The Backpacker by John Harris Page B

lectures, and when we boarded it was so crowded that we were unable to sit near each other. Throughout the whole journey, however, I could still hear Dave’s American ‘whoops’ and ‘damns’ like he was riding a horse in a rodeo. Suzy seemed to have nodded off but he just kept talking all the same, going from one subject to another without any common thread to join them together, or any real point to what he was saying.
    â€˜Hey, John!
    I flicked my head to him and his hand shot up as if I needed visual help to locate his position on an otherwise silent bus.
    â€˜Where you headed? Suzy an’ me, we’re going to–’ he ducked down, apparently checking something, and after a second his head reappeared, ‘Khao San Road. How about yourself?’
    I checked a piece of paper I’d scribbled an address on and looked up. ‘Banglamphu.’
    Dave’s neck extended above the headrest in surprise before it shot back down to check the name I’d given him. A moment later he raised a hand, giving an OK sign.
    The bus journey took hours. What I’d taken to be a thirty-minute ride was turning into an epic, and after an hour and a half of traffic snarl-ups the bus broke down. It seemed like India all over again. For some reason the radiator cap on Bangkok buses is on the inside so when they overheat, as ours did, and the driver unscrewed it, Mount Vesuvius erupted sending a cloud of steam down the aisle. Panic-stricken, the entire occupants of the bus bolted for the door causing a bottleneck of frantic, writhing bodies that eventually spilled out onto the pavement.
    â€˜Not a good start, huh?’ I said, sitting on my bag at the side of the road.
    Suzy put her bag down and sat on the kerb next to me. ‘What a night,’ she huffed, and offered me a stick of chewing gum. ‘What time is it, Dave?’
    Dave was dancing around the bus catching raindrops in his upturned palms and rubbing them into his face. He looked at his watch. ‘Midnight – BKT. Woo-hoo!’
    I frowned at Suzy. ‘BKT?’
    â€˜Big Kok Time. Calls Bangkok the Big Kok,’ and added by way of an explanation, ‘He’s from New York.’
    I paused, unwrapping the gum, and said, ‘You two together?’
    â€˜Um, not really, just happened to get talking on the plane that’s all. You’re alone, right?’
    â€˜Yep, just me and my bag.’
    â€˜Cool.’ She fiddled with the strap of her boots before continuing. ‘Not going to Khao San Road with the rest of the hoards then? What’s the name of that place you said earlier, Bang–?’
    â€˜Banglamphu. I don’t know anything about it, just a tip-off.’
    â€˜Don’t you have a guidebook?’
    I shook my head and smiled.
    After a two-hour wait in which we got drenched to the bone sitting at the roadside discussing our travel plans, Dave catching rain on his tongue, another bus finally pulled up and we boarded. ‘Listen John,’ Suzy whispered to me as I turned up the aisle towards the only empty seat, ‘I’m only staying here a couple of days and then heading south to the islands. We can go together.’
    I shrugged. ‘All right. We’re bound to bump into each other over the next few days, so I’ll speak to you then.’ I walked away and she went down to join Dave at the front of the bus.
    Had I known that Banglamphu was at one end of Khao San Road I wouldn’t have said that we would bump into each other. I wanted to see Bangkok and go south alone. So when the driver stopped the bus an hour later and said that we were at Khao San Road and Banglamphu, I pretended that I knew where I was and told him to go on. Dave and Suzy got off and I stayed, alighting at the following stop.
    The bus pulled away in a cloud of black smoke and I stood, taking in the scene around me for a minute, before slinging the bag over my shoulder and moving off to find a