-Bangkok-
We are received at the hotel as kings, smiles everywhere. The cool air conditioning hits us sharply, a boost of energy as we hop towards the lift. My thoughts sway as I step out onto the 21st floor. Everything is neat and tidy. Simplicity and elegance. After a brief encounter with various representatives along with numerous meaningless smiles and handshakes, we once more return to the ground floor and head towards the exit.
At once, the humidity hits you as you step out into the buzzing street. Whilst your hotel room offered a cool breeze, outside the air clings to you, weighing you down. First thing’s first; Bangkok’s infamous markets. We meet Duk, a young local Buddhist, a refreshing figure after the greasy Italian guide who met us at the airport. Duk is funny, genuine, interesting and easygoing. The Italian man was slimy and monotonous. Duk becomes very entertaining as we wonder down a loud and lively main street. His English is poor but irresolute. He tells us of how he used to be a practicing monk, how he dedicated two years of his youth to his religion and how lonely and repressive the experience was at times. He explains, in great detail and a few pauses to contemplate or remember a particular word, how Thai culture has deteriorated and how tradition and religion have become history. He describes the westernisation of Thailand and the eventual deterioration of moral values and principles; the new, eccentric youth taking over as modern stylish hotels replace old market places. Whilst the youth fight tradition, and the pitiful European tourist fights the obstinate street salesman, people are forgetting about the more important moral values. Duk’s quick wit and silent concentration brightens up the conversation as we turn down a side street, away from the traffic.
Suddenly we find ourselves in the middle of a bustling vibrant crowd, people pushing back and forth, shouting and cursing, singing out their ‘cheap cheap’ deals and their ‘happy hour discounts’, only for you sir! Arguments, discussions and confrontation envelope us as we float down the street, gaping at the incredible merchandise on offer; from fake Rolex watches to hand- cuffs, knives and iPods. Everything you could possibly need, guaranteed half price, guaranteed life long existence, only for you, sir! Everything is gold, shining and glittery. Flowing fabrics, shiny gadgets, carved wooden sculptures, every possible item that can be made as a fake can be found on one of these stalls. Buddhas in every possible shape and form: small, huge, gold, black, fat, thin, long, short, smiling and serious. Each one different, unique in some particular way. More fake watches. More laughing Buddhas.
Everything is suddenly wonderfully colourful as we enter the flower market; pinks, mauve, orange and pale green. Royal blue and yellow flash from all possible angles as we weave through cakes of blossom and petals. Thick smells and bright colours take over as Duk leads us on past food stalls with oozing juices and deep-fried oily vegetables along with roast, crispy pork. The overpowering smell of the sewers blends in with the oily, boiling bugs on offer, as we crawl through the haze. More food blinds our vision; spicy spring rolls and question-mark puddings. This fizzy cocktail of colours and smells hiding behind a cloud of heat and sweat. We are pulled by bubbly little children, skipping round our ankles as we drive on, past evermore sweet and sour flavours.
Finally, the haze begins to clear as we fall out onto the road, tiny little scooters dodging round us, the drivers wearing ridiculous determined expressions. There is something about the seriousness of the locals that fascinates us as we return towards the busy traffic. Their almost unbearable certainty and blank honesty will at times make you wince with fear or doubt, whilst at other times induce unstoppable fits of hysterics. After 15 minutes of negotiations with a taxi driver, of which very little was actually understood by either party, we finally set off back towards our hotel to the comfort of modern technology, leaving behind us the unique hum of commotion, seeping out from the cracks in the market walls. The driver’s sturdy expression and keenness in terms of speed on the road would have been a consolation, had he not driven straight past the turning to our hotel. Only for you, sir!
