The Plains of Central Thailand: Tak to Dan Chang
For two days, we relaxed in Tak. Tak was a nice sort of sleepy town. We wrote and we slept. We explored the area around our hotel. There wasn’t a lot. We found a sports bar and distractedly watched an Arsenal vs. Crystal Palace match one night. (We’re not the slightest bit interested in sports.) We slept. We recovered.
But by the second day, the road was calling with that insistent call motorcyclists know. And so the morning of the third day found us once again strapping our gear to our bikes. We swung our legs over. (Well, actually, through the space at the front, which always took some getting used to for me.) And we purred off.
The sound of motorcycles is a thing for riders. A few years ago, I began a research project into the sounds of tourism. Travel is a multi-sensory thing. Scholars have traditionally focused on the eye. John Urry talks of the “tourist gaze” as we stand at lookouts, take photos of St Marks, and generally regard the world through which we travel. But other senses, such as hearing, are also important. For motorcyclists, the sounds of motorbikes, the rushing of wind, the sound of the engine, the use of Bluetooth communicators to incorporate music and discussion with fellow motorcyclists. They’re all part of the experience. A few days earlier, we’d been woken in Mae Sariang by the visceral rumble of big bikes starting. Our little scooters, however, merely purred. They were satisfied little things as we puttered along the roads of Thailand, keeping up with big bikes and cars and trucks and safely taking us to our destination.
After a last flurry of winding and hilly roads, things settled down. We were now in Central Thailand, and the roads were straighter and the landscape flatter. There were still hills, but they were always on the periphery rather than the areas through which we rode. This countryside was dustier and hotter. Differently coloured. Northern Thailand had been dark greens for the trees. This was more yellow-green for the large amounts of sugar cane. I’d spent the last year of my high school in cane growing areas and the smell of molasses as we passed by the mill and the road trunks spilling the dried stalks of cane to be flattened and shredded by traffic was familiar. The dust on our tongues tasted acrid and encouraged us to stop regularly and drink water. My hands were hot in my gloves, though my body was cool from the mesh jacket I was wearing. We passed through small town after small town as the landscape got more industrial.
We were riding 280km, almost as much as from Mae Sariang to Tak. But the day went quicker. The straight roads helped, but we’d also had the assistance of a day off in Tak. We arrived at about 2 pm, hot and ready to collapse into our air conditioning. We did this for a little while and then went out to see what Dan Chang could offer us.
The answer was not a lot. Our hotel was on the edge of town, and we wandered in to find that Covid had apparently done a number here. Many of the restaurants Google listed as open were closed, sagging and sad. I saw a sign for a “Resort and Restaurant”, and we headed that way. We were met by an attractive woman at the gate who informed us that the restaurant opened at 3 pm. We pointed out that it was 3 pm, and so she bustled off to see about getting us something to eat. As she smilingly organised food and drink, it occurred to me that she really was quite tall and had a rather husky voice. Ah. After inviting us to a party they were having there that night, she went off to organise something. We dined well and wandered back to the hotel.
That night, we went out for an early evening stroll. We weren’t remotely hungry but were at a loss as to what to do in a small, industrial, central Thai town at 6:30 pm. We considered going to the party but ended up walking into a bar that had been closed before. It was a karaoke bar with attractive women at the bar. We were the only patrons. One of the hostesses came over to us, smilingly brought us beer and asked if she could join us for a beverage. I realised that she, too, was rather tall with a husky voice. Thailand is a Buddhist country, and so, in many respects, is more accepting of its relatively large transsexual community (though, as in all countries, there was always room for improvement). However, in Dan Chang (pop. 67,000) we couldn’t turn around without finding an attractive but tall and husky-voiced waitress smilingly offering us food and drink. This particular woman was charming, friendly, and communicative (with the help of Google Translate). She sang some Thai songs that were on the karaoke jukebox. Later, her boss came around, nodded at us and smiled at her.
Eventually, we made our goodbyes and wandered the dark and hot half-kilometre back to the hotel. As we did, I squeezed Dalma’s hand and whispered, “Remember: what happens in Dan Chang stays in Dan Chang.”