Tales from Khao San Road, Hooka Havoc

The time had finally come when a friend from university and I would cross paths in Bangkok. Upon realizing that I was in the country he was backpacking through I was excited at the idea of an overseas reunion. Since I moved to the city we had been close to meeting up, but it was yet to happen. Today was our day, and with the next day being a public holiday it was bound to get rowdy.

I waited for Dino outside of the Chatuchak subway station to unload the big bus that was bringing him. This place is truly a transportation hub. Drivers holding destination signs calling out to prospective passengers to load thirteen or more people into minivans headed to outlying districts. Droves of commuters transferring between the subway and sky train. Taxis, motorbikes and city buses creeping through to grab passengers.  I was getting antsy as the time passed his expected arrival by over twenty minutes. At last I saw a bohemian looking young man, tan and as rough as the road had made him. A fedora covered his buzzed dome, and a six month old beard covered his jovial face. After hugs and greetings we continued the conversation in a taxi headed for his friend's house, exchanging tidbits of linguistic and cultural observation on the way. We exited and grabbed beers at small family shop as we walked down a quiet and dimly lit alley toward the house. Our spirits were high and our conversation was continuous. He had been on the road through a handful of countries for about eight months, and I had only been in Thailand (my first ever trip abroad) for two and a half months. His stories were like the words of Kerouac falling on the ears of eager young beatniks listening attentively.

Bright eyed and bushy ... bearded

As our conversation led into how we should celebrate the night, he mentioned how he enjoyed going to Khao San Road (the place where Leo starts out in The Beach) as he added anecdotes of nights out to support our move in that direction. I was familiar with the place to the extent that I had been there a couple of times, but was still relatively naive to the place I would eventually know as the epicenter of international backpacker night life. Off we went to go enjoy socializing with transients and heckling drunks, something that our personalities are quite suited for. We started with a snack to coat our stomachs and then went to a 7-11 for the street's cheapest large bottled beer, 22oz for about $1.50. Now it was time to walk up and down the street observing all the untamed sights that the street offered.

Eventually we sat down at an outdoor table where we could share shisha and view the sites of the international vagabonds intertwining with the locals. Within minutes we were getting approached by the infamous Mr KhaoSan, an eccentric man with a face that says he is of forty and a spirit that says he is a teen. Upon first glance you might think that he is on his way to a rave, with his loud colors, patterned attire, big women's sunglasses, headband tied around his head and tassels hanging down from the back of his head. He wants us to buy ganja but we are all too familiar with the scams of selling what someone can't see for an all too high price. We aren't having it but he is insisting. As he continues to disappear and reappear we continue to turn him away, and he hovers while talking to security, hoping that his presence will wear us thin. In retrospect, this may have been the first step toward our night's conflict.

Mr KhaoSan and Dino

Dino and I continued taking turns buying rounds from 7-11. I mean, it was the cheapest price, and we weren't here to impress anyone with how much more expensive we could afford to pay for the exact same thing. So we smoked the bar's shisha, sipped our convenience store Chang's and engaged some friendly heckling in effort to win people over with our sarcastic charms. First, it was the two European girls. Medical students that had been doing some of their interning at hospitals in Asia. They departed after a quick chat and some shisha, and were quickly replaced by the English gap-year kids. They were indulging us in tales of the wild partying they managed between volunteer projects that they had done while backpacking through the region. What gap-years commonly do before they head back home and start university. Following them were some loud and well drunk American college boys. One had his shirt off revealing a pretty ugly tattoo of a black sheep on his shoulder, which was fresh ink. They quickly left and some nice Canadian guys joined the table. We continued on until the gap-years left and it was us four guys in our mid-twenties sharing stories and thoughts about most every topic that passed through our heads. Dino got up to go inside ands relieve himself, and that is when things got interesting.

At this time nobody had ordered drinks from the bar hosting the street side table. We just got the shisha. While puffing from the hose I see a young attractive western girl talking to the security guy in front of the bar. Of course I didn't think anything of it at the time. Who would have? Within a few minutes the girl had sat with us, and the Canadian guys are entertaining her while I took a phone call. I got up from the table so I might have a chance to hear whoever was on the other end of the line. After talking for a moment, I was wrapping up the call so I could return to the table. As I face the table I see the girl nudge it quite intentionally, sending the hooka to the pavement. Immediately the security guard is up my nose confronting me for an amount of money that could have replaced three hookas. He wants 4000 Thai Baht, or about USD $120. Without a doubt the fee was outrageously high, even for a shisha aficionado. I'm not having it, so we continue to bicker back and forth as I have no idea how this is about to end.

Dino returns and approaches this confrontation with haste, which has three security guards involved now, and he is met with the fists of one of the security guards landing firmly on his face. I quickly grab him by the back of his shirt and pull him away from the blows, followed by some face to face screaming. I don't know why he got hit and I didn't, but I still feel like I deserved it more than he did. Security continues demanding the same sum of money and we are both convinced that we aren't paying it. Dino discretely says to me that we'll have to run to get out of this, and tells me to be aware of our chance. Seconds later, with at least five security guards surrounding us now, another security guard exits the bar dragging a tall Swedish guy on his ass. This was our chance. As soon as the security guards diverted their attention to the second conflict, we split! I ran to the side of the road and jumped behind one of the many stalls selling whatever nonsense can be pawned off to someone with impaired judgement. I took the next left down an alley, running as fast as I could in sandals. Before I made it to the end, one came off. I went back for it feeling like I was going to see guards rounding the corner any second, and that was when I realized Dino and I were separated. I turned down the next street after the alley ended, crossed it and then went down another alley, sat behind a heap of broken furniture and rubbish, then started calling Dino as I listened for approaching footsteps.

Paranoia is hitting me heavily as I come out of the alley and assume any headlights I see are possibly out to get me. I keep calling Dino. After trying for more than ten minutes, I realize I'm not going to reach him and it is well into the morning hours. I decide to take a taxi back home. A few minutes after reaching my apartment I receive a call from Dino. He tells me he ran straight down the street through the crowd and was caught. The security guards surrounded him and took him to the ground with fists and feet. Punches and kicks riddled his body until one of the Canadian guys agreed to pay the requested sum just so the guards would stop. At the end of my friends recount he reminds me that he has a flight back to the US that day and will have to endure the trip with his fresh bruises and cuts. No doubt excruciating and mildly humiliating. I still feel that it should have been me that got the beating, but I'll never know why it wasn't.

It was shocking to see how fast things changed. Having clear memories from the night, I now believe that Mr KhaoSan shared less than kind words about us to the security guard. I believe that the young girl that tipped over the hooka was propositioned by the guard to create a opportunity for extortion. I believe that the reason for our troubles was mostly because we weren't the run of the mill foreigners spending money on whatever we looked at, namely the ganja and drinks. Most of all, I believed that this place was not at all what I had imagined and I won't be going back ... that is until I do.