Sounds and smells from Chakapong Road invaded the street-level dining lounge of Sawasdee Khaosan Inn. Even at dawn the humid air was laden with vehicle exhaust and constant, bustling noise. A cacophony of tuk-tuks, tour buses and honking taxis drowned out the multilingual exchanges of Thais and tourists crowding the sidewalks. Pleasant aromas rose from my fresh plate of breakfast buffet food, only to mingle with the stench of diesel fumes, garbage and sewage wafting in from outside. I stabbed a wedge of pineapple with a fork, savoring the sweet juicy fruit while I scanned the streetscape for signs of my fishing guides.
That was the start of my tenth day in Bangkok and I was in desperate need of the epic day of fishing that awaited. So far on the trip I had endured a nasty cold and sore throat, culture shock, financial blunderings, anxiety, loneliness, boredom, and regret. Predictably, I suppose, given that I had booked the eleven-day solo adventure on a whim, without doing any research or even preparing the most rudimentary itinerary. You might think that sounds crazy, and it is. That was the point. Adventure, right?
Winging it solo through New Zealand for a couple weeks had worked well earlier that year, and I had adapted seamlessly to my study-abroad semester in Western Australia. Those experiences had inflated my confidence about traveling on my own but failed to adequately prepare me for the chaotic streets of Bangkok.
Plunged into the Asian megacity of eight million people, I was quickly overwhelmed and disoriented. I had catapulted myself into Bangkok to experience an exotic new country, only to fritter the majority of my vacation away anxiously awaiting my return flight to Perth, a return to the comforts of friendship, familiar culture and the demanding yet safe and predictable routine of student life. My Thailand trip tested my mettle and for that it was in many ways an exploration of myself and my emotions as it was the country itself. I see that and value it now, a decade and half later. But during my time there I mostly regretted my decision to take the trip.
I poured warm, ultra-pasteurized milk over a small bowl of corn flakes before shoveling fork-fulls of scrambled eggs with shredded ham into my mouth. Just one more day. One more day and then I get to leave this place. I pushed my empty plate aside and turned my attention to the now-soggy cereal, slurping it up and finishing my breakfast off with a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice.
I did not have to wait long after finishing my breakfast before a van rolled up curbside. Fish Thailand founder Eddie Mounce greeted me in the hotel lobby with a handshake and a smile and I handed him a pre-counted wad of Thai Baht before hopping in the tour van. Our driver for the day, Mr. King, expertly navigated Bangkok’s congested streets with admirable serenity and expertise as Eddie answered my peppering of questions about the fishing. He also shared stories of his entrepreneurial journey from England to Thailand to fulfill a dream in founding FishThailand [1].
Our destination was Bungsamran Fishing Park; a manmade twenty-acre pay pond on the outskirts of the city that had been in operation since 1984. I fished it in 2006, but that old Bungsamran Fishing Park has since closed down. Its fish were transferred to an entirely new thirty-five-acre pond that was opened in 2017 under the name New Bungsamran. Bungsamran is a popular destination for traveling anglers as it offers the virtual guarantee of catching some monstrous fish. Possible catches include the Mekong Giant Catfish (Pangasianodon gigas), several other catfish species, Siamese Carp (Catlocarpio siamensis), and dozens of others. A stocked pond is a far cry from fishing for wild fish but as a Minnesotan native that at the time had never fished outside of the Midwest I was thrilled to have a very real opportunity to catch some exotic species and reel in some gigantic fish.
FishThailand guide Alley awaited Eddie and me at the entrance area at Bungsamran, where we parted ways with Mr. King for the day. The three of us carried rods, tackle and bait buckets down the dock to one of several partially-sheltered fishing bungalows that jutted out over the water. Alley set to work mixing water, corn flakes and other “secret ingredients” together in a plastic five-gallon bucket. When the bait was thoroughly mixed he formed a baseball-sized sphere of the doughy concoction around my hook, which was rigged beneath a large sliding foam float.
Alley instructed me to gently lob-cast the rig towards the middle of the pond. Bait and float plopped down together, forming little waves that spread across the calm surface of the brown water in concentric rings. I set the rod down on the wood-slatted dock, bail of the reel open so that a fish could take line freely without pulling the whole rod and reel into the drink.
Eddie handed me a fishing belt, which I buckled around my waist. The front of the device featured a plastic band with a molded cup for inserting the rod butt. It was designed to make long battles with large fish more comfortable and was the sort of contraption you would expect aboard a deep-sea trolling vessel bound for a day of big-game tuna or marlin fishing. Looking out over the placid pond, I thought the belt seemed a bit overkill.
My wait was not long. The bobber submerged and I picked up the rod. Eddie and Alley coached me to wait and let the fish take some line before setting the hook. A few seconds later I closed the bail and reared back on the rod. It arched deeply and something very heavy on the other end of the line tugged strong and steady. The fish stayed deep and hidden in the muddy water. The rod throbbed downward with each powerful tail beat. After an unstoppable initial run I was able to gradually recoup line and draw the fish ever closer by methodically pumping the rod—reeling in line while lowering the rod and pulling the rod high again to drag the fish through the water. I gained ground only to lose it when the fish tore off on another line-peeling run. It fought valiantly but I had all the advantages. Firm ground on which to plant my feet for leverage, the high tension of the bent rod working in my favor to tire the fish, and of course the fact that I was not encumbered with a hook in the corner of my own mouth.
My sense of time had evaporated, as it tends to in the heat of battle against a giant fish. I would estimate that it was a fifteen-minute give-and-take affair before I had the fish within netting range. Alley swept the large net beneath my bulky, gray and broad-tailed fish. He deftly secured it on the first attempt and muscled it onto the deck. Its wide mouth opened and closed but it remained otherwise docile. My first catch of the day was the main attraction, a Mekong Giant Catfish! If that had been my sole catch I would still be counting that day a success. But I was far from finished.
Eddie quickly weighed it and snapped several photos of me proudly holding my catch using the cheap disposable film camera I had purchased earlier on the trip. Then he gently lowered the fish back into the water. Its powerful tail propelled it down, the fish quickly fading into the depths of Bungsamran, a catch-and-release-only venue. I am sure I wasn’t the first to catch that fish and I would bet it was caught several times again.
At thirty pounds my first fish of the day was triple the weight of my previous heaviest—at the time a tie between Common Carp and Northern Pike—but I continually raised that bar throughout the day. As Mekong Giant Catfish go, mine was a small specimen. The large ones are well over 100 pounds, with anglers occasionally hauling up fish exceeding the 200-pound mark from Bungsamran. The trophy fish are so massive that anglers do not remove them from the water, partly to avoid injury to the fish—many large fish cannot support their own body mass out of the water, which can cause damage to organs—but also because the alternative presents a big logistical challenge. What else can you do with a fish too large to fit in a net than to jump in the water with it for an epic and adventurous photo opportunity? I hoped I would get the chance to get wet and take home one of those souvenir photos, waist deep in the pond with a strained smile across my face as I struggle to partially hoist a massive fish for the camera.
Mekong Giant Catfish, endemic to the Mekong River basin of Southeast Asia, are listed as critically endangered in the wild [2]. The damning combination of dams, habitat degradation and excessive harvest has decimated the wild population of this species over the past several decades, perhaps by 99% or more compared to their numbers one century ago [3]. Although the habitat requirements of this species are not fully understood, wild Mekong Giant Catfish inhabit large rivers and undertake long migrations in order to fulfill their life-cycles. Fragmentation and degradation of habitat make it difficult for adults to successfully reproduce and for larval fish to survive and grow into river giants. Overharvest has been a serious and immediate threat to the species, although moratoriums on harvest have been enacted and captive breeding programs exist to supplement wild populations with hatchery-spawned fish [3]. Bans on harvest of wild fish and supplemental stocking programs may not be adequate to save wild Mekong Giant Catfish from extinction if dams, pollution and other threats to their habitat—the reasons these fish are becoming scarcer in the first place—are not sufficiently addressed [4]. And that is a tall, but not impossible, order.
Hatchery-raised Mekong Giant Catfish are sold to pay-to-fish lakes like Bungsamran Fishing Park to meet the angling demand in Thailand, providing a legal way for tourists and local anglers to tussle with these giant fish on rod and reel. Pond and reservoir stocked fish may still grow huge but, lacking access to suitable riverine habitat for spawning, these pond-stocked fish will not be able to reproduce [2, 4].
So, the fish I caught at Bungsamran were far from wild. My experience was more akin to fishing in an oversized goldfish pond than a natural river. But fishing for private stock Giant Mekong Catfish in Thailand was then and is currently the only legal and responsible method of angling for these amazing fish. I fully admit that my success at Bungsamran Fishing Park had little to do with my angling skills, yet I had a blast and forged unforgettable memories. And that is what really matters to me, in the end.
Alley buried my hook in a new ball of bait and I cast the line back into the pond. Again my wait was short and I hooked another heavyweight fish. After another demanding battle I found myself cradling a 40-pound Mekong Giant Catfish in my arms, its protective mucous sliming my arms and shirt as I smiled for a photograph. I was thrilled to catch the largest fish of my life, for the second time that morning, but as Eddie released that one he commented about hoping to see me catch a big one. The stocky, broad-headed catfish are among the largest strictly freshwater fish species in the world. Mekong Giant Catfish, a primarily herbivorous fish that loses their barbels as they grow into adults, approach maximum lengths of ten feet and can exceed the six-hundred-pound mark [4].
When the third bait was immediately taken up by another big fish it became obvious that I would not be getting much rest. Which, of course, was nothing to complain about! This was pure, carefree fun—a stark contrast to the rest of my Thailand trip. That third fish felt smaller but I remember it fought with more spunk. As it squirmed in the net Eddie cautioned me to avoid the sharp pectoral fins of this 23-pound catfish. He pointed out that this fish was a new species, a Striped Catfish (Pangasianodon hypophthalmus).
Striped Catfish resemble Mekong Giant Catfish but only grow to about one-hundred-pounds maximum [8]. Striped Catfish have proportionately smaller heads and mouths and differences in the shape of the fins, fin ray counts and other subtle differences also help distinguish these related species. Striped Catfish are listed as endangered, with wild populations rapidly declining in the past few decades for the same reasons as the Mekong Giant Catfish, although commercial aquaculture of captive Striped Catfish is widespread throughout Southeast Asia and particularly in Vietnam [5, 7]. Its meat is exported around the world, commonly marketed as “Swai” in grocery stores throughout the United States [6].
Juvenile Striped Catfish, which have dark lateral stripes that fade as the fish grow into adults, are popular in the aquarium trade, often sold as “Iridescent Shark,” although they are not suitable for most home aquaria due to the substantial space requirements of this large, active and schooling species [8].
After my first Striped Catfish swam away I used my t-shirt to wipe the sweat from my brow. The tropical sun was still rising and so was the temperature. Eddie flicked on a small fan that hummed as it pushed the one-hundred-degree air around, delivering minimal relief. I was sweating profusely in the oppressive heat and becoming increasingly exhausted as I continued to wrestle in huge fish after huge fish, a combination of Giant Mekong Catfish and Striped Catfish that ranged from 16 to 40 pounds.
At noon I reeled in the line and we sheltered in the shade of the thatch-roofed bungalow for a lunch break. Eddie and Alley conversed sporadically in Thai while they enjoyed their lunches. I quietly consumed my tasty chicken, rice and vegetable dish from its Styrofoam container. I stared out over the murky water and reflected on my trip, on all the things I had put myself through for this chance to fish…
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It all started with an unassuming walk from my flat at Curtin University’s Erica Underwood House to the nearby Coles supermarket for some groceries. After I picked up a few things I was returning to campus when I passed a travel shop advertising airfare. That caught my attention. The midpoint of my semester abroad would be punctuated by an upcoming week-long Easter holiday. My Aussie and international friends were either traveling home to spend time with their families, or were simply going to hang around the campus flats for a quiet week off. I had not really thought about my plans for the break until that moment, but it occurred to me then that this would be a prime opportunity to go off on a grandiose adventure of my own. I entered the travel shop.
Options for round-trip airfare to several Asian cities were on available for only a few hundred dollars. I briefly considered Indonesia and Thailand, and without researching either I ended up walking out with confirmed flights for an April 21 through May 2 trip to Bangkok. When I returned to my flat I got on my laptop and looked up Bangkok for a general idea of what to expect. I also reserved a room for my first three nights at the Sawasdee Khaosan Inn. The rest of the trip? I would figure it out when I got there.
Unfortunately, I came down with a painful sore throat and cold that knocked me down hard and left me feeling completely wiped out. Although I felt like shit I proceeded with my journey and my plane touched down at the Don Mueang International Airport on the afternoon of April 21, 2006. I collected my baggage, hurriedly withdrew a couple hundred USD worth of Thai Baht at an ATM, which I later discovered had been at a very unfavorable exchange rate, and walked outside. I handed my hotel information to the first taxi driver that approached me, loaded my bags into the trunk, and climbed into his cab. Exhausted from travel and sickness, I peered out the window and got my first sense of how immense the populous and sprawling city of Bangkok really was.
About an hour later my cab driver stopped pulled over on a chaotic avenue and announced that we had arrived. I could not see the hotel but he insisted this was the place. I climbed out, grabbed my stuff, squared up with him and watched as he drove away. I was left alone in the middle of Bangkok, standing on the crowded sidewalk holding my luggage close. Claustrophobia welled up within me. I was now immersed in a boisterous, crammed-in reality that suddenly felt overwhelming and unfamiliar. Attempting to capitalize on my disorientation, men approached, speaking rapidly as they reached for my luggage, offering to carry my stuff for a fee. I sequentially turned them away. I was embarrassed to have to ask for directions to my hotel, for although its façade loomed in plain sight the Sawasdee sign blended in amidst the billion other visual stimuli my brain was struggling to process.
Once I checked in at the front desk and made my way up the stairs and down the narrow hall to my basic hotel room I felt much better. I immediately dropped my luggage, locked the door behind me and sprawled out flat on my back atop the bed. Made it.
It was a relief to have a safe spot to my own, a place to finally rest for a few minutes and process the fact I was completely alone in Bangkok, a world away from anybody I knew, to face the ten completely unstructured days ahead of me. Ten days on a very tight budget. Reality sunk in. What the hell am I doing here?
I ventured out briefly at dusk to purchase a falafel from a street vendor for dinner and stroll the length of Khao San Road, a famous pedestrian-only street that has served as a hub for budget travelers for decades, making it one of the most touristy areas of Bangkok. I navigated through throngs of people milling about under the bright, colorful illumination of the many signs jutting out from multistory buildings framing the street. Vendor tents crowded Khao San Road, each packed with an assortment of wares, legal or otherwise. For visitors seeking a wild time, this was the place to be. But I was a timid, twenty-year-old introvert, and that scene was not for me. I retired to my room for the night.
It was only 7:00pm but I felt awful. My throat burned with a lump of pain with every swallow and I was run-down from the full day of traveling. I flipped on the television and cycled between the only three English-language channels—BBC News, ESPN Eurasia, and a movie channel—before falling asleep.
The sun was up when I awoke to my first full day in Bangkok. Throat still sore, I gingerly ate breakfast at the Sawasdee Khaosan Inn buffet before venturing out into the streets. Having no particular agenda, I just picked a direction and walked. Vendors called out for my attention and swiftly advanced, occasionally even laying a hand on my shoulder, offering nearly everything and anything imaginable. Guided tours, food, jewelry, lodging, messages, souvenirs, pirated CDs and DVDs, other electronics, clothing, art, fortune-telling, dancing lessons, transportation, Thai boxing event tickets and even sex—the form of the latter offer via men repeatedly clapping a palm over a closed fist saying “Thai lady, Thai lady, you want Thai lady?”
I tried to be respectful and listen to each person, but my naiveté just escalated their efforts to peddle whatever it was they were selling, and then it became awkward to abruptly decline and leave. I quickly learned to avert my eyes and not slow my pace, issuing dismissive “no thanks” as a I made my way through the city. It felt rude but that was the only way I was getting anywhere.
The first notable landmark I encountered was the Democracy Monument, centered in a busy traffic roundabout. The monument consists of a central turret symbolic of the Thai Constitution, surrounded by four wing-like towers representing the army, navy, air force and police. I snapped a photo and continued on until I reached the Giant Swing and Wat Suthat, one of Bangkok’s most ornate temples, featuring green and gold roofed pagodas. I paid a nominal fee to enter and explore the cloistered courtyard and elaborately decorated inner prayer hall, which featured a large golden Buddha statue and fancy murals. In the shaded halls along the outer walls of the open temple court were rows of smaller golden Buddha statues. It felt good to step out of the sweltering sunlight, if only for a moment.
I left Wat Suthat and continued walking, somewhat zombie-like as I battled my head cold, made worse by the thick traffic exhaust and stifling tropical heat. I tried to wave off a tuk-tuk driver but he was persuasive. For a reasonable price he offered to take me on a tour of the highlights of that region of the city. I acquiesced and climbed into the three-wheeled motor rickshaw, somewhat thankful to get off my feet.
We stopped at several of Bangkok’s 440-some temples, starting with the Lucky Buddha, tucked in an alley I never would have discovered walking around on my own, where I participated in the tradition of lighting an incense for good luck. He also drove me to the Giant Buddha Statue and the Marble Temple, and by the time I explored that impressive crimson and gold temple I no longer knew which direction Khao San Road was.
I had become dependent on my tuk-tuk driver to return me to my hotel. But he did not return me straight away. Instead he took me to a series of jewelry shops and suit tailors though I had no interest or intention of purchasing anything. I endured the rigmarole of getting fitted for dress suits at a couple of tailors before disappointing each proprietor. “Do you not like it? What is wrong with it? It’s a very good price! Highest quality material!” I later learned that the driver was trying to get fuel vouchers from the stores he was taking me to in return for bringing them business.
The last such stop, before I demanded that he return me to Khao San Road, was a travel agency. For the most part my first day in Bangkok had gone alright. Despite feeling unwell and being dragged around by my driver I was having fun seeing new things. Yet, I felt like I had seen the most impressive temples already and feared I would get bored sticking around Khao San Road for eight more days. So I caved to the sales pressure, enticed by some pretty pictures, and purchased a five-day trip to Ko Samui—a tropical island set in a dreamscape of emerald forest and clear blue waters. I was still booked to stay at Sawasdee Khaosan Inn for the next couple of nights, so I scheduled the Ko Samui trip for my fifth through ninth days of the trip. It set me back a few hundred USD.
When I was finally returned to Khao San Road I shopped a 7-Eleven for a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, bottled water, and some throat lozenges before retreating to my hotel room. It had seemed like a really long day yet but it was only 4 o’clock. I selected a soccer game for the comfort of hearing spoken English and scarfed down my lackluster dinner, a pair of peanut butter sandwiches. Fear flooded my mind, then escalated to panic.
Ko Samui sounded great. But to get there I would have to take an eleven-hour overnight bus ride. What if I get sick on the bus? Have to go to the bathroom? Will anyone speak English? In my haste to book that side adventure, in part due to the language barrier, I had failed to understand the essential logistical details. How am I supposed to get to Ko Samui from the bus stop? How often do buses return to Bangkok? What if I miss the bus and can’t make back to Bangkok in time to catch my flight? My confidence eroded, potent anxiety arose. I suspect Ko Samui would have been amazing and in hindsight I really regret not being more adventurous and just going for it. But then and there, alone in that little hotel room, I talked myself out of it.
But I had a problem. I had nearly zeroed out my available cash and credit in committing to the Ko Samui adventure (I knew I would later receive another student loan disbursement to support me through the remainder of my semester in Australia, but that did not help me in Thailand). I had blown my limited budget and no longer had sufficient funds to cover lodging for the duration of my trip if I stayed in Bangkok. I was trapped in a figurative corner. What am I going to do? I turned the TV off, sat cross-legged on the cement floor of the hotel room with the lights out and cried in the dark. Profusely. Wet, salty streams poured down my cheeks and I gasped for air in trembling breaths. My heart pounded. I felt way over my head. Writing this many years later, this all seems overly dramatic, but that was the situation.
After some time, I stopped crying and focused on taking deep, even breaths. It was the first time I ever deliberately attempted meditation, and it helped me relax a bit. I developed a plan. Not preferable, but a way out of my jam. I hate asking for help, especially with a situation I was fully responsible for getting myself into, but I needed it. So I decided I would email my dad in the morning and ask him to deposit money in my account. If he could do that, I would stay in Bangkok. My plan was to play things safe, survive the trip, and get back to Australia. I would be able to sort everything out then. Feeling a little more at ease, I showered and was able to go to sleep.
Day two began with a breakfast buffet and internet café session to email my dad. I also wrote and mailed off a few whiny postcards about being sick, lonely and already ready to leave. Then I wandered back out on the streets to spend another day walking and sight-seeing. This time I planned to avoid tuk-tuk drivers and their shop-stop gimmicks.
I was following a sidewalk skirting a park when the first driver approached me and persisted I take a tuk-tuk tour of town. “What haven’t you seen? I can take you there! I can give you the cheapest price! You don’t want to walk. Come on, let’s go, let’s go!” He grabbed my shirt as a local man approached and spoke to the driver. The driver gave up and left. The guy introduced himself as “Sam” and offered to walk with me. Skeptically, I asked how much but he told me nothing. I anticipated he would expect a tip, but his English was good and he seemed like a friendly guy so I acquiesced. If nothing else, his company was a ward against the persistent hawkers and we were able to traverse the city with little interruption. As it turned out, I saw and experienced a plethora of things in the city that I would have missed on my own.
We first visited a Hindu temple adorned with myriad statues including likenesses of Vishnu, Shiva, and Ganesa. Sam directed me to remove my shoes and he handed me a cloth to wrap around my head. We ascended a staircase and entered a prayer chamber. I would have felt uncomfortable going there alone, unaware of the custom, but we were quietly welcomed.
The next highlight was the Chinatown markets, which greeted us with the pungent odors of fish and a great variety of other plant and animal products. I enjoyed perusing the narrow walking lanes of the markets and investigating the whole fish of various species laid out for sale—many of which were fishes I had never seen or even heard of before. Most of the fruits and vegetables filling the market tables also seemed foreign and mysterious. Sections of the maze-like market were also crammed with various non-food item vendors. When we finally moved on, the open space and fresh air was a welcome change.
Sam led me along the river, past the royal palace and other sites of interest, to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant he claimed was popular with locals, although we were the only patrons. It was not a place I would have chosen or found on my own but it turned out to be a good choice. The food was delicious and the prices were cheap, even by Bangkok standards.
Sam ordered in Thai and it seemed he asked for most of the menu items. We were brought far more food than the two of us could consume. Plates of steamed vegetables and noodles, a spicy seafood soup with shrimp and chunks of fish, another voluminous noodle dish with tofu, and liter after liter of Singha beer. After one bottle I was already feeling buzzed and Sam ordered me a second one once he saw I had finished it. I sipped it slowly as we ate and chatted for what must have been a couple hours, during which Sam downed at least four of the beers while giving me the gist of his life story. The drinks induced a slur in his voice and dulled my attention, so I failed to follow every word he said over the loud Khmer music playing from a juke box, the noise of traffic lurching past outside, and through my distracted attempt to mentally tally up the costs of our dinner. I anticipated that Sam expected me to cover the tab, which I was totally cool with—he had been good company and had proved to be an excellent guide for the day. But I knew I didn’t have enough Baht in my pocket to cover the entire expense. I hoped that the restaurant accepted plastic. It did not.
It was dark out when Sam finally called for the check. As I expected, we were short and Sam didn’t have any cash. We negotiated that Sam wait in the restaurant while I went to an ATM to fetch the required cash. Apparently there was no ATM nearby. A young man—I assume he was restaurant staff—put on his helmet and directed me to get on his motorbike behind him. No helmet for me. I hopped on the motorbike, which was not built to seat two adults, and awkwardly clung to him like a monkey as we zipped between lanes of braiding, jumbled traffic. I feared for my life as we flew through traffic, a blur of headlights and taillights, engines buzzing and drivers honking. I fully expected to hit the pavement at any moment. When we reached an ATM I withdrew enough cash to pay the tab, plus some extra. I survived the equally terrifying return ride and was able to settle the bill.
Sam escorted me back to Khao San Road, where he asked for a tip. Despite just footing the dinner bill I did not contest it. I handed him a few more Baht, thanked him for spending his day showing me around and we bid each other goodbye and good luck. I never saw him again.
I checked my email on one of the hotel computers and read a note from my dad. He promised he would deposit money in my account the following day. Relieved, I took a shower and flipped between BBC news and a soccer game before drifting off to sleep. Two days down, another nine to go…
I spent the next week laying low, with the exceptions of my day at Bungsamran Fishing Park and a guided full-day excursion to ruins of Ayutthaya, the old capital of Thailand that had been a thriving kingdom from the 1300s through the 1760s, before it was sacked by the Burmese and eventually abandoned. I reserved my room at Sawasdee Khao San Inn through the duration of my stay was content to spend the better part of my days holed up reading and watching movies, killing significant blocks of time without spending money. I read the entire book Bangkok 8, a crime thriller I’d picked up at a book store on one of my walks, and a good chunk of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.
In hindsight it was a drag, a bore, and really such a pity to spend so much time looking at the TV, not looking at the city. I gradually bucked my cold and sore throat, but I still felt lonely and sorry for myself through most of the trip. I just wanted to be done with and out of that place, for good. But time just seemed to drag on at a snail’s pace.
It wasn’t all so bad, though.
In the evenings I ventured out for walks and saw some new sights in my slice of the enormous city. The highlights were the National Museum and spending time along the Chao Phraya River. I even joined in on a riverfront aerobics class near Phrasumaine Fortress one evening.
I spent a good deal of time taking it easy—time being something I felt I had an overabundance of—just watching the river traffic and the pigeons and enjoying the cooler breeze coming off the water.
One evening I watched the sunset from the apex of the Rama 8 bridge, a stiff and invigorating wind in my face and lightning in the distance as a storm rolled in. I was caught in a deluge of cool rain on my walk back to the hotel but it felt amazing. I vividly remember lingering in the night, lightning and thunder crashing, letting the water thoroughly soak me and delighting in the sound that sheets of the huge tropical rain drops made when they drilled down upon the corrugated metal roofs. I felt euphoric, a welcome contrast to the fear, loneliness and boredom that had characterized much of the trip. I realized there really isn’t much between despair and ecstasy…
Just my mood.
My day trip to Ayutthaya was actually pretty great. I was in a van with some English and Japanese tourists and hour Thai guides spoke fluent English, so I felt comfortable and enjoyed the day. It was nice to get out of the bustling city and into the countryside, where we walked among blossoming trees and flitting butterflies looking at the ruin of centuries-old spires, temples and statues. Here are a few shots from Wat Phra Si Sanphet, Ayutthaya:
After dining together our group stopped to explore Wat Mahathat, where I observed the famous Buddha head enshrined in the growing roots of a giant fig tree and explored the crumbling red-brick ruins, half-overtaken by vegetation.
Eventually, the sun rose on my tenth day in Bangkok. I had made it through the bulk of my trip, and after a day of fishing I would enjoy one final, introspective evening in Thailand before flying back to Australia the following morning.
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“Ready to catch that giant?”
I nodded and handed Eddy my empty Styrofoam box, which he shoved into a garbage bag. I casted a new bait into the pond.
The wait between bites was marginally longer in the sweltering heat of the afternoon, but big fish still came one after another. One of my larger Mekong Giant Catfish swam around and become entangled in the wooden posts supporting the dock. It seemed hopeless stuck but Alley demonstrated how he earned his nick-name “snag” by helping me coax the fish out of the pilings so I could land it. I think I only lost one of the fish I hooked over the course of the day, so given the power of those fish combined with abundant opportunities for snagging up we did pretty well as a team.
When the fishing day ended at 3:00pm I was ready to quit. Not because I was not having a blast, but my back ached, my arms were spent and my hands were blistered from wrangling so many bruiser catfish. Those fish had thoroughly exhausted me!
We had all hoped the afternoon would bring one of those hundred-plus pound Mekong Giant Catfish that Bungsamran was famous for, or perhaps a Siamese Carp, but my largest fish of the day was a 50 pound Mekong. That fish was still five times the size of any fish I had previously caught, so I counted the trip as a wild success. My final tally was eleven Giant Mekong Catfish and five Striped Catfish, with a cumulative weight in the ballpark of five hundred pounds.
Since that day I have caught a handful of fish exceeding the fifty-pound mark but my outing at Bungsamran Fishing Park remains my best in terms of the sheer weight of fish caught in a single excursion.
Sources:
[1] FishThailand https://fishthailand.co.uk/
[2] Hogan, Zeb. 2011. Pangasianodon gigas. The IUCN Red List of Threatened Species 2011: e.T15944A5324699. https://dx.doi.org/10.2305/IUCN.UK.2011-1.RLTS.T15944A5324699.en. Downloaded on 30 May 2020.
[3] Hogan, Zeb. 2012. A Mekong Giant: Current status, threats and preliminary conservation measures for the critically endangered Mekong Giant Catfish. World Wildlife Foundation Report, July 2012. www.cepf.net/sites/default/files/mgc_report_1.pdf
[4] Mattson, Niklas S., Kongpheng Buakhamvongsa, Naruepon Sukumasavin, Nguyen Tuan, and Ouk Vibol. 2002. Cambodia Mekong giant fish species: on their management and biology. MRC Technical Paper No. 3, Mekong River Commission, Phnom Penh. pp. 29. ISSN: 1683-1489.
[5] Vidthayanon, C. & Hogan, Z. 2011. Pangasianodon hypophthalmus. The IUCN Red List of Threatened Species. e.T180689A7649971. dx.doi.org/10.2305/IUCN.UK.2011-1.RLTS.T180689A7649971.en. Downloaded on 25 May 2020.
[6] Cocker, Lee Marcus & Peter Bridson. 2014. Pangasius: Pangasianodon hypophthalmus. Monteray Bay Aquarium Seafood Watch. www.seafoodwatch.org/-/m/sfw/pdf/reports/c/mba_seafoodwatch_catfish_vietnam_report.pdf
[7] FAO (Food and Agriculture Organization), 2010. Cultured Aquatic Species Information Programme. Pangasius hypophthalmus. Aquatic Species Information Programme, FAO Fisheries and Aquaculture Department, Rome. Updated 14 Jan. 2010 www.fao.org/fishery/culturedspecies/Pangasius_hypophthalmus/en
[8] FishBase.org. Pangasionodon hypophthalmus. Accessed 30 May, 2020. www.fishbase.se/summary/Pangasianodon-hypophthalmus.html