Most everyone has heard of the movie The Bridge Over the River Kwai, but how many of you have seen it or know the stories behind it. With today’s article I take you on a journey to the bridge over the river Kwai and beyond. The first thing you’ll learn, as did I, is that the bridge doesn’t actually cross the river Kwai. Here’s the story:

There is a slight technical problem with the Bridge on the River Kwai: It crosses a river all right, but not the River Kwai. Pierre Boulle, who wrote the original book, had never been there. He knew that the ‘death railway’ ran parallel to the River Kwae for many miles, and assumed that it was the Kwae which it crossed just North of Kanchanaburi. He was wrong – It actually crosses the Mae Khlung.

When David Lean’s blockbuster came out, this gave the Thais something of a problem. Thousands of tourists flocked to see the Bridge on the River Kwai, and they hadn’t got one, all they had was a bridge over the Mae Khlung. So, with admirable lateral thinking, they renamed the river. Since 1960, the Mae Khlung has been known as the Kwae Yai (‘Big Kwae’) north of the confluence with the Kwae Noi (‘Little Kwae’), including the bit under the infamous Bridge.

Excerpt from the website, Seat61.com

To a degree, this added to my interest to see the bridge, but to be fair, it doesn’t take much to get me on a train. In fact, you may recall the name Mae Khlung from the folding market train trip I wrote about earlier. It is in fact the same river that connects both of these places.

The journey begins from yet another of Bangkok’s suburban rail stations. Unlike the one at Wongwian Yai, this station is well known. When I arrived, it was already packed with foreign tourists. By contrast, I hadn’t seen any tourists onboard the folding market train.

I’m not sure what it is about Westerners’ obsession with war sites and movie locations: Though the James Bond movie, “The Man with the Golden Gun” was filmed 50 years ago, local vendors are still able to use the movie’s famed rock to attract tourists to come see James Bond Island in Thailand. The same is true with The Sound of Music. Austrians, who’ve never seen the film, wonder why so many Americans flock there to see where the hills are alive…with edelweiss and the Von Trapp family.

I suppose it is the same with foreigners wanting to come to New York City. It’s not like it offers an experience that you can’t have in any other metropolitan city. It’s just that most of their exposure to America has been through TV and film and much of that is shot in New York.

The Seat61 website said that the train never sells out, and buying a ticket at the Thon Buri station 10 minutes before the scheduled departure confirmed that. The cost was 100 baht, about $3. Because I’d arrived so close to the departure time, I hadn’t had a chance to buy any food, but I lucked out. There was a young Muslim couple sitting across from me, and when they saw me look at their food, they offered me some without hesitation. This took the risk of admiring something in Asian culture to a whole new level.

You learn to be careful about admiring or complimenting people’s things when you are here, because many times, they will immediately offer to give it to you. I don’t understand enough about Asian culture to know why this is, but in this case, my simply looking at what they had prompted them to share. It was a sweet gesture, which I gratefully accepted since I still had a 4 hour train trip ahead of me. It turns out I would have been fine, as eventually, vendors boarded the train to sell their foods. Still, I am glad to have a memory of this kindness.

There are two significant segments you want to ride on the train: over the River Kwai bridge and along the cliffs. It would be a lot more convenient if the cliffs section was close to the bridge, but it isn’t so you’re committed to adding an extra two hours to see the cliffs, and you should!

The overall trip was a fairly peaceful one through the countryside until we approached the bridge at the river Kwai. At the stop just before the bridge crossing, people packed onto the train just to ride it over the bridge. Others had walked across the bridge, standing on cantilevered platforms to photograph the train as it went by. I delight in knowing I will be memorialized in hundreds of photos, similar to our visit to the train market

Two 20 year old girls sat across from me, and when I asked them why they had boarded at this point, they said that is where their tour bus had dropped them off. It sounded similar to the tours that drove people to see the folding market train.

Both girls spoke English but with different accents.I tried to engage one in conversation, but she was cold and perfunctory in her answers. My suspicions that she was an east coaster were later confirmed when she said she was a fashion designer from NYC, a place where you don’t engage people you don’t know in conversation.

The girl sitting directly across from me, after a little prompting, began to open up, and we talked about travel for the rest of the trip. She was from London, a place that is not much better at opening to strangers, but they do have a love of Americans and enough understanding of our culture to allow us a pass when it comes to talking with strangers.

They were on a “see everything tour”, and those are the ones that sell best, packed with all the things you’ll see in one day: waterfalls, caves, elephants. In fact, the girl from NYC was on the tour only to see the elephants and could care less about the bridge. The Brit on the other hand, was a history buff so the bridge was the highlight of her tour!

Once we crossed the bridge, it was about an hour to the part of the trip where the train tracks clung to the edge of the cliff. This was part of why it is called the Death Railway. Though in reality, it gets it’s name from the number of POWs who died building the railway.

While the 20 year olds were traveling between the bridge and the cliffs, the majority of tourists were brought to photograph the train at the bridge, then shuttled to the next part, where they could ride just the part that hugged the cliff. In order to maximize time, those day tours simply shuttle you to the significant parts of the train trip and let you ride between them.

Brit and I took turns hanging out the window to take photos and videos while NYC sat on her phone. When we arrived at the end of the line in Nakhom, NYC and the Brit headed to their van to be shuttled to their next destination.

From the train terminal at Nakhom, you can take a taxi to waterfalls or Hellfire Canyon, but I’d looked at pictures of both, and they didn’t seem worth the time or my money to go there. Hellfire Canyon was just a gap dug through a hillside, and the tracks weren’t even there anymore. And being from the Pacific Northwest, it is hard to impress me with a waterfall.

I planned to take the return train in 30 minutes back to the bridge so that I could explore the town of Kanchanaburi where it is located. I walked the two blocks of Nakhom to see if I’d been mistaken in my choice to make it such a short stay, but was reassured that I’d made the right decision and bought my return ticket for the next train.

The ticket cost 100 Baht, which was bit confusing, since the return trip to Kanchanaburi was only a third of the distance I’d traveled in the morning, and that ticket cost 100 baht as well. Like the ferry boats on the river in Bangkok, there appeared to be a fixed price no matter what distance you traveled.

By the time I got back to Kanchanaburi, I was tired from my early start so I checked into my hostel to take a nap, but I didn’t sleep well. One of my pet peeves regarding overnight accommodations is when the mattress is so thin you can feel the springs. I’d rather you stuff it with old clothing than hard springs drilling their way into my back.

After my attempt at a nap, I headed out to explore the town. I’d looked at my map, and it appeared you could make a loop crossing the river twice. At the end furthest from me, the loop passed through an old POW camp I’d noticed from the train. It seemed like it might be a tourist attraction so I wasn’t entirely sure I could walk through it.

It was possible I could end up walking half the loop only to find I couldn’t get through, which would mean backtracking. I don’t know what gene I was born with that compels me to take these risks. Is it for the joy I get when I succeed?

I was wondering if there are others like me who have the same compulsion to explore, but the lack of a sidewalk suggested not, or at least no accommodation was made for us explorers. As it turned out, my loop walk was a success. The road led right through the POW camp, and I was even able to walk around to explore the bars and stages where it looked like they performed shows in the evening.

I lucked out and caught a shot of a monk bathing in the river. I’d noticed this monk earlier, looking like a homeless person living along the tracks. If anything, he was living more like Buddha than other monks I’d seen. Having secured my opportunistic photo, I climbed up a set of stairs up to cross the bridge.

It was nice that it was open to walking across, and they’d even added metal planks down the center, on which to place your feet instead of worrying about falling through gaps in the railroad ties. I had to weave through tourists along the way, but my timing was perfect to photograph the afternoon train on its return route, the one I’d have been on had I extended my stay in Nakhom. The sun was perfect for the shot.

Having not eaten since my morning meal on the train, I set out to find a restaurant. I am ever more convinced that Google is the best app for choosing a restaurant. The place was amazing. After dinner I strolled home, completing the loop I had scoped out earlier.

Though Kanchanaburi had presented as nothing more than a dusty old town in the afternoon, the streets came alive at night with bursts of sound and color. Restaurants and bars now appeared along the side of the road. There were food pavillions, bars, and at the end, a proliferation of massage parlors and girly bars you usually only see at the coastal resorts. I can only assume that a majority of the people who come to see the bridge are Veternas of a sort, though this bridge in SE Asia was built during a war when they were just children.

I knew I’d gotten to the end of the district when I passed girly bars and massage parlors clearly offering the less visually appealing entertainers. A block later, I found myself in the middle of a thriving night market. There were all kinds of clothes and shirts for sale: North Face, Gucci, and plain white t-shirts that said NY style. I wonder what NYC fashion designer would have said about that. I wandered the rows hoping to find some souvenir piece of clothing but came across nothing that was me.

On my way to the hostel, only a couple blocks away, I passed by an area with plastic chairs set up and people receiving massages. I was lured in by the sign that said 30 minute massage, 60 Baht. A local helped communicate, as this wasn’t the kind of massage place foreigners chose, and no one spoke English. He arranged for me a foot and neck massage for 30 minutes for 100 baht ($3)

My massage was outstanding. The masseuse cleaned my feet and applied tiger balm which he rubbed into those tired dogs. When he got to my neck and shoulders, I realized that I’d have to make a point to do more yoga or meditation. While Thai massage is always painful, my shoulders shouldn’t have been that tight since I hadn’t had any real responsibility in months.

When I returned to the hostel, I found everyone enjoying a huge feast that was prepared by one of the guys staying there. One of the best things about staying at a hostel is when someone decides to treat everyone to a home cooked meal that is a signature dish of their country. In this case, the guy was Hungarian so you can be sure it was good comfort food. Unfortunately I was already full from my earlier me, so after socializing with everyone for a little, I headed upstairs to my torturous bed.

I hoped after my massage that my muscles might be more accommodating to the mattress springs. I put my sweatshirt between the mattress and the sheet and hoped I didn’t forget it in the morning. While I’d originally considered staying until the afternoon train the next day, my walk of the town convinced me that the 7am train to Bangkok would reward me with more options there than another day in Kanchanaburi.