Thailand from the Train

[von Hirschhorn]

This is a new series about the Thai Railways, her stations, but moreover what’s beyond.
The same arrangement as in the earlier series: Northern Miscellaneous with only one exception, no more along a single line and hopping from station to station, the story of a specific train. In this series it comes as it goes with no time frame and non deliberate goal. It’s just a tool for the writer to enjoy traveling by train and telling the tale.

As a starter just a reverie about a station

[von Hirschhorn]

In the shade of a tree time passes in almost senseless sitting and waiting for the return train.
Around the station nothing moves a far away children’s game at the waterside.
Serene tranquillity, there are only vague voices slowly fading over the plain.
The railway yard seems deadly and lies abandoned beneath the heat vibration above the tracks. Steel wires dance quiveringly along the rail till where they stir the signal waiting for a sign to lift the arm.
Melancholy after getting of for no reason after just a ride next to an open window, hot wind caressing playfully the senses, beyond home and familiar countryside, in autumn colours decorated hills, but also an almost endless ribbon of refuse at the verge of the section.
It’s the polystyrene wrapping for the traveller’s convenience sake, who, after use, beyond respect throws the waste out.
But the scrupulous traveller as well, accountable, who keeps the refuse with him, will be belied by the train’s staff who will sweep it all together in one heap and out of sight as yet: out with it.
After dwindling for a while on the train’s turbulence it comes to rest and becomes the prey of grateful stray dogs who with the leftovers and the bones celebrate a banquet. But whether Mother Nature will be pleased as well will remain a sincere question, it takes a long time for synthetic waste to fall apart.
That does not belong to the realm of Thai concern, because an open window offers ill resistance to the temptation of sweeping beyond your own back yard.
The train comes and goes, nobody gets off and nobody gets on, certainly not a ‘farang’. He waits for moving on, under the delusion of certainty in cadence of steel upon steel.
When this slowly dies away in the far distance, the station retreats in desolation, and so does a sandy road twistingly disappearing in the hills.
Somewhere beyond the blown up dust, houses are hidden. Corpulent wives steam pale rice and quietly cherish a wish when the giant lizard lets his presence be known nine times in succession. Superstition keeps them going.
This is what it must be. A declining word finds a line here, in the shade of a tree.
In the distance eerie children’s voices, a sense of game and joy in all.
‘Tokkeh’, let hear your call.

Between two station
a train stood suddenly still.
Between two stations
an unexpected leaving
no farewell
no tears
just disappeared
a train obeyed my will.

Between two stations
for the good and for sake
emergency pulled the brake.

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[von Hirschhorn]

Kanchanaburi – km 117 + 4 meter – a station on the famous Burma railway line or notorious in respect of the things that happened here.
It’s a simple building without anything either particular or picky, just a wooden stop at the stretched vicinity.
The platform is tainted with blood; grieve from the past but also nowadays thoughtlessness.
In front of the entrance an old steam locomotive keeps the memory alive how this little town was connected by rail though the machine itself never runs on the line.

The 467, a 2-8-2+2-8-2 by Henschel from Germany with the works number 23109 and built in 1936, the last survivor of a batch so called ‘Garrat’ machines. Years in a row it was plinthed on the other side of the yard and slowly falling apart due to wind and weather.
Close to the main road it’s a prominent artifact amongst others near the bridge. Kanchanaburi, almost an open air railway museum.

The suffix Buri originated from an old Indo-European word meaning a city with walls, stronghold. ‘Borough’ and ‘pore’ are forms of the same expression and so does the Dutch word ‘burcht’. If there have been walls at all they were dismantled long ago.
‘Kanburi’ as they call it, is nonviolent without a fortification and became a host for the horror that happened during the years of world war two. A peaceful and perfect maintained war cemetery close by the station and fine museum aside, is all one need to linger for a while, a small reflection but enough to realize that human nature is capable for an outrage on an inhuman scale.

‘ Bridge over the River Kwai ’
The area is called Tha ‘Makham’, the Makham pier, a landing and happy landing but keep in mind that there was not much happiness during the time of construction.
The crime scene became a tourist industry, the carnival of a joyful day out by an almost respect less walking up and down the bridge over the River ‘Khwae’ (‘Khwae Yai’ in particular) and not degenerated as ‘Kwai’ since the famous film was released.
From origin this river was named ‘Mae khlong’ and so she does where the ‘Khwae Noi’ enters but after the overwhelming success of the film the city decided to rename a part.
Amidst the souvenir stalls the bridge has its own station and for the luxury tourist, the one who doesn’t want to walk on the bridge, a special diesel rail unit waits for his wish. Twenty baht for a ten minute ride, the Thai Railways in the end got the picture.
Facts and fiction are completely interwoven during the time.
The film was not shot on the spot – even not in Thailand – and far from the truth nor the story of Pierre Boulle whereon the scenario was written directed by David Lean. The only thing real on the bridge is the fact that is real and never been blown up.
It was a well target bomb of an allied plane that deprived it from several girders. Girders that were removed by the Japanese from Java.
It were indeed the brave P.O.W.’s who build the today’s attraction after building a temporarily wooden bridge a few hundred meters down stream.

If you stroll through the bushes and look carefully you might recognize the former track bed. Maybe this is a nice alternative instead of elbow out the anonymous crowd in order to see a glimpse of the bridge.
A ride with the self made diesel rail unit – two former maintenance lorries and three open cars in between - will also provide you a glimpse of the bridge and former alignment as well. This is how the events of then are now exploited and you cannot blame the Thai entrepreneurs who take advantage of that. A more reserved place for memories would have given the spot a certain extra but in a commercialized world memories are for sale.
The Hell Fire Pass memorial twenty kilometer beyond the last point were the train still hit the rail today is more aloof.
Here one should linger longer, a trail along the former track only cleared of trees and undergrowth, still not a smooth but a walk worthwhile. Here one can almost feel the ordeal, something someone somehow had to endure

' Hell and Fire '
It is a ghostly appearance although nobody comes to look.
Emaciated men, it were, who by the glimmer of a torch and a carbide lamp with no appreciable resources beating a rock into manageable pieces into a cleft in order to make a perfect way for the train.
Ghostly also the sound, a monotonous clicking of a hammer on a piece of steel which, by way of a wedge, is beaten into the rock, but nobody will hear this either.
For miles wide and far there’s no village or any construction what so ever. Only an encampment with poor barracks with roofs of dried palm leaves, where even the sickest of the sick are forced to beat along in race against time.
It was only a single man, temporarily released for highly necessary maintenance of the encampment itself, digging latrines and other holes for fallen bodies in the heat of the fight. Thus the Japanese tried to beat the rock which had to get out of the place for establishing the line, after overseas supply routes had collapsed one after another under allied attack.
They choose to go over land and by rail to keep Fortress Burma for the delusion of a United South East Asia under one single flag with the symbol of the rising sun. It was not before the fall of Hiroshima and Nagasaki that her heat was extinguished in a new political situation.
That human sacrifices were requested was only a side issue, or worse, non at all.
After a glorious march through The Dutch Indies and Singapore, they found themselves with thousands of prisoners of war, who, almost without a blow, resigned to their fate with the hope for the Geneva Convention to be applied.
It was a culture gap to close for others, for a Japanese soldier will not yield but for his Emperor. Suicide is painless setting foot on the path of heroism when the battle is lost. Capitulation is a loss of face; it will hurt forever and never really can be shown again.
To honour the grim faces of those who suffered most, they made a new monument on the very spot.
From km 152 till 156 the track was renewed, stolen from the jungle again for a rather simple hike along the past.
No sensation, no pottering with arts or Hollywood romanticism, just plainly feeling how it must have been on a naked railway bed.
In its rubble still a partly rotten beam of wood, a steel nail, and other pieces of rail.
A silent witness of the killing, for every sleeper one.

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Some other pictures of the Hell Fire Pass memorial:

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[von Hirschhorn]

From the distance it looks like a scene from a fairy tale, the silhouette of a local station. Two nicely railway shaped roofs, the canopy for a save arrival deprived from rain.
After descending the train immediately you find yourself admits a vivid market. You look at the carnival of small entrepreneurs for the daily needs; poultry, pottery, any purchase possible.
This is where a train finds its terminal, Maha Chai station – km 31 + 220 meter – named after a canal [khlong] and quarter of Samut Sakhon spread on both banks of the ‘Tha Chin’ river. The railway is one of the two of the so called Mae Khlong line.
This is the first one and starting in Thonburi (Bangkok) at the Wong Wian Yai station [the great circle].
In the fifties it still runs in the middle of the Thanon Charoen Rat towards the ‘Khlong San’ station, conveniently settled on the bank of the Chao Phraya and hence all sorts of water transport in connection. As far as Wat Sing even the line had some electrification.
However, in the early sixties on this stretch in a street the train was offered to the traffic, something other modes of rail transportation had to undergo as well. Apparently by that time the roads already were plagued and filled to the brim.
Too bad, short-sighted politicians also in those days choose for short-sighted solutions.
Anyway, what’s left now looks a bit run down, wear and tear! Well, one replaced a rotten sleeper here or there, changed worn out rail, but never upgraded the whole to the latest level of technical development since the Thachin Railway Company [TRC] build this line somewhere in the beginning of the last century.
Seen from the political arena it looks as if they deliberately let it die, slowly fading away, till nobody regrets it any longer or mourns about.
The fan stands along the line loud applauding when a train makes a wobble approach.
Like a ship in rough wetter it rolls on rail, it dances by chance. Die on the vine by jumping of the rails and create an own course.
The die-hard fan his joy for others just a burden.
It should have been a well maintained suburban mass transport system by now. In the limelight of Bangkok’s streets more than ever plagued by heavy traffic, it seems to be a missed station. As stated before in the other series; to get people out of their cars and into the realm of Public Transport even an updated system will not do.
Cars are the toys of the rich, a joyful playing, despite a burdening for the environment. For the poor and those who do not want go the laughing bank for a loan, the train remains the only affordable mode of transportation.

The sphere of the tiny station square and direct run into the main street is completely overwhelmed by shops filled with delicatessen of the sea. It’s a fishy area, a salty smell, especially near the auction close by the ferry to and from the other side for the continuing trip on the second part of this line. Water divides the rail; rolling stock reaches the other side only on a barge.
But there’s no more pier, her foundation carried away on tidal movements piece by piece.
The other side, the other station, tucked away from all sorts of life. Pity them who have to live here.
Two diesel rail cars of the 1200 series for fill the duty of running the eight daily services.
A unit with all means kept on working because in the later years this is the only thing available on this section.
December 2005, I am the lucky one to guide a special group of Dutch rail fans along the line.
A long time ago since the platform of Ban Laem saw so many farang bewildered by the appearance of a dilapidated train on an even more dilapidated track. In state of repair indeed because on the given time of depart nothing moves except a few mechanicians underneath trying to replace a mechanical part.
Fun for the fan though some of the group had second thoughts about riding once the problem was solved. However, up and down to Samut Songkhram [Mae Khlong] the train behaved as one expected.
Have a stroll along the waterside near sunset and see how the trawlers humble heading for the sea.
The sound of singing fish is luring in fisherman’s ear, the hum of money as well, the crash of cash.
In the station some stall keepers covered their merchandise. The last train to Bangkok leaves at eighteen hours and fifty five minutes sharp and the lovely silence of life in anticipation for the night leaves the place behind.
One more train to come, the sound of steel on steel, but when the engines turned off it’s time to sleep.
Tomorrow another day and the circus will start all over again.

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The scene of a fairy tale in 1987
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A picture of the Mae Khlong Tramway
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Pictures of a vanishing Pier are seen here:
http://www.2bangkok.com/2bangkok/srt/maeklongpier.shtml

[von Hirschhorn]

The smell of molasses mingles with the sweetness of life and living in what seems to be a little sleepy town. Ko Kha, not far from Lampang and dominated by the Mae Wang Sugar Industry. Lorries filled to the brim bringing in the harvest. Sugarcane - saccharum officinarum.
In the backyard they are lined up waiting for their turn to offload almost out of sight.
The entrance situated in the middle of the main street is a no zone for trucks tossing up dust and rolling off and on.
A more sophisticated receipt and glimpse of transport from the past. Plinthed in a garden two steam engines painted in an eye killing color scheme, they never ran with it.
Why we cannot leave history alone or is this Thai approach were all old things are literary past tense. It’s more a touch of Disney or something like ‘Thomas the engine’.
However, don’t blame the initiative, it’s good that there’s a remembrance at all. A four seat inspection lorry deprived from his engine makes the rail past complete. It’s the beauty of rust and after that the layers of paint to prevent it from falling apart.
It must be somewhere in the seventies that the company decided to abandon the rail service but after strong demand of the planters, in fear of higher transport cost by road, prolonged the business for several years. It’s written that often in the middle of the season one of the two Diema diesel locomotives, bought from the Chonburi Ban Bung factory, broke down and the 2-4-2T Vulcan’s came in action.
Three steamers were present, number 6, 7 and 8, one of them of all at once on a given moment. It must have been a mighty sight and for sure Buddha had a meaning preventing me from seeing it at first hand.
In 1990 my first visit and by that time they were on the brink of making a glorious garden with relics of the past.
Around the factory some of the infrastructure still good be seen like rail lonely bedded in pavement. Today non what so ever, only on the embankment of the river Wang a bridge head is all that remains. On the other side hardly any one knows that ones a train brought in the cane, the old alignment is occupied by new houses and gardening.

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‘Baguley’ is a name constantly coming across while researching for Thai ‘steam’ facts on narrow gauge
(750 mm). At least two engines have survived and been preserved for a new generation with no intention to embrace the old means of transport. One found his final tune in Ko Kha with the works number 2110 and another at the sugar production plant of Wang Khapi born as 2009. Both build in 1921 and given running number 1 though the latter also ran under the number 8.
(see story 'The sweet illusion of steam' in the series Northern Miscellaneous - tales of train 408)
A leaflet ‘Baguley locomotives 1914 – 1934’ shows the engine as Nº 1 and named ‘Callipoli’. It also mentioned that 2009 was the first of three attractive oil-burning 0-4-2 side tanks for a Siamese Railway. (Ban Bua Thong line) In mid 1974 two were still in existence so the closure of the Ko Kha network (23 km) occur somewhere in the second half of the seventies.
Despite being an oil-burner Ko Kha’s number 1 has a non original tiny tender; it seems the engine was adopted for burning ‘bagasse’ as fuel and long live the haze for the anyway plagued citizens along the line.

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In 1990 I only spotted two locomotives - 1 & 7 - and the inspection lorry in decay, so I did two years later but everything spick-and-span including the garden itself.
2008, the lawn long did not see the gardener but the three artifacts are still there though painters brush gives them another appearance. Well, the so called ‘draisine’ escaped the ugly color scheme. The best surprise and for sure a hidden secret, in the backyard each on its own piece of rail the rest of the rolling stock, two Vulcan’s and the two diesels from Germany Nº 11 & 12.
Here they are in the open, dressed in their original coat, save and sound, as standing in a showroom waiting for someone to buy, a monument of a departed era, further almost nothing but a lot to cry about.

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[von Hirschhorn]

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Here one of the Diema's build in 1959 Type DS 60 with the works number 1919.

[von Hirschhorn]

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Vulcan Nº 8 - works number 4654 - and maybe not so sound as stated above

[von Hirschhorn]

Hua Hin km 212 + 990 meter, three tracks and separate spur with ramp barley used. Electric signals and an empty box on stilts as reminder of days gone by, the operation no longer controlled by thin steel wires.
On plinth loco number 305, a ‘Mikado’ and born in 1925 at the Baldwin factory as 58671.
This town could be proud on here magnificent station building with royal waiting room in a lustrous Thai style.
Down the road towards the sea there was the even more sophisticated railway hotel. What failed; a tramway in between for the traveler’s convenience. By all means this was a well decorated lodge and certainly not a dwelling for the poor.
A venture for the well to do, nowadays Sofitel is trying to prolong the glance of yesteryear grandeur with a fresh layer of paint and out of place new buildings. Renovating is one thing, ruination another; respect for the past and making money apparently does not go hand in hand.
It must have been different less than 100 years ago and hardly anything of the wild commerce it shows today.
The roaring twenties, a happy in between for those not deprived from wealth after the war and still unknown about the one to come though the signs must have been there.
Siam by that time sailed on calm water and tried to modernize by adopting the Western style.
The railways more or less in their infant years were a very important mean of transportation, not to speak the only one available.
Before the train arrives, a journey from Bangkok to Chiang Mai took about six weeks by boat and elephant. Small jungle paths, dense growth, it must have been a hell of a joy, frills for any nature lover. A harsh contrast with the no-frills ‘birds’ of ‘Nok’ or ‘One to Go’ * in the air. Fifty minutes in the firmament and no sickness of wobbling on the back of a grey animal. (* two Thai budget carriers)
For those who did not dare themselves beyond the station foreground, the State Railway of Thailand offered a few good hotels on several premises. The one here provides the joy of situating on the beach. Sand, see and blue skies, a palm tree gentle moved by a breeze.
Lazy in a deck chair with nothing on hand, the eyes fixed on the horizon, a big bowl with water and nothing moves.
Not my kind of relaxation one could easily broadens one’s horizon.
Hua Hin: stone head, a bolder of solid rock resembling a face and for ages battered by the sea, the smooth power of breakers but devastating in the end. It’s not men’s imagination only that does change the shape of things.
A small fisherman’s village turned into de realm of real estate development, and they came by the hundreds to settle themselves on part time base or more permanent, the pensioned, the ones with a buck to spend.
And in the small streets beyond the wharf the girls are looking for the holidaymaker, to lure them in the bar and persuade to take a drink or other sweets offered by the hour or as long as the night takes. The economy is a rock-‘n-roll on liquor and leisure.
Meanwhile on the station at the end of a hot afternoon, some locals prepare themselves for sunset by sitting on the platform and watching trains go by. A brief stop and behind the open windows of a third class carriage the people in the meekness of a long ride through the night before them, sleepless on a hard seat though the Thai seems to take this for granted.
The sound of a bell, a green flag is waving; the engine roars and after a while there’s silence again, the station in anticipation for another train.
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Above the royal waiting room and below a detail of the main entrance

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[von Hirschhorn]

Years ago on my first trip to Thailand I booked a room at the Bangkok Palace hotel. Totally unfamiliar with any circumstance or topographical setting, I started to walk around the ‘city of angels’ though the humbleness of these creatures already faded away by that time. Adventures as it may seem to be, within minutes I found myself on 'holy' ground; the Makkasan railway station.
No wonder, only one block away.
It looked like a station with a rural appearance and I on track heavy puzzling what’s what en who goes where.
It’s only an odd 24 years ago but in the cause of time a lot of things have improved in way of exploring the rail. Those were the pioneer days wherein one could only be confident in what he saw. My ever first ride went to the Hua Lamphong station and much more to puzzle.
The next day I tried the other direction as far as Arranyaprathet, the wild!
That wild became tame and more than familiar. This station although just an urban stop has some to offer and not only for the guarded main workshop behind a wall with barbered wire at the end of the tracks. A glimpse of the contents behind is many rail buffs’ wish.
Years later during the construction of the Airport Express, some parts were temporarily dismantled and gave a free sight.
Thai railways secrets exposed and nothing to hide. Still there are questions unsolved waiting for an answer that make sense.
Thailand the land of the smiles and in the meantime it plays innocent.
I had the pleasure twice to enter the premises through the front gate and even went deep in the backyard, a swampy marshland where al sorts of dilapidated rolling stock rested en rusted in silence and time overgrown by weeds. Even after building the new depot for the Airport line the area is not fully cleared, something seen in the light of expanding scrap metal prices a wonder or just state’s state of mind why should we bother about it. An unforeseen man made nature, a railway habitat, and no trail to stroll around.
Definitely some pieces were – and still are – ripe for a museum but these days overripe; rotten to the bolt, the fruits of a past railway decade. A pity and a shame for those who work hard for the system that only brought benefit to the country.
A well established museum is the less they deserve.
The role of railways is far from played. The curtain of Thailand’s iron theatre is not on the brink to fall though some unhappy events or condition of welfare indicates the opposite.
Makkasan has its example, the yard makes place for pillars and above the nation’s second ‘electric’ soon will swift to the newly build airport. Below the commuter will be able to board his train for a few stations, not a fast service nor a smooth one but a real railway, the way it have been for the past hundred years.

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[von Hirschhorn]

As it was in 1985

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Waiting, waiting, and no token to go

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The excavating machine arrives, some tracks are gone

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After drilling: the pillars for the Airport Express line

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A view behind the dismatled wall. An 'oldie' spends one's day in solitude

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An outbound train arrives, on the backgroud the 'Baiyoke' tower. The line there is portrayed in the series Northern Miscellaneous part I Turntable tales under the name 'Bangkok the best'.

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[von Hirschhorn]

Compare two pictures and see that the place has lost some of his rural appearance but apparently still not important enough to let the trains come and go by a more frequent interval. If Chiang Mai’s station was as busy as her close to the city situated airport, the people living around would start complaining about the same way. The progress of freedom in movement for one comes with noise or even sleepless nights for others. I know; if for what ever reason the northern flight path is chosen instead taking off directly in the wanted direction - southwards normally - they cheerful disappear above my roof. A Boeing or an Airbus on full trust and a bit low is able to blow the tiles of. No, this is not writer’s imagination, it happened already. By the luck of Buddha, those roof coverings were not mine.
In that respect the train is quite harmless, a locomotive joyful whistling on depart is far more music for the ear though admit one must be familiar with the score. While the sound slowly disappears in the darkness of the night it lingers on in my mind, a never ending trip, a life on sleepers and the dream goes on.

Since I started the turntable tales nothing changed, the premises is still untouched by the progress of modern management, the pace of yesteryears railway seems not forgotten. No wonder when the workers have all the time of the world, movements only take place in the morning, late afternoon and early evening.
The train; once loud applauded as a big step forwards in shortening the journey. Three days took the trip to the city of angels and for the night the safety of a hotel because that could otherwise not be guaranteed. No guardian angels. Rumour has it that robbers and bandits were abundantly on the move. Siam slowly was woken up from a more often than not peaceful peasants sleep and soon the stopover was omitted. However, one thing is not changed, the alignment, a single spur winding itself through the mountains in the upper part.
By all means certainly not a fast track, still a minimum of twelve hours is needed to complete the whole trip.
In the light of time is money a good reason for many to choose an alternative despite the greenhouse effect and perfectly keep silent about the tiles. On wings one swift easier.
The station and the train are left for the less well-to-do, the price of a third class ticket is still not comparable with any other mode of transportation, exempt a bicycle of course, but who want to peddle along the highway in the dust and fume of a modern society?
What happened to the dream of the underprivileged or so called poor? They can’t come and go as pleased, certainly not on wings; even sitting in the smoke of a ‘diesel’ is sometimes out of the question. For ‘steam’ it’s not only a pity to be deprived but in time too.
Unhappy with their blessings nothing there than stay home keeping body and soul together.
For them the station and the train are halfway to become a living museum.
That’s what the stations foreground by now is ore more precise was, since a little loco disappeared from plinth and thought about an afterlife. Scattered dreams stowed away on a dilapidated open wagon somewhere at the main workshop.
Only the ‘Swiss sister’ - a ‘Consolidation’ Nº 340 ex Rhb 118 - is rusting and ready to fall apart.
The name is in flagrant contradiction to the state of far beyond repair, only a cosmetic one could do any good.
That needs a far-sighted eye, the short-sighted ones of the municipality or railways would not bring any relief.

[von Hirschhorn]

The station as it looks like in 1963

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Almost seen the same spot in 2008

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The mainbuilding in 'Lan Na' style

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Turning the table

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The 'little one' how it once showed its pride

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A portait of the 'Swiss sister'

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Wheels without motion

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A rusty detail - a hole with emotion

[von Hirschhorn]

Comming soon Nº 8 'Little moments of Korat' and Nº 9 'A picture of a trained eye' The latter a philosophy about train and the car and what's in between.

[Wisarut]

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Hmm .. this is the old buildign of Chaing Mai station - opend for usage on 1 Jan 1922 ... and the Northern express has reached Chaign Mai station on 1 November 1922 ... This station also received the royal visit on 22 Jan 1927 ...

However, this station had been bombed away by fleets of B24 Liberators on 21 December 1943...:(

[von Hirschhorn]

The soft sound of tires rolling over joints in the concrete surface is not the same as a train. The rhythm of steel on steel, a peaceful cadence, cadeng, cadeng… dream on!
It should have been a most comfortable trip, an air-conditioned double-decker bus with VIP treatment on board; still it’s not my thing all the way. I am not an admirer of ‘aircon’, to artificial, more a fan of the old fashion fan though the wind through an open window is refreshing as well. However, these days the simple build busses - nicknamed tin on wheels - find their destination on a scrap yard and there’s no old style train direct from Chiang Mai to the vicinity of Khorat officially named Nakhon Ratchasima.
There two stations in town, one central and one junction ‘Thanon Chira’, where the track split up North and East.
On the crossroads of ‘Isan’.
The main station is situated out of the centre, that’s to say what’s between a moat and four old gates. Reminisces of ancient Thailand, a fortification wherein the citizens always afraid of spirits and alike, tried to protect themselves from ‘the wild’.
The rebuild gates are still there, a historical feature, a glimpse of the past. Within anything but wild, so the massif wooden doors still for fill a certain duty. What one can expect is a typical Thai setting in a pace of it’s hot so why hurry, bric-à-brac of anything but nothing special. Well, a single building with the taste of colonial design. A weathered façade, windows with blinds, a balcony. The interior shows wooden ornaments and pallid coloured beams for a rustic ceiling. A Chinese pharmacist keeps the old sphere alive.
A further stroll along an endless row of shop houses brings you back at the station.
A lot of tracks are in place with five along three platforms divided by a fence.
On both sides there’s an almost vintage like overpass for a magnificent view. However, not for the Thai people, for them it seems to be tiresome climbing the stairs, they simply cross the tracks where and whenever.
A locomotive on plinth, type: ‘Pacific’ and build in 1928 by Hanomag in Germany under the number 10606. The taste of steam lingers on in rusty veins covered by a layer fresh paint, dark green. Nº 261 is an eye catcher for anyone still not familiar with the building behind it.
The architecture is a unique but strange mix, the twilight zone between old and new. A lot of reinforced cement with a touch of Western influence. After all it were ‘farang’ who build the railways at first. The Siamese by that time, fully unknown with the phenomena, had no idea, though the style of most rural station buildings perfectly fits with the surrounding.
In the counter hall the running schedule is well displayed. ‘Railway terminable’ it reeds. Question; here one can find the final destination or someone in the department thought that this was the way how to spell time table.
Charm, a small thing that makes what it is, strictly forbidden for a nit-picker.
In the corner of a trained eye there’s always a romantic picture, a still of a station, the structure of things the way they were shaped and only moved when a train is passing. Here even not by the hour.
Lonesome and silent, two ingredients to describe the character though in mind a vivid appearance.
Anyway, this is the place to be if you’re longing for a classic railway ambience.
Passengers board a battered diesel railcar, just a hop for a few stations, back home.
Travel by train, Thailand the untamed, a living memory enjoyable today.

[von Hirschhorn]

Nº 1 Cadeng Cadeng... dream on.

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Nº 2 - The things as they were shaped.

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Nº 3 - An old diesel railcar finds his way out.

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Nº 4 - Rusty veins and fresh paint.

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Nº 5 - Waiting for a rough ride on rail.

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[Wisarut]

the station buildign of Khorat (Nakon Ratchasima) was opend as the replacement of the old building on 24 June 1955 ... and Thanon Jira has used the samer mkodel as Nakhon Sawan station at Nong Pliong as a model for the new station building (opend on 19 Jan 1956).

The old buldinf of Nakhon Ratchasiam also suffered from the Allied Bomb TWICE in 1945.

[von Hirschhorn]

'Thanon Jira', 'Thanon Chira', by all means junction remains junction. And yes, even at the station itself it's spelled both ways. If we all could read Thai there was no problem, unfortunate this is not the case.
It's advisable the government own SRT sticks to rules as formulated by the Royal Institute in Bangkok in their published Romanization guide for Thai script. (July 1982) At least when the name is spelled both ways within a few meters distance.
(a tip for the next sign painter: Thanon Chira are two separate words)

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[Wisarut]

'Thanon Jira', 'Thanon Chira', by all means junction remains junction. And yes, even at the station itself it's spelled both ways. If we all could read Thai there was no problem, unfortunate this is not the case.
It's advisable the government own SRT sticks to rules as formulated by the Royal Institute in Bangkok in their published Romanization guide for Thai script. (July 1982) At least when the name is spelled both ways within a few meters distance.
(a tip for the next sign painter: Thanon Chira are two separate words)


This is a sure sign of the Ingrained mindsent of Thai Folks who are always goign AGAINST the attempt to standardardize the Romanization of Thai language ... After some prefer to write the spelling accordign to what they have been thought instead of what the official spelling.

[von Hirschhorn]

This is a sure sign of the Ingrained mindsent of Thai Folks who are always goign AGAINST the attempt to standardardioze the ROmanization ...

standardardioze ?
Neither ‘Oxford’ nor the ‘Webster’ dictionary gave me a clue about this word. Could it be that you had in mind; standard arduous; hard to archive a certain level of equality. In that case you’re right by proof. On the other hand it’s the charm. Language is a stubborn media but always willing in inventing new words.

[von Hirschhorn]

Imagine you were born with an incurable disease, the temptation of trains.
Roll on rail and rock in a never ending trip. This little wonder on steel wheels means nothing special for most people, just a mode of transportation from A to B and nothing in between.
More than hundred fifty years in almost silence it’s already among us worldwide, so common, so natural, that hardly anyone doubts the existence. On the other hand the same existence is continuously challenged by the car.
The freedom enclosed by four doors and a windshield.
There should be wipers on the inside and crying loud if you are stuck in an everlasting gridlock. The embarrassing fact of a mobile chemical toilet in the back seat tells more about the persistent of the driver than loosing face in the unexpected case there’s no time to close the curtains. At least some other traffic jam pals have laughter.
I know it’s easy to comment, however, the solution is less from complicated if you understand that accumulation is an ending concept.
The more you want to flock in a nest, the sooner you will be deprived from any sight by swirling feathers.
City roads are never mending for mass transportation unless they have many lanes; so many that there’s hardly room for something else. The rail on the contrary is shaped for the masses. With a minimum feasible interval of sixty seconds and free of way, there’s no hindrance to go were you want to go though with a possibility you have to stand. Even the dream of the ultimate train will show some limits.
The decisive rail unfortunate is far from the SRT nowadays and the two municipal railways in Bangkok are to short in length to have a real impact.
Instead of bragging and again and again dishing up plans in the newspaper, the beloved by one and hated politicians by others, should set an example; let the excavators work and cement lorries run. Without any notice, without saying loud: “Look what we’ve done.”
History will phrase them. Meanwhile lie down, play dead and be convinced of the deed.
The ordinary man only wants to go from A to B, nothing in between, and that’s exact were he lost sight.
Never he looked out the window nor has he seen what goes on beyond.
A tumbling of sights and scenery, natural or more man made, and barely a dull moment even if you do the trip on automatic pilot.
In and out the commuter belt, day after day what may seems to be the same experience and let’s be honest; in most cases it is unfortunate, still a lack-luster instant can be inspiring too. The malady is not contagious and anyone with an open mind could have some fun but how foolish you must be to enjoy a trip in a train loaded to the brim?
The alternative is the car; in there you can wipe the tears with a diaper if money for a portable flush fails.
One day sense will overcome the economic definition though it’s wise not to wait till that day is there. First these words will turn pale in their impassioned clarification or the city of angels submerged. The latter has the best chances.
Living in a yellow submarine, the song dates back to the sixties, and all congestions washed away.
Meanwhile somewhere on a dry piece of land the train runs up and down the line, from station to station, from buffer till buffer, until there’s nothing left to be done.
It’s love while someone else says: “I hate it.”
Let it be, same years of origin, a song at the top of one’s voice. For all it belongs to poetry, what’s written between the lines, on rail, but moreover what’s hidden behind. A picture of a well trained eye and in between a train goes by.

[von Hirschhorn]

Along with the story Nº 9, in mind I had a real photo montage - especially pictures of secondary rail objects or sights - unfortunate this medium can’t handle such a format, so a few single pictures to see what it could have been with many more in a different frame.

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