No suit, no life!

Down most of the sidestreets that we found in Bangkok there were small tailors-shops, and often a tout standing outside would press a card in my hand and say that he could have a good suit ready for me in a day or so. How this would help me, a hot sweaty sightseer, I'm not sure. On our last morning, as we found our way to the river pier to catch a water taxi to Hualamphong Station and the overnight train to Suratthani the usual thing happened - tailors-shop; tout; card. I was carrying a rucsack, a smaller canvas shoulder bag and I must have looked very sweaty indeed, but I still managed to refuse politely, " Mai, khap khun khrap." I even managed a half-hearted wai (you'll have to look that one up if you don't know). He smiled a big smile and, with oodles of sincerity replied, " No suit, no life!"
If only you knew, I thought smugly.
So, then, more impressions.
Walking from the river pier to Hualamphong through Chinatown. We passed through the mechanics' soi (quarter). Store after store filled with reclaimed car-parts - whole shops full of gleaming cog-wheeels, others piled high with hubcaps or oiled drive-shafts, and everywhere the smell of mineral oil and diesel.
Hualamphong itself. Blessedly cool because it's air-conditioned, crowds of people - Thais, backpackers, seated around on the floor watching advertisements on a huge plasma screen while monks in orange robes mingled among them. ALL stood up to attention while the National anthem played at 6 pm!
The train was an experience. Imagine "Some like it Hot" played in a sauna and you'll have a good idea. We had our beds made up for us and we were plunged into darkness when the train-dude closed the blinds on the windows. Outside, Bangkok slid away and, before we fell asleep we glimpsed fireflies in the trees.
Just outside Surathani we were woken and our beds disappeared to become seats again! Lots of tired bemused travellers - we were, worryingly, easily twice the age of any other non-Thais in the train. The train disgorged us onto the platform where the touts homed in - "Koh Samui?" "Where you go?" "Best deal, honest" (you can decide on that last one for yourself). But we were being met, and so we looked for a sign with our names on it. There it was - a big smile, a handshake and Iat (we think that's how it's spelled) took us to the car, loaded our bags, bought us coffee and whisked us away from the chugging coaches and pick-ups.
Along Highway 401 and into the mountains. Iat pointed out rubber plantations (the price is good, apparently), his old school where he used to walk 4 kms from his village each day, "But now all have motorcycle." We saw lots of these - it was school run time as we drove along. The best I counted was a parent and four children (all in immaculate school uniform, and with school bags) on one motorcycle.
At Khao sok we turned off the road and down a track into the forest - plantations of banana, oil palm, rambutan. "Our Jungle House"was just as we'd imagined; a claearing in the plantations and low thatched buildings by the side of a river flowing beneath an immense cliff. Klaus, the manager met us and explained that we were welcome. He was, he said, trying to create a kind of Fawlty Towers in the Jungle. We'll see! Our tree house is charming - set about 4 metres above the ground, it looks out over the river and onto the limestone cliff where there is a nest of wild bees among the tropical vegetation. We immediately set off for a gentle walk in the national park where we were comprehensively mossied and leeched - but no harm came to us except for the bleeding. We heard gibbons! We heard gibbons! We heard gibbons!
We met a Canadian from Saskatchewan in the evening, and were entertained with a giant toad.
Internet is fickle here in the jungle, so I'm not sure when the next post will happen. Marjoribanks says that this is only to be expected, but we must keep a stiff upper.