Where in the World is Garry?

 
 

Postcard from the Edge

Re-Entry

 

By this time it is nearly one in the morning as I am crossing the glazed freeway walkway. The affects of the air conditioned airport fall away as the texture of the warm balmy night present itself. I am approaching the realm of the real world. I reach the end of the tunnel and look down the dimly lit stairs at the street below. I can hear voices. At the bottom of the stairs hunched over their motorbike handle bars are three men. They are wearing the standard issue lightweight taxi bike insignia. I approach, say "Hello" and then the name of my destination. They talk excitedly amongst themselves and one of them stands up to put his helmet on. "How much?" I ask. "50 Baht" he replies. I decide not to haggle over the remaining 10 Baht.

Within seconds I find myself whizzing through the back streets, helmet less on the back of a 75cc Honda Dream, my large backpack sandwiched between me and the driver. The air is warm and soft against my skin. Glimpses of domestic life, temples and spirit houses fly by and the smell of burning charcoal and squid greet my nostrils. I relax into the moment and feel pleased with my accomplishment. In all my travels I feel most alive and vital on the back of a scooter surrounded by the unfamiliar.

The next day at around 9 am I am on the freeway…. a typical Monday morning rush hour. I am surrounded by evidence of a country's capital having tried far too hard to be one of the global boys. Lonely concrete towers which were once destined to bear the weight of the new economy now provide shelter to the homeless, one of whom shelters in that most western of inventions - the dome tent.

I reflect that I still need to balance this stoic romanticism with a healthy dash of reality. After all, why should the airport in Bangkok be so much more interesting that San Francisco? I am definitely guilty of glass half full mentality in situations in which I have absolutely no idea what the other people are saying or talking about. Simple trips to the 7-11 leave me bursting with pride when I ask for a bottle of water and be understood.