do his utmost to get you to book it at the TAT office instead. If you tell them you’re meeting a friend there or something then you won’t have to go through the driver’s hard sell and you’ll still get your commission free ticket.  I’m not dissing the TAT though – their staff are ever  helpful and the service is genuine – and when you hand over a chunk of your travel budget at least you can rest easy knowing that you’re dealing with a reputable organisation.

Another good thing about the TAT is that they’re a great source for accurate, up to date transport information – with prices (albeit with their commission added). They’ll also inform you of your options when it comes to actually getting to the various transport hubs – and even supply a bit of info about onward connections if you’re lucky. I sometimes feel a bit guilty about leaving their office without buying anything after they’ve been so helpful, but that sensation doesn’t last too long.

Oh, another tip for the stations: kill 2 birds with one stone by sniffing out a few route maps and timetables (sometimes they’ll have prices on them, too) when you go for the tickets. They may hold you in good stead should plan to return to the area any time soon. But, even if you don’t need them immediately, any non-lonely planeteer back at the hostel would no doubt find a good home for them.

Of course, the savings gained by booking tickets directly will still be offset with transport costs to and from the station – so do the math first.

Alternatively, you can take one of the backpacker busses; they are (for the most part) pretty competitively priced but can vary immensely in quality (and sometimes safety) depending on the tour operator. If you do go for one of these, my advice – take it or leave it – is to shop around, ask sufficient questions and pick wisely – don’t just go for the cheapest as sometimes things are cheap for a reason. Its horses for courses though – there is an upside to these busses. You can just walk into an agent, slap a bunch of Baht down and then everything should be taken care of from guesthouse pick up (but not all the time) to onward tickets.

In Thailand, busses (both tourist and government) will be generally be quicker than the trains, but what you eventually plump for will all depend on your travel preferences.

(Lack of) Travel Plan: Update

2 days ago, I elected to travel to Indonesia. I’d head back up to the new airport and decimate my carbon karma with 2 more flights: one to Kuala Lumpur and then a connection to Banda Aceh. The plan being to travel down through Sumatra and cut back up to Malaysia before the Indo visa hit the stops.

That same evening I thought I’d hold off on Indonesia and head back to Cambodia instead. I figured that with a bus or two down to Trat/Hat Lek, I could cross borders near the coast and take the Koh Kong ferry straight to Sihanoukville. I know some snooky expats who swear by this route, and that’s as good a recommendation as I needed. In theory, I could be eating fresh mango on Independence Beach within 2 days.

The other overland option from Bangkok would be to head directly to Phnom Penh via the Poi Pet border. Nevertheless, having previously travelled this route, I’d prefer to gouge my eyes out with sharpened chopsticks than do it again – even more so in rainy season.

By my reckoning, and with a ridiculously early start the following morning, I could make the border by nightfall. Yesterday, the planned travel day, I woke up at 10 am. Bugger. Foiled again. I could have still made some headway, I suppose, and ended up somewhere near(ish) the border, but for some unknown reason (please don’t ask me why) I thought I’d completely change my mind for the 3rd time in 2 days.

I decided I’d now head south to the islands and beaches – probably around the Phi Phi/Ko Lanta area. So, that’s the plan as it stands right now – all I have to do now is sort out either a bus or train ticket before I changed my mind and ended up flying to Kota Kinabalu instead.

Beer, Fighting and Football…and it’s not even Saturday Night

It must have been around 9pm the shouting and yelling (from both the kids and adults) went through the roof. It immediately got Boll’s attention. Seeing this, I swung round to see what was going on. I peered over the top of the crowd of people that had gathered in a circle to try and get a better view. At first, it just looked like a slight disagreement between a couple of schoolgirls – playground stuff, almost – and just a bit of sabre rattling. One of Boll’s family , possibly around these teenage girls father’s age, swiftly stepped between them with his arms outstretched and separated the two girls. It seemed like that was the end of it – but how wrong I was.

What happened next defied all reason, and I still don’t understand quite what happened or why. I don’t know if the 3 of them (the 2 girls and the guy between them) were feeding off the still cheering crowd, or whether there was a genuine grievance that they felt needed to be sorted there and then, but the former peacemaker subsequently stepped out of the way and just let them carry on. In fact, judging by the way his arms swept back toward his centre as he stepped back, he actively encouraged them to continue.

All hell broke loose. The 2 girls went back at each with a real, genuine venom. I could hardly believe my eyes. I didn’t want to look but my eyes were fixed in absolute disbelief. The Muay Thai students had nothing on these girls, I mean that in all seriousness. It was truly very nasty indeed, and what made it even worse (if that was possible) were the crowd. They absolutely loved it. You could tell, quite clearly, that the shouts were of those of excitement and nothing else.

I looked over to Boll. He didn’t respond like others in the crowd, but didn’t look like he was going to jump in any time soon, either. Minutes later, the 2 girls were still going for it hammer and tongs. By the time I looked back from Boll’s direction, one of the girls was on the floor, the other over the top of her. Neither one looked like they were going to burn out any time soon. I just wanted to get in there and stop it – physically it wouldn’t have been a problem – but I had absolutely zero appreciation of the current dynamic. I didn’t know what started it, why it was allowed to continue and, moreover, why it was actually being encouraged. I didn’t know how the crowd would respond if I did do something. I didn’t know what to do for the best – I was a little out of my depth and way out of my comfort zone.

And so it carried on. I’ve seen a few dust ups over the years, and been party to some myself, but I’d never seen anything this vicious before – at least not between 2 girls. I won’t go into details, it’s not necessary, but it was absolutely shocking.

I decided that if it didn’t stop pretty soon or if it looked like one of the girls was going to get seriously hurt, I’d put the pressure on Boll to stop it. Failing that, I’d stop it myself. But, selfishly thinking of my own preservation, I was fully aware that taking action myself – interfering in matters other than my own that I had absolutely no understanding of – would be a pretty foolish thing to do. Had it been between 2 men, then fair enough you walk away and let them sort out their differences – from time to time that kind of stuff happens – but between 2 young girls? It just didn’t sit right.

Thankfully for me, but much to the crowd’s disappointment (which I still find incredible), the fight petered out naturally. For both my sake and theirs, I’m glad that it did. I should have known, really, no normal, unconditioned person could fight for such a length of time and with such vigour and not gas eventually. Fortunately, they did just that. The guy whom stepped in initially did so again, and this time that was the end of it. The crowd quickly started to disperse and I turned to Boll with a kind of a ‘what the f*ck was all that in aid of?’ look about me.

‘Ah, they fight’ he said. He gave a look of disapproval (although how much of it was show for my sake, I don’t know) but he genuinely did look slightly regretful and a touch embarrassed that I had witnessed the fight. The last thing I wanted was for my kind host to feel uncomfortable, or feel like he’d been put on the spot, so I gave a half smile, offered him a cigarette and swiftly changed the subject to the up and coming Champions League Final.

‘So then Boll, Man U or Chelsea tomorrow?’ I asked him, albeit still a little bit stunned over this bizarre turn of events.

‘Aaah, Man U! Man U!’ he beamed, back to his normal self in an instant.

‘…I thought you’d say that.’

Muay Thai and Bangkok Bridgespotting for Beginners

Seeing the Rama VIII Bridge from the riverbank made the afternoon’s detour completely worthwhile. Hawaiian shirt guy didn’t do a bad job at all.

I didn’t realise, but it actually opened in September 2002. How I missed it on my previous visits I’ll never know. Considering that it’s 165 meters high, 2.45km long (including approaches) and 4 lanes wide – I must have been walking around with my eyes shut!

Anyway, after a giving a few approving nods and taking a couple of photos I turned on my heels and went off to look for more food (still hungry.)
After walking a good 20 yards, I stopped near the Thai Boxing training area for a Pepsi. Long story short, Boll, the guy from whom I bought the drink, spoke pretty good English and before long we got chatting.

I asked him how often they use the Muay Thai ring and, much to my excitement, he said every day between 5 and 7pm. Since it was almost 4:30 pm now, I thought I may hang around for a bit and check it out.

Boll was a real friendly chap, he couldn’t have been a better host. Recognising I was alone, he kindly invited me over to sit, and eat, with him and his extended family. Before long there must have been at least 10 of us cramped around their small, wooden table – and every one of his family were just as kind and accommodating as Boll. It was so good of them, I can’t begin to tell you how fortunate I felt.

We talked (with Boll being family interpreter for the day) for several hours, the conversation only being interrupted periodically by hoots and hollers from the groups of boxing fans when a particularly crisp punch or roundhouse kick got airmailed to a trainee whom no doubt wished his guard had been a little better. We took these cheers as our cue to crane around in unison and find out who did what to whom.

The early evening rain came and went, darkness fell and beers disappeared at quite a rate of knots. The company, the chatter and the food were the best – and all the while, behind us in the tent, the dedicated Muay Thai students continued to train and fight. It truly was the perfect evening.

When the training session would up, the hubbub quickly died down. For a while, we just had the background noise from kids in school uniforms playing in the street behind us, dogs barking as they charged up and down trying to catch mopeds, and the quickening revs from the mopeds as they tried to outrun these agitated sets of teeth on legs.

Things, however, were just about to get a whole lot louder.

Not Your Average Garden Party

Having previously watched the Saphan Phra Ram VIII bridge building documentary, naturally I gravitated toward the towering spire to see the Bangkok Superbridge in all it’s suspended glory.

Shortly after finishing my blood soup, I took a left off Th. Samsen and headed east down a small street neatly lined with Tuk Tuks. If the homing pigeon in me was correct (figuratively speaking, that is – although I never did figure what the meaty bits were in that soup), this would take me out to the main river, the Mae Nam Chao Phraya. From there, I hoped to catch a good view of the new bridge.

Despite wandering for less 2 minutes down this quiet side road, it felt like I’d just walked right out of the heart of Bangkok and into a sleepy suburb. Gone were the fume belching busses, the ubiquitous horn honkers and the pavements more akin to an urban obstacle course than a pedestrian thoroughfare. No longer did I need that spare pair of eyes up my behind watching out for speeding mopeds, potholes and lastminute.com telegraph poles; instead, I could now fully appreciate the unfolding scenery as I sauntered along.

Bordering the street were high, whitewashed walls. I had little choice but to continue along the street and hope that it spat me out on the riverbank. Rising up behind the wall, I noticed a cluster of ornate orange roofs denoting another of the many temples in the area. Further along, four young monks appeared, spanners and screwdrivers in hand, and busily set about righting one of the many rusted flagpoles bolted to the wall. Fighting the urge to whip out my camera and get a photo that I would later imaginatively title ‘Monks fixing Flagpole’, I continued along the backstreet, sweating in the midday sun like a hippy at a job interview and darting like a vampire from pavement to pavement wherever the patchy shade seemed thickest. 

I heard the end of the street before I saw it. Dogs barking, kids yelling and excitable shouts peppered with sporadic hoots of laughter. I became curious as to the commotion. The retaining walls gave way to various low level buildings and narrow offshoots. Predictably, shop fronts and eateries appeared as if by magic, taking full advantage of these few square feet of ever precious Bangkok real estate. Beyond the shop fronts, the street terminated in a full blanket of shade afforded by a canopy of broad leafed trees. Beneath the trees lay the source off all the commotion.

Just ahead, to the right, I spotted a large white marquee - of which the contents remained obscured. Clearly visible, though, were a collection of tables and chairs on its periphery, mostly occupied with Thais who, on the whole, were stripped to the waist and gathered round several bottles of liquor in varying stages of completion.

I seriously considered turning around at that point and casually wandering back from whence I came. In any other situation I probably would have, since there’s nothing quite as unpredictable as a drunk, or worse, a group of drunks. This time, however, I was reluctant to do an about turn. Although I could have really done  without any hassle, I really, really did want to see what was that tent – and check out the bridge.

I decided to continue onward, my reason being twofold:  for one, on such an empty street I must have stood out like a turd in a punchbowl and, despite the drunken fervour, I’m sure that I’d already been noticed (to turn around now probably wouldn’t have done me any favours) and, secondly, I really did want to see what was in that tent.

The open side of the tent didn’t come into view until I’d walked among the tables and the partying Thais. Much to my delight, many of the guys were too busy with the whisky to even acknowledge the arrival of a nosy foreigner – and those that did glance over didn’t seem in the least bit offended that I’d wandered into the party zone. So long as the shouting and laughing continued, I’d feel comfortable about making my way to the water’s edge to see the bridge, although now I had a more pressing engagement with a tent.

The tent, as it turned out, was a rudimentary Muay Thai Boxing Academy. To the far right hung row upon row of tatty, taped up gloves – I must have counted at least 50 pairs – below which lay a small changing area. The middle section formed the gym. Around a makeshift weights bench (knocked up from what looked like several scraps of angle iron) lay dumbbells and barbells – some of which took the form of steel bars set in buckets of concrete. I paused for a moment to salute such ingenuity and thrift. The remainder of the garden party-sized marquee housed the main Thai boxing ring, sitting proudly on a 3ft platform and bound with adequate rope to stop the loser from escaping too early. I don’t know if the ring happened to be full size or not, but it did looked pretty big – even from my current, relatively safe distance.

With curiosity now satisfied, I chose to linger no longer. Concerned that some bright spark might have the brilliant, drunken idea of chivvying me into the ring with his mate called ‘Wan the Destroyer ‘ (who instead of being born had more likely been cast out of the same concrete as the barbells), I casually drifted further from the tent and more toward the riverbank.

There was no point in turning around now. Having come this far, I felt I owed it to The Big Kahuna to check out his new bridge.

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