Elephant empathy

As I was cycling around Angkor Wat with my new friends Hannah and James, they kept bringing up Bangkok, ‘Oh, have you gone to the Palace?’ ‘There’s this bizarre forensic museum have you been to that? Or the park? Or the dildo shrine?’ Turns out, I’ve skipped the sights entirely while here. Instead what I’ve loved is the normalcy: regular haunts, daily yoga, nightly rehearsals, constant interviews and coffee, weekly massages, swimming pools, oh so much delicious food, hopping on and off the BTS, moto, BTS, moto… I’ve slipped up and started thinking of it as ‘living here’ as opposed to visiting or travelling, a distinction I strive to ignore. And it’s true that entering the tourist circus of Kao San was a shock to the system; though I learned important lessons about the joys of ‘buckets’ of booze, to never try to keep up with the Danish and the obscenely high degree of my tolerance to spice.

The whiskey fueled my dancing, but although it was a fantastic night out, more than that it fueled my anger. What will stay with me from that Saturday night is the baby elephant paraded through the streets packed with sunburned and drunken tourists. Turns out, baby elephants make the most pitiful squeak, and have to put up with belligerent fucks feeding them lit cigarettes and garbage. I realized, though I stayed fuming in my seat and throwing death glares, that I am most certainly capable of violence in the face of cruelty. This leads me to question again where pacifist compunction resides and how quickly it can be overwhelmed.

I have discovered a deep love for elephants and motorcycles and one of my lasting impressions of Bangkok will be breezing past trundling elephants with bicycle lights, cds, or reflecting tape flickering on their tails, as I sit expertly poised on the back of a moto, consciously pushing aside the reality of danger to enjoy the breeze, smells, vibrancy, and conflicting identities of this city.