Now that I’ve got off the rollercoaster made of ice after landing back in London, after over the emotional hangover of sipping the toxins served up by family, and after making it through the storms of writer’s block and depression, I’m ready to move on.
And by “move on,” I really mean go back.
To dust off the last tapes on the back shelf of my mind for my last days in Thailand. When I made my last post from Bangkok, I was on the other end of being so sick I couldn’t leave that incredible apartment, which upon entering the first time, thought I would never want to leave. After days with the curtains drawn and staring at the television like I do back home, occasionally looking out the huge windows at the city streets my stomach forbid me from taking a trip down to, there was nothing more I wanted to do than leave.
On the 7th of November, I just about managed to take a long walk down the street and get to True Digital Park, the big mall I had dropped by a few times over the last 2 weeks. My stomach was still punching its way against my belly, trying to recreate that scene out of Alien when I was there, so most of my time was spent wandering about, wondering when I was eventually going to be sick and need to get to a bathroom ASAP. I spent hours marching down every length of the mall that day, thinking, “oh, that looks tasty, maybe I could – ” before my stomach hissed at me to move on or else it’ll blow up.
If anyone was spying on me on the CCTV, they would have thought I was some kind of plain clothes toilet inspector, the amount of times I went into one, only to walk straight back out after 1 minute, because my stomach decided it wasn’t time to blow up, yet.
I manage to get some Pho in me, sip a Thai electrolyte drink and book myself in for a deep tissue Thai massage, and wait around for that for quite some time, wondering whether I should just run back home instead; knowing my luck, as soon as I was laying down on the floor with an incredibly powerful Thai woman turning me into a human pretzel, that’s the time my tummy was going to try and recreate that scene out of the Exorcist and vomit blood all over the place.
Luckily, that never happened, and as usual, the incredibly powerful Thai woman cured all the aches and pains in my body I had accumulated over days of lying in bed, my neck bent upwards to watch one of the two huge TVs in my fancy prison. To celebrate, I went home, ordered some Hainese chicken rice (wow, actually chewing your food now, Kenny, such a big boy) and laid back on the sofa, my neck bent upwards to watch one of the two huge TVs in my fancy prison.
The next day, I woke up with mixed feelings. On one hand, not feeling so incredibly shit and like I could finally venture further than where my stomach kept me anchored in Punnawithi was wonderful. On the other hand, I knew it was my penultimate full day in Thailand. I opened up the wardrobe in my bedroom, the sun bursting through the full length windows behind me, lighting up all the clothes I had collected during my time there. I was a bit struck by how attached I had got to all the cheap stuff hanging there, some of which I wouldn’t get to wear.
And I realise now, it’s because each piece of clothing came with a story, a memory of an event or small connection with a stranger that I didn’t just exchange cash with, but a smile.
The socks and underwear I bought from the woman at Indra Place, who showed me that wrapping the waist of bottoms around my neck makes it easier to gauge if they’ll fit without trying them on. The waffle knit t-shirts I got from the lovely man and woman from Burma. The most amazing fitting tees from the lovely women in the hidden depths of Prautnam Market, that I went searching for and could never find again. The stone coloured short-sleeved shirt that lovely girl who kept calling me brother sold me. A cheap pair of shorts that I loved to death, sold by the lovely gentleman who went out of his way to help find my skinny-fat ass something to wear in the On Nut Big C market stalls.
And all the places I had worn these things to, the sun they had soaked up, the stains they had picked up from the delicious noodles I’d slurp up, or the oil from the massages that made me forget the constant pain in my back and shoulders. There was LIFE in everything I had bought.
I reluctantly, and with more gentleness than I’ve ever handled any clothes I’ve ever bought, removed some of these clothes and separated them from the rest of their siblings. I rolled them up tight and placed them into a bag, trying to take a bit of solace that they will be going to someone else who needs them more. I thought back to that day I volunteered with that charity, trying to focus less on the less than stellar experience I had with the organisation, and more on the smiles and gratitude the local people shared with me when I handed over something so small… and how they received it with such warmth, as if it was going to make a huge difference.
I took the BTS to the charity’s drop-off point and very happy that my stomach had shut the fuck up enough that I could travel without fear, and gave up some of the material history I had made in Thailand to the staff there. During my stay in Bangkok, I had mostly wandered around the areas where my Airbnbs were, and that felt fine at times, and a bit isolating at others, when I felt the shadow of FOMO starting to cast itself over me.
I’d mostly been incredibly unimpressed with some of the more popular things people had told me to check out, like the endless options for shopping and getting lost in the maze of malls, or a well-known temple that was quite far off and a ferry ride away. There were so many things to do, people would tell me, but I found myself constantly thinking about the small little specks of personality I picked up on my radar, that weren’t on most maps.
Like how I was heading back home after visiting Punnawithi’s local temple and trying to charm its street cats, before taking a turn into a street off the beaten path. I hadn’t quite seen a locale like this in Bangkok so far, with very run-down houses, repaired with big sheets of metal, all the doors and windows open as I walked past. I’d glance in, finding dusty, bare-bones rooms, piled high with all kinds of things I couldn’t make out properly as I walked on. Finding an old woman sitting on the floor and watching big, old televisions and a mother holding her baby in a makeshift kitchen. A group of very young children watched me as I passed down the street, one brightly exclaiming, “hello!” at me. An extremely tired man walked in the opposite direction as me, his eyes glazed over, seeming deep in thought and our eyes met, uncertainly. And then we both smiled and bowed.
That felt magical.
I stopped outside another house, where a cute little dog that looked like a teddy bear stood staring at me. I knelt down and it stood frozen for a few seconds, before bounding over and jumping at me, swirling around my legs, its tail beating against me, and staring up at me. His owner happily stood by watching, and I turned to her and said, “nā rạk,” and she beamed at me and repeated it back.
On the way home, I looked across the road and saw a woman at her street stall with the kindest looking face, and hopped over to her. She greeted me with a big toothless smile, and I was taken by how much she was glowing. I tried to ask what the bits of meat on sticks were on display, then tried using translate, and then the young man at the back grilling them came over to help me. I picked a few bits and she slowly headed back to the grill to put them on. The man introduced himself as Chai, and the woman was his mother. I told him that she’s absolutely beautiful, and he spoke back to her in Thai, and once again, her smile lit up the streets. She said something back in Thai and Chai told me, “she said you’re very handsome!” They asked me if I want it spicy, and brushed the meat with a ridiculously tasty sauce. I thanked them and said I’ll see them again, and walked off feeling so incredibly happy.
I thought about those two a lot after I met them; when I was sick and stuck in bed, remembering how much better their mala sauce is than any other I had tasted in Bangkok. I wondered what their story is, how they came to be a mother/son team at their little stand, where Chai learned such good English, and what they do in the day. I thought about them when I walked towards the BTS station a few minutes from where I found them, wondering if they were there, and sad that my stomach was still too beaten up to indulge in their food, and that I was rushing to see the other more ‘impressive’ parts of Bangkok.
And I’m still thinking about them, today. How long will it be until I’m back in Thailand? And will they still be there when I go back? Will I ever see them again? Will I ever know their story? Will I ever get to see that woman smile, again, or know her name?
On the 8th of November, after dropping off my donation, I was thinking these thoughts as I headed towards Ari, which I had heard a bit about. And as much as I wanted to soak up every last bit of the magic of where I felt I started to put down my roots, I was inspired to go a bit further after exploring some other parts of Bangkok by night a week before, and finding myself in a quiet park at night, before Thai pop music started blasting out near a lake, and a laser show started for a few moments, and then, stopping just as suddenly. There was magic around every corner.
When I did get to Ari, I was a bit unimpressed by how it seemed like just another shopping district, but with a bit more of energy and a trendy flavour around it. But my god, THE FOOD IN THAT PLACE.
I’m not sure why, but since I had got to Bangkok, I wasn’t clamouring to get stuck in to all the food on offer, despite LOVING Thai food and not being able to afford it frequently back home. Maybe my hunger was downplayed a bit with the stress of settling in, and then being sick? Maybe after 10 years of clamouring for microwaveable meals and toasties from 7-Eleven, and the grilled sausages found at street stalls, that’s mostly all I needed and wanted? Or maybe the weekly trips I was taking to all you can eat buffets and stuffing myself until I literally felt sick had my stomach begging for mercy (and eventually, having its revenge)?
But now, stepping through Ari and taking in the smell of all the delicious Thai food, seeing the Vietnamese sandwiches up for grabs and all the street food sizzling and filling the air up with the most sensational smells? And after days of eating the same stodgy meatball porridge? My tastebuds had come back online something fierce, and I was getting whiplash from my head snapping this way and that way at all the menus, the sounds of food being prepared, the sights of curries, meats, fried rice and fish for such low, low prices.
And of course, my stomach wasn’t quite done making me its bitch, so I had to settle for MORE porridge. But hey, I had the choice to have fish instead of meatballs now, so there’s progress.
After I was done with Ari, it was time for me to tick the big one off my list, the place that both Thai and tourists hailed as the Mecca of Bangkok, the ultimate destination to be wowed: Icon Siam.
Another mall? Fuck off. But no, it’s so much more! The long trip is totally worth it I was told, because it had the THAI INFLUENCE. It wasn’t just another Western fare, because it had a floating market, local food, it’s beautiful at night, blah, blah, blah.
My dear imaginary reader, you can probably guess by now, that I found it completely underwhelming after a few minutes. The floating market downstairs was cool, there was a lot of food there, and way too many people to push past. The upper decks had all kinds of fancy shit, which I gave up on pretty quickly… and I wasn’t quite there, because my mind was preoccupied by everything I had encountered on the way there, especially the crying woman on the footbridge.
Icon Siam was BOOOORRING. But on the way there, I had to pass through Chaloem Phra Kiat Forest Park, which blew my fucking mind to little tiny bits. There was a local gym with equipment put together with scrap, and a bit further on, I found groups of men playing what I can only describe as the ultimate upgrade to volleyball. These dudes (including older gentlemen) were kicking balls up in the air and actually performing muay-thai on the poor thing to pass it around, before doing flying jump kicks to land it over the net. I just stood there with my mouth hanging open for several minutes. Unbelievable.
I walked a bit further to find a big group of girls doing some kind of dance practice, and can only describe it as the ultimate upgrade to cheerleading, with all these explosive movements, chants and shouting. Man, Thai culture makes some things so much more badass than their more mainstream counterparts!
Videos of what this kind of stuff looked like, because I didn’t want to be rude/weird recording a bunch of men minding their own business (and could kick my ass), or a be rude/weird recording a bunch of girls minding their own business (and could kick my ass).
As I got closer towards Icon Siam, I got distracted by Watsuwan temple on the other side of the road, and headed over the footpath to have a walk around. Did I go inside the temple and marvel at the architecture, the history, the beauty of this place of worship? No. Did I hang out with the army of cats pacing about? Yes. Did I seriously consider bringing back the little kitten following me around with crusty eyes, screaming for me constantly? Do I need to be typing so many rhetorical questions to myself like this?
When I headed back over the footpath, I saw a woman sat back against the railings, an ID card placed in front of her. My eyes caught hers, and I saw the slightest hesitancy of expectation, before I broke eye contact and kept on walking. I suppose because I was in a rush, I didn’t have much time left in Thailand and had SO MUCH to do, like being bored to tears by yet another big fucking monument to consumption.
But that wasn’t who I was anymore… or at least not back in time, in that city, in that moment.
I wheeled back up the stairs and asked her if she speaks English, and she shook her head. I jokingly asked if her ID card was for sale, and she shook her head again. She said something in Thai, so I broke out Google Translate to help; she said she had come out of the hospital and didn’t have any money. As I asked her more questions, I could feel myself losing sight of the person in front of me, my empathy drying up in the baking sun she sat under, and the doubts crawling up my ankles, nibbling at my skin.
A Thai woman with amazing English (she was a tour guide somewhere) stopped to ask what I’m doing, and after I explained, she started speaking with the woman. Once she was done, she told me that she had come out of the hospital and had to pay everything she had for some kind of treatment, she hasn’t eaten, she has no money and her daughter is sick, so she can’t be with her. I asked her if she believes it, but before she could answer, the old woman on the ground started sobbing uncontrollably.
I could feel the crawling going up past my knees, now.
My translator knelt down and listened to her, before softly saying something back. She took a 100 baht note out of her bag and handed it to the woman, who let out a pained wail that sent a tremor through my chest. She pushed away the money, crying out as the woman put it back in her hand, whispering something in Thai. Eventually, the woman took the money and my translator stood up and said she doesn’t know, but she doesn’t mind giving her that much, either way.
I said goodbye and headed down towards the 7-Eleven. After one month in Bangkok, I couldn’t tell you about the Michelin Star destinations or the best places to eat. I couldn’t paint you a picture of all the weird and wonderful bites at Jodd Fair, or wax lyrically about how fresh the seafood is that lines some markets. But if there’s one thing I could potentially hold a PHD in, it’s what the good stuff is in 7-Eleven.
I slid through each aisle, going back in time again to 10 years ago, when an emotionally beat up and helpless Kenny needed something to give him some comfort, when all he wanted to do is cry. In Ari, I had to miss out on all the delicious food I had been longing for, like Pad Thai, Massaman Curry and Khao Pad. But if I could do anything for this woman to not feel like that, I knew what I had to do, where I had to go, and what I had to get.
I was planning to be as careful as possible with the last cash I had on me, but I broke a 500 baht note on two bags of shopping and galloped back up the stairs of the footbridge to find the woman. I knelt down next to her and told her (through GT) what I had got her, whilst pulling the items out of the bag. A warm shrimp omelette and rice, a vegetable drink and a bottle of probiotic for some nutrients, a chocolate cake (because why not?), a big bottle of water and more.
There was a silence as she stared off into the distance, as if I wasn’t there. I put the bottle of water next to her and held up the omelette rice, and told her to drink the water because she needs to stay hydrated, and eat the meal whilst it’s warm. She gave a single, slight nod and kept looking forwards, at nothing.
I scratched at my head. The doubts and cynicism had climbed their way higher now, and I could feel them gnawing down hard, crawling into my ears and telling me I had done something wrong. That she was definitely some kind of scammer, and was showing this lack of gratitude because a scammer wants money, not a fucking chocolate cake.
And all I could really pick up from that is that she needed money.
So I took the 300 baht change from my pocket and held it out to her. She suddenly came back to life and gave that pained wail. “What a great actress, she’s doing playing reverse psychology,” I heard along with the biting now inside my head. She forced the money back towards me, and I took out my phone, opened up Google Translate, and spoke into it:
“Whatever I can do with this money is not as important as giving it to you and what you can do with it for yourself. I’ve been so lucky to be able to be here and have any money, and I’ve been given so much from being here, I want to give something back. Many people have helped me when I needed it, and now I want to help you, and I want you to to take this.”
She listened to the Thai voice coming out of my phone, and seemed weaker in her refusal at rejecting my money, and eventually took it, her eye wet. I told her again to drink the water, and she gave that slight nod and stared off into the distance again, and I left.
I wish I could say that was it, but no.
I was sleepwalking through Icon Siam, scratching frantically at the paranoia deep under my skin. ChatGPT fed my rumination, saying scams on footbridges like that are common, they learn how to cry to elicit empathy and get money, and that she was most likely unhappy with the food, as she wanted money, having it near her will elicit less sympathy from others, and she’s likely going to sell it off rather than use it herself.
I was itchy with regret, thinking I had been played for 500 baht, when I didn’t have much cash left, or I could have given it to someone who really needed it. To buy ice cream for the kids on that run down street, or the old, frail looking woman in On Nut selling a single candy for 1 baht.
And yet, I kept hearing that wail and worrying about what she was going to do next, where she would go, what she would do. Does she need more food? Should I take her back to my fancy apartment? Or book her a hotel or Airbnb? Had I done enough for her? What would enough even be?
It was dark when I left Icon Siam, and as I headed back to the BTS, I came across the footbridge, and found myself walking back up. I saw her sitting in the same place, but all the bags and items were gone. Was ChatGPT right? I walked over and knelt down next to her and asked where it had all gone, and she told me she finished it all, she was very hungry. Damn, she MUST be lying, that was too much to finish in 2 hours! But maybe she was really hungry? You think she drank a litre of water, a whole probiotic, a vegetable drink and all that food in that time?
I asked her what she’s going to do next, and she showed me some text she had wrote up on her phone, about her circumstances, and that she’s there everyday until 8pm. She seemed to stress how long she’s there until, and I had a feeling that she might have wanted me to come back, or that she didn’t want to be as alone as her silence belied earlier. And then I was inflicted with the thought that of course she would, if I was coming across as such a sucker.
For a few minutes I sat beside her on the bridge, being torn between the side of empathy and doubt. I’d look back at her leaning back against the bars of the bridge, her shoulders hunched over. I thought back to my day volunteering with that charity, and how I’d overheard someone saying that one of the volunteers was living upstairs in the charity’s centre after living on the street.
I turned towards her and finally told her I had to go, but I had been involved with a charity that does a lot of good things for people, and they will help her. She showed me the message again saying she will be at the bridge daily until 8pm, then told me to come back. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d be gone in two days. I didn’t want to admit it myself, that I’d be leaving the flashy apartment, to get a taxi to the airport, to get a plane back to a place where I had a room all to myself, a bed to sleep on, and food in the fridge.
I took her phone number and told her I’d pass it on to the charity, which would take take care of her. I told her that I understood that things were really hard at the moment, but the organisation does some amazing things and would make sure she’s okay. I would pass her number on to them, and they will contact her at some point. I pointed at myself and said, “Kenny,” and she replied, “Nit.” I said I have to go, but I’ll make do my best to get her help, and held out my hand. She took it, held it tightly, and then pulled me towards her into a hug.
Under the night’s sky, cars racing forwards under us, it felt like it lasted forever.
And as I walked away, I couldn’t help but feel I was wrong. What kind of nonsense did I tell her about this charity? That they’re going to help her? Sure, she might be able to make her way to their events every week and get some clothes, potentially food and a place to not feel alone… but was that enough? Wasn’t all of the burden going to be on her? And where is the line between having the motivation – or means – to get to a place like that, when you’re in a situation like that?
I thought back to all the times I had felt helpless in London, and felt like I had nowhere to go. I remembered the stories of all the people who desperately needed help, and were told it wasn’t coming, or they had to wait an impossibly long time. I thought about all the times I had picked up the phone, and the sound of the ringing never seemed to stop, and nobody ever picked up.
And then, I would give up… there was no such thing as ‘hope.’
But that wasn’t who I was anymore… or at least not back in time, in that city, in that moment.
I looked for the number of the charity I had done that volunteer day with, and cautiously phoned it. Again, the sound of the ringing seemed endless.
Until it stopped.
And I heard the voice of one of the co-founders on the other end. The one at the volunteer day that seemed very active, and others sang the praises of. I stammered over my words a bit, not quite believing someone was picking up on a Saturday night. I told him all about Nit, her story, what I had done for her, and how she’s on the footbridge daily, it seems. I sent him the location of the footbridge, photos of the temple it’s outside of, and he said he was sending someone over to meet her. I thanked him profusely, and when I hung up, my skin wasn’t burning with bites, anymore.
I looked back at the distance where Nit was sat, and I dared to hope that something would come of this. That I wasn’t turning my back on her completely.
The rest of my night was pretty uneventful, as I headed towards Udom Suk, which I was told had a pretty banging night market, but I found just kind of standard. I headed back home absolutely starving, and thinking I need to max myself out on massages before I go back to the UK and can never afford one again. Afterwards, I laughed until I cried with the staff, and got a toastie from 7-11, before getting back to my place and picking up my phone which I had left to charge.
I was stunned to get a long string of updates from the charity’s co-founder:
One of their team had gone to the bridge and met Nit, taken a huge amount of detail about her circumstances. She had sold everything to pay for her daughter’s education, and suffered from lung cancer and gallbladder disease, her surgery putting in 15,000 baht debt. That’s £355. This woman was on the streets because she couldn’t afford to pay back what less than what I had paid for for an Airbnb for funsies. For a day of begging, she would make about 50 – 300 baht a day. That’s between £1 – £7. Every week, she would send almost everything she made to her daughter so she could afford her antidepressants.
She sold meatballs as street food until income declined and she couldn’t pay rent, and her wish was to be able to take another shot at that so she can support herself and her daughter.
The next day was my last in Thailand.
And it was wonderful for so many reasons that I guess, were self-indulgent and self-centred.
But what made the food on that day taste so much better, the interactions with the locals even more joyous, was getting more updates from the charity on Nit.
On the night I had met her, she declined their help and stay in their centre, but by the next day, I had a photo of her in the back of a car, slumped over in the seat and passed out. The were taking her to see her daughter. Another photo came later, with her holding up a bus ticket. I never thought I’d ever see her smile like she was in that picture. In less than 24 hours, she had gone from being separated from her daughter, begging on a bridge to being with her.
And then a day after that, I had got one last update that they had moved into the charity’s centre together, a photo of them with all their belongings in bags, and at the centre sharing a meal together.
A few days before, when I was stuck feeling sorry for myself as I sat feeling sick in that duplex, I was worried that I was going to leave the country feeling disappointed, and carrying that with me. I was terrified that after all the joy I had felt, all the amazing people I had met, all the moments of feeling more like myself, would be worn away by the tsunami of sickness, isolation and helplessness.
I feel so very fortunate playing back this tape, and witnessing how fortunate I felt on the last stretch of those sometimes wet and sometimes sunny days in Bangkok, that after planning this whole trip to find something, to get something, to take something away.
Maybe it was enough to just leave something behind.
