Dr. Seuss train ride

I step onto the train headed for Khon Kaen, Thailand, as the clocks nears midnight, but then step back onto the platform in confusion. Have I suddenly been transported into India? The train car is packed chock full of barefoot Thais, their parcels, crying children, and a slight two other foreigners. It looks exactly as Indian trains have been described to me.

Just two days ago, I accidentally sat down in third class seating, which was spacious and highly tolerable, albeit stuffy, with only one of the six fans in operation. I was redirected to my second class cabin, which actually was far less comfortable due to the extreme chill imposed by the air conditioning. I missed third class.

Somehow, everything's changed. Today, in third class, there are at least twice as many people as seats. People are sitting and lying everywhere in incredibly uncomfortable looking positions, bodies contorted to occupy existing space, even if it's on top of boxes, wraps around corners, trails down the steps to the doors. There is no cooling, except for windows which drag in the exhaust and chilly night air in equal measure, and spit them around in the cabin.

I look at my seat: 61. A sleeping man is in it, on a bench, sandwiched between two other Thai men in their 30s. I decide I won't press my luck. Even if I could convince him to relinquish the seat, who's to say I'll be more comfortable as a farang (tourist) sandwich?

I sit down on the floor, put in earplugs, and drape a shawl over my head. I'm leaning over in cross-legged position, my head resting on my purse, laid over my crossed legs. I feel like I'm doing yoga, which is great, except it's not the most comfortable position for sleep.

We move for an hour, and then, at 1:11 (make a wish!) we pull into a station with a throng of vendors, where I awaken. We stay a laborious half-hour there, as I listen to what sounds like people screaming the way I might should someone have just rear-ended my car intentionally and then shrugged it off. But they're simply selling their wares. "Pin yoo too doo dee my chai" one seems to scream. "Bock moon chai kai mow tow," another yells, over and over again. Lots of fodder for Doctor Suess; these people all seem to be loudly reciting children's rhymes. I stand, scrouge around for my inflatable neckrest in my pack.

I don't care how stupid I look; I'm tired, sick with a sinus headache and cold, and stressed out about securing my Laotian visa in the next 36 hours. I just had a lovely day in one of the "best" national parks in Thailand, and it seems a shame to end it on this note. As I sit back down after getting my neckrest, I see that the man in front of me has shifted position and stands between me and the upright post that could have served as neck support.

Aw, shucks. As we pull away, another three hours to go, I settle back into yoga pose, knowing it's gonna be one long night.