A Pit Stop in the Lap of Luxury

Learning that I only had a single-entry visa and that returning from Cambodia next week would require thousands of baht and potential sexual favors to a corrupt Thai customs officer, I spent a fitful night in a room in Ayuthaya with a fan that sounded like it was going to eat you in your sleep, a bathroom with a cochroach in the undrainable drain and missing tiles that pooled with water, heightening a stench not unlike that of Bad Breath Beth from my childhood video rental place. Yet that was all fine... I’ve been roughing it, and roughing it with Paige provides giggles and amusement that would be deeply lacking if I were alone. We missed the train by a few minutes, which left us to wait on the platform for an extra hour, giving me time to admire some very fashionable French girls and get hit on by a “fellow Muslim”. A little harmless-looking old man, who perhaps caught me eyeing his skirt came and plopped down next to me as Paige was about to leave for food. He started with the usual, “where you go?” but then it was quickly followed by, “I’m Muslim, like you!” I laughed, this was a new one. “Well, I’m not Muslim, but that is wonderful for you!” I doubted his sincerity, though perhaps the crumpled felt on his head could have passed for a fez… just a wannabe Arab? Catching myself before questioning the role of dress in Muslimhood (if I saw a woman in a headscarf would I doubt her sincerity?), he continued, “I life you”. “You live where?” I asked, feigning innocence. “No, he loves you”, Paige helpfully translated, looking at him suspiciously. Thank you, Queen Subtle (as he nodded abundantly in response). Friendly skirt-wearing, teeth-missing, staring Muslim aside, our journey back to Bangkok was peaceful (if you find a rickety, hot, but only 15 baht ($.50) train ride peaceful, which I did today thanks to to an uplifting podcast about poetry, oh technology).

However, when we arrived in Bangkok things got tricky. There were many subway to skytrain transfers and a long walk to whichever hotel we decided on. At the last minute we decided to get off early and look for the hotel Paige suggested, a slightly longer walk than mine but half the price ($10 versus $20). Walking down crowded streets, lugging 16 kilos on my back and my computer backpack in my arms, I thrust the cumbersome Lonely Planet into Paige’s hands and walked quickly to the end of the street. Feeling like we’d never get there we arrived at a poorly marked building and pushing open dark doors with tinted windows I found myself in the chintziest lobby I’ve ever seen (broken mirrors and chipped gaudy gold paint everywhere). Huge signs forbidding sex tourists were impossible to miss, though I think their appearance was more ironic than anything else. A Quasimodo-esque bellboy with a raspy voice led us to our room after our receptionist asked three times if we were sure we wouldn’t like to see the room before deciding. Finally agreeing that it was a good idea, we walked up four flights of a broad, winding staircase, down a narrow hallway and into… the shittiest little hole in the wall I’ve seen yet. For 900 baht, no less (much more than anticipated)!! Unable to access the pruportedly free wifi I started whimpering. I can’t find the address nor the closing time of the Immigration Office. It’s 3:50 PM and things look... grim.

Unable to think straight I drag Paige out of there with me. On our way to this hell-hole we passed sleek hotel afte sleek hotel and I had images of the Marriot on my mind. As the rain picked up we stumbled into a gorgeous hotel, getting amused looks from all the bell boys and well-dressed guests and arrived at the reception desk. After some frantic back and forth and discussion with the concierge about finding a cheaper place… we booked it. All 2800 baht, free water, minibar, complimentary breakfast… all of it. It’s a wicked deal for the US, but I found myself close to tears. Is this what it comes to, a little visa trouble and a heavy backpack and I am willing to drop $100 on a hotel room when I could pay a fraction of that to hang out with Quasimodo and some ladyboys??

We got to our room and after I hopped online to find that the Immigration Office closed in ten minutes I felt my conscience cracking. ‘What does this mean, Alyssa?’ the good but weary creature on my left shoulder asked me. Hopping in the shower with the hopes of pulling myself together I sat down in the American Standard tub with water flowing from the American Standard shower onto my head… and cried. While they felt like tears of guilt at the time I think they were more a result of exhaustion. However, guilt has played a huge role in the development of said exhaustion. Guilt that we should have taken the cheapest, cheapest, cheapest, guilt that this is just too much luxury for me. We’re literally dealing in dimes here on so many occasions, and I still find myself pinching pennies. Apparently the dam had to break eventually, but it has sent me drifting down a turbulent river of values, unsure of how to scramble up on the bank before I get swept to some far-off place of opulent money-chasers, completely lost and unable to find a way back to my modest home.

So where does that moral uffda leave me now? Well, wearing a nice soft robe, situated on the 15^th floor overlooking Bangkok’s business district. Posh. So very, very posh. I feel clean, cozy, and dry after taking my first hot shower in over a month, as I now sit watching the rain slash our windows outside. But I also feel the guilt rising off my skin, refusing to simmer down despite the cool AC. This is not the guilt of, “so many people that I know (particularly my new friends of the Burmese migrant variety) cannot afford this”. Nor is it the guilt of “I can’t afford this” (though I can’t really…). This is the guilt of, “why did I feel the need to do this, why am I not stronger in the face of weariness, why did I break, and why, why, why does this luxury feel so damn good?" I’m a mountain woman, I love trekking through the rain and mud and slush, and I live off of ski bounding intervals through 33 degree sleet. What does Bangkok have on me? The temptation of these hotels that are so close and so attainable save one thing—my desire to save money?

Well, being pampered feels good. No one likes being stuck in a monsoon when you need to get some work done. But I'm not working... Traveling is itself a luxury, the ability to even be in Bangkok is a luxury and yet it’s not enough; apparently I need to have a soft bed, nice view, and AC’ed air to come back to after an oh so tiresome day of wat visiting.

After first arriving another day has passed and I still honestly don’t know where that leaves me, morally speaking. With a weeping good conscience and a sated demon already greedy for more (as seen by my actions at our hotel’s breakfast buffet and by my nose that is already sniffing out wi-fi for our next location)? Perhaps. Or maybe it leaves me with the relief that I actually have a good conscience and I don’t feel so entitled that I think this should be handed to me, though I will not say I don’t deserve it. The city of squalor requires a lot of energy, patience, and stamina, but this momentary splurge to indulge in some ‘creature comforts’ (as Teeny so aptly called them) has left me a bit less crazed and a lot renewed. It has also opened the doors of conversation between Paige and I on a topic that is relevant at every point in life, yet right now we are at a pivotal point where the door could swing any way. It is the question of the role money places in our lives. What does “having money” mean, how should you spend it, and what are your feelings associated with it? It’s a huge question that affects where I live, what my job is, and who I choose to spend time with (and is of course affected by all of these factors as well), and I am still forming my feelings about it. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it on this trip as I float by with no income, merely spending the money I saved through high school and college. That brings guilt as well, but with this trip has come a realization that I can live happily on next to nothing, and I will not fall irrevocably into hedonism given the enticing chance. Furthermore, it has inspired in me a drive to earn money as well. Working as a volunteer is wonderful and while I’m “earning” plenty of non-tangible things, I’m so ready to finally get a job. A real one.