Bangkok

I arrived at the enormous, scandal-besieged, and structurally unsafe Suvarnabhumi Airport at dusk. It was hot and hazy when I got outside, though not nearly as bad as I expected. I took a taxi into town for ~$12. The ride was long; Bangkok seems pretty massive, sprawling but also dense, something between New York and LA.

When we got off the expressway and into the city, I discovered that Bangkok is the 7-11 capital of the world. They are everywhere, outnumbering the second most-ubiquitous sight: billboards and pictures of a man who looks like he wants to do your taxes but actually turns out to be the king, Bhumibol Adulyadej.

My hotel is fine, but overrun with backpackers and I already want to switch locations. I dropped my things and called my friend Martin’s friend Lyndsay, a teacher here in Bangkok. She was out with a bunch of people and I took a taxi to meet her. The driver kept asking me if I wanted to meet some beautiful girls. He also kept saying the word “balloons,” though I’m not sure what he was referring to. Physical attribute? Festive decor?

Anyway, I met the incredibly great Lyndsay and a bunch of her fellow expat teachers at an outdoor bar called Cheap Charlies. It was fun to drink bottles of Singha in little foam sleeves and watch the street life. You know how when you’re little your dad lets you sit on his lap and steer the car around a parking lot? I saw a four- or five-year-old boy doing that on a motorcycle. There were actually four people on the bike. Plus it was 10 o’clock at night, and they were driving down a crowded pedestrian alleyway. Everyone who’s been living here for a while laughed when I seemed surprised by this.

The group then moved to an English-style pub around the corner, where I drank Thai beers in pint glasses and played pool. Most of the English-speaking world was represented among us–America, various UK places , Canada, South Africa. The conversation got into the differences in our various accents. Here are some of the things we were making each other pronounce:

(“Crayons” was there because of Lyndsay, who pronounces it “crons.” ??? She’s says it’s an upstate New York thing???)

I also learned that South Africans call traffic lights “robots,” which is now my favorite thing to know in the world.

I made it til closing time and impressed everyone with my incredible constitution after a 17-hour flight. Most importantly, I impressed myself. On the ride home, the cab driver (who also offered to take me to meet girls) was listening to the Scorpions.

It was as good a 17-hour flight as I could have hoped for. Everything was on time, the ride was mostly smooth, and the Thai food wasn’t bad.

Still, it was a 17-hour flight. At about 10 hours in, it feels like you’ve been flying forever. Then you realize you still have 7 hours left, the length of another incredibly long flight. That’s when you order another bloody mary–or, if you’re the middle-aged Indian man sitting next to me, you keep asking for a kamikaze, which the stewardess doesn’t know how to make and is one of the worst things to keep saying in a loud voice on an airplane.

Thankfully, Thai Air has personal video screens and movies on demand. I watched a few Bollywood movies and “Invincible,” the football movie starring Mark Wahlberg. I have to say, it was wicked inspirational. With the thin cabin air and sleep deprivation, I got choked up like 15 times. Also, Greg Kinnear does a great Dick Vermeil impression.