After about an hour we reached a ferry. We got out and lit cigarettes, and were told that they were repairing one of the ferry’s floats on the far bank. No mention of ‘time’ was given, of course; but Pong suggested we go across ourselves, and the bus would follow soon. We took his advice, and I found myself drinking tea and coffee simultaneously in a little atap shack, just like any canteen or Thai shed that we’d seen anywhere up the line in 42 to 45. The same smells, the same Chinese owners of the shack, the same filthy floor, the same pi-dogs [pariah dogs] round our legs: it was just like coming home.

We cut a long wait short, we were held up for two hours, and in order to persuade the coolies to do anything other than smoke and gossip, Pong and I went slowly over and tried to embarrass them by watching them. Otherwise we’d have been there all day.

The road to Nokorn Patom was vile. Though there were patches of mud, the ruts were generally deep and dry, and the hardness made the driver more cautious, and the journey more painful. We passed many Thai-type buses, skips or vegetables drunkenly packed on top of them stuck wretchedly in the mire. Our own vehicle was ex-U.S. Army, and inspite of its rough handling, and the fact that our driver had to fight and coax his steering wheel, we got through all right, and after roughly forty minutes we saw the tip of the pagoda of Nakorn Patom above the rain trees that bordered the dusty road.

At Nakorn Patom we didn’t stop, but Pong said we’d take a photo of the pagoda on the way back, and on we speed to Bampong. The road was now good, and the driver, whose bare feet and massive arms were apparently made of shock-proof iron, put the speed up to the 60 k.p.h. mark most of the way. From the pagoda to Bampong is only about 23 kilometres, and very shortly we were driving along a broad dusty road, wooden Thai houses on either side, and rich looking green trees and slight undergrowth mingling with the garden bananas and papayas. Pong said nothing until suddenly: ‘There was your first camp,’ and laughed. It might have been, but to my shame and surprise I never recognised it for an instant. Not until we were in the town, and the main road down the left to the station came in view, did I honestly feel I could say that I even recognised Bampong. That road, however, was familiar.