About 22 hours after I take off from Toronto, I'm in Bangkok. I can't even process the craziness of this act - what would Marco Polo think?
The taxi driver takes me from the airport to the trendiest district in Bangkok - Banglamphu - and to an area called Khao San, a place that is arguably "the most high-profile bastard child of the age of independent travel" according to the Lonely Planet Guide. At midnight I find myself in the Siam Oriental Inn after a fruitless and tiring search (my baggage has tripled in weight) for another recommended Guesthouse. I have a room for two with a private bathroom cause that was the cheapest they had left - still only 280 Baht / ~$10 per night.
Though it's late and I'm jet-lagged, tired, and my body aches from the plane, I am drawn outside by the glitz and energy of Khao San. It is a mixture of cheap eats, accommodations, bars, clubs, shops and street hawkers, riddled with tourists from every nation and walk of life. Hippies, gap-year kids, soft and hard-faced backpackers, and semi-permanent tourists and expats. They all seem beautiful, tired, boisterous and slightly apathetic - part of this is the heat and part is the effect of being a tourist in Khao San. There are hordes of them looking for cheap beer, strong liquor, and a good deal, and they outnumber the Thai. The locals are the vendors - they run the food stalls, restaurants, massage and nail parlors and other services. There are street musicians and pad thai cooks with sizzling woks on the streets. There are sex trade workers, all lovely and gorgeous - some impossibly so - and many of them transvestites. There are drunken and sober men walking arm in arm with these fantasies. There are maimed beggars on the streets, and face-masked locals that sweep up after the detritus of the tourists.
I am sorely dehydrated and go for two slices of watermelon and mango-pineapple fruit shake. The pad thai temps me but I settle on three spring rolls instead. As I eat these from a carton with a large toothpick, I notice a group of Thai kids, maybe 13 to 16 years old, sitting in the gutter. One has a guitar and they all begin to sing some catchy English song with gusto, they begin to dance and sway and get really into it. They put on a little show. I can't help but smile and bop along to their enthusiasm.
As I'm enjoying their performance I notice something odd about my spring rolls. There is a bright red dot shining on them, and it doesn't matter where I move the carton of rolls, the dot follows. I imagine my spring rolls being the target of a sniper. I look up and around but can't spot my opponent. Finally I spy a group of tourists on the third floor of a bar above. I see them and they smile, wave and laugh. I think they beckon me to join them, but I was feeling fine and wanted to be a part of the street life instead. I see Thai artists selling paintings. I am drawn to one and have to resist buying it. I always want to buy art when I travel, but it's not the most practical thing to buy large paintings when you're backpacking.
Walking around I've met several tourists. They have mixed feelings about Khao San. Some hate it, some love it. This Israeli man who had been in Bangkok for six years told me he loved it and there was no better place to be for women if you were a bachelor. This guy from South Africa kept on looking at my breasts as he asked me the typical male questions - it was a deja vu of Cuba. A nice woman gave me the skivvy on the prices for street food - she prevented me from paying a 500% mark-up! I "talked" to this old Thai man and he gave me leads to find a bike for tomorrow - even a place with free bikes. A tourist told me it was too dangerous to ride Bangkok - I am not surprised, but I see many locals on bikes going slowly, without helmets of course. I will take my cue from that.
It's almost 4am. I take a cold (but that means luke warm near the equator) shower and fall asleep like a stone, and Khao San is still humming.
The taxi driver takes me from the airport to the trendiest district in Bangkok - Banglamphu - and to an area called Khao San, a place that is arguably "the most high-profile bastard child of the age of independent travel" according to the Lonely Planet Guide. At midnight I find myself in the Siam Oriental Inn after a fruitless and tiring search (my baggage has tripled in weight) for another recommended Guesthouse. I have a room for two with a private bathroom cause that was the cheapest they had left - still only 280 Baht / ~$10 per night.
Though it's late and I'm jet-lagged, tired, and my body aches from the plane, I am drawn outside by the glitz and energy of Khao San. It is a mixture of cheap eats, accommodations, bars, clubs, shops and street hawkers, riddled with tourists from every nation and walk of life. Hippies, gap-year kids, soft and hard-faced backpackers, and semi-permanent tourists and expats. They all seem beautiful, tired, boisterous and slightly apathetic - part of this is the heat and part is the effect of being a tourist in Khao San. There are hordes of them looking for cheap beer, strong liquor, and a good deal, and they outnumber the Thai. The locals are the vendors - they run the food stalls, restaurants, massage and nail parlors and other services. There are street musicians and pad thai cooks with sizzling woks on the streets. There are sex trade workers, all lovely and gorgeous - some impossibly so - and many of them transvestites. There are drunken and sober men walking arm in arm with these fantasies. There are maimed beggars on the streets, and face-masked locals that sweep up after the detritus of the tourists.
I am sorely dehydrated and go for two slices of watermelon and mango-pineapple fruit shake. The pad thai temps me but I settle on three spring rolls instead. As I eat these from a carton with a large toothpick, I notice a group of Thai kids, maybe 13 to 16 years old, sitting in the gutter. One has a guitar and they all begin to sing some catchy English song with gusto, they begin to dance and sway and get really into it. They put on a little show. I can't help but smile and bop along to their enthusiasm.As I'm enjoying their performance I notice something odd about my spring rolls. There is a bright red dot shining on them, and it doesn't matter where I move the carton of rolls, the dot follows. I imagine my spring rolls being the target of a sniper. I look up and around but can't spot my opponent. Finally I spy a group of tourists on the third floor of a bar above. I see them and they smile, wave and laugh. I think they beckon me to join them, but I was feeling fine and wanted to be a part of the street life instead. I see Thai artists selling paintings. I am drawn to one and have to resist buying it. I always want to buy art when I travel, but it's not the most practical thing to buy large paintings when you're backpacking.
Walking around I've met several tourists. They have mixed feelings about Khao San. Some hate it, some love it. This Israeli man who had been in Bangkok for six years told me he loved it and there was no better place to be for women if you were a bachelor. This guy from South Africa kept on looking at my breasts as he asked me the typical male questions - it was a deja vu of Cuba. A nice woman gave me the skivvy on the prices for street food - she prevented me from paying a 500% mark-up! I "talked" to this old Thai man and he gave me leads to find a bike for tomorrow - even a place with free bikes. A tourist told me it was too dangerous to ride Bangkok - I am not surprised, but I see many locals on bikes going slowly, without helmets of course. I will take my cue from that.It's almost 4am. I take a cold (but that means luke warm near the equator) shower and fall asleep like a stone, and Khao San is still humming.
(Image taken from the web)
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