My Southeast Asian Swan Song: In the Heart of Thailand
So… I made my way into Ayuthaya iself on the back of a motorcycle with my big pack on my back to boot. This was much more harrowing than the motorcycle taxis in Cambodia since in Thailand the roads were good enough that they could actually drive fast. But, all the same, I was there.
I stopped in at my first choice guesthouse and much to my surprise ran into two of the Czechs I’d arrived in Sukhothai with. Sadly, there were no single rooms available there, so I was directed next door. They had one remaining 100 baht/night room, and while it wasn’t much in the spaciousness department it was clean and had a comfortable bed in it. Sold.
I spent most of the rest of the afternoon writing, before heading off to dinner where I ran into the whole Czech crew. They invited me to sit down with them and we managed to have an entertaining chat despite the fact that only a few of them spoke English.
I made an early night of it in hopes that I could get an early start on my explorations of Ayuthaya the next morning. While the room was hot and sticky (being on the second floor as it was) the fan provided adequate ventilation and I managed a pretty good sleep.
The next morning I woke and rented a bicycle first thing and began my tour of the city.
Ayuthaya was the capital of Siam from 1350 to 1767. It’s located at the confluence of three rivers, and with the addition of a canal is actually an island. Though it has grown in the times since, it still bears many reminders of its former status, most particularly the ruined wats that abound within its walls.
My first stop, after a brief cycle along the ring road that traces the outer perimeter of the island was a small market for breakfast. For the past several days I’d been ordering breakfast simply by finding a spot with several Thais eating, pointing and saying “I’ll have that.” As in previous occaisions it worked out well (this time I had fried vegetables with barbecued chicken on rice.)
Morning meal completed I moved along the ring road to the Chantharakasem National Museum. I’d sort of assumed that I’d be amongst throngs of tourists while there, but couldn’t be more wrong. I locked my bike up near the entrance, paid the 30 baht entrance fee and discovered that not only were there no tourists, I was pretty much the only visitor in the place. At one point I did see a pair of monks wandering about, but that was it.
The museum occupied a former royal palace and featured effects of several former Thai kings, as well as some of the furniture that had once filled its buildings. The final exhibit dealt with weapons used by the Thai military in their historic battles with the Burmese and other enemies. The museum was nice enough, but was probably most memorable for the buildings, and for the fact that there were chicken coops on the grounds.
After my tour of Chantharakasem I headed for the wats. It took me a while to find the ones I was looking for, but that was all for the best. It allowed me to visit several of the smaller ruined temples within the city. While many of the larger ones are located in major public parks, there are several smaller ancient wats scattered about the town almost at random, appearing in residential or commercial neighbourhoods as though they belong quite naturally beside shoe stores and 7-11s. This distribution of centuries old ruins throughout the modern, bustling town seemed very strange to a Canadian, but was actually probably not THAT disimilar to the profusion of ancient churches in major European cities.
The first major wat that I found my way to was Wat Mahatat. Although it was severely damaged when the Burmese conqured the city in 1765. Nonetheless, it was an impressive sight. Featuring a mixture of Khmer style Prangs and Ayuthaya style chedis. Wat Mahatat also featured what may be the most beautiful and memorable sight in Ayuthaya: overgrown by the roots of a boddhi tree, the head of a sandstone Buddha figure sitting on the ground, dis-incorporated from its body, but still maintaining the serene features that I’d grown to know so well while in Southeast Asia.
Across the road from Mahatat was Wat Ratchaburana. It too had suffered some damage at the hands of the Burmese but was in far better condition. Its primary Prang was a very impressive sight, framed by the main gateway to the temple. The stucco garuda (Hindu bird-man) and various other Hindu deities on the sides of the prang had also survived remarkably intact. Better still was the fact that one could climb perhaps halfway up its height, giving a splendid view of the bending but not broken brick vihara (main hall.) Indeed, the whole of Ratchaburana could be seen laid out in front of one from the prang, as well as the chedis of Wat Mahatat nearby.
At this point I took a break from the temples and went for a ride in the park (not that that’s REALLY possible in Ayuthaya. There are so many that you’re almost never out of sight of one, and perhaps the greatest concentration of all was in the park where I took my “break.”)
Shortly thereafter I stopped and had lunch at a small restaurant near one of the canals in the park. The Tam Som (pappaya salad) and Khao Niaw (sticky rice) made for a deliciously refreshing meal in the hot afternoon.
Following lunch I rode past a few more impressive wats, including Wat Phra Ram, but didn’t go inside, since the 30 baht entry fees were begining to add up. As I rode on, I was astonished with how easy it was. While the traffic may have been a bit chaotic, it was actually very light, even in the very heart of Ayuthaya. I did have to share the road with cars, motorcycles and many of Ayuthayas uniquely desgned tuktuks, but never did I feel endangered by them. I wouldn’t have been keen on trying the same thing in, say, Bangkok, but I was quite certain that a bike would be the ideal method of exploring most of the Asian cities and towns I’d so far visited.
Wat Sisanphet was visible from far in the distance, unsurprising given that it’s the largest in the city. It was also clearly the most crowded. While the other wats weren’t AS empty as the museum had been, I’d still been surprised by the small number of visitors there. Without being too crowded, Wat Sisanphet certainly did have more than its share. Apparently, from the extra-specific temple etiquette sign near a ruined Buddha statue with a missing head, not all of these visitors had a full understanding of proper behavious at religious sites.
Between Sukhothai two days before and the many wats that morning, I was begining to tire of visiting ancient Thai temples, and so didn’t spend that long in Wat Si Sanphet. I did, however, stay long enough to take in one of the most famous sights in Thailand: the three main chedis at Si Sanphet (stucco covering still completely intact) all lined up in a row with beautiful frangiapani growing at their bases.
Right next door to Wat Si Sanphet was a modern temple, housing one of the largest bronze Buddha images in the country (some 19m tall.) It was crowded with visitors, and if the amount of gold leaf on the smaller Buddha statue outside was any indication they were all more than happy to make donations as well.
I decided to make one more stop, a more distant one this time, before heading home. I rode across the river and out of town, bringing me to the monument to King… er… um… King Someonewhosenameescapesme. The marble monument was very pretty, and the huge relief sculptures around its base were entertaining (they showed him doing everything from leading an army to working with the peasants to wrestling crocodiles) the most memorable thing about the place was the roosters. Very clearly roosters have some connection with the Thai royal family that I’m not aware of. Sculpted, painted roosters, perhaps 1.5m tall stood around the perimeter of the monument, as if sentries for the departed king. Even odder was the collection of smaller roosters that stood under umbrellas placed as though they were admiring, awestruck, the king’s exploits featured on the main relief sculpture.
Avian oddities behind me, I carried on to my final temple of the day, Wat Phu Khao Thong. The wat itself is rather small, and still in operation. The main attraction, however is the gigantic whitewashed central chedi. After a walk around, then a climb up it, I was full to bursting with wats, and was ready to head back.
I planned on one final stop, the royal elephant kraal (thr origin of the word corral perhaps?) but never made it. I rode along the appropriate road, but kept getting waylaid. First, it was a small muslim neighborhood that attracted my attention. I’d always believed that Thai muslims were almost entirely concentrated in the south, but apparently that isn’t completely true. All of the men wore sarongs and skull caps, while the women sported headscarves. I chatted briefly with some of the men, and they invited me to (nay, insisted that I) take a walk around their mosque (though not before adminishing me “No photographs.”) I’d actually never been inside a mosque before, but was interested by what I saw. The whole community was beginning to assemble for evening prayers, so I saw the place full to capacity. Outside, there appeared to be a cemetary, with headstones that bore a striking resemblance to the thin, leaf shaped demarcation stones placed around some Buddhist temples.
After exploring the neighbourhood a bit further, I carried on down the road, crossing a very pretty small river as I did. A few minutes later I passed by a neighbourhood/village market in full swing. I climbed off my bike and wandered around for a bit. There wasn’t a single other foreigner present, and I loved the feel of the place. I continued wandering, picking up a very salty orange juice (most southeast Asians like salt with their fruit) and a couple of delicious barbequed squid sticks to accompany me. There were all sorts of vendors, but clearly food was the main attraction. Perhaps the most interesting stall was the fried chicken stand operated by a muslim woman and (I presume) her Buddhist counterpart. They’d dip big pieces of chicken into a reddish batter, then splash the lot into a huge wok full of hot oil. They came out a delicious looking crispy orange.
The sun was already low in the sky, and I’d neglected to note what time the bike rental shop closed, so I headed on back into town (somehow entirely missing the kraal.) I got a little bit lost, but all in all didn’t have too much trouble navigateing Ayuthaya’s streets on my way home.
After returning I walked down to the nearby market for a bite to eat. At a cart in the street I picked up still more Tam Som and Khao Niaw. As I walked down the main road, the suns last direct rays shining on the buildings, I swung the bag in my hand and smiled broadly. This was the first time since returning to Thailand that I’d felt that wonderful, bursting-with-happiness-at-the-joy-of-travelling sensation that I’d experienced so often in Cambodia and Laos. I was happy to have it back.
As I wandered along, I saw many young Thai women returning from school. Many foreigners come to Thailand and leave raving about the spectacular beauty of Thai women. However, I’ll here admit that in my travels through The Land of Smiles (as Thailand is known) I’d yet to see much that led me to agree. This afternoon, however, all of the young ladies seemed stunningly pretty. Perhaps it had something to do with the uniform of black skirts cut just above the knee and very tightly buttoned white shirts. It seems odd that all around the world, the school uniforms of young women, perhaps more than any other attire make them attractive to men. There’s a sociology thesis for someone…
I spent most of the night sitting and chatting with random people I met at restaurants and guesthouses along the street, and sorting out my plans for the next day. As I sat and chatted, one monstrous tour bus after another passed by. These buses were meant primarily for Thai visitors and had decoration that (I presume) appealed to them. They were all brightly coloured. Oranges, pinks, scarlets and bright greens abounded. Many of the double decker tour coaches were splashed with cartoon figures (including pretty much the whole Disney pantheon) and one of them even had those neon lights underneath that lit the road as it drove.
I took one brief foray out to the market before bed, in search of another bite to eat. By that time (22:00 or so) most everything there was closed. The people were gone, and only the market’s less savoury inhabitants remained. As I walked I saw numerous large rats digging through the remains of the day’s trading. While they were big-ish (30cm long from snout to tail maybe?) they were very clearly intent on other things and scattered whenever I walked near. I did finally find a laneway with several open outdoor restaurants and had a delicious meal. My enjoyement was hardly hampered when one of my rodent friends from earlier went scurrying across the floor. It was clear I was getting used to Asia.
The next morning I managed to wake up on time, as I’d hoped. This was nothing short of stunning given that “on time” meant about 04:30, in time to catch the first bus headed out of town towards Kanchanaburi. For once I’d beat the early-rising Thais out of bed, and caught the fairly empty bus with no trouble.
It was misty out, which caused me concern during the early portion of our journey as we hurtled on down the road with little (as far as I could see) knowledge of what lay 100m ahead. Before long, however the mist had cleared, and I’d arrived at my first destination. I hopped off the bus in Suphanburi, and before my feet hit the ground I was being hustled off to meet my connecting bus that was already on its way out of the station. Talk about precise timing!
The second bus took rather longer than the first. The sky was now light enough to see the sights, as we passed by one bustling town after another. If I’d been distressed by the pace of northern Thailand after returning from Laos, I would have been utterly unable to cope with the heart of the country.
Finally, at 08:30 we pulled into Kanchanaburi station and I disembarked.
Kanchanaburi is a popular tourist destination for a few reasons. First, it’s less than 140km west of Bangkok. Second, it boasts a wonderfull hilly jungle setting with lots of waterfalls. Finally, and perhaps most imprtantly from the forieginer’s point of view (Kan’buri gets lots of Thai tourists too) Kanchanburi is the site of the legendary Bridge on the River Kwai.
I’d planned on walking to the guesthouse area of town, but a rickshaw (bicycle taxi) driver convinced me to give him the fare (While it was only about 2km to my destination, I was having a bit of trouble orienting myself, plus I hadn’t taken a rickshaw yet.) We rode (or rather I rode and the driver pedalled) through the obviously busy, but still not-fully-awake town. We pulled up outside the guesthouse that had been reccomended me and, unsurprisingly, given that it was only 08:45, I had no trouble getting a room.
After a breakfast of fried noodles with chicken and basil leaves at the guesthosue restaurant I went out and rented yet another bicycle. Surprisingly I was not tired at all, and was keen on making the most of my two days in Kan’buri. My first destination was The Bridge itself.
The Bridge on the River Kwai, as imortalized in the film of the same name, was part of the “Death Railway” constructed by the Japanese Army during the Second World War to join existing lines in Thailand and Burma. It was built by the forced labour of tens of thousands of Allied prisoners of war, and hundreds of thousands of citizens of occupied countries. Over 16 000 POWs and over 100 000 Asian labourers died during its construction due to malnutrition, beatings and other terribly inhumane treatment at the hands of their captors. This forced labour completed the railway in less than 16 months, as compared to the original estimates of five to six years to finish it.
The river the bridge crosses is more properly called the Khwa Yai, or “large tributary” (of the Mae Klong) in Thai. (Nearby is the Khwa Noi, or “small tributary.”) It was built as a part of the railway project, but only used once before being bombed by the Allies in 1945, and then finally being repaired and handed over to the Thai government following the war. Today, the repaired bridge, along with a small section of the Death Railway line is still in use.
I rode from the guesthouse section of town north towards the bridge. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised by what I saw when I arrived, but nonetheless I was. It seemed more a theme park than a war memorial. Huge numbers of souvenier shops, tacky museums and food stalls surrounded the eastern end of the bridge. While there were solemn reminders of the suffering that went into its construction, they were far overshadowed by the mercenary and tasteless.
I wandered about for a bit, looking at the displays of locomotives used during the war and the monuments to the fallen (including, astonishingly, one built by the Japanese during the war to commemorate the very men they’d worked to death.) After this I unlocked my bike and doubtless contributed to the touristic frenzy in some small way by walking it across the bridge.
The other side was much quieter (though it still had a few souvenier stalls and one place that offered elephant rides) and I spent a while looking out over the water to the far side. After this I climbed back on my bike and headed out into the countryside to see more of Kan’buri province.
I rode out along the well maintained road with a poor map and a (I think) good sense of direction. As I’d observed many times before, rural southeast Asia is, to me at least, far more pleasant than the urban areas. As I carried on down the road I was surprised to notice that every third house seemed to be a restaurant! Obviously, being well out of town and not near major tourist sites, their clientelle was mostly Thai. I rode past houses and farm fields (most of them, surpsisingly, growing corn.) Occaisionally I turned down a smaller roadway. Many of these were very pretty and quiet, with bougainvalia and galdiolii lining their shoulders.
After about an hours ride, I arrived at an intersection, turned right and then headed on up a hill. The hill was steep enough that it forced me to dismount and walk my (single speed) bike up to the top. At which lay my destination: Wat Tham Kao Pun.
As I put on the bottoms of my pants (it’s impolite to visit a Buddhist Wat with one’s knees uncovered) I met a couple of swiss ladies who had also bicycled out to the Wat. We wandered around the grounds for a bit. They were similar to so many other wats I’d visited, but I still couldn’t help but admire them, especially the golden statue of Buddha protected by a naga at the front door to one of the buildings.
Next we headed down to the “feature attraction” of the wat: the cave. Throughout Thailand, many Buddhist wats are located near caves, and most of these have expanded their scope of operations into the caves themselves.
After giving a donation to the Wat (I was very happy that they took donations instead of selling tickets. I’m always happy to voluntarily give a donation, but selling tickets seems too mercenary for a religious institution) we headed down into the cave. It was… interesting. If a bit disappointing. It was very clear that at one point it had been an exceedingly beautiful place. Flowing cave formations covered large sections of the walls throughout its 300m length. Most of these were broken, or at least removed of their greatest beauty by centuries of human interference. The floor, too had suffered from the hand of man and was almost entirely covered in concrete.
The small bright side to all this was the images and artifacts withing the cave. They weren’t actually pretty. More than anything they looked like (and I hesitate to say this for fear of commiting sacrilege) the sort of thing one would find at a roadside tourist trap in the southern US. It’s impossible for one single photo to convey the amount of stuff that was in the cave, ranging from genuinely beautiful Buddha images, to masses of unusual Hindu sculptures to odd broken sculptures of cobras riding on top of crocodiles and the like.
After completing my wander through the cave and thoroughly enjoyed the ride down the hill that had so pained me earlier, the wind providing a welcome relief from the heat of the day. Near the bottom I stopped at a roadside restaurant for (I’d been making a habit of this, but for good reason, it tastes good) Tam Som and Khao Niaw. It seemed as though the people there were a bit surprised and interested to see me, but that they were all happy to have me there all the same. This felt much more like what I’d remembered and so loved in Cambodia and Laos. Perhaps I’d been unfair in my harsh internal criticism of Thailand…
After lunch I started back towards town, making one stop on the way. This one stop was the Chung Kai war cemetary, where many of the POWs who died working on the Death Railway are buried. I wanted to take a rest before visiting the cemetary itself, and so carried down the road to a wonderfully shady, peaceful place by the river. When I first arrived there were several Thai children swimming there, but soon I had the beautiful spot to myself for a read and some music. As I sat, several barges passed by, some full of Thais on disco cruises (blaring music, lots of drink) and others full of foreign tourists. As one of these passed a table full of older ladies pointed at me and chatted back and forth between themselves as if I was somehow a sight to be seen. I liked it.
My rest complete, I returned to the cemetary. Like other war cemetaries I’d visited, it was at once a beautiful and sombre place. You can’t help but be touched by the sadness that surrounds these sites. This sadness was made deeper still by the plaques at the head of each grave. All of them bore the name and military details of the man buried there. Many had short messages from their families as well. This gave a much more obviously human feel to the thousands of men buried there, and reminded me that every single one of them had families who had suffered almost as much from the loss as these men had themselves. Such places always bring shivers to my back and tears to my eyes, and in this respect Chung Kai was no different.
I was very happy to have visited this cemetary rather than the slightly larger one in the centre of town. The one in town had become a popular tourist attraction and was pretty much always playing host to one group or another. At Chung Kai I had the place to myself to wander quietly, reflecting on the losses of all of those left behind, and wondering how, or indeed if, I could possibly deal with playing any part at all in such a tragedy.
Despite its relative solitude a group of six or so foreingers appeared just as I was leaving. It really bothered me that they were talking, smiling, even laughing occaisionally in such a sad and solemn place. I suppose I shouldn’t be critical… Were I there with a group of my friends, perhaps my mind would have been on different things and I might have behaved similarly.
My visit to the cemetary complete, I rode back into town, stopping on the road bridge over the Khwa Yai to stare out at the scarcely credible number of barges, raft guesthouses, floating bars and the like that populated its banks. I turned the corner and saw the land faces of these places. It certainly looked as though the vast majority of them catered to Thais, providing further evidence of Kan’buri’s popularity as a spot for locals on holiday.
My final stop of the day was the JEATH museum. A museum of the Death Railway, its name is an acronym for the major countries involved: Japan, England, Australia/America, Thailand, Holland. The museum itself is not incredible in terms of its layout or its collection (it consists mostly of photos and letters from the work camps) but the spirit in which it was built by a Buddhist monk is still clearly evident, and made it a worthwhile visit. (It’s this good spirit that makes the theft of the name JEATH by tackier commercial museums near the bridge even more galling.)
After JEATH I headed back to the guesthouse through the streets of Kan’buri and did a bit of writing, as well as (as much as I hated to do it) watched a movie in the restaurant while eating dinner. After dinner I did a bit more writing and did my best to find some drinking water that didn’t come in small, unrefillable bottles of from a 7-11. I failed on both counts. Given that all drinking water in southeast Asia must be of the filtered or bottled varieties, it’s a real shame that no obvious recycling program exists for the bottles, and that it’s very difficult to find large containers from which to fill one’s own bottles.
Eventually I gave in and bought two 1L bottles at the 7-11 if only to stave off dehydration.
The next morning I woke with a mission on my mind. After breakfast I walked up the road and climbed aboard a songthaew headed for the central bus station. I stopped and picked up a bagged lunch (guess what… Tam Som and Khao Niaw) before boarding a bus that would drop me off at the infamous Hellfire Pass.
The ride went by quickly as we climbed up into the hills that surround Kanburi, along the edge of the Nam Khwa valley, the air hazy, almost opaque from the dust and smoke of the dry season. While I had to stand for most of the ride, I had lots of room, and so I didn’t mind. The bus stopped at the side of the road near my destination and I climbed off.
Hellfire pass is the largest of a series of rock cuts on the Death Railway that were some of the hardest sections to complete. 25m deep and about 110m long, the rock of Hellfire Pass was excavated almost entirely by hand. It received its name because of its appearance under lamp light (something the POWs saw regularly, as they worked 16 to 18 hour days during its construction.) In 1998 the Australian government sponsored the construction of a monument and museum at the site and the clearance of 3.5 km of railroad bed to form a walking trail along the former route of the railway.
I asked the woman attending to the museum a bit about return transport options (I’d hoped to take the train back to Kan’buri. This ride would take me over the only section of the Death Railway still in use.) After this I headed down through the bamboo forest to the trail. I walked along the railbed, ballast and occaisionally even the original sleepers from the 1940s. As I walked I passed several of the smaller cuts, and the few remnants of some of the bridges (all that was visible were their foundations.) After walking for an hour or so, I turned back in order to make the last train.
On the walk back I came to Hellfire Pass itself. After the war cemetary the previous day the impact of the monument wasn’t as great as it might have been, but nonetheless I still felt something.
The walk through the pass was made more memorable by the cicadas. They’d been buzzing away, loudly throughout the entire walk, but in the pass itself they were incredibly loud, perhaps as high as 100dB.
I walked back up the steps and past the museum outto the road. I sat down with a few other people, and a bus appeared for us (much less crowded than on the way there to boot.) On boarding I asked them in English and (my attempt at) Thai to let me of at the Nam Tok railway station. Fifteeen minutes later I climbed off the bus, then up the stairs near the roadside. At the top there was a very small station platform and, to my delight, a short path leading down to the Soi Yok waterfall! SinceI had half an hour before the train wasset to depart I walked down and joined the Thai kids (and a few other people) for a swim in the pool at the bottom of the falls. This was a far from natural pool, with concrete verges and a walkway around it, but it was still wonderful to have a dip after my hot and sticky day.
After I’d been in for a bit, I climbed back out and went in search of the train ticket office. To my disappointment I discovered that someone or other had made a mistake. The train station was actually 3km outside of town, and this platform was seldom, if ever used. Ah well. At least the buses were still running. I headed back down to the road, disappointed, but refreshed at least and caught the next bus back to Kan’buri. Besides, I’d be taking a train the next morning, as long as I could wake up on time.
I could have signalled the driver to stop and climbed off the bus just outside my guesthouse, but it was still early, so I rode it all the way into town.
I was happy I’d given myself a chance for this walk, as I got to see a bit more of the busy Thai town winding down for the day. Along the way I saw a vetrinary office with an utterly ridiculous poodle outside, as well as a clear differentiation in electrical safety rules between the west and Thailand. I also sat down and talked with an older Thai man who was really up on his world geography, and even more especially that of Canada and the US.
As I walked back towards the guesthouse, I thought a bit about Kan’buri and its tourist area. The city itself felt like a very typically Thai place until you got to the north end. Here, the guesthouses started taking over, along with 7-11s and bars that (in my mind at least) ranged from irritating to downright obnoxious. While the areas around Kan’buri were lovely, the part of town where I was staying was as over-run with tourist spots as the worst parts of Chiang Mai, and it didn’t have the charm of that venerable old town.
Despite all this, I still managed to enjoy my evening, wandering around a bit, writing a bit, then sitting and chatting with random people in the guesthouse restaurant while we ate.
Before heading off to bed I re-confirmed the 06:00 wakeup call I’d asked for.
Much to my surprise I woke up at 05:40, entirely unaided. Which was a good thing, too, since by the time I’d left at 06:20 there was still no sign of a wakeup call. I walked the short distance to the train station, arriving there almost an hour early for the train to Bangkok. I passed the time by having breakfast and admiring the enjoyably odd topiary around the station.
At 07:15 I climbed aboard the train, and sat down near Rosie and Joey, a pair of Englishwomen I’d met at Hellfire pass and who also happened to be on the train. Despite the fact that the train had only third class carriages with hard wooden seats (note the spaces reserved for monks) I still had a wonderful ride. The windows were open wide the whole way and the breeze kept everyone wonerfully cool. We passed by small towns, with their pretty little stations, then small cities, then the almost constant development of Bangkok’s suburbs.
We pulled into Thonburi Station, and everyone climbd down onto the platform. I’d meant to spend some of the trip sorting out where I’d be staying, but instead had spent it reading and staring out the window. No matter, I followed an American couple, Joseph and Nancy to Banglamphu, the budget accomodation Mecca of Bangkok. On my previous visit to Bangkok, I’d vowed that I wouldn’t stay in Banglamphu, but as I discovered, it could be relatively nice, as long as you stayed away from its loud, abraisive heart on Khao San Road, which I did, being a few minutes away near the old Phra Sumen fort.
My first order of business, after finding a guesthouse was to see to my tailoring needs. Yes, you read that right. Thailand’s a wonderfully inexpensive place to get custom made clothing, and before departing my mom and dad had several items each made in Bangkok. Though the tailor they’d used was more expensive than some, everything had turned out beautifully, so I gave him a call.
He sent someone to pick me up, and I have to admit enjoying the ride in the back of an air conditioned taxi, which I never would have paid for myself. Upon arriving, I happily accepted a beer, and got down to business. Having seen my parents go through the selection and fitting process, I more or less knew the process and it all went fairly quickly and smoothly. In the end I got two suits, (a two piece and a three piece) an extra set of pants for one of them, three shirts, a couple of ties and a silk smoking jacket for a bit less than the price of a nice off the rack suit in Canada.
Enjoying, once again, the luxury of an a/c taxi ride, I was returned to my guesthouse and spent the afternoon wandering about. The most obvious place to head was Khao San Road, the, as mentioned earlier, abraisive backpacker heart of Banglamphu. On one corner of the street were metre upon metre of photocopied sheets with the names and pictures of people missing from the recent tsunami that devastated southern Thailand. The fact that it took me a minute to figure out what it was all about is illustrative of how far removed northern Thailand is from the south. I’d scarcely heard a word about the aftermath of the tsunami in my three weeks up north.
Khao San Road itself, and all of the Sois (laneways) leading off were hives of activity, and everything the stereotypical budget traveller could want was on offer (except, of course, peace and quiet.) There were people selling hair extensions, handicrafts, fake ID cards, mediocre pad thai for 15 baht, t-shirts, books and on and on and on. The neon signs of guesthouses lit up the early evening. Music blared from the bars and restaurants. Khao San Road was an exciting place to be, but I was very happy to be staying a good few minutes walk away.
After wandering, I wrote for a bit, then headed back out onto the street where I ran into Rosie and Joey again and sat down beside them and four exchange students on vacation from their exchange school in Singapore. We ate and talked for a few hours before they headed to bed in anticipation of a very early rise the next morning.
Before too much longer I headed back to my guesthouse, anticipating a quiet early evening. It didn’t quite work out that way, as I got talking to a couple of women from Washington state, Amy and Allison, both of whom played backgammon. Well, I couldn’t turn that down. I hadn’t played with an actual face to face opponent in months. We all headed up to the roof where we were shortly joined by the rest of the guesthouse regulars (many of these people had been staying there for weeks and months.) It was only a few tiny prickles, but while sitting up there I felt the first drops of rain I’d experienced since December 8 in Singapore. Was this some kind of a sign?
The rain didn’t get any harder (in any case, it probably would have been welcome given Bangokok’s heat, even at night.) We all stayed up until about 05:00, which put a bit of a dent in my next days activities.
Fortunately I didn’t have an awful lot planned. In fact, as I’ve noted before, I really didn’t like Bangkok much and was more or less just waiting until I could leave. After getting out of bed and calling to re-confirm my flight to Kathmandu I hopped on a ferry boat down the river bound for Wat Phrae Khaew, a royal palace and the home of the emerald Buddha. I joined the crowds headed towards the main entrance. Huge numbers of them were Thai children on school trips. They were lots of fun to talk to.
In Buddhist temples, it is considered inappropriate for visitors to have uncoveres shoulders or knees. At most of the touristy ones I’d been to before, the authorities just let it slide, or were simply too polite to mention it. At Wat Phrae Khaew, however, this was clearly not the case. I was acceptably attired, but many others had to line up at a booth near the entrance to borrow long pants or shirts with sleeves before being admitted.
In the end, I didn’t even make it as far as some of those folks. Before entering the inner section of the palace, I discovered that the admission fee was 250 baht. This wouldn’t do. Not only was it inordinately expensive, it would use pretty much all of my remaining baht, leaving me to choose between a ride to the airport and food for the next 20 hours. Ah well.
The trip did have an upside in that I walked past the hordes of tour buses, taxis and tuktuks waiting outside and through an interesting part of town. First, I headed past the “amulet market,” a few square blocks of street devoted entirely to the sale and purchase of Buddha amulets and other religious artifacts. Unlike any of the other markets I’d been to, it was quite common to see Buddhist monks browsing the aisles in this one (surprising because they’re suppooed to have very limited personal possessions, unsurprising because of the nature of the merchandise.)
After the amulet market I walked through one of the many universities in Bangkok and was surprised at how much in common institutes of higher learning the world over have in common, at least in terms of their physical appearances.
At the far end of the university, I was surprised to discover that I was already back in Banglamphu.
I spent the remainder of the day wandering around the neigbourhood, munching on delicious, incredibly cheap fresh pineapple, exchanging books, spending my last few baht on things like yet another alarm clock, and just generally puttering about. My wanderings took me all around the Banglamphu neighbourhood, and much to my surprise, I found several wonderfully quiet little alleys and streets tucked away just seconds from the bustle of the tourist centre of Bangkok. Perhaps, I’d underestimated this city… Or perhaps not. My wanderings also took me past a number of irritable merchants and slightly pushy salespeople on Khao San itself… I suppose like any place Bangkok has its good and its bad.
All of this now leaves me here, in an internet cafe typing away and preparing to head back to my guesthouse in anticipation of my 10:30 flight to Kathmandu tomorrow morning. I’m not sure if I genuinely feel this way, or if my mind knows I’m leaving and has been unconsciously preparing me for it, but now seems like the right time to be departing southeast Asia. I just loved my time in the region generally and despite my earlier misgivings had come to enjoy being back in Thailand as well. Even so, I feel ready for a change…
A big, broad, sweeping thank you to everyone in Thailand, Cambodia and Laos who made my time in this fascinating, friendly and beautiful part of the world so unforgettable. I don’t think I met a single dishonest or unfriendly person in my entire time in the region, and that’s as good a testament as any to how wonderful the people are here.
I hope I’ll be back soon.
Tags: Thailand
Llew