guest house. The rain that had soaked me earlier had turned into a light drizzle, not too much to make me wet through but steady enough to cool the tropical night. Everything was reflected in the puddles and glistening pavements: the shop windows, neon signs, even the car headlights that flashed intermittently in the pot holes like a giant blinking catâs eyes.
After walking the length of two streets and being turned away from at least a dozen guest houses, I began to feel exhausted. A wave of tiredness suddenly hit me along with the fear that I was going to have to spend a night walking the streets, so I decided to sit on a shop window sill to consider my next move. A growling noise caused me to jump up. The shabby looking dog didnât like me sitting in his spot so I moved wearily on, turned the next corner and stopped.
âGrrr!â
I looked behind. Shit, it was following me. Slowly and calmly I walked on, afraid to look back, but whenever I did I noticed that the dog was still there, about ten paces behind me. Every time I stopped he stopped and bared his teeth menacingly, growling. When I crossed the road he crossed, every street I walked down he followed, and every time I stood still he did exactly the same thing, stopping ten paces behind and sneering. The dog was so fierce-looking that I didnât even have the guts to shoo it away.
I went into numerous guest houses, some of which Iâd already tried, and every time I came out the dog was still there, waiting and growling. All of the accommodation was full, so eventually, to get away from the dog, I jumped into a tuk-tuk to the other end of the street; a 500-yard journey that the driver ripped me off fiercely for, but it was worth it just to be out of biting range.
I was so tired by this time that I couldnât be bothered to get my watch out of my bag to check the time, and had to ask a passerby. The traveller with tattooed arms told me to fuck off. I sank. Any more of this, I thought, and Iâll get on the next train south and give Bangkok a miss altogether. What had I done to him? I watched as he walked down the road to see if he had the excuse of being drunk, but he wasnât. Perhaps heâd had a bad night and got ripped off in Patpong.
Having run out of places to stay, and unable to stand any longer, I threw my bag down in a shop doorway and lay down, using my only jumper as a pillow. I think I must have blinked twice before the weight of my eyelids, too great to lift, pulled shut and I drifted off.
I wasnât sure if I had woken up or not. My head rolled from side to side and I jumped a lot â sleep jumps; the ones where youâre not quite asleep but you canât wake up â and something was tugging at my foot. Again I rolled my head from side to side, my neck sticking to my shoulder with sweat, and opened my heavy, baggy eyes just as a sharp pain shot up my toes and into my foot. I quickly withdrew my leg and blinked the mist from my eyes before screaming. A tie-dye pig! My foot! I pulled both feet up to my buttocks but the pig came nearer, so I quickly stood up, going dizzy with the sudden draining of blood from my head.
The pig snorted around for a second or two before a Westerner, also dressed in tie-dye, grabbed the piece of string that was tied around the animalâs neck and led it away like a pet dog.
I crouched and put my head in my hands. âOh God, this canât be happening.â My eyes felt like they were burning and I rubbed them hard before looking up to see whether I was dreaming or not. I wasnât. There was a crowd of revellers on the opposite side of the road trying to feed a joint to the painted pig. It sniffed and then bit it in half, causing everyone to laugh and whoop, dancing crazily in a circle like Red Indians.
Coming out of the shop doorway I looked up at the sky, the clouds just about discernible in the early morning light. As I turned to pick up my bag and jumper I
After walking the length of two streets and being turned away from at least a dozen guest houses, I began to feel exhausted. A wave of tiredness suddenly hit me along with the fear that I was going to have to spend a night walking the streets, so I decided to sit on a shop window sill to consider my next move. A growling noise caused me to jump up. The shabby looking dog didnât like me sitting in his spot so I moved wearily on, turned the next corner and stopped.
âGrrr!â
I looked behind. Shit, it was following me. Slowly and calmly I walked on, afraid to look back, but whenever I did I noticed that the dog was still there, about ten paces behind me. Every time I stopped he stopped and bared his teeth menacingly, growling. When I crossed the road he crossed, every street I walked down he followed, and every time I stood still he did exactly the same thing, stopping ten paces behind and sneering. The dog was so fierce-looking that I didnât even have the guts to shoo it away.
I went into numerous guest houses, some of which Iâd already tried, and every time I came out the dog was still there, waiting and growling. All of the accommodation was full, so eventually, to get away from the dog, I jumped into a tuk-tuk to the other end of the street; a 500-yard journey that the driver ripped me off fiercely for, but it was worth it just to be out of biting range.
I was so tired by this time that I couldnât be bothered to get my watch out of my bag to check the time, and had to ask a passerby. The traveller with tattooed arms told me to fuck off. I sank. Any more of this, I thought, and Iâll get on the next train south and give Bangkok a miss altogether. What had I done to him? I watched as he walked down the road to see if he had the excuse of being drunk, but he wasnât. Perhaps heâd had a bad night and got ripped off in Patpong.
Having run out of places to stay, and unable to stand any longer, I threw my bag down in a shop doorway and lay down, using my only jumper as a pillow. I think I must have blinked twice before the weight of my eyelids, too great to lift, pulled shut and I drifted off.
I wasnât sure if I had woken up or not. My head rolled from side to side and I jumped a lot â sleep jumps; the ones where youâre not quite asleep but you canât wake up â and something was tugging at my foot. Again I rolled my head from side to side, my neck sticking to my shoulder with sweat, and opened my heavy, baggy eyes just as a sharp pain shot up my toes and into my foot. I quickly withdrew my leg and blinked the mist from my eyes before screaming. A tie-dye pig! My foot! I pulled both feet up to my buttocks but the pig came nearer, so I quickly stood up, going dizzy with the sudden draining of blood from my head.
The pig snorted around for a second or two before a Westerner, also dressed in tie-dye, grabbed the piece of string that was tied around the animalâs neck and led it away like a pet dog.
I crouched and put my head in my hands. âOh God, this canât be happening.â My eyes felt like they were burning and I rubbed them hard before looking up to see whether I was dreaming or not. I wasnât. There was a crowd of revellers on the opposite side of the road trying to feed a joint to the painted pig. It sniffed and then bit it in half, causing everyone to laugh and whoop, dancing crazily in a circle like Red Indians.
Coming out of the shop doorway I looked up at the sky, the clouds just about discernible in the early morning light. As I turned to pick up my bag and jumper I
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