Bankok
Trip Start
Feb 2005
1
2
6
Trip End
Mar 2005
Bangkok,
Bangkok,
Thailand
Sunday, January 2, 2005
"Your unforgettable Orient holiday begins with a comfortable transpacific flight. Cross the International Date Line enroute to Thailand's capital, Bangkok. The exotic tapestry of ancient and modern Thai culture unfolds...."
( From the Pacific Delight itinerary )
At the Phoenix airport, I find that I am on an overbooked flight to L.A. and I don't have a seat. This is not a good start, but the nice desk agent tells me not to worry - I'll be on the plane. Fortunately for both of us, she's right.
I have not flown into LAX for a while, and I am shocked to see how old and dirty it looks
Bangkok Street orner
. Fortunately, there's a little rehab going on.My one bag is checked through to Bangkok International, and I am relatively unencumbered as I board the 747 to Tokyo - I have my I Pod, some Ambien, and not much else; I hate carrying stuff on a plane.
Some of us travel lightly, and bring more back home than what we left with; others travel heavily, bringing bits and pieces of home, to keep us connected. I'm the sort of traveler who is, if not exactly glad when the airline misplaces my bag, not upset either. It gives me a legitimate excuse to shop.
Crossing the International Date Line on my way to Japan proves to be less of a party than the brochure promised ( no party hats, whistles, champagne, etc. ) On the bus from the 747 to the terminal at Narita Airport, I find myself sitting next to an older gentleman who is traveling alone - on his way to Thailand. I peg him for a Pacific Delight kind of guy, and it turns out that I am right. My party is starting, so to speak.
Narita Airport is immaculate. No graffiti, no dirt, no homeless folks hanging around, and lots of amenities to occupy a traveler who has a couple of hours to kill. There are clean restaurants ( with that rubber food thing happening in their front windows ), shower rooms for rent, day rooms for sleeping, and a reflexology station near my gate. Although it's late at night, there's even a nice lady in a uniform stationed at the top of an escalator, waiting to offer assistance.
The shopping is great in Japanese airports: origami paper, sake with tastings, silk "Hello Kitty" handkerchiefs, an enormous assortment of electronics, Procari Sweat ( a Japanese sports drink, popular as a hangover cure), along with plenty of high-energy drinks, kimonos - old and new - and in the magazine and bookshop, I find a copy of "He's Just Not That Into You", in Japanese
The Teeming Masses at The Grand Palace
. On my concourse there's a playroom for the kiddies, and the bathrooms here are so clean that they look brand new. The skies outside are gray, it's raining, and I am freezing in the air conditioning. I buy an alpaca scarf to throw around my neck, and prowl the terminal, surreptiously checking hand luggage for the blue oval "Pacific Delight" tag. I immediately spot a couple of tags across the lounge.
The tag owners seem to be in their late fifties. Hubby is overweight and wearing shorts. His wallet is hanging out of the back pocket of his shorts, with the credit cards showing. He is complaining to" Lips", his wife, about his bad knee. Lips wears dark lip liner with white lipstick filling in; it's the first thing I notice about her. Lips will turn out to be one of my favorite traveling companions, but every time I talk to her, I find myself staring at her mouth. The white lipstick throws me off. During our first real conversation, atop an elephant in Northern Thailand, she tells me that she eats only raw food, and raised snakes as a kid.
Waiting for my Bangkok flight, I am walking past the restaurants, checking out the fake grilled eel, udon, and shu mai with shrimp, when I spot a large blond woman eating noodle soup - a prospective companion? Yep. There's the blue tag.
The flight to Bangkok is a lot longer than I thought it would be - six hours
A Buddha Market
. It looks closer on the map. By the time we hit Bangkok International it's one in the morning. After collecting my bag, I proceed to the lobby, where there is a mass of people. There is a mass of people everywhere in Bangkok, no matter what time of day it is, or where you are . I find the guy I've been looking for: he's the one holding a sign that says "Pacific Delight." My group collects and we bus to our hotel, and I am surprised to find that it is a gorgeous four-star property, filled with marble and the first of a million gold Buddhas that I will see over the next eighteen days. In my room, I order a bottle of wine from room service and call my daughter in Arizona. It's three A.M. when I turn out the lights; my wake-up call is for eight A.M..
On my way to meet the group in the morning, I stop and chat with a front desk agent; I have no hot water in my room. The cool shower felt great - it's ninety-five degrees outside. I'm used to the heat, but not the humidity, which is one hundred per cent.
Now that it's daylight, I observe that of the seventeen of us, fourteen are coupled up. The singletons are myself, Fingers ( from the Narita bus ), and The Phantom - the large blond woman I saw in the airport noodle shop. She is a lovely lady from Canada, who is going to have a not-so-good trip in the days ahead. Her weight and digestive system are going to conspire against her; we will not see a whole hell of The Phantom.
Wat, our guide, is waiting for us; he is a distinguished older gentleman, and tells us a little bit about himself: he was a teacher for many years and he is a Buddhist, as is 95% of the country of Thailand. He herds us onto a bus that is - thank Buddha - air-conditioned. On our way to the Grand Palace, Wat begins the first of many long lectures
Floating Market
. ( Wat's Buddhist principals are going to be tested and strained to the max by this group. Both he and I will wonder if he has chosen the right profession by becoming a tour guide in the coming week. )On this first day of the Tour, most of us are on our best behavior - it's kind of like dating: on the first three dates, you bring out your bag of tricks. After that, things get real. On this tour, everyone has pretty much the same bag of tricks, and inside the bag is - Other Tours We Have Taken!
This group is incredibly well-traveled, but the Travel Guy and Travel Gal have everyone else beat. No matter what exotic destination is mentioned, Travel Guy and Gal have been there, and not only did they go there before anyone else did, they did it for less money, plus a lot of freebies. I learn a lot from Travel Guy, and so do my tour companions, although they hate to admit it. TG has worked every angle with every airline and credit card company, and has memorized each and every airline partner, along with every rule for every mile club. TG gets more upgrades and free flights than anyone on this trip, and that is sand in some shorts.
Why do people like us travel so much? We willingly expose ourselves, at great expense, to places where the local population generally views us with skepticism, at best, or distain and contempt, at worst. We drink their water, eat tir food, frequently criticize both, and sometimes get sick after we do. But we keep on doing it.
We can overspend a lot ( personal experience ) and we support the local economy, but what do we get out of it? Why do some of us take trip after trip? Most of us in this group are constantly on the go, and we are planning the next trip while we are still on this one. Does this mean that we are highly intelligent creatures, curious and excited about the possibilities of change, about the opportunities offered from learning about a culture different than our own, or are we flakes - unhappy, dissatisfied, restless and insecure, always looking for something better? I suppose you could say that travel can be like sex: some people can hardly wait, and want to do it over and over again. Then, there are those who are scared to death of it. These folks prefer to dig deep roots, and never seem to question what is on the other side of the golf course. They never go anywhere, unless they have to, for a family wedding or bat mitzvah. People like this complain bitterly while they are away from home. Is it because they have a sense of deep peace and satisfaction when they are on home ground, or do they have a lack of curiosity? Is it fear? Are they afraid of finding something out there that will make their lives look, if not bad, lacking in some area?
I meet the Party Couple on the bus. They have brought their beer with them - a Canadian custom that they have imported to Thailand. They are popping cans of Singha as Wat tells us about life in Thailand. ( Even on the days when we start at seven or eight in the morning, these two will have their beer-in-a-bag, and are generally poping the first lids as we roll down the hotel drive. They are here to have a good time )
Not on their best behavior, the Party Guy and Travel Guy begin a game of "Taunt the Guide" that will continue relentlessly, until we leave poor Wat in Bangkok and head up north, to Chiang Rai and Chiang Mai. There, they will have Pat, a new guide, to torture and insult.
For every statement from Wat's peace-loving Buddhist lips, there is a snappy repartee from one - or both - of these two men: a smart-ass crack about Thailand, Thai culture, Thai people, the Royal Family of Thailand, Thai food, or Thai women. Traveling with Party Man and Travel Guy is like being with a road show of South Park. To Wat's credit, he doesn't lose it until Day five. ( I think the trip to the Bridge on the River Kwai pushes him over the edge. )
We finally get to the Grand Palace - not fast, in Bangkok traffic - and we get off the air-conditioned bus into a very crowded and noisy sauna. The minute our feet hit the concrete, we are bludgeoned by street hawkers selling an array of cheezy souvenirs that we will see at every stop we make in Thailand.
Postcards, fans, shoes, little bags embroidered with elephants, Thai clothing of every sort, jewelery, bird cages, fishing baskets, incense, incense burners, hats - and this is just in the one hundred yard walk onto the Palace grounds. There is also water for sale, but no one buys it - we're too green, and we haven't figured out yet that you never pass up an opportunity to buy water in Thailand.
As we enter the Palace, Wat tells us that our legs and shoulders must be covered, as well as our heels. For those of us wearing tank tops, shorts, or sandals, this is not good news. Fortunately, there are shoes and cover-ups for rent outside of every temple or palace in Thailand, so we are covered, so to speak. I find myself walking around the grounds of the Royal Palace in shoes that cover my heels, but leave my baby toes sticking out through plastic webbing. I am also wearing a black jacket that I have crammed into my daypack and it is hotter than hell.
We stumble around the grounds of the palace, encumbered by the combination of jet lag, extreme heat and humidity, lack of water, funky shoes, and massive crowds. After inspecting the wretched excess that will come to mean "temple visit" to us, we straggle back to the bus, fending of the street hawkers and stopping to buy water. Then we settle in to begin the real purpose for our trip to Thailand : we're going shopping.
Wat takes us first to a gem cutter's studio, where we are given a welcoming cold drink, then are escorted into a small theater, where we watch a video on gem selection and cutting. Then it's through the gem-cutting room, which holds about twenty-five young Thai gentlemen, all working with precious gems and metals. The doors at the end of the studio open into a lounge ( with a free bar ), and the meat of the place - the jewelry store.
The store is enormous, and has a more than ample number of salespeople on hand, all dressed immaculately in blue suits. I wander around for five minutes, checking out the sapphires, diamonds and rubies, then go to the bar for an iced tea, which is so sweet that it hurts my teeth. I have no interest in buying anything; there's too much stuff.
Next stop: a tailor. By now, we are a group of seven - Hubby and Lips, who are on a mission to get some new clothes, The Nice Guy and His Wife, The Professor and Mary Anne, and myself.
I am starving; I have not eaten anything since my morning papaya, I'm dehydrated, hungry, and I'm getting cranky. Bangkok afternoon traffic is pokey, and I want some food.
The staff at the tailoring shop must have heard me whining, because as we sit around looking at pictures of clothing - me eating a bag o' pork that I just bought from a street vendor - a late lunch arrives : noodles and pork in curry. I eat everything, and am revived enough to suddenly spot some fabric that appeals to me, so I order a suit and a jacket. This is custom stuff, for cheap. Bangkok is famous for it's tailoring services; I want to see if it's as good as it sounds.
I chose a black suit, with a Chanel-styled jacket and skirt, and a long, mandarin collared jacket in flashy blue silk. It takes five minutes for two tailors to take my measurements and collect my credit card. My clothing will be delivered to the hotel tomorrow at six P.M. for a fitting. Hubby is still talking to the tailor, and as I slump into a food coma on the couch in the front of the store, I remember one of the things that has always kept me from group travel: we travel in a pack. Nobody moves unless we all move. So, we wait.
Forty-five minutes later, Hubby has price quotes that he will compare with another tailor - ( thank God this one is in the lobby of our hotel; he can go on his own time. ) As we are leaving the shop to get on the van, Hubby makes a comment on how quickly I chose my material and purchased my new clothing. I share my thought process:
" If I bought this stuff at Neiman-Marcus, it would cost me ten times as much. If it sucks, I'm only out two hundred bucks." Please. I have a black belt in shopping. This is child's play.
Our next stop is a large duty-free emporium that our driver tells us sells " Thai village art." The building is filled with a warren of small shops that run together, and while everyone else shops for silk rugs made in China or Afghanistan, I make my way through the maze, accompanied by two annoying shop girls wearing tailored suits ( now I know where they got them : there are a million tailors in Bangkok. ) Would I like to purchase a few dozen exquisite Pashminas? A Leonard scarf, or a Prada bag? How about a hat? Some dishes? A teakwood tray, or an elephant carving?
An hour later, sans carpeting, we plunge into the Bangkok rush hour once again.
Dinner is in our hotel tonight. I am carefully attending each and every scheduled event on our itinerary; if I'm here to experience a tour, I'm going do the whole enchilada. In the roof top bar for a pre-dinner drink, I am the only person in the room, with the exception of two well-suited young women who appear to be the hostesses. They seem rather startled when I leave the elevator.
One of them giggles me to a table for four beside a window, and I convey to her that I would like a glass of white wine. She asks if I would I like California white wine, or French white wine?
I go for France, and I am given five little dishes of bar-snacky things along with the wine. After reading, drinking, and watching the night lights of Bangkok below me for half an hour, I sign my chit and go to the main dining room.
Spotting The Professor and MaryAnne, I join them. Over dinner I discover two interesting bits of information : first, The Professor and MaryAnne are the only people on this trip who have not purchased their trip on the internet ( they paid full price through a travel agent ) an secondly, Thai food has been dumbed down for this group. I haven't figured out if this comes under the heading of 'Boring Hotel Food' or 'Thai Food For Westerners'.
I eat a shrimp cocktail and some pad Thai that has no zip or flavor.
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In the morning, I still have no hot water; I stop at the desk and talk to the young ladies in suits once again. They make a note, and assure me that it will be fixed immediately.
We board the bus to the sound of popping beer cans - I say 'good morning' to The Party Couple - and we drive through the crowded streets of Bangkok, across a suspension bridge, into the countryside. The neighborhoods that we pass are a jumble of apartment buildings, abandoned street projects, shops, industrial parks, and temples. Almost everyone has a 'spirit house' in front of their property; a tiny doll-sized structure, covered with offerings to the ancestors - flowers, food, incense, and sometimes, shots of booze. The houses are perfect miniature replicas of traditional Thai houses - very ornate, with scrolls and peaks carved out of teakwood. They are very festive and jolly, and I make a mental note to pick up a couple if they are offered.
We stop at salt flats outside of the city - large basins where sea water is pumped in and evaporated by windmills that churn in the moist air. We all take pictures of Thai windmills, and re-board the bus, after inspecting blocks of shrimp paste that are for sale at a roadside stand.
In the village of Damnernsaduak, longboats are waiting for us at the river. There is excitement and anticipation in the air: most of us are looking forward to today, but The Phantom is not happy. She is rather large, and knows that this in not going to be easy for her, getting off the dock and into a longboat.. She asks Wat if there is another way to get to the Floating Market. She is told "no," so she goes down to the dock with us, a look of consternation on her face.
I offer to ride with her, and after a bit of a struggle we take off. A photographer is waiting on the banks of the river; surprised, we smile at him as the boat picks up speed.
For the next half hour, we race through the jungle passing houses on stilts, thousands of hanging orchids and wild birds-of-paradise. We see the occasional villager, beating clothes on a rock or sitting on his porch. The breeze feels great, and as the boat turns a corner in the river and slows down, we are suddenly part of a flotilla of hundreds of longboats! There are floating restaurants, snack-bars, drink stands, produce stands, and shops whose front door is the river. The tee-shirts, dresses, purses and Thai fisherman's pants hang over the water while customers paddle up to paw through the merchandise. We pass an artist, painting on an easel while his boat rocks in our wake. Wat has given us a Bargaining 101 lecture on the bus, so we are ready to go. I am never comfortable with bargaining. It seems harsh to me - getting some poor guy who sells carved elephants to take three dollars instead of four dollars. What's a buck to me, and what's a buck to him?
At the landing, we all hop out onto the uneven and rotting planks, with one exception: The Phantom. She can't get out of the boat. We watch for a few uncomfortable moments, as she is flopped, like a trout, onto the shore. No one wants to make eye contact after this embarrassing display, and we quickly fade into the crowds.
The Floating Market is a riot of activity: the colors attack my eyes, and the smells attack my nose - before I know it, I'm salivating. Wooden walkways go up and down, across and around the river like a pirate's planks, and there are shop stalls on every spare inch of space. Music is playing and a thousand people are calling to each other from boat to boat and shore to shore. Women in bright clothing are cooking sweet baby bananas in hot oil, tiny fresh coconut pancakes on grills, fried noodles with shrimp, vegetables, pork, chicken, curry, fresh spices, peppers. In a very short time I've collected an impressive array of plastic baggies, filled with hot food and long wooden skewers ( this is Thai 'to go' ) and I munch my way around the market, taking pictures, sitting in the sun, watching the cooks balance longboats with hot stoves between their knees.
I occasionally bump into a familiar face, and offer a taste of the food I've scored, but no one seems interested. The Nice Folks from Alabama are bargaining with a painter for three of his works, while The Party Couple happily drinks Singha beer with a guy who is selling purses and clothing. The Party Lady buys a dark burgundy silk purse with gold elephants woven into the fabric; it has a teakwood handle, and she pays two hundred baht for it. ( $5.40, American. )
I don't want to leave this party, but an hour later, it's time to find the bus. It's lined up with a few more of it's kind in a parking lot on the backside of the market. ( Apparently, The Phantom could have arrived by this route, avoiding the humiliating scene on our arrival.)
I'm looking for bus number four when a little woman wearing armloads of tiny bags embroidered with elephants taps me on the shoulder and says, " No, your bus over there! " She points behind me, where I have walked past my bus. I am stunned: there must be twenty busses here. Either I stick out like a sore thumb, or she is very observant. I thank her, and as I get on the bus, I am offered the picture that was taken of The Phantom and I, as our longboat pulled into the river. It is now part of a tasteful bread-and-butter sized blue plate, painted with colorful scenes of The Floating Market. Two hundred baht. I buy the plate, and get on the bus. This is going to be one of those souvenirs that I will look at back home and stuff in a drawer somewhere: maybe my daughter will find it in thirty years and it will become a family treasure.
An hour later we arrive at a 'Thai Cultural Village,' and are instructed to walk across manicured grounds ( of what looks suspiciously like a conference center ) to a large white building for lunch, which turns out to be a huge buffet. We are joined by approximately two hundred other tourists. I know they are tourists because no one else would be caught dead in this place. I am full from all the market food I ate, so I check out the buffet, drink a Diet Coke ( " twenty baht" ) and go outside for a walk.
The grounds are lovely, quiet and empty. The tourist industry in Thailand has not yet recovered from the tragedy of the 2004 tsunami. The Japanese have not returned to vacation, even this far north, far away from the ocean. ( While I am in Thailand, I read a full page ad in a local paper that is headed with three inch type: "COME BACK - EVERYTHING IS FINE." )
The cultural center has a botanical research garden on the grounds, and I watch as heavily clad gardeners, dressed in long pants, long-sleeved shirts, hats, masks, and tall rubber boots work with the earth. I walk along the river, through tall and heavy trees, then back to the Cultural Village, where the circus is beginning.
As I enter the veritable big top, I note that the temperature inside seems to be well over one hundred degrees; I see people are fanning themselves and pressing cold soda cans to their faces and necks. Taking the cue, I find a seat in the top tiers, where the air is still moving. The house lights dim, and over canned music, we listen to a recorded announcement that tells us which parts of ' typical Thai life ' we are about to observe.
I am vaguely reminded of a time when my daughter was in elementary school. She and her classmates would perform various folk dances, wearing home-made costumes, for proud parents who would dutifully videotape the event. There are a few differences here, but not many: these costumes have been made by crack Bangkok tailors and the proud fathers are saying some amazing things about these young girls while they videotape the performance. ( This is a pattern that will increase in intensity as the trip wears on; I am astonished at the vulgar language and tasteless comments that Western men make freely about Thai women. It's amazing to me that somebody's husband, brother, or father, has not taken out a group of visting Americans or Canadians. Maybe they have, and we just haven't heard about it : "Boorish Minnesotans Dissappear At Floating Market." )
After twenty minutes of this Reader's Digest version of Thai life ( "now the harvest season begins....") I leave the tent and check out the shops on the premises: clothing, wooden carvings, jewelery, elephant art. ( Hmmmm. There seems to be a theme here....)
Right beside the shops, I am overjoyed to see my first real elephant. I ask his mahout if I can ride - he nods, and motions me to a tall staircase across the clearing. I am so excited to be finally riding an elephant that I don't stop to buy a ticket - I just hand the guy on the elephant one hundred baht, and away we go!
This beats the hell out of the wedding ceremony being re-enacted inside. I am very pleased to be bumping along on this huge creature, and I take off my shoes so that I can feel his muscles moving under my feet. He feels like a very thick-skinned portobella mushroom with over-jelled hair sticking out of his skin. I am surprised at how high up in the air I feel, and I briefly wonder if my life insurance policy covers elephant trampling. ( This would be a better way to go then getting smacked by a BMW in Scottsdale; I relax and enjoy the ride. )
After the show ends, back at the hotel, Wat informs us that tomorrow is another busy day; our wakeup call will come at 5:30 AM. Dinner tonight is 'on our own.'
I make arrangements to dine with The Professor and MaryAnne, and The Nice Folks From Alabama. We disappear into our respective rooms, with the exception of Hubby and Lips, who go into the tailor shop on the first floor of the hotel .
Later, on my way to dinner I report to the nice ladies at the desk that I still have no hot water. They assure me that someone will take care of this immediately. (Actually, it doesn't bother me that much, that I have no hot water : it's so hot and humid here that the cold showers feel good. I just want to see if it gets fixed. )
Outside, the sun has gone down in Bangkok, and people are coming out of the buildings like ants at a picnic. The sidewalks are so full that the overflow of humanity pours onto the streets, which are already crowded with taxis, tuk-tuks, garbage and rats.
The temperature is now down into the nineties, so everyone is feeling perky and refreshed as we walk past Malee's Karaoke Bar, the local casket maker ( Wat says he wants an air-conditioned model; this is a popular Thai joke. ) A little kid is running around stark naked in his family's laundry shop, teen-agers are buying clothes off of card tables set up on the sidewalk, amid grocery stores, pharmacies and ATM's.
Food stalls are everywhere - I have been told that very few people actually cook in their homes in Bangkok. The evening meal is purchased from a food cart, where it is cooked to order, then taken home or eaten there, on a plastic table set with candles, while people and stray dogs walk around it. This is not my personal idea of alfresco dining, but I want to try it anyway. I'm leering at every food cart that we pass, wondering what's cooking, and how it tastes. Tonight, however, I want some company, so I stick with the program.
It is hot inside the restaurant. Menus are dropped, and drinks are ordered . I am the only wine drinker, and wine is only sold by the bottle. I am not quite ready to make my appearance as The Official Tour Sot by drinking an entire bottle of Thai wine by myself, so I stick to water.
Mary Anne is distressed when her bottled water is placed in front of her; she has been told to drink only bottled water whose label she recognizes. She does not read Thai, so this bottle doesn't cut it. Our waitress does not understand the request for Evian or Perrier, so Mary Anne takes the water, but is not happy about it. ( Mary Anne speaks to everyone as though they understand perfect English, and carries on lengthy conversations with people who speak nothing but Thai. When there is no response, she repeats everything, in hopes that this time, her meaning will convey. It never works.)
The menu at this restaurant is huge, and looks as though it could be really interesting. But, after much discussion on how and what to order ( we are sharing ) The Professor asks for five orders of spring rolls. This throws our waitress for a loop; she picks up a telephone on the bar beside us and conducts an animated conversation in Thai, then nods and hangs up. Other dishes are ordered - some really interesting things, like 'stir-fried vegetables'. The waitress is told that everything must be 'not hot.' She nods again and takes off.
In a few moments, the spring rolls arrive. They are skinny, hot, and greasy; there are also seven rolls to each order, so we have thirty-five of them. Everyone freaks out at this. I start eating spring rolls and burn the roof of my mouth.
Five entrees are soon placed on the table, all devoid of spice or personality. I look out the window at the street vendors and sigh, and eat my sweet and sour chicken.
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I have hot water!!!! I am in a chipper mood as I meet the group in the morning for our ride to the King's Summer Palace. As we walk through security gates into the Palace
( the King does actually come here, I guess ) the women are once again instructed to cover our heels and shoulders. None of the guys are wearing shorts today; they don't want to wrap a skirt around their legs again. Our picture is snapped and we are guided into a lovely expanse of trees and flowers beside a cool river. In the distance is a small Thai version of the Palace of Versailles. We wander past a little stone temple built to honor the King's father, and we are asked to pay our respects. I am doing pretty well until we reach the Chinese Pavillion, which is painted entirely in gold. The building was a gift to the Thai King from a Chinese Emperor, to pay respect, and, like so many royal gifts, to show off. We take off our shoes to enter this ornate building, and Wat guides us, telling stories about royal life. We come to the Concubines Living Room, and Wat informs us that important men in the Kingdom used to give their good-looking daughters to the King to improve their own status and - you guessed it - ' to show respect.'
I understand that this story is a part of the history of this lovely country, but, being an American woman with a strong set of beliefs regarding child prostitution, I'm having a hard time with this one. I leave the tour to walk the grounds on my own, looking at more elaborate buildings that are guarded by soldiers.
Travel Guy and Party Guy - who have been playing Taunt the Guide for three days now, also do not like the concubine story, and as I leave to go solo, I hear them questioning Wat about this historical practice. Wat, a good Thai, is not used to hearing people question a King, even if he is a dead King.
The Thai people love their Royal Family; all over the city of Bangkok, out in the towns, on the highways, over the roads, on street corners, hanging off the side of Sky Train platforms, you will see larger-than -life photographs of the smiling and gracious Royal Family - the King, Queen, Crown Princess and Crown Princes. They are adored, and much fealty and respect is given to them by their subjects. It is considered unseemly for a non-royal to question the behavior of any King. I have heard the King lovingly called " a good papa." Wat gets upset at the implied criticism, and requests that the two men "not show disrespect for our King."
Finishing my walk around the grounds, I leave the Palace, and pickup my picture at the gate. This photo is now on a black plastic plate, painted with pink and yellow flowers, and the words "Bang Pa-In Palace" painted at the bottom : 150 baht. On the bus, I hear a buzz of conversation; no one was happy with the Summer Palace.
Perhaps it's the heat and the humidity that precipitate the bad mood circulating through the group, but everyone is testy. By the time we arrive at Ayutthaya, the Ancient Capital of Thailand, everyone is happy to leave the confining quarters of the bus for a couple of hours.
Ayutthaya is an amazing and awe-inspiring place, where I could easily spend a week, but after walking through the ruins, snapping pictures of elephants walking in the streets, admiring yet another Gold Buddha, and buying a water buffalo skin cutting of the Goddess Siva and an old amulet ( I am told it will help me find love ) I am herded back on the bus once again, and we head to a boat that will carry us downriver to Bangkok.
Wat and the Travel Guy are getting into a heated discussion about an ancient King of Ayutthaya, who had his army killed when they would not follow him after a battle. The Travel Guy thinks the old king was a jerk, and he's still riled up about the concubine story. Wat repeats his comment about not " disrespecting " royal Thais. Of course, back in Canada or the United States, this might be just another political debate, but here, in Ayutthaya, it's something more serious, and is perceived ( by Wat ) as culturally insulting. Plus, Wat has a microphone.
After an unpleasant discussion, Travel Guy and his Gal, along with The Party couple, move away from Wat to ride in the back of the bus, drinking Singha beer and bitterly complaining about Wat and his "uppity behavior."
Everyone else on the bus is glad they just shut up.
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Onboard the boat, we are offered another buffet, listen to a canned welcome speech over the tinny PA system, and watch the shore during a peaceful three hour trip to Bangkok. It's quiet, it rains, and it's restful.
We pass houses and large temples, gleaming and sparkling in the light. We watch as saffron-clad monks walk along the shore, kids swim, and tug boats pull larger boats upriver. As we get closer to Bangkok, more and more homes begin to crowd the shores, until suddenly, it's not just sprawl, it's in-your-face-urban. We dock in Chinatown, and disembark onto streets crowded with the usual cars, vans, tuk-tuks and shops, now with the addition of rickshaws.
Back at the hotel, I take a spare hour to visit the hotel tailor, where I order six white shirts ( Egyptian cotton, custom-made, $120.00 for all six ) and a black suit with three pairs of pants.
I have chosen to skip tomorrow's activity - traveling an entire day to see the Bridge on the River Kwai does not interest me. Instead, I am going to hop around Bangkok by myself, and see some things that are not on the itinerary.
After a quiet dinner in the hotel dining room - roasted duck in yellow curry, with cucumber, green grapes and sticky rice - I go to my room, drink a half bottle of Australian chardonnay/semillion, and watch "Bruce Almighty" on the tube.
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At 8:00 AM, I run into The Professor and MaryAnne, along with The Nice Folks - it seems we are all headed to the Weekend Market at Chutuchak, so we join up, and merge with crowds of people moving toward the Sky Train walkway, which is resplendent with monstrous hanging photographs of the King and Queen, standing in some Royal receiving line. The heat is not too oppressive yet - it's early - and we chat and discuss today's River Kwai tour as we walk.
The only people who have chosen to go on this particular adventure are The Party Couple, The Travel Couple, and Inspector Clousseau and his Valley Wife. I imagine the polite and uncomfortable conversation in that particular bubble of social misery, with feelings still smarting from yesterday's conversations about royalty, and wish them 'bon voyage' in my head. I'm glad I'm not there, as I climb the stairs to the Sky Train.
The Sky Train in Bangkok is air-conditioned, clean, new, above the crowds, and easy to use. I am a big fan of public transportation. Why anyone would chose to drive or taxi ( or tuk-tuk ) rather than taking this efficient system of travel, is beyond me. But I am told that many Thais forego the Sky Train. It is considered a loss of face to use : it means you have no car. We are tourists, with no face to lose, so we buy our tickets and hop on the waiting traincar.
Mary Anne, who has problems with concentration, is lagging behind, and I am impressed with The Professor's dedication to her. He patiently waits each time she engages in conversation with someone who has no idea what she's talking about, gently reminds her that he is waiting, and they move on. They have been married for over thirty years, and I have not seen him show impatience or lose his temper once. Either he got over that a while ago, or he is a good guy who loves his wife. Either way, I'm impressed.
We climb down the stairs to the Market, and I put my long hair up before we hit the street. Feeling cocky after a hot shower that morning, I thought "gee, I can wear my hair down today - it looks good!" But when the sweat builds and that clean hair starts to cling to my neck like octopus legs, I clamp it on top of my head to let the air hit my skin.
I've read that this market is fun and full of interesting sights, although massively crowded, even by Bangkok standards. We enter it through a dark, narrow and uneven walkway that takes us past hanging tee-shirts, underwear booths, a sneaker shop, an incense shop, several jewelry stores, piles of silk pillow cases, and lots of purses. Goods are piled on tables, nailed to the walls, and hanging from the ceiling. Then the produce comes into view, along with clouds of flies and food carts. Soon we are deep in the bowels of the Weekend Market, and the shops and stalls repeat themselves, over and over again, until I think I will lose it if I see one more silk pillow case or anything with elephants on it.
The group splits up; we agree to meet again at eleven AM.
By nine-thirty, I'm done. How can there be so much of the same crap? I wonder where this stuff comes from. Is there a huge catalog that shop owners order from - or do they all go to an enormous warehouse near the Chao Phraya River and pick up another 400 camoflage t-shirts every Thursday night?
I can hardly wait to get out of here, but I have resigned myself to people watching until eleven. I buy a bottle of water and settle in, and dutifully wait for my companions.
A little girl whose Mom runs the family food cart in front of Dad' sneaker store plays badmition with herself across the way. Lots of gay couples pass me - it's funny how you can spot gay couples, no matter where you are - and there seem to be quite a few little old ladies, all rolling carts behind them as they do their weekend shopping. Maybe they need a new silk pillow case along with some vegetables. ( Do Thais use any of this silk merchandise, or is it all sold to tourists? ) A trolley rolls by, tooting it's horn, hauling six tourists around on a Market tour.
I am surprised when The Professor calls my name. We all have formed the same impression of the Weekend Market, and are ready to leave after the first hour. We leave the cell phone covers and opium pipes to other farangs ( foreigners ) who are interested, and re-board the Skytrain.
Fifteen minutes later, we get off at The Central, a big, fancy Bangkok department store. On the main floor we are happy to discover a Starbucks. I am also pleased to find out that I can order an 'iced triple shot skinny vanilla latte' with no problem in translation. Starbucks is universal.
After coffee, we split up once again, and I take off to check out Thai shoes.
My favorite pair of red slides were uncovered in Switzerland, on sale, and I am eager to experience Thai Shoe Culture. It turns out that Thai women are apparently not as addicted to shoes as American women are, because the shoe department looks like it caters to seventeen year old girls. ( No 'Sex and The City' influence here. ) And, all the stock they have is size four, which leaves me and my big American feet out.
I take escalators to the top floor, and walk my way around each floor, until I am back to Starbucks; it doesn't take long. In general, I am not impressed. I wonder where Thai women with a lot of money go to spend it. This is not Neiman-Marcus, or Nordstrom. I stop, briefly, and score two silk shirts, colorful and flighty, and then I am out the door to walk the streets in the mid-day heat.
On uneven sidewalks, I pass hotels, embassies, Circle K's, and lots of tuk-tuks parked by the side of the road, their drivers smoking and beckoning to me. There's an occasional temple, plenty of nightclubs, restaurants, and some very powerfully smelling canals. After crossing a canal that smells like a bad bathroom in a bus station, I flag down a taxi.
The driver drops me at the hotel, where I drop my packages, shower again, and head back into the streets. I flag another taxi, and show the driver a map, indicating where I want to go: the Amulet Market, near the Royal Palace. He doesn't want to drive across town, and tries to convice me to go to the Weekend Market, which is a lot closer. He tells me there are lots of amulets at the Market, but I stand my ground, and we make the cross-town drive to the Royal Palace, rather than the fifteen minute drive to the Market.
Swerving through the streets of Bangkok, I notice that there are more and more portraits of the Crown Princess going up - whole streets full of Her Majesty smiling and shaking a hand - here wearing a military uniform that includes a perky cap, a white suit, and white gloves. There she is, smiling at an elephant! She is on a beach in another giant-sized photograph, and I ask my taxi driver if she is in the south in that one, visiting victims of the tsunami. Yes, he nods, and turns down the visor above his seat to reveal a thick stack of pictures of the Crown Princess.
I wonder about the number of her photographs on the streets. He tells me that her birthday is next month, and there is going to be a huge party - the whole city! - to celebrate this wonderful occasion. I take his word; if the decorating starts a month in advance, that's one big party.
He leaves me at the Amulet Market, on shady streets outside the temple of Emerald Buddha Number fifty-six, streets that are lined with the shops and sellers of amulets. Goods are spread out before them on blankets, lining both sides of the old and cracked sidewalks. Monks are everywhere, in varying shades of saffron, along with the usual crowds. I begin to wander the shops and bend down occasionally to inspect one of the thousands of amulets that are for sale.
Most Thai Buddhists wear amulets under their clothing, for good luck, protection, or for a cure. The amulets are generally made of plastic, although some are carved in stone. They are suspended in the middle of tear-shaped capsules of double-sided plastic, double-sided Buddhas showing on both sides of the charm. There is a different meaning attributed to each amulet, and I'm looking for a couple: it's been a tough year, and I want all the help I can get.
After surveying perhaps one hundred vendors, I crouch down on the sidewalk in front of an elderly woman, and manage to convey to her that I have been sad, that my heart has been broken. ( Getting this message across is not as hard as you might think. ) She nods, and picks up a little stone Buddha, carved in sandstone. She nods again, smacks her right fist across her heart, and smiles. I buy the amulet, tuck it in my purse, thank her, and move on.
Now, I want one that works on money.
I find that amulet - a little more difficult to get across the cultural line, but not much - and then I find a large, open-aired shop that not only has amulets, but the necklaces that they hang on, as well. Strands of beads are hanging on foot-long pegs, stuck in the walls. This reminds me of the bead district in New York City, and I feel very comfortable here.. I enter the shop and find my necklace - camel-bone beads, with four rings hanging off it for my newly purchased amulets: love, the healing heart, money, and general protection.
The shopkeeper and I agree on a price, and as she works on the necklace with her needle-nose pliers, attaching my amulets, as two women enter the shop. They are both farangs and from the look of them, they are English-speakers. They look like extras from "The Beach," heads covered with long dreadlocks, dusty and twisted. They are wearing dirty and rumpled Thai-clothing, and their dirty necks are three inches deep in necklaces and amulets, and bracelets of fabric, silver, and brass crawl high up on each arm.
I ask " do you live here?" and am given this answer: " Yeah, for too bloody fucking long!" before they begin an argument with each other about which amulet is appropriate for today's purchase.
Out on the street again, wearing my new necklace, I continue my walk, but now I am drawing smiles of approval from people I pass on the street . Occasionally, someone stops me, inspects my amulets, and tells me what they represent,. Then they smile again, and ask if I am a Buddhist.
I proceed past pharmacies, vegetable stands piled high, more jewelery shops, and a health clinic, which has a large window display of full color pictures of some pretty alarming hemorrhoids. I wonder which amulet protects you from THAT, and find myself standing in front of a street band that is blasting out "Mustang Sally." I'm close to the river now, and I consider taking a boat somewhere, while a voice blares out from speakers set high on the roof of the official river taxi building, telling me not to buy my ticket anywhere but on the boat. I walk into the building, fending off six or seven men who offer to sell me a ticket, and after proceeding to the dock, decide that I really don't want to take a boat ride with twenty German tourists, so I walk back to the street, where I am approached by a tuk-tuk driver who looks alarmingly like Benicia del Toro. I'm no fool; I agree to a ninety-minute drive around the river front, but as soon as we take off, I realize that tuk-tuks are deceiving: the little open-aired carts, which putt through the streets everywhere, give the illusion of a nice open-air ride through the streets. But once inside the vehicle, I see that the roof is so low that I have to practically lie down in order to see anything. Even scrunched down, I can only see people with their heads cut off, or the tires of the car next to me. Diesel fumes from the tuk-tuk are overwhelming, spilling over the open back of this people-mover. It's also hotter than it looks, but I'm in for the ninety minutes.
Benicia chats as we drive, eying my necklace in his rear-view mirror. He comments on it ( "good amulets!"), shows me his own necklace, and says he is going to take me to a nice temple, where I can see a 'lucky Buddha' Hey, this guy speaks my language.
We make twisty turns through narrow alleys, putt-putting past barber shops, neighborhood grocery stores, and clusters of people sitting on low stools on the sidewalks, eating, talking, smoking, watching children playing in the streets. ( Them I can see just fine : they're at eye-level. ) In about fifteen minutes, we arrive at the temple of the Lucky Buddha.
It appears to be at a school - perhaps a college. It's deserted here, and Benicia instructs me to climb stairs lined with dragons that lead to the second floor of the building. I do so, and enter a large, empty auditorium, but for an alter at the far end of the room. Large gold Buddha, flowers, incense - all that I have come to expect. I inspect this Buddha and then look out the windows, across the courtyard. I don't see the usual monks in saffron sheets. Downstairs, Benicia is smoking and talking to three other tuk-tuk drivers. He tells me that across the courtyard are more Buddhas, also lucky.
I cross the courtyard and find a long row of small Buddhas, each representing one of many Buddha-attributes. There is a coin box for donations in front of each statue. After considering my options, I chose one, drop the baht, and turn to find a young man watching me.
He introduces himself, and says he is with the National Tourist Board. Where am I from? Oh - Arizona! Is that in the United States? Yes? How do I like Thailand? We have polite conversation as he walks me to my tuk-tuk, and I wave as Benicia and I putter through the temple gates, moving on to our next, more important destinations: shops. It seems that every tuk-tuk driver in the city is somehow connected with a shop for everything a tourist might need or want. Earrings? No problem. We go to the gem store. Clothing? Here's your tailor.
We explore the wonders of shopping in Chinatown, where everyone comments on my necklace, and whips out their own Buddha-on-a-chain. I buy nothing, to the dissappointment of my driver, and before I know it, I am back on the dock.
I bid My Own Private Benicia adieu, and walk past the Grand Palace, where I observe busloads of tourists in funny shoes, all overwhelmed by the heat and the street hawkers. I flag a taxi, and tell him where I want to go. He looks distressed, and I know why: it's 4:30 PM. Drive time.
Sitting in the Bangkok gridlock for the next hour and a half, I watch the motorcycle taxis: Kamikaze motorcyclists wearing orange vests, who take their passengers zipping through traffic. Motorcycle taxis are quite popular, and all sorts of people ride on the back seat: women in suits and heels, grandmothers, teenagers in dressed in camouflage, businessmen with briefcases. Everyone has the same look of peace, and I am once again amazed at how well the Buddhist way of life works in Bangkok. There is no road rage, although this certainly seems like the place for it. ( If this were LA, we'd all be wearing I Pods or earplugs, to block out a constant bray of horns, and would possibly have already witnessed a shooting or two, or at least a good fight.) Here there are no horns, no one swears, no one even LOOKS impatient - all is calm.
My taxi driver has a newspaper on the seat beside him, which he picks up each time it is apparent that we are not going to be moving for a while. At six thirty, I arrive back at the hotel, just in time for my fitting with the hotel tailor.
My suit is coming along splendidly, as are my shirts, and I am told that all will be waiting for me when I arrive back at the hotel in eleven days. Tomorrow morning, we leave for the north: Chiang Rai.
