Travel Diary #2: Kanchanaburri

Same, same… but different

Yes folks, were back in B’kok yet again but I’d rather start the blog by showing yet another photo of a beautiful Thai sunset, this time taken from the front of our floating river hut in Kanchanaburri, about 200m down the river from the infamous ‘Bridge over the river Kwai’ (which just isn’t as impressive in real life as it is in the movie – probably the lack of B52 bombers, who knows).

Note: Photograph has been lost in the ether.

We decided not to catch the farang laden minibus to Kanchanaburri as the Thai drivers have a tendency to fall asleep at the wheel (our’s did on the way to Kho Chang – even a bottle of ephedrine laden Thai Red Bull didn’t stop his eyes from closing over!) so, our chosen mode of transport this time was… surprise, surprise, a 3rd class ticket on a sleepy train that rolls through some absolutely beautiful landscapes.

Of course, we arrived at the station in B’kok astonishingly early (by only 2 hours!) but we’re kept entertained by an assortment of Buddhist monks, stall holders and station workers, all terribly interested in the Digital camera – shiny happy people indeed (except the Buddhist monk who managed to keep an air of solemn respectability throughout).

Two of the stations platforms have been turned into a bustling morning fish market, so, by midday, the smell of rotting fish heads is quite nauseating indeed (which is why I only managed to take three photo’s before running for the relatively stench-free waiting area).

In true Thai tradition though, the train station in which you purchase the tickets is NOT the station from which the train leaves. This means a quick ride on a shuttle bus to ‘the new station’ and a frenzied five minutes attempting to find the correct train… something that’s certainly not mentioned in the Lonely Planet guidebook !

Three hours and one friend later (howdy Heston) the train finally rolled into Kanchanaburri station where, as usual, an assortment of Tuk tuk and Tri-cycle drivers assault the travel weary.

Kanchanaburri is described as ‘a sleepy little back water’ in most of the guide books and, in comparison to B’kok, I suppose this can be said to be true. Even sleepy little backwaters cater for farang tastes these days and so the choice of accommodation on offer is quite astounding. Myself and Anne settled into a floating raft hut made from oil drums, tin sheets and bamboo lattice (for a whole $2 a night), met up with Heston and drank a few Singa beers while a blood Orange sunset painted the sky in front of us… sometimes life is dam good indeed!

The next day and Anne had me on one of the poorest excuses for a bicycle in the world, pottering around the immediate area, past the infamous “Bridge over the river Kwai”, fields of sweet Basil, buffaloes, rice paddies and Banana plantations. After dismounting a few hours later, I was immediately reminded of a statement uttered by our Camel driver in Rajestan, India, as he blatantly pointed to my crotch – “Broken eggs sir ?”

Broken eggs indeed !

Encouraged by my fit of athletic bicycle activity, Anne, Heston, our next door neighbour Rennae (howdy Gal – sorry if I spelt your name incorrectly) and myself rented two large plastic Kayaks and traversed a postcard worthy 12km journey down the river Kwai.

This took us under the famous bridge and neatly avoided all contact with the hordes of day-tripper tourists that clamber to get their smiling picture taken on a structure which cost the lives of an estimated 140000 people. Upset by people’s total lack of respect for the bridge’s history, my ‘compulsory tourist photo’ has me looking rather glum and downbeat (but at least I’m in it this time Mum!).

Being a glutton for punishment, I then agreed to trek up to the seventh tier of a milky Turquoise coloured waterfall situated in the nearby National Park, again with Anne and Heston leading the way. Unfortunately, yet another tropical storm decided to grace us with it’s presence (just as soon as we reached the seventh teir of course), washing away the track and leaving us spending two hours clambering down precarious slippery slopes to the bottom tier again – soaked to the skin and covered in National Park mud.

Well, that’s about all for this update. Today we head North to the old capitol Ayutaya (spelling ?) before jumping on a sleeper train to Chang Mai so updates may be few and far between for a week or so.