South
Taking the bus to Hat Yai was marginally less interesting that taking the nightbus to Glasgow—and nearly as expensive. I could have had a better deal from Khao San Road, but in typical style, I left the rest of the Farang behind in about 5 minutes.
I say marginally less interesting because at first there appeared to be no ‘comfort breaks’—the air-conditioned interior remained hermeticaly sealed for six hours while I grew more and more ravenous in the chilly temperature. At last, we stopped at a service station that seemed to service bus traffic through the whole of Central Thailand: In a vast hall, an array of foodstalls displayed their wares, each specialising in one or a few particular dishes. I plumped for fried noodles with prawns, but even though the ingredients were mostly fresh and the food was prepared in front of my eyes—by a woman who cooked nothing else—the noodles were greasy, the prawns overcooked until they were the consistency of rubber and there was a curious lack of chilli vinegar.
The drive continued at a sedate pace. Apparently, buses in Thailand are timed to arrive at their final destination at ‘a pleasant time’ (LP). but there was no evidence for it as we were discharged into the ugly, grey Hat Yai bus station at 4:30 in the morning, where I was instantly set upon by every single tuk-tuk driver in town. I had already resolved not to stay.
The guys at the information counter spoke no English—they only pretended to. So I spent an hour waiting at the wrong bay for the Song Khla bus, then boarded it without a ticket. By now, I was getting seriously cranky—all this because of a vague rumour that there are Irrawady dolphins in Songkhla Lake…well, I don’t call myself ‘whalewatcher’ for nothing.
Interesting, BTW, that Pilleri wasamong the first to describe them from there. I met him when we came back from India, encountering Ganges dolphins (Platanista gangetica in Bhagalpur.
The bus that eventually arrived was a gaudily colourful air-con job complete with frilly curtains. I’d much have preferred one of the rickety old yellow buses: not just because they go to the local bus station right in the town centre rather than the terminal 2km away, but also because they do not have pop videos booming at full volume right above my head—with the bass reverberating in my belly. It’s only just gone six, for cripes sakes. But as we hobbled along at 10km/h, I was at least reassured that this was indeed one of the local buses. I swear I saw a cyclist overtake us. What is it with Thailand and slow buses?
I then heaved the heavy backpack around central Song Khla several times before accepting that the Abritus Guest House no longer exists. After all this, I needed a drink. I looked at my watch—8:30—and had a sleep instead.
Song Khla can be summed up in 3 words: ‘Wats and Schools’. For every 3 appartment blocks there seems to be a school. My guesthouse is next to one which I discovered when I looked across from the balcony straight into a classroom, much to the amusement of the kids. It is a big school, with many hundreds of pupils, but it is just as well that I did not pick it as a landmark.
Between the schools, every few steps there is a temple, which surprises me as I had assumed the South of Thailand to be mainly Muslim. But it certainly means that Song Khla isn’t dry—in either sense of the word. After a rain-soaked trudge along the rubbish-strewn beach, I ruled out the food stalls and walked on to the ‘Dark Side’, a clutch of expat bars along Th Sadao; deserted at this time and not in any event strong on food. So I doubled back, sat down at one of the noodle stalls and just kept saying “Yeah, yeah!” until the guy at the counter had listed every single item on the menu. At least so it seemed when he sat the bowl of clear noodle soup in front of me; withing floated pieces of chicken, pork, deep-fried crackling, fishballs, cabbage and even a sliver of liver. It was the best meal I had in a while.
Tags: SE Asia, Tag Index
Denni