Khao San Road, Bangkok



In the “tourist ghetto” of Thanon Khao San, Banglamphu, young backpackers seeing Asia on the cheap crowd into three-dollar hotel rooms and sit at cafés drinking tall bottles of Singha Beer while they listen to the latest pop hits from back home. This is the crossroads, and all are on their way to somewhere else - up-country, to Chiang Mai or down to Koh Samui; out-of-country, to India or Nepal, Malaysia or Indonesia, China or Vietnam. Along the sidewalks, black-market street vendors sell bootleg cassette tapes and counterfeit Rolex watches; tourist bureaux offer guided tours of the sex shows and massage parlors on Patpong Road; and from portable barbecue grills on the street you can buy pieces of meat, steaming, on bamboo skewers.

In a cafe next to the Happy Face Guest House, you sit drinking the juice from a chilled coconut through a straw; and reading today’s issue of the Bangkok Post, Thailand’s English-language newspaper. Three nights ago, according to one story, a train in Cambodia - on its way into Phnom Penh from the Thai border - was blown off the rails when the line was bombed by members of the Khmer Rouge. Afterwards, as the dead and injured bodies of the passengers littered the ground alongside the tracks, KR men went from one to the next, stealing whatever money or objects of value they could find. According to one survivor, those who protested the robberies were told to shut up and be thankful that they were still alive. The next day, when the KR publicly took credit for carrying out the attack, they explained that their rationale for doing so was that “it was a Vietnamese train”. In related stories on the same page, allegations are explored regarding covert aid received by the KR from the American CIA; and a report is given on the continuing problem of accidental deaths of civilians from stepping on previously-unexploded land mines and morter shells.

At the bottom corner of the page is a small map, for the reader’s reference in following recent events in Cambodia. By measuring the distance on the map against the mileage scale with the edge of a matchbook, you find that the border of Cambodia is less than two hours’ drive from where you are sitting right now.

You finish your coconut and get up to leave; and from the stereo speakers in the café, Madonna is singing, Like a Virgin.



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