A Bangkok Flâneur

In the fabulous 19th century Parisian tradition, I set out to wander Bangkok as a flâneur this afternoon. With Bangkok still enjoying the Buddhist holiday, only Chinatown had any semblance of life. Chinatown is a labyrinthine quarter of alleyways and crowded markets where vendors of every type vie for the attention of locals and curious tourists. There is barely room to move for the abundance of items on offer from cheap electronic calculators to exacting scientific flasks, ornate gilt-edged coffins to exotic herbs, tea and fresh fruit and more items whose intended purpose I could not fathom. One does not wander through, but rather descends into the warren. Black spaghetti wires strangle the sky overhead as goods crowd the pavements and streets below. Struggling through the markets is an explosion of colours, sounds, smells and textures. Bright flames from charcoal braziers lick grilling chicken legs and spicy lamb sausages permeating the area with sweet barbecue and chilli aromas. Hessian sacks overflowing with dried bael fruit tea compete with buckets full of raw brown almonds, heaped dishes of saffron and pink roselle. There seems no logical order to the stalls with counterfeit DVD sellers ("Porno XXX under counter", written in English) rubbing shoulders with DIY plumbing stalls and fake Barbie dolls smiling dumbly at patent leather bags and shoes side by side with greasy, sugary doughnut stands. It is like shopping at a Wal-Mart run by lunatics without a care in the world for hygiene or health and saftey. I emerged from this intoxicating morass to a monsoon rain-laden sky and headed for the cover of the nearest street canopy, just escaping the deluge that came in biblical proportions. Under the canopy I found Donnica, a Canadian biology and neurophisiology student sheltering from the summer downpour. She expressed extreme dissapointment that the Buddhist holiday had resulted in the closing of the university's forensic museum, "with its fascinating collection of formeldehyde foetuses in various states of (mis)development". I did not share her dissapointment and made a mental note to not pre-judge young, blonde women reading Maslow's 'The Farther Reaches of Human Nature'. On the edge of the main market is the Siam Bank set in a building that dates from the French colonial era in Indochina. This grand, teak shuttered, yellow painted building is home to one of, what must be, the world's remaining elegant banks. Teak-framed, brass-barred, marble-countered tellars are watched over by important-looking duty managers in smart suits. The hand-painted, multicolored floor tiles and wooden reception desks give a grand and nostalgic air to the voluminous double storied interior. If that is not enough reason to step inside, it also happens to be airconditioned providing respite from the humid, foetid, lead-filled, choking air of Bangkok.

From Chinatown one heads closer to the broad, brown vital Phrayo river that is the city's main transportation thoroughfare. Every building is grimey from the seething mass of human existence. The few remaining canals that gave Bangkok its Venetian comparisons look forlorn and filthy. And yet, occassionaly one can spot in the gap between dirty, uninspired buildings, the soaring golden temple pagodas and elegant roofs of palatial buildings and Bangkok's magic inspires. People are always friendly, even if enthusiastic to get you into the golden jewellery emporia, and the living sights make it worth aimlessly wandering about. Just as the feet start to drag, one will come across a wheelbarrow offering piercingly sweet juice, freshly squeezed from tiny mandarins and one thinks nature commanded that it should be just so.

With only a few hours to spare before the train will take me north to Chiang Mai, I came across the sort of coffee shop one dreams of. The Fine Time Cafe near Hua Lamphong Railway Station is a real coffee-lovers gem. Excellent espresso is prepared and served by the grey ponytailed, goateed, architecturally-fingered owner on simple wooden tables. The small, whitewashed room is decorated with superb photos taken by the owner. An old LP player had Dire Straits' Brothers in Arms crackling through large speakers waiting for the Bee Gees to take over. The menu included numerous coffee combinations but only one snack, buttered toast. I whiled away few hours in there talking to Peter from East Anglia who had just moved to Bangkok to teach English, and shared my passion for Graham Greene novels.

Baudelaire was on to something with flâneuring, it is a great way to get to know a place.

Ladyboys and Budget Disasters

Bangkok appeared deathly quiet yesterday, which seemed strange considering how hard it was to find a hotel room. It turns out, I was the only one who did not know it was one of the most important annual Buddhist holidays and Thailand had gone on leave. Being very lazy, I had booked a room off Sukhimvit because I knew the monorail and underground trains are so close. From my hotel window one can see the delightfully named Cabbages & Condoms restaurant sign board. This innovative restaurant gives out condoms instead of after dinner mints and actively educates the local sex workers in safer 'business' practices.

Despite the fact that Sukhimvit Road cuts through a modern part of Bangkok with many business hotels, it has a sleazy reputation. Some of Bangkok's infamous Go-Go bars litter the side streets, particularly Soi 4 with the predictably named G-Spot and Spanky's screaming for business with their garish neon lighting. The problem is, with yesterday's holiday, Soi 4 was practically the only place to have a drink and get some food within walking distance of my hotel....I settled on the least sleazy looking option, a simple bar elevated a meter or two above the street and ordered a beer. Below, the ladyboys and whores were already plying their trade at six in the evening and the grizzled, toothless street-food vendors were cooking skewered squid and yellow corn cobs in giant oil-filled, sizzling woks. Tuk-Tuk drivers were yelling for business and mustachioed, gold-chained, bulging-bellied, washed-out, tattoo-covered Europeans were strolling arm-in-arm with dainty women in short skirts, ridiculously small tops and rickety acrylic stilettos. Competing music from the surrounding bars drowned out the background traffic. Life's rich mosaic was crammed into Soi 4 - filthy tramps, dreadlocked backpackers, brazen business men, limbless beggars, fake-goods vendors, chunky gold-ringed pimps, lottery ticket sellers that yell "lucky numbers!", grubby bare bottomed children, scrawny battle scarred cats, rabid (but well fed) dogs that srounge for tidbits, pushy touts and scam-artists all mixing and bargaining the night away. After my second beer, the waitress said to me, "We don't often see that", pointing at my book, "single men coming in with a brick-sized book reading by themselves". It then struck me how bizarre it must seem to someone observing the whole scene around them that I was in the midst of this cesspit quietly reading Vikram Seth's 1500 hundred pages of 'A Suitable Boy' while the sordid nightlife bubbled all around me. And yet, that is the joy of backpacking. The juxtaposition of one's secluded internal travel with the buzz of life going on around you is thought provoking and liberating.

Little Arabia is just opposite Soi 4 and another bizarre contrast is apparent. 30 second's away from Spanky's neon throb-fest are streets peopled with hijab and niqaab covered Muslims and restaurants only serving The Great Satan's coca-cola or fresh guava or lime juice. Restaurant signs are in Thai, English, Chinese, Farsi and Arabic. Deciding against wok-fried squid offered by a gummy crone, I ventured into a Lebanese cafe for supper, which proved an expensive mistake. Chicken Biryani was dry, tasteless and above budget. The cafe still seemed to be celebrating Iraq's win in the Asian Football Cup and Mr. Chef may have had his thoughts elsewhere. After a rash espresso and packet of butter biscuits bought in the afternoon, beers and ill-considered supper, the budget is looking dire and this is only day one. With a renewed sense of austerity I look forward to the trip up to Chiang Mai by sleeper this evening. I had to opt for the non-aircon upper berth sleeper to attempt some fiscal responsibility. I hope you are finding time for a Siesta.

Hiking Boots and Chocolate Cupcakes

The age old backpacking conundrum has been in play this morning: trying to balance the amount of clothing and necessities and the optimal weight of a pack that has to be carried around for several weeks (now I know why sensible people take along Sherpas). The hiking boots, long maligned, have been dusted off; waterproof wind sheeter has made an appearance. For once, my trusty MacBook Pro is staying at home for a well deserved rest which has helped the weight considerably. The final tally of the main backpack (a Christmas gift from my darling siblings in 1996) is a respectable 9 kg's. A quick check of North Thailand's weather confirms that September is the rainiest month with a 250mm average.  Oh good, I will be there in August, erh, except August comes in a close second at 220mm. Packing has just been interrupted with the most fabulous diversion. Annette, who happens to be one of the best bakers we know, has just arrived with a surprise goodie box brimming with the most delicious chocolate cupcakes (pictured above).  It is worth letting Oxford have a nibble on my arm once a week if that is going to continue!

Of Tetanus and A&E

Inoculations have been on my mind. Hoping to avoid a repeat of the typhoid incident from Vietnam earlier in the year, I had been considering getting jabs for the trip to the Golden Triangle. The celestial beings decided on a little canine intervention. This evening I agreed to walk Annette's two dogs, Oxford the Dalmation and Ralph the Husky. As I let them out of her apartment, Oxford decided in his excitement to have a nibble on my arm.  He sunk his teeth in and then shook it like I was a rabbit at the end of the hunt, leaving four rather interesting incisor-shaped wounds. Having realised it was me, Oxford, suddenly stopped gobbling and wagged his tail and was only too happy to be leashed for walkies. Arriving back home looking like Bruce Willis in Die Hard, blood streaming down my forearms, Kate treated me like a World War I victim. Our apartment now smells like a Dettol factory. Nonetheless, a trip to A&E for a tetanus jab had to be done. The nurse, who called herself "Trister", did not seem to get the joke when she asked me if I could dress myself and I said I usually start with my shirt and had been doing so for years. I expect massive sympathy from the locals when I emerge from the jungle with bandages and a bloodstained vest and backpack.

Accommodation Blues

Last minute travel is fun, they say. Last minute travel is exciting, they say. Last minute travel is great for bargains...except of course if you can't find accommodation. I have now tried umpteen hotels of dubious worth only to be told they are all full. One helpful travel agent said the Four Seasons had a few suites available at $1000 per night. At this rate I will be negotiating with a tuk-tuk driver to stay at his place. My budget is under threat before I even get to Bangkok. I am still determined to find a room for under 750 baht, so the search continues. Recommendations welcome.

Fashion a la mode

These charmingly useful examples of seasonal footwear were emailed through today. I am not sure if they are quite my size. They could come in handy for my Thai monsoon drag queen act. I have a feeling that I will not be able to pull off 'Lady-Boy' in the same class as the dainty Chiang Mai locals, however. I suspect my hiking boots may not have the same alluring appeal. 

What to do?

Having made my departure from Blackwood, the time has come to dust off the backpack, get out the camera and book flights to a cheap destination in South East Asia. Much to Kate's amusement, I am off to do some real backpacking. I intend to spend the next couple of weeks exploring northern Thailand. Watch this blog for gripping updates involving cheap hostels and wonky buses, disastrous train journeys and plenty of rain. Yes, it is the rainy season across South East Asia (I note England is experiencing some solidarity at the moment), but being voluntarily unemployed does not come around very often and so the weather can't be helped. If I am lucky, the trip will involve border crossings into Burma and Laos too, subject of course to the usual visa battles with the petty tyranny of officialdom. I have got a flight at sparrow's on Monday morning and until then it will be the usual pre-trip planning including the razor tight budget, a link provided below just for Leesie. I have already had my first comment. Kate says my picture, above, makes me look like a tortoise. You can always trust your wife to give honest feedback. If you are wondering (of course you are), the sepia picture at the top was taken in Candidasa, Bali. Until next time, take a Siesta, you know you are worth it.