Thailand and Images of Tibet
As seems to be the norm when I am in the region of a globally recognised disaster I have seen nothing of it, a situation for which I am eternally grateful to the overseer of world disasters and pray that it may long continue to be this so. I understand that one third of Thailand is flooded and yet here I sit in the centre of Bangkok looking up at a blue sky and enjoying the cooler than usual air. Yesterday, following a visit to the barber*, I strolled down to the Chao Prayha River. By golly the water is high, but due to a network of canals and irrigation my little corner of Bangkok is dry.
Although Samsen has been lucky enough to avoid any flooding 7Eleven has had no large bottles of water for days and the girl at the café where I took breakfast this morning tells me she bought the last two bottles of milk yesterday. Supplies are struggling to get through.
So my initial plan of checking out a route from Thailand’s Issan Province into and through southern Lao to Cambodia and onto the temples of Siem Riep (Angkor Wat) and back into Thailand across a remote and newly opened border has been postponed until either the weather subsides or Mike sends me a kayak.
For now then I shall head south to Phuket to check out some details of my Thailand Winter Escape tour. Places are filling up and there are some details I wish to be sure of.
For now I shall leave you with a few more images of my recent ride through Tibet.
*Those who recall the story of my Bangkok barber may be interested in an update. The elder of the three has now slowed to a pace best timed with a calendar as he circles his hapless victim. The instability of age has caught up with his eroding granite like velocity and several times as he makes his way from the right side of his customer’s head to the left he slumps forward with a disturbing jolt. He was administering a shave when I was there, still is I suspect, and I watched with morbid fascination as he saved himself from tumbling by grappling at the mans head whilst still maintaining a tight grip on the cut-throat razor. The other two barbers have seen none of this yet as by the time the noise of the fall has been interpreted by their senses to something worthy of observation and they have turned to see what is happening the old fellow is back on his feet and continuing his circumnavigation of the beard as though nothing has happened. I cannot help but wondering if in days gone by Vincent Van Gough ever visited a barber in Bangkok, it could explain a lot.