This is Thailand

by Jess Gill | 2008

I could write about the tan line on my left wrist, of the shadow of my silver and turquoise watch now imprinted on my skin.

I could write about the mosquito bites tracing a trail along the side of my right leg, verbose in its catalog of places I've traveled.

I could talk about the elephant's ear flicking off my left shoe and causing me to jump in my seat, and the boy who tore lemongrass from the ground for me to smell.

Or I could write about wading into the Andaman sea, the water and sand working its way over me, leaving sand and water on my shirt, shorts, everywhere.

I will leave tomorrow, with my right leg and left thumb scraping wounds of a motorbike accident in which I almost got run over by four cars. I will say goodbye to monkeys walking on phone wires and girls in burquas sitting sidesaddle and texting. Somehow, Thailand is a place where technology and tradition meet somewhat incongruously. Seven tier waterfalls with swimming pools so clear, you can see the fish swimming near the surface. Incidentally, these same fish are more than happy to nip at you once you jump in. Green rivers humming with mosquitoes, trees leafy, mindful of the sun, the kind of sun that you go out for ten minutes and come back with a fierce burn. Tuktuks chugging along the crowded streets of Bangkok, clamoring for a passenger, lights flashing as though there should be a whistling tune sung along. Have I ever seen such a place?

This is Asia. Or Southeast Asia as residents would be quick to correct. Where whitening cream can be found in every 7-11 on every corner. Where ladyboys are quick to interpret for me when a cashier cannot understand my simple request. Where cabs are neon, signs are neon, and the sky is choked and polluted, a clogged artery left untouched. Yet the sunsets here are dazzling, simply because of all the gases in the air. This is where you cannot enter a building without being pushed or harangued or crowded. There's no concept of personal space here, and indeed, my bubble has been violated many times over. This is where my white white skin and my red hair make me the unintended subject of many stares. When did I become what other people want to be?

I don't know yet that I will come back. The beaches of Thailand, so much of it altered from the 2004 tsunami seems pristine, as though this is how the world was one thousand years ago, and this is how it will be for a thousand more. The silence on an island, so unlike the deafening crush of this overwhelming city calls my attention, of infinity pools and islands far out at sea. Mangrove trees and houseboats, wild animals everywhere. Who knew they had cows in Thailand?

I never thought I could feel so overwhelmed in a city; I'm from New York damnit! But this city, this area is a whole world in and of itself. The jungle, the bridge over the river Kwai, the elephants and tigers we pet and sat with, the dead gecko lizard in the floor of our hotel room last night; this is not New York. The super malls and the plush movie theater seats with recliners and blankets and pillows, the sexpats and their Thai prostitutes, the glass and the steel, the gold and the Buddhas, and my god, the stray cats and dogs everywhere! I've never seen a place where everything fits so perfectly, and clashes so discordantly. I feel as though every time I walk down the street, I am history and future at once, present gone out the window.

This is Thailand. And this is my farewell.

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