“What should I wear?”

“Just normal clothes.”

“What about shoes?”

“Just wear normal shoes.”

“What do I do when I get on?”

“Just act normal.”

The plan was simple: I was to make a journey along the winding roads of Bangkok with a girl who had never been on a bus before. “I’m going to complain all the way; you know this don’t you?” said the girl. I knew this.

I’d wanted to see the real Bangkok by bus since I’d first arrived in Thailand. My theory was that by getting on and off buses, without ever knowing where you were going, you would besure to come across weird and wonderful people and places. You would find parts of the city no tourist ever sees. It all sounds so romantic, so fantastical, but my first attempt at making such a trip had ended in confusion more than a year and a half ago.

Unsure how the bus system worked, I’d managed to infuriate and bemuse numerous bus conductors. Trying to explain to them that I didn’t mind where I was going proved difficult using hand signals alone. I was ushered off more buses than I can remember, although at one point I did find a small park to take a nap in. For these reasons I needed a guide, and this guide came in the form of The Princess, a young girl easily distracted by anything shiny or pink.

So the journey began. It was Saturday afternoon. The heat was blazing down on Victory Monument. I spotted a red number 12 bus and pushed The Princess onto it as she squealed. Seven baht: Not bad for a gateway to lands afar. I started imagining the places we were going to find.

We seemed to be moving in a big circle. We didn’t go anywhere I didn’t recognize, although at times I thought we might. To my dismay, we soon saw the prominent pillars of Democracy Monument juxtaposing the scenery in the distance.

“I can’t believe I’m on a bus. I’m gonna call all my friends.” And she did.

We went past Democracy Monument and worked our way down to the Giant Swing. I decided we needed to change buses. We hopped off and got on a red number 25 bus. It was only a few minutes before we reached the end of the line and were told to get off outside the Navy Wives Association Shop.

I was looking for Arcadia in Bangkok. Perhaps my goal was too oxymoronic to be accomplished. It was time for something drastic, something new: A green bus. They have always intrigued me because they are the smallest of all the Bangkok bus family, and yet they usually have the most people on board. I had never been on one, nor had I seen another foreigner use one.

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s a bus. Shut up.”

The green bus was cramped. If we were to find Arcadia it could only come out of a highly uncomfortable journey. People were confused by my presence. The Princess complained with regular bursts of noise that merged with the hum of the bus. All sounds became one and we soon deboarded at Sunam Luang.

We ran to catch a red number 70 bus. I had a good feeling about this one. The Princess noted how hot it had become and that she was beginning to sweat. “I’m sleepy,” she wailed, and as if by the power of suggestion, I sat down, closed my eyes, and took a nap.

When I awoke I realized we had been traveling for some time. I looked out of the front of the bus and saw that we were back at Democracy Monument.

“Maybe you should ask the buses where they go.”

The element of random adventure was losing its appeal as we seemed to be trapped in a vicious cycle and looked to be heading back to Victory Monument. I was weak from hunger and dehydration. We got off at Democracy Monument and loaded up on French fries and cola at McDonalds. This was surely not part of the path to enlightenment, I thought to myself.

Feeling revitalized, we crossed the road and caught another green bus. This time something magical happened, as we sailed past Khaosan and over the Chao Praya River. We left one world behind and entered another. More than two hours of traveling, and we had not come very far, but this felt like progress.

We were in lands unknown. I decided we should get off. The area looked plain. A small child playing in a jungle gym regarded us with curiosity. I took his picture and he gave me a nod. We waited in the heat for another bus. A red number 101 bus emerged. We jumped on. There were two enormous bags of popcorn wrapped in cellophane in the aisle. We were getting somewhere.

Crossing over another bridge, I was startled out of a daydream by a series of successive yelps.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.”

“What?”

“We’re going to another frigging province. Look!” The Princess pointed to a sign for Samut Sakhon. “I can’t go to another province. My mom will kill me.”

The anticipation rose up within me as if I had just woken up and remembered it was Christmas Day. The lengthy journey had a purpose. We were racing along the road, passing cars and bikes and people and dogs, moving uphill as if on a rollercoaster expecting that imminent climax to come. As we got inches from the top, there was a stunned moment when the bus did an impromptu about turn and we rolled back down the hill seemingly to where we had begun our ascent.

“It’s useless. We are never going to make it out of Bangkok or to anywhere interesting. We are really trapped here. We have to get off this bus.”

It seemed impossible to find Utopia in the City of Angels. The angels themselves were nowhere to be seen. We were off the bus and had sat down by a dirty stream. I felt empty. All I wanted to do was escape, but there was some hidden force preventing me from doing so. I began to suspect that The Princess was in some way affecting the balance of the journey and disrupting all karmic influence. I looked at her suspiciously. This is exactly what you wanted, I thought to myself.

Crossing the road in the unbearable heat, my eyes lit up when a number of tuk tuk-type vehicles began appearing. These must go somewhere, I thought. The tuk tuks were full of people.

“Let’s get on one of those.”

“No way. Are you crazy?”

“Oh come on. Why not?”

“There is no way in hell I am getting on one of those. If you get on one of those I’m going to catch a taxi home.”

I spotted another green bus in the distance and waved it down. It was a number 68. We sat in silence. There were cosmic forces pulling us back to reality. We came full circle and ended up at the same point where we had caught the number 101. We traveled for a long time. The heat was prominent once more.

“Look! There’s a BTS station!”

I had thought we were miles from anywhere, but in reality we were not far from home. The bus was stuck in traffic. I napped again. I was sweating when I woke up and we had made little progress. We didn’t move for what felt like several hours. The magnetism of Victory Monument was drawing us back.

It seemed like the journey had failed. There was nothing to see in Bangkok. There was no Arcadia to find. There was no way to escape the cycle. There were no mysteries to unravel. There was no outside world.

We got off the bus and into a taxi. I slouched back into my seat and sulked the whole way home. I was unfulfilled as the romantic ideal had fallen some way short of my expectations. Nothing had been gained, nothing lost, but the buses were against us on this day.

Techno’ tags: Public transport, Buses, Bangkok, Thailand