Phitsanulok

I was filled with a mixture of excitement and trepidation as I boarded the bus to Phitsanulok. Tired, haggard, hungry and a little bit hung-over from my adventures with yadong the previous night, it did not help that the bus was late. I had spent well over two hours meandering around the station, starting on a pleasant note with a full English breakfast and a kaffae ron - it eventually devolved into walking around in circles nervously smoking.

When the 659 eventually pulled up the wiry bus 'host' hastily refused me access to his coach, my heart sinking when he hastily yelled "No space!" at my general direction. I looked on in confusion as he then proceeded to let two Thai nationals board the 'full' bus. I had been waiting a lot longer than these two bastards, so I was about to let out a barrage of angkrit-accented Thai slurs in a burst of anger reserved only for Farang who had reached the last reserve of patience and could not  care less about losing face as long as it got shit done, when I paused for a moment, drew a breath, and asked as calmly as I could why they could board and I could not - giving the wiry man a chance to avoid the hell-fury I had been ready to unleash a few moments before.

I rolled my eyes at his surprise that I could string together a heavily accented string of Thai words that would be scoffed at by scholars, but managed to convey my question. After a few moments he managed to recollect himself and explain that all the seats were taken - I would have to stand. I laughed and told him it was fine, I didn't mind and shoved past him on the bus. She said it was only 2 hours, I thought as my mind drifted back to her - I could stand in a cramped bus for two hours...

It was simple math of course. Lop Buri is two hours north of Bangkok, Phitsanulok is four hours away. 4-2=2 right? Yeah... Not in Thailand. Not when you get on the wrong bus. Not when you stop at every stall, farm and village as you zigzag west and east whilst heading north into Central Thailand.

Every thirty minutes my phone would ring.

"Where are you now? Where are you now? How long do you think?"
"My GPS says four hours...?"
"Don't trust the GPS."
"Ok."

I should have trusted the GPS. It would have been faster to take the bus/train back to Bkk and get the right bus up north.

After a grueling five hours, I eventually reached my port of call. Tired, angry, hungry and sore, I could eventually call her and say "Hey, I'm here."

As I waited for her to come pick me up I looked around for a place to wait. Preferably, a place where I could have a drink and a smoke to calm my nerves. No such place stood out, so I propped myself up against a pillar in a side soi, put on some Amon Amarth and lit a cigarette.