BANGKOK BANTER: SEARCHING SALADAENG

"Saladaeng?", you worriedly ask the airport bus driver, while holding on to the back of his seat and trying to balance, as the bus is moving.

The bus stops at a red light. You have read in your previous Wikitravel research that Bangkok traffic is horrible. You never expected it was this bad. An hour after leaving the airport, you are still on the road.

The driver picks up what looks like a map with numerous checks written over the passengers' stops.

With a thick Thai accent, he tells you, "Saladaeng, there," he points to the back to the bus, indicating that we have passed my stop and he actually forgot to drop me off. Great. This is just so great, considering today is your birthday.

"We come back later," he assures you, as if that is some consolation that you should be thankful for. He mutters something Thai, probably saying he will just bring all passengers to their destination, then drop you off on his way back to the airport.

You settle back in your airport bus seat, trying not to be pissed. You look out the bus window, looking for street signs, and checking your travel guide book where you are. It looks like the weather is nice, as it is sunny. You take a deep breath. You should probably be in your hotel by now, resting, in the Pop Art Room you fell in love with the first time you saw it online.

Bangkok resembles home. Traffic is bumper to bumper to bumper. Some streets seriously resemble Taft Avenue, complete with their very own MRT stations. Had it not been for the street signs in Thai, you'd probably think you are still home.

Half an hour later, on the busy road of Silom (which your travel book says is the Thai Ayala Avenue), the driver stops and tells the last passenger (yes, that's you) that this is the Saladaeng stop, pronounced as "Sah-lah-deng".

You pick up your bag and still manage to blurt out a barely audible thank you, even if deep down inside your heart, your mind, and your soul, you should be cursing this bus driver who should have dropped you here 45 minutes earlier. But you didn't want to do that - you fear that karma would be faster in Thailand, a predominantly Buddhist country.

Tuktuks, the Thai version of a tricycle, with an open air back, zoom past you. You are amazed by the number of pink taxicabs around. You cover your nose with a hanky and cough a bit, since you feel like the smoke from the gazillions of cars around you is starting to envelope you. 

It was a little past lunch time now. You are hungry, sleepy, and tired. To top that, you feel lost in the  middle of  Bangkok. And the weather is making it worse - it is about 30 degrees Celsius. 

You are at the corner of Silom and Saladaeng - tall buildings, money changers, retaurants, bars, convenience stores, and coffee shops all around you, with the Bangkok MRT line dissecting this crowded part of the city.

You pull out the hotel map and walk towards where you think the hotel is. You walk past street vendors and though you are tempted to eat mami, Thai-style, you wanted to settle in your hotel room first. Frustrated, you walk up to an effeminate guy on the phone outside the salon where he works. He is probably talking to his boyfriend, but you forgot all the manners you have, try to butt in, and ask for directions. Surprised, and a little annoyed, he instructs you to go down the road further, and says that it should be right after a small market. The vision of you sleeping beside fish and vegetables is not a good one, but you proceed to search for your hotel.

Baan Saladaeng (which literally means Saladaeng House) is on a small soi, a Thai alley. The hotel is painted red and sits at the end of the alley, assuring you that it is far from the maddening crowds of Silom. And thankfully, the market is closed today. Not much people around. Finally, you can rest.

Art, the friendly receptionist, greets you as you push the door. The hotel looks new and very homey. 

Art looks at his computer screen and calls you by your first name. "I've been waiting for you! Were you lost?"

You just manage to smile, trying not to answer the question. Instead you ask him, "So where are the clubs?"

Eight hours after arriving at your hotel and  getting some well deserved sleep, you find yourself outside DJ Station on Soi 2 in Silom, a stone's throw away from Patpong - one of the craziest areas in Bangkok.

You pull your phone from your pocket. In it is your brand new Thai Sim Card. You dial your new friend's number. 

"Art, I'm already here!".

Ten hours after arriving in Bangkok, you find yourself partying with people from Brazil, Singapore, and Thailand - people you don't know. It is your birthday night and not a single soul  among them knows. Being in a foreign land on this special day may seem sad, but being around people you don't know and you probably won't meet again  lessens your inhibitions - back home, you work hard, but this night, in Crazy Bangkok, you will party harder. ●

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The Legend of the Flashpacker: Part 1

BASED ON A TRUE STORY

One hot 34-degree-Celsius summer afternoon, you click the TV remote while you try downing a bottle of freezing soda. You try to squish the plastic bottle hoping it miraculously melts so you can finish it off. While cherishing the last few drops of cola, a TV commercial shows a beach with a group of dancing friends with the same soda you are drinking. You realize the only difference is that while they flaunt their bikini-contest-eligible bodies in a remote island in the Pacific, you are stuck in your room with a broken air-conditioner.

You stare at the TV asking yourself how can these twenty-something yuppies afford this vacation. They must be really wealthy.

Envious, you change the channel.

The travel show is about to end. The half-Asian, half-Caucasian host with a Sydney accent invites you to flashpack while you are young. Your eyebrows meet. Flash what?

The end credits scroll up while snippets of this episode's blooper moments do not make you laugh at all.

Flash what again?

You pick up your smart phone. You open the default browser and type in Flashp... Google suggests FLASHPACKING and FLASHPACKER.

You click the first entry.

Though you pay about $20 for unlimited internet, your speed test app laughs at how slow your connection is. You begin counting aloud.

While you stare at the blue bar moving from left to right at one inch per hour, you think again.

You know what backpacking is. Some of your college friends have done it in Vietnam and Cambodia and their Facebook photos make you want to follow suit.

But flashpacking? Nah, you absolutely have no idea.

The page loads after a couple of minutes. You check your soda bottle and gulp what has melted so far.

Fonts on your screen are too small. You try making them bigger. You read the five words in bold letters that catch your attention: Flashpacking is backpacking in style.

Cool, you think.

You close the browser, smiling. You open a blank text message, still smiling. You choose two of your most adventurous and travel-addicted friends at the same time and you type: Friends, let's go on a flashpacking adventure, followed by three smiley faces.

Three minutes later you get the same reply from both friends:

We are in Bangkok! Join us! •