The morning rose sticky like plum-pudding and when I looked up woolly clouds were scampering across the sky like bumfluff snagging in the turrets of Bangkok's majestic Hualamphong train station. I’d woken up early after a glorious nights oceanic sleep; shaved, showered, scrubbed me teeth, changed into a pair of long shorts and a T-shirt (that said 'Beaware of the Wolf'), packed my measly belongings and then caught a Tuk-Tuk taxi to the ageing but imperious railway terminal. The train sauntered in on time and then sulked. I got in and sat in my 2nd class carriage. I was feeling reasonably happy with myself: I had a window seat. I had plenty of room to stretch my legs. There was nobody sitting next to me and I was in the middle of reading David Mitchell's 'Cloud Atlas' which I was looking forward to finally finishing. I was travelling on the 08:30 Super Express to Chiang Mai, a mere 12 hours to the far north of the country. I had been a tad anxious the night before because I didn't know what to expect from Thai Railways. But the aircraft style interior, with food trays in the back of seats, though vapid and unoriginal, did suggest reliability. So no surprises I suppose. Hardly the stuff of adventure travel!
Generally train journeys don’t wake that sleep-starving, anxiety-inducing demon that prods me with knives the night before an aeroplane flight. With trains you know they'll be no check-in, no security, no customs, and no custard-faced travellers to look at . In this particular case only Thai's with their aromatic pack lunches, boisterous bratty children and their toothless Grandmas. As soon as we left the station (on time I might add) the carriage quickly took on the aspect of a Thai home: people walking around greeting fellow passengers, people stretching their legs like they would on the sofa at home, shoes and socks pulled off, food being shared, politics being discussed, and housewives talking nonce - why a little carnival! The train rattled pass the centre of the city; the rusted corrugated busy backyards drifted by like a streak of paint. I began to read. Breakfast was served a-la aeroplane style: a 'flight' attendant, supported on heels the size of plinths and wearing cherry lipstick, came by pushing a complaining squeaky wheeled trolley and duly served coffee and some sort of organic looking fruit cake which I prodded to see if it was alive. No, it was dead. Things we’re looking most good. I peered out of the window and found that we had already cleared Bangkok's suburbs and were now cheerfully hooting past flatlands of emerald rice paddies and teak homes built on stilts. The swampy paddies reflected a sky now azure blue puffed and bloated with clouds. Occasionally we’d cross a road; the halted traffic looking on at us snarled and clogged to the brim.
There was many a landscape shot I imagined through the window. Still-life's for a rural-pastoral exhibition: a black bullock kneading through a paddy with the sun gleaming off its sweaty hide. A woman wading in thick mucky mud; her face covered by a wide-brimmed hat and the fingers muddy like Kit-Kats. A row of dozen ultra-modern homes with red roof tiles and satellite dishes on the banks of a brackish lake. A field of pineapple trees in straight lines standing to attention like soldiers. Well tended quaint stations flashed by. The land so flat that you’re eyes carried you to the limits of the horizon. Beautiful? Sublime? Not quite but harmless and relaxing in a way the rugged north of Pakistan is not. It’s not a landscape to dwell and brood on - unlike Pakistan. You can’t plant your creative seeds in these flatlands and expect them to bloom into a butterfly:
Monotony is the death knell of creativity and incongruity is its opiate
We rolled by a train graveyard; rusty, yellow, sleeper carriages, sanguine and mournful at the same time, were lying on their sides, up-turned, frozen in final death throes. The train seemed to slow down as we approached – in deference perhaps. Was our train alive? Who knows? And then it happened. When I look back at this moment I think perhaps it was the signs of its mortality that did it. Suddenly there was a revving and roaring as our train lifted off the rails! You knew you we’re off the ground in the same way you know an aeroplane has taken off - no bumpy-bumpy under your feet and that otherworldly sense of having gotten the better of gravity. We we’re now hurtling through the air - skywards! At first you think you've had an accident. Ti's impossible. Then you look out of the window and see land snatching away and re-materialising in shades of chessboard green.
Suddenly the Tannoy speakers buzzed on; expecting a guttural explanation from the driver as to why you were suddenly airborne, imagine your surprise when who’s smoky singing voice would shine through the speakers?:
You might stop a hurricane. Might even stop the driving rain. If you wanna stop me baby don’t even try. I’m going one way. You’re way. It’s such a strong way. Let’s make it our way. Can’t-stop-this-thing-we-started! Can’t-stop-this-course-we-plotted! This thing called love we got it. No place for the broken hearted...
"Hey! That's Brian Adam's!" You hear yourself exclaim to fellow passengers who look on bewildered. Oh Brian, bless your cotton socks! So we we’re going one way? Someone’s way? Who’s way? Which way exactly? And why couldn't we stop this thing we started? No way!
The engines continued to roar and whirred like frantic bee wings. We climbed through fields of cloud. We ascended above countries. An array of continents. A consortium of planets. A sparkling foam-wash of stars. A clique of galaxies. A honeycomb of universes. And still we continued with Brian and his electric guitar still very much in the background:
You might stop the world spinnin’ around. Might even walk on holy ground. I ain’t superman but I can fly. If you wanna stop me baby don’t even try! I’m going one way. Your way. It’s such a strong way. Let’s make it our way. Ohh baby can’t-stop-this-we-we-started. Can’t stop it. Can’t stop it. Can’t stop it…
Ti's all mighty strange. Then silence. We found ourselves knocking on the doors of the ‘light-speed-barrier’ attendant. “Can we come in?” we asked when he opened the door. He was an old man with wispy white hair. The 'light-speed-barrier' attendant looked at us up and down. “Well I don’t usually let people in but I suppose I can make an exception just this one time; on account of the fact that I like you, and you’re playing Brian Adam's, whom I adore! He’s my fave! So come in…Would you like a cup of tea?”
So we walked in. "Where er exactly are we?"
He poured us a nice warm brew in China cups and with a wave of the hand said. "Oh you don't need to concern yourself with such questions. Cause and affect. The flotsam and jetsam. It's all in good hands. No worries"
The tea was delicious. He added "I suppose you'll want me to let you through heh?"
Not sure what to do we nodded in agreement. "OK, well drink up. No use letting you on your journey without a good cuppa!" So we drank up.
The Tannoy in our cabin suddenly interrupted Brian whilst he was doing an amazing guitar solo. It was an announcement:
“Ladies and Gentlemen. This is your train-driver speaking. Welcome to the Interspatial, Intergalactic, Interplanetary, Interdimensional, Interwhateverufancy Expressway! Just a quicky to let you know that we have received go-ahead from the light-speed-barrier attendant. I repeat we have received go-ahead to break light speed. We shall be entering light speed shortly so you may experience slight turbulence. And a headache. And various other ailments of a grossly physical nature. Thank you”
He cut-off and Brian came back on again:
Sometimes words are hard to find. I’m looking for that perfect line. To let you know you’re always on my mind. When you want it. When you need it. You’ll always have the best of me. I can’t help it. Believe it. You’ll always have the best of me...
We waited. And we waited. And still Brian kept crooning those dastardly melodies. The engines continued roaring; their jet stream scratching the space between the stars. And then it happened. We broke light-speed - crossed the barrier as they say. You knew something extraordinary had happened because your feet we’re now sticking out of your ears and your lips had somehow managed to attach themselves to your armpits. Your smelly armpits. We we’re in 'Light-Speed-World'. Clocks we’re useless. Time was relative. Quantum physics a sham. Einstein God and Brian Adam's a rock genius.
Things were different in Light-Speed-World. There was no such thing as 'travelling' for example because the age-old problem of travel had been solved. You no longer had to travel per se. You just thought where you wanted to be and then you were there. People didn't see the point of travelling anymore. Why bother they'd say? Who wants to do that?! they'd say looking at you as if you were an artifact from the Museum of Olden-Days. And relationships? Ha relationships! Relationships were now conducted at light speed. Super-duper-fast. In a single moment too small to even register you fell in love. Coupled. Had sex. And then broke up. None of that tedious mucking about in Non-Light-Speed-World you were previously forced to go though. You know all that malarky with a broken heart, angst, months of depression and sweet-food binges. None of that crap. On a down side however orgasms didn't last as long in Light-Speed-World. But you did get more of them. More 'bangs for the buck' as they like to say.
This was an area you we’re desperately desiring to explore in more depth when…suddenly you start hearing Queen drumming through your ears. Queen! and then you realise that this is more like the reality you know. Queen! Not f***ing Brian Adams! This whole Light-Speed-World thingy was just somebodies wet-dream. Your wet-dream:
Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a land-slide. No escape from reality. Open your eyes.
And you open your eyes waking from your dream. And your heart sinks like the sun that has already sunk behind the horizon. You're in the 2nd class carriage of the 08:30 to Chiang Mai and you can hear the drinks trolley lady with the squeaky wheels trotting by like a horney pig in trotters. (You what? Did you just think that?). She looks at you waiting for your order:
“I’d like what I was just having please darling” you say kinda enigmatically.
“And what was it that Sir was just having?”she says raising those bushy knitted-jumper eyebrows
“Oh, a Dreamscape Champagne baby. A Dreamscape Champagne” you sigh and with it exhale out all your hopes and wet-dreams.
She looks at you and with a wry smile of her own, that seems to stretch to the stars themselves, then she says:
“You better tell me what you would like to drink Sir. We’re going one way. It’s such a long way. And I’m not sure when we will stop this thing we st…”
