Scammed in Bangkok

Thailand was a dream destination for me, until I seemingly stepped off the airplane with the wrong foot. For some reason, I was the unluckiest person in my travel group, and I already wanted to get out of there.

It’s our first day. Our tour guide instructs us to leave our belongings at the hotel, and our initial exploration of Bangkok involves a boat tour. The capital boasts a river that cuts through the city from end to end, similar to many cities around the world.

As I step into the boat, I don’t pay much attention to where I sit. All I know is that I don’t want to be near the loud boys in our group, so I choose the very front.

I hadn’t really noticed the river before getting inside the boat, but now I can clearly see how dark the water is. It has a pale brown color, nothing like the clean blue or green rivers I’ve seen elsewhere. I guess I understand, Bangkok is a massive city in Southeast Asia, and like my home country, Brazil, keeping river water clean is not exactly a government priority.

The ride starts, and I quickly realize the water isn’t just brown, it has a very unpleasant taste, similar to the stinky tofu I had in Shanghai a few weeks earlier. The obvious reason: water is splashing all over my face and body. Of course, that’s why no one else is sitting in the front with me.

I look behind me. Every seat is taken. The only other option would be switching sides, which would simply mean choosing whether the nasty water splashes the left or right side of my face.

It becomes evident that the river serves as a sewer for many of the houses along its banks. I’m so checked out from all the filth splashing on me that all I can do is hope nothing else from the river ends up on my body.

This ride is taking forever. The driver keeps stopping next to every six-foot lizard crawling up a wall or into someone’s home, just so the white tourists (us, but not really me) can take pictures. Why was he stopping at every damn lizard? After spotting one monster-sized reptile, I close my eyes, shut my mouth, and hope this ride will end soon.

With my eyes closed, my mind wanders. I think about how, in the United States, lizards are seen as cool animals, kids catch them in lakes and forests and even keep them as pets.

In Brazil, my only interaction with lizards involved brushing them out of the ceiling while my sister screamed at the top of her lungs for me to kill it, being careful not to hit it too hard, or the tail might separate from the body.

According to Brazilian popular belief, once the tail and body split, each part grows back, creating two new lizards.

Not to mention the hundreds of stories about lizards falling from ceilings straight into people’s mouths while they sleep. Mothers would warn their kids to sleep with their mouths shut, or else.

The ride finally ends. Everyone can see how wet and disgusting I look, but no one says anything. I’m sure they feel pity for me, soaked in what was basically shit water. Back at the hotel, I scrub every inch of my body under steaming hot water.

The two-hour shower makes me lose track of time, causing me to miss the fancy dinner the tour guide had scheduled at the restaurant next door. For the next five days, all I heard about is how incredible the sticky mango rice dessert was, and how I didn’t get a single bite.

On our last day in Bangkok, we split up to explore on our own. Phil and I make our way to a tuk-tuk, one of those three-wheeled vehicles that can take two or three people anywhere quickly and cheaply. We were warned that some drivers might hike up prices, so negotiating the fare is always a good idea.

Five dollars almost turns into five thousand when the driver suddenly stops halfway to our destination and asks us to come inside a store with him. We’re confused, but he claims he just needs to do something quickly and that it’s safer if we go in with him.

The moment we enter, he rushes to the back of the shop and disappears. Two men welcome us to their tailored suit store, inviting us to look around and ask questions.

Less than two minutes later, another man approaches us, asking to take our measurements in case we need anything. It’s fine, I guess, I know I’m not buying anything. But I stare at a silky dark purple suit for longer than casual “just looking” time, and they interpret that as interest.

In a strangely charming way, Phil and I are ushered into fitting rooms. Suddenly, there are ten suits laid out, all variations of the ones we glanced at.

We have no idea how to escape. Everyone is extremely polite, but the energy is off. We were put in this situation without consent, and I hate it. Now I’m inside a fitting booth, feeling obligated to try something on, when, holy shit.

I see the prices stitched inside the blazer. The cheapest one is $1,200, and they go all the way up to $2,500.

I am not spending another minute here, let alone a dollar. We’re the only people in the store, and I’m not sure how safe it is to simply say no and walk out.

So I decided that the same way we were dragged into this situation is how I’ll get us out, by fooling everyone.

I grab my phone and say loudly, “WHAT? SHE FELL DOWN THE STAIRS AND SHE’S BLEEDING?”

Phil jumps out of one of the booths wearing only his underwear, asking who fell. I can’t believe how naive he is. I tell him to get dressed, now, and that I’m getting us out without spending a cent.

I storm out of the fitting room, yelling into the phone, “SHE HIT HER HEAD? YOU NEED TO CALL AN AMBULANCE RIGHT NOW! ASK THE HOTEL STAFF FOR HELP! WE’RE ON OUR WAY!”

I rush to the door and tell one of the salesmen to get our driver. We need to go back to the hotel, there’s an emergency. We all run to the tuk-tuk, and the driver asks, “Back to the hotel, sir?”

I’m so annoyed that my face can’t hide it.

“No,” I snapped. “Back to where we wanted to go in the first place.” I threw him a ten-dollar bill, which for him was probably a lot.

He sees how angry I am and drives us to the riverside without saying a word. Before getting out, I ask why he stopped at that shop in the first place. Do we really look like people who need tailored suits?

With a smirk, he replies, “You negotiate price. I need to find extra money somewhere else.”

The next day, we fly to Krabi, a beach town famous for its floating rock formations. Everyone is excited to jump into the water, but the tour guide tells us to rest, tomorrow will be a much better experience.

Another boat ride. At least this time it’s ocean water, and from what I can see, it’s actually blue. We wake up early and begin our adventure. As soon as we reach the middle of the ocean, everyone jumps in without hesitation. The water is warm, and we start splashing each other for fun.

But very quickly, we realize this is not the right place, time, or season to swim. Ingrid resurfaces screaming in pain. We look around, and within seconds everyone scrambles back to the boat, some of us being stung by jellyfish.

I keep flailing my arms toward the boat, but it’s too late. I get stung on my forearm and neck.

“Someone get me out of here!” I scream.

Back on the boat, half of us are in agony. The tour guide apologizes nonstop, claiming he had no idea jellyfish were present, that the season wasn’t supposed to start for another month. It doesn’t matter. All I can focus on is the burning pain spreading across my body.

Then I shout, “Someone pee on me!”

Everyone stares at me like I’m some kind of sex pervert. Why is he saying this now? I can tell they’re thinking it. No one asks, so I explain.

Ammonia neutralizes the pain, and urine is the fastest available source. I know this because when I was twelve, I got stung by a jellyfish in Rio de Janeiro. The nearest pharmacy was fifty minutes away, and I wouldn’t stop screaming. The lifeguard explained the ammonia trick and said, “Pee on it.”

I was too nervous to do it myself. So my father peed on my leg in front of dozens of people, easily one of the most shameful moments of my life. At least my mom tried to hide it by wrapping a beach towel around us.

This time, no one pees on me, for obvious reasons. And unfortunately, I can’t reach my arm or neck with my own urine. I just have to endure the pain.

This final experience adds yet another layer of travel trauma, on top of the shit water river and the tailored suit scam.

I’m sure one day I’ll overcome all of this with another trip to Thailand. But next time, I’ll make sure it’s the right swimming season, I’ll stay far away from boat rides, and I definitely won’t negotiate with tuk-tuk drivers.