Conduction to Phitsanuloke
The Bangkok-to-Chiang Mai overnight train runs on schedule.
I’m behind, as usual — three hours into the journey before I realize that Phitsanuloke stop is Thailand provincial and my arrival is too late for the last bus north west to Sukhothai. Some deft Facebook messenger action remedies the pick-up (shout out to the good people of Thai Thai Sukhothai Resort).
The Conductor
The Conductor knows this. He knows things.
His uniform is Thai Railways issue. The cloth is starched and threadbare at the collar and the cuffs, worn from washing and ironing. The crease in the trousers is a straight line from hip to shoe. The name badge sits level. The cap sits level, gold-band announcing his rank.
On the way to Phitsanuloke > Sukhothai.
Time
At the appointed hour he walks the length of the car and drops the upper berths. The upper bunk folds down, the mattress follows, the linen appears from an invisible Conductor compartment. Pillow. Blanket. Privacy curtain pulled closed.
At the appointed stop, he notifies me that Phitsanuloke is close and I gather stuff, happy that the ride is over. At this point I’ve been on the road for 18 hours since Manila. I have a while to chill in the vestibule, but it’s good to stand and I’m ready for the last leg of the journey.
Signifier
The Conductor shepherds the other passengers out to the vestibule where he prepares to jump off and direct the new crop onboard. He organizes the list of departures and arrivals on his clipboard ledger, carefully noting which berths will change hands using a fountain pen.
