The Durian Apocalypse

And why in the fuck ever leaving this place, this miracle sprung from the Thai Jungles, this Bangkok – the most journey-to-the-stars/rock-and-roll-guitars city in which I’ve ever lain my bones of a weary old tropical eve? A question I’ve asked myself many times before now; but it seems more poignant than ever after this latest stint. You’d think they could no longer do, but somehow Bangkok and De Talak continue to up the ante time and yet time again. Which leaves precious little time for blogging; but here is an attempt at some of. Just know that it’s been a much more mind-blowing fun week than I could ever hope to transmit.

Firstly, awesome shredding street-musician; he throws down every day right near to the hostel:

•

So, Saturday morning, I had wanted to go visit a gallery which has among its holdings some works by National Artist Thawan Duchanee. He’s the crazy mofo responsible for the Black Temple in Chiang Rai, which I visited two years ago, and which has been haunting me every since. He passed away early this month, which news I learnt by chance whilst casually mentioning the Black Temple to Ed, the owner of the hostel in which I stayed whilst visiting Hat Yai.

Found the gallery all right, but it was closed tight as a drum, even though smack in the middle of the opening hours posted right on the door. Oh, well, at least it was in an area with some other galleries. Even seen me some more Durianical art, I did.

The galleries were down near the river, not far from Chinatown, so I thought to go see how long it would take me to get hopelessly lost in there. Same as always, it took about ten seconds’ time. Ended up wandering through a maze of narrow alleys all filled up with street-food vendors. I think it may have been Talat Noi, not sure. Am sure, however, that it was a crazy scene in there. Here’s a fun little ceremony going on – the gongs in this number, you’ll notice, are particularly off the hook.

·

Just a few metres away, back out in the market area, an assembly line of masters working their hindquarters like nobody’s business to produce quantities of Dessert Log™ for the Good People standing on line for what seemed a goddam block or more down the alley, patiently waiting, each, for their turn.

·

Then just a few metres from there, another temple – this one burning so many joss sticks and huge candles that there was a staff of a half-dozen strapping gentlemen required just to change them out, and tossing the used up ones onto a bonfire burning right over next to the river.

·

Wasn’t all chaos, however: Witness here a small shrine near the bonfire, shunned by the crowds of worshippers over in the main temple.

·

The most beautiful sight of all, though, was this snowfall of ash.

·

Outside the temple was a small house, presumably historical, turned into a museum. Dioramas and furniture, and some great old photos…

…as well as the trippiest music you might ever wanna hear, blasting out of a small cassette boombox.

·

It might’ve been from this-here.

Don’t know whether all this insane activity happens every day, or every Saturday and Sunday, or is somehow related to the ongoing Vegetarian Festival, or what. An annual ten-day Buddhist cleansing initiative, Bangkok’s Veg Fest is centred in Chinatown. I decided to go up to Yaoworat and see what it was all about. Turned out to be neither more nor less interesting than I’d expected, with vegetarian food stalls lining both sides of the street for many a city block. In fact, I did break down and order up some Cane juice which, I gotta say, was quite delicious.

While up there, I spotted a large sign/banner, just here…

…which seemed to be advertising a parade scheduled to take place the next morning. So, come Sunday, I and a Chinesian dormmate name of “Dylan” hopped a bus back up to Chinatown, and began asking, “Which way to the god damned parade?”

It was much like the blind leading the blind, however, as none of the Thais to whom we showed the picture had the faintest foggiest idea what it was meant to be about. Finally, we found a coupla dudes fairly proficient in the English. Very eager to help us out, they studied the picture for a good many minutes; kept asking me to show them how to zoom the photo in and out. At long last, they pronounced, “There is no parade to-day.”

“But but but,” I protested, “what’s this schedule of events for, then?” They set to scrutinising the photo for another good many minutes, at the end conceding, “The parade will begin at 2:20 PM.” We certainly didn’t wanna wait that long. But looking at the route, I was of the opinion that it – or at least something — might be starting at or near the statue of King Thaksin down by the Pak Khlong Talad (that’s the city’s biggest, baddest, most bustling flower market) at 10:00 in the AM. It was a good forty minutes’ hoof away, but, what the hell, we didn’t have anything better to do.

We arrived just in time for the festivities to begin…

·

And then, not only there was a parade, but it turned out to be, you know, the best parade ever in the history of the goddam universe. Or at least the best ever in the universe that I’ve ever seen. It wound its way jubilantly, triumphantly through the streets – which weren’t even closed to traffic, adding some additional zest to the proceedings — stopping at some temples along the way to perform various partyings. If you’ve only enough time to watch one clip from the present correspondence, make it this one here:

·

The parade wasn’t even all that big or shockingly well-attended or anything like that, but it had everything. It had the lions…

…it had the dragon…

…it had the goofballs (for what it’s worth, I showed this video to a Chinese hostel-mate, and she finds it to be utter hogshit, complaining that such a sophomoric display would never take place in China itself)…

·

…it had the giants…

…it had the deejays…

…it had the firecracker-wranglers…

…it had the trumpeteers…

Fucking everything, man. Every fucking thing. Best of all, though, the Drill Team:

·

How irresistible is that?? Dylan and I were so enthralled at the sight of the girls’ collective Groove Thang that we had each to break down and get our picture took with them.

What any of this has to do with vegetarian food, I do not pretend to know. I do know this, however: Chinatown Bangkok — it’s good for what ails ya!

We ended up splitting before the parade had finished, which I’ll always kinda sorta regret. But there’s a free Muay Thai card every Sunday afternoon up near Chatuchak Park, and already the hour was getting late. We had to run back to the hostel first, so Dylan could swap out the battery in his camera, and I grab a quick bite to eat. Just before we were to depart the hostel, though, it started raining like a twenty-tonne truck.

Looked for all the world that our plans were scuttled; but once the rain finally tailed off, we thought to throw caution to the wind and pony up the big bucks (36 Baht, or just over a dollar) to take the subway up there, and maybe catch the last half-hour or so. But then when we arrived, it was raining again, like a thirty-tonne truck this time. Not wanting to walk the fifteen minutes in the downpour, we broke all known budget-travel rules and flagged down a tuk-tuk, shelling out another 50 Baht each.

Tuk-tuk dropped us off, and a man pointed the way to…a frigging covered area with benches and a colour teevee. The fuck is this? This is what we were so white-hot anxious to get up here for?  Well, at least it was free, and at least the gathered crowd were on pins and needles.

·

On top of all the boxing-related gambling activities, there were also two sisters selling lottery tickets – “jackpot” as the elder of the two repeatedly explained — out of little wooden briefcases. Dylan took rather a liking to the younger, and a guy tried to get them married off right there during the Muay Thai. But instead, we spotted some French dudes coming ‘round the building, and asked them were they coming from the live Muay Thai? Yes, they were, and showed us the route to the entrance, back behind the building. Zing!

The place was stuffed to the rafters, and the atmosphere was totally electric.

We only got to see the end of the main event.

·

After that, the joint emptied out considerably, but the band played on…

…and it was still plenty full all up in there for the two juniors matches.

Indeed, the remaining crowd were intensely interested in the goings-on:

The kids put on a good show. Too good, in fact. I became completely addicted to Muay Thai…just in time for the rug to be pulled out. The card was finished. Everybody was filing out of the building. I’d already be out the country by the time next Sunday rolled around. A fine predicament I’d got myself into!

·

Dylan and I had somehow become separated — we never seen each other again until back at the hostel — so, noting that there was still a bit of daylight left to play out, and not wanting the day to end, I decided to walk back over to Chatuchak and check out the Weekend Market. There, I discovered my new favourite Coconut vendor of all time, and even purchased me a new fruit-carryin’ bag.

•

Next day, passed by a Hindu temple and had a look inside. A knockout three-piece led by a violin rather than a sitar was in the middle of kicking out its jams. So great; but, alas, the sons of bitches patrolling the temple wouldn’t allow me to employ photography. So, here’s a not-great-quality recording, made with my MP3, of a very-great-quality performance.

Bangkok Hindu Temple Band

•

I wanted to visit the Museum of Contemporary Art, as it’s got a decent collection of pieces from the aforementioned Thawan Duchanee. The country is still in mourning at his passing, so admission to the museum is free for a while.

To be honest, I wasn’t so impressed. The works were certainly outre and macabre enough…

…but somehow didn’t quite satisfy. Actually preferred his more traditional efforts:

Some cool paintings from other artists as well, but, overall, the museum doesn’t quite live up to its advance billing. My advice: Skip the MOCA, and decamp instead to Chiang Rai, home of the Black and White temples.

It was worth the trip, though, and there was a great big thunderstorm to take in after at the outdoor café area. Once the rain slacked off a bit, I ended up walking all the way to the nearest subway station (should’ve been an hour-point-five, but ended up being about two hours after I made a wrong turn) rather than taking the bus, as traffic was even more gridlocked than per Bangkok usual. It was kind of like being at the beach, as the standing water was so deep that passing cars washed it up in waves right on over the edge of the sidewalk.

•

There is just never a dull moment in Bangkok. This is especially true, as I’ve argued so many times before, at De Talak. Don’t know what I could write about De Talak that I’ve not written one thousand times already. It’s simply the most sublime, most ridiculous, most fulfilling, most entertaining, most wonderful social experiment you could even imagine. If one were to call in to Bangkok and only spend all the whole time hanging out at De Talak, it might end up being the very highlight of their entire vacation.

And now, after having just got trained all of the city’s fruit vendors to never issue me with a plastic bag — nor even offer of same — I must take my leave. While I’m incredibly excited to return to Nepal, nothing in life makes me so sad as leaving De Talak.

Here are just a few more shots to remember Bangkok by – a street-sweeper with cool headgear, some tuk-tuk drivers playing bottle-cap checkers, and some clouds rolling in just a bit too late to be considered during magic-hour lighting. Ah, Thailand, Thailand, Thailand…how do you do that thing you do?

Bury my dimpled ass in Bangkok; I’ll be the happiest motherfucker you ever saw.

Maybe the signal reality of the tropics is that all of the senses are more less always engaged. Not always in a good way, of course – but when you’re here, you sure do know that you’re alive.

One moment, say, the sun would be blistering your dimpled ass with such unrelenting fury that it would be all you could do to cower in fear, praying for a swift demise – while ten minutes later, the clouds would have rolled in…

…and it would be raining so fugging hard you’d swear the entirety of the Asian landmass were about to up and float away. Not much after, you’d be witnessing a sunset of just about unparallelable beauty.

•

Or, one minute you’re walking past a garbage heap as high as the Empire State and with a stench so foul it could be bottled and sold as perfume to Lucifer hisself – but just a few jots later, you’re astride an impossibly gorgeous landscape instead…

…and as a sawngthaew rattles past, a wild-haired, gap-toothed passenger with a smile as wide as the Golden Gate leans out the window and screams, “Whad you name??” (Just what in god’s holy word a sawngthaew – the only vehicle encountered for a good half-hour’s time – should be doing patrolling such an off-the-beaten, backwoods, road as this still needs working out…)

•

The endless onslaught of yet another Thai festival’s offerings of deep-fried eats, plastic doo-dads, and patio furniture is redeemed by the lovely, mild-mannered monotone lilting out of a raised-up bullhorn. Apparently reading off the news – to judge by a reference to Koh Tao, site of the recent murders of two British tourists – the occasional chuckle or guffaw are the only indication of the narrator’s investment in the day’s events. Though it’s being completely ignored by the festival throngs, you latch onto his voice like a beacon in the night, wishing the moment could last forever.

A scant hundred or so yards away from the cacaphony, one encounters a serene splendor.

•

The only farang in town, you stride barefoot up the boulevard munching a crown of Broccoli – and not five minutes after find yourself  striding right back down the very same boulevard, nursing a pair of Coconuts and wondering whether the locals think you’ve just dropped in from Planet Moon – or else from some place even further afield. (But also not caring: the Coconuts here in the south of Thailand are so delicious, and so inexpensively priced, that I am now become a two-fisted drinker of their magnificent abundance, and have found myself wondering whether it’s possible to survive on Coconut-water alone.)

•

One second, a group of temple dogs refuses to shut up its annoying-as barking no matter how colourful and/or profane your threats to do their dirty asses in – the next, about eleventy billion birds have, in rousing fashion, taken up their evening chorus.

•

You’re drawn to visit an otherwise deserted temple by the enchanting musical selection overloading its loudspeakers, through which it can be heard all the way out the road. The Buddha is nothin’ special, but a black cat sits in front of said Buddha, cleaning itself. Taking in the scene, you find yourself madly in love with Thailand all over again.

The music is the key element – as is the case with a morning ceremony in the middle of a temple grounds so arborous it feels like already the middle of the jungle, even though only two minutes’ walk from the highway. Outside the hall, a lady skillfully readies Coconuts for the drinking while her broadly smiling mother motions for you to enter and join in the ceremony.

•

A delightfully inscrutable sign stops you dead in your tracks. Who even needs to learn what it means?

Also (and don’t you just hate it when that happens?):

•

Just a few snippets from life in Nakhon Si Thammarat, the administrative centre of southern Thailand during the reigns of the kingdoms of yore. They call it the Land Of Smiles, and nowhere is it more true than here – the locals’ smiles seeming even more genuine, and more readily forthcoming, than anywhere else. Moreover, every single schoolchild will and must call “Hello!” to you when passing (or, presumably, perish on the spot). There really isn’t so much to do here – yet, somehow, I’m not even close to wanting to leave. Thailand, you done it to me again.

I may not be the most reliable of narrators, however. Consider, for example, that the mere sight of some kids using a mop-handle and a burlap sack to zamboni the local five-a-side soccer pitch just about makes me want to swoon.

The big draw here is the 1,200-year-old Chedi located on the grounds of Wat Phra Maha That Woramaha Wihan (try saying that nine hundred times fast).

The Thai tourists arrive by the scores, reverently circumambulating its massive girth, making some banal offerings, and then leaving off. I guarantee you that they’re idiots, however, as they – to the very last of  them – leave the attached museum completely un-visited. They oughta be made to know what they’re missing, because this museum (not to be confused with the nearby instantiation of the National Museum, which is l-a-m-e lame) houses the finest repository of Buddhist imagery I’ve ever seen. So great, in fact, that I can’t even really think of one that I could  consider to be a distant second.

As I made to enter, the attendant barked out, “You!” I turned around, thinking she was going to charge me admission, even despite the sign promising, “Free To Enter Museum”. “No photo!” she perfunctorily chopped instead.

“Okay!” I merrily replied, relieved at not having to pony up. A few minutes later, surveying the hundreds upon hundreds of Buddha images – ranging in height from a few inches up to twenty-five feet or so, most of them at least a few hundred years old and carved out of bronze, limestone, or wood – haphazardly arrayed in front of me, it was all I could do to resist offering 1,000 Baht if only they’d let me take pictures of them all. (Reason I didn’t is that I figured they’d take the 1,000 Baht for a donation, and bust me all the same once I began shuttering out some snaps.)

It’s not the quantity that so bestirs the imagination of the pitiful farang (okay, partly it is), but rather the quality. I’ve during my travels seen any number of cheesy or otherwise “off” Buddhae – and the south of Thailand may even be the most egregious offender. But as the museum demonstrates, ‘twas not always the case. It’s the facial expressions. Something about their facial expressions and compositions just explodes my emotions. (And in case you don’t think it’s possible to create something so moving inside the space of a two-inch figurine, please make sure to come and see for your own self – you shall not regret!) I’m not gonna say that the images here are as masterfully realised as back at ol’ Angkor Wat…but I am gonna say that it’s very, very close. Damn and blast! why No-Photo here of all places?

Ha!, there’s even one that’s the spitting image of Lou Reed. I shit you not – if you wanna come have a gander, just let me know, and we can arrange a date/time for me to point it out to you. It’s really quite uncanny.

Not Hell nor high water, know, was going to prevent me sneaking a shot of this Coconut grater (this was in a different, less-ardently attended, wing to the Buddhas). In the event there are one or two of you who’ve never to-date been privileged to see a Coconut grater jacking itself off, well…that’s what you’ve got me for, n’est pas? Daresay, some things are just too important to be left to chance.

Did as well grab this shot of a teapot made from a Ostrich egg – but was too chicken to try for anything else — they even had goddam surveillance cameras going on in there.

•

There’s also a Shadow Puppet museum in town, courtesy of southern Thailand’s greatest practitioner of the art. There are some very cool old puppets in there, though the museum is rather small.

•

As for the aforementioned festival, I originally thought it was some version of Halloween or Day Of The Dead (or what), ‘cause there are all these silly ghouls and demon masks all over the place (dig the bored-off-his-ass monk in this-here clip).

But then, all of the floats are paying homage to the Chedi, and all of the shoppes are selling large, shrink-wrapped cakes in the image of the Chedi. So maybe it’s an annual Chedi Fest, or similar to. Pretty big deal, at any rate – spread over at least four sites: two municipal parks, Wat Whatchamacallit, and another Wat right across the street from.

Man I just wished I coulda been here in February when Wat Phra Maha That Woramaha Wihan hosted the Internation Makha Puja Hae Pha Khuen That Festival. Stir that god damn rice porridge all the way over the brim, I would have done!

 •

Above words were written up on the evening of Monday the 22nd. Very limited Internet connectivity in Nakhon Si prevented me from uploading ‘til now, freshly arrived in Bangkok via another horrible-yet-wonderful overnight third-class Thai rail journey. Here’s a stray shot back in Hat Yai, from which I could hardly ever avert me eyes’ gaze.

Could scarcely believe that I’m about to say this, but: the ocean here is almost as beautiful as back Onomea. Doesn’t quite be sporting the diversity nor depth of hue as does the latter (and certainly not the dramatic, crashing waves to be found in Puna), but it’s near impossible to take one’s eyes from it all the same.

The sandy beach stretches for miles and miles – at the far south of which is a mountain-top temple with some great viewing angles, and at the far north of which is a jetty where the fishermen like congregate…

…as well as the second-best Naga fountain I’ve seen to-date (the one in Vientiane is going to be very difficult to unseat).

In case you’re wondering where the rest of the Naga has gone to (I most certainly was), it’s spread about the peninsula. Here, for example, is the tail. (Thais may be among the friendliest people ever, but that does not preclude them from also being among the goofiest…)

Almost smack in the middle of the long stretch is Samila Beach, which is to where the bulk of the beach-goers flock. The water is fine, and the sand bar enables one to swim out hundreds of yards from the shore and still be only neck-deep in water. The air there at the beach is, I think, the cleanest I’ve smelt in all of Asia – good thing, as both Hat Yai and Songkhla (and especially riding the sawngthaew between the two) are fumigation incarnate. It’s got all the usual beachside services, plus horsey rides…

…and a bunch of statuary – including this mermaid that’s every bit as popular a photo-destination location as George Town’s Armenian Street bicycle.

And right near the beach are two hills – the taller has got a temple on top (but also some great beautiful views)…

…and the shorter has been dubbed “Monkey Mountain” because it’s got on top…

The troop is a couple-hundred strong, and as entertaining as the day is long. They also range down to the base of the hill, where there’re a bunch of vendors selling fruits for visitors to feed the monkeys with. The latter often go in for cutting out the middle-man, thought, by jumping up onto the vendors’ carts — to be angrily beaten off with each vendor’s well-placed stick. Oh, it’s a hoot.

Man, mermaids and monkeys, cowboys and coconuts, sand and sea – what more do you need? I SAID WHAT MORE DO YOU FUCKING NEED? Okay, fine, it was a rhetorical question. But one really doesn’t need anything else to stay satisfied here for days upon end.

While there are plenty of tourists about, however, I could probably count on one hand the number of farang tourists I’ve seen. I did meet one very cool German/Italian dude who learnt to speak Thai while selling shoes at Chatuchak Market. We had a good, long conversation regarding travel, Durian, organic farming, pollution, ecological limits, and so forth. I then saw him busking at the weekend Night Market, where he was raking in the cash despite not having learnt any Thai songs. I guess he must’ve pulled up stakes the next morning, though, ‘cause I’ve not seen him since.

Before he done so, he told me a cool story about a British guy he’d met who had learnt himself a bunch of old-tyme Thai ditties, and was not only getting money thrown at him hand over fist whilst busking, but was also being offered actual gigs inside swanky restaurants.

If one can manage to pull oneself away from the beach area, there’s plenty more to see and do besides. Who (I ask you), who could resist, for e.g., the Super Barn Nork?

Or a raging Coconut-fire?

There’s a long history of settlement here, so the National Museum is quite good.

The temples and the Old Town area are much ballyhooed; but I found the former were never open, and the latter’s charm was overwhelmed by the never-ending stream of vehicular traffic. There are some pretty cool old structures, I’ll allow.

For sightseeing tours, it’s even possible to borrow a bike. It’s Songkhla Ecopolis, y’all!

But before one gets too carried away, n. to the fuckin’ b.:

The geography is pretty cool. Songkhla’s peninsula is formed not only by the Gulf,  but also the giant Songkhla lake. A short ferry-route away lies another peninsula, formed solely by the lake, which was the location of the original settlements in the area. Beside the two is Ko Yor island, which connects by bridge to each peninsula. Actually two bridges separated by three or four miles of land, the two spans somehow get combined and counted as one, so it’s officially the longest bridge in Thailand.

The island, ringed by fishing nets and huts as far as the eye can see…

…is circumnavigable  on foot in four or five hours’ time. Be prepared to field the same, obligatory question from the fisherfolk living in the narrow stretch between the water and the mountainous interior: “Where you go????” They’re incredulous that somebody would choose to walk around the island, but it’s a very beautiful stroll, marked by cool old houses, gorgeous flora, massive leaves, and (of course) mountaintop temples.

The road is quite low-traffic, even though the island is settled all the way around it, and there are more Banana, Coconut, and Papaya trees than one could shake a stick at – there are even some Sapodilla trees as well, though their fruits are not yet ripe.

At the far southern tip of the island sits this gigantic outdoor Sleeping Buddha. The clouds, trees, and industrial ephemera add much to the experience, do they not? Anybody knows where I can get in on some more outdoor giant-Buddha action, please advise!

Also on the temple grounds…

Incineration of plastic bottles and bags is one of the steps to enlightenment, apparently. Who knew?

Both bridges include pedestrian walkways, and both are quite beautiful in the crossing.

There’s also a big park, just on the mainland side of the southern bridge, with a mangrove ecology learning centre. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to get to that — will hope to do so in a future visit.

At the far northern tip of the island is located the Southern Folklore Museum, which boasts a collection topping 50,000 artifacts. To be honest, I was more impressed with the building in which they were housed, the statues located outside, and the view from mountain’s top.

There are some nice good pieces, however, including some cool old photos, an entire room dedicated to Coconut graters depicting people and animals from all walks of life, and (natch I’d be in love with) shadow puppets. Thinking back now, I wish I’d taken more pics of those freakin’ Coconut graters — there were so many of them!

Best of all is the Southern Thai Art Centre, housed in a separate building several hundred metres away from the Folklore Museum. It’s currently showing the work of kids, as young as at least eleven years’ aged, and possibly even younger. I’m here to tell you, these southern Thai youth are fucking talented. Thailand’s artistic future is in a very good way, to  judge by this exhibition. Here’re just a couple few examples, several more at the Flickr page.

Phew – I’d intended to spend just a night or two in Hat Yai (had never even heard tell of Songkhla ‘til hostel-owner Ed sung its praises), and now nearly two weeks later, am still here. Shit, just as I didn’t want to leave George Town, I kinda want to spend even another week here just being a friggin’ beach-bum. But, no, I shall on the morrow stride forth to engage in some active Tourism some more. But, Songkhla hast made its mark – I do most certainly intend to return.

There’s not much there there in Hat Yai. Its star rose only quite recently – with the advent of the railroad, it blossomed into the transportation/commercial hub of southern Thailand, and currently does huge business serving Malaysian and Singaporean sex tourists. It’s Thailand’s third-largest city, but if you’re looking for ancient temples and cultural traditions, you’re out of luck. Even the hostel — the only cheap lodging in town — is brand new, having opened a mere three months ago.

The morning and evening fresh markets are humongous, however – stretching for blocks and blocks and blocks in every direction save up – rivaling, probably surpassing, in size those in Bangkok, Chiang Mai, and Chanthaburi.

I did briefly revive the helmet project in Hat Yai. There, it being rainy season and all, it’s more about the diversity of the helmets and the ponchos rather than the helmets and the faces. Ultimately, just not as much fun, so I’ve let it go. Did come up with at least a few interesting shots, however…

Apart from trolling the markets, one may also, if willing to put it on the heel and toe for a time, find some touristy sites around and about. For one: there’s the World’s third-largest Reclining Buddha.

Walked to the temple at which a hostel staffer assured me it resided, to find that it had gone missing. A roly-poly monk (looked not unlike Potbelly Buddha, now that I think about it) told me that this was the wrong temple, and that I had to hire a driver to deliver me to the big reclining. He was a nice guy; said he wanted to take me to his home, a large place at which I could stay and eat free of charge. Don’t know whether he wanted to ravish me, or convert me, or simply thought me a homeless, wandering wretch.

I respectfully declined his offer of hospitality, researched the true location of the big guy, and set out on foot. After about an hour’s walking, there it was:

Colour me underwhelmed. It was worth the trip, though, as a market located adjacent the temple had a vendor selling obscenely delicious Coconuts for only fifteen Baht apiece. And so began my torrid relationship with the Hat Yai and Songkhla Coconut waters. Cannot…stop…drinking them.

About an hour’s walk from downtown, in the opposite direction, is the Municipal Park. Too far away to be at all convenient, it’s nevertheless quite beautiful. More like a nature park than a municipal park, it features a peaceful lake…

…and some nice hiking, including to two (count ‘em) mountaintop temples — one Buddhist and one Hindu – connected, for those too lazy to walk, by gondola.

The locals  in both Hat Yai and here in Songkhla are exceptionally friendly and helpful – even by Thai standards. Hmm, well, the moto-taxi drivers over on Ramvithi are always bumming Bananas from me; so, I dunno, maybe they’ve spread the word to be super-nice to the barefoot farang. Whatever the reason, in addition to the portly monk noted earlier, there were…

• After hiking for an hour or so to where I thought the floating market should be, I hopped across the thoroughfare to where a small street market was doing business to see if the vendors could point me in the right direction. None of them spoke English, however, so they went and tracked down somebody who could – eventually procuring not one but two extremely nice ladies who explained to me that I was in the right place, but that it was a night market, beginning at 3:00 in the PM. (Ed, the owner of the hostel, had told me that it was a morning market. He’s a great guy, but I did notice that he sometimes has his facts mixed up.)
• While I was ambling along barefoot over across the railroad tracks in a non-touristic part of town, a lady showed up on a motorcycle explaining that she’d seen me walking and was worried about me — and offering me a bottle of water and a pair of flip-flops she’d thrown into the bike’s carrying basket! I assured her that I needed neither, but, holy god damn, how fucking cool is that?
• Two ladies – a mother and daughter, I guessed – saw me walking across the bridge from Koh Yor island to the mainland, assumed that my dimpled ass was lost and/or dazed and/or confused, and said that they wanted to help me. I wasn’t 100% sure where to catch a sawngthaew, so they caught me up to speed in that regard. Not a big deal, perhaps, but I found them to have been almost impossibly kind-hearted.
• To-day, yet another lady, noticing me walking along a busy road, stopped and picked me up in her truck to drop me at the nearest sawngthaew stop. But then when we arrived to same, she decided to run me all the way into town – probably fifteen or twenty miles out of her way. “Free of charge,” she promised me on more than one occasion; and, indeed, refused to accept my offer of monetary compensation.

And those are just some of the more striking occurrences – smaller examples abound as well. The only thing is, the schoolchildren don’t seem quite as friendly as in other parts of Thailand. Maybe they’re not as confident with their English, or something? Thailand ain’t perfect by any stretch; but you’d be very hard-pressed to find a more friendly, genuine, delightful people — ‘specially here in the south of.

That said, Hat Yai, despite its charms, could only really occupy one’s attentions for a day or three. The true gem of this area is Songkhla, which has, for nigh upon a week now, been holding me fast just like a goddanged magnet would do. Could easily stay here for a very long time, if one were of a mind to.

Stay tuned, and I’ll goddamn prove that to you. First, a final/fun pic from Hat Yai…