As the train pulled out of the Bangkok railway station, I was riveted by the scene that flowed past my window. Hundreds of shacks, crammed haphazardly together, their roofs a patchwork of corrugated tin strips weighed down by boards and stones, wedged themselves between the tracks and back wall of the building behind. Strewn with refuse, crowded, they were inhabited by men, women and children sitting on the ground, on heaps and bags, on scruffy blankets, all watching the train go by. Through and around and on top of these shacks hopefully sprung fresh bougainvillea with brilliant papery pink flowers, their delicate beauty a startling contrast to the black and grey and brown of filth.
The train paused on a bridge over a muddy, fast-flowing river. I watched a young boy of about seven years, who was perched precariously on the edge of an open-sided, wooden deck, dip a net on a long pole into the swirling water 15 feet below. His bright pink shorts a second, startling pink punctuation mark in the squalid scene. A fear of falling clutched at my heart, despite the nonchalance of his pose.
Those first dark images lasted just a few moments, as the scene gave way to tree-lined streets, and finally countryside as we left the city. I turned my attention to the bustle inside the car as it filled with passengers, each finding their single, assigned seat, dragging an assortment of bags, suitcases and parcels tied with nylon string. A steady stream of vendors got on and off at each stop, carrying beer, soft drinks and Thai whiskey in buckets of ice; cut fruit in baggies, doughy confections, newspapers and shelled peanuts.
We spent the evening in the dining car - a collection of old tables and chairs and an open kitchen, located at the back end of the train – drinking Thai whisky and soda with ice. Surprisingly delicious food emerged from the basic kitchen: seafood salad, chicken with cashews nuts, stir-fried vegetables, all napped in their own sauce. The wooden-framed windows, pushed half way down, let in thankfully-moving air and the loud rush and rattle of the train wheels, echoing off the landscape outside. We sat talking as the light faded to black and swallowed everything except for the rocking room in which we sat. At 10, when the car closed, we wobbled back to our 2nd class car to find our seats had been converted to upper and lower single bunks, each tightly wrapped in clean white sheets.
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