Fly Fishing by J.R. Hartley

There are two ways to make the journey from Luang Prabang in Laos to Bangkok. One way requires firstly taking a night bus through the mountainous roads to Laos’ capital, Vientiane. Having made this journey in the opposite direction during daylight, I’m pretty sure that the countless hairpin bends would have made sleeping the journey through the night nearly impossible. In all likelihood the further 14 hour wait in Vientiane for the subsequent night bus to Bangkok would have not been spent constructively; slumping over a backpack would have probably taken favour over sightseeing. 36 hours after setting out, and after the second bus staggered across the border, we, Harriet, Megan and I, would have arrived in Bangkok. Not only would the journey be long and uncomfortable, but also, as we would have entered Thailand via a surface crossing, we would have only been granted 15 days stay in the country. The other option, which would grant us 30 days in Thailand, was to take a 70 minute flight with Laos Airways. Thankfully we chose the other option. I arrived in Bangkok wide awake, well fed, and without a bead of sweat on my back.

I had looked forward to being in Bangkok for one reason; I could finally get the underwater housing for my camera there. Having exhaustedly searched Vietnam, I was told in Saigon that my only chance of tracking down what I needed in southeast Asia was in Bangkok. After we checked in to a hostel, I began my search on Khao San Road. As one of the worlds backpackers hubs, I expected Khao San Road to be an open sewer of pickpockets, touts and prostitutes. I was therefore very pleasantly surprised when I found myself walking down a bright and airy pedestrianised street streamed with colourful bunting and smiles everywhere I looked. I found a camera shop where after the owner made a dozen phone calls, I was told that I’d have a hard time finding what I needed. When I walked in to the next shop, my heart skipped a beat. There in a display cabinet was a boxed Canon WP-DC28. My search was over. I eagerly waited while the shop attendant finished serving the customer in front of me, then pointed at my Holy Grail.
  ’I'll have that please’
  ’Oh that. That’s just a box. We don’t sell that anymore.’
My heart sunk.
  ’Why do you have the box?’
The attendant shrugged.
  ’Is there anywhere in Bangkok I could find it?’
  ’MBK’
Thirty seconds later, and in a city I had only known for an hour, I jumped in to the back of tuk-tuk. I instructed the driver to go to this “MBK” and set off down a wide boulevard lined with stalls selling placards and red t-shirts. Tomorrow, the driver told me, was going to be a big day for the protestors. Perhaps that would explain why there were fewer tourists in the city than I expected.

Fifteen minutes later I arrived at MBK which, as I had hoped, didn’t turn out to be an airport or another city but was of course a giant shopping mall. The top floor of was a sea of hundreds of small shops that all appeared to be selling the same thing: mobile phones, digital cameras and pirated media. I worked my way through the ranks until I was introduced to MBK’s technology matriarch. I got the impression that she knew everybody and could get anything. Yes she had what I needed in the warehouse. All I had to do was leave a deposit and come back in 20 minutes. Fortunately I didn’t get my hopes up. When I returned I was told that the last one had sold just that morning and was returned my deposit. I tried to buy the housing for the next model up, but she (MBK’s technology matriarch) pleaded with me not to be so foolish. The game was over. I had lost.

On my way down the escalators, I found the Canon photography shop. I had been told that they did not stock what I needed, but at least I could finally get some answers. Why was it so hard to get what I was looking for? The turtle-necked  shop attendant could see that I was flustered so sat me down on a leather sofa and offered me a cappuccino. I declined; I wasn’t going to be won over that easily. Apparently, though probably not the official line, Canon had stopped selling the housing  as it leaked. They tried to get around the issue by selling the housing without a warranty, though as that only enraged their customers further, they quietly stopped manufacturing it. Immediately my frustration turned to relief. Suddenly I was so grateful to the guy in the shop for giving me a straight answer. So grateful I bought a dedicated underwater camera. I haven’t looked back since.

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