Leaving Chiang Mai,
Headed to Bangkok.
Watching as workers
Wash the train outside,
Mop the floor inside.
Waiting for the engine car. It never comes,
But we begin to move down the track anyway.
Mimosa trees in blossom, reminding us of sweet bouquets in Nice;
Rice fields, moist and green in the morning mist;
But many fields are dry and brown,
Fallow and stubby.
Huge metal silos – full or empty?
Shadowy mountains and a red marble in the sky.
White birds and white cows
Foraging in the abandoned fields,
Startled by the passing train.
Gray water buffalo, acting the tough guys, totally unconcerned.
Thailand’s own scorched earth policy,
Burning the land to clean/enrich it,
Puffs of smoldering smoke in the woods,
All dirtying the air.
In a small town, many, many painted green steps
Guarded by matching gold nagas
Leading up a brown hill.
And then a lone figure in orange robes
Steadily descending the steps.
We wait at the station.
He appears and carefully crosses the tracks
And disappears.
Tall clumps of feathery bamboo trees.
Lanky coconut palms
Clutching their green treasure high out of reach.
An unexpected sliver of the modern world:
A lush green golf course and resort.
In the woods, climbing a hill
The train slows and then stops.
Engines rev.
I think I can; I think I can.
And we do
Climb higher, higher
Through Doi Khuntan National Park
Through a tunnel,
Then into a valley and along a tiny village,
Beside a baby stream
Waiting for the rains to grow into a man.
Station Mai Tan Noi – officers in tan uniforms.
One is waving a red flag
So that we’ll stop.
Three old men sitting at the station
In the shade of the big roof.
Two get on their bicycles and pedal away.
One wears a straw brimmed hat.
Spindly teak trees planted in rows,
Most of their leaves dropped in the heat.
Lacy tamarind trees (now we know them! Thanks, Dtaw!)
And their delicious sweet, sticky fruit.
Everything so droopy and parched,
Dry, dry, dry.
It’s easy to forget how hot it is out there
From our air con train,
Slowly rocking side to side, down the track.
The pouty stewardess comes around with a creaky wagon.
Hands us each a tray of food wrapped in plastic.
No Thai smile there.
It’s mostly rice and 2 thin oval slices of chicken
And a hard-boiled egg
Split in two in a sweet liquid.
A short dodgy-looking plastic cup,
The kind that they’ll use again
(the good news and the not-so-good news)
Filled with water and ice cubes and a straw cut in half
Completes the offering.
One of Barb’s chocolate cookies and a charcoal pill for dessert.
Den Chai – a military camp with
Brown wooden buildings on stilts, a compound
Surrounded by a spiffy blue iron fence, and then
A station with a big picture of the king and
Lots of passengers.
We’re definitely not on a first class train.
Bumpy and rattly, air con comes and goes,
Ceiling fans blow down our backs.
Stops at lots of stations.
Now we know what “special express” means.
On the upside, there’s a choice of toilets -
Squat or throne – TP, and a tiny sink with water!
Uttaradit – big city with a cute guy in uniform.
He tousles a kid’s hair. I like him.
Spirit houses in the fields and even in the woods.
Field workers gathered under tarps
Against the mid-day sun
Processing the crop.
After 6 hours, heading south, the land is flat
And lush, and rice fields stretch a long way,
The most exquisite shade of bright green.
Red roads cut through them
Like ribbons on a Christmas package.
Black and white storks fly up as we pass,
Not scared by the “scare crow” in the field.
Phitsanulouk Station – a middle-aged monk
With a towel on his head
Sits on the edge of the track beneath our window.
Do monks travel on trains?
Bristly sugar cane.
A tall mango tree, loaded with bright green mango ornaments.
A little boy, 6 or 7, sitting behind me,
Presses his nose to the window
Almost as intently as I.
Passengers get off; new ones get on.
When will we be in Bangkok? It’s been 10 hours.
The sun melts into a glassy pool.
The day grows dark.
Fires in the fields and alongside the track
Light up the night sky.
More big cities. Neon and fluorescent lights now.
And we keep going. Thunk a thunk a thunk.
Are we there yet? Echoes of little voices from yesteryear.
Finally, familiar territory. Bangkok station.
It’s 10:30 pm. It’s been
A fourteen hour slice of Thailand
On the day train from Chiang Mai.
Chiang Mai Station
Green green rice fields and red road
Looking down on a monk sitting by the edge of the track
Sunset over the watery rice fields
Headed to Bangkok.
Watching as workers
Wash the train outside,
Mop the floor inside.
Waiting for the engine car. It never comes,
But we begin to move down the track anyway.
Mimosa trees in blossom, reminding us of sweet bouquets in Nice;
Rice fields, moist and green in the morning mist;
But many fields are dry and brown,
Fallow and stubby.
Huge metal silos – full or empty?
Shadowy mountains and a red marble in the sky.
White birds and white cows
Foraging in the abandoned fields,
Startled by the passing train.
Gray water buffalo, acting the tough guys, totally unconcerned.
Thailand’s own scorched earth policy,
Burning the land to clean/enrich it,
Puffs of smoldering smoke in the woods,
All dirtying the air.
In a small town, many, many painted green steps
Guarded by matching gold nagas
Leading up a brown hill.
And then a lone figure in orange robes
Steadily descending the steps.
We wait at the station.
He appears and carefully crosses the tracks
And disappears.
Tall clumps of feathery bamboo trees.
Lanky coconut palms
Clutching their green treasure high out of reach.
An unexpected sliver of the modern world:
A lush green golf course and resort.
In the woods, climbing a hill
The train slows and then stops.
Engines rev.
I think I can; I think I can.
And we do
Climb higher, higher
Through Doi Khuntan National Park
Through a tunnel,
Then into a valley and along a tiny village,
Beside a baby stream
Waiting for the rains to grow into a man.
Station Mai Tan Noi – officers in tan uniforms.
One is waving a red flag
So that we’ll stop.
Three old men sitting at the station
In the shade of the big roof.
Two get on their bicycles and pedal away.
One wears a straw brimmed hat.
Spindly teak trees planted in rows,
Most of their leaves dropped in the heat.
Lacy tamarind trees (now we know them! Thanks, Dtaw!)
And their delicious sweet, sticky fruit.
Everything so droopy and parched,
Dry, dry, dry.
It’s easy to forget how hot it is out there
From our air con train,
Slowly rocking side to side, down the track.
The pouty stewardess comes around with a creaky wagon.
Hands us each a tray of food wrapped in plastic.
No Thai smile there.
It’s mostly rice and 2 thin oval slices of chicken
And a hard-boiled egg
Split in two in a sweet liquid.
A short dodgy-looking plastic cup,
The kind that they’ll use again
(the good news and the not-so-good news)
Filled with water and ice cubes and a straw cut in half
Completes the offering.
One of Barb’s chocolate cookies and a charcoal pill for dessert.
Den Chai – a military camp with
Brown wooden buildings on stilts, a compound
Surrounded by a spiffy blue iron fence, and then
A station with a big picture of the king and
Lots of passengers.
We’re definitely not on a first class train.
Bumpy and rattly, air con comes and goes,
Ceiling fans blow down our backs.
Stops at lots of stations.
Now we know what “special express” means.
On the upside, there’s a choice of toilets -
Squat or throne – TP, and a tiny sink with water!
Uttaradit – big city with a cute guy in uniform.
He tousles a kid’s hair. I like him.
Spirit houses in the fields and even in the woods.
Field workers gathered under tarps
Against the mid-day sun
Processing the crop.
After 6 hours, heading south, the land is flat
And lush, and rice fields stretch a long way,
The most exquisite shade of bright green.
Red roads cut through them
Like ribbons on a Christmas package.
Black and white storks fly up as we pass,
Not scared by the “scare crow” in the field.
Phitsanulouk Station – a middle-aged monk
With a towel on his head
Sits on the edge of the track beneath our window.
Do monks travel on trains?
Bristly sugar cane.
A tall mango tree, loaded with bright green mango ornaments.
A little boy, 6 or 7, sitting behind me,
Presses his nose to the window
Almost as intently as I.
Passengers get off; new ones get on.
When will we be in Bangkok? It’s been 10 hours.
The sun melts into a glassy pool.
The day grows dark.
Fires in the fields and alongside the track
Light up the night sky.
More big cities. Neon and fluorescent lights now.
And we keep going. Thunk a thunk a thunk.
Are we there yet? Echoes of little voices from yesteryear.
Finally, familiar territory. Bangkok station.
It’s 10:30 pm. It’s been
A fourteen hour slice of Thailand
On the day train from Chiang Mai.
Chiang Mai Station
Green green rice fields and red road
Looking down on a monk sitting by the edge of the track
Sunset over the watery rice fields
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