What’s in a gust of wind? The saga: adventures in Bangkok
When my dad and I finally arrived in Bangkok after our torturous journey, we were greeted with temperatures of around 30 degrees Celsius. The humidity filtered into the airport, despite the air condition, leaving our hands clammy and a sticky feeling on our skin. It felt like we had just travelled from the north pole to the equator.
There was sense of excitement too. It felt liberating to be somewhere so sunny, spacious and full of fresh tropical blossoms. Even though I was sure I didn’t want to be in Thailand, there was a sense of adventure tickling me. I was somewhere new and it was so exotic.
We were met at the exit of the plane by Aeroflot representatives who took us through the paperwork and led us to our hotel. The rooms at the Miracle Hometel were spacious and the bathrooms were even more accommodating. With food and airport transfer also organised for us, it was finally safe to relax.
After a quick shower (we have been wearing the same clothes for over two days by this point and a shower provided the only sense of hygiene), we headed into town. But not before being told off for wearing a red t-shirt. After recent reports of the red shirt movement in Thailand I can understand why but at the time it was completely baffling. We didn’t know if it was because of the short sleeves or because of the colour. Apparently I looked too Asian so couldn’t get away with wearing it. But since all my clothes were in the checked luggage, we couldn’t do anything to rectify the problem.
We got a taxi into central Bangkok. I found the sights en route to be strangely familiar. The buildings were very similar to the sort that you would find in a Chinese city. The only thing marking it out as being Thai was the large posters of the Thai royal family set to the background of fresh flowers. In fact, the orchids and the ratchaphruek lent an air of vibrant je ne sais quoi that could only be distinctively Thai. It wasn’t at all the slightly poverty stricken bustling mess that I had imagined it to be. In fact, it was quite the opposite.
We went to the Grand Palace on advice of the staff at the hotel only to find it was already closed. We were soon met by a friendly somebody who directed us to the street corner lined with tuk-tuks and their drivers relaxing in the lazy sun. For 20 baht, a driver would take us to a few temples and back. Considering at the airport we had paid 20 baht for a bottle of water, this didn’t seem like an expense at all so that’s what we did.
When we first got on I was a little worried. Someone had previously told me about tuk-tuks, about how dangerous they were. They had said that the tuk-tuks were generally driven at high speed and would dive in and out of speeding traffic leaving your heart in your throat and your gut behind somewhere near the last corner.
But I needn’t have worried. There were similar sorts of vehicles in China often driven at greater speed than our tuk-tuk, and on far bumpier roads. Our driver expertly navigated the roads and took us to several temples.
The thing which surprised me greatly was how clean and peaceful the temples were. The serenity of some of the temples were in stark contrast to the buzzing roads outside. Other temples were bursting with people, food and prayer and yet somehow still maintained an air of tranquillity. They were all painted a slightly creamy white offset with gold trims, fresh flowers and of course statues and frescos of buddha. It all seemed so inviting that I felt a great urge to take off my shoes and walk around, maybe sit down somewhere for some quiet contemplation.
It was quite different to the Thailand I had imagined. What’s more, the people were warm, polite and kind. People would strike up conversations with us when we walked around, and it would be through a genuine interest in culture and background. People also seemed to go out of their way to help us which is not often seen in other parts of the world.
When we arrived back at the airport the next day, I felt a little sad to leave. What else had I missed in our short diversion to Thailand? Also a little embarrassed because I had so readily made a judgement in the negative about Thailand without any real basis. However, as we boarded our last flight, there was also relief that we were at long last going to arrive at our final destination, Chengdu.
I guess it will remain a wonder how a gust of wind created a three day adventure.
What’s in a gust of wind? The saga: part one
If there ever were evidence testifying to the powers of the jinx, this would be it.
My recent journey to China with my dad could only be described as epic, and at times, physically and emotionally trying. The plan was, as usual, to catch the afternoon KLM flight from London Heathrow to Chengdu Shuangliu with a brief transfer at Amsterdam Schipol. The usual trawling of duty free shops would be involved as well as some seriously good in-flight films. The cuisine would be negligible as would sleep. But the phrase ‘Mentsch tracht, Gott lacht’ could not ring truer on this occasion.
Just as everyone had buckled down ready for taxiing, an announcement was made followed immediately by uproar in the cabin.
Evidently Amsterdam was troubled by strong winds and as a result there would be an hour’s delay to our flight. Unfortunately the time allocated to make our connection was just over an hour. Sitting there I wondered, could my tweet just days earlier be any more… Untimely? It had said: “Hiding out in bed so I don’t have to pack (packing is surely the worst part of any trip ever? Aside from delays…)”. I’m not sure of the best word to describe this ludicrous feeling, though at that point one can only be optimistic. Surely, if we were experiencing delays, our connection should be experiencing similar delays?
Alas, not so. Having finally arrived in Amsterdam, we realised that our connection probably took off as we landed. Anyhow, it was no longer on the transfer board. After much fumbling we finally managed to track down the KLM transfer desk, only to be met with a two hour queue and news that there were no more flights out of Amsterdam for that day. Our only solace to the mounting frustration was the free water provided.
We did eventually make it to the front of the queue to arrange transfers… But, it can only be expected that the last seat heading to China the next day had just been allocated. To the person next to us.
So after yet more finger drumming, a not-so-sympathetic floor staff told us the earliest we can get to China was 1am, the day after next. Even more spectacularly, we had to fly to Moscow Sheremetyevo the next morning, transfer to Bangkok Suvarnabhumi six hours later and make a final transfer to Chengdu Shuangliu after that. We were certainly going to get our money’s worth of flights. What’s more, I had just been told that, along with clocking substantial air miles and collecting time zones, I was going to the one country on Earth I said I never wanted to visit: Thailand. The backpackers’ paradise held little interest for me and I had strongly believed that it resembled Daniel Cleaver‘s sleaze fest (of course I now know this is not the case).
This had turned into a saga.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at this ridiculous crawl towards our final destination but it was that or facing another day and half cooped up at the airport.
Meanwhile, there was still the night to consider. It was impossible not to be grateful to receive the €10 meal vouchers – we had no cash. However, faced with the prospect of spending the night on some airport loungers, the additional KLM blanket and pillows offered provided little comfort to us. From experience, nights at the airport tended to be surprisingly chilly and agonisingly noisy. But what else was there? The two hotels within the airport, yotel and the Mercure were both full due to the weather. The only spark of hope was the possibility of a room at yotel after 1am, if we get there early.
By this point, things were looking rather bleak with no signs of improvement. It was fast approaching 11pm as we investigated the hotel situation and all the restaurants and cafés were locking up. If it hadn’t been for the sandwiches we had consumed earlier in anticipation of a late dinner sustaining us, my dad and I would be on the verge of collapse resembling two hungry coyotes.
After trekking the entire length of the airport twice, we finally managed to find a 24 hour bar which still had food left. Devouring our food as quickly as we could, we headed back to yotel hoping to secure a room. My heart sank a little when I saw the long queue already outside…
Seriously, after all that, are we still unable to get a room?
The saga continues…
