Thailand

‘For all you naughty smokers, may I remind you that it is late at night and all other forms of transport into London are very limited at this time. Think about it.’

For what it’s worth, the train guard on my 7.58pm service from Newcastle to London is surprisingly lenient for a typically militant National Rail employee.

Nonetheless, this does nothing to abate my critical case of The Sunday Night Blues.

Fresh from a fun-filled rollercoaster weekend visit to The Toon, the first since my Graduation last summer, my luggage-laden, late-night trek down South is certainly not filling me with joy. Especially since the Tottenham football fans who I have just shared an intense 2-2 St James’ Park match with insist on running up and down the aisle yelling for high-5s.

It actually feels a little like being on a school trip. The cool kids are the ones smoking in the toilets and swigging from their spiked bottles of Coke, while the nerdy kids like me sit hunched in their seats, furiously tapping away at their computers and hoping that if they remain quiet enough, they will eventually become invisible.

I can think of a multitude of train journeys I’d rather be on at this moment.

A particular favourite instantly springs to mind: my 11-hour overnight voyage from Bangkok to Surat Thani, en route to the Thai islands in 2008.

With the windows flung wide, sticky air racing in, it felt like the train was alive, roaring with its own distinct personality. A world away from the bubble of stale air on my predictably efficient East Coast service, I felt like I was part of the landscape itself, with my head stuck out of the window dog-style, drinking in the strange smells and rich colours. My iPod long forgotten, hours of the journey disappeared as I stared out at flashes of brilliant green paddy fields, forbidding forests crawling with tigers and other fabulous beasts (or so my imagination promised me) and occasionally the glinting roofs of small towns.

As dusk approached, to my surprise and delight a rarely rotund Thai lady shuffled up to my seat and presented me with a menu. I am firmly cautious of in-flight food (those oh-so-perfectly square, luridly coloured vegetables scare me a little), so was thrilled with my simple but delicious noodles, which had evidently been prepared and packaged by hand moments before.

The surprises didn’t stop there; on my return from the bathroom, I did a double take as I discovered that in the minutes I had been gone, my seat had disappeared, to be magically replaced by a full-sized and fully sheeted bunk bed. I turned to watch in wonder as, further down the carriage, a small Thai man summoned more bunks from nowhere, deftly whipping around sheets and mattresses twice his size.

Manoeuvring myself into my narrow top bunk without interrupting the deep-throated, rolling snores already issuing from the bunk beneath me was no mean feat. After a couple of failed attempts to hoist myself aboard, I became aware of a stifled giggle from behind me, and turned to see a gaggle of young Thai girls tucked up together on the opposite bottom bunk, watching my progress with great hilarity. Not one of them looked at all abashed that I had noticed their amusement, on the contrary beckoning me over to sit with them. I spoke not a word of Thai and they not a word of English, so we preceded to have a very bizarre yet pleasurable encounter comprised of exaggerated hand gestures, fascinated photo-taking and manic laughter.

With the guffaws and helping hands of my new Thai friends, I finally managed to lurch my way into bed. While the cocooned privacy that the bunk curtains gave was an unexpected luxury, I’m not going to pretend that I had the most restful of nights. With the artificial carriage lights singing my eyelids, as well as the train’s frequent yelling and bucking, which required rodeo-like skills to remain horizontal, sleep would have been impressive for the most diligent of slumberers. While earlier I had enjoyed the open windows of my 2^nd class carriage, now I longed for air conditioning as I swam around in my slimy sheets.

Fleeting stops at Hua Hin, Chumphon and many other towns soon became distant memories of the night as, hours later, a misty Surat Thani dawn greeted my stinging eyes, and my steed made one last judder before finally stopping with a steamy sigh of relief.

As perilous and exhausted as I felt wobbling down from my bunk, that journey was a genuinely Thai experience that made my travel to the islands as memorable and as much a part of my trip as my destination ended up being.

‘Anything from the trolley?’ drawls the train attendant, snapping me back to reality.

The recent reminiscence of my delicious, tangy train noodles makes these salty £3 coffees seem anything but appealing. I politely decline.

I watch the attendant plod off down the carriage, awkwardly wheeling around a young lad passed out on the floor by the toilet, as a group chanting ‘oh when the Spurs go marching in’ barge past, hands raised expectantly for more High-5s.

My unraised hand goes unnoticed.

Thank God, I think I’m finally invisible.