THE BACKPACKER - DAY 8
The journey home, Somewhere in Northern Thailand
It was the longest journey ever last night. We walked until we more or less dropped. The primal will to get to the end and get home drove us on. Now expert in setting up camp, the time between finding a suitable spot to climbing into our sleeping bags was minimal. Little was said. I think we all wanted to be in our own heads. We knew the next day was (hopefully) our last and the day of the big push.
“Rise and shine ya lazy bastards! Let’s get tore in! Come on youse!”
The fog horn that is Morag ripped me from my slumber. For sure I will miss her – as one would miss a painful sexually transmitted disease. Maria has made the coffee. Matt grins sheepishly at it. Unthreatened, because she has made it, I take some. It tastes like nectar. We sit round the fire smiling. Today’s the day. Thijs shows us our route to Nirvana on the map. Phil gets up, his hair is growing in. Jeez, it looks white!
“Guys will you mind all holding hands, please?” he asks.
Everyone complies. Then he says “God, thank you for getting us to this day. Please see us safe to the end. Amen.”
Err…right Phil. The Almighty has been on top form so far.
“Lets do it!” says Maria, a fleeting perviness, and then I realise that she is addressing everyone and she means commencing the walk. 20 km – maybe less. We pack up and go. About 10 km into the walk we see another human being! A native chap (hark at me, all colonial) in a wide brimmed hat, sitting on a cart pulled by an ox. I say ox but I don’t really know what it is. It’s not a horse though – unless it is made of playdough. The man grins at us and waves. I recognise that benign grin.
“You knobbers” it says, “ You’ve been had!”
We wave back.
“Chungat Li!” shouts Thijs, pointing in one direction.
“Chungat Li” responds the native, pointing in a direction of about 90 degrees difference.
"Chungat Li!?” says a surprised Thijs with a corrected point.
“Chungat Li” smiles the chap, maintaining his point.
This is where we find out that Chungat Li actually means ‘deathtrap’ and not the town that was our starting point. However, no-one is in any mood to be put off by premature loss of life and we crack on in the new direction to Chungat Li. The scrub gets thicker but the semblance of a track is there. Very slightly disconcerting is the fact that it looks as if it is leading us into a jungle. But hey ho! we have a new found confidence. As Jefferson Airplane were wont to carouse when they reincarnated as Jefferson Starship, ‘Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now!’
Morag, who is leading our merry band, goes out her way to stand on a snake with her tackety boots. Who knows if it was poisonous: an endangered species; or the buddhist re-incarnation of Princess Diana, it’s fucking dead now. And we all cheer. Even Thijs and Maria. Yes, the jungle does strange things to you. But wait, now the jungle has a definite path. That’s good! And the more we walk into it the more paths we see joining it - and the more defined it becomes. We decide to take a break in a clearing adjacent to the junction of our main path with three (yep, count them) smaller paths.
We’re high on the scent of freedom. Demob giggly. All friends in adversity. Blood brothers and sisters. It does feel good. My, how I love these short sentences.
Refreshed and re-charged, we’re off. This is it – the last leg. Out of the blue Thijs starts to sing ‘Hi-ho, Hi-ho, it’s off to home we go’. Gleefully, we all join in. Matt embellishes with descant, bird noises, burps and farts.
Unbelievably, the path has transformed itself into monobloc with a coping stone edge! About 100 metres ahead there’s a metal archway with flowers woven through it. Inexplicably, we all break into a run and rush towards it. We burst through the arch together.
“Aaargh!” A man and a woman scream, as they leap out of a hammock. We appear to be in the garden of someone’s apartment.
“Please ! Please!” they beg, “We have no money!”
“Calm doon! Calm doon! Neither hiv we!” barks Morag, indifferent to their alarm.
“We are just backpackers completing our journey. Can you tell us where we are?” quoth I.
“You scared us, guys!” says the bloke (Australian)
“You are in the Jungle Dream Apartments” says his Sheila (for she is Australian, too).
“Is this Chungat Li? asks Thijs, still perplexed at his map-reading skill going horribly awry.
“Close enough. It’s about five clicks away. You can get the courtesy bus into it. You guys okay? Oz boy sees us as the deranged beings we have become.
“ Are you lost or something?” enquires Oz girl nervously.
“Nope! We’re home…or getting there.” I state imperiously.
“We are sorry to burst in on you.” says Thijs, gathering himself from his outburst of normality.
“No worries. We just got a bit spooked. Look, there’s a bus leaves about now if you’re interested” says the bloke – obviously keen to get shot of us (and who wouldn’t be?).
We follow his directions, apologise again, and commandeer the minibus into Chungat Li.
It’s a short, weird journey. Ever closer to the end, I reflect on how I have bonded with this strange disparate bunch of people – but only through common trauma I think.
The bus stops outside Thai Adventure Treks (yes, TAT) and we spew out. What took place next is a story of its own but suffice to say Morag drew her hunting knife and threatened the staff with it, Thijs (mistakenly) got hit on the head again by a Thai policeman and was hospitalised, Matt disappeared, Phil broke down again and got comforted by Maria (I know he’s an emotional wreck but I can’t help feel he’s actually winning her affection by it. What a bastard). And me? I’m going to write a strongly worded letter of complaint. Well, quite frankly I thought to escape back home with my life and, albeit a very small amount, of my dignity intact, was a bonus.
Sure I’ll miss them all. I’ll keep in touch. Maybe. Who am I kidding?
I take my seat on the Airbus home. In 16 or so hours I’ll be back in my flat in Blighty. Joy. There’s two spare seats next to me so I hope that no one comes and I’ll be able to stretch out and start the much-needed recuperation process.
I’m dog-tired and can feel my eyes closing ever...so... s-l-o-w-l-y.
“Wotcha, mate!”
Matt sits down breezily, beside me.
Shit! This is like Lost! I did die.
It was the longest journey ever last night. We walked until we more or less dropped. The primal will to get to the end and get home drove us on. Now expert in setting up camp, the time between finding a suitable spot to climbing into our sleeping bags was minimal. Little was said. I think we all wanted to be in our own heads. We knew the next day was (hopefully) our last and the day of the big push.
“Rise and shine ya lazy bastards! Let’s get tore in! Come on youse!”
The fog horn that is Morag ripped me from my slumber. For sure I will miss her – as one would miss a painful sexually transmitted disease. Maria has made the coffee. Matt grins sheepishly at it. Unthreatened, because she has made it, I take some. It tastes like nectar. We sit round the fire smiling. Today’s the day. Thijs shows us our route to Nirvana on the map. Phil gets up, his hair is growing in. Jeez, it looks white!
“Guys will you mind all holding hands, please?” he asks.
Everyone complies. Then he says “God, thank you for getting us to this day. Please see us safe to the end. Amen.”
Err…right Phil. The Almighty has been on top form so far.
“Lets do it!” says Maria, a fleeting perviness, and then I realise that she is addressing everyone and she means commencing the walk. 20 km – maybe less. We pack up and go. About 10 km into the walk we see another human being! A native chap (hark at me, all colonial) in a wide brimmed hat, sitting on a cart pulled by an ox. I say ox but I don’t really know what it is. It’s not a horse though – unless it is made of playdough. The man grins at us and waves. I recognise that benign grin.
“You knobbers” it says, “ You’ve been had!”
We wave back.
“Chungat Li!” shouts Thijs, pointing in one direction.
“Chungat Li” responds the native, pointing in a direction of about 90 degrees difference.
"Chungat Li!?” says a surprised Thijs with a corrected point.
“Chungat Li” smiles the chap, maintaining his point.
This is where we find out that Chungat Li actually means ‘deathtrap’ and not the town that was our starting point. However, no-one is in any mood to be put off by premature loss of life and we crack on in the new direction to Chungat Li. The scrub gets thicker but the semblance of a track is there. Very slightly disconcerting is the fact that it looks as if it is leading us into a jungle. But hey ho! we have a new found confidence. As Jefferson Airplane were wont to carouse when they reincarnated as Jefferson Starship, ‘Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now!’
Morag, who is leading our merry band, goes out her way to stand on a snake with her tackety boots. Who knows if it was poisonous: an endangered species; or the buddhist re-incarnation of Princess Diana, it’s fucking dead now. And we all cheer. Even Thijs and Maria. Yes, the jungle does strange things to you. But wait, now the jungle has a definite path. That’s good! And the more we walk into it the more paths we see joining it - and the more defined it becomes. We decide to take a break in a clearing adjacent to the junction of our main path with three (yep, count them) smaller paths.
We’re high on the scent of freedom. Demob giggly. All friends in adversity. Blood brothers and sisters. It does feel good. My, how I love these short sentences.
Refreshed and re-charged, we’re off. This is it – the last leg. Out of the blue Thijs starts to sing ‘Hi-ho, Hi-ho, it’s off to home we go’. Gleefully, we all join in. Matt embellishes with descant, bird noises, burps and farts.
Unbelievably, the path has transformed itself into monobloc with a coping stone edge! About 100 metres ahead there’s a metal archway with flowers woven through it. Inexplicably, we all break into a run and rush towards it. We burst through the arch together.
“Aaargh!” A man and a woman scream, as they leap out of a hammock. We appear to be in the garden of someone’s apartment.
“Please ! Please!” they beg, “We have no money!”
“Calm doon! Calm doon! Neither hiv we!” barks Morag, indifferent to their alarm.
“We are just backpackers completing our journey. Can you tell us where we are?” quoth I.
“You scared us, guys!” says the bloke (Australian)
“You are in the Jungle Dream Apartments” says his Sheila (for she is Australian, too).
“Is this Chungat Li? asks Thijs, still perplexed at his map-reading skill going horribly awry.
“Close enough. It’s about five clicks away. You can get the courtesy bus into it. You guys okay? Oz boy sees us as the deranged beings we have become.
“ Are you lost or something?” enquires Oz girl nervously.
“Nope! We’re home…or getting there.” I state imperiously.
“We are sorry to burst in on you.” says Thijs, gathering himself from his outburst of normality.
“No worries. We just got a bit spooked. Look, there’s a bus leaves about now if you’re interested” says the bloke – obviously keen to get shot of us (and who wouldn’t be?).
We follow his directions, apologise again, and commandeer the minibus into Chungat Li.
It’s a short, weird journey. Ever closer to the end, I reflect on how I have bonded with this strange disparate bunch of people – but only through common trauma I think.
The bus stops outside Thai Adventure Treks (yes, TAT) and we spew out. What took place next is a story of its own but suffice to say Morag drew her hunting knife and threatened the staff with it, Thijs (mistakenly) got hit on the head again by a Thai policeman and was hospitalised, Matt disappeared, Phil broke down again and got comforted by Maria (I know he’s an emotional wreck but I can’t help feel he’s actually winning her affection by it. What a bastard). And me? I’m going to write a strongly worded letter of complaint. Well, quite frankly I thought to escape back home with my life and, albeit a very small amount, of my dignity intact, was a bonus.
Sure I’ll miss them all. I’ll keep in touch. Maybe. Who am I kidding?
I take my seat on the Airbus home. In 16 or so hours I’ll be back in my flat in Blighty. Joy. There’s two spare seats next to me so I hope that no one comes and I’ll be able to stretch out and start the much-needed recuperation process.
I’m dog-tired and can feel my eyes closing ever...so... s-l-o-w-l-y.
“Wotcha, mate!”
Matt sits down breezily, beside me.
Shit! This is like Lost! I did die.
posted by wardperfect at 1:00 am
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