The South African took me on a long bus ride to the famous Chatuchak Weekend Market. Why is it famous? Probably because it is absolutely massive, like putting a shop on every square meter of Hyde Park massive, and also because everything is cheap from China. You can buy! You buy hats, rats, cats, cocks (complete with cock fight), dogs, frogs, beds, Bhudda heads, waterfalls, lifelike dolls, little bells, bottled smells, real growing moss in a bag, a racoon panting in the heat, many kinds of meat, and a nice cheap t-shirt. all crammed in with room for one and a half people to walk next to each other. I didn't buy anything, not even a big white snake.
Did I mention that it is really really hot here? Did I remember to say that? Because that is what it is. After 11am, you don't have a chance until 6pm. I ate some extra tasty Tom Yum Goon, a very spicy coconut soup with shrimp floating around it, flavoured with chunks of ginger, lemongrass and coriander. It was so hot I went a little blind. But there is a certain feeling you get from chili that makes the wind cooler on sticky Caucasian skin. The waitresses stared at me as I ate, probably because I was shrimp pink. I began to write in my diary and they leaned over the table to see, so I attempted an English lesson. Thai people say yes by wriggling their eyebrows.
Another pleasant and sophistocated way to cool off is to take a boat with an orange flag down the big river. There is no traffic on the big brown waves, and you can see the well to do stripping off by the hotel pools, derelict warehouse docks, crazy huge beautiful temples complete with grinning monks hopping on the boat. only 30 baht for a return journey. But you can never leave the city. It is forbidden by the rule of sprawl.
Showing posts with label Bangkok. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bangkok. Show all posts
Tuesday, 6 September 2011
Hygeiny Lifestyle
My only temple visit has been the Golden Mound, a big old hill covered in gold leaf and many steps. you can ring big bells and bang gongs as you ascend. Once at the top, you can pay your respects to Bhudda, and check out the big view, smoggy but grand. Most of the tall buildings are unfinished apartment blocks, some quite ornate but stained black with mould. The city actually doesn't end, it's just one tangled nest of market streets. Orientation is A Challenge. (Lonely Planet is a really great paperweight, but its purpose as a guide is null. The maps are vague and small, the cheapest listed hostel is around 250 baht, and as with all sights listed in guide books, they have been pillaged by tourists. But it gives a good history of the country. 2/5.)
A talkative Spaniard and I took the metro to Silom to find a metal chastity belt for "his friend." Alas, the tales of this mythical red light district don't hold up in daylight. Only one shop in the area was remotely selling fetish wear, and they were closed. Instead we dragged our feet around in the heat, a few groups of women sitting in bars who listlessly shouted "haaaaay" over their cocktails as we walked past. Splendid billboards for strip clubs; my favourite was Pussy Glamour, which had lots of little wood carvings of people going at it to form the shape of a giant buxom lady.
Enough of this syphilitic den. We walked in the midday heat to the most beautiful house I have ever seen ever. Home to writer, lecturer, and former president M R Kurit, This complex of five teak buildings is preserved as a museum set up in a similar style to the way he lived. the roofs are tall and sloping, the rooms are dark and cool, and there are beautiful collections of masks, statues, puppets, and furniture stuffed in every gleaming room. Birds shriek amidst the thick mass of tropical ferns and flowers, and hardly anyone was visiting while we were there. Of course there was a swimming pool, which we furtivley took advantage of. Delight.
Back at the hostel Overstay, a great big punk rock show underneath the dorm until 5 in the morning, and then roadworks right outside at 9am. I met a lot of good people here, including a girl who just graduated from Norwich Art School, and a South African man who gave me plenty of sound advice for cheap living in Chiang Mai. Everyone is super friendly. People were drawing and painting all over the walls, playing pool, dancing to whatever techno was playing in the bar.
Other things too, but they are censored.
A talkative Spaniard and I took the metro to Silom to find a metal chastity belt for "his friend." Alas, the tales of this mythical red light district don't hold up in daylight. Only one shop in the area was remotely selling fetish wear, and they were closed. Instead we dragged our feet around in the heat, a few groups of women sitting in bars who listlessly shouted "haaaaay" over their cocktails as we walked past. Splendid billboards for strip clubs; my favourite was Pussy Glamour, which had lots of little wood carvings of people going at it to form the shape of a giant buxom lady.
Enough of this syphilitic den. We walked in the midday heat to the most beautiful house I have ever seen ever. Home to writer, lecturer, and former president M R Kurit, This complex of five teak buildings is preserved as a museum set up in a similar style to the way he lived. the roofs are tall and sloping, the rooms are dark and cool, and there are beautiful collections of masks, statues, puppets, and furniture stuffed in every gleaming room. Birds shriek amidst the thick mass of tropical ferns and flowers, and hardly anyone was visiting while we were there. Of course there was a swimming pool, which we furtivley took advantage of. Delight.
Back at the hostel Overstay, a great big punk rock show underneath the dorm until 5 in the morning, and then roadworks right outside at 9am. I met a lot of good people here, including a girl who just graduated from Norwich Art School, and a South African man who gave me plenty of sound advice for cheap living in Chiang Mai. Everyone is super friendly. People were drawing and painting all over the walls, playing pool, dancing to whatever techno was playing in the bar.
Other things too, but they are censored.
Khao San Cats All Have Kinks in Their Tails
I am still alive. Ever sweaty, insatiably peckish, bug-eyed tourist am I.
Thailand so far has been a rush of new things; noises, smells, cats and dogs and people all living together on the street, everything going all night.
On the sky train ride from the airport I saw people trying to grow rice under freeway bridges and building sites, living in burnt out cars or corrugated iron villages. Being the only white kid on the bus makes me feel smug and cultured, even when stuck in 4 lanes of traffic for 20 minutes without moving. Scooters are always at the head of the traffic jam, weaving around taxis and tuk tuks, and a huge crew of them take off in a spume of exhaust when the light goes green.
On the first night, I went to bed at 8pm and woke up at 1am. Jetlag dug its talons into my inner alarm clock, and pushed me out onto Khao San Road. I found two French boys crouching in an alleyway, and we talked about festivals. We went to a bar - a metal cart on the street full of ice and beer with a stereo and plastic stools surrounding it - and shouted to everyone to sit with us. We amassed:
• a Greek woman who worked in MRI in Athens and had left her travel buddy sleeping in the hostel.
• a burly Polish man who shook everybody's hand twice and laughed with gusto.
• a beautiful Japanese boy who refuelled airplanes for a living and was just stopping for the night before moving on to Nepal, where he was going to live in a monastery. He had no hair at all, and I thought about asking him if he got a lot of grit in his eyes.
• A talkative Thai named Mozz who gave me the address of Overstay, where you pay 80 baht a night (42THB = £1) and there are parties and art and hippies. I'm like, hell yeah, see you tomorrow my friend.
As soon as I leave the screaming neon Khao San Rd, the food is better, the other Europeans have vanished, and no one is trying to sell you a tattoo or a suit or a driving license or a bashed up hat that says I <3 Thailand. People's front rooms double as a store front, and everybody's kitchen is outside on a wheeled metal cart. Vendors sleep in their stalls, with a skinny guard dog outside. I saw a man climb into a cupboard plastered with posters, statues and garlands for Buddha, with a tiny mattress where he curled up and shut the doors.
Thailand so far has been a rush of new things; noises, smells, cats and dogs and people all living together on the street, everything going all night.
On the sky train ride from the airport I saw people trying to grow rice under freeway bridges and building sites, living in burnt out cars or corrugated iron villages. Being the only white kid on the bus makes me feel smug and cultured, even when stuck in 4 lanes of traffic for 20 minutes without moving. Scooters are always at the head of the traffic jam, weaving around taxis and tuk tuks, and a huge crew of them take off in a spume of exhaust when the light goes green.
On the first night, I went to bed at 8pm and woke up at 1am. Jetlag dug its talons into my inner alarm clock, and pushed me out onto Khao San Road. I found two French boys crouching in an alleyway, and we talked about festivals. We went to a bar - a metal cart on the street full of ice and beer with a stereo and plastic stools surrounding it - and shouted to everyone to sit with us. We amassed:
• a Greek woman who worked in MRI in Athens and had left her travel buddy sleeping in the hostel.
• a burly Polish man who shook everybody's hand twice and laughed with gusto.
• a beautiful Japanese boy who refuelled airplanes for a living and was just stopping for the night before moving on to Nepal, where he was going to live in a monastery. He had no hair at all, and I thought about asking him if he got a lot of grit in his eyes.
• A talkative Thai named Mozz who gave me the address of Overstay, where you pay 80 baht a night (42THB = £1) and there are parties and art and hippies. I'm like, hell yeah, see you tomorrow my friend.
As soon as I leave the screaming neon Khao San Rd, the food is better, the other Europeans have vanished, and no one is trying to sell you a tattoo or a suit or a driving license or a bashed up hat that says I <3 Thailand. People's front rooms double as a store front, and everybody's kitchen is outside on a wheeled metal cart. Vendors sleep in their stalls, with a skinny guard dog outside. I saw a man climb into a cupboard plastered with posters, statues and garlands for Buddha, with a tiny mattress where he curled up and shut the doors.
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