Overcast and sticky day in Bangkok; at midday, with a bottle of cold water and the point-and-shoot camera, I left the hotel to walk to the first contemporary art site on my list. I intended to take pictures along the way, but struggled to muster the needed motivation. I have days like that when I lose interest in breathing, when I observe people and my surroundings, as would a thing that doesn’t belong. Nothing feels real, and everything feels irrelevant—no use trying. Smile, exchange pleasantries with a stranger; a neurologist would call it derealisation.
A tuk-tuk driver asks me where I’m going, and then where I came from, which is often just a way to gauge how big your bank account could be. A man who said he is a train driver tells me there’s a train I can take for free to where I’m headed. We chatted for half an hour. He told me there’s a beautiful island with few tourists, and a better use of time than the polluted streets of Bangkok. Maybe I could find a young woman in a bikini and take some cliched pictures of the beach at sunset. In photography, that’s called an ABS, an acronym for “Another Bloody Sunset.”
The platform where this free train stops was nearby; I found the waiting area and sat surrounded by locals doing their best to ignore me. I understand; no one likes a tourist, and that regardless of where you are. Tourists are a necessary evil, at best just walking cash machines. Close to an hour passes; a train arrives, but it’s heading in the wrong direction. Whether going into or out of the city, this particular locals-only train stops at that same platform. Alone and wondering when the next train going in the right direction might arrive, a young boy approaches and asks where I’m going. He spoke reasonable English, so I told him and asked when I could expect the next train. One hour, he replied, and then he disappeared. I stood there for a few minutes, and the boy reappeared. He asked how long I’d been in Thailand and how long I would stay. I answered, and he ran off again.
I went out on the street, took a few pictures, and then went back to the train stop where there are a few street food stalls. One sold Pad Thai for fifty Baht, lunch whilst waiting for the train. I stood at the counter, invisible to the woman on the other side. I got the message, walked over to a nearby convenience store, bought a high-protein banana drink and two cheese-and-ham toasted sandwiches, and sat outside on a concrete block. It began to rain. Decision taken, I lit a cigarette and headed back to the hotel where two young Canadian men I’d seen a few times were having a smoke outside. We joked about the sign saying police would be called if you were caught smoking dope, then we discussed hunting bison in British Columbia.
The two young Canadians headed off on a mission to find cheap clothes. I went upstairs, where in the corridor a young Thai boy was cleaning the room opposite mine. My bins were full, so I grabbed them and asked the boy in sign language whether I could dump their contents into the rubbish bag attached to his trolley. He nodded, then said, “Thank you.” He was here yesterday, Friday, a school day, and doesn’t look old enough to work under Australian law. I’d read somewhere that every dollar invested in education is estimated to return seven in taxes. I asked myself what future awaits this boy, and his nation if it does not invest in his education? The kid works full-time and probably hands his entire paycheck to his mother. Sputnik caused panic in the United States: the Soviets were winning the technology race solely because they knew what ‘human resource’ actually means, and invested heavily in the education of their children.
Will try to get to the contemporary art site tomorrow.