This was my first trip to Asia.
Bangkok- impressions upon arrival. It was dirty. It was late, and all the trash was out to be picked up during the night. It was everywhere. Giant mounds of it piled on the side of the road, spilling onto the sidewalk where we were walking. The smell overpowered the greasy aroma from the few food stalls still operating late into the night.
But by the next morning, it was all gone. Locals were out with their hoses, using the seemingly endless supply of undrinkable water to wash away the dirt of the day before, cleansing it for the start of the new day's trading. Little women in multicolored shirts and leggings were setting up their market stalls, filled with clothes, household goods, and the tourist trinkets directed at the residents of the nearby hotels, including mine.
Nevertheless, from my view in my hotel room on the 20th floor I could see none of this. I was greeted to a sprawling city covered in smog - a brownish haze that restricted my view across an endless sea of humanity. It was hard to see anything to like through the effluences of too many people.
Breakfast was another experience all together. The dining room was on the top floor of the building, entirely encased in glass so that if the air were clear, you would be treated to a stunning view of a metropolitan city.
It was buffet style, and the largest spread I had ever seen. The serving pans and chafing dishes lined the inner corners of the room, forming a type of courtyard with the seating on the perimeter. Along one side were all the fresh fruits you could imagine typical of a tropical climate - papaya, mango, kiwi, pineapple, dragon fruit, star fruit, bananas - and fresh bakery items that would appeal to a Western clientele - croissants, toast, muffins and pastries. Around the next bend was the hot stations - scrambled eggs, potatoes, baked beans, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms, and a made-to-order omelet station. Beyond that, catering to the Eastern tastes, were soups, rice, noodles, stir-fries and curries. The guests likewise were self-segregated, with large tables filled with dark hair and hooded eyes near the rice bowls, and small gatherings of fair-haired families tending towards the eggs and toast.
In an attempt to experience the true city in my few days there, my partner and I opted to take a water taxi down the river towards the Palace. However, being the rainy season, it was not the picture-perfect way to glimpse the traditional culture along the waterfront. Instead, we hovered inside the makeshift taped roof of the skiff, trying not to get soaked. A helpful well-traveled soul recommended we get off a stop earlier than planned, because it offered a covered port where we could wait out the heaviest of the rain. That is where I experienced my first taste of what unplanned travelling can do for you. After wandering a while through the stalls selling cheap tourist trinkets, we opted to wait out the rain at the food establishment balancing precariously over the river. From my seat, I could see into the tiny kitchen, with its half door obscuring only the area underneath the sink across from it, and in no way hiding the cook with her dirty dishtowel tied to her waste, and the cat slinking under the door to nudge his face against the leg of our table. At a recommendation from our server, I opted for wide rice noodles in Chinese brown sauce and fresh spring onions. I did my best to turn off my Western notions of hygiene and enjoy my meal. That is where Bangkok first surprised me. The noodles were not swimming in some unnamable brown liquid as I expected but were balanced perfectly with the crunch of the onions and the subtle sneakiness of the chillies diced so fine that I had to investigate my plate to see where the heat was coming from. The day was looking up.
With a happy belly and a lessening in the din of rain, we ventured out of the waterside hovel into a street that was now a series of lakes connected by raised pathways of bricks that were normally the curb of the sidewalk. After a few stops and starts, turn-arounds when we couldn't see past the giant puddle before us, and many crossings back and forth of the road, we made it to our first destination, Wat Pho with its giant reclining gold Buddha. I was happy to shed my soaked shoes and socks before entering the chamber, to feel the smooth clean tile beneath my feet, and just let my senses take in the opulence that surrounded me in every direction. After leaving the temple proper the skies were still patchy gray, but at least no longer spitting wet stuff at me, and we were able to tour the grounds around the temple and continue our site-seeing in relative dryness.
I will admit to being an unprepared traveller, in that I had no idea it was the King's birthday, and that our next planned visit to the palace was not possible because it was closed for private ceremony. I was momentarily peaked. Luckily this was quickly replaced when I realised we would be treated to a parade as the king and his consorts made their way through the streets. There were musicians, floats and dancers dressed in vibrate costumes of yellow and red, all accompanied by staunch looking police officers on motorbikes that cruised up and down the length of the procession. We were able to look through the fence at the palace grounds as the guards lined up in their clean brown and red uniforms ready to receive the King. This was the second time Bangkok surprised me, replacing a mundane though I’m sure enjoyable tour of a building with a street festival the like of which I had never seen before.
Our day of sightseeing cut short, we took a tuk-tuk back to our hotel, with a stop at the driver's choice of tailors so that my partner could be fitted for a suit he did not need. The detour was annoying, of course, but also to be expected. We were under no time constraints and went through the whole procedure as if this was the most normal thing in the world - to be dropped at a location you did not ask to go, to be sold something you did not ask to buy. It is Bangkok after all.
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