PART ONE: The Orient > Bangkok

   

17 August Saturday &Hong Kong to Bangkok
Another traveling day, expensive, but especially exciting because this one was to another country. The day began with the usual checkout and taxi to the airport, the wait and exchange of money. The two hour flight on Singapore Airlines was passed in pleasant topical conversation with an Israeli. He had been an agricultural advisor in Korea and was traveling home by way of several stops with his wife and 2 daughters.

Bangkok airport immigration and customs was efficient with a touch of shabbiness — not the starched efficiency of Tokyo or Hong Kong. It occurred to me that unlike those places, Thailand was not of special world importance as a trade center or powerful as prosperous Japan. It is only a country, trying to get along, to gets its share of the tourist trade buck, to survive in a tenuous world.

Like Hong Kong and perhaps a bit more so, the hustlers are here: at the airport hustling hotels and tours with an uncomfortable, unattractive pressure. The van ride from the airport on a dreary, drizzly day through gray, ugly streets past muddy black canals, seeing muddy black cars, reinforced the first impression.

We walked near our hotel down streets past flower vendors passing several restaurants which were really no more than stores in rundown buildings with a few metal tables and stools and meat and rice which did not look inviting. Finally, throwing caution from our stomachs we entered one and haltingly ordered rice and meat, the simple hearty dish of many countries. Two elderly French ladies sat across and much of our nervousness left.

We walked then deeper into the market, the weekend market where tents were laid out on a large fairground and merchants sold their wares; food, household goods, and everything else. In a circle, a pitchman did magic and illusions and did his spiel for a lotion — a ritual which transcends language and is as universal as, if not as old as, religious rituals.
We returned to our hotel slightly depressed by the rain, the heat, the huckstering, the time change, the uncomfortable feeling of being pigeons. A nap between fresh sheets lightened the air and dinner in a local restaurant and fruit and ice cream brought us all the way back.

18 August Sunday - Bangkok
This was another day that reenforced my first impression: the temples, Wat Phra Keo— emerald Buddha); Wat Po—reclining Buddha; Wat Trimir—gold Buddha; are magnificent structures and presences but are not kept in as good repair as those in Japan. They lie in areas of squalor and near streets that are filthy, mean and smell of car and bus fumes. The luxury of pollution control of vehicles or the many klongs (canals) is unheard of; though the army which sure seem to be well enough equipped. Tonight may or may not renew our vigor: we splurge on Thai dinner and classical dancing show.

Remarkably the dinner and dancing were superb; both rich and sumptuous—it made us realize how much you miss by not going first class—it is the choice that is important—if one is rich he may go any way he wishes, but poor or budgeted as we are means our choices are limited and it is a shame because we miss a lot, but not more than many tourists who goes only first class and blind themselves to anything else. We know lots of people who travel and see only the insides of Hiltons, eat only hamburgers when abroad, speak only to those they came with. No matter what the hassles, we go our own way.

19 August Monday Through 21 August Wednesday BangkokBangkok is getting better: this morning we spent our second day sector enjoyably (our days must be divided into pieces: morning / lunch / afternoon / dinner / evening. By that measure we have well spent 3 sections in a row because dinner and the dancing later were a delight.
21 August: On Monday morning we were awakened at 6 so that we could sleepily dress, hop a bus to the landing pier. From there our party boarded a boat which was shaped somewhat like a banana, abroad flat bow and stern and wider in the middle, curving gently from fore to aft toward the water line like a banana. A canvas covered the riders. The helmsman sat at the rear and expertly operated the loud vibrating engine.

Our boat entered the main channel of the Chao Phrya river and chunked rapidly through muddy brown water. Soon we passed a flotilla of Thai Navy patrol and gunboats painted gray and at anchor. Throughout our voyage, long slim graceful boats raced past ours in each direction, their huge hydroplane engines blasting—the tilted propellers kicking up rooster tails. As we went on, past large barrel shaped cargo boats, smaller canoes, and kayaks, ours moved into another channel and soon we were in the “front yards” of many houses which are built at the edge and over the edges of the river.

The atmosphere conjured up a scene out of a Maugham story as children, brown skin shiny and excited, swam and played in the water. People bathed, brushed their teeth, washed clothes, dishes and food in the river. As the jungle of breadfruit and coconut palms lay behind the houses, it was clear that the river was the only source of water for these houses. It was uniformly brown and brackish, garbage floated on its turbulent surface.
Yet everywhere, boys’ heads bobbed among the debris. Two hitched onto our boat and grabbed the bow as we skimmed by, a neatly timed feat which reminded me of my rides with my friends on the backs of buses on Coney Island Ave. Once aboard the boat, the boys begged “one baht, two baht” for which they were gently rebuked by our guide, who is an ingratiating likeable little hustler. Not wanting to make a scene before the Western customers, he tried to gently push them over the side. One dropped but the other deftly caught the stern and sat there smiling to the delight of the passengers. Seeing our amusement, the guide let the boy stay on. He spoke to him in Thai and though we could not understand the words, it was clear by his manner that he felt warmly towards these boys. Maybe he saw himself as a boy when the hustling was a game and fun more important than scratching a living.

baangkok temple rubbing

We chunked past endless houses, wood frames which the river, now churning with many boats, lapped against. Finally some more twists and we were at the Floating Market, which is the big attraction. A few kayaks paddled by, women seated behind loads of fruit and vegetables. Our guide said that up to 10 years ago the channel was filled each morning with such boats from all over the country; but roads were built (by Americans) and this was all that was left—just some old women there for the tourists.

The next two days passed in a blur. We went to the Temple of the Dawn, and to a snake farm where they milk venom from snakes. Later when we wanted to go to the American Hospital to get cholera shots, needed for India, the guide who hangs around the hotel arranging tours and promises to satisfy any other need or desire, offered to get us a bargain for the shots— at the snake farm. We did not like the image, and decided not to bargain for this one item on our agenda.

Traveling around the city is difficult. Taxis which are all ramshackle, pretty much resist using meters, and try to bargain for every trip, leading to a clear impression that they are soaking you either way but what they really want to do is pocket the money without recording any mileage. Shopping is difficult because of the uncertainty that any quoted price is legit.

Bangkok, we decide, is mostly a disappointment, shabby and difficult, sad and dreary. A victim of the corruption of modern money. We are excited with nervous anticipation about our next stop, India.