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.