Banging on about Bangkok

Intrepid Exploration

The first half of our holiday itinerary read; from Bangkok to Chiang Mai to Laos back to Chiang Mai and then again to Bangkok. For the sake of concision and a streamlined narrative (jajaja) I'm going to boil my thoughts on the illustrious land of Thai... land and present half of them in this post before deeply analysing the passing thoughts and fleeting fancies that I experienced in Chiang Mai.

Bangkok is one of those cities you've heard of due to its undeniably funny name (remove the g and add a space and it becomes Bank OK, tee hee.) Host city to The Wolfpack in Shakespearian mega-hit The Hangover 2 and the location of numerous colourful characters like those Lady-boys its reputation precedes it and, in some ways it lives up to it.

I'm not a traveller who engages much with his surroundings on a book-learned level. I don't feel much need to visit prominent sites or holy temples. I don't even learn the names of streets, I more follow other people or build up a mental map in my head based on my wanderings.* It is lucky, therefore that the tourist zone in this town is one long and bustling street. We managed to book both of our hostels just off of this street, it contained an Indian restaurant that made one of our number sick and the bar where, weeks later we would have an explosive argument and stop talking for days. Burger Kings and Seven Elevens jostle for attention next to charming independent Thai restaurants (owned by French ex-pats) and stunning Hindu temples. At one end of this street is the illustrious public park which played host to an international fair of stunning breadth and ambition, on the other end is the Bangkok Seashell Museum. Who, indeed, could ask for anything more?

We stayed in a different hostel each time we visited Bangkok. The first is called The Puck Hostel and it entirely lives up to every cliche you could hope for from a Hostel. Blond Europeans lounge around on beanbags in the foyer, chattering in English about how cultured they are, how travelled they are and how attractive they are. Everyone you see is wearing beige shorts and looks as though they haven't washed their hair properly in several months. The rooms offer massive bunk beds with the blessed luxury of hangings that afford you at least a modicum of privacy as you are sharing your room with six strangers each of whom will take eye-contact to mean "I am very interested in your travels, your culture and your slammin' bod." There was a couple staying in our room even though they weren't supposed to be together. If they weren't a couple then I am forced to conclude that the man had accidentally dipped his hand in superglue before offering to help dust chalk off of the woman's right buttock.

The other hostel we found ourselves in was The Smile Society. We were asked not to take any pictures inside this hostel as a couple years earlier the taking of photographs inside a Bangkok hostel had been instrumental in a terrorist bombing plot. With this comforting notion in mind we trekked up four flights of stairs to find our room. FUKKINELL, Callum observed when we opened the door. It was tiny, much like a broom-cupboard with two bunk beds squeezed into it. As Callum pointed out in three loaded syllables there was not very much space which would hider our ease of movement. This wasn't a problem, in my opinion as my bed turned out to be among the most comfortable of the beds that I slept in during that holiday. The toilets in the Smile Society were, I might add exquisite. Due to an unfortunate lapse in brainpower I had the singular opportunity to experience a shower in both a male-designated and a female-designated shower cubical. I'd say the the women's showers were a little nicer. The only thing about the Soc that I found peculiar were the breakfasts - a boiled egg, a blueberry muffin, a piece of toast with butter and a hot-dog sausage. I'll allow you to ponder that for a moment.

It was in the blazing heat of an equatorial Winter that Callum and I went for our first explore. We made it to the end of our side-alley and immediately recognised the need to reacquaint ourselves with some air conditioning. We entered a Seven Eleven and received a blast in the faces from the past (although that may have been the aforementioned, conditioned air.) If there is a contender for "happiest time in my life" then the medal has to go to the Japan holiday in 2015. The streets were clean, the company was good, the country was welcoming and there was convenient food available in Seven Elevens on every street corner. The smell sparked a synesthetic flash-back to those days a year and a half earlier and I was washed through with a sense of calmness. This was all very familiar, after four months in Duyun we suddenly had access to such luxuries - working refrigerators, shop workers with a basic knowledge of English and bread!

Bangkok is a city with lots of character, I'm just not sure its the good guy for in spite of these comforts the city still suffered from an inescapable big city-ness. Even in streets as wide as ours there were so many cars, motorbikes, pedestrians and, worst of all, tourists that getting from point A to point B invariably involved a short visit to point XYZ. The Winter heat also came as quite a shock and so our first day as a unit involved walking up the street to visit a temple before walking down the street to sit on a dirty bench. We stopped for a good half hour and chatted in the shade. It was unanimously decided that crossing the road seemed like too much trouble. I also found, as a young man that walking alone, off the beaten path, was an uncomfortable nigh-distressing experience. I couldn't take more than five paces without a woman-menu being thrust at me or some sordid invitation being proffered. All I wanted was to enjoy my audio-book and sip on a Pepsi Max. I could have done without such unsavoury aspersions being cast upon my character. Bank OK indeed...

I would find more to my liking at our other stop in Thailand, Chiang Mai. As they say in Mamma Mia "Dot. Dot. Dot. *giggles."

*These wanderings closely resemble the actions of a blind-folded darts player. Sometimes I hit the bulls-eye but the rest of the time I'm just lucky if the whole affair doesn't end in bloodshed.**

**That was a joke, Mum. Please don't worry.