Bangkok, March 2025

 Khao San Road in Bangkok – the notorious backpacker hotspot. Crowds of – almost exclusively white – Twenty-Somethings stroll up and down this car-free road, flanked with tourist-trap restaurants, street food stalls selling fresh juices, cannabis or grilled insects, and massage parlours. The latter are the only reason why I came here in the first place, since I don’t have much time, it is late already, and I don’t know the city – the reception lady at my hotel recommended me to come here as the best place to get a cheap massage quickly, and the parlours remain open until 1 or 2am.

I walk into the first one that looks decent, and as I lie on my tummy and get my treatment, I strike up a conversation with Phan, the masseuse. Her story touches me. Her home is in the North of the country, she came to the city looking for work about a year ago, following her divorce. With her, she brought her 2 sons, now 2 and 6 years old. I ask her who is watching them now, does she have any help – she replies “no”. They must be alone at home. I suppose the older one looks after his little brother. She explains that she needs to work, continuously, to be able to sustain them. “They eat so much”, “Me no work, no money”, she says, and laughs, just like most of her sentences, in typical Thai fashion, are accompanied by a small laugh. Perhaps to soften a bit the hardness of the reality contained in these sentences.

 

Leaving Bangkok. A sweet little scene at the check-in counter at the airport. The agent hands me back my passport and informs me of the departure gate. “But I don’t want to leave Thailand, what can I do?”, I joke. He picks up on it, saying “And I want to visit Zurich”. “Okay, so we swap! I sit in your seat here, and you get on the plan.”, to which he responds “Give me your passport.” We laugh. But we don’t execute this plan.