Kanchanaburi Pt. 2

On my second day in Kanchanaburi, I pedaled over to the River Kwai bridge, which was destroyed in World War II (somebody should totally make a movie about this) and rebuilt afterwards. The bridge itself is unimpressive, although you can see artillery damage on some of the supports. It’s a simple curved-span crossing made of iron that was part of the Death Railway built by POWs and Asian laborers to connect Burma and Thailand. Disease, overwork, and malnutrition ended up killing over 13,000 allied soldiers and an estimated 100,000 laborers conscripted from Asia.

The nearby JEATH (Japan, England, Australia, America, Thailand, Holland) War Museum is a small, heartfelt memorial to the dead built by a monk on temple grounds. It’s housed in a replica of the huts used by the POW workers, and is filled with photos, newspaper clippings, and bits of memorabilia. Surrounding it is the World War II museum, a truly oddball collection of crumbling dioramas, historical inaccuracies, and crazy murals (one depicts all the Miss Thailand winners from the 1930s to the 1990s.)

Much more effective, and affecting, is the Thailand Burma Railway Centre, directly across the street from the Kanchanaburi War Cemetery. This is a serious, well-run facility with a mission to research the fate of every POW who died as a result of the Thai Burma Railway. Informative text and displays tell the story of the Railway, and tiny artifacts pierce you like railroad spikes–the tin case with “Mother” carved on the front; the hand-carved wooden chess set; the remarkable pencil drawings made by one POW as he lay dying of malaria.

I went across the street to the cemetery and walked along the headstones for a moment–everyone dead in their 20s, inscriptions like this one: “His memory my dearest treasure his absence a silent grief. Sadly missed. Mum.”

Afterwards, I found someone’s cell phone on the side of the road and after much language confusion, managed to get it back to her.

In the evening, I had perhaps the hottest curry I’ve ever eaten, a red curry w/ tofu, at a place called Flintstone’s (I swear). My lips were on fire, tears were welling up, but I finished it and, perversely, even enjoyed it. I got to talking with the owner and his wife (who made the curry) and even he admitted it was hot by Thai standards, made Southern-style.

The owner was joined by an American friend who lives in Kanchanaburi. More food appeared–clams, a great tom yum soup, crispy squid–as did bottles of thai rum and whisky, and before I knew it, it was 5 AM. As I left, I asked Sean, the American, what he thought I should see in Thailand, and he said Sangkhlaburi. So here I am.