To Thailand alone
- Well, go to your TAI, - says the wife, - and I'm going to Egypt with a friend.
- Well, that's agreed, - I quickly answer, - to Egypt, so to Egypt.
Having received the go-ahead from my wife, I begin to prepare my little extreme.
Step one is the Internet.
So something, but I can rake the "world wide web". A week later I already know that I need to go only myself; decide where and how. Required: a ticket, a small set of Thai expressions, swimming trunks, a T-shirt, jeans, wedges with closed heels, as well as sunblock and a camera.
Step two - booking (although it is not necessary to book a room in TAE, there are no problems with housing even in season).
Just in case, at work, I asked for a certificate of fucking income, which has nothing to do with the truth, and asked a colleague who knows English well to book a room on the Internet in some hotel in Bangkok (BKK). The only thing you need to make a reservation is to pay for the order right away. Fortunately, not everyone in the world has linguistic cretinism.
Literally half an hour later I had a confirmation of the reservation in my hands.
“Volodya, you just don’t show your knowledge of English to anyone there, ” colleagues empathize with sadness and pity, “and as soon as you get lost there, call right away.
Step three is the ticket.
The main criterion is cheaper. The cheapest ones are on Turkmen Airlines (Turkmen). Fly with a change in Ashgabat. But when you face the choice of Aeroflot for a piece of dollars or Turkmen for five hundred and fifty, internationalism wins: I extend my hand to the fraternal Turkmen people - I take it for five hundred.
By the way, almost one monopoly travel agency, the ITM group, sells tickets for Turkmen Airlines. If someone else also trades, then through it with allowances. And if in the off-season you can still buy a ticket for "Turkmen", then in the New Year only tours, and three times more expensive than usual.
Step four (the easiest) - Domodedovo.
The main thing here is not to be late.
I'm sitting at the airport, waiting for the flight. Women with trunks float past, men with huge suitcases. With my barely filled bag on my shoulder, they look at me like a goblin. The only understanding is in the eyes of a Thai stewardess, who flies past me in the company of Thai Airlines employees like her.
Well, here it is on board. Fed for slaughter, booze. Boeing is brand new. So complaining is a sin.
Frontiers of the Soviet Motherland.
In Ashgabat - four hours in the transit hall, under the watchful eyes of soldiers in the uniform of the design of the SA from the times of the USSR.
Stuffy. Someone starts to sour, someone sleeps. In addition to the same low-budget fellow citizens like me, there are many Indians in the hall, a few Chinese and a couple of newlyweds - a tall European and a Thai. They're cooing right behind me. Pale-faced, apparently from Holland. Amsterdam often slips into the speech. On the plane, I ignored them. It's actually pretty cool.
What brought these freaks to Muscovy is not clear. Also, apparently, extreme sportsmen.
Published beginning: "It's cold today, +28 °C. "
The second part of the flight takes place in finding out who in Russia has a good life. An elderly Russian couple sits next to me. He is the chief engineer of one of the gas enterprises in Ashgabat, she is a housewife. The gas office is controlled by some American concern. So Grigorych makes good money. On the hand "Rolex", with his wife traveled half the world. Grigorych's homeland is Nizhny Novgorod, and he lived all his life in Ashgabat.
“And who the hell will prove to me that there is a better place, ” the neighbor proudly declares.
Yes, I'm not going to. Grigorich knows better. All his children scattered around the world: some settled in Moscow, some in the States. There is something to compare.
We sign the peace treaty by rolling up a cup of "Hennessy XO", Grigorych takes out a bottle from a voluminous bag. Pours directly into plastic tea cups. We have a bite of blood-red horse sausage.
- There is no better sausage in the world, - Grigoryich assures, - and in our country it is practically only made at one plant. My friends bring me.
Sausage under "Hennessy" goes with a bang. In addition to meat, she smells of something long forgotten - Soviet ...
And finally, the long-awaited:
The plane landed at Bangkok International Airport. The crew says goodbye to you, enjoy your holiday. It's cold in Bangkok today. Temperature outside: +28 degrees.
We roll with Grigorich on the road and scatter. They are in Pattaya, in some cool resort. I'm planning on throwing the dice at the BKK. Grigorych's wife is left with a gift from me - all my sunscreens: she forgot hers at home.
Labyrinth for a sucker. Exit, wow!
Alas, the attempt to save time upon arrival failed. I'm trying to find a way out, and here the farang's wanderings begin (read - "going through the throes").
The Thais working in the arrivals hall smile happily, shake my hand, say something, and ...they all point in different directions. The Chinese, Indians, and even more so the Thais look at the Russian freak with stunned eyes as an idiot. And all the Russians fell through the ground. Completely exhausted, I sit down right on the floor at some inconspicuous passage. And then the same couple slips past me - a farang and a taika. And what if ...I follow them: turn, one more - and lo and behold! In front of me is another hall: crowds of greeters, taxis, hubbub and hubbub.
Hooray, hello Bangkok!
I go out into the street. The smell of burning and flowers is in the air. I take the first available taxi - and forward. I learned the necessary phrase back in Moscow: “Karuna, Bangkok, Sukhumvit Road, soi disib, Royl Parkviw Hotel”, which means “please, st. Sukhumvit, Lane 20, Royl Parkviw Hotel. The taxi driver, smiling, presses on the gas, and we rush headlong onto the highway. The airport terminal is hidden behind an overpass.
And at that moment I feel uncomfortable again (as they say, God loves a trinity). I understand with horror that when my vacation comes to an end, with my knowledge of languages, it will not be easy to explain to the taxi driver that I need to go to the airport. Bangkok is stunning: skyscrapers and pagodas, concrete subway overpasses flying into the sky, cafes, macaroons, street vendors, slums and giant business centers! The taxi driver at first tries to ask something, but, looking at the stupidly smiling farang, he says something like: “Hey, farang! ”(Thais call white people farangs, foreigners - goof, in short, but without offense, with understanding) and refuses the idea of talking to me.
Here is finally our "jay" and my hotel Royl Parkview - huge, stuffed with Indians and Chinese. Now I will meet Russians only in a week in Pattaya. I go to the reception and for 10 minutes on my fingers I try to explain to the duty officer that my room has already been booked and paid for.
After 15 minutes, apparently the shift supervisor comes up to the counter and, taking my printer printout of the armor, peers at the English letters for a long time. Understands, apparently, exactly as much as I do. But in Moscow they assured me that this leaflet was a confirmation of the reservation, and I was not going to refuse 140 bucks (35 per day per room). In the end, I circle the week on the calendar, the elder nods and hands me the key to the room. I sit in the elevator and go up to the 14th floor. The room is nothing, clean, fresh sheets, spacious enough, a safe in the room (opened with the same card as the room), TV, refrigerator, bath, huge bed and a window with a BKK view. Why not thrill?
"Massage, massage"
Now change clothes, take a shower - and go. However, all attempts to arrange for the reception to wash and iron my shirt come to nothing, damn it. I go up to the 9th, where, judging by the picture in the elevator, there is a pool and massage. Premonition, as always, did not deceive.
There are three Thai masseuses sitting there:
- Massage, massage. Sam swarm baht (300 baht)!
From the "masyazh" refuse. She agrees to wash and iron the shirt - the eldest of the masseuses - for only 20 baht.
- Krapun krap (thank you), - we part satisfied with each other.
I follow my jay towards Sukhumvit. On the left is a construction site, and on the right, underfoot, there is a storm drain and this smell, the smell of sewage and rotten water. Someone spits, someone plugs their nose, smelling this rotten aroma, but this is Bangkok's business card, its bauble, and without this smell there is no BKK. Gradually you get used to it, you begin to breathe in with all your chest, and a few days after returning to Russia, you begin to dream about it at night.
Bangkok stalkers
I catch a taxi on Sukhumvit and rush to the center. "Wat Po" - everyone understands. By the way, almost every third car in BKK is a taxi. You catch "checkers" and fly where you need to. Wat Po pops up unexpectedly, colorful chedis.
I pay the taxi driver and hobble to the monastery.
Required insert:
I must say that I came to TAI lame. A couple of months before the trip, I went skiing and jumped from a springboard. He landed abruptly, something cracked in his ankle ...After that he could walk, but only with an elastic bandage. I put off going to the doctors: I hobble, and okay. I must say that every day the leg hurt more and more. Each step sent a sharp pain up my leg. And yet the trip did not postpone. I hoped for a Russian maybe, but I had to have a Thai masseuse ...
Fight fire with fire
The monastery, I must say, is a miracle, but about it - in every second review and in all guidebooks. Therefore, I will not stop. I immediately started looking for a school of traditional Thai massage. It is in this monastery that the most famous massage school in TAE is located. Wat Po is the forge of knowledge and the guardian of all traditions.
Well, on idly dangling farangs, students hone their skills. Found quickly. 450 baht - and I'm already in my pajamas and on the couch (Thai traditional massage is not done on the naked body).
An elderly masseuse was assigned to me. The woman smiled, said a prayer, grabbed my foot and pressed her thumb on the most painful place. I've been sweating. I somehow explained to the masseuse on my fingers that I seem to have a broken leg and I need to be more careful, she pretended to understand ...
Then something started. Forgetting everything else, the “sadist” kneaded my leg for an hour. I have tears from the pain stream. I think what the hell am I doing. Now the final p ...ts has come to me. I can fucking walk. The leg was completely numb from pain. I don't remember the next massage. Held on with all his might...
At the exit from the barracks, smiling girls handed me a glass of cold green tea. He drank and, cursing everything in the world, wandered to the exit.
That's where it got me. I feel nausea, I'm about to vomit. And I’m standing in the middle of the monastery: asphalt, trimmed bushes. Well, I rushed for these bushes. In short, it cleared me specifically. A couple of liters of bile came out of a cup of tea, and pieces. I made my way to the bench and sat down. He caught his breath and went to the hotel. I swam in the pool and went to bed. I lay down and then remembered: after all, my leg hurt, and now it’s not a damn thing! Jumped - nothing. Injuries were gone. From that day on, I forgot about my leg. I flew across TAYU. I wouldn't have believed it myself if it hadn't happened to me.
Good luck! If anything, write to the soap vovany@mail. en