Midnight cabin conversations; stories from an overnight sleeper train
Jinapa, a lovely lady who was also my cabin-mate, on the sleeper train back to Hatyai
The overnight sleeper train was an adventure in and of itself. The last one I took must have been when I was less than 10 years old, of which I have hardly any memory of. This trip, I shared the cabin with a very lovely old lady, Jinapa, who was on her way back to her hometown in Hatyai, after visiting her family in Bangkok. “Everyone goes there to work”, she says to me in a matter-of-fact tone but underlying it, is perhaps a bittersweet nostalgia for family. Hers wouldn’t be the first family to be separated by the cold realities of thriving job markets in capital cities; and it surely won’t be the last either as we become ever more driven by the materialistic demands of our economy. In between our midnight chats about families and the importance of enjoying life, she became my Hatyai mama and I her Singapore daughter, as we were gently rocked to sleep, to the unmistakable sounds of the train tracks.
When we arrived the next morning to torrential rains at the Hatyai Junction station, a kind, slim built, middle-aged man who sat across from us, offered to drop me off at my hotel. As my motorbike wouldn’t be arriving until the next day, I gratefully accepted his offer. He then ran off into the rain to hail our ride while I waited under the shelter. In between chats with Jinapa, I was also bonding with this soft-spoken guy over motorbikes; both of us had our helmets and tail bags with us, an unmistakable conversation opener between bikers. I found out that he rides a Kawasaki Ninja; a popular street bike that is half racer, half street riding, making it a perfect all rounder. Truly, the bike speaks heaps about a rider’s personality, almost the same way a car does with its driver, and here we both shared a similar preference for a balanced riding style.
When we arrived at my hotel, he alighted from the taxi to bid me farewell. Such politeness was so rare and I wanted to honour it. So I gave him a hug and stood at the hotel’s porch as the rain pattered about me, until the tail lights of his taxi faded in the far distance. Perhaps it lacks noticeable flamboyance but it’s these little experiences that I keep close to my heart, the memories of which sparkle brightly in the dimness of daily life. When I look back at my road trip in my old age, it wouldn’t necessarily be the swashbuckling adventures that will first come to mind, but the gentle eyes of a middle aged man in Hatyai, one who alighted from his taxi to wish me good luck on my trip. As I’m writing this, I realised I don’t even know his name!
With gratitude in my heart, I walked into the hotel lobby to the amused smile of one of the receptionists, and her greeting, “Hey, you came back for it!” From one beautiful moment to the next—such was how I’d describe the sequence of my return trip to Hatyai. She candidly reminded me of my booking error weeks before when I first arrived in Hatyai; I had mistakenly booked the room 3 weeks in advance. Of course, I had forgone that booking and completely forgotten about it until I was on my train back to Hatyai. Much as I think I am in control of my journey, it seems that the fates always have the last laugh.
I’m not complaining though, given that it could have been worse. Imagine going up to a hotel in torrential rains and finding it fully booked. Yup, but more than not I’ve always been lucky like this. The receptionist, nicknamed Ice, whisked me through the registration process and made sure I was well-taken care of. The minute I got into my room, I jumped gratefully into the hot showers and then sank into a deep, restful sleep.
Hey, what more could a traveller ask for; a lovely train ride, free taxi to my hotel and a room all prepared for my arrival?