So, I briefly told y'all about the Khao San Road and my Delhi Belly, but here's what its actually like...For those of you that haven't been here, this is the backpackers road; white faces walk down the middle of it while brown faces try to sell you things or solicit cab rides or sex from you from the sidewalk. It isn't really as bad as some people had told me - you can politely wave people away with the words "cap n' carp" - "thank you" the only phrase most of us know (maybe "Sawasdee Carp" - "Hello" on top of that)
Most stalls sell clothes or wallets, you know the kind of thing, the Indian guys try to sell you "genuine Hugo Boss tailored" suits which they promise they will post home to you, while Captain Jack Sparrow tries to sell you belts. I'll try and get a photo of him now that I have the means...
KSR is lined with bars and guesthouses. Neon signs flicker, blocking out some of the beautiful Colonial buidings. The Starbucks I'm in as I write is the most gorgeous building with a museum above it.
The smell of street food envelops everything, sometimes, if you're lucky, even disguising the smell of shit. I hadn't realised that one needs to shower four times a day, I thought whats happened to my skin was due to the amount I was sweating but then someone reminded me that it is the grimiest of cities.
Every bar plays drum n' bass, shite house music for people from up north or has their own tribute rock band.
One night one finished with Rage, Blur and Nirvana, I was in cover-band heaven, though I won't miss Knock, Knock, Knockin on heaven's door for about.... er... forever.
The Shamrock is full of Oirish, who seem a worse race than the Brits and Aussies for drinking and vomiting on themselves. How soon their ersatz smiles and over-played accents give way to talk of "The Struggle" which they've no doubt learnt from one U2 song. Forget about it... The potatoes grew back didn't they? Apparently the south and the islands are full of them... Irish, not potatoes.
Joy.
There is one saving grace to KSR. Boots the chemist. How I wish I brought my advantage card!
So after fully recovering from my funny five minutes, (one concerned friend informing me it was actually the DT's, maybe a bit of both I reckon) I went to see The Dark Knight. Now you all know how much I luurve Batman (and The Joker) but I must admit I was a little disappointed, maybe I wasn't fully mentally fit yet. It just seemed to be really verbose and over-written - Heath was amazing as The Joker and should win Best Supporting Actor if the Academy Awards weren't run by a bunch of 92 year old Jewish guys! There were some great bits - the sky-hook for instance and the truck chase, but it was all a bit too wordy. Telling rather than showing. Though there was one hugely brave thing they did that made me cry. But where had Gotham City gone? This looked more like Chicago or Philly; where were The Narrows, what about Arkham? Unlike Batman Begins, which is pretty much the perfect film with the perfect ending, there's very little expectation on my part for the third installment; thats not just cos I didn't like it, its cos The Nolan's didn't do their job correctly...
And then there was the sonar mobile phone bit.
Grrr, obviously the studio enforcing some video-game tie-in.
I'll watch it again and hope to change my mind.
Anyway, I'm not on the other side of the world to review movies...
After some chilling, eating food for the first time in Ganesh knows-how-long, even having a croiss-wich from Burger King (BAD WILL! its half croissant, half burger, not a nickname for an ex-girlfriend as I originally thought)
That night I went out for the first time in what seemed like days for a quiet drink on a street near KSR, got chatting to an American girl who has lived in Thailand for years. She lives on an island and at one point opened a bar for her mates in her garden. When I asked if they had to pay the police off she said that the police didn't bother going there as it was a 40 min trek thru the jungle! When King Cobras attack, she sets her dogs on them so just imagine her as a female Rambo. That's what I'm doing. She had to go to bed as she was up early to appear as an extra in the John Cusack film "Shanghai". But in the hour or so we chatted I realised I'd stumbled across possibly the coolest girl in the world (so cool that unbeknownst to her, she actually shares a name with a superhero) and I got her e-mail address. Hopefully I might see her when I head down south soon.
Later, walking home had a text from Brummie mate Lee who was out for a beer... Needless to say one turned into three, Lee had gone with Jess and I was in a tuk tuk with some London girls and a really rather shouty Portuguese guy who I made get out and leave. One of the London girls, Louise spilt not one, but two drinks over me and it wasn't until the morning that I realised my phone (with Nicole's e-mail address) was in that pocket. I lurched for my shorts. The phone didn't work and worse, wouldn't charge... Arrrrrggghh! Curse you! I shouted towards the heavens, falling to my knees.
After some sweaty sightseeing, straight to MBK it was then, to buy a new battery. Which actually works, the nice lady in the shop showed me. Phew. Job done. Home then... oooh whats that shiny little thing? After 2 hrs of finding the best price, some wrangling with ATM's, calls to my bank and some help from home (lifesaver once again mate) the iphone was mine. Muhahahah! And it was worth every internationally unlocked penny. Screw your 18 month contract o2, I had a thing of beauty.
Again another quiet night on KSR watching the Arsenal v Real Madrid game wherupon I met Henry, George & James. Despite George being a Spurs fan, I joined their table, not realising that with our collective names all we needed was a dog and some ginger beer to become Enid Blyton's "The Famous Five go Bangkok" They had been to a ping-pong show and every detail confirmed why I will avoid them, the bored look on the girl's faces as they pull a string of razor blades out of their...
Just had an hours massage and hour's facial for six English pounds.
The masseuse, a fifty year old asthmatic woman worked on my shoulder but somehow managed to identify and murder every sports injury I've ever sustained. Every late tackle, every scar, every bike-fall, every broken wrist from sk8ing, every dislocated leg from 19 years ago, every torn muscle and ripped tendon, she even managed to hurt the shin I have no feeling in from that infamous shark bite. She was 4'8" but every time she moved position it was like hearing the bell. Seconds out, bite down on that gumshield, son... here she comes again.
Then the facial where they vacuumed, yes vacuumed my face. How cool is that?
A ten-step programme for 200 baht. How much of a girl am I?
About to book a trip, Cambodia or the beaches daahn saarf.
Tough choice, but I'll leave it to the flip of a coin (see what I did there)
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