Bangkok is weird.

Maybe it’s because all of the signs are in in the totally non-Western alphabet and while strange, though that’s easy to write off (but come on, forty-four consonants? Ain’t nobody got time for that!). And the hyper-aggressive suit/food/sex salesmen that are everywhere are only an east-Asian flavor of the pushy salesmen you find in most cities. It’s not that there are squat toilets (Matt hasn’t seen any yet, though it’s supposedly a big thing in the far east). In fact, the most jarring aspect of all is how the cars drove on the ‘wrong’ side of the road. That is to say, the left side (British-style). That is, until you’re stuck behind a car for anything more than three seconds. Then a brief jaunt over the solid yellow line is clearly warranted and no matter what country you’re asking, the Thai drivers are actually driving on the wrong side of the road. Mario Kart: Bangkok.

Oh yea, and the stubborn denial of modern hygiene; restaurant servers, street vendors, and taxi cab drivers (everyone!) cough directly into their hands and the latter pick their noses with a ferocity and shamelessness that trump any kindergarten excavations.

But we’re just getting started.

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The phone is squawking its alarm and an arm reaches over and clicks it off.

A backpacker rolls over in the white sheets, groaning awake in the darkness of his hotel room. For a second he forgets who and where he is, only knowing the yanked-sideways feeling of being awoken mid-sleep cycle. Then he remembers: he’s Matt, he’s in Bangkok, and he needs to get up and get down to Khao San Road to meet up with the Europeans. Matt’s still drunk as he clicks his belt on and though his watch reads 10:30pm, he knows that it’s really Show Time.

“Captain America!” Johan cheers when he sees the American walk up to the same table where they met that morning.

Matt claps Johan and Mike on the back and orders a liter of Chang from the bar before heading back to the evening crowd. Gone are Gio and Tom, replaced by a host of fresh, new faces. Most of them are more European guys, but one is a lady. And she’s pretty. Out of habit Matt slips into the empty chair next to her and begins to flirt.

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Matt’s feet know the walk from his hotel to Khao San Road quite intimately already, though it’s only his second day in Bangkok. He walks up the soi [Thai for ‘lane’, an integral part of the city’s urban layout], passing the frequent street dogs and cats. Do they belong to anyone, everyone, or no one? Matt doesn’t have the Thai vocabulary to ask, despite his mission to learn at least two Thai words a day. If he gets more, amazing, but two is his minimum goal.

He gets his impromptu Thai lessons from that market that lines Chakrabongse Road, the main street leading up to Khao San Road. Block after block of vendors sell strange fish out of stewpots, sugary confections in inflated bags, and grilled meat on sticks. The crowd it generates provides an earnest traveler with ample opportunities to learn some Thai. Usually Matt just gestures at something and raises his arms, palm up, in a questioning stance to get it all going.

“That.” Matt points and assumes the position.

“Ten baht,” the sun-ripened woman on the other side of the greasy, aluminum cart says. When she sees he’s not reaching for any money she adds, “Pork! Pork!”

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