A Close Shave
I'd stopped shaving every day. Cold showers, though fantastic in evenings if the heat of the day is yet to dissipate, are not quite so pleasant when the shower is actually cold... and of course cold-water shaves make cold showers longer. And I'm fundamentally lazy. And so the week passed, and (verily) a beard grew, and (lo) I arrived in Bangkok.
Shave, I thought.
...razor, cold shower... definitely not... sink.
...mirror, six-day beard, disposable razor, soap, cold water tap...
Professional Shave!
So, I walked round nearby streets looking for a barber. Lots of beauty salons. No Barber. Many of the salons, however, offered shaves in addition to hair treatments, and there were guys in some having haircuts, so there came a point at which I picked one - maybe Bangkokians didn't use barbers [They do - one just has to walk an extra couple of streets...]. After all, a shave's a shave, and if you can't find a guy who's been doing it every day for the last fifty years, no big loss... right?
O foolish Taro.
A straight razor was produced. Full marks.
Bowl; shaving brush; instant shaving cream. Half a point off for the canned cream.
No hot water; shaving brush dipped in cold water. Vague puzzlement.
Scrapescrapescrapescrapescrape. That's not good.
Scrapescrapescrapescrapescrape. Mime looooong strokes for her
ScraaaaaaaapeScraaaaaaaaaaaape. How about we pause there
And so I sat up. Did I then:
a/ Say "Thank you very much, but you need lots of practice on people other than me" and leave?
b/ Say "You're not doing this right", and stay and try to show her how to shave me (vaguely) properly?
Option b, of course; it would have just been weird to walk the streets with half a beard.
O foolish Taro. You might know more about shaving than her, but not only are you exclusively a disposable razor user so you don't know that much, but you should stop addressing yourself in the second person.
"Hot water".
She filled a bowl from the hair-washing hose; its water was tepid.
"Has to be hotter".
Electric jug...
...
... and there was hot water. And it was good for about ten seconds. Then...
Scrapescrapescrapescrapescrape. I give up. It'll be over soon, and the razor burn shouldn't be toooo bad.
Scrapescrapescrapescrapescrape. Happy thoughts.
Scrape. Well that was awful.
Wiiiiiiipewiiiipewipe. That really was.
"That was an awful shave. It really was".
Mirror. And there's a couple of patches she's missed but I'm not going to make her fix them.
"It couldn't have been much worse"
O foolish Taro.
Mirror. Stroke chin. Hang on is that blood.
Blood on finger. I know they're called cutthroat razors but you have to be kidding.
"I'm bleeding" I wonder how many cuts she's given me
"Yes paper would be good" Should have left earlier
patpatpat. Oh the blood is speckling the... toilet paper
"I'm still bleeding" That's a lot of speckles
patpatpat. Am I bleeding from every hair follicle?
"Do you have any antiseptic or cologne" I'm going to die of blood poisoning
Isopropyl alcohol. Thank frob.
patpatpat. I'm still bleeding
dabdabpatpatdabdabpatpat I really could have wandered the streets with half a beard.
"You need to take 'SHAVE' off your sign. You can't." The razor was blunt, wasn't it... I wish I'd thought of that earlier.
Suits
Clinton (who emailed me some tips on Thailand) suggested that while I was here I could get a suit or two to weigh me down. I'm not so sure he was entirely joking, my sartorial style being what it isn't, but should I ever decide that a three-piece with opera cape and spats is a good idea*, Bangkok is certainly the place to get them. There's a throng of stores packed with bolts of cloth offering a quick turnaround on made-to-measure suits. One store has a sign noting that the price includes the cost of such things as buttons and linings, which suggests that shonky stores abound.
[*I'm not so sure I'm entirely joking]
Clothing StallsStalls, many of them selling identical ranges at vastly different prices, choke the pavements of Banglamphu. There are streets lined with clothes stalls and clothes shops. For a male in need of trousers, there are three choices. The first is slacks - not quite practical for hiking. The second is jeans - I already have one pair and that's plenty heavy enough. The third is military-style trousers - perfect for those who aim to get lost while hiking. I bought non-camouflaged khaki. Among other figures it bears a NATO size marking. I'm hoping this means that there's a certain level of quality.
It's not "Beauty", it's "Skin Maintenance"
Pollution is high in Bangkok - there's a lot of traffic, and a number of people even wear masks. With the humidity and the pollution your skin - and your face and neck in particular - is filthy even after half a day. There are many beauty salons in the Khao San road region offering spas, hair and beauty treatments, and massages (some different; some only same same). There's also an open-walled tent on the side of Thanon Chakraphong which offers eight different facial treatments at a standard price, and the lot as a half-price special. I passed a beauty salon offering an identical deal; a number of the salons do. It had one female customer. I walked down to the tent. One female and two male customers... and I was the third.
<insert your pop-psych analysis of the/a male psyche here>
And the face? Looked pretty much the same but I assumed that it did good things, and it felt great until the humidity made me start to sweat again. The next day I got my first zit in ages. Correlation? Causation? Irony.
Diamond Jubilee
In contrast to the relative rarity of the Australian flag in Australia, I noticed a lot of Malaysian flags in Malaysia on public and private buildings, taxis, and as the background for advertisements. On crossing into Thailand however, Malaysia's flag numbers seemed reasonable.
There are Thai flags and yellow flags bearing an emblem on shops, homes, and poles. There are also pictures of Thailand's king everywhere on posters, billboards, and shrines; many of these are these are metres (and in some cases storeys) tall.
It turns out that it's the 60th anniversary of King Bhumibol Adulyadej's coronation - he's the world's longest-serving monarch. It was a public holiday in Bangkok and surrounds on Friday, and will be again on Monday and Tuesday so that the populace have (another) chance to see him. He's a beloved ruler. People of all ages wear yellow shirts that bear the special emblem, or slogans proclaiming their love for the king. Stalls sell photos. I was amazed he was as old as he is (he's 80 in December) - he looks decades younger.
Chatuchak Markets
Chatuchuk Markets, open only on weekends, are insanely big. Thousands of stalls selling pretty much everything, segueing into the full-time shops in Chatuchuk Plaza. There were baubles, bangles, beads, and bling. Fish, birds and animals both alive and dead. Furniture and nick-nacks sufficient to home-decorate a Chatuchak-sized housing estate. Food and drink (fresh coconut ice cream - Yum!). And clothes - acres of t-shirts and trousers, skirts, shirts and shoes. You could spend hours just walking back and forth. I did.
Or at least I tried to walk back and forth. The design, however, tends to resist logical path-taking: Something catches your eye and you get drawn into a parallel or perpendicular aisle. Or, worse, an oblique aisle - because Chatuchak Markets isn't rectangular and not everything meets at right angles. End result: it's a bit disorientating. Clinton suggested that if I saw something I liked to buy it, because I probably wasn't going to find my way back.
If I'd found a "Pirates are better than Ninjas" tshirt I would have; I saw someone wearing one the other day. I did see a pink Bachalo-drawn Death tshirt, however. Neil Gaiman would be spinning in his grave if he were buried.
