Kanchanaburi is a small town that would be completely off the tourist circuit, but for a certain bridge immortalised by Hollywood's version of WWII. The town has developed around its history with landmarks and museums scattered over a few kilometres. It is possible to hire tuk-tuks or taxis to get from point to point, but much more fun (and cheaper) to just hire bicycles for the day. As by the time we were ready to tour Kanchanaburi, we were a group of seven strong, we made a quite an impressive little parade as we pedaled around town.
Our first stop was the famous Kwai River Bridge. Since WWII it has been rebuilt a few times, and remains a working railroad bridge for local trains. The pylons closest to shore still show evidence of its turbulent past, but otherwise it is simply a tranquil bridge across one of many rivers in Thailand.
On the far side of the bridge, hawkers have set up stalls selling all manner of random stuff. Strangely, several tame peacocks cohabit the area in a large pen. Perhaps, like the abby elephants, it is possible to pay a bit to go in the cage with them and feed them. They seem pretty well-kept, but there is no logical reason for them to be there.
The area around the railroad leading towards the bridge on the Kanchanaburi side has developed a cluster of stalls catering to the many visitors. Our Australian friend decided to play on his Chinese heritage with a traditional palm-leaf hat from one of the stalls. He is a med student, and will be spending the next six weeks volunteering at a refugee hospital near the border with Burma. Everyone here is much amused with him and his hat, and he hopes that his comic antics will help relieve some of his patients' inevitable fear at the clinic.
After lunch, we pedaled over to the very informative Thai Burma Railway Museum. The museum was very well laid-out with several exhibits about the events surrounding the building, and eventual dismantling, of the 'Death Railway'. The museum overlooked one of the memorial cemeteries. We found it most striking (and tragic) that a recurring theme of the museum was that careful records were kept of all the European deaths, but there was almost no evidence that could be found on the Malaysian, Indonesian, Koreans, and other Asians that died in the building of the railway, beyond that they seemed to have the worst treatment an highest death rates. Similarly, in the war cemetery next door, there are sections for Dutch, British, even American troops, but no section for the Asians, simply because their graves in the jungles couldn't be found.
We raced against time to bike to the JEATH war memorial museum on the far edge of town. That museum was really more a collection of photos and newspaper clippings kept in buildings designed to represent the camp huts in which the soldiers lived for the duration of their time on the railway. Everything was permeated with mildew, and many of the photos curled at the corners with the damp. The evident decay might have detracted from the preservation aspect of the museum, but it did bring home the harshness of the living conditions.
We stopped briefly at our guesthouse to clean up a little for dinner and to admire the view from our porch. It's hard to believe a place of such tranquility was once the scene of so much violence.
We ate dinner at a great local restaurant where Cz entertained himself by taking 'art photos' of all our friends.
We finished the night in a local bar whose main attraction was a litter of almost-new puppies. Their eyes were open, but they still wobbled on fat little legs, and fell over to sleep anywhere - frequently our laps. In addition to the puppies, the bar had several nostalgic games like Jenga and connect four. One round of Jenga proved that the laws of physics do not necessarily apply in Thai bars. Within the first few moves, the whole affair balanced on two offset rods. Somehow the game continued until it seemed nearly every layer balanced precariously on a single piece. Each of us kept pulling out pieces to make it more unstable, assuming that it wouldn't come back around, yet somehow it did. An ill-advised move by Cz about two turns after this one finally brought it tumbling down.
Kanchanaburi is a small town that would be completely off the tourist circuit, but for a certain bridge immortalised by Hollywood's version of WWII. The town has developed around its history with landmarks and museums scattered over a few kilometres. It is possible to hire tuk-tuks or taxis to get from point to point, but much more fun (and cheaper) to just hire bicycles for the day. As by the time we were ready to tour Kanchanaburi, we were a group of seven strong, we made a quite an impressive little parade as we pedaled around town.
Our first stop was the famous Kwai River Bridge. Since WWII it has been rebuilt a few times, and remains a working railroad bridge for local trains. The pylons closest to shore still show evidence of its turbulent past, but otherwise it is simply a tranquil bridge across one of many rivers in Thailand.
On the far side of the bridge, hawkers have set up stalls selling all manner of random stuff. Strangely, several tame peacocks cohabit the area in a large pen. Perhaps, like the abby elephants, it is possible to pay a bit to go in the cage with them and feed them. They seem pretty well-kept, but there is no logical reason for them to be there.
The area around the railroad leading towards the bridge on the Kanchanaburi side has developed a cluster of stalls catering to the many visitors. Our Australian friend decided to play on his Chinese heritage with a traditional palm-leaf hat from one of the stalls. He is a med student, and will be spending the next six weeks volunteering at a refugee hospital near the border with Burma. Everyone here is much amused with him and his hat, and he hopes that his comic antics will help relieve some of his patients' inevitable fear at the clinic.
After lunch, we pedaled over to the very informative Thai Burma Railway Museum. The museum was very well laid-out with several exhibits about the events surrounding the building, and eventual dismantling, of the 'Death Railway'. The museum overlooked one of the memorial cemeteries. We found it most striking (and tragic) that a recurring theme of the museum was that careful records were kept of all the European deaths, but there was almost no evidence that could be found on the Malaysian, Indonesian, Koreans, and other Asians that died in the building of the railway, beyond that they seemed to have the worst treatment an highest death rates. Similarly, in the war cemetery next door, there are sections for Dutch, British, even American troops, but no section for the Asians, simply because their graves in the jungles couldn't be found.
We raced against time to bike to the JEATH war memorial museum on the far edge of town. That museum was really more a collection of photos and newspaper clippings kept in buildings designed to represent the camp huts in which the soldiers lived for the duration of their time on the railway. Everything was permeated with mildew, and many of the photos curled at the corners with the damp. The evident decay might have detracted from the preservation aspect of the museum, but it did bring home the harshness of the living conditions.
We stopped briefly at our guesthouse to clean up a little for dinner and to admire the view from our porch. It's hard to believe a place of such tranquility was once the scene of so much violence.
We ate dinner at a great local restaurant where Cz entertained himself by taking 'art photos' of all our friends.
We finished the night in a local bar whose main attraction was a litter of almost-new puppies. Their eyes were open, but they still wobbled on fat little legs, and fell over to sleep anywhere - frequently our laps. In addition to the puppies, the bar had several nostalgic games like Jenga and connect four. One round of Jenga proved that the laws of physics do not necessarily apply in Thai bars. Within the first few moves, the whole affair balanced on two offset rods. Somehow the game continued until it seemed nearly every layer balanced precariously on a single piece. Each of us kept pulling out pieces to make it more unstable, assuming that it wouldn't come back around, yet somehow it did. An ill-advised move by Cz about two turns after this one finally brought it tumbling down.
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