We savored one last evening in Chiang Mai lollygagging at the night market and chowing down on massive burritos (believe it or not, we were finally ready for a break from fried noodles) before flying south to Bangkok.
Sometimes it’s nice to get your bearings in a city by letting yourself get lost in its alleyways and along its canals. Our hostel was near the Bourbon Street of Bangkok, the infamous “Backpackers’ Row,” called Khao San Road. This crazy, party thoroughfare was already obnoxious by afternoon.
We discovered another superb hole-in-the-wall jazz bar. We made quick friends with the three Thais who shared our table — up front, close, and cozy with the band. My legs were possessed by the same spirit that infects my dad when he jives with good music. The band was good. The harmonica player — just like the one at the Chiang Mai jazz joint — was the only white member. He also sang. The walls were plastered with images of African-American jazz legends. This band, however, didn’t feel like it was Thais imitating Americans. It felt like it was their own music, infused with their own blues — their own Thai soul.
We wrestled our way onto a chaotic river taxi to make our way down to the Grand Palace. I was struggling with a sinus infection, and I couldn’t help but wonder if it was pollution-induced. I’d had it since our motorcycle ride a few days prior, which had afforded me many healthy inhalations of exhaust and dirt.
The Grand Palace is so grand it almost feels artificial. It’s hard to believe that all of this gaudy gold plating and bold architecture had been here for over 200 years. My favorite part was the murals along the outer walls of the temple area which tell the epic story of Ramayana, with its themes of honesty, faith, and devotion. I got a kick out of the monster and centaur statues, with all their personality and allure, standing guard. The place felt more mythical than religious.
Beholding the Emerald Buddha reminded me of a first meeting with the Mona Lisa. You’ve heard and read so much about it that it has been augmented in your imagination. So you are surprised when you finally see it, and it is rather small and unassuming.
The teaming crowds of pilgrims were as impressive as the infinite golden twinkling mosaics washing over the pagodas. Equally infinite was the number of pictures — especially selfies — being snapped. Since when is it so acceptable to take a ridiculous number of pictures of yourself? Gone are the days, it seems, when vanity was shameful.
Bangkok’s Chinatown is a typical bazaar, but on steroids, repeating the same stuff over and over. The dim sum we had for lunch was indistinguishable from the dim sum I enjoy in Chicago’s Chinatown. Globalization is very nice in this regard.
Once we had our eyeful of chicken feet, pig’s heart, cow’s tongue, dried squid, and wholesale everything, we flagged down a tuk-tuk. These are minicars powered by a basic motorcycle motor such that I’m surprised it can pull the weight of Andy, me, and a driver. And it nearly doesn’t, tuckering out and stalling frequently. We panicked at each turn, worried our high center of gravity would topple the little thing.
We checked out the massive super mall area called MBK and Siam Center. Their food courts and department stores are bigger and nicer than their American counterparts, but contained few crowds, even on a Saturday. I wonder if this is due to their unaffordability for Bangkok’s masses.
We took our third water taxi of the day, but this one was on a small canal through the middle of the city and made for a frighteningly disgusting experience. Peering out at the banks of the canal, we saw walls blackened by the thick pollution of the water. The smell was unmistakably raw sewage flowing into the water. We were relieved when they put tarps up along the sides of the boat to shield us from a shit shower. Boy, was I happy when I escaped that canal.
Equally disturbing was the sight of the mangiest dog I’ve ever seen eating trash beside the canal. We couldn’t tell if it was swollen with disease or pregnant. Its belly hung down in the shape of saggy udders. It looked as if it had originally been white, but it was now the color of gray-and-black dirt.
During the day, iTunes U, specifically a lecture by a Stanford professor, narrated my strolls around the city. I’ll summarize what I learned. Thailand has experienced a remarkable rate of urbanization, with large numbers moving from its countryside to Bangkok, so that this city’s population has swelled more than any other Southeast Asian city. In politics, Bangkok has become the tail that wags the dog — the rest of the country. The military has repeatedly deposed prime ministers elected by the “Red Shirts” (the working class) in 2006, 2008 and 2014. In response, the Red Shirts have protested on a grand scale against the “Yellow Shirts” (the elite and the military). They even drew loads of their own blood — ten milliliters! — to pour it at the gates of government buildings expressing their grievances regarding labor rights. One hundred people were killed and over two thousand were injured in these protests that began peacefully, but turned violent when the military and police tried to suppress them with force, according to this Stanford professor. A movement toward democracy here has been fraught with conflict.
Thailand’s laws barring the people from speaking out against the monarchy are stricter than in any other monarchy in the world, except maybe Morocco. The king and queen are omnipresent, with their pompous portraits plastered on billboards everywhere. Just like in Vietnam, I’m puzzled by how Thailand can identify as a democracy.
On a Thai live music kick, we sought out another live band at a bar. This one, Brick Bar, was a bigger venue and featured a pop cover band, complete with two guitars, a keyboard, drums, a trombone, and a trumpet. They were awesome. We sang and danced along to the contemporary numbers by the likes of Bruno Mars and Katy Perry. When the Thai pop hits were played, that is when the crowd really went wild. I am a big fan of their jams and will have to look some up on YouTube.
When we told some of our new Thai friends that we wanted to check out Soi Cowboy, Bangkok’s red light district, just for the experience, they gave us surprised, nervous looks. “You’ll meet lots of lady boys there,” they warned. These men seemed wary of the “lady boys.” They estimated that ten percent of Thais fall in the “lady boy” category. Whoa! I’m so curious why that is the case here; it doesn’t seem the case elsewhere. I wish I could interview a Thai gender studies professor (if those exist) to find out more about socialization and gender dynamics here in Thailand.
Our taxi driver was also a little wide-eyed when we asked him to take us to Soi Cowboy. We walked down the famous street of ladies clad in nothing more than bikinis. They all looked one hundred percent feminine to my undiscerning eye. I felt my mood ripen and rotten as it does whenever I perceive the exploitation of women. I began to imagine the sex trafficking I’m sure is rife here, and I grew indignant and angry. Andy and I agreed, “Let’s go home.”