The Wall
The year was 2004. I was 25, and after several years "in the internet business," I decided it was time to go backpacking in Thailand. I was getting tired of my routine: working as a designer for years while all my friends were off traveling the world. It pissed me off. I was young, dammit! I should have been hopping from one exotic place to another, soaking up every minute of my youth, not stuck in an office.
Unable to take too much time off, I managed to squeeze in a little over a month, packed my bags, and flew to Thailand.
Landing in Bangkok was exhilarating. It was my first time in Southeast Asia, and it was unlike anything I had ever experienced. If you haven't been to Bangkok, it's massive. Just the drive from the airport to the city felt like an adventure: the highways packed with cars, the thick smog in the air, the endless skyline of towering buildings. It reminded me of The Fifth Element, but with a gritty, Blade Runner edge. It was chaotic, overwhelming, and completely thrilling.
A good friend of mine was also backpacking through Thailand at the time, and as luck would have it, he was in Bangkok the day I arrived. Before we had left home, we made a loose plan: the minute I landed, I'd head straight to our pre-arranged meeting spot. He had a flight that evening, so we only had a few hours to grab a beer and catch up. This was 2004; we were backpacking through Southeast Asia. The idea of carrying a cellphone with us was laughable.
But then Bangkok completely swept me away. Instead of heading to meet my friend, I impulsively hopped into a tuk-tuk and went straight to a local flea market, eager to take it all in. I didn't even care that I was lugging my entire backpack around. The intoxicating mix of sizzling mystery-meat skewers from street vendors, bars spilling happy travelers onto the streets, stalls selling cheap Asian statues, beggars asking for change. It all just felt right. Oddly enough, I felt at home. I fully embraced the moment.
After a couple of beers and some friendly conversations with locals, it suddenly hit me. My friend! Shit! I had completely forgotten. He was going to kill me. I shoved the last bite of my critter-on-a-stick into my mouth, downed my beer, and sprinted toward the nearest tuk-tuk, praying he'd still be there. Bangkok's notorious traffic wasn't on my side, and even with a kamikaze tuk-tuk driver, it took me nearly 40 minutes to reach our meeting spot. I braced myself, expecting to find an old friend furious enough to knock me back into reality.
After finally arriving, I tipped the driver way too much and ran inside. Our meeting point was a well-known backpacker hostel: a chaotic compound that had everything: a chill restaurant (well, calling it a restaurant was generous; it was more like a place to grab food), dorm rooms, a scuba gear rental, luggage storage, and more. It was packed, and as I searched the crowd, I had a sinking feeling that I had missed him.
After half an hour of wandering through the hostel, I gave up. Sweaty, exhausted, and deflated, I sat down to cool off with a beer. The heat was brutal, and there was no AC.
Turned out, sitting down was the best decision I could have made. The people at the next table were super friendly, and we started chatting. I told them my story and described my friend: a tall, bald guy with a smallish head and dark skin. They hadn't seen him, but one of them pointed toward a wall behind the bar.
"The wall?" I asked.
They nodded.
I got up and walked over, noticing as I got closer that it was plastered with handwritten notes. Each note had a name at the top, followed by a message. Suddenly, it clicked: this was an old-school communication hub, a place for travelers to leave messages for friends in an era before smartphones. My heart started racing. What if my friend left me a note? I scanned the wall, feeling like a kid on a treasure hunt.
And there it was, bottom left corner, nearly at the edge. My name, scrawled in big letters. I pulled the tack out and unfolded the paper.
It was short and sweet:
"YARON, you bastard, where you at? Ah, no worries! I'm sure you're out there enjoying yourself. The only thing I can say is that Thailand is AMAZING! Have fun. See ya at home. P.S. Go cliff jumping in Ko Phi Phi, it's pretty amazing."
That was it. A simple note. Today, this message would have landed in my inbox instantly. But this was different: I had to find it. I had to be lucky enough to stumble upon it. My friend had left it with no certainty that it would ever reach me, like a message in a bottle, hoping it would make it to shore. It wasn't a text notification buzzing in my pocket. There was no convenience, no instant gratification. And because of that, it felt almost romantic (in a totally manly way, of course). It was a feeling I hadn't had in years, since before cell phones were in every pocket and the internet was in every home.
In that moment, I felt more alive than I had in a long time.
I went on to have countless adventures throughout Thailand. Yes, I did go cliff jumping in Ko Phi Phi, just like my friend suggested, and I broke two ribs and cracked a vertebra. But no worries, my pain tolerance is high, and I didn't even realize I was injured. I kept traveling. True story.
One day, we'll grab a beer, and I'll tell you all about the crazy things that happened on that trip. But for some reason, the moment that made it all real, the moment that has stuck with me the most, was standing in that hostel in Bangkok, reading a note on the wall.