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Now, I'm pretty used to being an uncool guy. I don’t have a 280 litre back-pack that looks like I spilled fruit salad on it. Mine isn’t even big enough to fit patches of the national flags of the countries I’ve visited. My wardrobe doesn’t include a purple pair of fisherman’s pants, nor leather flip-flops. I like a few Bob Marley songs, but I don’t really feel his pain. Most foreign films bore the crap out of me and I almost never travel with a copy of my “favourite” Huxley or Hemingway novel, to leave in a conspicuous place wherever I am dining. Oh yeah – and I’ve never astrally projected my “being”. If your resume of personal traits is similar to mine then prepare for the looks of disdain on Khao-San Road that you will receive from our overly pierced cousins. There are some who were hippies before it was even cool – like in the 1950s. Quite a few also survive from the 1960s era like life is some eternal ride on the peace bus. Perhaps the Marrakesh Express forgot to terminate in Morocco and just kept heading east? Plaited beards and Lennon glasses seemed to be a favourite of the “I was stoning before you wore your first crochet beanie” crowd (Oh yes – there is a definite hierarchy amongst this repulsive sub-culture).
I offered the man 300 baht (50 more than the asking price and about 250 more than T-shirts at the markets 3km away) and snapped up three of the shirts. I couldn’t let insight like that go unrewarded. My spendthrift nature drew the ire of a few passing peaceniks, but the threat of violence, implicit in my stare, meant that they didn’t say anything. Now there are a few regular folk on Khaosan (plain clothes, regular size black packs etc) but they seem to be in a minority. I’d occasionally see them and there is a kind of ritual we uncool would follow. Discover each other, make eye contact, raise the eyebrows a split second before rolling eyes towards the floor, look away and then go about your business again. It’s done in a “please don’t tell anybody you saw me here” kind of way. By even writing this story I am breaking our code – perhaps in an unforgivable manner. Now you won’t really see these folk in the bars or eating at the restaurants on Khaosan. In fact it’s pretty clear they are there only 'cos they felt they had to see it. But honestly – the place is like a road accident – you just can’t look away.
“Yeah Mum, Khaosan is just such a culture shock.” Peace. Author - Rob Wood
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