It Started with a Letter from Poste Restante Kathmandu…
My brother, Stephen, was the sender. He had been travelling abroad for some time, and each letter sent home was eagerly anticipated. His escapades thrilled me, capturing my imagination. He was in Iran in 1979 when the Iranian Revolution toppled Shah Pahlavi and replaced his government with an Islamic Republic under Ayatollah Khomeini. He travelled through the heart of Africa, spending weeks travelling in the back of a truck. He had an encounter with a lion, and he also got up close and personal with gorillas. Steve was in the Philippines when the People Power Revolution ousted President Marcos in 1986. I won’t say any more about Steve’s fascinating travelling experiences because these are his stories. I will tell you one thing, however. Everything was documented by way of letters, and these letters from around the world were sent from Poste Restante.
The 21-page letter that arrived from Kathmandu told a tale of an enchanted forest in the Himalayan Mountains. On his way to Annapurna Base Camp (the 10th highest peak in the world), he trekked through this particular forest. The descriptive language was so vivid it felt like I was trekking alongside him.
This was a turning point in my life. Up until this point, I liked to party, and I partied hard. At the end of the letter, Steve suggested, “Come travelling with me. Stop wasting your money on booze. When you travel, sometimes it’s euphoric, so you get a natural high.”
And that was the catalyst. I saved hard and booked my tickets.
My itinerary:
Depart Sydney, 29th August 1987 • Bangkok, Thailand – 2-day stopover
Kathmandu, Nepal – 2 months
Bangkok, Thailand – 2 months
Manila, The Philippines – 2 months.
Before departing Sydney, Steve gave this stern warning:
“When you get to Thailand, don’t trust anybody. I am not saying don’t go sightseeing, but you are only there for a stopover, so be very careful; a lot of foreigners get robbed in Bangkok.”
Fun Fact: Did you know the full or ‘real’ name of Bangkok is….
Krung Thep Mahanakhon Amon Rattanakosin Mahinthara Ayuthaya Mahadilok Phop Noppharat Ratchathani Burirom Udomratchaniwet Mahasathan Amon Piman Awatan Sathit Sakkathattiya Witsanukam Prasit.
Yes! It is true. In fact, you can sing it. A lot of Thais sing the name to help them remember it!
Stepping off the plane in Bangkok was like walking into a wall of warm, wet air. The humidity hit me full force, a thick, tangible presence. Everything was new, a sensory overload. The pungent aromas of street food mingled with the sweet scent of exotic flowers I couldn’t name. Signage in a script I didn’t recognise filled my vision, and snippets of a language I couldn’t understand drifted on the breeze. Excitement warred with a touch of trepidation. This was it – a real adventure.
My 3-star hotel was basic but clean. After settling in, I was eager to explore the city sights. I asked the staff for directions to the Grand Palace. “Bus,” they said, pointing me towards the main road. Being an Aussie with a casual outlook, I was dressed for the heat in a singlet and thongs. Big mistake. When I arrived at the Grand Palace I was politely turned away by soldiers at the Palace gates due to the dress regulations. Lesson learned.
Undeterred, I wandered through Sanam Luang Park. It was there that three young Thai men approached me. “Do you speak English?” they asked. “Can we practise speaking with you?” I figured, why not? I had all day, and I was clueless about the city. So we chatted, and they became my impromptu guides.
They led me through bustling open markets, a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds. Exotic fruits I’d never seen before piled high – spiky durians, vibrant mangosteens, translucent rambutan. Quirky souvenirs caught my eye – miniature tuk-tuks, silk scarves, intricately carved wooden trinkets. It was a world away from home.
We ended up at the Chao Phraya River, where we stopped for lunch at a riverside restaurant. From our table, I watched the river, it throbbed with life. Longtail boats, their engines a guttural symphony, roared up and down, churning the water into a frothy white wake. I was mesmerized, drawn to the raw energy of these vessels, the way they sliced through the current with such determined purpose. Barges laden with cargo, ferries crisscrossing the waterway. It was a constant flow of activity.
I paid for lunch and drinks as a thank you to my new friends. We were even sharing a bottle of bourbon. After lunch, we hopped on a pump boat and roared up and down the river, sightseeing in the “old town.” As I gazed at the neighbourhood, I noticed a woman washing laundry from a platform just above the water. The old wooden houses on stilts lined the Chao Phraya River, their paint peeling and wood weathered grey. Some planks were missing, and the balconies sagged with faded laundry. The roofs, a mix of tiles and corrugated iron, looked like they might collapse any minute, with weeds growing out of them. The river lapped at the stilts, carrying bits of trash and a smell of earth. They were old and falling apart, but they still had a kind of charm, a reminder of what Bangkok used to be like.
And then I saw her.
Standing on a small platform extending out over the water, she was stunning. Long, flowing black hair, a vibrant silk sarong, and a smile that could melt glaciers. She waved, her hand fluttering delicately, and then blew a kiss in my direction. I felt a surge of pride. She’s blowing me a kiss! I thought, grinning and waving back enthusiastically.
Man A, man B, and man C erupted in laughter.
“What?” I asked, confused. “What’s so funny?”
“That ‘girl’,” man A said, still chuckling, “is not a girl.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, my grin faltering.
Man B put his arm around my shoulder, still laughing. “My friend, that is a ladyboy.”
“A ladyboy?” I repeated, the term unfamiliar.
He explained, “A man who dresses and lives as a woman.”
I looked back at the woman on the platform. She was still smiling and waving, her movements graceful and fluid. My confusion deepened. “But… she’s so beautiful,” I stammered. “She looks just like a woman.”
Man A nodded. “That is the point. They are very beautiful, very convincing.”
“So… she was born a man?” I asked, my mind struggling to process this.
Man C chimed in, “Yes, but now she is a woman… in her heart, in her presentation.”
I was fascinated. I’d never encountered anything like this before. “Wow,” I said, shaking my head in wonder. “That’s… incredible.”
Again they laughed. Man A said “You are very innocent, my friend.”
“I’m just surprised,” I admitted. “I mean, she’s… well, he’s gorgeous.”
“What am I thinking, I can’t say he’s beautiful”…. That’s gross!
Man A winked. “Many tourists are surprised. It is part of the experience of Thailand.”
“So,” I asked, turning back to look at the woman again, who was now interacting with someone on another boat. “Is this… common?”
Man B nodded. “Very common. Ladyboys are a part of Thai culture.”
I spent the rest of the boat ride pondering this. The woman, the ladyboy, was so confident, so radiant. It was a revelation, a glimpse into a world I hadn’t known existed. My initial embarrassment at mistaking her gender quickly gave way to a sense of awe and respect. It was a reminder that the world was full of surprises, and that beauty could be found in unexpected places.
After the boat ride, we parted ways. One of the men asked, “Would you like to see the girly bars tonight?” They seemed trustworthy enough. We’d spent the whole day together, and nothing untoward had happened. So, we arranged to meet back at the park in four hours.
I went back to my hotel for a bit of a rest.
Later, I returned to the park. Families and friends were gathering for dinner, sitting in groups, and playing music. Waiters from the nearby restaurants circulated, taking orders and delivering food. The vibe was friendly and relaxed.
We started drinking more bourbon whilst waiting for our food to be cooked and delivered. Now earlier in the story, I was referring to my 3 guides as Man A, Man B and Man C. At this point of my Bangkok experience I will change their identity to Bastard A, Bastard B and Bastard C for reasons that will become apparent shortly. Bastard A pulled out three small cups and a tiny, carved elephant. “A little game,” he said, grinning. “I put elephant under cup. You guess which cup.”
He placed the elephant under one cup, then expertly shuffled them around on the small table. “Okay, Aussie,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Where is it?”
I pointed to the cup on the left. He lifted it, revealing nothing. “Ah, close,” Bastard B chuckled, lifting another. Empty. The elephant was under the last cup. Well, you guessed it, the object of the game – guess wrong and drink.
“Chok dee” (โชคดี). The bastards chant together – It literally means “good luck,” but it’s often used as a toast similar to “cheers.” I skoll my bourbon, a pastime or recreation activity I was very familiar with back in Australia.
“My turn,” I said, grabbing the cups. I hid the elephant and shuffled them, trying to mimic bastard ‘A‘s moves. “Now you,” I said, pushing the cups towards him.
Bastrad A pointed to a cup. I lifted it – the elephant was there! “Beginner’s luck,” I said, laughing.
As the bourbon flowed, the conversation loosened.
“Best bourbon in the world,” bastard A declared, raising his glass, he was the leader of the group.
“Nah, mate,” I countered, “you haven’t tried a good American bourbon yet.”
“Whisky?” bastard B scoffed. “Too strong. I like Thai rum.”
The talk turned to music. Maybe you have heard the word bastard too many times already, I will refer to ‘A’ ‘B’ and ‘C’… you get the picture. ‘A’ was a fan of Thai pop, ‘B’ preferred classic rock. I chimed in with some Aussie pub rock anthems. I could hear a Thai song I really liked coming from a nearby group of young Thais possibly in their twenties. “I like that song, who is the band” I asked. ‘A’ replied “That Carabao”.
Side note: 2 months later when Steve and I returned to Thailand, I bought a cassette tape of Carabao and I still love their music to this day (Feb 2025)
“You want girly bar?” ‘C’ asked, a sly grin spreading across his face.
“Yeah, of course, you take me after dinner?” I replied.
“We know good place,” ‘A’ said, winking. “Very beautiful girls.”
“Maybe later,” I said, feeling a little less cautious after the day’s camaraderie.
As we played more rounds of the shell game, the bourbon bottle emptied quickly. The laughter grew louder, the conversation more animated. At some point, the thought crossed my mind: Should I be worried about getting drunk? Nah, I reasoned. I’m a heavy drinker. I can drink these guys under the table. Famous last words.
We all got progressively drunker. At some point, I must have been distracted, because one of the men spiked my drink. It wasn’t just a little something extra; it was like being hit by a freight train. Suddenly, my head was spinning. Vertigo slammed into me, and I couldn’t find my feet. I wanted to get up and run to another group of people but I couldn’t move. I was spiraling out of control, aware of what was happening but completely unable to stop it.
My thoughts were foggy, and my body was so heavy, it felt like I was stuck in thick mud, but I knew they were robbing me. Luckily, I had a money belt with only 800 baht (about AU$47). The bulk of my money and my documents were securely locked in the hotel safe.
The park seemed to tilt and sway, the music distorting into a garbled mess. I tried to focus, to shout, to push them away, but my limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated. The edges of my vision started to blur, then darken.
After they robbed me, they bundled me into a tuk-tuk, and that’s the last thing I remember. I could have easily been another news story, another tourist victim of a heavy-handed drugging. I remembered reading about similar cases around that time, tourists who never woke up, or were found dumped in some alleyway. They could have taken me anywhere, to some remote location where no one would hear me scream. Or worse… The thought sends a chill down my spine even now.
Miraculously, the tuk-tuk rider got me back to my hotel, and somehow, I managed to get back to my room.
I woke up the next morning with the worst headache of my life. My mouth felt like it was full of cottonwool, and my stomach churned. Vomit was everywhere – in my hair, on the bed, on the floor, even down the hallway. The smell was sickening.
I was terribly unwell, and still feeling the lingering effects of the drug, but I had a plane to catch in two hours – to meet my brother, Steve, in Kathmandu, Nepal.
When I arrived in Kathmandu, Steve took one look at me and said, “I told you not to trust anybody.”