Bangkok, Thailand: Siam, I Am.

Bangkok. The thought of it alone sends an instant burst of adrenaline coursing through your veins. It seems to promise everything- a world unchained and unlimited. An exotic place where literally anything seems possible and all desires are within your grasp. As I step off the plane the hair on my neck begins to stand. I've been here before. I know what this city is capable of; I can handle that. It's myself I'm afraid of. Just how far might I push it? How far will I go despite logic, reason, pleading, turmoil, and even my own safety? Bangkok is not a city for the faint of heart. You slay the beast or you become the beast. It's that simple.

As our taxi rockets through the city I reach a silent accord with myself to fight this beast- to fight it with everything I can muster. There is little time to deliberate further. We have arrived. After much debate we elect to meander around the hostel area. We eat a most satisfying lunch that costs us less than $4 each. We scout the Lumphini Stadium for a boxing match the following night, and begin drinking in earnest at a fortuitously located Irish pub offering irrefutable happy hour pricing.

Thai beers begin to flow and we amble along the streets passing the infamous Phat Pong, only meters from our hostel street. The beast within begins to rumble, growling menacingly. We try to seek refuge in a Mexican joint boasting what appears to be a salsa buffet. Inside, the walls, tables, chairs, even hostesses seem slathered in thick salsa. More beers disappear and the night seems like it could turn at any moment, but I'm armor clad, I'm wielding a fierce axe, and I'm ready to fight. 

We dive back fearlessly into the night and navigate the chaos with singular purpose and great gusto. A last ditch effort by the resident street hustler for ping pongs, women, and god only knows what else is deftly averted. We navigate our way back to the hostel to retire. A seemingly long-overdue victory for reasonableness.

The next day we resume our role as tourists. We team up with an Englishman named Adam who accompanies us to Wat Pho, the apt "resting" place of the great reclining Buddha.

Despite the swarms of tourists the temple grounds themselves are somewhat peaceful. There are chedis to the first four Ramas of the current Dynasty rising prominently in the skyline. Surrounding them are a host of smaller yet still impressively adorned chedis we can only assume are for other important dignitaries or family members of the early Ramas. We are awed by the temple but the great Buddha is the only one doing any reclining this day.

We next attempt to infiltrate the exorbitantly priced former Royal Palace. Unfortunately it is too late in the day for such an expedition so we settle for the Museum of Siam, a new and interactive museum about the history and people of Siam (who we have come to associate more or less with Thailand). If you enter after 5pm admission is free so we burn the 45 or so minutes until the museum's "happy hour" by attempting to locate the nearby "flower market." We eventually stumble upon a market that sells mostly fruits, vegetables, and various other odds and ends, but eventually... blamo! We eventually stumble upon one woman hawking flowers.

We shrewdly navigate our way back to the museum nary purchasing a single flower. Gleefully the museum staff turns us loose in the building gratis. The museum is well above what I expected, not literally as it stands roughly at the point above sea-level indicated on the map, but figuratively, as it's new and flashy and cool and stuff. Nearly every exhibition is truly interactive, as in you can actually, well, interact with it. The only piece of the puzzle missing is a pinch more English explanation. But there's no room to complain when such a museum boasts half a photo-opp tuk tuk into which Jon very nimbly and eagerly maneuvers himself.

The day still young, we three amigos make the kind of leap that would unleash an otherwise less-tamed beast: we hire a tuk-tuk and speed with all possible haste to the Lumphini Arena for some Muay Thai boxing action. It is here I drink my first Chang beer from under a filthy roach-infested bleacher. It is here I first taste gambling on the administration of physical punishment from one human being to another. And it is here, in this very stadium, that I lose what I know will be a long series of wagers to Jon. 

It is the title fight. Jon bets red corner, I bet blue. At stake: the purchase of a pair of Muay Thai boxing shorts and the obligation to wear them for an entire day at the winner's discretion. Unlike in the The Cable Guy, red knight did not go down down down. I've lost.

By the end of the matches, unregulated alcohol percentage Chang beers are pumping through my system, and that is a reasonable concern considering each one could be anywhere from 4-12% abv. The night rests delicately on a precipice. The monster within is howling. It's raging, crying to be set free. But I am an experienced master. Many times before I've held it back, and with all the courage I can summon, I choke back the urge to storm into the hot, sticky, suffocating night air and force myself into a taxi. "Another time," I tell the beast. I coax him gently, "we've all the time in the world."

The next day we find ourselves up and at it early(ish). We negotiate passage on a riverboat back to the Palace and empty our pockets for what, at that price, is surely the coveted entry ticket plus the deed to a small island nation. I'm wearing shorts which are strictly prohibited so I must adorn myself with a pair of baht-deposit-induced temporary sweats. I feel like Carl Winslow during off-hours, and I know I can't look much better.

We press onward and despite rainbows and all of the hopes and dreams of children, the Palace is almost immediately disappointing. Through the main entryway a massive and ornate hall beckons. Ultimately this bulwark leaves much to be desired. It feels like the girl who is trying just a bit too hard to get everyone to like her.

The surrounding area is littered with chedis and smaller temple buildings, all displaying the adequate degree of pomp and gaudiness. Yet for the price we paid to enter, I feel as though if I can't steal something I should at least be afforded the liberty to apply a small smattering of graffiti to a less historically-important wall... or something.

We weave through the portions of the palace not sectioned off, which are few. Eventually we make landfall on a new-ish building that appears to be a reception hall of sorts... or perhaps a bedroom. The English translations make it impossible to discern. The outside is impressive yet, typically, we're not allowed to take photos of the even more impressive interior. I grumble audibly for the next several minutes.

As we reach the exhibit on the royal wardrobe of the current queen, I'm exhausted, dehydrated, and ready to administer a clavicle punch to the next person who claims I can't take a picture after taking out a second mortgage on my non-existent house to finance this entry.

We exit the premises. I buy a pineapple on a stick and am tempted to tell the palace guards that 'they know where they could stick it.' Instead I just eat it and we walk a few hundred meters away from the palace where we can get a tuk tuk without being unreasonably extorted. Mounted in our three-wheeled chariot we rip through the searing heat of the mid-afternoon toward the Marble Temple.

This is probably my favorite of the "major temples" in Bangkok because it is actually and truly a respite from the complete and utter chaos engulfing this not-so-fair city. As we walk in, I notice a grand total of three other tourists. Monks, clad in their understated yet simultaneously outlandish orange robes, go about their daily business while we muddle about shoe-less and fancy-free. Pictures are taken. Flange gets a particularly good one. I feel, for the first time since landing in Bangkok, a moment of peace wash over me. The beast is calm, maybe even in a deep slumber. I chant silently to the Buddha that he remain asleep. But even with Buddha on my side, I'm only fooling only myself.

Just a short distance away lies the Jim Thompson House. Jim Thompson was an American soldier who was stationed in Bangkok and after WWII decided to stay (hardly difficult to see why). He became the leading pioneer in reviving the Thai silk industry and eventually using his immense sums of Thai money he purchased six traditional Thai houses from locations such Attuthaya (the old capital) and had them reassembled into one mega-style super-Thai house.

Like any bad ass expat worth his salt, 'ol Jim disappeared in the mountains of Malaysia on holiday. The mystery around his disappearance has never been solved. I hope my demise is even partially as enigmatic. These days his old house is a tourist attraction as it's a prime example of traditional Thai architecture (which is now all but extinct).

Personally I love the house, I love the feel of the grounds, and most of all I love the legend of Jim Thompson himself. Without any real reason I feel a kinship with him and his house. Sometimes I wonder if I'm actually the reincarnation of 'ol Jim. If nothing else he's certainly the type of character I've long aspired to be.

In need of liquid refreshment and air conditioned shelter from the unbearably oppressive steam-injected blast furnace that is modern Bangkok, we head to one of the premier malls in the city- Paragon. It's cool, literally and figuratively. Eventually we get tired of the whole mall bullshit and decide to walk up a few blocks to Soi Cowboy- Soi meaning "street" and cowboy meaning "cowboy." On this street there are heaps of bars catering to westerners. By that I of course mean bars with TVs, western beer, and lots of very attractive Thai girls aching to sit with you and have you buy them "drinks."

If you can imagine a brothel at one end of the spectrum, and somewhere in the middle you have a strip club, then finally at the far other end of the spectrum you have the bar girl. For your hard earned dollar (or baht) she will provide you with the company of her attractive self and moderate ability to converse in English. She usually won't really drink with you but she will accept "drinks" at double price- the drink being water and the double price being allocated in some fashion between herself and the bar. Sound familiar? (Hint: Phuket)

I've heard stories of westerners in Bangkok being able to pay up front to escort one of these lovely ladies off the pub street but I've never seen it. In the old days of Bangkok, the GI days, all you needed was a charming smile and enough money to buy the lady a beer. Tragically those days have long passed. The commercialism of the whole scene puts me off and is even enough of a repellant to keep the beast at bay. Once again we retire. Another victory. But things seem to be on the downward slide. Despite placation, the beast feels ravenous.

The next day's agenda is simple enough: buy train tickets at the station and visit the nearby golden Buddha shrine: the largest solid gold Buddha in the world. The ticket purchasing goes easy enough and with a bit of skillful construction zone navigation we arrive at the golden Buddha complex. I'm immediately struck with a feeling of "where the hell am I?" which is particularly odd since I had seen this exact golden Buddha slightly more than 5 years before. Apparently in the interim they constructed an entirely new (and most impressive) edifice in which to house the weighty artifact.

I also don't remember it costing anything but we pay the paltry entrance fee and make our way up the stairs. The top of new construction proffers a reasonable view of the surrounding Chinatown area of Bangkok but the real treat is, of course, the golden Buddha itself. Now placed grandiosely at the top of a special pedestal, the gilded deity likeness truly seems to lord over the surrounding area- ourselves included.

We notice monks from the nether-regions of Thailand making a pilgrimage to the likeness. It seems both surreal and appropriate all at the same time. Similarly, I'm struck with a sense of nostalgia for my last visit and the circumstances surrounding it, as well as a striking impression that this old experience has been replaced distinctly with present. The past sunk underfoot; paved over to make way for the new.

In celebration of our achievements, in both logistics planning and sight-seeing, we decide to celebrate by making a trip up to the much ballyhooed Khao San Road: the backpacker's backpacker's district. It is here where things begin to go awry. For those eager to engage in mischief, Khao San is a delectable little block of windy streets packed with bars, pubs, massage parlors, impromptu clubs, old VW vans posing as bars (or clubs), as well as a host of other post-dusk activities that could tickle your imagination in a host of ways that I don't have the time or vocabulary to describe.

It is difficult to recall the full happenings of that night but suffice it to say Chang is heavily involved as are a host of his other fun buddies and in the mayhem I eventually become separated from my co-host. Assuming he will surely resurface I continue with the festivities. It is this simple unassuming decision that will ultimately prove to be my undoing. The night bursts forward at light speed. Hours disappear, simply melt off the face of the planet. One bar, a street, a hostel, back alley, bar, secret club, go-go girls on poles. Total neon obscurity.

I'm truly lost and completely unaware of it. The beast is out, and he is feasting. At some point we're back at a boxing match and I'm working as a runner for a bookie. Fistfuls of baht pour through my fingers like water from a tap and I'm none the wiser. How did this happen? Before I can contemplate, I'm back on the streets- cavorting with fellow travelers of unknown origin or identity. The tuk tuk weaves through narrow and nightmarishly filthy streets patrolled by even more nightmarishly filthy women. I find myself in a tornado of madness and I try to stabilize myself in it's calm epicenter... but to no avail. The blackness is coming, and it comes hard and fast.

I awake to find myself in a makeshift hammock of sorts in what can only be the courtyard of a hostel or apartment complex or (god forbid) someone's house. I check myself- no wallet, no cash, no phone. No idea where I am. The beast has won. 'But I'm a crafty veteran,' I think. Surely there is a reasonable solution for this. I pry myself from my suspended cocoon and make my way gingerly into the command center for this particular penitentiary. To my luck it is, in fact, a hostel. I don't bother asking the name or where I am or how I got there- my primary concern is my fellow cohorts from last night and the possibility that maybe, just maybe, they might know what happened to my stuff.

As I was attempting just such a line of inquiry with the receptionist, if not by Jupiter's merciful member, a lad appears in the "lobby" and happens to recognize me. "Mike! Dude what the hell happened to you last night?!" he exclaims with expectorated spittle launched with such velocity as to nearly blind me. "I was hoping you could tell me man," I reply cagily. "The last time we saw you was at-" and then he muttered the name of what I can only assume was a bar, club, or some other unspeakable locale the beast had led me to.

"Any idea how I got here or what happened to my phone and wallet?" I inquire near-hopelessly. He pauses to think. "Nah man, but a couple of the guys in my room got back crazy late- maybe they saw you somewhere." "Cool, I'll just wait down here- you know their names and what they look like?" I reply. "Not really dude, but I can hang here with you- nothing else to do... hey, you want to grab a beer?"

This is just what the beast wants. He's had his way for a full night and now here, in the semi-bright semi-morning aftermath, is an opportunity for him to charge back through his hastily assembled cage for another round of carnage. "I dunno man, it's like... what time is it anyway?" I toss back casually. "Man it's like 11:30 or something. But it's Bangkok dude, any time is time for a beer."

My mind races- I go through every possible permutation to counter that logic but alas, it is simply irrefutable. "Good point," I acknowledge, "let's make it a Singha then. I'd like to ease back into this." Even though I know it was an inevitable response and even as it leaves my lips I'm shocked and incredulous that I've said it. This feeling is multiplied tenfold when I take the first long swig of the semi-cool Singha double beer offered to me by my new and unnamed friend.

Another beer or so later a tall blond youth of considerable handsomeness but minimal distinction emerges from the cavernous region that, through months of experience, I know leads to the hostel dorm rooms. "Mike! Holy shit man! Can't believe you're still here! Thought we had lost you for sure... dude are you already drinking?" The mere mention of it and my unavoidable acknowledgement nearly makes me lose what I had been so carefully attempting to stomach. "Yeaa... just killing time, trying to see if anyone has seen my wallet and phone," I say shakily.

He replies emphatically, "Oh yea dude! Brian has them upstairs. You gave them to us when we got out of the tuk tuk and had to walk past the massage parlors." "Why did I do that?" I ask flabbergasted. "You said you would be too tempted to trade your phone or credit cards or something like that," he responds. "But what about the cash?" I follow up logically. "Haha man I don't know- I think you spent that way early like around the boxing cuz Brian bought your beers at the next place." I am too confused to bother inquiring as to what other place he meant and, much more importantly, I'm fighting the steady upward march of my so carefully consumed Singhas. 

"Is it cool if I go up and get my stuff from Brian?" I ask. "Sure man, let's do it." he replies and in a flash we're leaping up the stairs. "Brian" graciously returns my items and everything is there with the distinct exception of any cash. I thank him and the blond giant profusely, stagger from the hostel, and notice an internet cafe immediately across the street offering 10 minutes of free internet.

I enter and tactfully use the minutes on my mobile to email Jon and tell him I'm alive and post a picture of the boxing arena which "Brian" had said we were near. I tell him that I'm in the cafe across the street and to come find me. I feel terrible. Real terrible. But, I remind myself, "you're breathing, you've sustained no serious injuries, you've got all your belongings, and you've contacted someone to locate you." And to top it off, the nice lady running the cafe lets me charge my phone while I sit.

All I really want to do at this point is doze off until Jon can rescue me. But after what seems like forever, but is probably less than an hour, the woman running the internet cafe beckons me to follow her down the street. 'What bit of intrigue could this seemingly random errand possibly entail?' I wonder as I begrudgingly shuffle after her down the street. She leads me only a few meters to a massage parlor. "Massage for you? Very cheap." She says almost pleadingly.

I attempt to tell her I have no cash and that I'm waiting for my friend but it's a fool's errand. She simply won't be refused. A haggling process begins and before I know it we're down to a very reasonable price. In my excitement I take a picture and send it to Jon updating my location (at which no point does it occur to me to find myself on google maps and give an exact location). The beast is back. He's foaming at the mouth. Gonzo mode.

That said, I still have no cash. I stand in a bit of a confused stupor as to how to proceed before the (now obvious) realization hits me that I have an ATM card. Double eureka! "I'll be right back- need baht." I say as I storm out the door. I round the corner and trudge past a 7-Eleven where I find an ATM. I withdraw what I feel is just enough baht for my massage and a few beers. The true irony of this, in hindsight, is obviously that with a phone and ATM card I could have easily navigated my way back to the hostel... but, dear reader, please recall that your humble narrator was in Gonzo mode and the beast was now running the show.

I start to make my way back to the parlor. It's at this point that, rounding the 7-Eleven I run into none other than Jon-himself who has left the cafe and was duly searching for the massage parlor. I insist that he takes a picture of me to commemorate our reunion.

I then inform him of the deal awaiting at the massage parlor and we pound sand in that direction. I am relieved to be found, and he is nearly as relieved to have found me as to be able to get a reasonably priced massage. We laugh heartily and deeply. He tells me to never do that again and I promise upon the condition we never return to Bangkok, or if we do then I'm not to be held responsible for my actions. The pact is agreed. Inside the massage parlor the usual massage parlor antics are parlayed into the usual post-massage parlor antics and we depart and go see a movie, what we feel will be a lighthearted end to an otherwise savage journey.

Our train the next day doesn't leave until the evening. I take that opportunity to sleep and sleep and sleep some more. We (I) awake just in time to check out at noon and we putz around the Ryokan (a name which I obviously love) Hostel until nearly time to make our way to the station. Before departing Bangkok we make time for a final Pepper Lunch at a nearby mall. We relish in our time in the city. What was once lost has now been found. What was once unleashed, now safely caged. As I eat my pepper beef with rice my mind is again calm despite the dull penetrative throbbing in my brain and muscles, the most telling byproduct of a horrific bender.

Bangkok is a bit like Las Vegas. When you get off the plane you are so wound up all you can think about is how awesome of a time you're going to have and how fired up you are to be there. And, symmetrically, when you leave all you can think about is how lucky you are to have survived and how grateful you are to be leaving. And so, after two plus days of succumbing to the beast within, I leave you with the only photo taken within a more than 48 hour period, from March 8th through the 10th, the train platform as we leave Bangkok.

Oh, ok, and a nice one of the Palace at sunset. It's not all monsters, kids. Just mostly.