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travel, at a tangent


It's stranger on a train

Travelling in Thailand is, if you have the time and the energy, most fun by train. You get to see a whole lot more, both through the window and on the side you're looking out from.

Reserve, at least a day in advance, a much-coveted and usually booked second class lower-berth sleeper in a fan-cooled carriage. Fan-cooled because A/C will freeze-dry you - in this part of the world, luxury and cool air are synonymous, so always take thermal underwear and one of those emergency handwarmers on a Thai 'VIP' coach. The lower berth is wider, and the overhead light, which would otherwise bother you all night, is obscured by a curtain suspended from the edge of the upper one.

One of the nicest things about travelling on the sleeper is watching the beds being made in the evening - the pulling of hidden straps converts the high-backed seats into surprisingly comfortable beds, and the lifting of shelves reveals hooks for clothes and little reading lights, so that once your curtain is drawn, you have what amounts to a little room to yourself. In the lower berth, you're also next to the window, so you pull the curtain aside to watch the view, until you tire of it.

Here are some notes I took while waiting in the restaurant car for a plate of fried rice with vegetables and tofu - my staple diet on this Thai detox.

My writing has caught the attention of the waitress, who smiles, comes to sit next to me so she can watch me write, takes my pen and autographs my notebook. Thai script looks somehow runic, magical, and I tell her that because her name, when written, looks so beautiful, she should be sure to her man to tattoo it somewhere on his body. She speaks no English, but smiles and nods sweetly.

Paris, Texas
I've escaped here from the unexpected busy and squalid sleeper car - it's always hit-or-miss with these trains, and this time it's most definitely a miss. A trio of young American girls in their early twenties, sullen-looking and slow-moving, has reserved neighbouring berths. Their expressions say, "Dude, Paris Hilton so wouldn't be seen dead here - not even in a reality show" They don't know that cockroaches roam the aisles, corners and crevics of the carriages, or that the train, on its 15-hour, 700km journey, will probably be carrying a sizeable cargo of live - and loose - rats. But I do.

The 9.15pm service to Chiang Mai leaves Bangkok late, lurching hesitantly from Hualongphon station at just after ten. I've already supped on stir-fried vegetables in oyster sauce, steamed rice and three handfuls of pumpkin seeds (for my zinc levels).

Islands in the stream
Country music blares from the primitive but nonetheless powerful sound system - Glenn Frey, or someone from the hills of the American South with a (first)name that starts with Mc or Mac. There is a deep and impenetrable mystery to Thai tastes in music. Weirdly sentimental, with a streak of uninhibited hysteria. The staff sing along, stopping for the occasional gulp of Singha beer or a drag on a cigarette. They are cheerful and friendly - casual, even, to the point of familiarity. But they are genuinely interested in having a good time, and if you're not, that'll ruin theirs. So they are motivated, unlike the staff on the Caledonian Sleeper, who are at best, casually casual, and at worst, casually behaving as if their usual work is at one of Her Majesty's residences.


Epilogue
This tale has a rather sorry end in that I lost (irrevocably) my cellphone between eating breakfast and taking the tuk-tuk from Chiang Mai station to my guest house. This gave me the chance to meet and exchange wide smiles with a young Thai policeman who bore an unlikely but thrilling resemblance to Cary Grant. He spoke no English; I speak no Thai. End of story.

The train arrived predictably late. This was fortunate for the American girls who, oblivious to the potential livestock with which they shared their carriage, dozed shamelessly until nearly midday. The bemusement of the train staff, who'd been up since around dawn, gave way to hilarity as the girls' curtains were displaced by the shunting of the train, revealing their sprawled and lolling forms, draped languidly across the berths in entirely incongruous (given the Gap clothes) Pre-Raphaelite poses.

I saw them last on Chiang Mai station, where they had been nabbed by the hotel hawkers and were being hurried towards a tuk-tuk. That they needed a bed for the night was clear from their dazed expressions..


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