My eyes snapped open instantly. Huh, I thought, waking with the roosters. I really only thought that happened in movies. Guess not. I looked over at my cell phone, an alarm set for thirty minutes later, now rendered useless by the natural process of this place. No, Western Girl, you don't need a cell phone to wake up, not here.
At about four thirty in the morning, in the complete absence of light, in a small room in the thick heat of a small Bangkok suburb miles from the city, a merry band of roosters began to crow outside of my window. Just outside my window. They did so insistently, constantly; I half expected one of them to scratch through my window and peck me awake, a look in his eye saying, "time to train, get up, RUN!"
Soon after, the steady beat of body parts smacking bags streamed through my window. Every three minutes or so, the sound of a bell (the old-school kind, rung by hand, nothing electronic) punctuated the grunts and exertions of the men training and the coaches yelling outside. Just outside my window. The world of Muay Thai, just a short walk outside my bedroom door.
I heard far more of Bangkok before I ever saw it. I arrived in the middle of the night, midnight to be exact, after a seventeen hour journey by airplane; a three hour layover in Japan sandwiched between two seven-hour flights. I hardly remember the airport in Tokyo. I remember shuffling around in a circle, dazed, hulking luggage awkwardly, ready to shank someone for a bottle of water and a comfortable place to sit. Soup, I thought, water. LORD GIVE ME SOUP. WATER. LIQUIDS. NOW. I stopped my no doubt super sexy zombie walk in front of a glowing airport restaurant sign illuminated with giant, detailed pictures of authentic Japanese Soba and teriyaki chicken. Bottles of water tucked away neatly in a tiny counter fridge, standing regimented in Romaji-written rows like soldiers ready to fight the exhaustion of travel. Beckoning me, calling to me; drink, and you shall be restored. Stop. Rest.
Stop and rest I did. I ate like a sick child, tired, slurping soup slowly and oblivious to the world around me for a few moments of blissful relief. When I eventually stood up to leave, a few Japanese girls gasped in awe at my stuffed killer whale (named Shmu) tucked under my arm. They approached me excitedly and asked me something in Japanese, pointing to Shmu with giant smiles. "SeaWorld, San Diego," I said. Nothing but blank stares. I tried something more general. "Uhh, California." This got knowing nods and exclamations; "Ohhhh, California! Dolphin, yes?" The tour guide in me couldn't help it. I pointed to Shmu with my best tour guide smile and said, "killer whale, orca." They were positively ecstatic at this information. I let them pet Shmu for a few minutes. Then, with some energy renewed and a single-mindedness to get to Bangkok, I turned over my empty bowls and headed for the next flight.
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| Hot Japanese Soba Noodles and Teriyaki Chicken, Narita Airport, Japan |
I should mention here that these were my fist international flights, so I was also pleasantly surprised at the fact that I got served free hot food. All of my domestic flights have never done this; usually, it's just a small, overpriced deli menu of fruit and cheese plates and wine. You can see how thoroughly I enjoyed this little perk:
Thank you, Delta Airlines. I also appreciated the small screen provided for each seat which allowed me to play unlimited movies, TV, and chart where the flight was at:
When I finally arrived at the airport in Suvarnabhumi, I longed for a bed and a good night's sleep. I stepped off the plane and the heat and humidity hit me like a punch to the face. I was squeezed onto a packed bus to the terminal, all of us tired and sweating on each other. Drops of water fell on my shoulder. The air conditioning unit dripped moisture down in a slow stream. I eventually met up with and found the escort from the gym who would pick me up. After a brief introduction, we took a taxi to the camp for about forty minutes. I was useless during this time, half-awake, half-listening to the gym instructor-escort and taxi driver laugh and talk jovially in Thai. I paid him, got a room and a key, and I practically fell onto the bed, lights out cold.
This morning, as I lay in the dark and listened in awe to the sounds of this new reality, I could feel the truth of that presence just outside my window with all the senses aside from sight; I could hear it, I could smell it as Thai cooking from the gym kitchen, I could touch it in the rough feel of the sheets, I could taste it in the humid air. A dream finally made real.
Some moments, when the reality of a major decision sets in, you question if what you did was right. If it at all made sense.
This was not one of those moments - there was absolutely no question, laying there in the dark on a typical Bangkok Thursday morning. As I felt the day bloom around me, I felt a sense of excitement, belonging and content before I even set foot outside. This was it. No more planning to be done. I had set up the door, now all I had to do was literally walk through it, go outside, and begin.
So I did.
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